Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep by Elaine Orr Page B
Authors: Elaine Orr
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away portions of the damaged boardwalk. Maybe they would get an award for…“Hey,” I said aloud.
It occurred to me that if Hank Bauer knew the bid meeting was tomorrow it must be an open meeting. Even if it was supposed to be for bidders only, who would throw me out? Or George?
“What are you heying about?” Scoobie asked. He sat in the chair at the vacant microfilm reader next to mine.
I thought fast. George can appreciate my intensity about finding out things, sometimes anyway, but Scoobie and Ramona think I should leave well enough (or messed up enough) alone. “I was reading about the company that built Silver Times.”
“Why do you care?” he asked, and frowned at the article I had on the screen.
“I guess because Elmira’s apartment had more damage than I would have expected in a newer building that had gutters,” I said.
“You appraising something out there?” Scoobie asked. He gave me a kind of suspicious look.
“Nope. Elmira wants me to stop by again, but so far I’m ignoring her.” I switched off the machine. “Any progress on planning the hotdog eating fundraiser?”
“Some, but listen to this.” Scoobie leaned back in the chair he had pulled up next to mine and held the paper closer to his face. When he reads his poems he’s very focused.
I thought they were special, brought meaning to my life.
Born to be touched, much favored by my heart.
Then came the foam, sliced through them like a knife.
When I thought things mattered we were soon apart.
“How do you come up with all of this?” I asked. I could tell from his expression that he’d been hoping for something more profound.
“Something you aren’t too keen on,” he said.
I detected a coming barb.
“Sitting quietly and thinking,” he added.
“Very funny.”
“Not really,” he said, closing the notebook that had his poem. “I’d bet the cost of at least one textbook that you’re reading about Silver Times because you’re up to something.”
I dodged his comment. “So, what about the hotdog contest?” I asked.
“It’ll take awhile to get set up. In the meantime, the guys who’ve been volunteering for Sandy clean-up have talked Father Teehan and Reverend Jamison into a practice round.”
“Meaning a contest where those two will eat lots of hot dogs?” I could sort of see Reverend Jamison being willing to do it, but Father Teehan is in his early fifties and is kind of stodgy.
“I’d pay to see that,” Scoobie said. “No, they’ll just buy the dogs and buns and let us use the First Prez community room for the guys to practice fast eating. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly to impress girlfriends.”
“Sounds like a good way for your volunteers to get a lot of free food,” I said. I still didn’t like the idea of overeating being part of a fundraiser for people who had little food, but I’m trying to learn to let other people be in charge. It doesn’t mean I like it.
Scoobie shrugged. “I thought so, too, but now that we’re planning for the practice dog eating, it’s helping me figure out what we need to do when we have it as a fundraiser.” His eyes brightened and eyebrows arched. “You should come over. We’re doing it Sunday.”
“Why don’t you invite the whole Harvest for All committee?”
He pulled a face. “I guess I have to make up with Sylvia sometime.” He stood. “Gotta get to school.”
“Want a ride?” I asked.
“Nope. Have the bus routes and times all figured out.” He grinned. “I’m literally saving you for a rainy day.”
“Charming,” I said, and watched as he walked back to get his back pack from the table where he always sits.
I turned back to the index, which I had up on a computer near the microfilm machine, and flipped the microfilm reader back on. I realized I hadn’t specifically searched for Nat or Marky Markham. After about ten minutes I was convinced that the entire Markham family was boring, and set about putting microfilm back in the
It occurred to me that if Hank Bauer knew the bid meeting was tomorrow it must be an open meeting. Even if it was supposed to be for bidders only, who would throw me out? Or George?
“What are you heying about?” Scoobie asked. He sat in the chair at the vacant microfilm reader next to mine.
I thought fast. George can appreciate my intensity about finding out things, sometimes anyway, but Scoobie and Ramona think I should leave well enough (or messed up enough) alone. “I was reading about the company that built Silver Times.”
“Why do you care?” he asked, and frowned at the article I had on the screen.
“I guess because Elmira’s apartment had more damage than I would have expected in a newer building that had gutters,” I said.
“You appraising something out there?” Scoobie asked. He gave me a kind of suspicious look.
“Nope. Elmira wants me to stop by again, but so far I’m ignoring her.” I switched off the machine. “Any progress on planning the hotdog eating fundraiser?”
“Some, but listen to this.” Scoobie leaned back in the chair he had pulled up next to mine and held the paper closer to his face. When he reads his poems he’s very focused.
I thought they were special, brought meaning to my life.
Born to be touched, much favored by my heart.
Then came the foam, sliced through them like a knife.
When I thought things mattered we were soon apart.
“How do you come up with all of this?” I asked. I could tell from his expression that he’d been hoping for something more profound.
“Something you aren’t too keen on,” he said.
I detected a coming barb.
“Sitting quietly and thinking,” he added.
“Very funny.”
“Not really,” he said, closing the notebook that had his poem. “I’d bet the cost of at least one textbook that you’re reading about Silver Times because you’re up to something.”
I dodged his comment. “So, what about the hotdog contest?” I asked.
“It’ll take awhile to get set up. In the meantime, the guys who’ve been volunteering for Sandy clean-up have talked Father Teehan and Reverend Jamison into a practice round.”
“Meaning a contest where those two will eat lots of hot dogs?” I could sort of see Reverend Jamison being willing to do it, but Father Teehan is in his early fifties and is kind of stodgy.
“I’d pay to see that,” Scoobie said. “No, they’ll just buy the dogs and buns and let us use the First Prez community room for the guys to practice fast eating. I’m pretty sure it’s mostly to impress girlfriends.”
“Sounds like a good way for your volunteers to get a lot of free food,” I said. I still didn’t like the idea of overeating being part of a fundraiser for people who had little food, but I’m trying to learn to let other people be in charge. It doesn’t mean I like it.
Scoobie shrugged. “I thought so, too, but now that we’re planning for the practice dog eating, it’s helping me figure out what we need to do when we have it as a fundraiser.” His eyes brightened and eyebrows arched. “You should come over. We’re doing it Sunday.”
“Why don’t you invite the whole Harvest for All committee?”
He pulled a face. “I guess I have to make up with Sylvia sometime.” He stood. “Gotta get to school.”
“Want a ride?” I asked.
“Nope. Have the bus routes and times all figured out.” He grinned. “I’m literally saving you for a rainy day.”
“Charming,” I said, and watched as he walked back to get his back pack from the table where he always sits.
I turned back to the index, which I had up on a computer near the microfilm machine, and flipped the microfilm reader back on. I realized I hadn’t specifically searched for Nat or Marky Markham. After about ten minutes I was convinced that the entire Markham family was boring, and set about putting microfilm back in the
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