Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives (10 page)

I knew he wasn’t mad that I didn’t get his poem, but I figured he wished I did.
I looked over toward Joe, whose eyes had followed Scoobie out the door. He glanced at me and half shrugged. “You’re the one who likes him so much. And you don’t get him.”

Whenever Joe talked about Scoobie it made me want to defend him.
“He’s just…” I was going to say something lofty, like that he was deeper or smarter than me, but Joe interjected.

“Different.”
He grinned again. “You’re good for him. Used to be he’d come buy coffee and just sit outside. Now he actually socializes.”

As Joe went back to arranging a stack of mugs on the tall table that was the self-serve area for the winter crowd I turned back to my own coffee.
I was sorry I had not kept in touch with Scoobie. He’d made me laugh a lot during a tough time in my life, and I forgot about him almost as soon as my parents finished ‘working things out’ and I returned to my cozy life in Lakewood. I stopped as I stood to collect my purse and put on my coat. I didn’t even know where Scoobie had gone after high school.
What kind of friend are you?

AUNT MADGE WAS NOT PLEASED that I had visited Mary Doris Milner and assumed I was taking the photo album to the nursing home for my benefit and not Mary Doris’.
She was right, to a point. “At first I went because I wanted to know what she knows. Now, I like her.”

Aunt Madge turned from the fridge, where she was placing leftover muffins from the morning’s breakfast.
“So what if you do? Those pictures might upset her. She’s old.”

“Actually,” I chose my words carefully, “She reminds me of you.
She’s, uh, spunky.”

“I hate that word,” Aunt Madge snapped, closing the fridge harder than usual.
“You wouldn’t call a career woman
spunky
.”

My eyes actually widened.
She almost never snapped at me. “I meant it as a compliment. You’ve both lost men you loved and you didn’t let it stop you.”

Perhaps sensing he should put in his two cents, Mr. Rogers chose that moment to sit up from his prone position and give a huge stretch, complete with a high-pitched sort of mutter.

“See,” I seized the diversion, “He agrees.”

She looked from me to Mr. Rogers and back to me, her expression softening somewhat.
“I just don’t want her hurt again. She had a lonely life, despite all those kids she taught.”

I started to say Mary Doris had her niece, but changed my mind.
“Why don’t you come to the nursing home with me?”

She shook her head.
“I’m having lunch with Harry.” She bent to pat Miss Piggy on the head. The two dogs had come up to her expectantly, as if assuming her attention meant they were getting a treat.

“Why?”

“Why do you have coffee with Scoobie?” she asked, as she turned to get the plastic bowl of treats from the cupboard.

“He’s my friend…” I began.

She turned and pointed a finger at me. “Bingo.”

I WAS HAVING INTERESTING conversations with people, but I wasn’t making money doing appraisals and I didn’t know much more about Richard Tillotson than I had guessed before I met Mary Doris.
As I drove toward her nursing home I went a block out of my way so I could look at the ocean. The wind was fairly steady at about twenty miles per hour, and I wanted to see the whitecaps. The ocean looks so much darker on a cool, half-cloudy day and the tips of the waves stand out even more. I like that.

Some parts of the boardwalk are a few steps up off the street, but as it swings north
west it’s lower, so you get a clear look of the ocean from your car. No one was walking on that stretch of beach today, too cool and windy. I turned left and drove the block to the senior home and snagged a space near the front door. I was glad; my tailbone was a bit better, but the photo album was heavy.

It wasn’t until I was halfway down the corridor that led to Mary Doris’ room that I saw a man in a suit talking to a nurse, and as her eyes met mine she raised a hand and pointed toward me.
The man looked, too, and I didn’t think Sgt. Morehouse looked at all glad to see me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” he asked, sharply.

I nodded toward her room, “Visiting Mary Doris Milner.”

Morehouse and the nurse exchanged looks and he said, more quietly, “I’m sorry to tell you she died early this morning.”

I can’t say I was 100 percent surprised.
She was old, but she didn’t look sick.
And I probably did upset her
. I tried to hide my consternation by saying, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He looked at me intently.

“So what are you doing here?”
I asked.

Morehouse gave me one of his I-wish-I-never-met-you looks.
“It was not expected.” He turned to the nurse, “Thanks for your time. Jolie and I are just leaving.”

There was no reason for me to stay.
I wasn’t family, so no one would discuss anything with me. I turned slowly and walked behind Morehouse, whose brisk pace was too much for my derriere. As if remembering my injury, he turned and slowed. “Want me to carry that?”

“That would be great.
I’d been looking forward to setting it down.” We exchanged the photo album and walked out side by side. When we got to the foyer he asked me to come down to his office, and I agreed. The C3PO character from
Star Wars
flashed into my mind and I could hear him say, “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

I followed Morehouse’s
older Ford through town to the police station and he waited for me at the door, opening it for me.
He must really want something, to be this nice.

When we were settled in his office, I on my donut across from his desk, he asked, “Why were you visiting her last night?”

Pointing to the photo album on his desk, I relayed how we had found it in the attic and Aunt Madge had identified Mary Doris in the photos. “I thought she might like to see the album, but I didn’t know what her health was, so I stopped by to visit first. We talked, and…”

“About what?”

I stared at him, uncertain how much of her lost love life Mary Doris would want spread all over town. “She had a lot of fond memories of Richard Tillotson. She said she would love to see the albums.”

He wagged a finger at me across the desk.
“I’m not going to go so far as to say I know how your mind works, but I do know you can’t leave stuff alone. Why did you go there?”

His look was so intense I smiled.
“Not to injure her in any way.” Seeing that he was about to scold me more, I added, “Yes, I did wonder if she could shed any light on Richard. You don’t dance with a skeleton, fall down a ladder and forget about it.” I shrugged. “She was nice. I told her I know her niece, Annie, and I think that made her comfortable talking to me.”

“Did you talk about Richard Tillotson and Peter Fisher?” he asked, almost accusingly.

“A bit. She didn’t like him, Peter I mean.” I nodded slightly, remembering. “She said Richard locked him in the storage closet that was hidden behind a mirror, where they stored the bootlegged whiskey.”

As Morehouse flipped open a small notebook and reached for a pen, I asked, “Why does this matter, anyway?”

“We got the DNA results just yesterday afternoon. That was Richard Tillotson you found in the attic. Now…”

“What difference does it make?
And how did you get the results so fast? I thought you told me not to bug you for ages about it.”

Morehouse hesitated,
and then said, “Since I know you won’t blab to your reporter friend…”

I made a face and he ignored it.

“I’ll tell you the results were very much expedited because Mary Doris Milner paid for the cost of a private lab to do the analysis.” He seemed to enjoy the look of surprise on my face.

Though I could see why she would want to know, I was surprised the police would accept the results of a private lab, and said so.

He shrugged.
“It’s not really a case. We aren’t likely to be able to show he was murdered. His skull has a crack, but that could have happened before or after he died.” He held up a hand, as if expecting me to ask if Richard walked into the wardrobe, “and if he was, anyone who did it died many years ago.”

I could feel my temper creeping to the surface.
“So, it matters to me, but not to you?”

He leaned back in his chair, annoyed with me.
“I didn’t say that. But it’s not a solvable crime with someone to punish. There’s nothing to investigate, and you know it.”

I nodded slowly.
“I get that. But, you’re talking to me now because you want something. Usually what you want is for me not to bug you.”

He actually smiled, but it faded before he spoke.
“Mary Doris Milner did not have an easy death. She became very ill, vomited so profusely that she was dead before the ambulance arrived. That would seem…unusual for someone who appeared to be in what for her was very good health earlier in the evening.”

“Poor woman.”
I could feel myself tearing up and took a breath. “She was really looking forward to seeing those pictures. She only had one of her and Richard, and there are lots in there.” I nodded toward the album.

He opened the cover, and I told him to go to the page I had marked with a tissue.
For almost a minute he turned the several pages that had the couple’s photos, then closed the album and shoved it across the table, almost in frustration. “Can’t imagine these pictures having anything to do with her death.”

“What did Annie say?” I asked, realizing I should have thought of her earlier.
“She was on her way in last night as I was leaving. Did she think Mary Doris looked sick?”

“Haven’t talked to her yet.
She’s over at the funeral home.”

“When I talked to Mary Doris she mentioned Richard still had a sister living.
Sophie, I think her name is. She lives in Cape May. They hadn’t been in touch for years, but she came to visit after, you know, the skeleton.”

He wrote the name in his notebook, and was irritated that I couldn’t give him a last name for Sophie.
“Maybe,” I said, “she got married here. Her name will be in the courthouse marriage license files.”

“Annie will likely know.”
He strummed his fingers on the desk, and then said, “You can go.”

As I rose and reached for the album I winced.
Straightening, I said, “Tell Annie she can call me if she wants to.” I was halfway out the door when he reminded me to take my donut.

I HAD SCHEDULED a meeting of food pantry volunteers at
4:30 and even though I felt very out of sorts over Mary Doris’ death I had no reason to cancel it. I got there a few minutes early and stopped by Reverend Jamison’s small office, hoping against hope that he would say someone had volunteered to take the lead at the pantry. He was putting on his coat as I entered.

“You aren’t coming?”

He smiled, perhaps hearing the desperation in my voice. “If I go everyone in the room will look to me. They need to see you in charge.” He handed me keys to the side door of the church that led through the community room to the pantry. “Don’t label these, ok? If you were to get your purse stolen I don’t want someone to know what the key goes to.”

I figured that was all the advice he was good for today, so I murmured goodbye and walked toward the small conference room near the community room.
I could hear muffled voices, which obviously meant at least a couple of people had showed up. I had invited Scoobie, since he had gotten food there and I planned to rope him into helping me. Aunt Madge said she would come to the first meeting, since she was the member of First Prez, not me. “I’ll introduce you and get a feel for who’s there so I can let you know which ones will really do what they say,” she had told me that morning.

When I walked in conversation stopped.
I didn’t recognize anyone, but held my hand out to a short man who was standing by the door. “I’m Jolie Gentil,” I said, emphasizing the soft J and G and not pronouncing the L at the end of my last name. Always good to get people to pronounce my name right.

“
Doctor Welby. I’m a church member and retired physician.” In response to the smile he saw about to crease my face he added, “And I’ve heard every joke about the TV show, so don’t go there.”

“Promise,” I said, thinking he even looked a bit like the fictional Dr. Marcus Welby.

Dr. Welby seemed to think he was in charge of introductions, which was fine with me. “Lance Wilson, he’s a deacon and he’s been treasurer of the Food Pantry Committee for many years.”

Lance looked to be close to ninety, which made him a good twenty or so years older than Doctor Welby. Lance had light brown hair with only a few strands of grey. He had a gray cardigan that looked as if he wore it a lot.

“Monica Martin.
She’s pretty good about badgering Mr. Markle at the grocery store about donations.” Monica’s handshake was soft, and nothing about her buttoned navy blue blazer or round face gave the impression of an ability to badger.

“Sylvia Parrett.
She’s our newest recruit, started last year.” Sylvia’s ramrod straight posture barely bent as she reached across the small table to shake hands. Her silver grey hair was in a severe bun, which made me think she was either a retired teacher or had been a drill instructor.

“And last but not least, Aretha Brown.
She’s great about rounding up a crew when we need extra volunteers around the holidays.”

Aretha’s broad smile in her dark brown face was friendly, and she was the only one to speak.
“You’re younger than my daughter. It’s about time we had some young blood on the committee.”

I could like her.
“Thanks. I’m going to try to learn a lot fast.” She wasn’t so old herself, maybe fifty-five.

As we were taking our seats there was a bang as the door to the outside shut with the wind, and Scoobie’s voice drifted down the hall.
“I bet they’re only just starting.”

I recognized the brisk footsteps as Aunt Madge’s.
She hates to be late, so I figured she must have picked up Scoobie and been sidetracked somehow. The two of them entered the room, faces pink with cold, and there were calls of “Hi, Madge,” and a couple of nods to Scoobie.

“Sorry to be late,” Aunt Madge said as she sat and shrugged her coat off her shoulders.
“We ran into Elmira at the library and she wouldn’t let us go.” She nodded at the others. “In part, she wanted to make it clear she was not going to serve on the Food Pantry Committee any more.”

“Praise the Lord!” Aretha slapped her hand over her mouth in the second that followed, then removed it and smiled, half sheepishly.
“Sorry, my Southern Baptist ways lead to loud praise.”

No one said anything, but there were polite nods and Lance Wilson almost cracked a smile.
I figured Elmira’s gossiping ways had probably made everyone wary of talking too much when she was in the room.

Dr. Welby spoke as he moved his chair to make room for Scoobie who was pulling up one of the chairs that sat around the wall.
“I assume she heard about Mary Doris Milner.”

There was a small chorus of “what-do-you-means” and “what-about-Mary-Doris?”
The only one besides Dr. Welby who didn’t seem surprised was Lance Wilson.

“She died during the night.” Aunt Madge said simply.

Scoobie caught my eye and added, “Elmira wants to know why the county medical examiner took the body when Mrs. Milner had been ill for a long time.”

I listened to the expressions of sympathy for Annie Milner and a couple
of comments about what a good teacher Mary Doris had been. I would have let the conversation go on longer, but it didn’t seem they were going to talk about anything I didn’t know, and I was determined that this meeting would end in less than an hour. When there was a two-second lag in the talk, I sauntered into the conversation. “Annie will have some free time now that she is not visiting her aunt, maybe we can invite her to help.”

The term “silence i
s deafening” took on new meaning for me. “I meant,” I almost stammered,” she might like to have something to do.”

Their expressions softened a bit, and I continued.
“Reverend Jamison mentioned one reason he asked me to take the lead was that he thought I would continue to meet new people through my work as an appraiser, and…”

“Did he say none of us was willing to do it?” asked Dr. Welby?

My sense was he saw himself as the leader of this group, or at least a person of influence. “No. Did you, uh, want to be in charge?”

He shook his head firmly.
“We’re all booked pretty tight. As soon as you retire everyone from the Chamber of Commerce to the Lions Club to the animal shelter asks you to volunteer.”

“Yeah, but Rev Jamison is the most persuasive,” Scoobie said with a grin.

“I’ll say.” My tone was glum.

Aunt Madge shot me a look.

I continued. “Ok, I went through notes of some meetings to get a sense of how things work. But, that doesn’t tell me the nitty gritty. I wonder if each of you could tell me something about what you do, and then maybe we can go around the room a second time and you can tell me what you think needs to change.”