Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep Read Free

sand crab on the beach. “Let’s think about that, okay? Maybe you need to call the police or something.” She was shaking her head firmly. “Maybe your husband’s fine now, and he’s got people looking for you…”
    “No! He would have called.”
    “But your phone was off,” I said, quietly.
    “I looked when I turned it on. He hadn’t called.”
    We stared at each other for several seconds. “I don’t know your name,” she said.
    “It’s Jolie Gentil. The “J” and “G” are soft.” I repeated it, “Zho-lee Zhan-tee.” I’m used to people not knowing how to pronounce my French name. Luckily, most people also don’t know it translates to “pretty nice” in English.
    “Where is your aunt?”
    “She’s about to start her honeymoon cruise.” I wanted to move this conversation to Pooki. “Okay, let’s figure this out. Do you know what your husband was doing today?” I asked.
    “I thought about that the whole time I was driving up here. He’s partners in a construction firm, with another guy from Ocean Alley. Do you know Steve Oliver?” she asked.
    “Is his brother Bill?”
    She nodded.
    “Bill was in my year. How long have you been out of school?”
    “Eight years. Steve and Eric and I all went to Rutgers together.”
    Ooh la la. “So, was your husband with Steve? Did they have a meeting with clients or what?” The part of me that had been in commercial real estate in Lakewood before I came to Ocean Alley was rearing its head. Real estate is always a cutthroat business, but since the hurricane even people who worked together for years are trying to beat each other out of deals. There’s far less property to sell, a lot of property that needs to be sold is in less than pristine condition, and there’s just all around less money to make.
    She nodded. “Ummm. Yes, I’m pretty for sure they had a meeting up here. There’s an old folks’ place on the edge of Ocean Alley. Apartments, assisted living, all that stuff. Can I have another shot?”
    “Sure.” I took her tea mug and added water.
    Pooki interrupted me. “I don’t need the tea.”
    I dumped the water in the sink and just added Amaretto. When she saw me stop pouring, she said,” Can I have more?”
    Great. Soon I’ll have a terrified drunk on my hands. All I said was, “Not now. We need to talk.”
    The beginning of a pout formed, and she took the tea mug and drank half of what I gave her in one gulp. “That’s better. Okay, where was I? Oh, right. Today the bids were due on a big renovation for the place. You know, because of Sandy. They wanted one firm to oversee all of the work. They could use subcontractors, but they wanted one company in charge, so they couldn’t blame each other if they were late. Or something like that.” She eyed the Amaretto bottle with a sorrowful expression.
    “And you think something about the bidding process led to Eric’s call?” I asked.
    She shrugged, betraying irritation. “I wouldn’t know. You asked what he did today, and I think he was dropping off that stuff. For the bid.” Her eyes brightened. “It was a lot of work. We were going to have a lot of money.”
    I couldn’t wait to get Pooki out of the B&B, but there seemed to be at least a chance that she was in some kind of danger, and her parents were Aunt Madge’s friends. “Anything else Eric said that might make you think someone was mad at him or something?”
    She yawned broadly as she shook her head. I studied her more closely for a moment. I don’t know much about drug use, but she didn’t show obvious signs of being high and her pupils weren’t dilated. I thought that meant something, but I wasn’t sure what. And I was really, really tired.
    “If you don’t want to call Eric or your parents or the police, I don’t know what else we can do tonight.”
    “Can I sleep here?” she asked.
    “Of course.” What am I getting into? “Let’s go upstairs and get you comfy. Things may look different tomorrow, or