in addition to moving the counter back so there was more room for customers, he had added several decorative things on small shelves that were now behind the counter. “You’ve done more just in the last couple of days. It looks good.” I wanted to talk about anything but Mr. Fitzgerald.
“Ever since Father Teehan chewed my ass for cussing Sandy a lot, I’ve tried to remind myself it’s worse south of here.”
Joe is known for his sometimes grumpy view of the world, and for some reason he likes to give Scoobie a hard time, so I’ve never gotten real chummy with him.
I was about to reply when the door banged open. George, followed by Scoobie, came in.
“Where the hell have you been?” George asked.
“I went down to Atlantic City to hang out in the casinos.”
Joe grunted and Scoobie walked over and hugged me. It felt good.
“Sorry,” George said, gruffly. “We were worried.”
“You were,” Scoobie said, as he gestured that we should sit at a table by the new glass picture window that faced the boardwalk. “I told you she always lands on her feet. Unless she’s falling down the stairs, then I have to help her.”
“Very funny.” We sat at one of Joe’s new tables.
George walked to the counter and ordered coffee for himself and hot tea for Scoobie.
“You are okay, right?” Scoobie asked.
“No.” I wasn’t going to pretend this was like getting a tooth filled. I could still see poor Mr. Fitzgerald’s body in the porch swing.
George came back as Scoobie gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Morehouse said you looked okay,” George said.
“Oh, I will be. It just, well, looked like it hurt.” My voice was a whisper by the end of the sentence.
“He was a nice guy,” George said, apparently not sure what to say if I was going to choke up. “A bunch of times a year he’d let people use him for charity auctions without charging them.”
“Hey, there was another fire?” I asked.
“Yep. Same deal.” In a low tone he gave Scoobie a thirty second summary of his efforts to see if the fires in vacant houses were linked. He turned to Joe. “If you want to hear, just walk over.”
“Try not to be too big a jerk,” Joe said, more like his usual self. He poured the dregs from a dirty mug into the sink behind the counter.
“But no obvious link?” I was glad to be distracted for a few moments. I thought George’s idea of a connection between the fires was a stretch.
“Not yet.” He looked at me directly and looked away.
“Hey, your other idea was the auction thefts.”
“Yeah, but Fitzgerald wasn’t too keen on that story going anywhere.”
“That doesn’t usually stop you,” Scoobie said.
“Fitzgerald sort of implied he’d take legal action if I published something that deterred people from using his services, so I went into watch and wait mode,” George said.
“So, was stuff still being taken?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I heard about it originally from Lester, and I’ve been asking other people.” I groaned and George continued. “One of Lester’s customers had put a bunch of stuff in one of the group auctions and swore that he didn’t get paid for all of it. Fitzgerald just kept telling the guy it must have gotten stolen or mixed in with another lot, and it would be found and credited to the guy. Either way, Fitzgerald wasn’t willing to fork over any cash right then.”
“I guess Lester would have told you if it had been resolved,” I said. “Still…”
“I know where you’re going with this, Scoobie said. “The drawer.”
“More like the murder. Maybe some other people lost stuff and…”
My cell phone chirped and I looked at caller ID. “That’s Morehouse’s cell.” I wished I didn’t have it memorized.
“Jolie,” he said, brusquely. “I think you better come back.”
“Why…?” He had hung up.
“I hate it when he does that.” Since he was speaking at full bellow, George and Scoobie had heard him.
“I’ll go with,” Scoobie said.
“Ever since Father Teehan chewed my ass for cussing Sandy a lot, I’ve tried to remind myself it’s worse south of here.”
Joe is known for his sometimes grumpy view of the world, and for some reason he likes to give Scoobie a hard time, so I’ve never gotten real chummy with him.
I was about to reply when the door banged open. George, followed by Scoobie, came in.
“Where the hell have you been?” George asked.
“I went down to Atlantic City to hang out in the casinos.”
Joe grunted and Scoobie walked over and hugged me. It felt good.
“Sorry,” George said, gruffly. “We were worried.”
“You were,” Scoobie said, as he gestured that we should sit at a table by the new glass picture window that faced the boardwalk. “I told you she always lands on her feet. Unless she’s falling down the stairs, then I have to help her.”
“Very funny.” We sat at one of Joe’s new tables.
George walked to the counter and ordered coffee for himself and hot tea for Scoobie.
“You are okay, right?” Scoobie asked.
“No.” I wasn’t going to pretend this was like getting a tooth filled. I could still see poor Mr. Fitzgerald’s body in the porch swing.
George came back as Scoobie gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Morehouse said you looked okay,” George said.
“Oh, I will be. It just, well, looked like it hurt.” My voice was a whisper by the end of the sentence.
“He was a nice guy,” George said, apparently not sure what to say if I was going to choke up. “A bunch of times a year he’d let people use him for charity auctions without charging them.”
“Hey, there was another fire?” I asked.
“Yep. Same deal.” In a low tone he gave Scoobie a thirty second summary of his efforts to see if the fires in vacant houses were linked. He turned to Joe. “If you want to hear, just walk over.”
“Try not to be too big a jerk,” Joe said, more like his usual self. He poured the dregs from a dirty mug into the sink behind the counter.
“But no obvious link?” I was glad to be distracted for a few moments. I thought George’s idea of a connection between the fires was a stretch.
“Not yet.” He looked at me directly and looked away.
“Hey, your other idea was the auction thefts.”
“Yeah, but Fitzgerald wasn’t too keen on that story going anywhere.”
“That doesn’t usually stop you,” Scoobie said.
“Fitzgerald sort of implied he’d take legal action if I published something that deterred people from using his services, so I went into watch and wait mode,” George said.
“So, was stuff still being taken?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I heard about it originally from Lester, and I’ve been asking other people.” I groaned and George continued. “One of Lester’s customers had put a bunch of stuff in one of the group auctions and swore that he didn’t get paid for all of it. Fitzgerald just kept telling the guy it must have gotten stolen or mixed in with another lot, and it would be found and credited to the guy. Either way, Fitzgerald wasn’t willing to fork over any cash right then.”
“I guess Lester would have told you if it had been resolved,” I said. “Still…”
“I know where you’re going with this, Scoobie said. “The drawer.”
“More like the murder. Maybe some other people lost stuff and…”
My cell phone chirped and I looked at caller ID. “That’s Morehouse’s cell.” I wished I didn’t have it memorized.
“Jolie,” he said, brusquely. “I think you better come back.”
“Why…?” He had hung up.
“I hate it when he does that.” Since he was speaking at full bellow, George and Scoobie had heard him.
“I’ll go with,” Scoobie said.
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