Appraisal for Murder

Appraisal for Murder by Elaine Orr Page B

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Authors: Elaine Orr
Tags: Mystery
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patted her mouth with her napkin.
    “Very well, thank you,” she replied stiffly. “I was going to ask how you two are, what with Ruth’s death.”
    Suddenly, my stomach roiled. For a few minutes I’d forgotten about Ruth Riordan. “We’re fine.” I almost snapped the response.
    Elmira ignored me and looked at Aunt Madge as she spoke. “Just a few days ago Ruth and Michael were in here for dinner.”
    “I’m sure you’re glad you had a chance to see her,” Aunt Madge replied, evenly.
    “Oh, I didn’t talk to them. It looked like they were having a pretty heated discussion.”
    I resented how pleased Elmira looked. She wanted to sound as if she was somehow in the know about Ruth and her son. I could only imagine what she would say about me finding the body.
    “I’ll see you at church Sunday.” Aunt Madge’s nod was curt. Elmira probably couldn’t tell that the look on Aunt Madge’s face was pain, but I could.
    Elmira didn’t reply, but continued her walk to the cash register. I’d never seen Aunt Madge rebuff anyone. I leaned over and touched her hand. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go?”
    She shook her head. “She makes me so mad. She knows Ruth and I were friends. She didn’t even say she was sorry about her.”
    “She’s a witch,” I said, trying to be sympathetic.
    “There’s no need to follow her example,” Aunt Madge said, as she reached for her cup of tea.
    NEEDLESS TO SAY, I did not get up at six a.m. the next day. Although I wanted to finish the appraisal, I thought it unlikely to be rescheduled until after Ruth Riordan’s funeral. I planned to stop by Harry’s office mid-morning. He had fixed up a small workspace for me and said that after we did a few more appraisals he would buy a second computer. I offered to bring my laptop to the office, but he said not to bother, I could use his whenever I needed it.
    I took my time showering and blow-drying my hair. There was no urgency to the day, and I felt disappointed at that. Jazz, unaware that I was out of sorts, or perhaps ignoring this, was impatient with my slow pace. She walked across the small dressing table as I applied make-up and raced toward the bedroom door every time I stood up.
    When Jazz and I went downstairs about nine-thirty, I first looked out the window to check on my car. All four tires were inflated. I was surprised to see the newspaper on the kitchen table. Aunt Madge usually left it in the dining room for guests to look at throughout the day. No sign of her. After Jazz had some dry food and a small saucer of milk, I carried her back to my room, then scribbled a note to Aunt Madge and struck out for Java Jolt.
    The air was damp, though not too cold. I inhaled the smell of seaweed and ocean breeze and climbed up to the boardwalk. I had only gone a few steps when I saw a man sitting on a bench, carefully applying duct tape to his worn sneakers. Next to him was a bag from the local dollar store.
    Something about him seemed familiar, but I didn’t think I knew anyone who had to tape their shoes. The man had an open knapsack on the ground beside him, and it was crammed. Sticking out of the top were a bottle of water and a couple of books. Homeless people were rare in Ocean Alley at this time of year. A small number appeared each summer, but most had left by now, heading for a warmer winter climate.
    He must have been aware that I slowed my pace, and he lifted his head and looked at me. “Son of a bitch, if it isn’t Jolie Gentil.”
    His greeting took me by surprise. I looked at him more closely and saw that his jeans had a small tear on the left knee and his brown hair hung to his shoulders; it was clean, but uncombed. The bangs that reached his eyebrows and full beard made it difficult to discern his features. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
    “Sir!” His laugh revealed teeth that were white and straight, a sharp contrast to his ragged appearance. “Is that what you call the only

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