Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 06 - Behind the Walls (29 page)
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Authors: Elaine Orr
Tags: #Mystery: Cozy - Real Estate Appraiser - New Jersey
“Too soon?” he asked.
“Too soon,” Scoobie said.
“I drove over there this morning.
Already electricians working to get the mostly undamaged parts of the place fit for people.”
“That would not be my room,” Scoobie said.
“You need a place to stay?” Lester asked.
“He’s staying here.”
“I meant if it’s for a couple months. I got an extra bedroom.”
“He’s good for all the time he needs.”
“Have you noticed she’s kinda bossy?” Lester asked, looking at Scoobie.
It took me a few seconds to realize that Scoobie was working hard not to tear up.
Lester and I both stared at spots on the wall.
“Thanks, Lester,” he finally said.
“George said the same thing.”
“George ain’t got room,” Lester said.
“I been trying to get him off the dime for years.”
“Good luck with that.”
I stood up and picked up both plates. “You want that toast, Lester?”
“Nah.
Had a muffin at Joe’s place. He raised the damn prices this week.”
“Higher insurance rates, I bet.”
I put the plates in the sink and looked at Scoobie. “I cooked, you clean.”
“Ain’t that cozy?”
I was pretty sure it was an accident when Scoobie spilled his tea on Lester’s leg.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I HAD TO WAIT TWO days for an appointment with Annie Milner, so I made sure to arrive at the courthouse on time for our Monday meeting.
She ushered me into her office and gestured to a chair in front of her desk.
“Thanks, Annie.
I wanted to ask about Reuben Harris.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“I can’t discuss a specific case, Jolie.”
“It’s not really about the Peeping Tom or fire stuff.
It’s about him.”
“One and the same.”
“I know. I’m not doing this well. What I’m trying to ask is will his mental health come into play when he gets to court? He seemed more troubled than dangerous to me.”
She pulled a file toward her, clearly done with me.
“That’s because you didn’t live in the rooming house.”
I flushed.
“I know. It was just something he said. He told me Harvest for All should have get togethers for people without family. If he thought he had anyone in his life, maybe he wouldn’t have done…stuff.”
Annie studied me.
“It might be a good suggestion, Jolie, but he made his choices. And I really can’t discuss him.”
I left her going through a pile of work and thought about Reuben as I walked out of the courthouse.
There was speculation about whether he had started the three fires the fire marshal (and George) were still investigating.
It was definite that the rooming house fire started in Reuben’s apartment, but no one could say whether he set it deliberately.
Aunt Madge, who knows half the staff at the hospital, had heard that he would physically recover. However, he was not talking to anyone, and it was apparently because of deep depression more than stubbornness.
I climbed into my car with the Beatles’ song in my head.
“All the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?”
MY NEXT STOP WAS Mrs. Murphy. I hadn’t talked to her since the night Scoobie and I had told her about Peter’s arrest. In part I’d been busy, but mostly I didn’t know what to say. And maybe she was angry with me.
She has no reason to be angry with me. Or maybe she does. No. I’ve been trying to help her. Maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Stop arguing with yourself.
The assisted living place is open to all guests, assuming a resident wants them, and no one had ever stopped me as I came in.
Today was different.
The woman at the front desk was in her mid-forties and tall, maybe five-eight.
Her brown hair had a few streaks of white, and her very blue eyes bore into mine. “You should know that Mrs. Murphy has exhibited signs of decline the last two weeks. She hasn’t said not to let you in, but please don’t tire her.”
“Of course.
Is she, uh, sick?”
The woman hesitated and her eyes had more of a kind expression. “More like drained.
You know what she’s been going through.”
I thanked her and walked down the carpeted hallway to Mrs. Murphy’s small apartment.
I hesitated, and then gave a light knock and said, “It’s Jolie. May I come in?”
“Certainly.”
The usually brisk voice was light and tired.
The first thing I noticed was her hair.
Usually it was neatly styled with a bit of curl. Today it was straight and flat, which went with her overall affect.
I sat across from her.
“You’ve had a hard couple of weeks.”
“Yes, but at my age, you expect to have down days.”
“But you usually don’t look it.”
She looked amused.
“You came here to comment on my appearance?”
I almost stammered.
“No, of course not. I mostly wanted to see how you are, but I also wanted to talk about the things I found in the house.”
“The things Arman was so intent on getting,” she said, with bitterness.
“He seemed like such a nice man.”
I searched for words.
“He was devoted to Patricia.”
“He had a funny way of showing it.”
I kind of grunted. “I wasn’t too fond of it. But I do want to talk to you. You know there was a second bag, in the cedar closet.”
“The paper said that Betty Fowler was looking for it,” she said, dryly.
“That’s a concise way of putting it. Anyway, if you put both little sacks together, I bet it’s worth about twenty thousand dollars, maybe a lot more. No one has been able to identify any of it.”
Her smile was genuine.
“I’m happy for you.”
“For us.
I was thinking an eighty-twenty split, and…”
“Why would you do that?
After everything you’ve gone through, you’ve earned any money that comes from that jewelry.”
“Plus a bunch of really old silver dollars.
And it kind of feels like blood money. I wouldn’t keep any of it, but there are a couple of things I really need to do to the house.”
She looked at me and I detected a bit of the usual Mrs. Murphy returning.
“Going to buy a new porch swing?”
“Probably.
The kitchen counters are really old, and I think I’d like to enlarge the closet where I keep Pebbles’ litter box.”
She laughed, and then became serious again.
“I’d like to have something to contribute to Peter’s legal fees. How much is twenty percent?”
I was confused for a moment.
“I’m thinking eighty percent for you.”
“Out of the question.”
She looked kind of angry.
“It should have been half yours a long time ago.”
“So, fifty-fifty,” she said.
“Thirty-seventy,” I was starting to feel amused that I was bargaining to give away money.
“Forty-sixty, and that’s final.”
“Jeez.
You’re as bad as Aunt Madge when you try to out-stubborn me.”
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
AN OPEN HOUSE was a lot of work.
If I had known this I might have taken a bunch of people out for pizza.
“Yeah,” Scoobie said, “but then they wouldn’t see your house, which is kind of the point.
Didn’t you and Robby entertain?”
Nobody ever talks to me about my ex-husband.
Scoobie’s never met him, but he did see Robby with me on the boardwalk one night.
I flushed.
“Yes, but it was always catered.”
His eyes lit up.
“Watercress sandwiches? Baby quiche? Paté?”
“Shut up.
Chili, for football games, crab cakes for 4th of July.”
He was cutting up a couple of pounds of carrots and I had made a double order of brownies.
I’d forgotten the oil, and was trying to mix it into the two pans rather than pour the stuff back into the bowl.
“What’s your sister bringing?”
“You just think she cooks better.”
He nodded toward the brownies.
“She’s bringing a crab dip that gets served from a crock pot, and a bunch of kinds of crackers.”
“That sounds really good.
I hope she brings enough for leftovers.”
“I’ll try to hide a bit in the back of the fridge.”
I glanced at the clock. I had timed the brownies so that the smell would permeate the house as guests arrived.
The doorbell rang and I looked at the clock almost in a panic.
The door opened. Ramona called, “Jolie?”
George said, “Why in the hell did I buy you a security system?”
“You bought it?” Bill asked.
“Didn’t you read those articles?
He pretty much had to,” Jennifer said.
They trooped into the kitchen and placed various goodies on the counters and table.
I had told people not to bring anything, and had clearly been ignored. It was easily as much food as I was making. There would be lots of fun leftovers.
Jennifer looked at the room.
“It’s really cute. Now,” her tone was all business, “those little quiches can only be in the oven for twenty minutes, so we’ll have to time them carefully.”
Scoobie had a coughing fit.
I met George’s eyes and had a hard time reading his expression. I suppose if I’d been him and walked in on this scene of seeming domesticity it might be hard. I reminded myself that George and I usually brought in pizza, so seeing me in the kitchen would not be too familiar.
He grinned at me.
“Looks homey.”
Scoobie had stopped coughing, but more or less glared at George.
“I’m going to check out the skunk,” George said.
“Fitting,” I mumbled to myself.
Bill picked up one of Scoobie’s carrots and took a bite. “I gotta admit, Jolie, when you said you’d gotten a skunk for your cat I thought you were kidding.”
“No such luck.”
“Come here, Bill,” George called. “She’s in her spot under the bed.”
Within fifteen minutes we were all lounging in my small living room.
I’d never been ready early for any kind of party.
Ramona was demonstrating how to draw a hand and George and Bill seemed fascinated.
Especially since she was doing it on a paper plate. Scoobie was trying to convince Jennifer that it was possible that Pebbles still had some of her scent glands.
I looked around the room.
Eighteen months ago I’d been torn from my life in Lakewood and felt bereft of friends. I was also almost broke. I’d learned that the large sums of money I’d earned as a commercial realtor hadn’t bought any happiness, and that there could never be better friends than I had in Ocean Alley.
And maybe some friends would become even more special.
Scoobie and I locked eyes. He grinned, and I knew he knew exactly what I’d been thinking.
It could be an interesting summer.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Elaine L. Orr is the Amazon bestselling author of Trouble on the Doorstep, fifth in the Jolie Gentil cozy mystery series. She wrote plays and novellas for years and graduated to longer fiction. Biding Time, was one of five finalists in the National Press Club’s first fiction contest, in 1993. She is a regular attendee at conferences such as Muncie’s Midwest Writers Workshop and Magna Cum Murder, and conducts presentations on electronic publishing and other writing-related topics. Her nonfiction includes material on caring for aging parents and carefully researched local and family history books. Elaine grew up in Maryland and moved to the Midwest in 1994.
www.elaineorr.com
www.elaineorr.blogspot.com
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