CHAPTER THREE

I TOLD HARRY PROBABLY nothing was wrong with him, but George and I didn’t want Max to hear about Joe’s shooting from a stranger.

Harry walked to the door of our joint office as George and I got to the foyer. "Just give me the info on the comps and I’ll start comparing them while you’re gone."

Harry’s slight frown told me he didn’t like that I was leaving, but checking on Max had to be my priority. How else would I know he was safe?

We took my car, since George’s insurance company employer provides his and it’s not for personal use. I drove ten miles over the speed limit to get to Max’s small bungalow, which he bought with his VA disability benefits.

Ocean Alley is not huge. It's less than two miles along the shore, and only twelve blocks deep. All of the north-south streets parallel the ocean and are named only with letters. While sometimes a lot of activity is packed into the relatively small area, it doesn't take more than ten or fifteen minutes to get anywhere.

We walked quickly up the short flight of steps at Max's house, and George knocked insistently. No response. I moved to the window that fronted the porch. The café curtains were not quite closed, so I peered through. Max’s living room is a hodge-podge of hand-me-downs, but it’s always neat. Nothing looked out of order.

"He could be anywhere," George said.

"He roams all day." My phone chirped. Scoobie’s name was on the caller ID. Unlike George or Aunt Madge, he would not have expected an immediate call about Joe being shot. We were supposed to talk at lunch time. In case he was annoyed about not hearing from me, I'd say I would have called if I'd gotten hurt or something. Which I would have.

"Heard you’ve had a good morning," Scoobie said.

"Figured it would hold until lunch. I’m fine." A glance at my watch showed it was only eleven-ten. Scoobie’s lunch hour started at noon.

"I have a visitor. And a boss who lets me take ad-hoc breaks."

The sound of a voice on a PA system told me Scoobie was at the hospital. I pushed the speaker phone button so George could hear him.

A voice apparently from behind Scoobie said, "Hi, Jolie. Jolie it’s me, Max."

"Thank God he's with you, Scoobie. George and I are on Max’s porch. I should have looked for him sooner."

"Good thing George is my best friend," Scoobie said. George rolled his eyes and Scoobie’s teasing tone grew serious. "Max needs to talk to someone, and he won’t let me call the police. I said if it turns out he needs to do that, you’d go with him."

"Of course. Meet you at the hospital cafeteria?" I asked.

"Mmm. Maybe the veranda, the one with picnic tables."

"Sure." Neither of us had to say that Max can be loud when he’s excited, and a hospital cafeteria is not the place to yell about a shooting.

George and I walked down the steps. "Can I drive? I almost lost breakfast when you drove over here."

"No." I offered no explanation. What I thought was that I hadn’t ridden in a car with George driving since we dated, and I didn’t feel like having him remember the same thing. We’re good as friends, but now and then he lets me know I was the one who ultimately broke off our relationship.

"Did you see Max anywhere near Java Jolt?" George asked.

"No, but I should have remembered about Joe giving him day-old muffins sometimes. Max could well have walked in on something."

"Hmm. I think I'll see what Tiffany knows." George pulled out his cell phone.

"I thought you mostly weren't talking to her."

"I decided to get over being ticked. It wasn't her fault the editor made a dumb-ass decision."

I smiled to myself. "In other words, you figured out that she can help you sometimes."

In my peripheral vision I saw George's grin. "Yeah. I've fed her a few story ideas. Keeps me on her good side...hey, Tiff." He paused, obviously listening. "Yeah, I think I know where she is. Can I check and call you right back?"

George ended the call as we pulled in front of the hospital. "She wants to talk to you. She'll tell us more if you do that."

I opened my car door and stepped out. "I can always hang up on her."

"Yeah, you're good at that." George pushed Tiffany's phone number again. "Yeah. Here she is...No, I didn't lie. I had no idea if Jolie would talk to you and I wanted to protect her privacy."

Tiffany's snort came through the phone as George handed his mobile to me.

"Hey Tiffany. Not a whole lot to tell if you already talked to the police."

Tiffany spoke fast in her usual high-pitched voice. "I know what I heard on the scanner, and I got there about a minute after the ambulance left." The frustration in her voice was evident. "Morehouse took my call for two seconds. He just said Joe was alive and, to quote him, 'might well live.' I'm hoping you know a little more."

Since it can be helpful to have a friend at the Ocean Alley Press, and not one who prints stupid pictures of me the way George did, I told her what I saw in front of the market. I didn't mention that Joe was in the In-Town Market's storage room. That seemed like Mr. Markle's business, and might not be something the police would want everyone knowing. I simply said I'd seen Joe in the store only long enough to exchange a greeting.

Tiffany sighed. "Not a lot more than I knew. Can I talk to George?"

George took his phone back. "Did you say thank you, Tiff?"

I couldn't hear her words as I walked toward the side of the three-story hospital, but it sounded as if Tiffany was growling. As we rounded the corner of the building, Scoobie and Max waved from one of the round, concrete picnic tables. I waved back.

George put his phone in his pants pocket. "The only thing she knows different is that the police are looking for a man who was running in the alley near the Java Jolt back door early this morning. Somebody other than Joe. Not much of a description except a white guy who ran fast. Dark clothes."

Max had risen and walked toward us. "Jolie, Jolie. I went to your house but you weren't there."

"What a smart thing to do," I said. Max is about five-seven, with dark brown hair and a thin physique. None of his war injuries show except for a very small scar on his left cheek, near his ear. I didn't even notice it when we first met. His head injuries had been severe, however, the result of riding in an Army vehicle that was not properly armored when it struck an explosive device at the side of the road.

Scoobie gestured to a spot next to him. "Have a seat, my love. "I leaned over to kiss him and sat.

Max looked surprised, but it wasn't the time to discuss Scoobie's and my relationship. George sat and Max climbed onto the bench between George and me. "You okay?" I asked.

Max nodded, and studied his hands, which were now folded in front of him.

Scoobie's expression was more serious than usual. "Max went to the boardwalk to see Joe this morning."

"Muffins," Max said, "he gives me muffins."

"That's good," I murmured.

"And then what?" George asked.

Scoobie frowned at George. "As Max got closer to Java Jolt's back door, he heard Joe arguing with someone."

"They were really mad. Really mad," Max added.

"Did you hear why?" I asked.

"Something about Joe's name," he said. "Joe's name."

"Did, uh, the man dislike Joe's name?" I asked.

Max shook his head. "I don't know. He just said it was different. Different."

"Did he say how it was different?" George asked.

"No," Scoobie said. "Max said that Joe yelled at the man and asked him to leave."

"Told him," Max corrected. "Definitely told him."

"Right," Scoobie said, and looked at me. "Because the man was so angry, Max doesn't want to talk to the police."

Max continued to study his hands. "Sometimes they don't like me."

"They like you fine," I said, in a gentle tone. "When you were homeless they had to tell you not to sleep under the boardwalk."

"It was more than that," Max emphasized the last word.

I laughed for a second. My smile faded as I realized that Max probably did not know Joe had been shot.

Scoobie kind of grunted a smile, and added, "You didn't cause trouble, Max. They aren't mad at you. How about if Jolie takes you to talk to Sergeant Morehouse or someone?"

He shook his head, firmly. "I walked away really fast. Fast. Someone yelled at me, but I was almost at the corner of the alley. I was fast."

This worried me. "Did someone see you, someone who was mad at Joe?"

"Only my back, my back. When I got to the end, I ran across the boardwalk and under it. Ran. They didn't know where I was." He finally lifted his gaze from his folded hands and looked at me. "Under the boardwalk."

"Did you see them?" George persisted.

Max stared at George, and it was not a friendly look. "No."

It occurred to me that while Max's mind had become childlike in some ways, his ability to sense danger had probably been honed pretty well in Iraq. Maybe he had seen someone well enough to identify them and didn't want to say so.

"Max, what if we go to my house and ask Sergeant Morehouse to come see you there?"

"Do you still have your pets?" he asked. "I like Jazz."

"I do." My black cat is friendly to Max, but her playmate usually stays under my bed.

"Ask the lady to come," he said. "Ask Dana."

I glanced at Scoobie before meeting Max’s eyes again. "That will be Sergeant Morehouse's decision, but I bet he'll let Dana come."

 

WHEN WE GOT BACK to Steele Appraisals, a.k.a. Harry's house, George left in his own car and Max came inside with me. I needed to finish the paperwork for Mr. Fielding's house, since I had more or less promised him the results today. Then we could go to my house and call Morehouse to see if he’d let Corporal Dana Johnson talk to Max there.

"I like Harry," Max said, as I unlocked the front door.

"Me too, but I don't see his car, so he must be back at the Cozy Corner." Max obviously doesn't know Joe was shot. How am I going to tell him that?

Max trailed me into the shared office and I picked up a folder that was on the middle of Harry's desk. My name was prominently displayed on a paper attached to the folder. "Jolie, this works. Because of the garage and the big shed in the back yard, we can probably even make Lester happy." I read the file. Harry had been extra helpful and added a paragraph about the house’s attributes.

"Doubtful," I muttered. Max had walked across to the living room and was examining the one painting on the wall, a full-masted passenger ship from the mid-1800s. I picked up the phone to call Mr. Fielding. Lester might want a call first, but he wasn't paying for the appraisal.

Mortimer Fielding answered on the first ring. "Well, whaddya know?"

I gave him a one minute spiel about why his house was worth what Harry and I said it was. He made no response. "Mr. Fielding?"

"Lester said it's worth about eight thousand more."

"You can list it at any price you choose. Values are tricky now, because some people are skittish about buying at the shore. We base the appraised value on recent selling prices of houses like yours."

"Humph. You sound like you know what you're doin'."

Yea! "We're basically telling you what we believe the house is worth today. If you don't sell for six months, that number might go up, or down."

"You think down?"

"Predicting the real estate market is more Lester's area of expertise." As if anyone can reliably predict housing values after Hurricane Sandy.

I said I would drop a copy of the printed appraisal at his house, and he said later today or early tomorrow was all right. Pleased at the lack of argument, I made a copy on our small office copier, stuck it in a separate manila folder, and placed it in the filing cabinet.

I shut the cabinet drawer and walked out of the office area to look down the hall to the kitchen, where Max had wandered. "Max, before we ask Sergeant Morehouse to come to my house to talk to you, we need to chat for a minute."

He walked toward me. "I want to talk to Dana."

"I expect that will be fine, but I don't know if she’s working this afternoon." I pointed to the couch, the only piece of furniture in the living room. "Have a seat."

Max stared at me. "Why sitting, Jolie? Sitting."

"We don't have to sit. I just wanted to make sure you knew that Joe is fine."

"Joe yelled. Yelled."

"Yes, he did. And then I think he went for a walk." I was trying to gauge what Max knew, and decided nothing more than he had relayed at the hospital.

"Walking. I walk. A lot."

I smiled. "Joe’s okay, but when he was walking, someone tried to hurt him."

Max's mouth formed an o. "Sitting is good." He stared at me as he sat, and I sat next to him, about one foot away.

"I saw Joe at Mr. Markle's store, after you saw him."

Max's expression cleared. "Mr. Markle likes me now."

"Yes. When Joe walked out of the store, someone, I don't know who, tried to shoot him, and..."

Max sat up straighter. "Was it enemy fire?"

"Um, not like you experienced in Iraq. All they did was hit him in the shoulder. He's going to be fine."

Max stood. "I need to go to the bathroom. The bathroom." He walked toward the kitchen, and I figured he had noticed the half-bath earlier.

I stayed seated and worried. I shouldn't have told him when we were by ourselves. Maybe we should have gone over to First Prez, to see Reverend Jamison.

The toilet flushed. I stood, prepared to comfort Max. However, he walked back into the living room and said, "Mr. Markle sells donuts."

I guess the discussion is over. "Maybe we can go there later. Are you ready to go to my house, Max?"

"I was always ready."

I smiled. "I know. Thanks for waiting."

I locked the office as we left, and waited a few seconds on the short sidewalk that led to the street. Max had to check out a huge chrysanthemum plant that looked more like a red bush. "I have milk and orange juice at home. You want anything else to drink?"

"Scoobie lives with you. He didn't move back to his old apartment after it got fixed. Didn't move back."

"That's true." I unlocked the passenger door for him. "Scoobie can explain that to you."

I walked behind my car and had just turned right to walk toward the driver's door when the screech of tires and sound of a roaring engine made me jump, and turn. A very large, dark green SUV barreled toward me.