Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 07 - Vague Images (14 page)

“You have no idea how many rubber chickens I’ve eaten at Chamber of Commerce lunches. Anyway,” he quelled a comment from Scoobie with a look, “I think if we could get the proposal we might have a list of murder suspects.”

“Seems like between us we should know people to ask,” I said, mentally running names though my head.

“Count me out,” Scoobie said. “I don’t defecate where I eat.”

“Nice,” I said.

“I’m serious,” he continued. “The hospital doesn’t have to let students from the college do observations or practicums there. I’m not going around asking a lot of questions about something that’s none of my business.”

George looked at me.

“I don’t know anyone really well, but…maybe Doctor Welby has heard something.”

“Your aunt knows everyone…” George began.

“Oh, that’d work,” Scoobie said, with obvious sarcasm.

“I wouldn’t get three words out,” I said
. “But I’ll try to talk to Dr. Welby tomorrow. You know, it’s kind of odd that people seem to assume her recommendations would be implemented. You’d think a consultant or whatever she was would have to give those to the hospital CEO or the Board of Directors. She wouldn’t make the decisions.”

“Yeah, I’m checking into that.”

From George’s noncommittal tone, I could tell he knew more than he let on.

I glanced at Scoobie and then spoke to George
. “Can you find out who actually decided to hire her?  Maybe whoever recommended her knew her work so well they trusted her a lot.”

“Or something,” George said
. Then, he seemed to figure he’d gotten all the help from us that he could, and stood to leave. “How was the Harvest for All meeting?  Anything we need to put in the paper?”

“We decided on the next fundraiser,” Scoobie said
. “A corn holing contest.”

From the way George sprayed water, I figured there was some significance to the name.

I looked at Scoobie, who smiled, “You know how I love puns.”

George wiped his chin and saw my puzzled expression
. “One meaning has to do with, uh, one of your body’s orifices.”

I put my head in my hands
. “How am I going to explain that to Reverend Jamison?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I WOKE UP Friday morning with a tension headache that started at my forehead, traveled down the back of my head, and ended in my neck. Before I went to sleep last night, I started a to-do list for the fundraiser, and it would give anyone a headache. I had put it aside to finish today.

It also bothered me that I couldn’t dump much of the work on Sergeant Morehouse. He could drum up volunteers for the day of the Corn Bag Toss (the name we were using), and get cops all over town to spread the word.

But besides the fact that Morehouse was busier than I was, I needed to keep control over tasks like ordering food or making sure we had enough corn bags or the wood boxes with holes. Scoobie’s face appeared in my brain, wearing an amused expression. I could hear him say, “Control?  Did you say control?”

Okay, if I talk about it out loud I’ll use another word
. Maybe manage, or supervise.
Who am I kidding?  I’ll be lucky just to cope.

BY TWO O’CLOCK I had finished an appraisal and thought I had a good first draft of the to-do list. The next step would be to con Scoobie or Ramona into doing some of it. George has been known to use newspaper deadlines as an excuse for not following through with something, so I decided to reserve him for odd jobs.

Food

Permits from Health Department

Get drink and chip list to Mr. Markle

Check on Monica’s bake sale progress

Raffle

Ad in paper for donations and ticket sales

Ask
Mr. Markle to sell baskets for silent auction entries

Corn Bag Toss 

Get sponsors for toss boxes

Get volunteers to make bags

Publicity

Make Scoobie write press release

Make sure press release is printable

Donations

All $$ donated go directly to Lance to split w Shop w a Cop

Dr. Welby for some pre-event funds

Volunteers

Alicia to line up friends to haul canned goods
, pass out corn bags

See if Aretha needs help with others

I stared ahead of me, trying to think of more things we needed to do
. Usually we have more time to plan an event, but our spring fundraiser kind of wore us out and before we knew it October was here, and we were coming up on our biggest distribution season. We needed to do a couple of food drives the two weeks before Thanksgiving, so there wouldn’t be time for a big event then. Morehouse had also told me that the police really wanted to “get this out of the way” before Halloween, which he said takes a lot of police resources.

My biggest concern was that we wouldn’t have enough time to let people know about the event, but Dr. Welby and Sylvia assured the rest of us that it’s the last couple of weeks of publicity that bring in people
. I hoped they were right.

I decided to think positive
. It was a warm fall day and I was in the parking lot of the huge Farm, Beach, and Home Store outside of Ocean Alley to buy a boatload of seed corn.

My mobile chirped
. Aunt Madge!  “Hi. I think we’ve gone two whole days without talking.” 

“We have
. Reverend Jamison just called to see if I needed help with the raffle tickets for the fundraiser. What am I doing that involves raffle tickets?”

I groaned
. “I’m sorry. Monica wanted to be in charge of the raffle of baskets of goodies, but we didn’t think she could manage it by herself. I should have called when I got up. We came up with all of this only last night.”

“Hmmm
. I suppose Harry and I can manage, if we don’t get too much help from sweet Monica. I’ll get some people to find something more to raffle. People can only use so many baskets of candles or chips and salsa.”

“Umm
. Lance said something about needing a license for a raffle.”

“The Catholics probably have one for bingo
. I’ll find out what I need to know.”  She hung up.

With a mea culpa ringing in my ears, I went through the sliding doors into the store
. A lot of people don’t think of New Jersey as having much rural land. We may not be Kansas, but we have more than 700,000 acres of farmland.

Basically, we have thousands of acres of dairy cows and a lot of farmers who plant crops to feed them
. I’m expecting methane jokes. The biggest difference between our farmers and their Midwestern counterparts is the size of the farms, which average only about seventy acres in Jersey.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”  The speaker was a man about fifty with a weather-beaten face
. Usually I take that to mean time at the beach, but his flannel shirt and worn blue jeans implied work on farm, or at least wanting to give that impression.

“You probably can
. I work with Harvest for All Food Pantry in Ocean Alley, and we’re having a fundraiser soon. I need some seed corn.”

He looked more than just perplexed
. “Ma’am, it’s not the time to plant.”

I laughed, really laughed, and for a moment he seemed to take offense
. Then he appeared to recognize he was seeing my pressure release valve in action.

“You’re so right
. And I wouldn‘t know the first thing about planting corn. Tomato plants, maybe.” 

His expression relaxed and I continued
. “We’re having a sort of, um, bean bag contest, but using bags of corn.”

“Oh, a corn holing contest.”  He grinned
. “Funny, you look like a nice girl.”

I flushed crimson
. “We’re saying corn toss…”

He grinned more broadly
. “I’m just joshin’ you. There’s some guys at the American Legion who make boxes and bags for those contests.”

My face probably registered delight.

“For a fee,” he said, quickly.

“I’m not looking for free work, but I’d love to buy the boxes locally, rather than by mail
. We have people to make bags.”

“Sure
. I got one of the guy’s phone numbers in the back. I’ll get it and then talk to you about the corn.”

I followed his progress along the concrete floor and then glanced at the signs at the end of each aisle that showed what was down that aisle
. At the far end of the store, the sign that hung from the ceiling said, “Seeds and bulbs.”  I ambled toward it, figuring the clerk would guess where I’d gone.

It was my first full day with no crutches
, and I had a shopping cart in front of me to lean on if I needed it. The combination of high ceilings and concrete floors made the store cold. I pulled the zipper up on my lightweight windbreaker.

I got to the seed aisle and groaned
. There were rows of burlap-looking sacks in wood barrels.  A maze of signs announced various kinds of corn, soybean seeds, and bulbs for flowers. And more.

“Figured this is where you got to.”  He handed me a piece of paper and I saw two names and phone numbers.

“I should have introduced myself. I’m Jolie Gentil.”

He nodded
. “Hal Winder. I thought you looked familiar. That guy who writes for the paper likes to make you look like a goofball.”

It’s hard to maintain dignity when someone’s frame of reference for you is as a goofball, so I decided to simply smile and ignore the comment
. “I sure hope you can tell me what to buy. I’m not sure I’d make good picks on my own.”  Thus reaffirming I’m a goofball.

Fifteen minutes later, after being told I didn’t need the seed with the best pesticide because it wasn’t getting planted, I had two fifty-pound bags of corn seed in my trunk
. Plus two rolls of duck cloth fabric, which the store stocked specifically for corn toss bags. According to my new best friend Hal, nothing less durable would last more than a few throws without coming apart.

A late-model dark green sedan followed me out of the store parking lot and back to the highway
. I wouldn’t have noticed it except that it passed me twice and then fell back. I try not to be too suspicious of people, but it seemed as if the driver wanted to know where I was going but didn’t want to consistently drive behind me. If he had, I probably wouldn’t have noticed the car.

I had planned to drive straight home, but decided to drive to the courthouse instead
. If I went to the police station it could seem obvious that I thought the person was following me – unless they already knew I ended up at the Ocean Alley Police Station more often than most people.

They don’t know who you are
. It’s just somebody who hasn’t heard of cruise control.

When I pulled into the courthouse parking lot
, the car kept going.
There you go, Jolie. You were imagining things.

I pulled through the lot and went out the other exit
. Then I traveled down a side street until I turned onto Bay Street and driving the additional block to my house. As I unlocked my front door I thought that the two bags of seed were heavy enough that they’d have to stay in my trunk until someone else could unload them at whatever location we used to sew the corn bags.

Just as I shut the door I saw a green sedan pass the house
. Since I can only tell the difference between Volkswagens and big-fin Cadillacs, I couldn’t be sure it was the same car. My mind played through various scenarios. Someone looking for Lucas or Kim?  Someone who’d heard me talking about a corn hole contest and wanted to meet me?

Get a life.

I GOT UP SATURDAY morning determined to think positive about being able to get everything done before the corn toss contest
. There was no reason to assume I’d be overwhelmed. Except maybe that was how I felt.

I decided not to add to my stress level by mentioning the green car to Scoobie
. It was probably nothing, and if he or George got wind of it they’d use it as an excuse to pay more attention to my comings and goings. I had pretty much decided I was imagining that anyone was following me.

By the time I pulled into the In-Town Market parking lot
, I had talked myself into a better frame of mind. I had a list of supplies we would need for the corn toss and wanted to give Mr. Markle time to order them so we could get the best price. Once the order was placed I’d feel as if I’d accomplished something.

“Morning, Jolie.”  I looked up to see Mr. Markle behind the customer service counter rather than at the cash register.

“Get some of your help back?” I asked, and laid the list on the counter.

“Yep
. Clark and one other high school guy. Their parents didn’t like the hours their kids would have to work in a fast-food place.”

I glanced over my shoulder
. Clark was tidying a display of diapers that sat across from the two cash registers. He noticed me and paused long enough to wave. I turned back to Mr. Markle. “Good. I hope they apologized. The parents, I mean.”

“No, but the mother did come in with him when Clark asked if he could reapply for the job
. I didn’t tell her I never took him off the payroll.”

“Smart,” I said.

He shrugged. “I was too busy for paperwork. Now, let’s see your list.”

Mr. Markle reads and thinks fast, so I didn’t bother to move away for a minute
. I used the thirty seconds to obsess about how much there was to do.

He looked up
. “I can get you a better deal on cups if you use foam instead of those heavy paper cups.”

“I know.” I was proud for not sighing
. “Sylvia and Dr. Welby say foam is hard for the environment, so Dr. Welby’s donating an extra twenty dollars for supplies.”

“Always happy to take more of the doctor’s money,” he said, and put the list in his shirt pocket
. “You want me to hold the stuff until the day before your shindig, right?”

“That would be great
. Just let me know what we owe when it comes in, and I’ll bring a check to you before the big day.”

The mention of Dr. Welby reminded me that I wanted to ask him for names of people at the hospital who might talk to me
. I figured he’d be at the golf course outside of town or the Red Cross office, where he has been a medical advisor of some sort since Hurricane Sandy. He wasn’t happy with the supply of tetanus booster shots on hand when he volunteered to give shots to people who were cleaning up muck for the first few weeks after the storm. Because he groused about it, the local Red Cross director put him to work as a more regular volunteer.

I gave a grim smile to myself
. I hadn’t made suggestions for the food pantry, but that hadn’t kept Reverend Jamison from requisitioning my help.

When I called his cell, Dr. Welby, probably assuming I wanted to talk about the fundraiser, told me to stop by the Red Cross office.