Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 06 - Behind the Walls (4 page)

I had a lot of friends when I lived in
Lakewood, which is thirty miles or so inland. They were couples friends, mostly. I exchange Christmas cards with a few people from that life and send gifts if someone sends a baby announcement. Mostly people aren’t sure what to say. “Gee, Jolie, I see your divorce is final.” Or maybe, “That was a good picture of you sitting behind Robby when they did his probable cause hearing.”

“Jolie?”

“Yes?” I jolted back to the present.

“You just drove past the yoga studio,” Ramona said, gently.

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” I did a u-turn in the street.

“Is that legal?”

“Probably not.” I pulled in front of the studio, which has dance classes and yoga for women only, and pushed the car button that unlocks all the doors.

Ramona got out of the car, but before she shut the door she looked back at me.
“When you stop thinking about George you can move along.” She smiled and shut the door.

Although I had not been thinking about George at that precise minute, I was still annoyed that Ramona was probably right.

I PULLED INTO THE parking lot at Burger King and sat in the car for a minute while I went over my day.
It had to be a coincidence that we found the jewelry and then someone tried to take my purse.

I walked through the last couple of hours in my head.
Scoobie left, the annoying bargain-hunter called, and I left for Aunt Madge’s. Then I went to the Purple Cow.

Had someone been snooping in the yard and seen Scoobie and me find the jewelry?
Did they know I was rehabbing the house and perhaps been looking for it themselves? Surely if a prior owner or an heir thought I might find hidden valuables in the house they would have had an attorney contact me.

Unless it was stolen jewelry.
But that was ridiculous.

So, that put me back to being the target of a random robber.
If that was the case, why didn’t they steal at least the money in my wallet?

There was no obvious answer, so I walked into Burger King and stood studying the menu that was plastered on the wall behind the counter.

“Hey, Jolie! Got somebody who wants to meet you,” Lester called.

Nuts. I knew very well that Ramona’s Uncle Lester met most of his customers in Burger King. He reasons that there is better parking than near his miniscule second story office in a nearby building. Probably it’s also because his office is usually kind of messy. I should have realized he might be at a table here at dinner time.

The man with Lester was probably about forty and very good looking with wavy dark blonde hair and a square jaw. If you put a flannel shirt on him he could be a manly man advertising tools, but he had on a light brown shirt and a dark brown suede jacket over a pair of pressed blue jeans. Why does anybody iron blue jeans?

“How do you do?” I asked, and extended a hand. He took in my wind-tousled hair and yellow knit sweater under my hooded jacket.
I felt like I was being x-rayed.

“Ms. Gentil, how are you?”

I figured Lester must have told him how to pronounce my name. The man didn’t look like someone I knew, but his voice sounded familiar. “Fine, thanks.”

He gestured that I should join them, and I slid into the booth next to Lester and he sat across from us. “I’m Clive Dorner. We spoke on the phone earlier today.”

The guy who wanted hurricane bargains.
“Right. Glad to see you found Lester.” I tried to keep the disdain from my voice.

“Thanks for the referral, kid.”
Lester gave me an exaggerated wink. He’s almost a caricature of a low level mob guy—short, pushy, and always with a wise crack. Most of them don’t have a mole on the side of their face and, in all fairness, Lester does not seem to have an evil bone in his body. Lots of pushy ones, though.

“Have you found some property that suits your needs?”
I asked this kind of coolly, since his
need
seemed to be to take advantage of homeowners who could not afford the repairs Sandy required them to make.

“Lester showed me several, most of them in…what did you call it, Lester, the popsicle district?” he asked.

The popsicle district is the informal name for a large neighborhood of smaller houses. A few years ago someone painted theirs chartreuse. Since then, almost every repainting has been in a vivid color. My new house is on the edge of the district, closer to the main part of town.

“Yeah,” Lester said.
“I pointed out your place. You got a helluva deal.”

“Largely because of its condition,” I said, dryly.

“Those are the best bargains,” Clive said, and laughed.

Oh, good, he laughs at his own jokes.
I avoided looking at my watch. “It’s taken a lot of work, but with any luck I can move in in a week or so.”

“You were lucky,” Lester said. “Some houses that lost a piece a roof took in a lot more water.”

I nodded and directed my comment to Clive. “The biggest leak was above the kitchen sink, so a lot of the water went right down the drain.”

“I bet a place that age has had a lot of remodeling,” Clive said.

“It’s had enough that I didn’t have to do anything major before moving in. I replaced some wallboard, but it was mostly to be sure there wasn’t any mold lurking behind it.”

“Ocean Alley was lucky to be eighty miles north of where
Sandy came ashore,” Clive said.

“Jolie’s lucky she didn’t have a lot of mouse poop,” Lester said.
“It bein’ empty all winter.”

“Are you saying you sold me a house with mouse poop?”

Lester was, for once, silent.

“I’ve rehabbed a bunch of places,” Clive said.
“You never know what you’ll find behind old walls.

“I suppose that’s true.”
Was that comment a coincidence?

“You free this evening?” Clive asked, with a big smile.

Lester choked on his coffee.

“Thanks, but I have a date.”

Lester choked on the ice water he was using to wash down his coffee. I patted him on the back, and he squeezed out a few words. “Who ya datin’ now?”

“Nosy, aren’t we?” I stood.
I had just remembered that I didn’t have my purse, so I couldn’t have ordered anything without borrowing money. “Gotta go get prettied up.” I gave the two men my four-fingered wave and a smile.
Looks as if Aunt Madge and Harry get me for dinner after all.

CHAPTER FOUR

“WHY DID HE have to word it that way?” I fumed.

The Tuesday
Ocean Alley Press
said that a local appraiser had been accosted outside the Purple Cow, and described me as an inquisitive citizen who had helped local police solve a couple of recent crimes. George’s description of me was as good as drawing a map to the Cozy Corner.

I glanced further down the page and groaned. There would not normally be a photo with such a brief article but the Press had used the one of me holding the large underpants.
The caption said, “Ms. Gentil at a recent auction.”

“They named me in the caption,” I grumbled.

“You don’t look accosted,” Aunt Madge said. “And it’s obvious those aren’t your bloomers.”

She pretended to be serious, but I saw her smirk.

We were sitting in her kitchen, waiting for the two B&B guests to finish eating in the guest breakfast area on the other side of the swinging door that separates her living area from the guests’ breakfast room. It’s my favorite time of day to be with Aunt Madge.

“He couldn’t have said it was a simple purse snatching?”

“You know they write things that sell papers, right?” Aunt Madge asked.

“Gee, you think?”

The sliding glass door opened and Harry walked in with the dogs, who were on leashes. Aunt Madge is very happy that she married Harry, but Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy are ecstatic. Harry takes them for walks every morning and evening.

My cat, Jazz, got off my foot, her seat of choice when I’m at the kitchen table, and walked over to give the dogs a good sniff.

“Morning, Jolie,” Harry said.
He blew a kiss to Aunt Madge.

“Hello, boss,” I grinned at him.
“I’m getting ready to go appraise that house at J and Conch.”

“Looked for comps yet?” he asked.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined us at the table.

“Checked to see if any recent sales looked similar, but I’ll do the real work after I go to the house.”
It was going to be tough. There have not been a lot of sales since the hurricane, and housing values have really fluctuated since last October. Some people think the shore may be susceptible to more big storms, and that drives prices down. On the other hand, there’s a housing shortage south of us, so that has driven prices up in some areas.

“I see George is picking on you again,” Harry said, nodding at the paper, which he had likely read before his walk.

“He’ll get his. Hey, can I borrow a digital camera from one of you for today? Mine was in my purse and Morehouse still has it.”

While Harry got his camera from the top drawer of an antique washstand in the hallway outside their bedroom, I walked toward the dogs.
They were still panting lightly on their rug by the sliding glass doors, and each gave me a tail thump. I stooped to get Jazz. She deftly ran around Mr. Rogers and sat, very purposefully, at his side.

Aunt Madge laughed.
“Remember when she wouldn’t even get on the floor because she was afraid of them?”

“Yep. And then she terrorized him by jumping on his back for a ride all the time.”
I stared at Jazz and she twitched her tail and looked away.

“I’ll take her up to your room in a minute, Jolie,” Harry said.
“You can get going.”

As I opened my car door I thought that the hardest part of my move might be dislodging Jazz.

I FINISHED VISITING
AND MEASURING the house at Conch and J and took pictures with Harry’s camera. The house was in pristine condition, and I hoped that documenting its condition really well would help me appraise it at something close to the agreed-upon selling price.

Before going to the office to enter information into the appraisal software I stopped by my little house.
Yesterday evening I had carefully closed and locked every window and door, but today I wanted some windows open. The paint I was using was supposed to be mildew resistant, and had a more pungent smell than regular interior latex paint. I wanted the smell of paint from the bedrooms out of the house.

I opened the door and stared with satisfaction at the living room-dining room combination area that led into the kitchen, which was not large but was fine for one person.
The bath was behind the kitchen and there was a bedroom on each side of the bathroom. A small hallway connected them. By tomorrow night the two guys I hired from the veterans outreach center would have the drywall hung in part of the living room and it would be ready to paint.

The kitchen window that looked out on my back porch stuck a bit, and I had just gotten it open when there was a knock at the front door.
Skittish after my encounter with the purse snatcher, I looked through the living room window to the small front porch. Auctioneer Norman Fitzgerald stood there with a cardboard box in his hand.

I opened the door, my surprise likely registering on my face.
“Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Good day, Jolie.
Your aunt told me I might find you here.” He wore a huge smile.

“Aunt Madge knows all.
Please come in.” He walked in and I gestured to one of the canvas camp chairs.

“Oh, I’m not staying.
Well, maybe for a minute. I thought you’d like this.” He handed the box to me and moved to a canvas chair and sat down, very slowly.

I took it and peered in.
“My drawer! Where did you get this?”

“It’s the strangest thing.
When I got in my van this morning it was on the front seat. Don’t lock the van.”

I took the drawer from the box and studied it.
It fit only half of the top of the chest of drawers, and there was another drawer in the other half. Each drawer was only about eight or nine inches wide. I turned it over and then looked again at Mr. Fitzgerald. “Who would put it there? Heck, why would anyone take it?”

He was looking around the room.
“I haven’t been in this house for, oh, at least thirty years. A cousin of my mother’s owned it then.”

“Except for the addition of the screened-in porch in the very back, it’s probably much the same.
Would you like to look around?”

“No thanks.
Well, maybe.” He looked around the room for almost twenty seconds, taking in the bare studs that comprised three of the four walls and the wallboard stacked against the studs. “Looks better without the starfish wallpaper.”

“I’ve been scraping that wall for days.
The starfish paper was two wallpapers deep.”

“Heavens to Betsy.
You’re a hard worker.” He smiled.

“Yep.
I wanted to leave one original wall, and that wall would have been harder to take down since it’s plaster. Kind of silly, I guess.”

“Not at all.
People don’t appreciate older things anymore, always buying new furniture or taking out perfectly good windows.” He looked around again, and then back at me. “I felt right bad about someone taking your drawer. Guess it was some kind of joke or something.”

I thought about Tiffany from the
Ocean Alley Press
. Not even George would encourage that kind of a joke from another reporter. “Don’t know, and don’t care. I’m just thrilled to have it back. Come on, I’ll give you a quick tour.”

“If I’m not holding you up,” he said, standing.

“You’re not. It’s not a big house, so it’s always a quick tour.” I grinned at him.

He nodded.
“Gotcha. Gee, I’d forgotten that this kitchen would be big enough for a small table.”

We moved from there to the bedroom I planned to sleep in.
“I love the closet. Somebody paneled it with cedar, so it smells great.”

He peered in.
“I think my mother’s cousin did that right before she died. She said it made her clothes smell right good.” He ran his hand over one closet wall. “Nice tight fit. If you sand the cedar lightly now and then it increases the scent.”

“Right.”
I wanted to ask him if his cousin had died in this room, then decided I really didn’t want to know. Instead, I asked, “Was your mom’s cousin well-to-do?”

“Not so’s you’d think.
She was like a lot of people who grew up during the Depression. She was a good saver.”

So, maybe she got a little paranoid when she got older and hid her jewelry.

I debated asking Mr. Fitzgerald if the woman’s heirs thought that any of her valuables were missing, and decided not to. “From going through my papers at settlement, I think her name was Bridler, right?”

“Naomi Bridler.”
He walked into the bathroom. “Gee, must have been Mrs. Peebles modernized this bathroom,” he said.

“I’m not sure.
I like having the storage space under the sink. And the lighting’s good for makeup.”

“You girls…well, I should probably let you get back to work,” he said, and moved toward the front door.
“Maybe you’ll let me come back when you get all your redecorating done.”

This struck me as the comment of a very lonely man.
“Of course. If I ever get up the energy I’m going to have an open house.”

With a wink and verbal goodbye, Mr. Fitzgerald left and I walked to the chest, which was covered with a plastic table cloth to keep it free of dust.
I took off the tablecloth and shoved the drawer in place. Oddly, it didn’t stick this time.

AFTER I FINISHED THE data entry for the house I had just visited, I left Harry’s home office and headed to Java Jolt. The local coffee house is still in temporary quarters on D Street, and there is very little space. Joe Regan expects to move back to his boardwalk location any day.

“Morning, Joe.
You getting ready to pack?”

“Yep.
Thinking about a packing party. You want to come?”

From the usually somber Joe this comment bordered on hilarity.
He knows what a klutz I can be. “Sure. You know when?”

“Next couple days.”
He grinned. “Nice undies, by the way.”

“George is working on a first class ticket to hell.” I studied the list of drinks. It was warmer today and I wanted something cold.

“You like chocolate. I have a new chocolate chip frozen coffee drink.”

“It’s on me,” said a man’s voice.
Clive Dorner was sitting at a table in the back of the small shop. I hadn’t noticed him. With him was a woman not too much older than I am, who looked somewhat familiar.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
I said this pleasantly enough, considering that I thought of the guy as a bottom feeder, and turned back to Joe.

“Suit yourself.”
Dorner said this quite cheerfully. “How about joining us? I’m trying to talk Fiona here into investing in a house with me.”

“I’m meeting my friend, uh, Scoobie here in a couple of minutes.”
Scoobie and I do meet here at this time some days, but I had no idea if he would stop by today. I glanced at Joe, who was being studiously disinterested.

I turned to face Dorner and then looked more closely at the woman. “Oh.
We met at the auction, didn’t we?” I hadn’t paid a lot of attention to her then. Now I took in not only her auburn hair but her high cheekbones and bright green eyes. She could be an ad promoting Irish tourism.

“Yes, Fiona Henderson.
You outbid me.” She gave a tight smile.

It might have been my imagination, but Fiona did not look any happier to be with Clive Dorner than I was to run into him.

Clive was getting to his feet, and I noted his coffee cup was empty. “Are you still looking around with Lester?” I asked.

“Found a couple of places.
Trying to consider which would net the most profit in a couple of years.”

Fiona frowned slightly as she got up to leave.
She pulled a dollar bill from her wallet and left it on the table as a tip.

Dorner looked at me steadily, and I realized that one reason he annoyed me was that he seemed to be one of those people who knew he was good looking and used it to push people to get his way.

“We got off on the wrong foot,” he said, with a wide smile. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

“We’re good,” I said, in a casual tone.

“We may be, but you think I’m here to take advantage of people by paying less for their houses than someone else might.” He grinned and Fiona flushed, the color of her face now almost matching her hair.

As if he knows what I think
. “It’s not just that you do it, it’s that you’re so proud to do it.”

He threw back his head and laughed.
“I like you, Jolie. You’ve got ba…spunk.”

“I do.” I picked up a couple of napkins to take to my table.

“Okay, I’ll head out. But if you need any advice on fixing up that little house you bought, I’m your man. I’ve bought a lot of fixer-uppers.”

Dorner set his empty mug on the counter.
As he did, a well dressed woman of about forty came in. I’d met her briefly when I dropped my Steele Appraisals business cards at real estate offices around town. With her reddish blonde hair and tailored tan pantsuit, Betty Fowler looked all business. And she was delighted to see Clive Dorner.