THE NEXT MORNING, MY BRAIN was still in a fog from Joe's shooting and the mess at our bungalow. If it hadn't been for someone trashing our house, I think I could have let go of the shooting. What Joe had done or not done in his past had nothing to do with me. Scoobie and I, with others, could keep track of Max to be sure no one bothered him, and Joe could be on his own.
But, some pure dirt bag, to use Lester’s term, had been in our house, torn up my cushions, and tossed the kitchen. I was angrier than a shark on a fishing line and wanted to know who had the nerve to invade my space. Scoobie's space, too, but he was intent on not worrying about what he couldn't control. That annoys the daylights out of me, but if I tell him he just says serenity takes work.
So, serenity aside, I entered the police station early the next morning. I was supposed to be at Java Jolt by six thirty, but I needed to know who ran away from the car accident. I knew it was too early for Morehouse, but Dana often worked with local schools. She might be at the station.
The officer at the front desk was one of the two who had come to my bungalow after the break-in. His curls were not as tight today, and he did not like my request to see Dana. "The thing is, she’s about to head to the high school to be in the main hallway when the doors open."
"One minute, that’s all." I tried to look imploring.
He picked up the phone and pushed two buttons. Someone answered and he told them to ask Corporal Johnson if she could talk to me for a minute. He listened. "In the lobby. Okay." He hung up and looked at me, "Just a sec."
In about five seconds the door that led to the locked area where officers sit opened and Dana came out. "Jolie, what?"
I hadn’t wanted to talk where the desk officer could hear but couldn’t ask him to put his fingers in his ears. "Remember that accident in front of Mr. Markle’s the other day? You know, the day Joe was shot."
She frowned. "I really have to…"
"Who was it who fled that day?"
I could see she was debating her response. "We sent a few sets of prints to Trenton. But I don’t think we’ve heard back yet. A car taken for a joy ride is not a high priority for the lab down there."
"Oh, so not the same person whose prints were on Java Jolt’s door?"
She looked from me to the other officer and back to me. "I don’t know. I’ll check. Later. Now I have to get to the high school." She walked out the door that leads to the station’s parking lot
I looked at her back, then at my watch. If I hustled, I’d only be fifteen minutes late to Java Jolt.
IT WAS TWO DAYS before our Saturday Halloween party fundraiser. I finally had my Toyota back, and it seemed mostly repaired. The driver’s side window was sluggish, so it would have to go back to the repair shop at some point. There would be time after the fundraiser.
I was in Java Jolt for what I planned to make my last tour of duty. I hadn't minded helping Joe when I thought he was a hapless victim, but I was no longer sure of that. Plus, the constant smell of coffee was bugging my stomach. I only have a couple of cups a day myself, and after being around it all the time I wasn’t even drinking that much.
The only problem with me cutting back on Java Jolt time was that Max wanted to help George at the shop, and there would not be a good reason to say no. When I explained to Max that it was boring work and sometimes customers were grouchy, he simply said, "Joe helps me. I help Joe." I wish my brain were as clear as his more troubled one can be at times.
"So, Max," I said, "the hot water is only for tea, unless someone wants a bit added to their coffee."
Max regarded me as if I had the brain damage. "Jolie, coffee is mostly water. Water."
"You're right. Sometimes people don't want it to be as strong as we make it. Then they say something like half a cup of coffee and half a cup of water."
"But they pay the same," George added.
"Okay," Max said, "but George takes the money."
From his place at a table on the customer side of the counter, Joe added, "Or I do."
"Or Joe," George amended. "But you won't be here much, right Joe?"
"For now," Joe said.
George began showing Max where the paper cups and napkins were stored, and I made myself a cup of peppermint tea and went to Joe's table. The only other people in the shop were two local couples, and if they wanted refills, they would likely get them from the thermoses on the counter.
"Aunt Madge treating you okay?"
Joe nodded. "When I let her. I have to keep reminding her not to ask me if I want anything."
"Ah, good. You must be feeling better."
"Getting there. I do appreciate not having to cook meals. I'll have to load up on frozen dinners before I go…wherever."
I glanced toward the counter to be sure Max and George weren't listening. "I'm sorry you have to find a new place to live."
"How did you know that?"
"Mrs. Hardy had me do an appraisal." I wished I hadn't said anything. Joe's look was a mix of anger and pain. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said..."
"No, it's okay. I'd been thinking of moving a few more blocks back from the ocean, maybe buying a small place."
"Maybe you'll get a bargain, like I did."
He shrugged, and winced briefly. "Hope to. Probably have to rent for a couple of months. Lester said he'd help me find a place."
"Lucky you."
"Yeah, well, he's been helping here. And you know how...persuasive he can be."
"Don't we all." I had planned a series of questions, and was sorry I had made the comment about Joe's apartment as a lead-in. But, no time like the present. "How did a Kansas boy get from the corn fields to the ocean?"
"Wheat." At my puzzled look, he added, "Corn is Iowa. Wheat is Kansas."
"I can see the grain of truth in that."
He groaned. "You're channeling Scoobie. Not good."
"Sorry. Really though, it's quite a switch. I could see going from a factory to running a coffee shop, but why Ocean Alley?"
Joe's quick look at my face and back to his coffee said he was sizing up my intent. "I was only at the ocean once, but it just stayed with me. The freshness, no fertilizer smell, that kind of thing. I couldn’t find work in Kansas. When I decided on a change, I came here. I picked Jersey because of Springsteen, if you can believe that."
"Ah. The Asbury Park ideal." Asbury Park is not even ten miles north of Ocean Alley. It’s coming back to its glory days, but it'll take awhile. "How did you find the reality?"
His smile was rueful. "Ocean Grove and Ocean Alley are definitely more...upscale. People are friendly here. When I came that first spring, I worked two jobs and slept on the beach, except on the nights the cops rousted me."
"So you could save a lot?"
As he nodded, porcelain hit the floor behind us with a distinct crash.
"I broke it! I broke the cup!" Max called. He and George were toward the back of the shop.
Joe called, "Don't worry about it, Max."
"No worries, no worries," Max repeated.
I didn't hear what George was saying to him, but the tone was one of patience. I looked back at Joe.
"Yeah, had a bit when I got here. Saved a lot. When I got this place it was kind of a dump." He nodded as if encompassing the shop.
"When I lived here in eleventh grade it was part of an arcade. Scoobie and I came here a lot."
"Luckily someone remodeled it for a hot dog and popcorn stand, so the plumbing was redone for a place that sold food. Still took a lot of work."
I studied his face. "And then Hurricane Sandy did a number on it."
"Yeah, but I was luckier than a lot of people. I didn't have huge stoves or walk-in refrigerators like some of the restaurants. Almost all of my equipment could be moved out easily. I just had to gut the place." He looked toward the serving counter. "Came out better."
I nodded. "It did. Listen, Joe, there’s one more thing to tell you. It’s about your apartment."
"What? Did somebody trash it like your place?"
"No. If it had been searched, the person was a pro. It was your stack of mail…"
"You went through my mail?"
I shook my head. "Of course not. But I had to move it off the counter to take photos for the appraisal. When I moved the mail back I saw a handwritten note. It said, ‘You’re dead.’"
He looked stunned. "Damn. You have it? Did Mrs. Hardy see it?"
I explained Talbot’s abrupt departure and my near-certainty that he had gone to Mrs. Hardy’s to get the note.
"Who is Talbot Peters?"
I sighed. "He came by, said he was one of your suppliers and wanted to help. George even did a reference check. But, um, I guess it was a phony reference."
Joe stared at me. "No kidding. What did he look like?"
I described him in detail, adding that his violet eyes would qualify as bedroom eyes in a romance novel.
Though the description seemed to reassure him, Joe had looked a lot better before I told him about the note. But I didn’t want to stop asking questions. "You don’t think it could have really been Barry Belken, do you?"
Joe looked surprised. "Who is that?"
Is he trying to pull one over on me? "That’s the name of the guy whose prints were on the Java Jolt back door the day you got shot. I saw the name in an article in a Kansas paper."
Joe appeared puzzled. Not that I could tell if it was real or feigned. "Do you have a photo of this Belken?" Joe asked.
Damn. I should have printed the photo in the article that was on the library computer. I shook my head. If Joe did know Belken, he was a pretty good actor.
George and Max’s voices were growing closer to where we were sitting, so I lowered my voice. "Surely the police gave you the name."
He shook his head, as if thinking. "No, they didn’t. Oh, they did mention someone when I was in the hospital. I was on a lot of pain meds."
I nodded. "Those’ll fry your brain. Do you think this Barry Belken and Talbot Peters could be the same guy?"
George had heard me say Talbot’s name and peered over the service counter at Joe and me. "Yeah, Joe, I’m sorry about that. I was going to tell you. He didn’t steal a dime."
Not this time.
"You don’t owe me any apologies, George."
Max called for George to help him find a dust pan, so George walked toward the back.
Joe met my eyes and it was clear he would not answer. "You look tired. I’m sorry if I upset you." Not really.
"Not your fault." He pointed at his sling. "Makes me want to get better faster. So you, uh, never saw the Talbot guy again?"
"No." I glanced toward the back of the shop. "You really think Max can help?"
Joe lowered his voice. "Nah, but he'll be good company when I'm here alone. Once people know he got hurt in Iraq they don't mind his talking so much."
"You're a good sport," I said.
His expression was unreadable. "I'm learning."
As I left Java Jolt my mobile phone chirped. When the caller ID indicated who it was, I groaned. "Hello."
Morehouse sounded really, really angry. "What the hell did you want at the station this morning?"
"That front desk officer sounds like a bit of a tattle tale."
"Dammit," he began.
"I had an idea about that car accident in front of Markle’s store being related to Joe’s shooting."
"Yeah, I heard that’s what you asked. I’m tired, really tired of telling you to butt out."
"Was it a man or woman who called to tell you Joe wasn’t in Java Jolt that morning?"
I held the phone away from my ear. All I could make out were words like "could have been killed," and "dangerous business."
In a stroke of probably not very good sense, I adopted Morehouse’s habit and hung up without saying good-bye.
He called back. "Does it ever occur to you that Ocean Alley police do more than sit around with our thumbs in our ears?"
"On a daily basis," I replied, quickly. "Sometimes I just have ideas…"
"Do not come down here again unless you are reporting a crime or providing information." He hung up.
I DID STOP by Java Jolt Friday morning. Joe's hand was swollen after being there for a few hours on Thursday, and Aunt Madge ordered him to stay at the Cozy Corner to keep it elevated. I should probably teach Joe how to get around her edicts, but since he won't be there long there's no need. And since he's probably lying to me about a bunch of stuff, I'm not sure I care if his fingers are swollen.
George moved the heavy thermoses of coffee around and I poured individual cups as needed until the morning rush was over. Then I left for the courthouse to finish finding houses to compare to the ones I was appraising. All three were typical Ocean Alley bungalows, with frame exteriors that had been replaced by vinyl siding.
Two had beautiful interiors, but the third had been primarily a summer cottage. From Lester's comments on some notes he sent to Harry and me, the owner of the third one had unrealistic expectations as to what the house was worth. A buyer from Connecticut had been willing to match the asking price, but I didn't think even the most creative appraisal language was going to let me uphold the value to support the mortgage the buyer wanted. When even Lester is aware of this, it’s clear that the negotiated sales price on a real estate contract is really too high.
I reviewed my notes, decided the third house would take some serious consultation with Harry, and stopped at Burger King for a salad before heading back to Java Jolt. For someone who had decided to do less, I was paying too much attention to the place. I told myself I wanted to see how Max was doing.
I found a parking spot just off the boardwalk and half-jogged from the top of the steps to Java Jolt. I had barely jogged or power walked for two weeks. "Slug," I said, aloud.
At the entrance to Java Jolt I stopped. The closed sign was facing me. Why is that? I pushed the door and it opened. "George? Max?"
I heard the back door slam. "Max? George?"
"It's me, Jolie. Me." Max came down the back hallway and stopped at the service side of the counter. He looked...odd. Sort of ill at ease, except that's hard to tell with Max.
"Where is George? Did he take the trash out?"
"The bank. George is at the bank."
I felt myself flush. "He left you alone?"
"I said okay, okay."
The door to the boardwalk opened again and George stood there, looking perplexed. "Why are we closed?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because Max was here alone?" I glared at George.
"We didn't close....I mean, it was only for a minute." George flipped the sign back to open.
I looked at Max again. Something was wrong. "What happened, Max?"
He frowned, looking confused. "I don't think that man liked me."
George and I said, together, "What man?"
"The one in the sweatshirt, and sunglasses. Sunglasses."
"Is that who went out the back door?" I asked.
Max nodded. "He wanted Joe. I said no Joe, no Joe. He didn't believe me. Do you want to go to Newhart's with me, Jolie? To see Arnie? Arnie?"
"Sure Max." I wanted to throw a sugar canister at George, but resisted. "How about a milk shake?"
Max took off the Java Jolt apron he wore. "You like milk shakes, Jolie. I like donuts, donuts."
MAX AND I WENT from Newhart's to my house and waited for Scoobie to come home from work. Max had not been anxious to talk about the man who was looking for Joe, and I didn't push him. But I didn't want to leave him alone at his house.
Max was on the floor in the bedroom, talking to Pebbles. I dialed George's cell. "What were you thinking?" It's hard to convey anger when you have to keep your voice down.
"I honest to God thought leaving him for ten minutes was fine. Reverend Jamison's secretary and her sister were in there when I went to the bank. No one else."
"Except Max, alone!"
George tried to mollify me. "Okay, okay. You're right. I shouldn't have left him alone. Did he, uh, say who it was?"
"He didn't know him. Something about the guy made him nervous. I brought Max to our house to talk to Scoobie."
George called to someone, apparently a customer. "Be right with you."
"Go," I said. "Scoobie can talk to you later." I certainly didn't want to.
"THE THING IS, Jolie, I don't know what we'd say if we called the police. And talking to them would make Max nervous." Scoobie glanced toward the bedroom as he spoke. Max was again lying on the bedroom floor looking at Pebbles.
"You don’t want to call the police?" I teased.
"What would we tell the cops? Someone looked for Joe? The person didn’t stick around, and Max can’t or won’t describe him."
"I guess. But still…"
"Max didn't like the guy, but right now all he's concerned about is eating some of the brownies you're making and getting home to watch the movie he rented today."
"What movie?" I asked, not wanting to debate whether to tell the police.
"You care?"
"No. I don't know why I asked."
"Sound of Music. He likes the scene where the kids hang from the trees."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"I listen."
Max walked into the living room. "I listen. I forget, too."
I laughed. I had to. "Me, too."
"You want help cutting the brownies? Should we save some for Joe? For Joe?"
I stood from where I'd been sitting on the couch. "I bet he'd like some."
"Did you put in all the ingredients this time?" Scoobie asked.
"I helped, helped," Max said.
"He read me the recipe." I shook a finger at Scoobie. "Max likes my cooking."
"Except your mashed potatoes," Max said.
Scoobie hid his laugh with a cough. "George and I are going to an AA meeting tonight, Max. You want to come?"
I was surprised. "Max, I uh, didn't know you went to those. I go sometimes, too." When Max looked at me, I said, "I go to the All-Anon meetings. You know, for families."
"You don't go much," Max informed me. "Me either, me either. I went with Josh."
"Ah, Josh. He was your good friend."
Max nodded, subdued. "I miss him. He'll be back some day. Some day."
I looked at Scoobie and he shrugged. "Want to come, Max?"
"No. Brownies, then movie, then bed."
"Um, here?" I asked.
Max's look implied patience. "I'm going home to watch my movie."
The timer dinged and Max walked the short distance to the kitchen. I looked at Scoobie. "George is supposed to be at the party tomorrow. I don't know if Max and Joe should be alone at Java Jolt."
"Max says he’s coming to the Halloween party, as long as it’s not too noisy." Scoobie shrugged. "Java Jolt’s crowded on Saturdays. George'll go by before and after. It's the off-season and Joe knows the patrons. Somebody'll lift thermoses or whatever he needs."
"What if that guy comes back?"
"You remember the bit about admitting you have no control?"
"I remember. I just don't like it."
After Scoobie and Max left, I sat on the couch, Jazz in my lap, and stared ahead, thinking. It puzzled me that the police were not questioning Joe more. He’d been shot, so they might go easier on him. But still, Barry Belken had been at Java Jolt, whether Joe knew him or not. Yet Joe had looked genuinely surprised when I mentioned Belken’s name, so maybe the police had not asked Joe about him again. Was Joe lying to me?
Maybe Talbot Peters was a cleaned-up, somewhat heavier version of Barry Belken, but I couldn’t be at all sure. I wished I had access to tapes from the security cameras at the courthouse. It would be good to have a photo of the so-called Talbot Peters talking to me the day he introduced himself.
Talbot’s face was fuller, and of course he had no facial hair. His hair was short, and he didn’t act sullen, which was the Belken expression. But there was the different eye color. Contact lenses come in colors.
I sighed. No one would show the courthouse camera feeds to me, so no point thinking about it.
My stomach roiled. I had not told Scoobie I wondered whether Belken and Peters could be the same person. No point thinking about that. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do about telling Scoobie. Besides not having to deal with it.