CHAPTER NINETEEN


AFTER LUNCH WITH Aunt Madge and Harry and going home to feed Jazz and Pebbles, I headed for the police station. My plan was to tell Morehouse I had just found the phone in my purse, and forgotten I didn't have mine. He'd yell, but that would be over in a few minutes.

When I got to Main Street near the police station, the street was blocked and a patrol officer motioned my car onto F Street. I pushed my window down and called to him as I got closer. "What's up?"

"Just keep...Jolie?"

The officer looked somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t remember why, and I couldn’t see his name badge.

"Morehouse is looking for you." He pointed to the edge of the group of sawhorses that blocked most of the street. Only a small car could pass through.

I pushed the button to raise my car widow, but it didn’t budge. "Damn."

"Now what?" he asked.

I pushed the button a few more times. "My car window won’t go up. I just got the car back after it got rammed a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, that was a good day for you. Keep moving," he said.

Irritated, I drove around the barricade and pulled into the police station parking lot. Black sedans and SUVs took up all the parking spaces, and a couple were parked behind police cars, blocking them into their spots. I stopped.

I pushed the button to roll up my window, again with no success. So much for a repaired car. A man in a suit walked toward me. He was maybe thirty, with close-cropped black hair and a waterproof jacket that said FBI on the front.

"Why'd he point you here?" he asked.

"He said Sergeant Morehouse was looking for me."

"I got it." Morehouse walked toward us. His shoulder holster was on the outside of his sports jacket, and he was perspiring even on such a cool day. He pointed at me. "Stay in your car."

"What? What is it?" I asked.

"We think Regan might be around here. His phone was just used in this area."

Uh oh.

 

IT WAS MORE than a little bit of yelling.

"I was bringing it back! I told you, I just realized I had it."

We were in the small conference room in the police station. Sergeant Morehouse, Lieutenant Tortino, Captain Edwards, and two very angry FBI agents were staring at me.

"That's crap," Morehouse said. "You used the phone."

"I thought somebody had mine. Maybe even Joe."

The FBI agent's tone was more modulated, but no less angry. "Why would Mr. Regan have your phone?"

I explained how mine had fallen to the floor in Java Jolt, and that I had to take Joe’s because the kidnappers were supposed to call me on it. "I figured if you had my phone you'd have given it to me. So I called it to see who had it."

Tortino's tone was as aggravated as Morehouse's. "And you had to use Regan's phone? You couldn't use any other phone in town?"

I shrugged. "I’d just found it in the bottom of my purse. I didn't think about it."

"You used it forty-five minutes ago," the FBI agent said. "Why didn't you bring it right here? Did you go to see Mr. Regan?"

"Get real," I said.

"This is damn serious, Jolie," Tortino said.

"I was supposed to have lunch with Aunt Madge. I didn't want her to be irritated if I was late."

"And you'd rather have local and federal law enforcement angry with you?" the agent asked.

"Well, kind of."

Morehouse ran his fingers through his very short hair. "Did Joe say where he was?"

"No, he just asked me to throw away the phone."

The FBI agent started to say something, but I asked, "Can't you sort of trace my phone to see where it was when he answered it?"

"I have people on it." The FBI agent stood and left the room. I didn't even remember his name. The second agent stood, looked at me directly, and walked out. Apparently I was to be left to the local police.

I looked at Morehouse. "That guy's grouchy."

Morehouse turned red. "Dammit, Jolie..."

Captain Edwards cut him off. "Jolie, by holding onto that phone as long as you did, you could be arrested for obstructing an FBI investigation."

"But I only remembered I had it a little while ago!"

He raised his voice. "And they still might. They're the ones handling the kidnapping investigation. I suggest you go about your normal day. Do not, and I mean do not, look for Joe or your phone."

"Yes, sir." Arrested? No way.

The captain stood. He's easily the tallest cop in town, and dresses like a Wall Street banker. "I mean it. I don't want to see you in here again." He left the room.

Morehouse's face wasn't red any more. "That goes double for me." He and Tortino stood and left.

I sat at the table for another fifteen or twenty seconds and wondered if Dana would tell me if the fingerprints in Java Jolt the day Joe got shot were the same as those on the steering wheel of the car whose driver ran away. And where my phone was when Joe answered it.

 

SCOOBIE WAS AT work, and he wouldn't want to talk about Joe's whereabouts even if he wasn't. Except maybe to tell me not to delve into it. That left George. With my car window still down, I headed for Java Jolt. George had said he would talk the building owner into letting him keep the coffee shop open. Because the landlord knew Joe had given George the go-ahead to run it temporarily, George expected permission to take over the lease, at least in the short term. I figured the landlord wanted the space occupied.

When George saw me his face lit up and he began to take off his apron. I shook my head, and walked behind the service counter.

He motioned me into the hallway. "Listen, Jolie, Joe may be somewhere downtown. I want to..."

"He isn't. At least he's not where all the police activity was." As I told him about the calamity my phone call to Joe had caused, I could tell he wanted to lambast me for not calling him. I ended by saying, "And Morehouse, even Captain Edwards, are furious with me. Be glad you weren't involved in any of it."

George frowned. "So, if your phone was within range of a tower near here they might find out quickly. Otherwise it'll take awhile."

"It only took a few minutes to track Joe's phone to the parking lot."

"Yes, but some FBI computer geek had already programmed their system to set off an alert when that phone was used."

"Oh, like TV."

"So," George took off his apron, "that's why you need to mind Java Jolt for maybe an hour while I go snoop at the courthouse or police station."

"I've never been here alone!"

"Relax, it's the slowest time of day."

 

I WAS MOPPING coffee off the floor when George came back forty-five minutes later.

"What happened?" George's eyes swept Java Jolt, taking in that there were no customers at the moment.

No way to avoid telling him. Three regular customers were in the shop when I forgot to put the coffee pot for decaf under the brewing machine. Someone would rat me out. "The decaf coffee didn't aim right."

George opened his mouth to say something, shut it, and then must have decided on a safer topic. "The prints on the car that someone deserted the day Joe got shot, some were the same as the ones on the Java Jolt door that morning. But only on the car's door handle and turn signal. It's like he wiped and missed a couple of prints."

I squeezed the sponge mop into the trash can.

"Why are you...?" George began.

"Because I don't feel like walking back to the sink in the hall, and the sink out here can only be used for making coffee and washing hands."

"Did you hear what I said?" George asked.

I leaned on the mop stick. "It means whoever scared Joe enough to leave the shop hotwired a car and crashed it in front of Mr. Markle's store. After the crash, he ran off, but not too far. He was near the grocery store when Joe left it."

"Huh, you do listen. Maybe saw him go in there and hung around until he came out," George mused. "But you didn’t see anyone when he got shot."

"Nope." I walked toward the hall to put the mop away, but stopped. "Who told you?"

"I saw Dana in Burger King..."

"You left me here to go to..."

"Geez, keep your cool. I saw her go in so I followed her. She said since it was your idea to compare the prints, she was passing it on. If you or I tell anyone she told us, we'll get a traffic ticket once a month for the rest of our lives."

"We have to tell Scoobie," I said. "But you better do it so he doesn't know I asked her about the prints."

George almost sputtered. "You said you'd tell him what you, we were doing."

I shrugged. "I give him the big picture."

George had something to say about that, but two customers came in, so he couldn't. I left before he could try to find out what I was or wasn't telling Scoobie.

 

AS I GOT IN my car I cursed whoever rammed me. I wasn't up for taking the car back in today. Luckily it wasn't raining.

I didn’t have a way to find out where Joe had been when he answered my phone, but it didn’t seem as if there could be too many options. A guy with a sling and a beat-up face does not blend in with people taking a stroll on the boardwalk.

To help me think of his possibilities, I drove up C Street toward the northern end of Ocean Alley. There were probably two hundred summer cottages that were vacant in the off-season. But Joe would need food and water. And an ice pack for his eye, but at this point that was a luxury.

After going about half a mile, two police cars blocked the road, lights flashing. This must be the area where Joe answered my phone.

I turned left, intending to go back to my house. The route took me by Mrs. Hardy's house. I bet she didn't expect a criminal for a tenant.

"Wait a minute." I pulled to the curb one house down from hers. Joe probably had a key to the apartment. Whether he had it with him was something else. Mrs. Hardy had her routine, he'd know when it was safe to sneak in. Or he could wait until nightfall. However, since he might have left his hiding place after I called him, he would not have had a dark night to conceal him. He might have gone into the apartment in daylight.

It was worth a shot. I got out of the car and locked it. Not that it mattered with a window down.

Mrs. Hardy answered her door after I knocked twice. She looked irritated, but her expression cleared somewhat when she saw me. "Jolie. This is a surprise."

With a broad smile, I told her I wanted to chat about whether she was happy with her appraisal, or if she had any suggestions for how we could do better.

She unlocked the storm door. "Oh, a customer service call. How nice."

I'm in. How do I get the key?

Mrs. Hardy had been pleased with what the appraisal said her house was worth and how quickly she got the information. What she really wanted to do was talk about the apartment she had found in Silver Times Senior Living, a retirement complex I knew well.

"And they'll paint it before I move in. Doesn't it sound perfect?"

"It does. You'll probably know a lot of the other residents." The key is on a hook near the kitchen door.

"Oh, yes. And there are clubs, for bridge and Scrabble and all kinds of things."

I cleared my throat. "Would you mind if I got a drink of water before I go?"

She began to stand, and I smiled. "You stay there. I'll use the cup you served me tea in."

Mrs. Hardy appeared slightly perplexed, but sat back down. I ran the water from the tap for a few seconds as I checked to be sure the key was still on its hook. It was.

When the cup was half full I turned off the water. As I got to the doorway I ran my hand along the frame, snagging the key ring on my pinkie. "Even the wood around the doors is in perfect condition."

She beamed. "Oh yes, my Roger saw to everything."

My left hand stayed at my side as I sat, and I raised the teacup to my mouth with the other hand. "There's nothing like fresh water."

"Certainly not."

We talked for another five minutes, during which time I was able to slide the key into the pocket of my slacks by pretending to look for a tissue. When that was finally accomplished, I made to stand. "I know you'll enjoy Silver Times."

"Oh, you need to go? You only just got here."

"My pets need to go out." I let her think I had dogs.

"You never want to delay that!" She laughed.

I drove straight home, arguing with myself the entire way.

He's not up there. He might be up there. You should call the police and suggest they search the apartment. You can't let Captain Edwards think you're meddling. Or Morehouse.

My bigger internal debate was whether to tell Scoobie what I planned to do. I rationalized that I would afterwards. I thought about having George go with me, but it would look odd enough for one person to walk up the exterior steps. Two would be really suspicious, and George would probably only help me if we told Scoobie in advance.

The best time to go was as soon as Scoobie left for work the next morning. Few people are out at six-thirty in the morning on a November day. It would still be somewhat dark, too.

Why are you doing this? So you can punch Joe. You decided that would hurt your hand. Okay, I'll kick him in his bad arm. Who are you kidding? You aren't some martial arts guru.

The latter point was certainly true. I told myself I was going for two reasons. First, I hate loose ends, have since I was a teenager. Second, if Joe could be persuaded to go to the police, he would get a much lighter sentence for whatever he'd done than if he was brought in from hiding.

What do you care? He didn't have to give you the money for Michelle.

As I got home, Scoobie's car pulled in next to mine in our small driveway. He looked irritated.

We both got out of our cars. "What? You look mad. You don't get mad."

"I don't like to be angry," he said. "Tell me it isn't true."

The expression on my face told him I didn't know what he was talking about. "You didn't keep Joe's phone overnight, did you?"

I almost blurted that that was a few hours ago, and I was on to something else. Thankfully, I stopped before that came out. "I honestly didn't remember that I had it." We were on the porch by now, and Scoobie put his key in the lock. "Mine fell on the floor at Java Jolt, remember?"

"Yes. That part I'm clear on."

Gee, he's really angry. "Joe's phone is much smaller, it was at the bottom of my purse. With everything that went on, well, I plain didn't think of it."

I bent to pick up Jazz, and for a second felt mildly dizzy. "I drove it to the police station myself, almost as soon as I found it."

"So you didn't call Joe?"

"Gee whiz. How does stuff get around so fast?"

Scoobie had continued to stand as I sat on the couch. His expression radiated exasperation. "You really did?"

"I wasn't calling Joe. I called my phone to see where it was, who had it. It's not my fault that he answered."

"I need to check my email." He turned abruptly and walked into the guest bedroom.

I put Jazz on the floor and sat, stunned. Scoobie was really, really angry with me. So angry he wouldn't talk about it. At least, not right now. I considered following him into the guest room, but if there's one thing I learned in All-Anon, it's that I'm not responsible for how someone feels.

Well, maybe now.

It didn't matter how logical it might be to let Scoobie deal with his emotions himself, it didn't feel right. I stood, intending to talk to him, but he came out of the room.

Saying nothing, he pulled his jacket off the back of the chair he had just placed it on, and said, "I'm going out for a bit. Back about nine."

"Okay." Nine o'clock? Where would he be for that long? AA or Narcotics Anonymous meetings didn't start for more than two hours, and they were over long before nine.

I was literally pacing a path around the living room, into the larger bedroom, and back when something occurred to me. It would be dark by about six-thirty this evening. I could check on Joe's apartment today. No need to wait for morning. Once I did that, especially if he was there and agreed to go to the police with me, all of this would be over.