Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives (5 page)

I could feel Joe’s gaze on me as I added sugar and cream, and looked at him.
“Jeez, not you, too,” I said, seeing his smirk.

“You gotta admit that you get into some crazy situations.
And you’ve only been back here what, two months?”

I regarded his Irish countenance and made a face at him.
“Going on three, and it’s not like I create my problems.”

“Uh-uh.”
He turned to wipe the counter behind the large coffee thermoses.

I carried my coffee to the small table, and wished I had picked one further from the counter so my donut would not be so obvious.
Lacking a reason to move to another seat in the nearly-empty shop, I pulled it from the tote bag, placed it on a seat, and sat down gingerly. As I winced I met Joe’s eyes, which now looked concerned.

“Gee, kid, I didn’t realize you were really hurt bad.”

I sensed he felt a bit guilty for teasing me, and didn’t mind a bit.
“The doctor said it’s almost as painful as crushed vertebrae.” Seeing his increased concern I added, “But this might heal faster.”

I hadn’t been sitting there long when my mobile phone rang.
Harry Steele asked how I was feeling and when I said a bit better he said he had two appraisals to be done the next week. “If you aren’t up to it, I can handle them, of course.” He said that they were both cottages with few steps and I said I’d do them. “Oh, and Reverend Jamison called. He said you’ve been considering running the food pantry over at the church.”

“Reverend Jamison is considering me doing it.
I can’t see how I could manage that.”

“Hmm.”
He paused for several seconds, and I wasn’t sure if he had hung up or was thinking. “You would have the skills, of course. Just a matter of whether it’s something you think is worth doing.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty if I say no?”

“Maybe just a little.” I could hear the smile in his voice. He and Aunt Madge both go to First Presbyterian, which they and most of its other congregants affectionately call ‘First Prez.’

I sighed.
“I’m going to see what Scoobie thinks. He’s gotten food from there.” I took down the addresses of the houses and said I’d come to the office in a couple of days to get keys if I needed them.

The coffee seemed to have a bitter taste, and I almost said something to Joe when I realized it could be the pain medicine I had taken an hour earlier.
Without it, I’d still be standing at a 45 degree angle. However, taking it meant I had to walk and drive very carefully. I could only imagine what George Winters would make of an arrest for being under the influence of narcotics.

My cell phone rang again and I was surprised to hear Gracie Allen’s voice.
“I thought you left town,” I said, after greeting her.

“I had to come home because I’m the one who drives the kids to school, but I wanted to see how you are.
I feel so bad.”

I knew her sympathy was genuine, but as I was the one walking around with the pain in my butt, I wasn’t inclined to let her totally off the hook.
“I’m standing up straighter, but the doctor said it could be a couple of months before I’m pain-free.”

“Will you be able to work?”

“Uh, if you mean can I finish your appraisal…”

“Goodness no.
I don’t even want to think about that house until you’re really ready to do it.” She was tripping over her tongue making sure I didn’t think her unsympathetic. Maybe she was afraid I’d sue, or something.

“I just meant,” she paused for a couple
of seconds, “I know you’re self-supporting. I wondered if I should offer to well, you know, give you some money. It was my grandmother’s…”

I laughed.
“Harry’s already found two houses with no steps that I can do next week. It takes more than a sore tailbone to keep me home.”

“That’s good.
I mean, that you can get out, and all. If you need anything, anything I can do from Connecticut, would you let me know?”

“Sure.
You gave me six phone numbers, you know.” She had. Two at her house, her mobile, numbers at her husband’s office, plus his mobile.

“Listen,” she went on, “I’m not sure when I can get down to
Jersey again, and I don’t like the idea of spending a lot of time in that attic…”

“It beats the floor below.”
When she didn’t respond, I added, “I’m just kidding.”

“Oh, right.”
She stopped, and I could hear her take a breath. “I wondered if, when you feel better, you would be interested in sorting through the attic. For money, I mean.”

My initial inclination was to say no, and then I thought about Sgt. Morehouse’s reluctance to investigate, even if it did appear to be murder.
“Well…”

“We could pay you by the hour, or you can quote an overall amount.
I just, I just don’t want to go through that stuff. I can’t imagine there’s much up there I’d want. And now there’s all this talk about Richard.” Her voice trailed off.

“I don’t mind, but you know I can’t cart anything out of the attic.”
Idly I wonder if it would be hard to get things out of there. It’s a wide trap door, but it would take at least two people to get some of that stuff down the ladder.

“What about Scoobie?” she asked. “Or when you get it organized I can pay movers or something.”

Why hadn’t I thought of Scoobie?
“Scoobie probably wouldn’t mind.” The more I thought about it, the more I liked this idea. Scoobie and I would probably have fun.

We talked for several more minutes, discussing the kinds of things she would like to know about (“Mostly if it looks like some kind of heirloom, like the quilts.
I don’t give a tinker’s damn if it’s just an antique”) and how much she would pay us. We left it that Scoobie and I would go back to look through the attic and work up an estimate for her. Harry still had a key.

As I hung up, my gaze met Joe’s.
“I could see you salivating,” he said, not bothering to suppress a grin.

“I’m not that hard up for money,” I said, trying to keep an edge out of my voice.

He laughed. “I meant about the chance to look around. You know you like getting into other people’s knickers.”

I tried to look affronted, but failed.
“I just like things to add up. This doesn’t.”

He was still chuckling as he turned to greet a new customer.
“If it isn’t the king of Ocean Alley real estate.”

Lester Argrow barely nodded at him.
“Say, Jolie. Ramona told me you were going to try to get out today.” Without invitation, he pulled out a chair, turned it backwards, straddled it, and looked at me like a puppy. “When do we start?”

“It’ll be a couple of days until I can get back to the appraisal…”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t mean that. I mean the investigation.”

At the counter, Joe turned his back, probably so I wouldn’t see him laughing.

“Lester, you know that’s up to the police.
Sgt. Morehouse will really get into it.”

“That old fart?
He doesn’t like to do anything extra. Beside,” he eyed me with some suspicion, “he said he told you he figures there’s not much to be done after all these years.”

Caught in a lie of omission, I tried not to look as uncomfortable as I felt.
As much as I like Lester’s direct approach to the world, his level of tact is many degrees below mine. “I don’t know what anyone can do at this point.” I carefully did not say
we
.

“I was thinking,” he continued, unrebuffed, “that we could probably poke around that attic.
George Winters said the cops said it was full of old stuff. Maybe there’s clues.”

“That sounds like the perfect place to start,” Joe said, leaning on the coffee bar.

I tried to remain unruffled, reminding myself that Joe’s coffee shop was the only one open in the Ocean Alley off-season. “We’d need permission,” I shot Joe a warning glance, “and I can’t imagine that Gracie would want people poking through her family’s things.”

“I have a key.
On account of she’s going to ask me to list it.”

“But if you enter for another purpose, that’s trespassing, isn’t it?”

He gave me another dismissive wave. “I could say we need to look around, since I’m trying to establish an asking price and you’re the appraiser.” He changed tacks seemingly without missing a beat. “You are going to appraise it for a good price, aren’t you?”

Since I preferred this topic, I tried to be encouraging.
“It’s a beautiful house, and they’ve kept it in terrific condition. But,” I needed to put on some brakes, or he’d be trying to convince Gracie to sell it for twice its worth, “It’s almost unique in Ocean Alley. You know people don’t like to buy the most expensive house in an area because they may not be able to recoup the price when they resell it.”

We argued this point for a couple of minutes until Joe said, “Lester, I thought you did your real estate business over at Burger King.”

“Yeah.”
He turned to Joe with a small frown. “But I’m startin’ to think they’re gettin’ tired of it. I think it’s since I started getting more popular. You know, bringing more customers there. Usually they only order coffee.”

I saw the light bulb go off in Lester’s mind, but Joe seemed to miss it.

“Hey, what if I brought them here?” He turned his chair to face Joe by bumping it along the floor. “That could be good for both of us, right?”

I stood, or stooped, at that point, excusing myself by saying I needed to go home to take a pain pill.
I was tempted to stay and listen further as Joe tried to tactfully suggest that there was better parking at Burger King, but I didn’t want Lester to push me more on the value of the Tillotson-Fisher house. Joe gave me a dirty look as I put on my coat.

CHAPTER FOUR

SINCE HE DOESN’T HAVE a phone, it took me awhile to find Scoobie. Librarian Daphne, another of our classmates, gave him my message when he stopped in for his evening session, as he calls his routine visits, and let him use her phone to call me.

He was enthused about the idea of doing the work together, but not as much about the money.
“I have to be careful not to earn much, or I get kicked off of Social Security disability,” he explained. “You see,” he added, “There’s this thing called New Jersey workforce investment, and this counselor, he’s trying to help me get some training.”

“Training for what?”

He warmed to the topic. “I think I could work in radiology. You know, x-rays.” He paused. “Which you certainly know all about.”

“Very funny.
What, they pay for you to go to school?”

“Yep.
If I can be trained in something that I could do without getting depressed or ticked off a lot, then I could go off disability.”

“And doing x-rays fits that bill?”
I was not sure how to phrase the question.

“It means I wouldn’t have to work in a room with lots of people all day.
I’m better off that way.” He said it very matter-of-factly.

“I don’t think of you as easily ticked off,” I volunteered.

“That’s because I don’t find you to be a major source of frustration.” I could hear the humor creep into his voice. “But,” he continued, “I’m sure Sgt. Morehouse does.”

AUNT MADGE HAD TWO of her muffins and a plate of scrambled eggs for Scoobie when he came over at
nine o’clock the next day. “I’m concerned you don’t get enough protein, Adam,” she said, as he thanked her profusely.

She was also concerned that I not go up the attic ladder while I was still so “rickety,” as she put it.
I heartily agreed, as did Scoobie, who said he didn’t want me getting injured on his watch. While Scoobie ate and I had another cup of coffee we agreed that I’d go up to the second floor and take notes as Scoobie yelled down a rough inventory from the attic.

Before we left, Aunt Madge opened her sliding glass door and Scoobie moved the bookcase away from the wall, working slowly so as not to squish the chipmunk.
I was not too worried about the little rodent. I was tired of looking for it every time I took underwear out of a laundry basket. However, we were disappointed that he was not in residence. He had left a couple of small black dots, which I took to be chipmunk poop.

Scoobie looked at the plastic lid from a coffee can, in which Aunt Madge had placed two sunflower seeds and a little water.
“I don’t know why he’d move out with you providing free room and board.”

“You’re worse tha
n Jolie,” was all she said, and she stooped down to look under the sofa.

GETTING UP THE LONG FLIGHT of stairs from the first floor of the Fisher house was not made any easier by Scoobie telling me he’d watch my back side.
By the time I finished laughing as we climbed the steps I needed a pain pill. Since I had to walk down the steps in an hour or two, I decided to forgo it until then.

I stood back as Scoobie pulled the attic ladder down.
“So,” he said, as he made sure it was fully extended, “this would be about where your butt hit the floor?” He stamped lightly on a spot a couple of feet from the base of the ladder.

“Not something I care to think about.
Get
your
butt up the ladder.”

He saluted and climbed.
“Good grief! This place is packed.” He sneezed several times and I saw him rub his nose on the top of his sweatshirt. He peered down at me. “Do you have any ideas on where you want to start?”

“Not really.
I guess start closest to you and work back.”

I watched from below as he turned slowly, taking in the enormity of our project.
“I guess,” he said slowly, “I’ll start right where I am and work back toward that really old trunk under the eaves. I bet that’ll take us a couple of hours.”

I groaned.
“I should have thought about bringing a chair.”

“Wait a minute.”
He strode across the floor above and I could hear him moving some heavier pieces out of the way. His face, with a cobweb descending from his chin, appeared at the top of the trap door. “Move back and I’ll walk this little stool down.”

The narrow stool had an oak seat and had metal rungs down each side.
He blew dust off the seat as he placed in on the floor. “It goes to that old sewing machine in the back.”

“Perfect.
Thanks.” I put my donut on the seat and sat down.

With another salute, he went back up.

He first hollered down the contents of the wardrobe that had contained “your friend Richard.” He thought that most of the clothes were from the 1940s or 50s, which is what I remembered, too. “Are you some kind of fashion expert?” I called up.

His face appeared at the trap door.
“Salvation Army sometimes has really old stuff around Halloween. You’d look good in one of those 1940s suits with the huge shoulder pads.” He pulled back up as I pretended to be about to launch my pencil at him. “Oh boy. I think one of these little furs has a fox’s head on it.”

“That’s because it was a fox.
Anyone who wore that today would probably get paint thrown on them.” I wondered idly if there was anyone I’d like to see this happen to. As I wrote down the number and types of items in the wardrobe it occurred to me that these were of much more recent vintage than the skeleton, assuming Richard Tillotson had been killed just after his sister’s 1929 wedding. I hollered this up to Scoobie.

His voice drifted down.
“We’re taking inventory, not solving a murder. Do I need to remind you that the only reason you lived through your last attempt to meddle is because of me?” There was a sound of a metal latch being opened and Scoobie said, “Wow. You should see what’s in this little chest!”

“What?
What?”
A murder weapon?

“It’s all these old games and toys.
Geez. This is a really early Monopoly game.”

I chided myself for wanting something gory.
“That’ll be worth something on eBay.”

I
wrote down the number of wooden toys and listed the games – chess, checkers, and a cribbage board in addition to the Monopoly game.

Why was the skeleton in a wardrobe with clothes from the 1940s?

“Scoobie?” He sneezed in response and I continued. “Was there any dirt on the floor of that wardrobe?”

“What do you care?
You aren’t coming up to clean.” He blew his nose loudly.

“Maybe they buried him and dug him up.”

Scoobie’s head appeared again. “Did anyone ever teach you to mind your own business?”

“No,” I said.
“You don’t get to know about potential properties coming on the market if you mind your own business.” When he looked puzzled, I added, “When I did real estate work in Lakewood.”

He shrugged and disappeared and I heard him reopen the door to the wardrobe.
“I don’t see any dirt. But lots of people looked up here after you found your friend.”

“What?
Oh, police.” Of course, I knew they had visited the attic during their cursory investigation. Sgt. Morehouse’s words came back to me. Any potential suspect is dead, there aren’t any suspects, and there’s lots of current crimes to solve.

“What are you looking at now?”
I stretched my neck, which was becoming sore after looking up at the attic opening for so long.

There was the sound of a something being opened, a metal trunk from the sound of it.
“Wow,” he said. “This is full of old photo albums. Like ten or fifteen of them.”

“Gracie will want those.
Why don’t you start bringing them down?”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because they don’t have their own legs and it’s the only way to get them out of there.”

“I don’t have to do this, you know.”

I knew he wasn’t mad. His backside appeared at the top of the ladder, several photo albums in his right hand and his left and reaching down to steady himself as he climbed down the ladder. Dust stuck to the cuff of his jeans and what I could see of the palm of his left hand was darkened with dirt.

“Where do you want these?” he asked as he neared the bottom of the ladder.

“My car, I guess. I’ll look through them a little so I can tell Gracie what they are.”

“Why don’t we go get a drink and come back?”
I started to say we’d never get done if we took a break every hour, and then Scoobie sneezed again. I realized he probably wanted a break from the dusty attic and agreed.

We went to Java Jolt where Joe looked less than thrilled to see Scoobie until, while Scoobie was in the men’s room cleaning up a bit, I explained what we were doing.
“That’s nice of you,” he said as he poured Scoobie’s requested large hot tea. “I was worried his red nose might mean he was drinking again.”

“Not that I know of.”

Joe gave me a look that seemed to say “Right,” and handed me Scoobie’s tea. I put it on a table, filled my coffee cup from the thermos on the counter, and dug in my purse for money to put in the sugar bowl next to the thermos. Joe puts us all on the honor system during the off-season.

As I sat on my foam donut, Scoobie came back in and bought two muffins, one chocolate chip and one blueberry.
He grinned as I groaned.

“I don’t need the calories.
By the time I can move around well I’ll have gained five pounds.”

He shrugged as he took a bite of the blueberry muffin.
“Skip dinner.”

Since I can never resist chocolate, I took a bite of that muffin.
“Did you look at any of the photos in those albums?”

“Nope.
I figure you’ll spend 10 hours on it, so why should I?” He took a sip of tea. “Speaking of skipping dinner, what did you tell Reverend Jamison about the food pantry?”

“I’m avoiding it.
Don’t you think he’ll get the hint?

“Nope.
He told me I’m supposed to help you. I think he scheduled some kind of meeting on it in a few days.”

“Damn it.”
I stared into my coffee cup for a moment. I certainly could do it, but I definitely didn’t want to. I knew I would be uncomfortable around people who are grateful for food, something I have always been able to assume will be available.

“How much?”
I asked. When Scoobie only looked at me I added, “help. How much help will you give me?”

He shrugged.
“I can tell you what I don’t like about the way it’s been done.”

“What’s not to like?”

“You can get a box of stuff six times a year. It’s.…”

“Why only six times?” I interrupted him.

“Because that’s all the food they have to give.” His look told me not to interrupt again. “I’d rather be able to go once a month and get smaller boxes. So would a lot of other people.”

“There’s got to be a reason they do it that way,” I mused.

When I glanced back at him his look was unreadable, but I sensed he hadn’t liked my comment. “What?” I asked.

“The people running things always like schedules the way they are.
At the treatment center I went to in Newark there’s hardly any staff there on weekends because they don’t like to work weekends.” He gestured with the remaining half of his muffin. “We didn’t need any less counseling on Saturday and Sunday.”

I nodded slowly.
“I get your point. If I do it, I’ll look at all of it. Just don’t expect,” I paused, not wanting to offend him, “Don’t expect a lot of changes all at once. It’ll take me some time to figure out how everything works.”

He stood and began pulling on his jacket.

“Does this mean you’re through with ideas?” I asked.

“Nope.”
He finished shrugging into his jacket. “But it probably makes sense to talk more about it after you get your feet wet. At least after you talk to Elmira Washington.” He grinned.

Scoobie knows I’m not a fan of
Elmira, who told everyone she knows in Ocean Alley that I left my husband Robby because he embezzled money to support his gambling habit. I groaned. “You mean she’s on the Food Pantry Committee?”

“Unless you kick her off.
Come on, pick up your little pillow and let’s get back to work.” He moved over to help me with my coat.

“You an expert on the food pantry, Scoobie?” said Joe Regan from the other side of the counter.

“Did you hear something?” Scoobie asked, looking at me intently.

“I think…” I began.

“Forget it,” said Joe.

Scoobie walked out ahead of me, not looking at Joe.
I glanced at Joe whose shrug in my direction seemed to be half apology and half ‘go figure’ expression.

It took me a few seconds to catch up with Scoobie, and only then because he slowed down enough to allow me to.
“I, uh, don’t think he meant to be rude.”