Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sgt. Morehouse called the day after Christmas to say he was stopping by. He accepted a cup of tea from Aunt Madge and complimented her on her red hair.

“I think it embodies the Christmas spirit,” she said.

As we settled around Aunt Madge’s large table he pulled several photographs out of a folder. It looked like early twilight and the picture of the person in them appeared to have been taken from a distance.

“There were no cameras on any of those old buildings, but I asked the manager of the Happy Dollar Store if any of his could get anything as far away as Mary Doris’ building.
He thought they got a bit of the area the fire was in, and he spent part of Christmas Eve working with a couple of students in the college photography program, and they made these stills from the video.”

He had photos
of several different views of the person, who was wearing a hip-length coat with a hood that was trimmed in something furry. It was impossible to see the face. I held one up to the light and Aunt Madge pulled a magnifying glass from a kitchen drawer.

Scoobie shook his head.
“I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

“Me either,” said Morehouse, looking
glum. “I’d guess only about five feet, six inches, judging by where the head comes to on the building. But, there’s plenty of people that height.”

The camera only took in one spot near the Bakery at the Shore building, pretty close to the back of the building that abutted the alley where Lester and I had run to avoid Annie.
I asked why Morehouse thought that person had started the fire.

He shrugged.
“There’s no one behind those buildings except this person between about three p.m. and when the fire started. And if you look close,” he pointed to a spot near a gloved hand, “he’s carrying something like a small box. About the size of charcoal lighting fluid, which was the accelerant used to start the fire.”

“Damn,” Scoobie said.
“They meant business.”

“They did,” Morehouse said.
“It was two days before Christmas, the block has only vacant buildings, and nobody had any reason to be back there.” He collected the photos. “It’s just a shot in the dark. Didn’t expect you to recognize anyone.”

“What’s funny,” I said slowly, “is that the person found Scoobie early in the morning…”

“By ‘found’ you mean accosted, right?” Scoobie asked.

Aunt Madge shook her head.
I thought she looked pretty upset, so I reached over and squeezed her hand.

“I hear you,” Sgt. Morehouse said to me.
“Where did the person go between seven thirty or so and maybe five or five thirty?”

I thought some more. “Maybe they went there to burn the building and weren’t expecting anyone else to come in.”

“And they had to figure what to do once they hit Scoobie,” Morehouse said.

“That’s a pretty evil person, to plan all day and come back to kill Scoobie,” Aunt Madge said.

“You got that right,” Scoobie said.

We were all quiet for a few seconds.
“Did you find Annie?” Aunt Madge asked.

“Yep.
She went into the city with some guy she works with. I gather,” he gave a small chuckle, “staff in the prosecuting attorney’s office aren’t supposed to fraternize.”

“Hubba, hubba,” Scoobie threw in.

“She spent the twenty-third with him, had dinner with him and his parents Christmas Eve, and got back here early Christmas afternoon. Fit to be tied, is how I hear it.”

“If you tell Ramona half the town will know by tomorrow,” I said.

“Nothing funny about this,” Morehouse said.

Aunt Madge said, “Get a grip you two.”

Scoobie looked directly at Morehouse, “I probably know best that it’s not funny.”

Morehouse ran one hand through his hair.
“Sure you do. I just want to get the bastard who did this.” He nodded to Aunt Madge, “S’cuz me.”

“Did Annie have any ideas who would do this?” I asked.

“Nope. And she is going to be all over this. That windbag boss of hers called already, too. Offered to get any paperwork fast if we need to go to a judge for search warrants or anything.”

“I was just in there a
couple of days ago,” Aunt Madge said. “She could have done a lot to bring that building back to good use. It wasn’t that far gone.” When Morehouse looked at her with a question in his eye she explained that I had taken her over there to talk about the wiring with Annie.

Morehouse stood and put on his coat. “I ever need a house inspected I’ll call you, Madge.
You’re a better carpenter than half the guys on the force.”

“You should hire more women,” she said.

ANNIE CALLED LATE ON DECEMBER twenty-seventh. “I’ve been very upset,” she began, “But I’m also so glad Scoobie wasn’t hurt.”

I started to say a mild concussion was hurt, but stopped myself.

“I assume,” she continued, “that he went in to get warm.
He doesn’t have a home, does he?”

I explained where he lived and repeated the story Scoobie and I had agreed on.
He saw the back door wide open with no evidence anyone was in the vacant building. He knew it was Annie’s because I had gone to her campaign meeting there, so he knocked on the door and walked in. He was admiring the mirror behind the bar when someone hit him from behind.

“So…I guess the person must have been in there, and he didn’t see them,” she said.

“I suppose.
I still get a chill every time I think he could have died in the fire.”

“It’s almost enough to make me rethink running,” Annie said.
“Maybe someone saw the article in the paper about the candidates and decided to target me.”

It had not occurred to me that this would be Annie’s reaction.
Certainly she hadn’t wasted a lot of time wishing Scoobie well. “I guess you’ve prosecuted all kinds of cases,” I said.

“That would be an understatement.”
Her voice sounded grim.

“I hope you were insured.”

“The executor continued the policies on everything Aunt Mary Doris owned. My problem is she only owned that building and the fire marshal says the damage to the buildings on either side of it was substantial. The city wants the entire block torn down.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry,” I said.
“I hope it doesn’t get to be some drawn-out court fight.”

“It won’t.
The prior owners hadn’t paid taxes for years. The city owns the other two buildings.”

“You know,” I said, the former real estate agent in me perking up, “as a vacant lot that site could bring you a lot of money. It’s only three blocks from the beach.”

That seemed to cheer her.
We talked for a couple more minutes and hung up. If she had knocked out Scoobie and set the fire, or hired someone to set the fire not knowing Scoobie would be there, she was a terrific actor.

NEW
YEAR’S EVE WAS quiet. Last year I’d been married to Robby and we went to the Florida Keys with two couples we were good friends with. I had no idea my husband had a gambling problem, and certainly didn’t know he had borrowed money from some true New Jersey gangsters. This year, I did not know where Robby was, since he was supposed to go into the witness protection program after ratting on said bad guys. And, of course, he’s not my husband anymore.

I try not to think much about all that.
It’s done, I have more or less landed on my feet, I like working with Harry, and I consider Scoobie and Ramona good friends. I had a lot of holiday cards from my Lakewood friends. I gather most of them called Renée to get my address. My plan is to do a “Happy New Year, I’m better than you think I am” letter – when I get around to it.

NEW
YEAR’S DAY WAS not quiet, but it was fun to be around my sister and her family. I burned the crust on the pecan pie, but they swore it was good. My nieces seemed uncertain about why I had moved from an 1,800 square foot apartment to a single room, and the youngest asked where Robby was. Renée just said he couldn’t be here today, which I guess is good enough for a four-year old.

I DIDN’T
SEE SCOOBIE until a couple of days after New Year’s. I think he had had far more human interaction than normal for him and he needed a break. He did promise – because Aunt Madge asked him, not me – to call each day. He opened every phone call with, “Scoobie here.” Or Adam if Aunt Madge answered. “I’m not in a burning building today.”

On his own Scoobie had Reverend Jamison let him into the food pantry and he counted the leftover cans of sweet potatoes.
He told me Lance won the guessing contest, but would not accept the prize, which was the leftover cans.

I got up the Monday after New Year’s feeling rested and ready for my first full year as a post-divorce, unmarried woman who had plans to make.
That lasted until about noon, when I realized that staying in Ocean Alley doing appraisals and watching out for Mr. Rogers’ chipmunks was my world at the moment.

After doing an appraisal in the morning I went back to the B&B to make a sandwich for lunch.
Aunt Madge was just hanging up the phone. “You’ll never believe who called.”

“I can’t guess, but I might believe it.”

“Sophie Tillotson. Morgan, that’s her married name.”

I stopped with my hand on the refrigerator door.
“You’re kidding, right?”

Aunt Madge ignored my question.
“She’s in Cape May now, and said she’s been upset ever since Richard’s skeleton was found, and the fire in the old Bakery at the Shore just made it worse.”

“I didn’t know you knew her.”
I wouldn’t have forgotten that!

“I wouldn’t recognize her, and I can’t actually remember meeting her.”
Aunt Madge thought for a moment. “Her family went to First Prez, so I may have met her, oh…40 years ago. I didn’t even know she was still alive.”

“Why did she call you?”

“Because of you,” she said, simply.

“Me! Why me?”

“Because,” she said, dryly, “you’re the one who fell out of the attic with her brother.”

“Oh, right.” I sat on one of the chairs at the oak table and placed the bottle of milk I’d been holding on the table. “So, I wonder why she didn’t call before?” I asked, not expecting Aunt Madge to know.

“She didn’t really say.
Just said she’d been reading the
Ocean Alley Press
on line ever since Gracie’s mother called to tell her about Richard, and was upset about the fire. Apparently she doesn’t know many people who live here now, and Gracie’s mother suggested she call me if she wanted to talk to someone local.”

I gave myself a head slap.
“I completely forgot. Mary Doris said Sophie had her grandson drive her over here after she heard the news about Richard.”

“That’s odd,” Aunt Madge said.
“I had the impression she hadn’t been here in years.” She shrugged. “I didn’t ask her that, of course. We only talked for a few minutes.”

A
couple or thoughts were brewing. “Do you suppose she knew about the baby?”

Aunt Madge shrugged.
“Does it matter?” she asked.

“I guess not.
I remember Mary Doris saying that Sophie’s visit was the only good thing to come out of finding the skeleton. Other than closure for herself.”

Aunt Madge gave me one of her looks, and I rose to my own defense.
“I didn’t ask her about any of it. Anyway, when I talked to Mary Doris I had no idea she’d had Richard’s child.” I stood to get a glass for my milk and my incomplete thought matured. “Hey, maybe she’d want the albums.” I didn’t mention that I’d like a chance to talk to her.

“It’s Gracie’s house, you better ask her,” was all Aunt Madge said.

SCOOBIE ANNOUNCED HE DID NOT WANT TO discuss anything more about Richard’s and Mary Doris’ murders or the fire. “We know what we’re going to know,” he said, when I tried to coax him into a conversation one day at Java Jolt. “You remember that bit about accepting what you can’t change?” he asked.

“I remember it, I just don’t like it,” I told him.

After that, he didn’t call or drop by for a couple or days, but I knew he wasn’t mad, just tired of me bugging him.

So, I tried Ramona.
I went to the Purple Cow to see her, since she’d been away since her brief visit to Scoobie in the hospital. She’d gone to visit her parents in Florida for the holidays. As I walked into the store the white board reinforced that Scoobie was just fine.

He had apparently erased Ramona’s daily quote and replaced it with, “Why do you call them hemorrhoids instead of assteroids?”
I was laughing as I went into the Purple Cow, but Ramona was ringing up a customer so she didn’t see me at first.

The office supply store owner, Roland, was in his small office, so I had to pretend to be looking at something.
I picked up some paper clips.

“Sophie,” I was saying, “knew Mary Doris from a long time ago.
Maybe she would know if she had any enemies.”