Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 03 - When the Carny Comes to Town (9 page)

I had planned to take my carryout cup and get on the Internet and be on my way, but it would be rude to ignore Lester.  He helped me out last December, after I found the skeleton in the Tillotson-Fisher attic.  And Lester talks to a lot of people. 

“So what’s next?” Lester asked as he sat facing me, seated in one of the wooden chairs he straddled, backwards. 

“There’s no next, Lester,” I took a sip of my hot coffee and ran my tongue over the roof of my mouth.  I leaned back in the chair and consciously relaxed my back and shoulder muscles.  Java Jolt, with its combined air of coffee house and beach eatery, is my hangout, and I wanted to feel normal for at least a few minutes.

“You aren’t letting some assholes get away with hurtin’ Scoobie, are you?”

So much for normal
.
  “You know this is a police matter, right?” I asked.

Lester and Joe snorted in unison. 

“Really.  Morehouse and Tortino, they’re all over this.” 

Lester looked disappointed.  “But, you really think somebody mighta been after Scoobie, right?  Ramona said something about the carnival guy who runs the gong thing.”

“It’s not fair to accuse anyone,” I said, suddenly aware that there were a few other people at a back table.  I lowered my voice.  “Ramona and I just thought maybe Scoobie saw someone he didn’t like.”  I didn’t mention that the ‘someone’ had been hanging around the hospital Sunday night.

“So, you got nuthin’?”

“Lester!  I’m not looking to ‘get’ anything.  Listen, I need to check my email before I go to the hospital.  It’s been a couple of days.” 

Lester stood and picked up his cup of coffee.  “Ok, I hear ya.  But call if you need some help.  We worked good together last time.”  He gave me an exaggerated wink and walked out, still humming.

As I sat at one of Java Jolt’s computers I realized Lester was humming “Under the Boardwalk.”

SCOOBIE’S NIGHT HAD BEEN “uneventful,” which in hospital code means he wasn’t getting any worse and maybe was improving.  Dr. Cahill had left orders to reduce Scoobie sedation in the late afternoon.  I had plans before that.

I had taken the notes I’d made at the Java Jolt computer into the hospital with me.  The
Ocean Alley Press
had said that the carnival was owned by East Jersey Entertainment.  It was in a story about Scoobie’s “apparent mugging,” and the carnival was mentioned because Scoobie was thought to be on his way home from there. 

When I Googled East Jersey Entertainment I learned that it was a fairly large organization that not only had two separate “carnival teams” but also ran boardwalk games and rides in several east coast beach towns, including Ocean City and Atlantic City, New Jersey.  Ramona had said Scoobie worked at an amusement park in some town, Ocean City, I thought, but I realized I didn’t know if she meant New Jersey or Maryland. 

A small bell dinged in my brain as I walked down the hall to see Scoobie for the first time that day.  Maybe Scoobie had known Turk/Stefan at the amusement park. 

THE OCEAN ALLEY BUDGET INN is worthy of its name.  The so-called lobby of the two-story motel was about fifteen feet square, and in addition to the check-in desk it had a counter along the wall that had a dirty-looking coffee pot, Styrofoam cups and a toaster.  Looked as if they gave their guests the least breakfast possible.

“My friends were in Ocean Alley over the weekend and one of them thinks he left his camera here.” 

The man at the desk looked at me through a pair of dirty glasses.  “We didn’t find a camera,” he said.  “I know the cleaning staff.  If they found it, I’d have it.”

“Oh.  Well, maybe he
was at “Stay at the Shore”…

“That dump?” the man asked.  “He should stay here.”  He leaned across the counter and was close enough that I could smell whatever goop he had on his hair.  “I hear they have bed bugs.”

“Ugh.  Well then, I really don’t want to go over there.  Can you tell me if Stefan stayed here over the weekend?”

His look, which had been conspiratorial when he talked about his competitor’s bed bugs, was now one of suspicion.  “Are you a cop?  I told them the carnies didn’t cause any trouble this time.”

Bingo.
  “Do I look like a cop?”  I gestured to my lightweight denim pants.  “Stefan was going to catch up with another friend of ours, maybe you know him.  Scoobie?”

He was angry now.  “I don’t care if you are a cop or not, I don’t give out…”

There was a whoosh as the glass door to the street was pulled open very fast.  I turned slightly to see the newcomer.  Penny no longer had on the white pants.  Instead she was dressed in a very attractive light blue pants suit and the faux-alligator purse had been replaced by an ivory-colored one that looked as if it was real leather. 

“What are
you
doing here?” she scowled.

“Ha.  Now I know you aren’t a cop.”  The desk clerk was almost jeering.  “What’s up, Penny?”

I could feel myself flushing.  “Hi, Penny.  We missed you last night.”

“Got busy with friends,” she said, as she walked fully into the room.  “I need another key,” she said, no longer looking at me.

The manager took an actual key, not a swipe card, from a drawer and handed it to her.  “Last one except the master.  Make sure you leave it this time.”

“Yeah, yeah.”  She walked toward the back of the room where a door led to a hallway, but turned before she opened it.  “She’s friendly with cops.”  She left.

“I, uh, guess I’ll be going.”

The desk clerk didn’t acknowledge me, but pulled out a small ledger and started making a note.

I had learned only what I already thought I knew. 
What a waste of time
.

MOREHOUSE CAME BY late Tuesday afternoon.  “Nothing to tell,” he said.  “Thought I’d see how he’s doin’.”

“Same,” I said, standing from the lone plastic chair by Scoobie’s bed.  I noticed the nurses didn’t seem to apply the one-visitor rule when it was the police who wanted to come in.  “They lowered his sedation, but he’s not alert yet.  They said that’s kind of normal.”

“Huh.  Good he’s not worse.”  From his pocket he pulled a dirty piece of paper that he had placed in a plastic bag.  “Is this one of Scoobie’s poems?”

I took it slowly.  “You know, he doesn’t always like people to…”

“Jolie.”  Morehouse paused until I looked directly at him.  “This is police investigation, not an English class.”

I looked at the paper.  It looked like half of a steno pad page.

As she undid the laces

Of her fragile mental health

Revealing to him places

Where she’d never been herself

Breakfast table cordial

Stage direction for the scene

Both being very careful

To not say what they mean

Struggling through the mourning

Of the night before

Juggling

I looked up, aware my face was now flushed.  Scoobie had several times alluded to the fact that he thought I had ‘issues’ I didn’t want to face.  And we would eat breakfast at Aunt Madge’s.  Is this about me?  I cleared my throat. 
Get a grip, Jolie.  Like he would write about you.

“I haven’t seen it before, but it looks like his writing.  A lot,” I said, glancing back at the page.  “Not just the penmanship, but the kind of thing he’d write.  Where was it?” 

“Blown up against one of the posts under the boardwalk.”

I looked at it again.  “The way it’s written, it looks as if he got interrupted.”

“Yeah, even I got that.”

SCOOBIE WAS MILDLY ALERT by about five-thirty, and more awake by seven.  The nurses said Ramona and I could be with him together, since we were likely going to be his ‘primary support team.’ 

His half-opened eyes rested on me first, and he said, “Yo, Jolie,” in almost a whisper.  He closed his eyes again.

“Hey,” Ramona stood just in front of me and touched Scoobie’s shoulder.  “It’s so good to see you back in the real world.”

He looked at us both now, with his eyes fully open, and I could almost see a dozen questions forming.  I went for the familiar.  “Plus, you scared the daylights out of us, so you can cut that out anytime.” 

“I missed you, Ramona,” he said slowly, but with a lopsided grin.

“Ha!  See what you get, Jolie?”  She was trying to heckle me, and having a hard time not crying.

We were on the same side of his bed, so he didn’t have to turn his head.  “You did scare us,” I said, giving him a light touch on the knee.

“I didn’t plan it,” he said, wincing slightly.

“I think Sgt. Morehouse will have a lot of questions for you,” I added.

“That windbag?”  He frowned.

“He’s been all over town trying to figure what happened to you,” I said.

“I’m not the one he should be worried about,” Scoobie said.

I could tell from his eyes that a lot was coming back to him at once, and he moved his legs toward the bed rail, as if he was thinking of getting up.

“Whoa,” I said, while Ramona added, “No way.”

Apparently he didn’t need any convincing of the need to stay put, as a look of pain crossed his face.  “Sheeeit,” he said.

Someone cleared a throat behind us, and Ramona and I turned to look at Sgt. Morehouse.  “Good to see you awake,” he said, looking at Scoobie.  “Can you answer a couple questions?”

“You first.  What the hell happened to me?” Scoobie asked.

Morehouse gave him the sixty-second spiel, and Scoobie said nothing as he seemed to be absorbing it all.  Finally, he said, “Might go faster if I just told you a couple things.  I’m going to ask them to give me some kind of a shot or something here in a minute.”

“Shoot,” Morehouse said, pulling a notebook from his pocket.

“I saw this guy, I knew him when I worked on the boardwalk in Ocean City.”  Morehouse looked up, and Scoobie added, “You heard of Ocean City, New Jersey, I bet.”

Morehouse ignored Scoobie’s apparent sarcasm.  “Name?” Morehouse asked.

“Everyone called him Turk.” 

“Yeah, I heard that at the carnival.”  Scoobie looked puzzled, and he added, “Your buddies here said you gave him the evil eye, so I checked him out some.

“He’s slick, or was.  Bet you won’t find a record on him.”  He shut his eyes for a second and then opened them.  “Anyway, he saw me, too.  I could tell from the way he looked at me that he was still up to his old routine.”

Scoobie cleared his throat and Ramona picked up the cup of ice water with its straw and held it to his lips.

“Thanks.  He sold pot, maybe other stuff.  Even to kids.  Ran the Ferris Wheel.” Scoobie paused for several seconds.  “It would look like he was helping somebody get strapped in, but they’d be passing him a ten or twenty and he’d give them a small baggie when they got off.”

“Do that here?” Morehouse asked.

“Not sure.  I went just inside that bunch of trees and brush and watched him for a couple hours, even after the carnival closed.  Didn’t see him at it.  It got damn cold on that ground, and I was going to leave about eleven-thirty when I saw him and a couple guys heading for a car.  I walked back into town.”

“Hmm.  One of my guys said he thought he saw you in the Sandpiper,” Morehouse said.

“Yeah.  I walked to the drive-up window at Burger King and after I got my burger I saw them leaving the Sandpiper.” 

Scoobie closed his eyes, and I half-glared at Morehouse. 
This is too much for Scoobie.

“Just another minute,” Morehouse said, seemingly reading my thoughts. 

“Turk sees me, and he starts laughing, and calls out that his old friend Scoobie should come over for a drink.  The other two guys left and I went into the bar with him.”

“And argued with him.”  Morehouse made it a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.  I told him I was giving him the hairy eyeball and to stay away from the local kids.  He didn’t like that.”

“That’s enough.”  We all turned to look at Nurse Ratched, arms folded across her chest.  “I told you two minutes, sergeant.”

I’ve never seen anyone give Sgt. Morehouse orders.  I liked it.

“Only have one more, then we can finish tomorrow,” Morehouse told her.  He turned back to Scoobie.  “You know who did this to you?”

“Nope.  We split, and I followed him over to that dive hotel on B Street.” 

Morehouse only nodded, and I decided not to mention my morning’s foray to the Ocean Alley Budget Inn. 

Scoobie had his eyes closed now.  “He had an outside room, and I saw what room he went in and I was actually going to call you about him in the morning.”

Morehouse smiled, “Stranger things have happened.”

“Really strange,” Scoobie said.  “Anyway, I walked up onto the boardwalk for a kind of pleasant detour home.  Hadn’t gone but a few steps and somebody must have snuck up and shoved me down that flight of concrete steps, not far from Java Jolt.  That’s the last thing I remember, until I woke up here.”