Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 06 - Behind the Walls (15 page)

I thought about the street’s location, about six blocks from the beach.
“I wonder if someone wants to encourage people to sell.”

“Like who?” Morehouse asked, sharply.

“I don’t know, it was just a thought.”

“Pretty extreme,” Dana said.

Morehouse’s phone rang and he stepped into the hall.

“Did you get into this many predicaments when you lived in
Lakewood?” Dana asked.

“Just the loser husband.”
I kept looking at the screen.

Morehouse walked back in.
“Clive Dorner.”

Dana and I both looked at him, puzzled.

“Firefighters found his body in one of the bedrooms.”

CHAPTER EIGHTTEEN

I SAGGED AGAINST MY CHAIR. “Clive Dorner!”

“Was he the buyer?” Morehouse asked, sharply.

I shook my head slowly. “Like I said, I think a bank that owned it hired us to do the work.”

“What in the hell was he doing in there?” Morehouse picked up his phone as he spoke, and then he dialed.
I was numb, and Dana looked incredulous.

“Lester?” Morehouse barked.
“You’re working with Clive Dorner, right?”

I could not hear Lester’s reply, though I got the tone, which was one of caution. Lester, likely not having heard of the death, wanted to know why Morehouse asked the question.

“Dead.” Morehouse said.

Now I could hear Lester.
“The hell you say!”

“You know why he’d be at 549 Ferry?
You show him that house?”

Lester’s voice grew quieter again.
I’d have to go find him.

Morehouse listened, then said thanks and hung up, with his usual lack of goodbye.
He looked at Dana. “Lester said he thought Dorner was most interested in that house, of the ones he saw lately, but he hadn’t made an offer and probably shouldn’t a been in there. Ask around at the motels, see if he came back into town before he went there.”

“He was staying at Norman Fitzgerald’s place.”
In response to Morehouse’s look, I added, “Dorner came to see Harry a couple of days ago.”

“Corporal, head over to Fitzgerald’s old place, see what you find.”

She left, with a brief nod to me.

“What else do you know about Dorner?” he asked, as he pulled a notebook toward him.

“I know…I think he was selling things from his uncle’s house.”

“Some reason you think there’s something wrong with that?” he asked.

“I’m no lawyer, but he said he was executor of the estate. He didn’t say it was all left to him.”

“Ah,” Morehouse said, clearly thinking.
Then his tone became accusatory. “Why’d he tell you that?”

“When he stopped by Harry’s, Dorner mentioned that he was executor… Hey.
You might want to talk to Elmira.”

“Now why in the hell would I want to do that?”

“Didn’t you hear she thinks he’s pawning stuff she thought was in her mother’s auction?” I asked.

“Yeah, but it was
Elmira.” Morehouse pointed his finger at me. “You think of anything else?”

“Point that somewhere else,” I said, feeling edgy.

“Humph.” He lowered his hand. “Do not go find Lester.”

I stood up and picked up my purse from the floor.
“I’m not going looking for him. I’m going home to change.”
But it won’t be my fault if he finds me.

TALK ABOUT UNEXPECTED. Clive Dorner had been nothing short of sleazy in my book. I had briefly wondered if he had killed Mr. Fitzgerald, but only because I knew they were related and I thought Dorner was a heartless jerk. Now it seemed that their deaths could be linked.

After I cleaned up and changed I called Jennifer.
“You okay?”

“It was terrifying.
How do you get into these messes?” Her tone was more hysterical than accusatory.

“You should probably go talk to Morehouse before he looks for you.”

“What will people think?” Jennifer asked.

For a second I thought she meant about Dorner being found in the house, but then I realized she didn’t know that.
“Think about what?”

“About us both being there.
We’re competitors.” She stressed the last word.

What a silly thing to worry about
. “Our names may not even be in the news. There are probably bigger things to worry about.”

I wanted to get off the phone and focus on some of those things, so I told her I hadn’t changed yet and needed to do that.

I drove to Java Jolt hoping to see Lester, but he wasn’t there and I didn’t know his other hangouts besides Burger King, which I also checked. Finally I stopped at Mr. Markle’s Midway Market on the way home and bought a frozen pan of lasagna. After I cleaned up I had invited Ramona and Scoobie over for supper. I thought about George, but figured I’d let him find me.

Scoobie and Ramona were in my living room, Ramona on the rocker and Scoobie lying on the floor, looking at the ceiling.
The lasagna was in the oven and smelled wonderful.

“How did they know it was him?” Ramona asked.

“The radio said he was dead when the fire started and they put it out quickly.
He still had his wallet.” I always hated the phrase “burned beyond recognition” in newspaper stories, and was glad not to have to think of Dorner that way.

Scoobie was playing with a paperclip.
“He’s probably got a couple of Fitzgerald cousins still kicking. Don’t know if any of them are in town, though.”

“I wonder if he went in to look at the house?
It’s the kind of bargain he was looking for,” I said. “And there wasn’t a sold sign, so he wouldn’t have known it was off the market.”

“You might want to lose the
he had it coming tone
,” Scoobie said.

“Just because I thought he was pond scum doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”

Ramona winced. “I don’t think any of the Fitzgeralds he was related to still live here. His parents died ages ago, so there were just the cousins you said were at the funeral.”

“I wish I never bought this house!”

“Yeah,” Scoobie said, “because none of this would have happened if someone else had bought your house.”

“It might have happened, but I might not know about it.”

“I’m sure Mr. Fitzgerald and Clive Dorner would feel a lot better about that.” Scoobie glanced around the room. “Hey, where’s the skunk?”

“Under my bed.
That’s where she goes when there are strangers in the house.”

“And Jazz doesn’t mind?”
Ramona asked.

A meow came from the hallway.
I turned and saw Jazz sitting there. “Come here, baby.” She strutted over and let me pet her before she moved on to Scoobie.

“You like your new roommate?” he asked.
She swatted the back of his hand. “What’s with this cat? She never swatted me at Madge’s.”

“Who knows?
The vet said she was lonely, but I think she’s a little better since Pebbles showed up.” I walked into the kitchen to check on the lasagna.

Just as I pulled open the oven door my phone chirped.
I shut the door and took the phone from my pocket.

“Hi Aunt Madge.
I called you.” I wanted to be certain she knew I had not wanted her to hear about Dorner on the radio. Or that I had been the one to come face-to-face with the fire.

“It’s Harry.
Madge is right here. What the hell happened?”

“I tried to call you, too,” I said, quickly.

“I saw you on caller ID. We left the phones in the car while we took a walk on the beach.”

He must think I’m really naïve
. “The beach, right.”

“What happened?” he repeated.

“There isn’t that much to tell.” I gave him a brief summary of what had happened, and then remembered what I wanted to be sure of. “Who was the buyer?”

“The bank.
Jersey Sun Trust has bought a couple houses lately. My guess is that they want to do what Dorner was doing. Get some kind of run-down houses and fix them up.”

“Why on earth…”
I began.

“I think they’re anxious to protect the value of some of the other houses they mortgaged.”
He said this with impatience, unusual for him. “Could you tell how the fire started?”

Scoobie was in the doorway, listening to the conversation, brow furrowed.

“Unless there’s something really obvious I bet they have a hard time figuring it out,” I said. “The place went up like dry wood in a campfire.”

“Hmmm.
The important thing is you’re okay.” He must have turned his head from the phone. “You get all that?”

Aunt Madge got on.
“This is ridiculous.”

At least she sounds relieved, not angry
. “I know. But I really am okay.”

After a couple more comments about taking it easy and me reassuring her that Ramona and Scoobie were with me, they hung up.

“She had a much calmer life before you moved back here,” he said, and walked back to the living room. I could hear him tell Ramona who was on the phone.

“So did I,” I mumbled.
I checked on the lasagna. It still needed a few more minutes, and I took a notebook from what had quickly become my kitchen junk drawer. Usually I make thinking lists by myself, but I didn’t know enough about Fitzgerald or Dorner to have much of a starting point.

“Okay.”
I sat at the small dinette table that sits in the living room and opened the notebook so there was a blank page on the left and one on the right, and wrote Mr. Fitzgerald’s name at the top of a page and Clive Dorner’s on the other. “What do we know?”

“I guess I don’t need to remind you to butt out,” Scoobie said.

“Next time you find a dead man on your porch you can butt out,” I said, feeling churlish.

“Jolie,” Ramona said, and waited until I looked at her.
“I feel like I’d be encouraging you if I helped you with that list. Two people are dead. In case you haven’t realized it, you met them both in the last couple of weeks or so, which could make you the common denominator.”

“And your point would be?” I asked.

“Excuse me?” She stood, face reddening. “I’m not somebody who ticked you off in the grocery store. I’m your friend, and I’m trying to help you!”

I was stunned.
Ramona never raises her voice or even acts ruffled. “I’m asking you to help by giving me ideas for…”

She stood, adjusted her crocheted vest, walked to the front door, jerked it open, and left.

I looked at Scoobie, “What…I only meant…”

“I think I’ll head out with Ramona.”
At the door, he turned. “It’s just too dangerous, Jolie. I don’t know any other way to let you know that.”

“What way?
Where are you going?” I could hear the near panic in my voice.

“Probably see you tomorrow at Java Jolt, or something.”
Scoobie did not jerk open the door when he left, and I heard him call Ramona’s name as he went down the short walkway toward the street.

I sat, motionless with my mouth partway open, for about thirty seconds. Then the timer on the stove went off and I walked to the kitchen to get the lasagna out of the oven.
I placed it on top of the stove and turned off the oven, all the while feeling numb. What am I supposed to do?
Pretend none of this is happening? Wait until something else happens?

I felt Jazz brush against my leg and started to bend over to pet her.
Instead, Pebbles looked up at me, brown eyes staring into mine.

“Ugh.
Why did I even let you stay here? I don’t need a damn skunk!” Seemingly nonplussed, she walked to the fridge. A mewing noise from under the tiny kitchen table made me look at Jazz. She hissed at me. Apparently I was not to talk to Pebbles in an angry tone.

I sighed in frustration and opened the fridge to get some raw vegetables and Skunkie Delight, a present from Harry.
I put it in two separate pet bowls and set them on the floor. Jazz walked over and swatted my foot. It seemed that her defense of Pebbles did not go as far as letting the other rug rat get fed first.

“You had yours.”
She meowed loudly, and I obeyed by putting a few more pieces of moist cat food in her bowl.

The lasagna was too hot to put in the fridge, and I didn’t feel like eating any.
I set the timer again so I didn’t forget to put it away after it cooled and walked to the living room and sat in the rocker with my notebook on my lap.

I don’t need anyone to help me.
I numbered the lines on each man’s page, one through ten, and started making notes.

Mr. Fitzgerald

1.
Had a cousin who lived in my house.

2.
Took things from auction customers. I crossed out ‘took’ and wrote ‘stole.’

3.
Found the drawer on his seat.

4.
Not sure who left it, or did he take it?

5.
Grew up in Ocean Alley.

6.
Did he know Mrs. Peebles well?