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

fault .
    I told myself to shut up.
    “Jolie.”
    It was Scoobie, and from the expression on his face it was not the first time he’d said my name. “Sorry,” I said. “What?”
    “I said it’ll be okay, just not right away.”
    George walked through the kitchen and grabbed a muffin without stopping. “We should all go to a meeting tonight.” The swinging door flapped back and forth as he headed through the breakfast room.
    I looked at Scoobie. “You said no shoulds.” I’m sure I sounded as grouchy as I felt. George and Scoobie banded together to get me to my first All-Anon meeting a few weeks ago. I don’t think you’re really supposed to trick people into going to those, but now I go two or three times a month. I guess they’re right that having an overbearing mother and a husband who gambled your lives into broke could cause some issues. I still haven’t figured out what they are.
    “With George it’s a figure of speech,” he said. “Get dressed, we gotta go.”
    Scoobie can take the city bus to campus and usually does. As he gets to know more of his classmates better he often gets lifts home. People were used to seeing him looking pretty scruffy and sitting on boardwalk benches a lot, even in the couple years after he got clean and sober. Now that they know him better, and know that he won’t rat on them because he saw some of them smoking pot years ago, some of the students are friendlier.
    We didn’t talk about anything important during the five-minute ride to campus. As Scoobie started to get out of the car, he said, “Yo, Jolie. Don’t be too tough on yourself.”
    “I’m okay,” I said, automatically.
    “Not,” he said, and leaned over to give me a light kiss on the cheek. “I can see right through you, remember?”
    It was almost a full minute before I realized he’d told me an x-ray joke.
     
    IT WAS EARLY afternoon and I’d had enough frustration to last for about six weeks. “I don’t understand why you won’t tell me anything.” I was sitting in Sgt. Morehouse’s small office, and he looked as tired as I felt. He’s not that much older than I am, maybe eight or ten years, but between the polyester pants and haggard expression, right now he looked about fifty.
    He was more patient than usual. “If there is something you need to know, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, the fewer people who know the specifics about any investigation the more we have a chance to find the perp.”
    “Aunt Madge is going to ask me about the knife set. Did you take it?”
    “Right now she don’t know it’s missing.” He pointed an almost accusatory finger at me. “Did you tell George?”
    I shook my head. “He ran out to go to work, and I drove Scoobie to the college.” It was just lucky George had been in such a hurry. Even I knew it was the kind of thing a reporter probably shouldn’t know. “Hey.” My expression surely grew pleased. “You said the knife set is missing.”
    He stood. “Out.”
    He rarely raises his voice, and for a second the open area where more junior officers have desks was totally quiet.
    Morehouse closed his eyes briefly. “I want you to call anytime you remember something that could help. That’s remember what happened, not dig up anything new. Got it?”
    I nodded and walked out, still thinking about the knife set. Morehouse had been in Aunt Madge’s kitchen at least a few times, and nothing is ever out of order. Still, it was odd that he remembered the set used to sit on the counter. Maybe seeing the one in Eric reminded him of the ones that usually sit there. I winced.
    My mobile phone chirped and I glanced at caller ID. Uh oh. Aunt Madge and Harry must have read the email I had sent from the library and be someplace where they could call. “Aunt Madge, I’m sorry I had to tell you by email,” I said.
    It was Harry. “Madge is pretty upset, so for now she’ll just listen. What in blazes happened?”
    I had sent them a fairly detailed email so I gave them