No Joke Page 8

  Charles leaned closer to the phone. “Cindy, he’d be a good one to talk to.”

  “Chris, you sound like Charles, your worthless friend.”

  “Cute,” Charles said. “What about it? Neil had a reason to make the bookie disappear.”

  “We haven’t talked to him, Chris,” Cindy said with an emphasis on Chris. “That doesn’t mean the Sheriff’s Office hasn’t. I’ve told you before, their folks often treat us local yokels like we’re a few thousand cells short of having half a brain. To keep you from pestering me more than you already have, I’ll share what you learned with Detective Callahan.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Who else is on the list?”

  I didn’t think Cindy had heard my question. She hesitated, then said, “NOYFB.”

  She had me on that one. “What?”

  “It’s police code for none of your, umm, freakin’ business,” she said and hung up.

  Charles stared at the silent phone. “Chris, I think she made that up.”

  We started walking toward the center of town, with a rejuvenated bounce in Charles’s step. He had something to think about that didn’t involve Melinda or Heather.

  I was a step behind him when he stopped. “Know what we need to do?”

  I was afraid to ask, but did anyway, “What?”

  “You knew Michael Hardin.”

  “Barely,” I said.

  “And you found his body.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s fate, you knowing who he was and finding his body. That says it all.”

  “What does it say?”

  “You’ve got to figure out who killed him. The best news is I’ll help.” He smiled and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  Tell me again why I decided to visit Charles’s apartment.

  Charles looked at his bare wrist. “Whoops. I have to deliver two packages for the surf shop. While I’m doing that, you start working on a strategy to figure out who killed bookie man.”

  Charles picked up extra cash making local deliveries for Dude. Up until when Charles had purchased a car to make the move to Nashville, all his deliveries were within a few blocks of the surf shop. He could now travel farther, yet Dude said he preferred to use “them big ole brown clunky trucks” for those deliveries. That’s UPS for those who don’t know Dudespeak.

  Before Charles left me standing in the street, I asked what he would be contributing to the task of finding the killer. He’d said that, since I was the college graduate, I would need to strategize, outline our alternatives, and design a plan of action. I repeated my question about his contribution, to which he said, “I’ll come up with all the stupid ideas so you can shoot them down. That’ll help you figure it out.”

  I bit my tongue and didn’t remind him that he claimed to be the private detective, nor had I agreed to his half-baked idea that it was fate that I should figure it out. I shared what I knew with Cindy. Her job, and the job of the Sheriff’s Office in Charleston, was to catch bad guys. I had no reason to get involved.

  I was sticking to that story.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The phone rang as I settled into my kitchen chair, preparing a labor-lite lunch of peanut butter on rye and Doritos.

  “Chris, this is Theo. Could I ask a favor?”

  I told him he could ask, although I couldn’t promise that I’d be able to do whatever it was.

  “Fair enough. Could you come to the house? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about while the guys are out. I’d come to you, but I’m waiting for a plumber.”

  I was intrigued enough to tell him yes. I finished my sandwich on the ride over and was greeted by Theo before I’d reached the top step to his porch. He was dressed in blue jogging shorts, a T-shirt with Maryland Terrapins in red block letters, and his usual knee-high support socks. I hoped he wasn’t taking sartorial lessons from Charles. He looked around like he was afraid someone was watching then waved me in. He led me to the great room filled with sturdy, light-colored, wood furniture, and original oil paintings on the walls. I sat on the couch and waited for him to tell me why I’d been invited.

  Theo apologized twice for asking me to come on short notice. He fiddled with the elastic waistband on his shorts, went to the large windows overlooking the marsh and the Folly River, stared out, then returned to the couch. He was nervous, and I was starting to catch his affliction. Theo was getting to the reason for the meeting, as slow as he walked. He had the reputation in the walking group as being slower than coal turning to a diamond. With the average speed of the walkers zipping along at zero miles per hour, that was telling.

  Before I started pacing with him, I asked, “What’s bothering you?”

  He looked at me like he’d forgotten that I was there. “I don’t know how to start. I’m not sure, don’t know what to do.”

  “Have a seat, and start at the beginning.”

  He slowly lowered himself onto the couch and again adjusted his shorts. “I’ve been robbed. I think it’s one of the guys.”

  That wasn’t on my list of things I figured Theo had called about. “Tell me about it.”

  He took a deep breath then pointed at the table against the wall. “See those silver figurines?”

  My eyesight wasn’t what it’d been years ago, but I couldn’t miss three, six inch to a foot-high sculptures. One was a cat, another the head of an eagle, the tallest, a llama. I’d seen them during previous visits but paid little attention since to me they were merely dust catchers. I nodded.

  “The designer we hired to furnish the house said they would add a touch of life to the room. They’d be exceptional conversation pieces. I thought they were hunks of silver that cost more than my first car. My wife, God rest her soul, said I had to buy whatever the designer recommended, so I bit my tongue, wrote the checks.”

  His story was interesting, although I didn’t see what it had to do with him being robbed. “Okay.”

  Theo sighed again. “Three days ago, there were four.”

  “Oh.”

  “A silver frog was perched beside the llama.”

  “You think one of the guys took it?”

  “Chris, I’m embarrassed to say that silly little frog cost $700. I was an inventor, an engineer by trade, so I had to do a lot of math. Granted, I’m not a math savant, but I sure as shootin’ can tell the difference between three and four critters over there.”

  “Could something else have happened to it? Misplaced, or could someone else have taken it?”

  “I have a cleaning lady who’s been with us, just me now, since I moved here. I’d trust her with my life. A couple of workers have been in the house in the last couple of days. They could have swiped it, but I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s more.”

  Theo’s phone rang before he could elaborate. He answered it and moved to the kitchen.

  I went over to the table and lifted the cat figurine. I was struck by how heavy it was and by its intricately-detailed features.

  “Danged plumber,” Theo said as he came back in the room. “He can’t get here until tomorrow. Sorry for having you come over. I could’ve met you somewhere.”

  “That’s okay. You said there was more.”

  “I keep a safe in my closet. It’s one that’s fireproof, but not heavy. You could easily carry it off if you wanted to.”

  “It’s gone?”

  “No, but I keep $3,000 or so in it. If I ever need cash, I want it handy. Stupid, but I’ve always done it. This morning, I was in there to get money for the plumber, the danged one who isn’t coming until tomorrow. He gives a cash discount. I’d forgotten to get it from the bank, so I went to the safe. Now, I don’t know exactly how much I had, but it was more than what was there this morning. I’d guess it’s $900 short. None of the workers who’ve been here were on the second floor, so they couldn’t have taken it.”

  “Was it locked?”

  “No. I’m usually alone here. I wanted to keep th
e money safe from fire, not theft.”

  “Have you filed a police report?”

  “And tell them what? A little statue’s missing, and there’s some cash gone. Or, hey, my brother, or one of his pals, is a thief.”

  “It probably wouldn’t help, but you never know.”

  “I might call the cops.” He shrugged. “I’m not leaning that way.”

  “You really think it was Sal, or one of his friends?”

  “Honest to God, Chris, I don’t want it to be.” He sighed. “Regardless what I want, it’s probably one or more of them.”

  “Do they think you wouldn’t notice things missing?”

  Theo fiddled with his shorts again and stared out the window. “When they showed up, I was excited to see them, at least to see Sal. I didn’t know the others. I became less excited when Sal said he was afraid that I was having memory troubles, thought it would be good for them to hang out here to help me. I told him that my memory was fine, or as fine as an old man’s memory can be. Since I got these, everything was okay.” He pointed to his hearing aids. “He beat around several bushes before the real reason for them coming started to come out. I could be off, although, I’d bet I’m not. They’re broke, pennies away from being flat broke.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “Not in so many words.” He shook his head. “Do you know what they’ve paid for since showing up?”

  “Not much?”

  “How about not anything? They’ve made up stories about how checks from their investment portfolios have been delayed, or residuals from television appearances from the 1980s are being held up by agents and lawyers, or, oh, never mind.”

  “You don’t believe it?”

  “You know I’ve been fortunate. I sold my company for a tidy sum. I’m not as stupid to the ways of business as some may think. From living as long as I have, I can detect some things a mile away.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as pure, unadulterated bullshit.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Not really. I hope it isn’t my brother. That’s hope only. It could be any of them. If, umm, never mind.”

  “What?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say Wallace.”

  “Why?”

  “His memory has me buffaloed. One minute, he’s making sense, knows what’s going on.” Theo pointed to the top of his head. “Other times, he starts talking about something from the past, or forgets what he said seconds earlier, or looks off in space like he’s seeing life in another dimension. It wouldn’t take much imagination to see him stealing without knowing he did it, or, this is terrible to say, I’ve thought, a couple of times, that he’s faking his problems.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He forgets things or changes the subject when it’s to his advantage. It’s like when he doesn’t want to answer something, he goes into his mental disappearing act. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s a feeling, that’s all.”

  “You could be right,” I said. “That doesn’t make him a thief.”

  “I know. They’re all broke, so any of them could’ve taken the money or snatched the frog to hock.”

  Or more than one of them working together, I thought. “What do you want me to do?”

  Theo smiled for the first time since I’d arrived. “Listening to this old man spew accusations helps. I don’t know that there’s anything you can do. I was certain that if there was anyone on Folly who might be able to help, it’d be you.”

  I was glad Theo felt that way. I told him that I agreed with him when he said he didn’t know anything I could do.

  “Think about it,” Theo said. “Next time you run into them, maybe you could pay more attention, or ask questions that could get one of them to say something suspicious. Crap, I have no idea.”

  I told him that I would.

  He thanked me for listening and said our discussion made him want to take a nap.

  In a matter of five hours, not only was I challenged to find a killer, but I added finding a thief to my to-do list.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In addition to today’s near-impossible challenges, I added getting a good meal to my expanding list. The peanut butter sandwich worked for a few hours but, unless I wanted to fix another one for supper, I’d have to leave the house to find food. I made the block-long walk to St. James Gate, on the corner of Center Street and Ashley Avenue. The Irish restaurant was one of the easiest locations to give directions to since it faced the town’s only traffic light and was painted black, not a typical beach color.

  I’d been told that the deep browns and blacks that dominated the interior would be at home among the many pubs in Dublin. I was greeted by a smiling hostess and seven men sitting at the bar, most likely drinking one of the many craft beers the restaurant was known for. I wasn’t a beer drinker, so the subtleties of the various brews were lost on me. I did know the restaurant served outstanding fish and chips.

  The tables were full, so I sat at the bar where the bartender was in front of me as soon as I was situated. He said he was Richard and asked what I wanted to drink. He didn’t let it show, but I suspected Richard was disappointed when I said I wanted water instead of Guinness. He smiled when he figured his tip would increase when I ordered food.

  Richard was quick with the water, while I was much slower trying to figure out what I could do to help Theo or the police. I had suspected that Sal and his friends weren’t as successful as they wanted everyone to believe, so I wasn’t surprised by Theo’s comments about them being broke. I could see one, or more of them, stealing cash, while wondering if he, or they, would have enough contacts in the area to fence the figurine. I realized that I was staring at a rerun of a golf tournament on the flat screen television on the wall behind the bar rather than thinking about my challenges. The fish and chips were delivered with a flourish. Richard set the plate in front of me and said, “In cod we trust.”

  I responded with a chuckle and bit my tongue, not to ask if he was ready to go on the road with the Legends comedy tour.

  I was alternating between taking bites of cod and glancing at the television when a familiar face slid onto the seat next to me. I’d seen the man a couple of times. Unlike Charles, whose goal in life was to meet every human on earth, I normally wouldn’t have spoken to the newcomer. Recent events made me more curious.

  “Aren’t you Neil Wilson?”

  “Yes,” he replied. He then turned to Richard and said, “Guinness.”

  Richard went to get Neil the drink that I was supposed to order.

  Neil seemed larger up close than he had when I’d seen him in Bert’s. He said, “I’ve seen you in Bert’s. You’re?”

  “Chris Landrum.”

  Neil’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you.”

  “Good, I hope.”

  “Mostly. Someone there told me you live near the store and help the police when they’re stumped.”

  That wasn’t how I wanted the suspect in Michael Hardin’s murder to think about me.

  “Luck. People exaggerate.”

  He smiled. “Ain’t that the truth?” He shifted on the chair trying to get his tall, wide frame comfortable.

  “Work around here?”

  I knew he didn’t yet know what else to say. He hadn’t had his first Guinness, so it was too early to ask if he killed Michael Hardin.

  “Private security in Charleston and bouncer in a bar,” he said as Richard delivered the beer.

  “Oh.”

  “Know any jobs over here? I need to pick up something to keep me busy.”

  He sipped his beer and yawned. My eyes had adjusted to the dark interior, and I noticed that his were bloodshot. I wondered if it was from lack of sleep or alcohol.

  “Afraid not,” I said. “Give me a number. I’ll call if I hear of anything.”

  He nodded but didn’t offer a number. He returned to his drink, and I continued to eat. All we shared for the next fifteen minute
s was the golf replay. He ordered a second beer while I wondered how to get him talking about Michael Hardin.

  I didn’t have to. The bartender did it for me. “Hey, Neil. That was terrible about your friend.”

  Neil said, “Friend?”

  “Michael Hardin.”

  Neil turned from the TV to Richard. “Terrible.” He said and stared in his mug like he was watching a fly doing the backstroke in the brew.

  “Weren’t you close?” Richard said.

  Go, Richard, go!

  “Not really,” Neil said, as he continued watching whatever was happening in his mug. “More a business relationship.”

  Richard took the bar towel from his shoulder and started drying a mug. “All I know is I saw the two of you in here a few times. Hear what happened?”

  “Nothing other than he was killed.” He shook his head. “He was a nice guy. Don’t know what the world’s coming to.”

  Neil turned back to his mug, and I was afraid the conversation would go the same direction as had Michael.

  I said, “What business were you and Michael in together?”

  He looked at me. I was afraid he wasn’t going to answer until he said, “I was one of his customers.”

  Richard had returned from getting more beer for two men at the other end of the bar, and said, “Michael was a bookie.”

  I refrained from shouting, Thank you nosy Richard. “I heard that. Someone told me he had several customers on the island. I never met him. From what I hear, he did a good business and was honest.”

  Richard was summoned by a thirsty customer, and Neil glanced back at the golf match. I figured our conversation was over, so was surprised when he faced me. His arm, the size of a giant sequoia, brushed against me as he turned. I reminded myself to never arm wrestle him.

  “Michael was a good guy. I know some fellas who’re constant losers. Michael gave them extra time to pay. You don’t find that happening anywhere else. I’d done quite well with him. I hate that he’s gone.”

  That was far from the version that Cal had shared. I couldn’t figure out how to bring up the argument that Cal had told me about and his speculation that Neil owed Michael a piss-pot full of money; couldn’t bring it up without Neil inflicting harm on me. I thought about asking where he was when Michael was killed, which would have been a wasted question since I hadn’t heard when it happened. Besides, what would’ve been an innocent way to ask?