CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAMONA’S ART GALLERY FRONTS the boardwalk as a narrow slit, as much like an alley as its town. Original watercolors, some hers, some of other artists, line the walls of what is really more of a hallway.
However, the narrow strip leads to a large room that runs behind the two stores that abut hers, one a souvenir shop and the other a candy and popcorn store. Ramona’s place always smells wonderful.
When she signed the ten-year lease, which Scoobie referred to as optimism on steroids, Ramona got permission to put a skylight in the roof of the large room. George volunteered to oversee its insertion, but she wisely demurred. She told me she had images of water streaming onto the light-colored laminate floors every time it rained.
She greeted the twins with a broad smile. “How are my two favorite four-year-olds?” She stooped over for kisses, her long French braids brushing their heads.
“Will we be your favorite five-year-olds?” Lance asked.
Leah seemed puzzled. “Who else would be?”
Ramona laughed. “No one else could possibly be. I hear Mom brought coloring books.”
“And Happy Meals,” Leah said. “But we can only eat them on the plastic tablecloth.”
“Good plan,” Ramona said.
“And she brought you a salad,” Lance said, “but you guys are allowed to eat by the windows.”
“Without a tablecloth,” Leah said.
As always when we visit with food, we placed a tablecloth in the middle of the larger room. The twins like to sit for a few minutes to discuss the art that hangs on the walls. I opened the new box of sixty-four crayons and silently made for the front room.
Ramona had unpacked the two large Tupperware bowls of salad and put them on the counter. She pulled two folded deck chairs from behind the narrow counter and we sat down to eat. I was starved.
“What kind of dressing is this?” she asked.
“Honey mustard. My new favorite. Easy to put together, too.”
Ramona poured coffee from the thermos I’d brought. “You doing okay?”
“Pretty much. It’ll be a while before I lose the image, but at least I don’t see Aaron Taylor’s head every time I close my eyes.”
She shuddered. “I’ve heard all kinds of stuff about him, but nobody deserves to die like that.”
“George said he had tenant complaints, but nothing major.”
“I talked to Daphne last night. She looked him up in the high school yearbook in the library. She said he was informally voted, “Most Likely to Date 20 Women Before Age 20.”
I thought about that. “Doesn’t sound overly hard.”
“Probably not in a bigger town, but in Ocean Alley, where everyone knows your business? You’d have to leave town if your dates started comparing notes.”
“I see your point.” I looked out her plate glass window, to the ocean rolling gently on the sand. “So peaceful here.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to take my eyes off the surf.”
“You know who any of the woman are?”
She laughed and reached into the pocket of her flowing, floral dress and pulled out a piece of paper. She had handwritten “30 seconds.”
I flushed. “Very funny. You can’t tell me you aren’t curious.”
“I am. I think it’s hard when someone you used to date dies. You have memories, maybe you’re really sad. But friends don’t reach out to you as they would if you were still dating.”
“Makes sense.” I wanted to know who those ex-girlfriends were, but knew that if I waited Ramona would tell me without another ask. She likes to pass on what she knows.
“You already knew about Natalie. Daphne said he dated a couple women he went to high school with after they came back from college, but that was years ago. She also heard he went out with Sarah. You know her from the registrar’s office?”
“Gosh, I sure do. Recently?”
“About this time last year. George said there was a photo of them visiting that pumpkin patch on the north side of town.”
“I read the paper cover to cover. I don’t remember that.”
“He downloaded it and showed it to me. They’re in costume, and it’s not captioned. Tiffany took the picture and she knew who was in it.”
“Huh. I can check in with Sarah.”
Ramona did a ladylike snort.
“To see if she’s okay. A year isn’t all that long ago.” After a pause, I asked, “Who else?”
“Somebody told George Aaron used to flirt with Megan every time he went into Java Jolt, but I can’t see her having the time to date anyone.”
“Let’s see…her daughter Alicia is in college. I suppose Aaron would be close to Megan’s age. Sarah’s only about thirty, I think.”
Ramona closed the lid on the bowl that had held her salad. “Megan would have more ideas, I bet.”
“I’m trying to figure out the order. It sounds as if he dated Sarah before Natalie.”
Ramona shrugged. “You and George really get into this stuff. I just find it hard to believe that an ex-girlfriend would kill him. Especially at night, in the daycare center.”
Lance’s voice came from the larger room. “Hey, Mom. A French fry got on the floor.”
“How’d it get there?”
After three seconds, he said, “It jumped.”
I stood. “If he’s playing with french fries they’re getting bored.”
Ramona stood, too. “I’ll pack the bowls back in your sack. You can clean the ketchup off the floor.”
Before I’d gone a few feet, I turned to her. “Is George going to be with us tonight?”
She grinned. “No. He bought me roses.”
When I got to the larger room, no ketchup dotted the floor, but crumbs, specks of milk, and empty food wrappers graced the plastic tablecloth. I decided to wad up the entire cloth and shake it out at home.
Leah watched me pull the ends of the table cloth together so no food spilled out. “Maybe we should do that when we have a picnic in the backyard.”
“We don’t have to worry about much of a mess in the backyard.”
“Lance makes…”
Before she could finish the thought, I said, “Time to head home. You guys don’t have to sleep but you can lie in your bed with books.”
“Daddy reads to us,” Lance said.
“That’s at night. I need you to have some quiet time.”
“How come?”
“I have some phone calls to make. For work.”
“Are you going to call Miss Natalie to see when we can go to school?”
Ramona grinned as she handed me the bag with empty salad bowls. “I bet she calls her twice.”
I HAD JUST PUT THE kids in their beds to read on Friday afternoon when Harry called to say that the Hopkins needed their house appraised as originally planned. “We traded calls this morning. I think Mrs. Hopkins thought if she put me off I wouldn’t ask for a delay.”
“Maybe I can get Alicia to come over to sit with the kids. I’ll call her.”
“If not, it’s no problem for me to do it.”
“I know, but I’d like to make the money.” More quietly, I said, “and get away to do it.”
He chuckled. “You have the paperwork. Call me back if you can’t get Alicia.”
Megan’s daughter Alicia knows the twins well, and they like her. She sat for them before she went to college and a number of times since. She said she’d come if she could do some studying.
When she arrived, they were up and ready to show her new toys. I had a hard time explaining their routine before I left for the afternoon. “Remember, Alicia has some studying to do. She’ll play with you, but sometimes you have to play by yourselves or watch a movie.”
They really had the singsong “yes Mom” down pat.
THE HOPKINS’ HOUSE ON THE north side of town faced east, and a small porch on the second floor probably let them see the ocean, even though they were six blocks from it. That view would add a lot to the value.
Mrs. Hopkins greeted me with a harried expression. “Hello, Jolie, I know your aunt.” She laughed as she shut the door. “Now everyone does. I used to volunteer with her in the hospital auxiliary.”
“Harry and I appreciate your business. Would you like to accompany me while I measure and take pictures?”
“No. I’ve already started packing, but I’ve put boxes in the closets and garage, so it’ll look good when you take photos.”
“Thanks, but that’s more important to the realtors selling the house than to an appraiser. We’re kind of nuts-and-bolts people.”
“That makes sense.” She led me to the kitchen and offered coffee.
“No, thanks. Since I had to stay home with the kids this morning, my schedule is packed.”
She straightened a dish towel that hung on the stove door. “Such a sad thing about that man’s death. Did you know him?”
“I’d only met him once.” I stood in the doorway and took a shot of the table and chairs that made up what the real estate agent had called the breakfast area.
She eyed me directly. “The paper didn’t say who discovered him.”
I had hoped not to have to go into the murder. “I’m sorry to say I arrived early for a meeting, and found him.” When she seemed about to launch into more questions, I added, “But I don’t know more than was in the paper.” I did, but she didn’t need to know that.
“That’s right. Friday is the real edition. I bet ours is behind the bush in front of the window. The new paperboy always misses the porch.”
I cursed inwardly. Scoobie takes it to work because he can’t read it online while at the hospital. I hadn’t given the paper a thought today.
While she hunted for the Ocean Alley Press, I hurriedly took more photos and pulled out my tape measure. By the time she returned and spread the paper on the kitchen table, I had entered the dining room.
“It says here he died from loss of blood from a wound in the upper body.”
“Uh huh.” I took two quick pictures in the well-appointed living room.
“But the autopsy report wasn’t available when they wrote this.”
“Oh.” I hoped my noncommittal responses would be enough to stave off more recitations.
“And the police don’t have any suspects.”
Didn’t work. But I was curious about one thing. “Who wrote the article?”
“It says it’s a special submission by George Winters. He used to work at the paper. Did you know that?”
“I did. I’m heading upstairs.”
The three upstairs bedrooms and a den had been cleared of nearly every personal item and, from the sparse look, much of the furniture. It made my work easier. Still, every room had a canopied bed, not something I saw every day. The mahogany desk in the den probably cost $2,000.
Bathrooms are always a challenge to photograph, but the two upstairs were large enough that I could take two decent pictures of each.
I pulled down the cord that led to the attic, which brought Mrs. Hopkins hurrying up the stairs. “Do you have to take photos up there? We just use it for storage.”
“I don’t have to, but it looks as if it runs the width of the house. If it’s floored, it could add to the value.”
“Well, that’s good. It’s insulated too. There’s a light with pull-chain on your right.”
I placed my flashlight on the floor and started up the ladder. “Good to know.”
From below me, she called, “That Aaron Taylor sometimes used my husband’s plumbing services.”
A plumber. No wonder they can afford such a lovely home. “Really?”
“Yes. But he didn’t always pay on time. I guess I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
Perhaps not, but it told me more about Aaron Taylor’s financial situation.