Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 04 - Any Port in a Storm (25 page)

IT WAS MONDAY morning, and I was on a mission. There was one really big question left, and I’d begun to think I knew the answer.

I went to the library first, and then thought of Java Jolt.
Josh and Max were sitting on a bench in front of the coffee house, facing the ocean. Max was jabbering away, and Josh was staring at the water. I looked at them for a few moments and then walked over.

“Hi guys,” I said.
I sat on the bench next to them.

“Jolie’s here!” Max said.
“I read in the paper. That lady really didn’t like you, did she? She really didn’t.”

“Nope, and she was pretty grouchy about it.”
I said this in a conversational tone, and Max just stared at me.

“Max, would you do me a favor?
I haven’t had any coffee yet. Would you tell Joe I want my usual coffee, and then order something for you and something for Josh, and bring it out here?”

Max glanced at Josh, who kept staring at the ocean, then back at me.

“Tell Joe to put it on my tab, he’ll love that,” I said.

“Will do, will do,” Max said, and ran into the coffee shop.

After a few moments, I said. “I’ll go first.”

Josh nodded.

“I think I figured it out. You want Max settled. He’ll have a small income from the VA, a roof over his head, maybe people to spend time with at the sheltered workshop.” I glanced at Josh, but he kept looking ahead. “You know that in Ocean Alley, we’ll watch out for him, make sure he gets the help he needs.”

“That’s right,” Josh said.
After a couple moments, he said, “You did figure it out.”

“After everything that’s happened the last few days, it’s the only thing that makes sense,” I said.

Josh nodded. “I just wanted him to stop tearing the braces off the back of that stupid pirate game. Everybody worked so hard to make it all nice.”

“That was good of you,” I said, softly.

“It was still windy, but it was a time when the rain had stopped. You know, when the eye moves over. Not that it was much of a storm.” He gave a tight smile. “You want to see a hurricane, you go to Florida.”

We were both silent for a few seconds, and he continued.
“I had walked to the end of the boardwalk, right up to the park. Usually I walk on the beach, but the surf was all the way up to the boardwalk. Street lights were out, but a movement caught my eye.” He paused for a moment, as if wanting to get the story just right.

“At first I thought it might be a dog or something, and I walked down the steps to be sure it wasn’t caught in the water.
Then I saw him. Water was about eight inches deep then, really stupid to be standing in it. And there he was, trying to tear apart the damn pirate ship.”

“I’d found him kissing Alicia behind it.”
I shrugged. “That might be why, or it could just be that we were all having fun that day, and he was so damned unhappy he couldn’t stand it.”

Josh nodded.
“You never know with a guy like that. Has two parents, plenty of money, never had to go, to go to war…” His voice trailed off.

“In All-Anon, they say you can’t compare your insides to someone else’s outsides.”

He looked at me for the first time. “I like that.” He was somber again. “I just went down to get him to stop. He was so pissed. I don’t know why I got that close to him. I’m taller, guess I thought I’d scare him away. But he had that stupid mallet, and he swung it at me.”

Almost a minute went by.
“A lot of thoughts went through my head. People I’d seen hurt. Max. That Hayden, he had it all. Anyway, he swung it at me and I grabbed it from him. Easy enough to do. I turned to walk away, and I guess he picked up a piece of driftwood or something. Swung it down, hit me on the shoulder. I had the mallet…Didn’t think I hit him that hard, but he went down and didn’t move.”

“I expect you tried to help him,” I said, softly.

“Pulled him out of the water,” Josh said, in a matter of fact tone. “His head hadn’t gone under, and I didn’t want him to drown. It was a minute before I realized he was gone. And I mean, gone. Eyes staring.”

“Morehouse said that he probably hit his head on one of the stakes in the ground.”

“Really? So I didn’t…well, I did,” Josh said.

“He attacked you.
It was self-defense,” I insisted.

He snorted.
“Like the police will believe that.”

“After everything that people have learned about Hayden and his stupid brother-in-law, they’ll believe you.”

“They’ll still send me away,” he said, softly.

“You know,” I said slowly, “I’m the only one who had this thought.
No one would ever know.”

He turned to look at me fully.
“I would.”

I nodded.
“I’ll go with you to talk to the police.”

“Thanks.”
He turned to face me. “I’m really sorry about putting the mallet in your trunk. I figured it would be found anywhere I put it, and I thought if the police found it in your trunk they’d know someone just hid it there. I never imagined that anyone would think you did it, not in a million years.”

“I sometimes do not endear myself to the police,” I said softly.

After a moment, he added, “I’d like to wait until Max gets comfortable at that sheltered workshop, until he learns how to take the bus.”

“Max isn’t going to have to take the bus,” I said, softly.

Josh’s shoulders shook slightly as he began to cry.

I FELT AS IF I knew about everything there was to know.

In exchange for “consideration” at her sentencing, Mary Jo had admitted that she was the one who rammed my car.
She was convinced that I had something to do with Hayden’s death and was “crazy with grief.” That’s what Annie Milner told me, anyway. Sgt. Morehouse still isn’t talking to me. I think he’s being kind of petty.

I sort of snuck into Harvest for All.
I heard Reverend Jamison was looking for me, and that usually involves me volunteering for something. I thought I did enough.

After about ten minutes there were footsteps in the hallway.

Nuts.
I’d spent too much time going over the schedule of volunteers, making sure we had enough people working at the counter over the next month.

“Jolie?”
Reverend Jamison was accompanied by Father Teehan.

“Boy, I must be in for it.”

They both smiled, and Reverend Jamison hopped up to sit on the counter. “We want to run an idea by you,” Father Teehan said.

I regarded them with skepticism.
“Okay…”

“Megan planted the thought,” Reverend Jamison said.
“You remember what she asked me?”

I thought for a moment.
“About whether First Prez had a youth group?”

He nodded, and Father Teehan said, “We don’t really think there are enough teens in any of the churches in town to start a youth group, so we were thinking of doing something together.”

I nodded. “Would it just be to do church stuff?”

“No,” Reverend Jamison said, dryly.
“I don’t know that there would be a big turnout for ‘church stuff.’ We were thinking of a few fun activities, and a chance to do some volunteering.”

“That group who did pin-the-tail-on-the-skel
eton seemed to have a good time.” Father Teehan said.

“I don’t know too much about teenagers,” I said, dropping what I hoped was a huge hint that I didn’t want to help with such a group.

“Madge said you have a teenage niece,” Reverend Jamison said.

“And George said you and Scoobie had a heck of a good time as teenagers,” Father Teehan said.

I scowled. “I’ll settle with George.” When they didn’t say anything, I continued. “If you needed help with a specific activity, I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t really want to take the lead.”

“Actually,” Father Teehan said, “we were thinking about Scoobie.”

“He makes the rounds of every church dinner, any meal,” Reverend Jamison said. “A lot of the young people know him.”

“He came for donuts more often before we built the new church on the edge of town,” Father Teehan said.

I smiled. “He does know a lot of people.”

“The thing is,” Reverend Jamison said, “he might need some persuading.”

“And you honestly think I could convince Scoobie to do something? Besides, you know he went back to school.”

Reverend Jamison nodded.
“But it’s only three semesters.”

“It’s a two-year program, to be an x-ray tech,” I said.

“But he had some credits from when he was younger,” Father Teehan said.

“How do you know all this?” I asked.

“We listen,” Reverend Jamison said.

I held my tongue.
I don’t know where people get the impression that I don’t listen.

“So, will you?” Father Teehan asked.

I shook my head. “You need to talk to Scoobie yourselves. I can almost guarantee he wouldn’t like the thought of you going through me.” I had heard the phrase ‘triangle communication’ used in All-Anon. If I remembered right, this referred to telling one person something and figuring they would tell the person you really wanted to get the message. Scoobie could probably write a book on it.

They looked disappointed, so I added, “I don’t mind encouraging him, but he’s a big boy.
You need to ask him.”

After a couple polite questions about the food pantry, they left.

GEORGE AND I were going to take another stab at a real date, and I had just finished ironing a new blouse when Aunt Madge came into the kitchen area.
She had a funny look on her face. “You okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine.
Really.” She said this more as if trying to convince herself.

“So what’s up?”

“I was thinking of inviting some people over for dinner tonight,” she said.

“That’s great.”
Why is she telling me this?
“I won’t be in your hair.”

“We have a specific topic,” she said.

“We?” I asked, in a teasing tone.

“Yes.”
She said this very firmly. “And I need to ask you something.”

She was starting to scare me.
Maybe she’s sick.

“Would you mind running the B & B for a couple weeks, while Harry and I go on our honeymoon?”

In my rush to hug her I knocked the iron off the ironing board, and we both lunged at it. It hurts to butt heads. We both reeled back and sat on the floor.

Aunt Madge set the iron upright on the floor and flicked it off.
We sat there looking at each other and grinning.

Miss Piggy trotted over, Mister Rogers right behind her.
Jazz was riding on his back, curled up, but with her head held high, very alert. Both dogs tried to sit on Aunt Madge’s lap, and Jazz jumped off Mister Rogers onto my shoulder.

“I want pet sitter rates,” I said, and we leaned over the dogs and hugged.

*  *  *

Thank you for choosing a book from the Jolie Gentil Cozy Mystery Series.
Any Port in a Storm
is book four. Each book is its own story, and you need not read them in order. If you want to spend more time with Jolie and friends, check out all the books. If you really want to spend more time, read the first chapter of
Trouble on the Doorstep
, which is at the end of this text.

The Jolie Gentil Series

Appraisal for M
urder
(First of the series)

Rekindling Motives
(Second of the series)

When the Carny Comes to Town
(Third book of the series)

Any Port in a Storm
(Fourth of the series)

Trouble on the Doorstep
(Fifth of the series)

www.elaineorr.com

www.elaineorr.blogspot.com

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Trouble on the Doorstep

By Elaine Orr

Fifth in the Jolie Gentil Cozy Mystery Series

CHAPTER ONE

OCTOBER 29, 2012
 

I HEARD THE crack of the tree splitting a second before the window glass shattered and spewed into my bedroom. I made it into the hall a few paces behind my cat Jazz and almost fell over Miss Piggy, who was trying to run into the room. “Out, out,” I yelled, as her fellow retriever, Mister Rogers, came galloping up the stairs.

“Jolie! Are you okay?” Scoobie was probably shouting from downstairs, but I could barely hear him.

“Okay. I’m okay!” When crashing and breaking glass noises did not repeat, I walked back a few paces and shut the door that led into my bedroom. No sense having the dogs or Jazz step on glass.

I ran down the dark stairway into Aunt Madge’s great room. Scoobie had a piece of plywood lying across the oak table and the saw blade was poised to cut the plywood in half. The pale light from a battery lamp we had attached to the back of the tall oak chair gave barely enough light to keep him from sawing off a finger.

A few more hours of Hurricane Sandy and there wouldn’t be an unbroken window in the Cozy Corner B&B.

OCTOBER 30, 2012
 

MORNING TOLD US that we were lucky. Up and down the
New Jersey coast there were horror stories of roller coasters in the ocean and houses gone or totally trashed. Some entire towns were still flooded. Since Ocean Alley is eighty miles north of where Sandy came ashore, parts of the boardwalk were destroyed and a lot of businesses along it heavily damaged, but the carnage was nothing compared to towns like Seaside Heights and Monmouth Beach, or even Hoboken.

Instead, there were many Ocean Alley homes and hotels in the same condition as the Cozy Corner — shingles and gutters gone, trees down, and a lot of broken glass. All repairable, but it would take time. And no power of course. Maybe not for days.

My cell phone chirped. “Who would’ve thought we’d be glad to hear that?” Scoobie asked.

I pushed the button to answer it. If cell service was restored, it was a good sign.

“Jolie? I’ve been so worried.”

“It’s okay, Aunt Madge. Anything broken can be fixed,” I said.

“I wasn’t worried about the B&B, just you two. Thank God Scoobie was able to stay with you.”

Aunt Madge had gone to
Maryland to meet more of Harry’s family, and she and he decided it would not be a good idea to be on the road with the storm barreling down on the mid-Atlantic coast. I grinned to myself. How many other octogenarian engaged couples had a surprise wedding shower during a hurricane?

I had wanted to go to
Lakewood, the town about thirty miles inland where my sister and her family live, to ride out the storm. But both of her daughters have a lot of allergies, and if the dogs and Jazz had to stay, I was staying. I don’t think I’ll make the same decision again, though. We were lucky this time.

Now, if we can just get the B and B put back together in time for the wedding…

WE ACTUALLY DID IT. Less than one month after Hurricane Sandy removed a bunch of shutters and broke every shutterless window in the B&B, we actually had the place ready for Aunt Madge and Harry’s wedding, the Friday after Thanksgiving. Any room can be transformed if you put forty white folding chairs and ten vases of lilies in it.

“Do you, Madge Richards, take Harry Steele to be your lawfully wedded husband?…” Reverend Jamison kept going. Aunt Madge, dressed in a stunning calf-length, cream-colored dress she had made herself, was staring at him intently. Harry looked as if he might throw up.

I studied the back of Aunt Madge’s hair, which was her natural soft white, a color most of us have not seen in years. She washes a different shade of color into her hair at least once every month.

I glanced at my sort-of boyfriend, George, who was leaning against the wall, having given up his seat to my sister Renée’s six-year old. He met my gaze and wiggled his eyebrows, and I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

“You may now kiss the bride.” Harry and Aunt Madge bumped noses and started to laugh.

“You can do better than that!” Scoobie’s voice came from the back of the room.

I stepped back as applause broke out. I’d been standing just a few feet behind Aunt Madge. She had deemed me her “attendant” and I’d tried to attend to her every need, not just today, but in the weeks since the storm. She’s tough, but storm recovery is tougher.

There was a loud pop and a champagne cork missed my head by about three inches.

“Damn! I mean jeez, sorry Madge.” George grabbed a pile of paper napkins from the large oak table and bent down to mop the floor.

“Good one,” said Scoobie, as he walked over to help.

“I think he was aiming for you, Jolie.” Given her self-assigned role as permanent critic of the world around her, my mother had been assessing George since she met him yesterday. So far he does not appear to meet her criteria as someone who should date her daughter. Not that anyone would.

“George is just clumsy, Mom. Did you kiss Aunt Madge yet?” She moved toward Aunt Madge and Harry. Harry looked relieved. Happy, too. He’s younger than Aunt Madge by more than ten years, and now that the ceremony itself was over, he looked more or less normal.

My father’s booming voice came from near the sliding glass doors. “Come on boys, out you go.”

“Grandpa, Miss Piggy is a girl.”

“Who made the dogs’ tuxes, as if I didn’t know?” asked my sister Renée.

“Aunt Madge was more concerned about them than her own dress,” I replied. The dogs still had the bibs in the shape a tux shirt and bowtie resting on their backs. They were tied under their bellies, and I figured Mister Rogers would have his off within five minutes once he found a bush to rub on.

Renée and I watched her five-year old wave her arms so that Miss Piggy would follow Mister Rogers through the sliding glass door. We both half turned as we heard our mother finish wishing Aunt Madge and Harry “many years of happiness.”

“Your turn,” I hissed in Renée’s ear, and turned toward George and Scoobie, who had finished cleaning up the champagne and were now setting up empty glasses so they could have a pouring assembly line of sorts.