Ghosts by Bill Noel

Author:Bill Noel [Noel, Bill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781938908118
Publisher: iUniverse
Published: 2012-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28

“It was no accident that the box fell,” Charles said between bites of pizza.

It was Thursday night, and I hadn’t seen Charles most of the week. The island was nearly deserted of vacationers, although a hardy group of season-pushers from Toronto had stopped in the gallery—more out of boredom rather than to buy anything. Charles had worked each night at Cal’s and rested his ankle during the day. I’d locked the gallery door an hour earlier, and Charles arrived with the pizza. We were in the small multifunctional room behind the sales gallery. The refrigerator was well stocked with beer, a few soft drinks, and in the summer, a couple of bottles of white wine.

“What makes you say that?” I said, taking a sip of Cabernet to wash down the doughy delight.

“Cal’s crew is finally talking to me,” he said. “They’re learning that while I’m slightly older than any of them, I’m not totally worthless.”

“Slightly older?” I said.

He rolled his eyes. “They call me gramps behind my back—nary a molecule of respect for their elders, you know.”

I held back a laugh and said, “They said you’re becoming a good bartender?”

“Didn’t say that. They just realize that I’m not worthless.” He hesitated and shook his head. “They think I’m funny—’cept I’m not trying to be.”

“So what are you doing that’s not totally worthless?” I asked. This was fun.

“I’m not breaking as many glasses,” he said. “I’m not really the bartending type.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“It’s like golf,” he said, swinging one of his crutches like a five iron. “As president Woodrow Wilson said, ‘Golf is a game in which one endeavors to control a ball with implements ill adapted for the purpose.’” He finished his quote and feebly attempted a golf swing before he set the crutch beside the table. “I don’t have the tools for bartending. Detecting’s more up my fairway.”

I bit my lower lip to avoid laughing. Instead, I raised my eyebrow. “So … they’re talking to you … and …?” I hoped he would get back on track—or at least out of the rough.

“They’re acting like I’m one of them. Anyway, Kenneth told me that he was certain he put the case on the bottom shelf the day before. Said he put it there so the ‘more feeble’ employees could move it. It fell from the top shelf.”

“Who’s Kenneth? Is he sure where he put it?”

“The bartender with the mullet. He’s got huge arms; he’s a weightlifter. Moved here in July from Baltimore. Doesn’t talk much. Drives an old Dodge Dart and—”

Before Charles told me even more than I wanted to know, I interrupted and asked again, “Is he sure about where he put the box?”

“Says so.” Charles got up to get another beer. “I didn’t have a lie detector with me so I couldn’t test him.”

“So who moved it?” I asked.

“Don’t know but it sure was fixed to fall when I opened the door. I was lucky it only broke my ankle.”

“Who knew you were cleaning the next morning?” I asked.

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