Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 06 - Behind the Walls (6 page)

CHAPTER SIX

THE
NEXT FEW DAYS WERE a blur of activity and I tried to put the jewelry, the annoying Clive Dorner, the purse snatcher, and the so-called birthday party out of my mind. Scoobie and I finished painting the kitchen cabinets and two guys from the VA Outreach Center had put up dry wall in the living room-dining room combo a couple of days ago. I used the fact that I needed to pay them as an excuse to get my purse back. Morehouse said that there were no prints other than mine on it. I hadn’t really expected any to be there.

Ramona and Scoobie and I were going to paint the newly hung walls this evening.
Tomorrow afternoon, Sunday, I was moving in. Rather, friends and family were moving me in.

I was sitting in my car, eyes closed for a minute before I walked into the small store I was about to appraise.
We don’t often do appraisals on Saturday, but the owners said it worked better for them.

I was beat, and my arms felt as if they’d been lifting heavy boxes.
That would be tomorrow, so it was probably from reaching above my head to paint the top-level kitchen cabinets.

I got out of the car and studied the knick-knack and beachwear store more closely. Harry and I mostly do residential appraisals, but there are several small stores for sale around town.
Most have elderly owners who made post-hurricane repairs and don’t care to have to do it again.

The owners of this store had not formally listed it for sale yet.
They wanted to get a sense of its value before they set a price. Lester had suggested me. He usually tries to get people to list high, but I figured he didn’t have a clue what to suggest, because he would usually be afraid that Harry and I would suggest it was worth less than he wanted to list it for.

There was new plate glass in the window, as in many stores around town, and a fresh coat of paint. The store had some stock in it, but not much.
They probably lost most of it when the hurricane blew out the old windows.

I was about to open the door when a man’s voice called, “Jolie, Jolie!” in a very excited tone.

Max was walking hurriedly across the street. He used to be homeless but now has a very small cottage at the far end of town. It’s paid for with his VA benefits, since he had a fairly bad traumatic brain injury in Iraq. Physically he’s fine, but his judgment has become more like that of a teen instead of his thirty-ish years, and he talks rapidly, often repeating words.

“I’m helping tomorrow, helping,” he said.
“I saw Scoobie, and he said I could.”

“Thanks so much, Max.”
I was a bit worried that he might get hurt trying to lift things he shouldn’t. “We’re having subs for lunch.”

He pulled a wool scarf tighter around his neck and continued beaming at me. He was dressed oddly for an April day in the sixties—light windbreaker, but also the scarf and gloves.
“I’m happy to help, happy to help. Will you have something chocolate for snacks?” Before I could answer, he gave an abrupt wave and turned and walked toward Mr. Markle’s small, in-town grocery store.

I stared at his back for a second, and then put my hand on the door handle.

“Jolie, what a surprise.”
Clive Dorner walked toward me, cup of Java Jolt coffee in hand.

Great.
I let go of the door. “I see you’re imbibing.”

He laughed.
“It’s halfway warm. Join me for a walk on the boardwalk?”

“Can’t, thanks.
I have to do this appraisal,” I nodded to the store, “and then get it written up so it’s not on my mind for my move-in day tomorrow.”

He had stopped a few feet from me.
“Got her fixed up the way you want it?”

“It’s fine for now.
Over time I’ll do more.” I put my hand back on the door handle.

“Damn shame about your purse.”

I silently cursed George Winters. “I was really, really lucky. Somebody dumped it in a trash can.”

His eyebrows shot up.
“You are lucky. Did they take much?”

“Nothing of consequence.”
I didn’t want to get into an involved conversation. If I said nothing was taken he might ask me why I thought that to be the case and I’d have to listen to his ruminations. George’s theory had been that the thief thought someone saw him take it and wanted to dump it before he got caught.

“Guess I’ll let you get to it.”
He raised his coffee cup as if toasting me.

“Have a good afternoon.”
I took a deep breath as I opened the door. The only one in the store, Ocean Alley Swimwear and Gifts, was one of the two women who had bid against me at the auction. She seemed to be staring at Dorner as he walked away.

“Hello,” I said, in mild surprise.

She looked at me directly. “Ah. My bidding buddy. I’m Patricia, in case you don’t remember.” She was petite and dressed casually in denim capris and a lightweight knit top. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a pony tail that made her look about twenty instead of early thirties, which is what I thought when I met her at the auction. I decided my early estimate was probably correct.

“I’m Jolie.
I do remember, but thanks for the reminder.” I glanced around the small store.

She explained that she was a teacher’s aide in the winter and worked part-time in the summer, and that the owner had asked her to come down to let me in.
“We aren’t open in April.”

“Thanks for being here.”
I looked around the store some more.

“I think they want to refinance so they can make the store look more up-to-date before they open Memorial Day weekend.”

“They’re lucky they had some equity in the building.” My guess was that Patricia had been told this so she wouldn’t think the building would be sold. Or maybe refinancing was the owner’s intent and Lester was only hopeful he would get a listing. Not my business.

“I’m worried that if they find out it isn’t worth enough to get a loan that they’ll close.
I worked here every summer in high school and college. I used the money to pay for my band instruments, now I use the money for my kids’ soccer stuff.”

“I hope it works out.” I smiled as I pulled a tape measure and notebook from a canvas shoulder bag that holds stuff that won’t fit in my purse.

Patricia took items off shelves and dusted them as I measured.
I wanted to ask her if she had taken the drawer from my chest of drawers, but I couldn’t think of a way to do it. It didn’t seem likely that she would have done something as daring as steal the drawer with all those people around. In fact, with their easy bantering, the foursome seemed like people I’d like to get to know sometime.

It didn’t take long to take measurements of the main room and small storage area and half bath in the back.
I pulled my newly returned camera from my purse, hoping the photos would help me increase the appraised value. The store had been nicely decorated. I figured if it had sold last year it might have been worth a lot more than it would bring this year.

I aimed the camera toward the back of the store and pushed the shutter, but nothing happened.
No batteries? Then I realized that it would not have turned on if there were no batteries.

“Problems?”
Patricia asked.

“I hope not.”
I looked at the bottom of the camera, trying to find what to push to eject the data card. Maybe the police had put it in wrong when they were inspecting the camera.

The data card was gone.
If I’d been alone I would have cursed Sergeant Morehouse. Instead I looked at Patricia. “I just lent it to someone. They must have taken the card out and forgotten to put it back in.”

“You can use my phone camera.”
She reached for her purse on a shelf behind me.

I started to say that the quality would not be sufficient, but decided against it. If the photos were okay it would save me a trip back.
If not, I’d just have to return. “And you can email me the photos?”

“Easy as pie.”

I took several pictures and then wrote down my email address. I could take exterior pictures anytime. I put my tape measure in my purse and started to ask her something, but Patricia beat me to it.

“Are you enjoying the chest of drawers?” she asked.

“Getting ready to. My friends are moving me into my house tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s great. Where is it?”

“It’s a couple of blocks south of the popsicle district, on Bay Street.”

“That part of town is really changing,” Patricia said.

I nodded. “I think a lot of the older residents are leaving and there is more energy with the younger buyers. Present company excluded.”

She laughed.
“I’m always really wiped out when I have to move.”

“If you worked here in high school you probably haven’t moved too often.”

I married a guy I met in college and we moved to Texas for his job. The job lasted, but the marriage didn’t, so my kids and I moved back here.”

“Ouch.”
I got divorced not too long ago.”

“Kids?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“I was going to say I might see you on the soccer field.
Two of mine are in grade school and they live to play soccer.”

I moved toward the door.
“I’m sure I’ll see you around town.”

After a couple more pleasantries I walked to my car.
I liked Patricia. Maybe I’d see if she and her kids wanted to come to whatever the heck the birthday party was going to be. But first, I had to swing by the police station.

It was Saturday, so I didn’t really expect Sergeant Morehouse to be there.
It was too complicated to explain it all to someone else, so I left a brief note at the front desk asking him to call me when he figured out where my data card was. I wasn’t even snotty about it.

IT WAS FIFTY degrees and clear Sunday afternoon as we gathered at the Cozy Corner to collect my things. My sister Renée came down from Lakewood. I had told her there wasn’t that much to move, but she said she was here for support and fun, not work, and she brought a huge tin of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“How come you learned to cook and Jolie didn’t?” Scoobie asked.

“She didn’t like my mother standing over her shoulder,” my sister said, cheerfully.

“Damn, Jolie.
I thought you just got stubborn when you got older.”

“She was pretty stubborn in eleventh grade,” Bill Oliver said.
I stuck out my tongue at him.

Before I could say anything else, Aunt Madge produced a list of items she thought we were moving. “All of the furniture in Jolie’s bedroom goes, except for the chest of drawers,” she began.

“That rocker’s not mine,” I said.

“It is now.”
She smiled at me, and I blew her a kiss.

“There are a couple tubs of houseware-type stuff you put in the basement, and Harry and Lester drove out to your small storage locker to get lamps and a few boxes.
Up to you whether you go back later today to get your exercise bike and heavier boxes of books and all that.”

“Harry and Lester?”
I almost groaned. “Lester will talk his ear off.”

“And probably insult him about appraisal prices,” Ramona added.

“Lester wanted to help,” Aunt Madge said, “and Harry said now you owe him.”

I grinned at her.
Lester would help, and he would probably bug me about the appraisal I was working on of the small store.

It didn’t take long to load my possessions in the cargo van I’d rented and I told Aunt Madge I’d be back in a few hours to vacuum my old room.
Scoobie and Ramona rode in Bill’s car and Renée and I were in the cargo van.

“I bet you never thought you’d have your own place this soon,” she said.
Renée is several years older than I am, and she was my biggest supporter when my husband was arrested for embezzling from his bank. I haven’t seen her much the last eighteen months. At Christmas she told me she had been giving me space, but she expected to see more of me in the future.

“You’re right.
Sometimes I feel guilty that I got the money for helping to solve a murder. It kind of feels like blood money or something.”

She shook her head, firmly.
“You gave that guy’s parents peace of mind.”

And that conversation was the most peaceful moment of my day.

Scoobie had told Max to meet us at my house, and he was on the porch swing as Renée and I pulled in front of the bungalow. “Jolie, Jolie, I told your friend to come back later,” he said, as he literally ran up to the van.

“What friend?” I asked.

“Um, I don’t know.” He had seen Scoobie getting out of Bill Oliver’s car and headed in that direction.

Renée gave me a questioning look.

“Traumatic brain injury.
He loves chocolate.”

She picked the tin of cookies off the floor of the van and I ran up the steps to unlock the door to my house.
The condo Robby and I owned in Lakeview was elegant and worth many times what I’d paid for this storm-damaged little house. I knew I’d be much happier here.