Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep (3 page)

“OKAY, ERIC COULD BE FINE.
Eric could be fine.” I was trying to pat Pooki on the back, but it was hard because she was now lying on her stomach, arms extended, kicking her feet and waving her arms.
What is she, two years old?

“Jolie, listen to me.”
Scoobie’s tone was insistent. “We need to call Morehouse. And her parents. Right now!”

“Noooo,” Pooki wailed.
“No, don’t! I don’t want to talk to any police.” She pulled herself into a crawl position, nose dripping onto the floor. I grabbed a tissue from the table by her bed and stuck it on the floor under her nose.

“No one’s doing anything for at least a few minutes,” I said, more harshly than I intended.

Scoobie kicked the baseboard, and I stared at him before I put a firm hand under Pooki’s elbow and tugged. “Sit on the bed, Pooki, come on,” I said. “Think positive.”

She continued to sob, but I could tell she was at least trying to get herself under control.
I turned to Scoobie. “I just think we need to be sure she’s safe before we let her walk out the door.”

He scowled, but nodded, then bent over to grab Mister Rogers’ collar to keep him from going into the bedroom.

“And anyway,” I said to him, “when did you get to be so firmly on the side of authority?”

He gave me a tight smile.
Scoobie is my best bud, and he’s fought back from love affairs with alcohol and marijuana. The idea of him wanting to call the police is almost funny.

“Damn,” Scoobie looked toward the top of the stairs and for a moment I expected to see someone with a gun or something.
As he moved toward the stairs the smell of burning muffins reached me.

“Crud,” I said.
I had put six more muffins in the oven just before Scoobie showed up.

“What?
What? Where’s the fire?” Pooki asked.

“Just burned muffins, that’s all.”
I sat next to her on the bed. I still wasn’t sure what to make of her. If I were in trouble I’d come to Aunt Madge, but how could Pooki have thought of it? And was her husband in trouble, or did he have something to do with Steve Oliver’s death?

Pooki blew her nose loudly and reached for another tissue.

“What do you have against going to the police?” I asked.

She hiccupped.
“Eric never told me to hide or not go near anybody I know. And he’d
never
tell me not to use my phone. He knows I never turn it off.”

I almost smiled at the last sentence, but instead pushed a small trash can toward her with my foot.
“And he’d never do anything like that for a joke?”

She shook her head quite firmly.
“I joke, he doesn’t.”

“And you have no idea where he was calling from?”
Scoobie stood in the doorway again.

“No, but can you like, hack phone records or something?
They do it on TV,” she said.

“I think the key word there is TV,” Scoobie said.
He stared at her directly. “I don’t want you to get hurt, but I don’t want Jolie hurt, either. I could go to the police for you,” he added.

She thought about this for a second, and I heard my mobile phone start to ring.
I went to my bedroom next door and dug it out of my purse.

“Jeez, Jolie.”
George was very excited. “You heard the news yet? They found the Sappersteins’ daughter’s car just outside of town.”

“Whose?”
I asked, wanting something neutral to say.

His tone was impatient.
The Sappersteins, they were at Madge and Harry’s wedding yesterday. Their daughter’s married to Eric Morton, the guy who’s been missing since yesterday.”

“Why would it be there?” I asked.

“Like I know. Listen, could you call the Sappersteins, tell them you’re concerned…?”

“No.
No way. Aunt Madge might if she were here, but I don’t really know them.”

“When has something like that stopped you?” he asked.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with me, or Aunt Madge,” I said.

Scoobie stood in the doorway and jerked his thumb behind him and silently mouthed the words, “She needs to go.”

“Cripes,” George said. “Talk to you later.” He hung up.

“Know who?” Pooki asked.
She was standing, still in her shorty pajamas, behind Scoobie, looking around him as if he were a fence post.

“That was a friend of ours,” I said.
“Someone’s found your car.”

“My car!
Why would they call here? They must know…”

“No,” Scoobie said, firmly, “he doesn’t.
He’s a reporter.”

“Does he know where Eric is?” she whispered.

We were getting nowhere. I tried to make my tone firm. “Pooki, you need to get dressed. Scoobie can let the police know you’re here, and they’ll send someone over.”

She shook her h
ead vigorously. “Suppose somebody kidnapped Eric? Suppose I get a call for like, you know, to give them money?”

“Ransom?” Scoobie said, and it looked as if
he would roll his eyes if Pooki was more than inches away from him.

“No one can call you,” I said.
“Your phone is off. And you don’t know…”

“Ohmigod!
I should turn it on!” She turned and almost slid into the room next to mine.

Scoobie looked at me and spoke in a low voice.
“This is the ditziest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Omigod, my hands are shaking.”
Pooki stuck her head out of the bedroom, holding her phone in front of her. “Can you push…?”

“Keep it off,” Scoobie said, shortly.
“We’ll turn on the news.”

“You have Internet, right?” she asked.

“No.” Scoobie and I said, together. Aunt Madge has never put it in. She says people come to the Cozy Corner to get away from reality. I say she doesn’t want people complaining if they can’t get on line.

Pooki stared at both of us.
“So use your phone.”

“I just have a phone, not a smart phone,” I said.
It was on my list of luxuries, if I got to the point that I had much expendable income again. So maybe never.

“We go to the library or a coffee shop,” Scoobie said, “though Ms. Busybody here likes to dig up her own info.”
He faced me. “I’ll go bug somebody with a laptop at Burger King to see if there’s more on a news web site. Why don’t you guys turn on the radio?”

I nodded.
We don’t have a TV station in Ocean Alley, so the best local news is from a local hard rock station. If you don’t get your eardrums blown if you forget to turn it down after the news.

He started for the top of the steps and turned, with an expression more like his usual.
“I put the smoking muffins on the back porch. I’d toss them before the dogs go out again.”

I gave him a look and turned to face Pooki.
“Get showered and dressed. I’ll check out the radio.” She was only a few years younger than I was, but I felt as if I was talking to an errant sixteen-year old.

She nodded and turned to go back into her room.
I saw Jazz poke her head out from under the four-poster bed again. “Hi kitty,” she said, in a little girl voice. “Come see me.”

I walked downstairs and turned on the small radio that sits next to the television in the great room — or sitting room, as Aunt Madge calls it.
Only music. It was ten minutes to eight — was it really only that early?

Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy stood from their spot on the rug by the sliding glass door, tails wagging in unison.
I glanced out the door. No smoke from the muffins. “Sit,” I said, in my best Aunt Madge tone. They sat, and I slid open the door and bent down to get the muffin tin.

“Well guys,” I stared at the charcoal-looking contents, “you’ve probably never seen a burned muffin.”
More tail wagging. “Okay, out you go.” I watched them almost launch out the door. I wished I could feel as carefree as two well-fed retrievers.

I
put the muffins into the garbage disposal and reread the
Ocean Alley Press
article. George would be furious at me for not telling him Pooki was here.
Really, there’s no reason for her to continue to stay here. If her husband’s in trouble, her parents will make sure she’s safe.
I had about decided to call Sgt. Morehouse when the eight o’clock news came on.

“Local police have verified that the car found abandoned early this morning belongs to former Ocean Alley resident Penelope Morton, formerly Penelope Sapperstein, whose whereabouts are unknown.”

Okay, I get Pooki.

“Mrs. Morton’s husband, Eric, has not been heard from since late yesterday afternoon, shortly after his business partner, Steve Oliver, twenty-five, was killed in a hit-and-run accident near Silver Times Senior Living. The driver has not been apprehended. More after this break.”

The shower went off upstairs.
At least Eric had not yet been found in the same condition as his partner. That should give Pooki some comfort.

The announcer continued, “Steve Oliver’s brother Bill, who is now a dentist in Newark, told WKXX a few minutes ago that his brother had received an anonymous note saying ‘not to put in a bid’ on the renovation project at Silver Times Senior Living.
The brothers had assumed it was some kind of practical joke. Parents of Eric Morton say they and the Sappersteins are ‘worried sick’ about their children. Ocean Alley residents are urged to contact law enforcement if they see either of the Mortons.”

Uh oh.
Okay, I would in a minute. I could tell Morehouse or whoever was at the station that I had assumed Pooki was being dramatic — which they would see for themselves — and let her spend the night because it was so late when she arrived.

The phone rang.
“Jolie?”
Double uh oh
.

“Are you having fun, Aunt Madge?” I asked.

“Our ship leaves in four hours. But we heard on the Newark news just now that the Oliver boy had been killed and the Sappersteins’ daughter and her husband are missing. What have you heard?”

I heard Harry say something soothing in the background.

“There was a short note in the paper, and George called to say P…her car was found at the park on the edge of town.”

Aunt Madge’s tone became more anxious. “She probably knew her parents were at the Cozy Corner yesterday. Maybe she’s looking for them.”

Aunt Madge is the smartest octogenarian I know
.

Pooki was coming down the back stairs.
“I haven’t heard anything else. Don’t cancel your trip.” That’s all I would need.

Harry must have had his ear near her phone.
“We won’t, Jolie,” he said, as if emphasizing this for Aunt Madge. “I had my mobile service add international calling. You’ll be able to call us when the ship is in a port, and the ship has email access.”

There was a pause.
I sensed Aunt Madge had been ready to drive home. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know right away,” I said.

After another few words of encouragement from Harry, whom I assumed had already paid for their honeymoon cruise, they hung up.

I turned to Pooki.
“There was something on the radio.” When she started to interrupt I held up one hand. “No real news, but Bill Oliver did say that his brother had gotten a letter saying he shouldn’t bid on that project.”

She bit her lip.

“What aren’t you telling me? I need a heck of a good reason not to call the police right now!”

“Eric got the same letter,” she whispered.
“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.
Did you see the letter?” I gestured that she should sit on the loveseat.

She nodded.
“I opened it. He thought it meant something, and I thought it was a joke. I said he should go.” Her eyes began to fill with tears again.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, automatically.
“Where was the letter mailed from? Was it signed?”

“It was one of those, like, red stamp things businesses use, but it was smudged.
We looked.”

If she says ‘like’ again I’ll tape her mouth shut
.

“Get your purse,” I said.
“And your phone, but don’t turn it on until you give it to the police.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. Or you’re going to hike out of here.”

She stared at me, eyes welling again.

“No tears. Just do it.” I tried to sound stern, and it didn’t take much effort. I sensed most people let Pooki get away with whatever she wanted when the floodgates opened. Not me.

She turned and almost stomped up the stairs.
I let the dogs in and picked up my purse and keys from the oak kitchen table. “Okay, this time you do get a treat.”