Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 04 - Any Port in a Storm (9 page)

My brain registered the last name ‘Grosso.’
I thought Hayden had said his name was Gross.

“Is that everything?” Morehouse asked.
“I mean it this time.”

I slid the paper that listed my activities from last night, on which I had underlined sleeping four times, across the table.
“Yes.”

“We’ll call you if we have any more questions,” Lt. Tortino said, and held Aunt Madge’s chair as she stood.

Morehouse shook a finger at me. “And don’t go talkin’ about this with anybody, or asking any questions. You keep doin’ that and you’ll get in trouble like you were with that Pedone thug.”

“I’ll behave,” I said.
I thought it was pretty mean of Morehouse to bring up the sleaze who acted like he was going to kill me last year, just because I wouldn’t repay some of the money Robby borrowed to fund his gambling habit. Or that was one of Pedone’s reasons, anyway.  He’s in jail somewhere.

“First time,” Aunt Madge said, softly, when we were in the hall.

AS AUNT MADGE AND I walked out of the station I heard the familiar click of a camera and turned, expecting to yell at George. Instead, a petite woman I’d seen at the front desk in the
Ocean Alley Press
office backed away a couple steps. “George said I had to,” she said, and turned to walk away quickly.

“Tell him I said he’s a coward!” I yelled.

“Get a grip,” Aunt Madge said.

I said nothing.
Aunt Madge got a beach towel from her trunk, and my muddy butt and I sat on it for the ride back to the B&B. Too late I remembered my own car was near Oceanside Park, but I figured I’d get it later. Scoobie was sitting on the front porch. He walked around to the side door and walked in with Aunt Madge and me, saying nothing except hello.

“What we need is a good cup of tea,” Aunt Madge said, and flipped the switch on her electric kettle.

I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’m going upstairs to get out of these muddy clothes.”

“I thought I smelled something,” Scoobie said, and I was halfway through flipping him the bird before I caught Aunt Madge’s raised eyebrow.
I turned it into my four-finger wave.

It took me about fifteen minutes to grab a fast shower and put on clean clothes.
I didn’t bother drying my hair. Jazz sensed that something was amiss. She wound herself around my ankles every time I stepped five feet away from her and she swatted me when I tried to put her back into my bedroom. Like that worked. She scampered down the stairs ahead of me.

I bowed as I got to the bottom of the back stairs that lead into Aunt Madge’s sitting room.
“Local murderer at your service,” I said.

“He was someone’s son,” Aunt Madge said, quietly.

“True,” said Scoobie, “but I don’t think he had much regard for Megan’s daughter.”

Aunt Madge nodded.

“What else did you hear?” I asked Scoobie.

He looked at Aunt Madge and I sensed they had been talking while I was upstairs.
“After you and Morehouse left the park,” Scoobie said, “Megan and Alicia walked up. Thank God the coroner had already left with Hayden’s body.”

I made a face.
“How did she react?”

“Kind of like you might expect.
She was screaming that she loved him, crying on Megan’s shoulder, and then a couple of her girlfriends came up and they got her to quiet down a little.”

“And…?” I could tell there was more.

“She went over to Dana and told her she was sure you killed him.”

Aunt Madge shut her eyes as if she had a headache, and I reached over and took her hand.
“They know I didn’t,” I said.

She opened them and looked at Scoobie and me.
“I expect they do. But that won’t keep half the town from talking about it.”

THE
OCEAN ALLEY PRESS
DID NOT HELP my cause. “Death in Oceanside Park” the paper said the next day.

The body of Hayden Grosso was found in Oceanside Park at 10:15 AM Sunday morning.
According to Lt. Tortino, due to the “nature of his injuries,” which he would not describe in detail, police have indicated that the death appears to be a homicide. They are waiting for the coroner to determine the exact cause of death.

I looked at Aunt Madge.
“He told me his name was Gross. Well, he told Rev. Jamison.”

“Reverend Jamison told me that.”
She glanced at me. “I talked to him before I went to get you. Elmira Washington had called to tell me you were ‘in for questioning,’ and I thought he might know what was really happening.”

“That bi…horrible woman!”
Elmira has used me as fodder for gossip on several occasions since I moved back to Ocean Alley. “I’m going to tell everyone in town she’s sleeping with…with Lester.”

Aunt Madge had been about to say something, but instead she laughed.
“You’ll ruin his reputation.”

I skimmed the rest of the article.
It described how a “group of volunteers” had started to clean up the park and found his body, and continued by saying he had been a volunteer at Talk Like a Pirate Day. I glanced at the byline. The name there matched that of the photo credit, Tiffany Bowers. “I guess George couldn’t write it because he was there when we found Hayden,” I said.

Aunt Madge nodded at the paper.
“He’s quoted.” I went back to the article.

When asked for his perspective on events of the morning, a somber George Winters explained that, “We were all pretty much in shock.
I managed to stay calm enough to take a few photos of the scene, but the police confiscated my data card.”

“I knew he’d get that in there,” I said.

I kept reading. I was only mentioned as one of the four people who had been in the park when we found Hayden’s body. Usually George’s articles say something unflattering about me. I had fully expected a comment about landing on my tailbone in the mud. Thankfully, Tiffany had more tact.

Aunt Madge looked at me as I raised my eyes from the front page.
“You’ll want to check page two,” she said.

In the photo I looked like someone from a zombie movie.
My eyes were wide and my hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb in a month. Since the photographer had been on my right side, you could see that mud caked the back of my pants from butt to ankle. It looked as if it might not be mud. The caption said, “Ocean Alley resident Jolie Gentil leaves the police station with her aunt, Madge Richards. Police questioned Gentil about an exchange she had with Hayden Grosso the afternoon before his death.”

“That’s just great,” I said, as the phone rang.
“It makes it sound as if we had a knife fight.”

“Perhaps a pirate sword,” Aunt Madge said, with forced humor.
“Hello.” She listened for a moment. “She’s here, George.”

I took the phone.
“The only shock you’re going to get is if I get a chance to push you onto a downed wire.”

George grunted half a laugh.
“I had to say something.”

“It’s not what you said…” I began.

“I asked her for a photo. I didn’t say it had to be one that made you look like a mud wrestler.”

“You taught her well,” I snapped.

George’s tone was one of someone whose patience was tried. “She said you looked like you’d go after her, so she had to get out of there.”

“With Aunt Madge right there?”

“Tiffany’s not from here,” he said, as if this explained everything.

“What do you want, George?”

“Mostly to see if you’re okay.” I was about to thank him when he added, “My editor says I can’t write any of the articles, at least not initially.”

“How sad for you,” I said.

“Come off it, Jolie. No funny stuff, I promise. But you know what my job is.”

Aunt Madge cleared her throat.
She’s gotten to like George. I rolled my eyes at her.

“Thanks for calling, George.”

“Wait a minute! Don’t you want to have coffee, or something?”

I thought for a moment.
“Are you going to write down everything I say?”

He was silent for a few seconds.
“No. But if we figure something out together I’m going to use it.”

I sighed.
“I’ll see you at…not Java Jolt or Newhart’s. Everybody knows me.”

I could almost hear his grin.
“Burger King. Eleven o’clock. And Jolie.”

“What?”

“Did you look at page eight?” He hung up.

I looked at Aunt Madge.
“Page eight?”

“I was serving breakfast and answering the phone,” she said.
“I didn’t get that far.”

Scoobie grabbed the paper and walked a couple feet from me.
“I think I might need to prepare you,” he said. Mister Rogers nudged him in the butt. “And Mister Rogers will help.”

The front doorbell rang.
“Don’t you dare hide the paper,” I said, as I left the kitchen.

Ramona fell into my arms and held me tight for about five seconds.
This is a long time when you don’t usually hug a particular person.

She, in her coordinated purple skirt and gauzy lavender top, pulled back and held me at arm’s length.
“I thought you’d look a lot worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, and shut the door.

“You know what I mean. You were at the police station for a long time.”

We walked into the kitchen together and Aunt Madge waved at Ramona from the counter where she was assembling ingredients to make bread for afternoon tea for the B&B guests.
“You want some tea, Ramona?”

With a small amount of guilt, I reminded myself I should be the one offering, not my eighty-plus-year-old aunt.
“I’ll get it for her. And you,” I pointed an empty mug at Ramona, “are going to tell me why you think I was at the police station for a long time.”

“That’s what my Uncle Lester is telling everybody.”

I groaned, but before I could say anything Scoobie interrupted.

“I’m having a hard time figuring out whether it’s the picture with you aiming for the bean bag hole or the one of you stuffing your face with a hot dog that I like best.”
He handed me the paper.

Yesterday’s paper had had only a short article about Talk Like a Pirate Day, in part because storm coverage was extensive and in part because the paper lost power for awhile early Sunday morning.

George had done a passable job with the full-page story about Talk Like a Pirate Day. There were eight pictures and everybody looked like they were having fun. Except for Monica, who seemed about to cry as a couple plates of cookies were halfway on their way to the ground.

I tossed the paper on the table and got Ramona a piece of lemon from the vegetable drawer in Aunt Madge’s fridge.
“I’m done thinking about Talk Like a Pirate Day. I have a lot of research to do at the courthouse and if one more person pretends they’re thrusting a sword at me I’m skewering them.”

I saw Scoobie’s eyes brighten, and he reached into a pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He gave me a grin as he started to read.

No pirate did woo her strong heart

Or maybe he just wasn’t smart.

No man from the crowd

Has her up on a cloud

She must still await cupid’s dart.

My mother always said to ignore the boys who tease you, but I’m not good at that. And it’s harder to ignore when Aunt Madge is laughing louder than I’ve ever heard her and Miss Piggy is braying in the back yard because she’s not in on the joke.

Ramona scrambled in her purse for a pen.

“I can’t believe you’re going to write that down,” I said, as Scoobie continued to grin.

Tears rolled down Ramona’s cheeks. “When did you write that?”

The doorbell gonged, and since Aunt Madge was still trying to get flour off her cheeks from when she wiped her watering eyes, I went to the door.

Dana was there in full uniform and a distinct look of unease. With her was an older officer I sometimes see at the front desk at the police station.

I opened the door for her to come in as she said, “Jolie, this is Sgt. Sloan.
He’s known your Aunt Madge a long time.”

Why does that sound like a warning
?

I shut the door and she started to hand me a piece of legal looking paper.
“I’m afraid I’m here to exercise a search warrant, and I have to ask…”

“What the hell for?” I knew I was yelling, and I didn’t much care.

The swinging door that opens from the kitchen into the guest breakfast room swung open with a thud. “What is it?” Scoobie and Aunt Madge said at the same time.

Dana nodded at Aunt Madge.
“I have a search warrant to look for a mallet ma’am. I’m authorized to search Ms. Gentil’s room, car, and any common areas that she has access to.”

Scoobie and I looked at each other and he spoke first.
“Mallet. As in a potential murder weapon?”

“Why would you even begin to think I’d have a mallet in my car?”
I felt myself flush with anger and had an urge to cry at the same time.

Dana nodded at Scoobie, and Sgt. Sloan looked at me.
“If we may have your car keys, Ms. Gentil.”

I stared at him for a second and tried for sarcasm instead of temper.
“People who search my property can call me Jolie. They’re going to know me a hell of a lot better when they’re done.”

“Jolie.”
Aunt Madge said, and her voice held controlled fury I’d never heard. “They’re doing their jobs. We’ll be polite about it.”

It was a statement, not a suggestion
. I figured I wasn’t the one she was mad at. I walked back into the kitchen, took my car keys from my purse, walked back into the foyer, and silently handed them to Dana. Her look was impervious, but she was deep red.
Good.
I hope she’s really uncomfortable.