Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 07 - Vague Images (16 page)

“Makes sense
. Does that mean management, or you, thinks that the murderer was someone on staff?”

“We all talked about that, but certainly not in a staff meeting with the bosses, and not so much now
. I suppose hospitals are no different from other companies. People focus most on what’s going on now. No one’s going to forget the murder, but we’re almost talked out.” 

He shrugged again, reminding me of Lucas
. “And Tanya Weiss was not someone we knew well. If there’s an arrest or more press coverage about the investigation, I’m sure it’ll all be front and center again.”

“Do you feel like the police keep you in the loop?” I asked.

“As far as I know. I was pretty ticked that they hadn’t told me it was your friend on the cameras, but Morehouse, or maybe it was Tortino, called later that day to tell me.”  He saw my expression, and smiled. “And no, I wouldn’t tell you if there was a lot of information that’s not in the press. But I don’t mind telling you there’s probably not a lot you don’t know.”

For a second Tanya’s vacant eyes came to me, and I pushed her face out of my mind
. “It’s just hard not knowing. Since I found her.”

He nodded
. “Do you think you’re in some kind of danger from the person who killed her?”

I was surprised by his question
. “You mean, like the killer thinks I may have seen them or something.”

“Right
. I can’t help but wonder why you’re so…persistent.”

“That’s because you don’t know me well.”

He laughed, and it gave him an almost boyish air. “Probably.”

“But, no
. I didn’t see anything, and if the killer was in the area when I went into the restroom, he knows that.”

“Good
. No point worrying about something that isn’t going to be an issue.”

Scoobie came to mind
. “I hear that a lot.”

“So…is there anything else?”

“Can I see the memo?  The proposed cuts?”

Todd gave me a look of amusement
. “How long do you think I’d have my job if I showed people internal documents?”

“Oh, sure
. I get that.”  I did, but I didn’t like it. “Who else has seen it?”

He laughed, hard
. “You’re friends with the guy doing the practicum in Radiology, Scoobie, right?”

“Yes, but he won’t snoop for me.”

“He doesn’t have to. Sam’s apoplectic about what’s in the proposals. He’s running around the hospital shaking the memo in people’s faces.”

I WAS SURPRISED THAT Scoobie was willing to talk about what was in Weiss’ proposals. He said it wouldn’t be revealing secrets because Sam had pinned the part that dealt with Radiology above that office’s coffee pot with a note that said, “You get what you pay for.”

“Somebody told the CEO, and he stopped by Radiology to say that no part of the memo could be made public, even if Sam was only posting what pertained to his department
. I think what really got Sam to shut up,” Scoobie said, “was Wharton told Sam he could be on some senior staff committee to evaluate any future proposals.”

I was lying on my back on the floor of the living room, with my foot propped on my couch
. It was mostly better, but still swollen at night and this seemed the best way to elevate it. Jazz was on my stomach, and Pebbles was on the floor by Scoobie’s feet. She has taken to trying to eat his shoe strings.

“Why do you think she does that?”

He looked down at her. “Probably have scents from outdoors.”

“Keep going.”

Scoobie looked at me as if I was nuts, then realized I was still talking about the hospital not giving instructions to Pebbles. “Okay, you probably heard she recommended an across-the-board cut of two percent in all departments, and no money for training. At least people wouldn’t have to take time off to earn continuing ed credits.”

I reached for a notebook on the floor next to me and wrote that down
. I hadn’t heard any of this, but didn’t want him to know he was my primary source. “You didn’t talk about the training stuff before.”

He shrugged. “Not so much discussion about that
. I haven’t seen the full memo, but everyone’s saying that Weiss recommended contracting out nearly all of the human resources stuff, and even more equipment cuts than we talked about before.”

“Such as…”

“Let’s see. Delaying buying some fancy new MRI machine for a year at least, no new tables for the operating suites—that really ticked off a lot of doctors, even the ones who aren’t surgeons.”

“What else to hire contractors for?”

“I heard a lot of your buddy Nelson’s Purchasing Department. His job would stay, but he’d get a pay cut.”

I craned my neck to look directly at Scoobie, who was finishing a sandwich
. “Do you have any idea what Nelson thought about that?”

“Nah
. There were other admin departments in the same situation. Accounting I think, or maybe that’s one where she wanted to replace more people with computers. Like I said, I didn’t see all of it.”

“Do you know how frustrating you can be?” 

“Do you know what it means when the pot calls the kettle black?”

The front door banged before I could answer, and Lucas called, “Sorry
. Wind.”

Sounded more like a slam of irritation to me, but I didn’t say so
. “Any luck?”

“No, and I’m running out of time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. He sat in the rocker and I tilted my head backwards to look at him.

“Like I said before, the hospital I work for has been really good about all this, but if I don’t get back to work soon I could lose my job
. Or I have to go on some kind of long-term leave without pay and I lose my health insurance.”

“I guess you could buy it on your own,” I said, hesitating.

Yeah, but where I work my share of the monthly insurance is cheap. On the private market with no employer contribution, I’d pay three times as much.”

“And have no income,” Scoobie said.

“Do you really think she’s still in town?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do
. I stop by Harvest for All two or three times a week. Your friend, Megan, says she thinks her daughter Alicia has seen Kim a couple of times, but not up close.”

“Seems like Alicia could catch up with her if she really wanted to,” I said.

“Chasing people doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will,” Scoobie said.

“Thanks, Mr. Zen,” Lucas said
. He sighed.

“Why don’t you go to All-Anon with Jolie tonight?” Scoobie said, half smiling.

“I think I’d rather eat sea nettles.”

“Hey, I think I resent that,” I said.

Lucas gave half a grin. “I might go. But alone.”

CHA
PER SIXTEEN

I HAD SPENT THE LAST TWO days obsessing over how much I had to do and calling the others on the committee to see if they were doing what they said they would do. Of course, I said I was calling to see if they needed any help. Now that it was the Thursday before the corn toss, I was officially crazed. Talking to the other committee members was reassuring.

Aretha could organize a fishing fleet at the height of the season, so rounding up volunteers was not as tough for her as it would be for me
. Daphne had plastered the library and city and county office building with signs, and Scoobie had promised he’d have a draft press release to me by the Wednesday prior, which was today. We already had the corn toss on every TV and radio station’s online community calendars, and George had mentioned it in his About Town column twice.

Tomorrow would be our major media day on the radio and in the
Ocean Alley Press
, which is always our biggest promoter. The editor knows our antics sell papers, so he likes to get his audience prepped for the post-event coverage. Since the corn toss was on a Sunday afternoon, we had one more set of church services around town to publicize it. That would be late to form teams, but could still attract spectators.

I had an appraisal to write up and made my way to Harry’s home office
. I pulled my car to the curb in front of Steele Appraisals and fumbled in my purse for the office keys. Then I realized they were in my hand. “You’re getting pretty ditzy,” I said.

As I got out of my car, I saw that a green sedan had just driven by me
. No amount of squinting could tell me whether it was the car I noticed a couple of days ago.

“Good, Jolie
. Now stress is making you paranoid.”

Still muttering to myself, I walked onto the porch and unlocked the door to Harry’s house and started for my computer
. I stopped because a bright yellow piece of paper was on the entry way floor. Someone had apparently pushed it through the mail slot. I stooped to pick it up and groaned when I turned it over.

In the middle of the eight-and-a-half by eleven page was a large ear of corn, with kernels that were each about an inch square
. Each square had a photo of a committee member, thankfully without names next to the photos. George had to be in on this. I knew Scoobie wouldn’t have had pictures of everyone. In fact, the only camera he used was mine.

I studied each photo
. Though someone might not find an image their favorite photo of all time, none of them did what Aunt Madge would call an injustice to anyone. It was the wording on the flyer that made me cringe.

The Harvest for All Committee and the Ocean Alley Police Department’s Shop with a Cop Program invite you to their first annual Corn Toss Contest, open to all Ocean Alley area residents over the age of 16
. Bring your throwing arm and ability to duck to the Community Center Parking Lot on the Sunday before Halloween. Form a four-person team or join others you meet on Sunday. Or just come and watch. There is a suggested entry fee of $5 per person; no charge to watch.

The flyer described the time and gave a rain date, and ended with committee member names, more or less.

Jolie the Jinxer

Dr. Welby the Wise

Aretha the Assertive

Sylvia the Self-Confident

Monica the Mouse

Scoobie the Scallywag

Megan the Master

Lance the Lucrative

I sighed. “Could be worse.”  I made a mental note to be sure that Monica was okay with being called a mouse. I reread Scoobie’s flyer. He probably designed it to attract younger people than those of us on the committee. I didn’t know where he planned to post it, and didn’t think I wanted to know.

Taped to the bottom of the page was an envelope the size I use to mail checks
. I felt it. Probably the draft press release. It was.

“The Harvest for All Food Pantry invites local residents to bring their competitive spirit and throwing arm to the Ocean Alley Community Center on the Sunday before Halloween from two o’clock until about five o’clock.

Why, you ask?  Because more than a dozen teams of local residents will compete at the first annual Corn Toss Contest. Each team member will be asked to pay a $5 entry fee.

Similar to a bean bag game, this adult contest has people plopping six by six bags of corn seed into a regulation-size corn toss box. Four-person teams can be prearranged, or if you don’t have a group of friends with enough nerve to form a corny team, Harvest for All can help you join a team.

A bean-bag toss will be available for children ages two to ten. If you don’t want to play or urge on a team, come to bid on lavish baskets of food and gift items, or enter the raffle. Attendees are asked to bring at least one canned good (no sauerkraut, please) or make a monetary donation.”

Next was the phrase, “Co-sponsored by the Ocean Alley Police Department’s Shop with a Cop Program.”  I remembered Sergeant Morehouse had said he wanted their role downplayed in the publicity, so no one would call him. So far the press release seemed harmless, though I wasn’t sure what Scoobie had against sauerkraut. Then I read the last part.

  “Members of the winning team will be designated Ocean’s Alley’s Supreme Corn Holers for a one-year period. The title must be defended at next year’s event.”

I reread the text of the press release. George had said that the term corn hole had a rude connotation in some circles, but how many people would know that?

A LOT, AS I found out at that evening’s final Harvest for All planning meeting.

“Jolie Gentil, how could you?”  Sylvia’s face was red, and she shook a flyer at me
. “This appeared all over town this afternoon. None of my friends will come.”

I realized Scoobie must have turned the flyers over to Alicia and her friends to distribute.

“They don’t have to play,” Scoobie offered.

Dr. Welby’s tone was serious
. “Did you know what this term meant?” He looked at me. Scoobie did not.

Scoobie is a chicken
. I cleared my throat and responded. “Not when we scheduled the event. Later, George told me some people, people without very good manners, sometimes attach a…vulgar meaning to the term.”

“I have excellent manners,” Monica said.

“You do,” Aretha said. I could tell she was trying not to laugh. She spoke directly to Sylvia. “I suggest we not be defensive. We simply continue to call it a Corn Toss Contest.”

“That would be fine,” Sylvia snapped, “if our own press release didn’t call it something else.”

“Technically,” Scoobie said, “The press release only calls it something else in describing the winners.”

Her face beet red, Sylvia stood and started for the door
.

I rose to follow her, but Lance gestured that I should stay in my seat
. “I’ve got this.”  He walked to the hall and called her name. I held my breath for a moment. The door to the street did not open or, more important, slam shut.

A couple of Lance’s words reached me
. They included “young people,” and “used to that kind of humor.”

I decided I needed to keep the meeting on track, even though what I wanted to do was throw a bag of dead fish at Scoobie.

“Okay, Megan, how about you let us know how the teen group did sewing the bags of corn.”

I half-listened as she described how the high school consumer economics teacher had let them use the machines in the sewing class room
. The male high school volunteers had apparently assumed only the girls would operate the machines, and the girls had a very different opinion. The only apparent casualty was a lot of twisted thread in a couple of the machines’ bobbin housings.

“So, how many did you make, all total?”  Dr. Welby asked this, and I realized I was paying too much attention to the hallway.

“We made forty-four, but some of the teams will bring their own,” Megan said.

By the time we had
finished a brief conversation about making sure all bags weighed the same – to be accomplished by borrowing a set of postal weight scales from the Purple Cow – I heard Lance and Sylvia walking back toward us.

Scoobie looked at me a
nd gave a small shrug. He and Sylvia have never gotten along, and this was at least the third time she’d gotten really upset at something he had done. And he had done it. He knew some people might not like the words corn hole. I felt ambushed, but it was at least partially my fault. I had approved the press release.

Lance and Sylvia walked in and he winked at me – behind her back.

“Okay, I understand.”  That’s all Sylvia said before she sat back down. I wasn’t about to ask what she understood.

“Aretha,” I said
. “Let us know how the volunteer cadre is shaping up.”

THE MEETING BROKE UP a few minutes later, and I walked out between Lance and Scoobie. Megan and Aretha were just behind us.

As the door to the street shut, meaning Sylvia, Monica, and Dr. Welby were out of earshot, I looked at Lance
. “What did you tell her?”

“After a general comment that we should rise above disparaging remarks, I said that most people know that the term refers to the holes some Native Americans used to dig
holes to store corn over the winter, so it would be below the freezing line in the soil.”

“Is that true?” Scoobie asked.

“I doubt it,” Lance said.

M
egan laughed, and I patted Lance on the shoulder. “I learn from you every day.”