Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 04 - Any Port in a Storm (16 page)

Footsteps behind me made me turn.
The stony-faced man would have to be Ricardo Bruno. He had the olive skin and black hair I associate with Italian men, but was almost six feet tall. He had on a business shirt and tie, but no suit jacket.

“Your garden is beautiful,” I said, trying not to show how nervous I was.

“Thank you.” His tone was curt, and he positioned himself next to his wife as she sat on the loveseat, and I sat opposite to them.

“I’m sorry about your brother-in-law.”
I paused. “I thought you would want to know how much help he was for our charity event.”

“And maybe if he hadn’t helped there he would still be alive,” Ricardo Bruno said.

Veronica pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.

“Maybe, though the event was long over.
In fact, he’d been to the spaghetti dinner after the outdoor activities.” From the quick look they gave each other, I could tell this was news to them.

“Do the police know that?” Ricardo asked, his tone still sharp, but his face showing confusion.

“I can’t imagine they don’t. In fact,” I thought for a moment, “I’m sure they know. After Alicia, his, uh, girlfriend, told people that she thought I had hurt him, they asked me where I was all night, and I mentioned seeing him there.”

Veronica and Ricardo exchange
d a quick look, and he continued. “You’ll understand our surprise at your visit. We were told the murder weapon was found in your car.”

“I can see why you’d say that. After the event, my car was in the lot at my Aunt’s B&B, and I don’t lock it. I was with people all evening.”
When they didn’t respond, I added, “You probably remember the horrible weather.” Something was nagging the back of my mind, but I couldn’t bring it to the front.

“What do you want?” Veronica asked, in a sharp tone.

“Nothing.”
Lie, lie
. “I thought it might help you to hear from me that he was helpful and that I didn’t hurt him. And that the police agree with me.”

“The police have not told us that last part,” Ricardo said, stiffly.

I looked at Veronica. “I didn’t think I should drop in on your parents…”

“Definitely not,” Ricardo said.

“Really, I was just trying to help. It seemed…rude or callous or something not to come by.”

Veronica sat back, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry,” I stammered.
What was I thinking, coming here?

Ricardo put his arm around her shoulders and faced me.
“I understand why you came. It was…unexpected.”

I stood.
“I’m really sorry I upset you. I should go.” I stood halfway.

“No!”
Veronica’s tone was harsh. “First, you put Joe Pedone in jail. Then, even if you didn’t kill Hayden, you had something to do with him before he died. How am I supposed to take that?”

This I had hoped for.
I sat back down. “Joe Pedone! How on earth do you know him?”

“His sister was my..
our maid of honor. Mary Jo.”

I used my are-you-kidding-me look and shifted my gaze between the two of them.
“That’s a, um, an unfortunate coincidence.”

Ricardo’s look was a cold one.
“Joe was often in our home.”

I looked away, for a moment taking in a small shelf of books, many of them for children.
“I know my ex-husband owed money to Joe’s boss or someone. Our disagreement was him wanting me to pay it.”

“You?” Veronica asked, wiping her tears.

“Yes. I didn’t even know Robby, that was my husband, gambled, and I had no idea he borrowed money to do it.” I gave a genuinely bitter smile. “I’m told he usually stole it.”

Ricardo stood.
“Thank you for coming, but I think you should go.”

I picked up my purse from the loveseat next to me.
“I think so, too. I’m sorry for your loss.” I let myself out, feeling stupid for using the line from all of the TV shows.

I’m not sure what I expected.
Maybe for one of them to say they’d had an anonymous call saying someone knew who the real murderer was. And she wasn’t me. I spent a couple minutes driving and feeling I’d wasted my time, and then gave myself a head slap.
Mary Jo Pedone
was Joe Pedone’s sister. I still didn’t know if it meant anything, but I could tell George to stop checking whatever he checks to figure out who’s who when he does a story.

It wasn’t until I was halfway back to Ocean Alley that I realized that the person who put the mallet in my car probably didn’t do it the night of the murder, when it was still parked near the park where we’d held Talk Like a Pirate Day.
I was pretty sure it had been locked. I had assumed it was put in Sunday night when my car was back at the Cozy Corner, when it was unlocked. I didn’t know that.

This line of thinking raised several questions.
If it had been put in the night of the murder, then maybe it was just put in my car because it was near the park. Maybe I had left it unlocked, and no one was actually targeting me. Or, someone kept the mallet for a day and put it in my trunk Sunday night, which would mean they definitely were trying to make me look like the person who killed Hayden.

The result was the same, but the motive for involving me was very different.
I’ve ticked off some people in my life, but no one would want to see me in jail for murder.
Or would they?

AUNT MADGE AND HARRY were sitting at her oak kitchen table when I walked in, and neither said hello. Uh oh.

“You two okay?” I asked.

“Sergeant Morehouse wants you to call him,” Aunt Madge said, and stood to take their two teacups to the sink.

I looked at Harry, but he just gave me a small shrug.
I sensed this might be a phone call to make in private, so I walked upstairs. Jazz tumbled out of my room when I opened the door, and ran so fast down the hallway that she skidded when she got to the top of the steps leading downstairs. “Great. Stay with Aunt Madge,” I called after her.

I sat on my bed and stared at my cell phone for a moment before dialing.
I should probably be concerned that I know the number to the police station by heart.

When I was connected to Morehouse he didn’t let me get halfway through saying hello.
“You went to Middletown. I tell you to stay out of this shit, and you drive to the dead guy’s family and start quizzing them.”

“I didn’t…” I began.

“I don’t really give a crap what you did or didn’t do. This is an ongoing police investigation, and you are interfering. Do it again and I’ll lock you up.” He hung up.

Maybe I do need that lawyer.

IT WAS A LONG AFTERNOON, and I knew it would be a longer, and quieter, evening at the Cozy Corner.
It’s not so bad when Aunt Madge will talk to me about what I’ve done to annoy her. It’s miserable when she barely acknowledges me.

I was feeling so sorry for myself that I even called George, but he was out on a story, according to the woman I talked to.
That left Scoobie or Ramona. He was probably in class for awhile yet, and Ramona would not be sympathetic. Still, I wanted some company, so after I stopped by Harry’s and found no new house to appraise I went to the Purple Cow.

“Hey, Jolie.”
Ramona’s boss, Roland, gave me a look of sympathy. “How’s the neck healing?”

“It’s getting a lot better.
As long as I take a muscle relaxer when I go to bed I’m okay when I wake up.”

“Awake maybe, but functioning?” he asked, with a puzzled expression.

“More or less. Ramona here?”

“She’s in the back doing the artwork for a new display.”
He grinned. “That’s how I keep my best sales person happy.” He called for her, and Ramona walked out of the storage area, wiping her hands on a large apron that had dozens of paint splotches on it.

“Jolie.
You look better than you did.” She took off the apron and folded it and put it on the shelf under the cash register.

“Well enough to annoy Sgt. Morehouse,” I said, and told her about my drive to Middletown.

Ramona had met Joe Pedone when he was in the Purple Cow one day, but she had not known his sister had been Veronica Grosso’s maid of honor. She stared at me. “You know, I was just telling Daphne that you don’t go looking for trouble anymore, but I’ve changed my mind. What on earth did you hope to accomplish?”

I sighed.
“I’m not even sure I know. Part of me did want them to know I didn’t kill her brother, but I was really hoping to find out if the name of Victoria Bruno’s maid of honor was a coincidence or if she was related to Joe.”

“And now that you know this…?”
She left the question hanging.

“It either means nothing and I wasted half a day, or it means Mary Jo, who was Hayden’s godmother, sent him here to annoy me.
Or maybe he liked Joe, and he came on his own.”

“Oh, right,” Ramona said, her tone disbelieving.
“He started to date Alicia, that’s what would annoy you?”

“It does sound flaky, doesn’t it?”
I thought for a moment. “It just can’t be a coincidence that Pedone’s sister is close to Hayden and his mother.”

“What difference does it make?
Hayden annoyed you, but it didn’t have anything to do with him getting killed.”

I sighed.
“I guess I need to let go of that idea.”

She regarded me almost stonily.
“Does this mean you’re going to stop looking into it?”

“I guess I have to,” I said, “Unless George comes up with something.

My saying I would stop seemed to relax her. “Just think, only a couple weeks ago you were willing to skewer him for making that poster.”

“Yeah, that’s the least of my problems now.”

After a brief pep talk from Ramona (“Hardly anybody really thinks you did it”) I left.
It was ridiculous. People were mad at me for trying to help the police clear my name. I was tired of feeling like a scolded child.

I was driving toward the
Ocean Alley Press
, when I said aloud, “I need ice cream.” I pulled into the parking lot of Mr. Markle’s store.

The woman at the cash register closest to the door was not someone I knew, so I didn’t have to be polite.
I walked toward the freezer section, and when I turned onto that aisle the store clerk who knows Alicia was walking toward me, pushing a mop.

“Hey, Claude,” I said.

“Oh.” He looked around.

“Is Mr. Markle here?” I asked.

“He’s in the back, but he said the police said I’m not supposed to talk to you.” He was slim, all arms and legs, with a shock of brown curly hair.

“I know.
Just tell me, was anybody especially mad at Hayden?”

He glanced toward the back of the store and gave me a nervous look.
“Are you going to tell on us?”

“No way.”
I hope he didn’t commit any felonies
. “First, I wouldn’t. Second, I don’t even know anything you did.”

“Oh.”
He thought for a second and shrugged. “I thought you saw me when I ran out of that house.”

My mind took a couple of seconds to connect what he said with my reality.
“You mean the one on Seashore? With the ashtrays?”

He walked a couple feet more with his large mop, and I stayed with him.
“Yeah. Alicia said you’re pretty good about not telling.”

Crud
. “Only if I think you’re not putting yourself in danger.”

He thought about that for a second, but his only comment was, “Huh.”

“So, could you please tell me if anyone was especially mad at Hayden?” I asked.

“Not mad, we just didn’t like him.”

“Because he was spending so much time with Alicia?”

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he said, quickly.

I hesitated. I assumed he wanted to be, or he wouldn’t have brought it up. “She’s a good kid. Even if she is mad at me right now.”

He nodded, slowly.
“She’s kind of mad at everybody.”

“Why?” I asked.

“She figures somebody told on Hayden,” he said and started to push by me with the mop.

“Told on him for what?”

At that, Claude looked scared and walked on.
“I guess I don’t know.”

IT WAS EARLY Wednesday afternoon when I opened my mail. It usually sits on the oak kitchen table, but Aunt Madge had set it on my bed.

One of the two envelopes was from a company I did not recognize.
Gold, Wofford, and King were located in Camden. I thought they were lawyers, because I remembered a television ad about accident victims being compensated for ‘pain and suffering.’

What did Robby do now?

The letter began,
Dear Ms. Gentil:

I represent the interests of the family of Hayden Grosso.
On behalf of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Alberto Grosso and sisters Mrs. Victoria Bruno and Miss Marie Grosso…

I broke out in a cold sweat as I read words such as “emotional loss,” “deprived of his affection.” Finally “wrongful death” jumped out at me.
I was being sued by Hayden Grosso’s family!

I’m not sure how long I sat on the edge of my bed, but it wasn’t until Jazz jumped on my shoulder that I realized she had been pawing at my shoes for probably a full minute.

There was a light knock on the open door and Aunt Madge stood there.
“Is it what I think it is?” she asked.

“If you think his family is filing a civil lawsuit against me, then you’re very much right.”
I handed her the letter.

“Half a million dollars!” she gasped.

“Yep. All because their derelict son had the nerve to die after a Harvest for All fundraiser.” We stared at each other. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked, searching her face as if I expected to find an answer there.

“We need to find out who really did this.”
Her tone was very firm.

We?

AUNT MADGE’S WORDS really did help.
I didn’t see the “we” as meaning she would personally do something to find Hayden’s killer, but I still felt a bit better. She was on my side.

However, Aunt Madge is not a lawyer and neither of us has a magic wand.
At four o’clock I was sitting in Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Annie Milner’s office. She won her primary election and is on the November ballot for the county prosecuting attorney position. I figured that as a former classmate I might get some free advice. Maybe even a comforting pat on the shoulder telling me not to worry.

“How can they sue me for his wrongful death?
I wasn’t anywhere near the place!”

“The thing is, Jolie, I can’t really even comment on the case.”
I started to say something, but she held up her hand and read more of the letter.

“The parents and sisters filed this in their county, but since the local police are investigating the murder, they can come to the county attorney for advice.”
She looked up. “I can tell you, in general, why people bring these suits.”

“Please,” I said, feeling cold all over.

“You probably know that a wrongful death suit is a civil action, it’s not related to a criminal prosecution,” Annie said.

“But I haven’t been charged with a crime!”

“I know,” she said, gently. “And I certainly hope you won’t be. There are some variations by state, but in New Jersey, a wrongful death is one caused by another person’s careless, reckless or deliberate actions.”

“But I wasn’t anywhere near him.”

She held up a hand and I silenced myself. “The reason they also mention the city of Ocean Alley is because they allege that Hayden’s death could have been prevented if the city had been what’s called ‘reasonably careful.’ For example,” she paused, “maybe they will say that if the city had lighting in the park or more lighting on the street around it that an attacker would have been deterred from hitting him.”

“That’s absurd,” I said, and my eyes started to fill with tears.

“And it’s also all I can talk to you about it,” she said. “Your Aunt Madge will surely have a friend who’s a lawyer and will talk to you about this for a low fee.”

I cleared my throat and she pushed a small box of tissues toward me.
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” I said.

“It’s not a bother,” she said.
“If I were in private practice I wouldn’t mind guiding you to a good lawyer.”

“Too hot for you to handle?” I asked, trying not to sound bitter.

“This isn’t my field at all. If the case moves ahead, you would want representation from someone who has defended against these lawsuits many times.”

I felt guilty for whatever it was I’d been implying with my tone.
“I do appreciate you talking to me, Annie.” I tried to smile. “I’m supporting you in the November election, but I promise not to tell anyone.”

I STOPPED AT STEELE APPRAISALS to see if there was any new work, and was rewarded with one file in the wooden box where Harry places folders for me. He walked into the room as I picked it up and opened it. I grinned at him. “I was beginning to think real estate agents had the September doldrums.”

Harry nodded and pointed to the chair I usually sit in when I enter data into the computer.
“Have a seat, Jolie.”

Alarm bells clanged in my head.
“What’s up?”

He leaned against his desk and looked at me with a somber expression.
“It looks as if I’m going to have to do some of the appraisals for the time being,” he said.

“You know, Harry, it is your company.”
I said this in a lighthearted tone I did not feel.

His smile was grim.
“I would rather you do them, but a couple of banks have specifically asked that you not do the work.”

I knew banks usually went with the agent’s suggestion for a company to do an appraisal, and I was dismayed.
“But, I know all the real estate agents. They can’t think I really killed Hayden.”

He nodded.
“I think it was the homeowners.”

I leaned back in the chair while that sunk in.
“You almost always know the homeowners. Do, uh, you think any of them know me?”

He shrugged and picked up two folders from his desk.
“One is Bill Oliver, a dentist up in Newark. He and his wife split up, and…”

I almost sputtered.
“But we were in the same class at Ocean Alley High!”

“When the bank called, I had the impression it was his wife saying she did not want you.”

I thought about this for a moment. At our ten-year reunion last year I remember hearing that Bill and whatever-her-name-is agreed to stay in different parts of the large hotel ballroom during the reunion. I was almost jealous of their civility.

“Ramona and I sat with Bill to eat at the reunion,” I said slowly.
“Maybe she thinks one of us was dating him or something.”

“Hard to tell.”
He fiddled with the edge of one of the folders. “This will all be cleared up soon, and if anyone has a preference after that I’ll tell them to go to ‘the Jennifer dame.’” He smiled, then grew serious again. “Right now, I can understand why, if they don’t know you…“His voice trailed off.

I shook my head.
“Don’t turn away work, Harry.”

“That’s the advantage of owning your own business.
I can make any decision I damn well please,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, Madge is ready to turn the dogs on anybody who doesn’t want you to do the work.” He paused. “Of course, I’m not sure dog slobber ever did anyone real harm.”

My tense shoulders loosened.
“Did she tell you about the lawsuit?”

He nodded.
“She called earlier, pretty upset. Or mad, or something. Said she knew you’d tell me and she needed to talk to someone.”

“Her life really changed when I moved into the Cozy Corner,” I said, feeling sorry for myself.

“Mostly for the better.” He paused. “Look at it this way. Now you don’t have to sneak around when you want to be nosy.”

I stood and almost clutched the sole folder of work to me.
“Thanks Harry.” I slung my purse over my shoulder and kissed him on the cheek as I moved past him.

“Sexual harassment at work,” he said, his eyes smiling at me.

“Remind me not to sue.”

I TOLD SCOOBIE, George, and Ramona about the lawsuit and Lance Wilson found me a lawyer to go to for an hour’s worth of advice. Word gets around. For a ‘reduced fee’ of $150 Samuel Forthright told me almost exactly what Annie told me, and gave me some advice on next steps. He also suggested I “wait a bit” before I decided what to do.

In a kind tone he said, “If what was in the papers was true, and that was the extent of your involvement, I don’t see the case going anywhere.”
Mr. Forthright goes to First Prez with Aunt Madge, Lance, and Harry, and told me he would “squeeze me into his schedule” any time.

I wasn’t any more frustrated after talking to him, but I wasn’t especially reassured, either.
No one would care if I lost my reputation and savings having a case ‘not go anywhere,’ so I didn’t see any reason to stop trying to figure out who killed Hayden.

I still thought that Alicia had information that would help me.
I needed to figure out a way to talk to her. If I didn’t take Reverend Jamison’s advice and talk to Megan first, I was going to be in the doghouse with my favorite food pantry volunteer. I’d only seen her once since Talk Like a Pirate Day, but there were other people in Harvest for All, and Megan left soon after I got there. She did send me a card after she read about me being forced off the road.

You should have called her.
Why didn’t you call her?
I could answer that question. I was afraid she would chew me out for not telling her Alicia had been in the houses. In hindsight, I would deserve it. I had been so certain that keeping Alicia’s confidence would let me help her better. Wrong. Or maybe not wrong, but I sure hadn’t been thinking like a parent.

The food pantry wouldn’t open for another hour, but I needed to ask Reverend Jamison’s secretary if the church would consider paying for the repairs to the lock the day Hayden broke in.
Margaret’s bill for installing a new lock was reasonable, and I figured the church could afford $75 better than Harvest for All.

I had just pulled the folder with invoices from the top drawer of the file cabinet when someone turned the lock on the door to the street.
Megan saw me and stopped. “Hello, Jolie.”

“Hi, Megan.
I should have thanked you for the card.”

“No need.”
She shut the door and walked to the counter and placed her purse on it.

I took out the folder and walked over to lean against the counter.
“I’m really sorry. I should have told you I saw Alicia at the house. Scoobie and I…no, I thought that if we got her involved in something constructive we could all talk about it later.” I said all this really fast.

She nodded as she pulled an apron from under the counter.
“Alicia told me you two were very clear she should not have gone in there.” She gave a brief smile. “She said she listened because Scoobie is cool.”

“He’ll be so pleased,” I said, dryly.

She leaned against one of the tall shelves so she could face me. “I guess what I’d like to get agreement on is if there is ever that situation again.”

“I can’t imagine there would be,” I butted in.

“I want you to tell her you won’t tell, if you think that’s absolutely necessary, but then come to me. I would rather,” she paused, “be part of the lie than cleaning up after it.”

I winced.
“What a good way to put it. You’re a good mom.”

“You’re the only one who’s going to call me that for a couple of years.”
She looked close to tears, but stopped herself. “Alicia is so angry that I wouldn’t let her go to the funeral that she will only talk to me if she needs to ask for something she needs.”

“I was probably twenty before I realized some of my mother’s edicts were actually right.”

We were both silent for a few seconds.

“Do you, uh, know anything that might help people understand I didn’t kill Hayden?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. And I’m really sorry Alicia made that video,” she said. “I had no idea what she and her friends were doing up in her room that day.”

I waved a hand.
“A shrink would probably say it was therapeutic.”

Her smile was grim.
“Sergeant Morehouse’s words were that you could ‘sue the stuffing out of her’ for making it.”

“He said stuffing?”

“I could tell it wasn’t his first word choice.” She gestured to some boxes on the counter. “I’m going to unpack these.”

“I would never consider suing you or her or anybody else.”
A week ago I might not have been so emphatic in making that statement. Now that I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of a lawsuit, I can’t imagine suing anyone.
Maybe whoever put that mallet in my car.

I gave her a brief smile and opened the folder.
It had several installation and repair bills, the biggest from putting in the new circuit breakers so we could operate the refrigerated cases that were donated earlier this year. No locksmith invoice. I frowned, and then remembered I probably stuck it in the front of the file drawer. The day we discovered the break-in was pretty hectic.