Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep (11 page)

I gave them a broad smile and walked toward them.
“I’ve been looking for a restroom. Too much of your good coffee,” I said. I was so nervous my knees were turning to jelly fish as I talked.

Fred Brennan appeared to visibly relax, but Andrew and Nat Markham remained stiff and staring.

“Just down that hallway, on the right,” Brennan said, and gestured toward the hallway he meant.

I gave them my four-fingered wave.
“Ta-taa.”

It was a good thing the bathroom was close by.
I barely made it in there and grabbed onto the sink before my stiff legs gave way. If someone had walked into the bathroom they would have thought I was praying to the pipes.

“YOU DIDN’T ASK HIM anything good!”

As planned, George and I were at Java Jolt.
“Right,” I said. “That would be the question about ‘Did you bump off Steve and Eric so you’d get the project?’ That question?” George glared at me. “Listening told us a lot,” I said, meeting his gaze.

“You could have asked him if he knew why the first bid meeting was canceled,” George said.
“You can’t just let them off the hook.”

“That’s a question a reporter can ask.
It would look really odd if I did.”

George had flipped open the narrow spiral notebook that never leaves his side.
“You sure you don’t know percentage of what?”

“I know, I just decided not to tell you,” I said, with every ounce of sarcasm I could muster.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” George said.

We were talking in low voices, since Joe Regan likes to listen so intently.
“All I can tell you is that the tone was secretive. It wasn’t like a, a regular business discussion,” I finished, realizing how lame I sounded.

George was about to reply when the door opened and the wind slammed it against the wall.
Lester Argrow had a large handkerchief in one hand and was blowing his nose noisily.

“You almost owed me a door, Lester,” Joe said, as Lester closed it.

“Yeah, yeah.” Lester came straight to our table and, as was his custom, turned a chair backwards and sat facing George and me, legs straddling each side of the chair. “You’re gonna investigate, right?”

“What are you talking…” I began.

“Don’t kid me, Jolie,” he said. “You was at the complex this morning, when they were supposed to turn in bids.”

“Maybe I was visiting Lance,” I said, trying not to look at George.
He says Lester hits on me. I disagree. Lester’s just annoying. And it’s even more annoying that he knows everyone in town. I wondered who told him they’d seen me.

“Joe, bring me a cup, will ya?” Lester called.

“Legs broken?” Joe asked, not especially amiably. He quickly filled a cup with coffee from the thermos on the counter and grabbed a spoon and about six packs of sugar. Lester is a known quantity.

“Thanks.
This damn cold. I figure you don’t want snot all over the counter.”

“You got that right,” Joe said and walked back to work behind his small counter.

“Maybe you should stay home,” George said.

“Oh yeah, like your job stops when you get sick.”
Lester busied himself with shaking all of the sugar packets at once and then tearing them all open and emptying them into his cup. I noted that less got on the table than other times I’d seen him do this.

“Tricks like that, you can join the circus,” George said.

“You got a bee up your butt, Winters?” Lester looked from him to me. “Ah. Are you guys…?” He pointed a finger between George and me and wiggled it.

“Since earlier in the fall,” I said.

“Huh. I wonder how come Ramona didn’t tell me that?” He looked at George. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother your property.”

“Lester!”
Usually I let his various remarks go, but not this time. George put his hand over his mouth to fake a cough.

“Jeez, kid, it’s a joke,” he said.
“You always knew how to take a joke.”

“So what’s up?” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

Lester lowered his voice. For Lester it was lowered. “Been out to Silver Times a couple times this week. Couple folks thinkin’ of selling. Want to be further inland on account of global warming or whatever. They want to be sure when Silver Times buys their place back they get a good price.”

“And they think they might not?” George asked. “Don’t they have to at least get back what they paid for it?”

“Supposed to, but that guy Brennan is a piece of work. They think he might use the hurricane as an excuse to pay less or somethin’.” He took a huge slurp of his coffee. “You talk to Elmira lately?”

“Unfortunately,” George and I said, together.

“Don’t be the damn Bobbsey twins. Anyways, I think she’s got a point, too. That’s a ridiculous estimate.”

“What do you care?” George asked.

“Same as you. If it ain’t right, it ain’t right. Course I don’t get paid to write what I think.”

Thank God.

Lester began to cough and George and I both pushed our chairs back from the table a bit.

I didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
I didn’t much care if Silver Times paid too much for repairs. What I cared about was that Bill Oliver didn’t have his brother and Pooki didn’t have her husband. If the police ruled Steve Oliver’s death an accident and there was no trace of whoever killed Eric, a killer (killers?) would be freer than algae floating near Ocean Alley’s small dock. That I minded.

George looked at his watch.
“I gotta go.” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Ain’t that special,” Lester said.
George ignored him and gave a small wave to Joe as he walked out.

Lester and I stared at each other.
“I don’t know anything,” I said.

“That never stops Elmira,” Lester said, with an almost malevolent grin.

“Hardly a fair comparison.” I frowned. “You can’t just go around asking me if I’m investigating something, Lester. People’ll think I’m a first-class busybody.”

“Second class ain’t good enough?” He blew his nose loudly.

Joe looked in our direction, clearly irritated. He’s never Mr. Cheerful, but he seemed short with all of us.
I suppose being in a cramped space with no view of the ocean was wearing on him.

“I did meet the younger Markham when he arrived to leave his bid.
There really wasn’t much I could ask him.”

“Yeah.
‘Did you bump off your competition?’ wouldn’t go over so good,” Lester said.

“Lester!”
Joe’s voice was sharp. He nodded toward the door and turned back to his latte machine as the door opened, letting in Pooki and her parents. Pooki looked like what Aunt Madge would call death on a cracker.

“Jolie,” she said.

I could tell she was trying not to cry. I got up and gave her a brief hug, and extended my hand to her parents, whom I’d only seen for a couple of minutes the night I found Eric’s body.

“We thought we’d get out for a bit,” Mrs. Sapperstein said, in a firm voice.
Her husband went to order their coffee and I invited them to sit with Lester and me. The glare I gave Lester could not be misinterpreted. Perhaps in response he stood and held out a chair for Mrs. Sapperstein. Pooki had already folded herself into one next to mine.

“I didn’t realize you were still in town,” I said.

“Well, we were married here, you know…” Pooki’s voice trailed off.

“We and the Mortons are staying at that newer hotel on the far west end of town,” Mrs. Sapperstein said.
“Visitation is tonight.”

What is her first name?
Is it Norma? No, that’s the Liza Minelli song about Norm Sapperstein
.

“Yes, of course,” I said.
“I plan to come by.”
Was not. Thought it might be in Pennsylvania
. I needed to pay more attention to the paper when Aunt Madge was out of town.

“We appreciated that you helped Pooki,” said Mrs. Sapperstein, in a kind of formal tone.
“I don’t think we’ve had a chance to say that.”

“No problem.”
I looked at Pooki. “Are, uh, a lot of your friends in town?”

At this she gave me a wan smile.
“A bunch of them. All my bridesmaids…” her voice trailed off. Then she sat up straighter. “I never tried Amaretto before.”

For a minute my mind could not relate to what she said.
Then I remembered spiking her tea with Aunt Madge’s stash of the liqueur, which I’d forgotten to replenish. “Ah, yes. Aunt Madge says it warms a person right up.”
And you decided to be a little warmer
.

“That sounds like a Madge drink,” Lester said, in a more polite tone than I’ve heard him use.
I realized he had not introduced himself to Mrs. Sapperstein, so they must know each other. That probably explained the pained look on her face.

Mr. Sapperstein walked over and put coffee in front of his wife and some sort of iced chocolate coffee drink in front of Pooki.
He walked back toward Joe to get his own drink. All of this occurred without one word.
Time to go
.

I stood as Pooki’s father walked back toward us.
I nodded at him. “I’m Steele Appraisals while Aunt Madge and Harry are on their honeymoon. I was just heading over there.”

Lester almost jumped out of his chair, apparently anxious not to be left behind.

Mrs. Sapperstein smiled. “It was a lovely wedding.”

“Good for Madge, a cradle robber,” Mr. Sapperstein said, as he sat.

Lester’s eyes brightened. “And here I’ve just been calling her a cougar.”

“I’m not sure she’d go for either title,” I said, dryly.
I looked at Mr. and Mrs. Sapperstein, and noticed that Pooki was staring dreamily at her drink. “She and Harry email me from the ship every evening. I know they’d want me to give you their best.”

After another half-minute of polite goodbyes Lester and I walked out.
It had gotten colder in the short time we’d been in Java Jolt, and I pulled my wool scarf tighter. About the only good thing about Joe’s boardwalk location being closed for repairs is that the wind off the land is less biting than the wind from the ocean.

“Is it my imagination, or does Mrs. Sapperstein hate your guts?” I asked.

“I think it’s on account of I brought a potential buyer to them when they were selling their house. Before they went to Pennsylvania.”

“That’s usually a good thing,” I said, giving him a shrewd look.

“Except the guy was maybe a little high,” Lester said, as he jiggled some change in his pocket.

We had gotten to my car, so I looked fully at Lester.
“Isn’t that kind of like being a little bit pregnant?”

Lester barked his distinctive laugh.
“Good one. But, yeah. Course, I didn’t know he’d lie down to sleep on their dining room floor.”

PETERS FUNERAL HOME was crowded, not that I was surprised. When a young person dies Ocean Alley’s small funeral home often has lines out the door. Like Aunt Madge’s house, it had been a single family Victorian home that now had another purpose. It was much bigger than the Cozy Corner and I assumed the one-story addition in the back was where they did the embalming. Yuck.

Tonight it was cold enough that Mr. Peters had the line wrapping through the hallway and a room that did not have someone else in it.

I was in line behind Dana Johnson which, from my perspective, was perfect.

“Are you ready for Christmas?” I asked, picking the most banal topic I could think of.

“Come on, Jolie, it’s more than three weeks away.
Are you ready?” she countered.

“I really only have my nieces to buy for.
Renée and I decided a couple of years ago to use present money to go see a play together in New York.”

For a moment I couldn’t interpret Dana’s amused look, and then I got it.
“Okay, I might get something for George.”

“Maybe some horse blinders,” the voice behind me said.

I smiled sweetly at Sgt. Morehouse. “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest them for me.”

“I’m thinkin’ a gag,” he said.

The three of us carefully stayed away from any discussion of the two deaths. Dana and Morehouse because they’re professionals, me because if Aunt Madge heard I talked about the topic at a wake she’d kill me.

The line moved quickly, which was good, because I was tired of hearing people ask Morehouse how the Christmas tree sales were going or whether he thought it was terrible that they moved Christmas Eve Midnight Mass at St. Anthony’s from Midnight to 11 p.m.

“I’m one of the ones who suggested it,” he growled in my ear. “Who in the hell wants to go to bed at two in the morning and get up with the kids at six?”

It hit me like a rogue wave in the surf that I had no idea if he was married. I glanced at him, but he was talking to a couple other people I didn’t really know but see around the grocery store.