Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives (18 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WHEN I STOPPED AT THE library the next day to get Scoobie Daphne beamed at me. She pointed to a large mason jar on the counter, then raised it so I could see it had a lot of pieces of paper in it. For a second or two I didn’t get it. Then it hit me. “The food pantry naming contest!” I said. “People really gave us names?

Daphne laughed.
“It was on the radio last week. That DJ who was a couple or years behind us in school.” I gave her a blank stare. “Right, you were only there one year. I think he calls himself The Hot Nuts Man.”

“Jeez,” I said, as Daphne dumped the suggestions on the counter.
“Hey,” I looked around. “Where’s Scoobie?”

“Not sure,” she said, preoccupied with the proposed names.
She spread them out.

Food for Thought

The Lord’s Pantry

Nuggets for Nourishment

Helping Hands (and Feet)

Ocean Alley Food Cupboard

What the Lord Doesn’t Provide, We Do

Sharing the Harvest

“You can bet names like some of these aren’t going to be in the submissions from the different churches.” I said.

I separated them into two groups and glanced at Daphne.
“Yep,” she nodded. “Those would be Scoobie’s.” We had agreed that Scoobie’s were: Nuggets for Nourishment, Helping Hands (and Feet), and What the Lord Doesn’t Provide, We Do.

The door opened and Scoobie strode in, face pink from the cold.
He had a Christmas wreath on one arm and a grin on his face. “Heard these came in at the hardware store. They run out fast.” He took a deep sniff of the pine and said, “Better than a lot of stuff I’ve sniffed.”

“Scoobie!”
Daphne said in a whisper.

Undaunted, he looked at me.
“Thought Aunt Madge might like this.”

“She will.”
I nodded towards our small pile of name suggestions as I picked them up and stowed them in a side pocket of my purse. “We were guessing which ones were yours.”

“My personal favorite is Nuggets for Nourishment,” he said, placing the wreath on the counter as he took off his gloves.

“Don’t get comfortable,” I said. “I want you to help me with something.”

With an exaggerated sigh he looked to Daphne.
“No rest for the weary.”

“You taking your stuff?” she asked, with a nod towards Scoobie’s favorite table, which had his knapsack and a couple of pens.

“Am I?” he asked me.

“Why don’t you?
If we get done early you can always come back.”

When we were settled in the car, he asked, “Are we getting Ramona?”

“She couldn’t take off today. And why did you assume we were going back to the attic?” I asked.

He rubbed a gloved hand over the passenger side window so I could see out the side mirror.
“Because you’re not so good at asking for help, and that’s the only thing you’ve asked me to help you with.”

“Very observant.
But,” I turned the defroster on a higher setting, “I want you to look at something first.”

“Etchings?” he asked.

That almost gave me a physical start. Scoobie and I had become best buds again, but I didn’t see us as a couple. “Nope. We’re snooping.”

“I would expect nothing less.”
As we drove the short distance I looked at the grey sky. It was not supposed to snow, but the clouds looked as if they had a different idea.

We pulled up in front of the old Bakery at the Shore
. While we looked at it from the warmth of the car I told Scoobie I had done the appraisal and seen the old closet on an early drawing, and thought it was now covered over with wallpaper. “And Mary Doris told me once that Richard locked Peter Fisher in a closet,” I finished.

He shrugged.
“What difference does it make?”

“Maybe it was big enough to store a body,” I said.

“I don’t think you could have enough lime to keep the smell down.” He peered through the foggy window. “And I don’t think the rotting body smell could be covered over by baking cookies either.”

“Maybe not, but somebody knew where Richard’s corpse was and brought it into that attic a long time after he died.”

“True,” he said. “But if you would accept that you will never know who did that there would be more serenity it your life.

I nodded, knowing he was referring to the Serenity Prayer – “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

“Most of the time I don’t feel very serene,” I said.

He glanced at me and turned to stare at the storefront again.
“I know. It takes work.”

I started the car.
“OK, let’s see if anyone else broke in at the Fisher house.”

AN HOUR LATER I WISHED someone had gotten into the attic and removed all its contents.
I had climbed up to the attic for the second time since falling out of it and had been sitting on a small wooden rocker whose caned seat was half shredded. I had to continually rebalance my tailbone on the foam donut to keep from falling through to the floor. However, we were getting close to having a list of all the attic’s items. Several times I had been tempted to tell Scoobie Mary Doris’ secret, but I held my tongue.

“Look at this,” Scoobie said, staring at a small framed photo.
He had taken it from the last trunk we were going through, which contained a hodge podge of metal kitchen utensils, a bunch of bronzed children’s shoes, and a couple of table clothes that were so rotted they literally fell apart in Scoobie’s hands. He had quickly tossed them on the floor. The photo, however, held his attention.

“This kind of looks like some of those pictures of Mary Doris from the old albums.”
He walked across the room and showed me the picture, which was a headshot of a woman and small boy, taken by someone standing above them, as if the woman had been kneeling next to the child. Mary Doris was smiling slightly and the little boy had the wide grin of a child who had just been told to smile for the camera.
Mary Doris and Brian?

“Could be.”
I stared at the photo some more and looked up at Scoobie, unsure what to say.

“Cute kid,” was all he said, and headed down the ladder to get a plastic garbage bag from my trunk.
Without saying anything about it we had known the old tablecloths were not going on the inventory.

I breathed more easily.
The photo meant something to me, but would have no meaning for Scoobie, so I didn’t need to worry about lying either directly or by omission. Did this mean Mary Doris had introduced Brian as her son, quietly perhaps? If some of the Tillotsons or Fishers didn’t want to acknowledge Mary Doris’ and Richard’s child, why even keep the photo? “Ridiculous,” I said aloud. “You’ll never know.” Somehow, I still did not feel more serene.

SCOOBIE AGAIN STAYED for what Aunt Madge called a light supper, and she had cajoled him to help her find the chipmunks, which she thought were in the coat closet in the entry hallway.
“Every time I let them out of the kitchen, Jazz and the dogs sit by the closet door.”

Mostly the dogs stay in her downstairs living area.
They are not supposed to go to any areas the guests use, but occasionally they follow Aunt Madge to the front door when she checks on the mail. As a cat, Jazz goes wherever she wants.

Despite his assurance that he was happy to “catch the little buggers,” Scoobie did not look too eager to find them.
Aunt Madge gave him a pair of her gardening gloves, and I was trying not to laugh as Scoobie stood with pink-gloved hands on his hips as he methodically looked at the closet floor. He knelt down to sort through the boots, umbrellas and other items that were as neatly arranged as the items on Aunt Madge’s pantry shelves.

Aunt Madge walked back into the hallway carrying a very small pet carrier.
“You’re going to keep them as pets?” I almost shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.
Harry will take them.” She looked at me as if she thought her thought process should be obvious. “The dogs brought them in before the ground was so frozen. I don’t want to let them out in this yard when it’s so cold. They couldn’t make a winter nest now.”

“Tell Harry to charge rent,” Scoobie said, as he gingerly removed a couple of umbrellas.

“We’re going to let them out under his porch.
It’s got lattice work on the sides so nothing can get them again, and the ground close to his house isn’t frozen.” She stooped and opened the door to the tiny cage as she set it on the floor.

I stared at her.
“They don’t just burrow in the leaves, you know. They chew wood and stuff.”

She shrugged.
“Harry says they may not live through the winter, but at least they’ll have a chance.”

“Holy shit!”
Scoobie had just picked up a boot and a chipmunk hopped on his hand, jumped on the floor and scurried back under the hall washstand. “Damn those little jerks are fast.”

All three of our gazes shifted to the floor by the washstand where there had been brief chipmunk chatter from what
sounded like two of them, and was now quiet. Aunt Madge spoke first. “Thank you Adam, now I know where they both are.”

Scoobie was still on his knees, staring up at us.
“You want me to move the washstand?”

She shook her head.
“They’re too fast. I thought they’d be easier to corner in the closet. If I put a couple of sunflower seeds under the washstand they’ll stay put.” She picked up the pet carrier and walked through the swinging door into the kitchen.

I stared down at Scoobie and he grinned.
“I bet they’d be good in soup.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NO MATTER HOW HARD I tried not to think about it, I was mulling over a plan. I say tried not to think of it because it involved criminal activity – breaking into what would soon be Annie’s campaign headquarters. I figured it couldn’t be that hard to locate a closet. If Annie hadn’t stopped by when I was doing the appraisal I could have looked harder. My guess was that the door was behind the wallpaper and that was why Annie had not taken it down from the wall near the kitchen door.
Though if she knew it was there, so what?”

In the warmth of Aunt Madge’s great room
I looked at the small ledger in my lap and wondered what someone had wanted with the ones stolen from the old trunk. The one I had most recently looked at was dated June 2, 1929 – January 4, 1930. I had selected it because it had entries just before and after Richard’s disappearance. The entries up to October 4, 1929 were mostly in what I assumed was his writing – at least it was not Peter Fisher’s precise lettering. After October 4, all the writing was Peter’s. Looking more closely I realized that the erasures and write overs stopped after Richard quit making the entries. Either Peter’s math skills were better or Richard had been altering the entries so he could take some money from the till.

It looked as if Peter Fisher suspected that Richard Tillotson was cooking more than bread and cookies and had taken over the bookkeeping to get a better sense of the business.
Idly I wondered what the exact date was for Audrey Tillotson and Peter Fisher’s wedding and went in search of an article I had printed from the microfilm at the library. October 12, 1929.

I tried to put myself in Peter Fisher’s place.
He would have been furious if he verified that his future brother-in-law was stealing from the business, but might not have wanted to confront him before the wedding, which was only days after the ledger switched to all-Peter authorship. Could they have fought after the wedding? Mary Doris had been convinced Peter killed Richard, and it could be true.

Maybe Richard took off for a long drive in his Model T, had an
accident and had not been discovered for a week or two. By then bugs and weather had done their work and his body was too hard to identify. No, his car could likely have led police back to the Tillotson family.

Or maybe Richard didn’t really want to marry Mary Doris and
just took off. That seemed least likely. Even in the days before Social Security numbers it would be hard to disappear and still make a living.
Unless he went to Montana or someplace.

I pushed
the thoughts aside. Richard had not left of his own accord, died later, and arranged to have someone place his skeleton in the wardrobe in the attic.

A glance at the clock on the microwave told me it was almost
midnight. Scoobie had left about 9, after he thrashed Aunt Madge and me in a game of Scrabble, and Aunt Madge had gone to bed more than an hour ago. Scoobie would never agree to break into the Bakery at the Shore building. He had a couple or marijuana arrests before he changed his habits and he wouldn’t want to risk his freedom for something like breaking and entering a decrepit building. But, maybe Ramona would be willing to help. I would, after all, need some kind of a lookout partner.

RAMONA’S NONTRADITIONAL
AURA did not extend to B&E, but she did have an idea. “Why don’t you ask my Uncle Lester? He’d love to investigate with you.” The last line was said with some tongue-in-cheek humor. Ramona knew that I–as did most people who knew him–found Lester to be a bit brash. Or, at least forceful.

But, she was probably right.
He’d go with me. I guess I stiffened, because Ramona looked at me with a concerned expression. “Is your back hurting more?”

“No, I just realized…”
Should I tell her? Why not?
“Lester probably has a key. He was the realtor who listed the place before Mary Doris died.”

Ramona and I both broke into broad smiles.

LESTER WANTED ME TO MEET HIM at Java Jolt, but I suggested his prior site for meeting clients, the Burger King near his office.
I thought it would be noisier and we would not be overheard. I wasn’t worried about my volume of conversation, but Lester can be boisterous.

As I outlined my thoughts about looking for the old closet I realized how outlandish the idea of breaking into the building was.
Even Lester looked skeptical, and he fancied himself a sleuth. “Sooo, you want me to use the key, which I do still have, to enter a building, but you don’t want me to tell the building owner we’re doing this or why?”

I nodded, sure he would say no.
He slapped his hand on the table. “Why not?”

“Why not,” I said, seriously reconsidering, “is that you could lose your real estate license.”

He shrugged. “I’ll say I went in to get the paperwork I left there for people I showed the place to, and then I was gonna give Annie the key back.”

“And why would I be with you?”

This stumped him for a moment, then he brightened.
“You’re thinking of using your old real estate license here in Ocean Alley instead of doing the appraisal crap, and we were going to talk about a building I had listed and you appraised.” He looked very pleased with himself, and added, “On account of you’re tired of working for that goody-two-shoes Harry Steele and want to be my partner.”

I gave him a dour look and he barked his laugh.
“Yeah, I know. You like the guy.”

NEEDLESS TO SAY, I was not going to tell Aunt Madge where I was going, but planned to strongly imply that I was going to
Lakewood to do some Christmas shopping with my sister and might spend the night.

I did tell Scoobie, who was against it.
“I’m not asking you to go,” I said, meeting his cold stare with one of my own. We were in the library, talking in whispers.

“Oh, yeah.
I’m going to let you go with Lester to break into a building. He wants to break into your pants, you know.”

I laughed loudly, and Daphne gave me a raised eyebrow.

“How do you know that?” I asked, reverting to a whisper again.

“Ramona as much as told me.” He scowled. “He’s old enough to be your father.”

I snorted, but quietly.
“He’s Ramona’s father’s youngest brother. He’s only about 10 years older than we are.” As he continued to frown at me, I added, “And I think you and Ramona are wrong. I’d be able to tell if he were…” I groped for a word, “flirting.”

“I’ll tell Madge,” he said.

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Traitor.”

We glared at each other, and his expression softened a bit.
“OK, I won’t tell, but I’m your lookout. Get me one of those burn phones.”

“Burn phones?”

“You gotta watch more CSI, too.” He began putting his notebook and pens in his knapsack. “Prepaid phones, throwaway phones, whatever you want to call them.”

I needed to go to the Wal-mart on the highway anyway, to ask them for food for the pantry for the holidays, or a dollar donation.
I knew it was late to be asking, but the gig is new to me. In retrospect, I should have gone alone. The store was crowded, and Scoobie’s enthusiasm for helping me pick out a “burn phone” had waned within minutes of being in the packed store. “You want to wait in the car while I talk to the manager?” I asked.

He gave a quick shake of his head and moved over to the TV area, where it was less crowded.
I paid for the phone and walked over to tell him I was going to the manager’s office. “OK, Alex and I will miss you,” he said, not looking at me. I glanced at the TV and saw he was watching
Jeopardy
.

The harried-looking Wal-Mart manager clearly did not believe me.
Why would he? I was 40 years younger than anyone he would have previously dealt with at the food pantry. “Would you mind calling Reverend Jamison? He’ll vouch for me. My name’s Jolie Gentil.”

The manager, Philip M., according to his name badge, looked at me for a moment.
“Have I seen your name in the paper?”

I sighed.
If I’d been in one of the smaller stores in Ocean Alley someone would have asked me if I were Madge’s niece. “Do you remember the woman who was cleaning out an attic and found a skeleton?”

He started to laugh and checked himself.
“Not someone you know, I hope?”

“No.
An old murder case.”

“Oh dear.”
He gave me a look that boded skepticism. “I’ll give Reverend Jamison a call and be right back.”

I watched him walk into a narrow hallway behind the customer service desk.
Philip M. was probably in his late thirties and had the beginning of a pot belly. Hard to imagine how he got it walking around a store as big as this one.

As he walked back toward me, two employees stopped him with questions and a young mother with a baby in her arms went up to him to complain that the store did not have a brand of formula she preferred.
“The reverend vouched for you. I apologize for doubting you.”

“No problem.
You haven’t dealt with me before.” He spent a couple of minutes telling me that he would give us some food the next day and a $200 donation. “I can’t give more than that without you applying for one of our community grants, which I encourage you to do.” He signed a paper on a clipboard a stock boy thrust at him. “What I will do later is give you a lot of baking materials, but I can’t do it until a couple of days before Christmas. Depends on what we sell.”

I made arrangements to have the first round of food picked up and said I would stop back the next day for the check.
And thanked him, of course. As I walked back to get Scoobie I reminded myself that Dr. Welby, Lance and Sylvia Parrett were talking to other groups about donations. I had thought about doing a food drive before Christmas but decided we needed more time to plan and get volunteers.

Scoobie was watching for me.
“What’s another term for housebreaking?” he asked.

“Are we talking puppies or burglars?” I asked.
He glared at me. “Uh, breaking and entering.” I said.

“You forgot to say “what is breaking and entering”? he said, sidestepping a child of about seven who was running toward the exit.

“Very funny.”

It had started to snow lightly.
We were going to Aunt Madge’s to set up Scoobie’s phone. I had suggested the library, thinking it would go faster using the Internet rather than using a land line phone, but Scoobie nixed that idea. “I don’t want a lot of people knowing I have a phone,” was all he said.

As I programmed the phone he swept the fast accumulating dry snow off the porch and the small sidewalk, despite Aunt Madge telling him we were supposed to get less than an inch.
He declined dinner and said he’d see me tomorrow.

“What’s with Adam?” Aunt Madge asked.

“We were at Wal-Mart.
I guess he doesn’t like crowds.” She nodded as she opened the sliding glass door to let Mister Rogers and Miss Piggy into the yard. I felt a bit guilty lying to her. The crowds at Wal-Mart were less of a worry to Scoobie than what I had planned for the next night.

LESTER THOUGHT WE SHOULD both dress in black, but I pointed out that we didn’t want to look as if we didn’t want to be seen.
He agreed, but reluctantly. We had decided to go about 5:30.  A lot of people would be eating dinner – hopefully Annie among them – and yet there would still be enough natural light that we might not have to turn the overhead lights on. And if we looked as if we weren’t breaking in maybe no one would call the police to say they’d spotted burglars.

I parked across the street from the former Bakery at the Shore.
Scoobie would sit in my car and call my cell phone if anyone seemed to pay a lot of attention to us. I walked through the narrow alley to the back of the building, where I was to meet Lester, who had keys to the front and back entrances. The buildings in the short block were flush with each other, and there were two between the alley and the back of the old bakery building. Lester saw me coming and got out of his car and walked toward the back door.

He said hello and handed me a clip board and kept one for himself.
“Carry a clip board and you look like you’re working.”

I glanced at it.
Lester had placed a copy of the building’s former listing sheet on top of a couple of pages of blank paper. He was smart, no doubt about it. Devious, but smart.

The smell of must greeted us.
“Nuts. It’s darker in here than I thought it would be,” I said.

“Not to worry, kid,” Lester said.
“I came in a few minutes ago and set up a lamp on the bar. Give us a little light, but won’t let every Tom, Dick, and Harry see in too good.”

Lester flicked the lamp switch and it spread a dim glow.
“And what will you tell people when someone asks why you aren’t using the main lights?” I asked, mostly teasing.

“Christ.
Have you seen how old the wiring is in the place? Could start a fire if you put your average computers and a fridge on at the same time.”

“You neglected to mention that on the listing sheet,” I said dryly.