Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

IT WAS FOUR DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS.
If I’d known how much work the food pantry chair had to do I would have moved. I’m not sure where, anywhere.

In fairness, a lot of people helped.
Lance said that the cash donations were more in one month than in the entire last year. That’s what asking does. Really, it was no different than being a commercial real estate agent in Lakewood. You had to look for donors as much as clients.

Scoobie, Megan, and I were taking an eyeball inventory of what was left on our shelves.
We were also checking dates on cans of some of the recently donated good. “Who eats asparagus soup?” Megan asked.

“Same people who eat all the sweet potatoes,” Scoobie said.
He was unpacking a large box of sacks of flour that Wal-Mart had sent over. They’d also sent a few boxes of sugar, brown sugar, cooking oil, and chocolate chips. Manager Philip had been true to his word, and had actually sent things over earlier than he said he would. I had asked Megan’s daughter Alicia to walk over to Midway Market grocery to buy some baking soda, baking powder, and powdered cinnamon, which Mr. Markle was giving us half-off. He was donating twenty small turkeys on Christmas Eve.

We were opening a half-day each day through Christmas Eve.
A couple of people on the board thought that was too ambitious (think Sylvia and Monica), but Reverend Jamison agreed with Scoobie that you had to be open enough hours for new customers to hear about us and come in. Usually recipients have to have been vetted by Salvation Army or the state welfare office, but we had decided to relax that policy until after Christmas. As Dr. Welby said, anyone who came asking for food at this time of year had to be pretty desperate.

And there were a lot of desperate people.
Half of me was almost glad to be getting the food pantry more active, and the other half didn’t want to know how many people didn’t have enough to eat. People who looked normal, whatever that means, said they didn’t have enough food to get them through until the end of the month.

A rubber band went whizzing by my ear.
Given that there were three of us in the room, I knew who had shot it, but Scoobie ignored me when I turned around.

I WAS SURPRISED ANNIE called me that night.
“I don’t understand what you mean on the appraisal, the part about the electrical system, and why that makes the property worth less,” she said.

I thought for a minute, not wanting to scare her.
“It’s old knob and tube wiring, and it was used oh, up to the 1930s, maybe…”

“But why can’t I use it now?” she asked, her tone showing exasperation.

Thank goodness Aunt Madge redid her wiring about ten years ago. “Obviously, it still works, and it was fine for its purposes back then. When your building was constructed electricity was mostly for lights. In fact, my Uncle Gordon called the electric bill the light bill, I think.”

“Mary Doris did, too,” she said.

“You probably will want to do more than turn lights on and off. If it were me,” I said, thinking fast, “I’d want to redo all the wiring, and this might be a good time to do it.” Maybe I can get back in there with her and we can ‘discover’ the closet together.

“Why now?” she asked.

“If you plan on keeping it, you’re probably going to do some remodeling anyway, right?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “When they put in new wiring and a circuit breaker box they might have to poke some holes in the walls. Might as well get it done before you paint and stuff.”

She sighed, “I hadn’t planned on this.
Timing is not good.”

“Christmas and Mary Doris’ death,” I said, assuming this was her thinking.

“Umm. A bit. I was going to move some things into the building between Christmas and New Year’s,” she said, and paused. “Would you mind showing me what you’re talking about?”

“I might be able to…”

“If you want me to pay you for your time…”

“No, of course not.
It’s just the wiring is behind the walls, and the walls are still up…” I thought for a moment. “If you think you will get the rewiring done, we can poke a bigger hole around a plug or light switch and probably see what I’m talking about.”

We agreed to meet when she got off work.
Now I wished I had talked to Aunt Madge about the closet. She was the handy woman, and I wanted her to come with me when I met Annie. In the end, I didn’t tell her about the closet, just said that I wanted her to help me explain the old electrical wiring to Annie.

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I’D seen anyone appear to be less than happy to see Aunt Madge.
Why is that?

Annie recovered quickly and thanked us for coming.
True to her reputation, Aunt Madge had brought a small tool box, from which she pulled a screwdriver to take off the plate that surrounds a socket and a small hammer. After she took off the wall plate she placed the business end of the screwdriver on the plaster near the wall socket and began tapping and then gently removing small pieces of plaster until she had about a two inch by three inch hole. I felt as useful as salad dressing at breakfast.

“Sit here, Annie.”
Aunt Madge patted a spot on the floor next to her and pulled out a flashlight. Annie did so and her gaze followed the beam of light. “See those little knobs that are nailed into the boards?” Aunt Madge asked. When Annie said yes Aunt Madge continued. “They’re ceramic, and you can see the wire runs through them to keep the wiring away from the boards.”

“What are those flakes of material on the wires?” Annie asked.

“The wires were originally wrapped in cloth – this would have been before the kind of sheathing used now. Over time, the cloth disintegrates.”

“Oh dear,” Annie said.

Aunt Madge shrugged as she began to pack her tools.
“The wiring is still OK, the knobs keep the wires off the boards. It’s just all around better to get a circuit breaker system put it if you’re going to have much plugged in. You’re better protected from fire, too.” She stood. “Now, how about a tour? I haven’t been in here since it was an insurance agency about twenty years ago.

I trailed after them as Annie explained which of the small offices would be hers and that she envisioned campaign staff sitting in the larger room.
“And I’ll have some campaign literature along the bar.”

Aunt Madge stood in the middle of the large room and turned a full circle.
She glanced at the large mirror behind the bar. “That thing will weigh a ton. Make sure you have several people help you if you take it down.” Annie agreed, and Aunt Madge asked, “You need some advice on getting that old wallpaper down?”

Annie’s no was said very quickly and Aunt Madge looked at her as she walked over to the wall I was convinced hid a closet.
She ran her hand over the paper. “Looks as if you’ve already scored it,” she said, nodding to the razor thin cuts that Lester’s box cutter had left.

“Yes, now I really do…” Annie began.

“The glue’s really dry.” And with that my aunt, the one who believes in minding her own business, put a fingernail under a piece of the wallpaper and yanked.

The three of us stared at the partially exposed door.
“Goodness,” Aunt Madge exclaimed, “I bet you didn’t know you had a built-in storage cupboard.” She smiled at Annie, who did not return it.

“It appears I do,” Annie said, stiffly.
But, while she was probably annoyed, her expression did not betray any anxiety, or even curiosity.

“It’s on the original floor plans,” I said, and they both looked at me.
“The drawing is in the Register of Deed’s Office.” I moved closer to the door, trying to think of something neutral to say. “Most people would kill to find such a big closet.” Damn, that’s not neutral!

Annie looked at her watch.
“I need to get going.” She took her key ring out, apparently hoping this would hurry us.

Instead, I ran my fingers over the exposed part of the door and peeled back a couple more inches of
wall paper. “You can see the end of the door. It looks…”

But, I didn’t get to finish my thought.
“I’m going to have someone take that down, thanks.” Annie’s voice was sharp. “I really appreciate the advice on the electrical system, Madge.”

Is Annie really in a hurry, or is she antsy about the closet?

When we were back in the car, Aunt Madge said, “You should never entrust a secret to Lester, you know.”

SO, PETER COULD HAVE PUT Richard’s body in that closet at some point, assuming he had a lot of old fashioned deodorizer.
Where does that leave me? “Nowhere,” I said aloud. Jazz, who was lying next to me in bed, rolled toward me and stretched, expecting an ear rub.

“We’re going to the food pantry today and that’s all we’re going to think about,” I said to Jazz, who yawned and stretched some more.
We. Great, I’m talking to Jazz like she’s a person.

It’s a good thing that’s all I planned, as we had literally dozens of people bringing in canned goods all morning.
One sweet woman even brought in a plate of brownies, “For the hard working volunteers,” she said.

About
ten o’clock George Winters called. “I heard my story worked,” he said.

“What story?” I asked, holding my cell phone to my ear by balancing it on my shoulder so I could write the name and address of a donor in the notebook on the counter.

“The one about the rejuvenated food pantry,” he said.

“Wait, no, I got here early.
I didn’t read the paper.”

“Oh, you didn’t read it?” he sounded disappointed.

A short, very plump woman set a box of canned goods on the counter and said, very loudly, “Good thing I saw that article before I went shopping.” She turned to leave.

“Would you like to leave your name?” I called.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, not turning around.

George
had heard the conversation. “See, I wrote something you’ll like. When you get a paper, look at page three,” he said, and hung up.

I relayed the short conversation to Megan, who put on her sweater and went to the newspaper box a couple doors down and came back reading the paper and smiling.
“Rejuvenated Food Pantry Helping More Residents,” she said.

It was a short article, and to the point.
George had apparently been by when I was out – which was much of the time, since I was entreating churches and stores for donations – and had taken a photo of Alicia on one side of the counter talking to a young pregnant woman standing on the other side. In the background you could see Scoobie’s back; he was stocking shelves. I skimmed the article. No mention of Scoobie. That was probably good.

I looked up at Megan.
“This is really great. Uh, where is Scoobie?”

She shrugged
and turned to the counter to accept two large plastic bags that I could see had stuffing mix. “I need a receipt,” the elderly man said, and I wrote one for him and stapled his grocery receipt to my note.

When Sc
oobie did not show up by eleven o’clock I called Daphne at the library. No Scoobie. Not at Java Jolt and Mr. Markle said he had not been in the grocery store, either.

Aretha Brown came in to relieve Megan and she picked up on my anxiety right away.
“Maybe he just slept in,” she said.

“H
e’s been here every morning at nine o’clock sharp.” It was the day before Christmas Eve. Scoobie seemed to be having the time of his life working at the pantry. Half the people who came in knew him and were delighted to see him. I had the sense that several of them had known him before he stopped using marijuana and drinking too much and liked what they saw now.

After I’d called Scoobie’s ‘burn phone’ several times without an answer I asked Aunt Madge to relieve me for awhile so I could look for Scoobie and left as soon as she got there.
I pulled up outside the ancient old house where Scoobie had a room and stared at the place, willing him to come out. If he were in there he’d be furious at me for knocking on his door. Not that I knew which one it was.

It was as I was leaving the library a few minutes later that I decided to ask Sgt. Morehouse.
He and Scoobie were not always on the best of terms, but I’d heard him once tell Scoobie he was “doing good,” which I took to mean not using drugs for good while.

Morehouse wasn’t in, but Dana Johnson told the counter clerk she would come out to the front desk.
I took a minute to take in the transformation of the normally drab waiting area. There was a small artificial Christmas tree in the corner, but it was the walls that were most colorful. Apparently decorating them had been an elementary school project, for there were at least fifty colorful drawings taped to the walls. I noted a couple or Menorahs, but most were snowmen, trees, or wreaths, and often they thanked “the policeman” for protecting them.

Dana walked out and nodded to the officer at the counter to buzz me in, which he did.
We talked in the hallway, which was quieter than the volume in the large open area that had desks for just about everyone on the small police force. “If you saw him yesterday he isn’t a missing person,” she said, not unkindly.