Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep (6 page)

“I’M SORRY I SCARED YOU.” Eric Morton looked scruffy, but penitent. “I used a pay phone to tell my parents I was okay, and they said that Pooki had been here. Thank you.”

I had not invited him to sit down when I returned to the kitchen area, and did not intend to.
“A phone call would have been sufficient,” I said. “How did you get in here, anyway? I thought I had the security system on.”

“I think I turned it off,” he said, and studied his shoes.

“What does that mean?”

The phone rang and I picked up the wall phone.

“Mrs. Richards?” a man’s voice asked.

“This is her niece, Jolie Gentil.” I figured it was one of the guests who was supposed to arrive about seven o’clock this evening.

“This is Chuck with Guardian Light Security.”
His voice carried beyond the phone and Eric gave a sheepish shrug. “The thing is, it looked as if a couple minutes ago you pushed the alarm code past the time allotted. I need for you to give me the code, or I notify local police.”

I remembered Aunt Madge largely viewed her new system as a deterrent, and it did not have a large monthly bill for monitoring.
Apparently the couple minutes ago meant they weren’t the fastest response firm around. “I can get the code from a drawer, just a sec.”

I started toward the foyer and Eric cleared his throat and held up the yellow sticky note on which Aunt Madge wrote (and hid) her alarm code.
I gave him a huge frown and grabbed it from him. “The code is 7-2-7-8.”

“Okie dokie, you have a good evening now.”
He rang off.

“Almost everybody puts them by the main door,” he said.
“It just took me a minute to find it.”

“And you know this how?” I asked, in a pretty surly tone.

“I do a fair bit of remodeling work. People tell me their codes or where to find them so I can go in while they’re at work.”

I made a mental note to tell Aunt Madge we needed a better hiding place than the small drawer in the table in the foyer.
It was too far from where the alarm pad was anyway. “How did you get in?” I repeated. I studied him carefully. His clothes were rumpled and his face was haggard. My guess was he’d been sleeping in his car.

“I came in through a window in the basement.
You should get that fixed,” he said, as if offering solemn investment advice. “The alarm didn’t go off until I came up through the basement door into that back hallway.” He jerked his head toward the hallway that connects Aunt Madge’s bedroom and bath to the main living area, and has the steps that lead to the basement.

I ran the fingers of both hands through my shoulder-length hair and probably looked as exasperated as I felt.
“You can leave now,” I said.

“Here’s the thing…” he began.

“There is no ‘thing.’ The only ‘thing’ is that you’re leaving.”

“But maybe someone’ll come after me, too,” he said, and his voice cracked.

I stared at him. “Who is ‘someone’? And why on earth can’t you go to the police? They’re the ones who catch hit and run killers.”

“I, I don’t know who ‘someone’ is.
I just know we got those messages and Steve is dead. What if I go to the police and then they hurt my parents, or…or Pooki?” He started to cry.

Cripes.
It must be catching.
“Sit down.” I pulled one of the chairs away from the large oak table, but not before I glanced at the kitchen clock. It was five-forty-five, and I needed to get prepared for the guests. Not so much the rooms but my state of mind. I’m not used to being nice if I don’t especially know people.

Eric sat and wiped the back of his hand across his eye.
“I’m sorry. It’s just they must know how to hack email. That’s the only way they could know Steve and I were meeting just outside the complex before we went in to drop off the bid. We only decided that right before I left to drive up here. I almost feel paranoid.”

His phone message to Pooki had kind of confirmed that for me.
I sat next to him. He was probably five-eleven or so, with a slightly stocky build. Right now he looked like a sixth grader who was afraid of the school bully, except that he needed a shave. “Were you with Steve when he was hit?” I asked.

“Close.
Steve parked on the street just outside the complex, and I parked in that convenience store lot across from it. We were going to get coffee to take in with us.”

“And the car that hit him was on the street in front of the store?”
I knew Steve had been killed outside of the entrance to Silver Times, but didn’t know exactly where.

He nodded.
“I came out with the coffee, but I forgot sugar. He likes…liked sugar, so I went back in.” He was struggling not to cry. “I heard this car screech, like brakes, but it didn’t stop, or it didn’t sound like it. And then this lady in the doorway of the store started to scream.”

“So you didn’t actually see him get hit?” I asked, quietly.

“No. I sorta looked at the car, but it was already half a block away when I ran to Steve. But all I really remember is it was a dark color, and not an SUV or some big thing.”

“Which way was Steve’s car facing?”
I asked.

“Kind of away from town, so west, I guess.
Why?” he asked.

“I just wondered where the other car was coming from, or where they were headed.”
Stop asking, don’t ask anything else.

He took a deep breath.
“The other car was on the opposite side of the street, heading into town. It crossed the center line. This lady, I think she was near the door, said it hit Steve as he was about to come across the street to the store. And then the car kept going.” His voice cracked.

“She thought it was deliberate?”

“I don’t know what she thought, but it’s kinda hard to think otherwise,” he said. “I mean, if they’d even slowed down…”

“Did anybody else see it happen?” I asked.

He nodded. “I don’t know if the woman who screamed actually saw him hit, or saw him…saw him when he was on the ground. And the guy who works in the store came running out, and another guy, I think was a customer.” He drew a ragged breath. “I kept yelling they should call 9-1-1 and then I remembered I had my phone, so I called. I don’t even remember what I said.”

I registered that idea for future reference.
The paper had said no one had seen Eric since the prior afternoon, it didn’t mention that he had called 9-1-1. Of course, maybe they had no idea it was him.

“And you were sure Steve was dead?” I asked, as gently as I could.

“I did like they do on TV and felt for a pulse in his neck. But I knew.” He sobbed aloud and grabbed a napkin from the tray of them Aunt Madge keeps on her table. “There was so much blood, and from his ears and his mouth.” He started to cry harder, and I reached over to pat him on the arm.

After about half a minute it seemed he had calmed himself as much as he could.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to help the police,” I said. “You probably remember the car more than you think.”
You don’t need to keep talking to him, just get him to the police
.

He hesitated for a moment, and then shook his head.
“All I know is it was a dark color, like black or really dark green. And I didn’t notice a tag.”

He blew his nose and gestured toward the kitchen sink and I nodded.
As he was putting water on his eyes I kept trying to imagine the scene in my mind. Silver Times is not quite at the edge of town, but almost.

If it had happened closer to a part of town like Aunt Madge’s there would have been people on the street at that time.
Plus, the houses by the Cozy Corner are close together. Ten people would see a car hit someone. But there were no sidewalks near Silver Times, and the street was wide. The large houses near there were very far apart. I could envision a scene where there were few people to see what happened and they all turned their attention to Steve rather than the car.

Someone did this on purpose.
Eric had come back to the table. “Could you tell if the driver was a man or a woman?” I asked.

“The guy who works at the store was standing next to me when the ambulance first came.
He said that I yelled at the car,” his voice faltered, and he looked away. “Anyway, I guess I looked right at it, but it was from behind, and I kind of remember the person wasn’t visible. You know, the back of the seat was up to their head or something.” He shrugged. “But that could just be an impression.”

I handed him another napkin so he could wipe his eyes again, and he stared at a spot just over my shoulder, his eyes probably not taking in what he saw.

Eric met my gaze again.
“Was Pooki okay when you saw her? I haven’t actually talked to her yet.”

I ignored his question.
“So, when did you leave the area? The police said no one had heard from you since Friday afternoon. That’s a long time.”

“When the ambulance came, I just got in my car and left.
They hadn’t put up that yellow tape yet, or anything.”

I looked at him, and he could probably see questions in my eyes.

“You think I was dumb not to stay.”

“That’s not for me to say,” I said, gently.

“I kept thinking stupid stuff, all run together. Maybe Silver Times didn’t want our bid, maybe Steve was killed on purpose, so we wouldn’t be able to even try to bid. And other stupid stuff..I wanted out of there.”

“And you called Pooki to tell her not to go home,” I said.

He nodded. “I was a couple miles outside of town. I had the window down, ‘cause I was hot as hell.” He gave me a kind sheepish look. “All of a sudden I figured I shouldn’t be on the phone. Like maybe somebody was tracking me. Stupid, I know, but I was just frantic. Anyway, I threw the phone out the window without even saying goodbye on the message.”

“Mid-sentence,” I said dryly.
“She played it for me.”

“Is Pooki okay?” he asked, again.

“She was upset when she was here, as you can probably imagine.”

“She can be…expressive.
When I met her she was majoring in acting.” His face was twisted in something between a smile and a grimace.

“Ah,” I said.
Looks as if she at least minored in it.
“When she mentioned the letter you got, I pretty much made her get in my car to go to the police.”

Any trace of a smile vanished.
“I wondered about it, but there are so many seedy firms trying to get repair work. Steve and I finally decided it was either a prank or somebody who wanted that job so bad they tried to scare us. I never thought…”

When he didn’t continue, I said, “If you don’t want to go outside again by yourself, I’ll go to the police for you.
They can come and get you.” I figured I could just call, but I really wanted to be away from this morose man. If I went in person I wouldn’t have to comfort him or make small talk as we waited. You’re being selfish, Jolie.

He spoke slowly.
“I guess no one would follow you.”

“You think someone’s following you?”

He gave a shrug of frustration. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I see the same car, but I think I see Steve around every corner, so what the hell do I know?”

I felt my shoulders relax.
The poor guy looked as if he hadn’t slept, and frazzled would have been a mild word to describe his affect. Helping him would mean a quick drive to the police station and I’d be back in time to get my head on straight for the guests.

I stood and picked up my purse, but as I was about to leave the kitchen to go through the breakfast area to my car, I looked back at him.
“Are you sure that you don’t know what Steve, or maybe you, did to make people so mad at you? People who kill people, I mean.”

“I honestly don’t know.
All we wanted to do was a good job for a fair price. And now Steve’s…” He held my gaze.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, with the police.”

SGT
. MOREHOUSE WAS getting into his car when I pulled into the tiny parking lot on the side of the police station. I held up a finger as I got out of my car. Not the middle one, the one that says “wait a minute.”

“We’re setting up the Christmas tree lot tonight, Jolie, make it quick.”

I remembered that he was Catholic and that St. Patrick’s always had a Christmas tree sales lot at the edge of the large church parking lot.
“Um, this might make you late.”

Morehouse made me ride back to the Cozy Corner in his car so, as he put it, “I don’t gotta waste time listening when I could be driving.”

“And it’s not my fault,” I concluded.

“It’s never your fault, according to you,” he grumbled.
“At least you came right to us this time. Santa might not leave you coal in your stocking this year.”

I didn’t say anything.
I had just realized that if George was mad about not knowing about Pooki he was really going to be fried at not getting a chance to talk to Eric. Idly I wondered if it would be harder to have Morehouse or George mad at me. I decided definitely Morehouse. There were some things I could do to help George forget he was ticked off at me.