Relic Page 8

  “Interesting. Can you stop by the office in the morning? I’ve got a couple of things to share about the murder.”

  We agreed on a time. I returned the phone to my pocket while wondering why Cindy had said, “Interesting,” then realized that the interruption hadn’t slowed Gail from regaling Charles with more “fascinating” tales.

  I had little interest in most of what she was saying, although it was nice that the topics veered away from Anthony’s untimely demise. Laurie interjected how much better it was living on Folly, with its laid-back residents, and slower pace. Gail continued to finish most of Laurie’s sentences. Laurie didn’t seem to mind. I would’ve been tempted to smack her annoying friend.

  The food arrived, and we ate in silence before Charles leaned toward Laurie. “That reminds me, I was wondering if there were other cars out there when you arrived with Anthony. When Chris and I got there, we only saw your MINI.”

  I wondered what Laurie, more accurately, Gail had said that reminded Charles of that. I didn’t ask since I was interested in her answer.

  Laurie blinked a couple of times. “It seems like there were three or four. There weren’t as many when I got back to the car after stumbling around finding my way out. I think there were two. Why?”

  She must’ve understood that one of the vehicles could’ve belonged to the killer, that is if she hadn’t killed her husband. I asked, “Do you remember what they were?”

  “Not really. I’m not good about cars. Most look alike.”

  “What color were they?” Charles asked.

  “It was dark. I couldn’t tell. They weren’t white, or silver. They were dark. Could’ve been black, gray, blue. I don’t know.”

  I said, “You never saw anyone after you entered the Preserve?”

  “No,” Laurie said. “Oh, I get it. One of cars could’ve belonged to the person who shot Anthony.”

  “Possible,” I said. “Although they could’ve belonged to the people staying at the nearby houses.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I couldn’t identify any of them. Besides, Anthony is still dead.” She lowered her head and put her hand over her face.

  So much for a lighter topic.

  Chapter Eleven

  After Laurie and Gail headed to Laurie’s house, I told Charles about the meeting with Cindy. As expected, he asked if he could join us. I told him that it was fine with me. If the chief didn’t want him there, then she’d kick him out, preventing me from having to bear the grief of telling him, “No.”

  The Folly Beach Department of Public Safety was in the salmon-colored City Hall. The main entrance to the seat of local government was on Center Street, but the entry to the stairs to Cindy’s office was around the corner on Cooper Avenue, directly across from the Surf Bar. The door was open, and Cindy was behind her oversized desk, staring at a foot-high pile of manila folders when I knocked on the doorframe. She looked up, glanced at her watch, and said, “Well, if it isn’t Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber.”

  She wasn’t smiling, so I took the higher road. “Morning, chief. Do you have time to meet with us?”

  “Us, as in the person I asked to come by, plus his shadow?”

  “Yes.”

  She pushed the pile of folders aside, waved for me to close the door, then motioned us to the chairs in front of her desk.

  “This job’s going to be the death of me,” she said as she turned to the large window behind her. “You know how many loud-noise complaints this serve-and-protect office received last night?”

  I said, “No.”

  Charles said, “Seventeen.”

  Cindy stared at him, like he was a tarantula crawling up her arm. “Nine. What in blue blazes am I supposed to do about it? Do I have my guys run all over town to see if their eardrums burst when they should be patrolling for bad guys? The death of me yet.”

  I said, “Sorry, Cindy,” before Charles asked about each complaint.

  “Never mind. That’s not why I asked Chris to stop by.” She paused, stared at Charles long enough for him to get the message, before turning to me. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re getting as nosy as your buddy sitting there.”

  “Inquisitive,” Charles corrected.

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “So, Chris, since you, and yes, you, too, Charles, awakened the sleeping Mrs. Fitzsimmons the morning we found her late husband, you’ll have your antenna up, soaking in all the local gossip about what we’ve learned. Most of what you hear will be pure BS. I know that you’ll keep whatever I tell you in confidence. You will, too, Charles. Right?”

  Charles nodded. I couldn’t see if he had his fingers crossed.

  Cindy returned his nod. “Chris, I have a couple more questions about the morning you two found Mrs. Fitzsimmons. Something still doesn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Fire away.”

  Cindy tapped her desk. “Was she really asleep when you found her?”

  “I have no way of knowing. She acted startled when she jumped out of the car. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair a mess. I’d say yes.”

  Cindy smiled. “I know I’d be startled if someone looking like Charles stuck his face against my window. What do you think, Charles?”

  “I agree with Chris.”

  I was pleased that he ignored the chief’s insult. I said, “Why?”

  The chief tilted her head. “If Larry and I were out there in a storm that was pitch black, and if we got separated and I found my way to the car, the last thing I’d do would be to fall asleep. I’d be worried, I’d call for help, I’d stare out the window. Fall asleep, never. Would you?”

  That’d bothered me from the beginning. “I hope not.”

  Charles said, “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep.”

  “Exactly,” Cindy said. “Let me ask something else. Do you believe her story?”

  Charles glanced at me before saying, “I don’t know what Chris thinks. It makes sense to me, all except falling asleep.”

  I nodded. “We’re all different. It seems strange, although I couldn’t say how Laurie would react in the same situation. What do you and Detective Callahan think?”

  “Callahan isn’t sharing much. You know the sheriff’s office and lowly city cops aren’t always on the same page. Hell, most of the time, they don’t put us in the same book. All to say, I don’t know what he thinks.”

  “What about you?” I said.

  Cindy said, “Tell me about your supper with Mrs. Fitzsimmons and her friend, umm, what’s her name?”

  “Gail,” Charles said before I made the transition from asking what Cindy thought about Laurie being asleep to our dinner. “We met Laurie and Gail at St. James Gate. Gail’s from Jacksonville, has been friends with Laurie for years. They played bridge—"

  Cindy put her hand in front of Charles’s face. “Whoa. Hold the history lesson. All I want to know is why were you having supper with them?”

  I thought, Please don’t say because they were hungry.

  “Laurie sort of bonded with us after we woke her up. She wanted to tell us about Anthony’s funeral. Come to think of it, she didn’t say why.”

  I said, “Cindy, why do you ask?”

  “I’m trying to get a better picture of Laurie. Tell me about what you talked about.” She pointed a finger at Charles. “Not what you had to eat, not who else you talked to, not all those itsy-bitsy facts you accumulate, you know, the ones having nothing to do with anything. Let me narrow it down more. Was anything said that could have anything to do with Anthony’s death?”

  That said volumes about what she thought about Laurie’s story. “You think she’s lying?”

  Cindy sighed. “Did you miss my question about dinner?”

  I said, “Laurie wanted to talk about their past, until Gail said she heard that Charles had helped the police catch bad guys. She asked him if he could find Anthony’s killer.”

  Charles waved his hand in the air. “She asked both of us.”

  “Oh, gr
eat, just what we need. Where did she hear that?”

  Charles said, “Laurie told her.”

  Cindy turned to me. “What did you tell her?”

  “The police were good, that they’d figure it out, that there wasn’t any need for us to be involved.”

  “Thanks, I suppose. Anything else?”

  Charles said, “I asked her how many cars were nearby when they got to the Preserve, then how many were there when she came back to the car.”

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “How does that say that you didn’t need to get involved?” She exhaled. “Never mind. What was her answer?”

  I shared what Laurie had said. After Cindy mumbled something about us being nosy, butting in police business, how she should be shot for talking to us about the case, she said Laurie’s story about the other vehicles was consistent with what she’d told the police at the scene.

  “Cindy,” I said, “do you think she killed her husband?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t know. What I do know is her story’s fishy, could be true yet, still fishy. She had opportunity. We haven’t found the gun, so there’s no way to know about means. And the big question, until late yesterday, was motive.”

  “It would have been easy for whoever killed him to fling the gun in the ocean,” Charles said as he made a throwing motion. “Splash, it’s gone.”

  “Never to be found,” Cindy added.

  I wasn’t paying attention to their recreating flinging a gun. “Cindy, what do you mean about motive and late yesterday?”

  “Before I tell you, let me ask, did Laurie say anything to indicate she and her hubby had problems with each other?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Like problems enough to kill him over?” Charles said.

  Cindy said, “That’d be the kind.”

  Charles shook his head. “Not that I heard.”

  “Chris, back to your question,” Cindy said and pointed at me. “It’s nice that one of you listens to what I’m saying. Len, one of my officers, was talking to his insurance agent yesterday about a life insurance policy. He got married a few months ago and, now, his wife’s pregnant. We have a good policy through the office, but he wanted to add to it in case, well, in case something happens. Anyway, you know the agent, David Darnell.”

  I nodded.

  “David asked Len if we’d caught the killer. Len said, “No,” then David said the Fitzsimmons were his clients. Len, being a good cop, told me what David said, so I called the agent to ask about the Fitzsimmons’ insurance. He started to give me the runaround about needing a warrant to get that information. I said I would and started to hang up. Good ole David stopped me, said since Anthony was no longer among the living he guessed it was okay to share that Anthony and Laurie had taken out a half-million-dollar life insurance policy on each other.”

  “Motive,” I said.

  Cindy shrugged. “Know when the policy was written?”

  “When?” Charles blurted.

  “Two months ago.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I stopped at Bert’s for bread after meeting with Chief LaMond. My last loaf had turned several shades of blue and green, attractive colors in a painting, not so much for lunch. Mary Ewing, one of the store’s personable clerks greeted me at the door. A thin, attractive, twenty-something, she gave a high-wattage smile. “Hi, Mr. Landrum.”

  I’d met Mary a couple of years ago, when she and her two young daughters were homeless. With the assistance of surfer friends, they were squatting in vacant vacation rentals. True, the assistance came in the form of breaking into houses, although the intentions were admirable. Since then, a local minister helped her find legal living arrangements.

  “Mary, I’ve told you, please call me Chris. How are the girls?”

  Her smile increased. “Joanie turned four last week.” She laughed. “Big sister, Jewel, threw her a party.”

  “Jewel’s eight?”

  “Going on twenty.”

  “I bet it was fun.”

  “Joanie said it was the best birthday she’d ever had. The two women we share the house with were there, one had her five-year old son, the other lady brought the three kids she babysits. It was a hoot.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Mary started to respond, looked over my shoulder, then waved. “Hi, Captain.”

  I turned to see Abraham Gant return Mary’s wave. He was in his mid-eighties, probably had been six-foot tall during his heyday but was now around five-foot-nine.

  “How’s my favorite clerk?” Gant said as he hugged Mary.

  Mary told him that she was fine.

  “Who’s your friend, Mary?”

  “Captain, this is, Mr. Landrum, I mean Chris. We’ve known each other nearly as long as I’ve been here.”

  Gant gripped my hand and smiled. Calling his grip bone-crushing would’ve been an exaggeration, although not by much.

  “Chris, I’m Captain Gant. If you’re a friend of Mary, you’re a friend of mine.”

  Mary patted me on the back. “Captain, you two have something in common.”

  He laughed. “Something other than being old farts and having you as a friend?”

  I was glad that Mary considered me a friend, although I didn’t see any humor in the octogenarian Captain thinking I was an old fart, or otherwise.

  I turned to Mary. “What do we have in common?”

  “Both were law enforcement. Chris, the Captain is retired from the South Carolina Highway Patrol. He was a captain so that’s where his name came from.”

  Gant turned to me. “Were you a cop?”

  “No, I—”

  Mary interrupted. “Chris helps the police. If you can believe it, he’s caught some killers. He’s—”

  My turn to interrupt. “Some friends and I’ve been fortunate a time or two when we learned things that the police weren’t aware of. It helped them solve a couple of murders. Nothing like what you spent your career doing.”

  Gant’s smile lessened. “Oh, you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong?”

  Time to change the subject. “We were fortunate to help the police. How long have you lived on Folly?”

  I didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally, he said, “My parents moved here in the late 1930s. Dad was in the Coast Guard. I wasn’t much older than Joanie.” He smiled at Mary.

  I said, “I’ve been here ten years. I wish I’d been here longer. It’s great hearing stories from the old-timers. Do you know Charles Fowler? He’s a good friend who’s lived here way more years than I have.”

  “The T-shirt guy, sure, although I don’t know him well. We run into each other occasionally.”

  “Hate to interrupt, guys,” Mary said. “Work calls.”

  I said it was nice talking to her then the Captain gave her a fatherly, grandfatherly hug.

  “She’s so sweet,” Gant said as Mary moved behind the counter to check out a woman carrying a white poodle.

  “Charles said you’d told him about Anthony Fitzsimmons’ death.”

  “I told him about it, but should’ve known he already knew. Your friend has a reputation for knowing everything that goes on.”

  I remembered Charles’s comment about being surprised that Gant knew about the death such a brief time after the body was found.

  I smiled. “He does have a way of accumulating rumors, sometimes the truth. How’d you hear about the body?”

  Gant stared at me like I was a suspect in a crime. “Don’t recall. Must’ve heard it from someone at breakfast. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  “Did you know the SOB?”

  “I never met Anthony. Charles talked to him and his wife once. I take it you didn’t like him.”

  “He had me fooled. Met him in Planet Follywood, where he started up a conversation. He and the Mrs. bought a house here, retired schoolteachers, he said. After I told him I’d been here since the invention of fire, he asked me all sorts of questions about what island life was like way back when.
I don’t get to share my stories much anymore. Most of my cronies are gone; most of the youngsters don’t care. He wondered if I knew his wife’s grandfather, Harnell Levi. I told him, ‘Yes,’ although I didn’t know him well.” Gant grinned. “I didn’t tell him Harnell was a serious nut case who was ignored by most folks.”

  “Nut case?”

  “The old guy was always blabbing about treasure, pirates’ gold, striking it rich. He reminded me of those old, scruffy prospectors in black and white movies who were always chewing tobacco, telling anyone who’d listen about gold in them thar hills.”

  “No one took Harnell seriously?”

  Gant shook his head. “What would you think if you saw an old man walking down the beach carrying a rusty shovel while singing ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ at the top of his lungs?”

  “Good point.”

  Gant’s smile faded. “Anyway, Anthony and I were getting along pretty good, until he said his hobby was relic hunting. He went on and on about digging up the past.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll say it once, only once.” Gant pointed to the concrete floor. “What’s buried should stay buried. Period. Those who’ve come before us lived their lives the best they could. Some were good. Some were bad. All are gone. They need to stay gone. We have no right digging them up, no right digging up their things, their bones, their past. I’m not saying there’re ghosts, not saying there ain’t. There’ve been stories over the years of people on Folly seeing ghosts of soldiers, of nurses, of average folks. I haven’t seen any, myself. I’ll tell you what, I know of honest people who’ve seen them. Relic hunters, and people digging for buried treasure, are disturbing the souls of the wonderful people who’ve come before us. Bad things should happen to them. It’s illegal to go digging up anything out where the SOB was murdered.” He glared at me. “Got him killed.”

  “Have you heard rumors about who might’ve killed him?”

  “Chris, I don’t traffic in rumors.”

  “If he was killed because of what he was doing, I wonder who knew he’d be there.”