Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 02 - Rekindling Motives by Elaine Orr Page A

it probably makes sense to talk more about it after you get your feet wet. At least after you talk to Elmira Washington.” He grinned.
    Scoobie knows I’m not a fan of Elmira, who told everyone she knows in Ocean Alley that I left my husband Robby because he embezzled money to support his gambling habit. I groaned. “You mean she’s on the Food Pantry Committee?”
    “Unless you kick her off. Come on, pick up your little pillow and let’s get back to work.” He moved over to help me with my coat.
    “You an expert on the food pantry, Scoobie?” said Joe Regan from the other side of the counter.
    “Did you hear something?” Scoobie asked, looking at me intently.
    “I think…” I began.
    “Forget it,” said Joe.
    Scoobie walked out ahead of me, not looking at Joe. I glanced at Joe whose shrug in my direction seemed to be half apology and half ‘go figure’ expression.
    It took me a few seconds to catch up with Scoobie, and only then because he slowed down enough to allow me to. “I, uh, don’t think he meant to be rude.”
    Scoobie’s expression was unreadable. “Then he should mind his own damn business.”
    “Right.” We walked a few more steps in silence, and Scoobie stopped, so I did, too.
    “I think I’m going to the library. I’ll catch you later, Jolie.” He turned and strode the other direction down the boardwalk.
    I walked the short distance to my car wishing I’d said something different. When Scoobie and I were by ourselves it was easy to forget that he had “issues,” as he put it. Maybe Scoobie thought I was sticking up for Joe. “Damn it!” I kicked at the lid of a soft drink cup, and then swore again. My tailbone was not up for kicking anything.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    AUNT MADGE HELPED ME CARRY IN the photo albums. She placed them on the large oak table in her kitchen/great room combo. “I’ll get some damp paper towels and wipe off any dust,” I said.
    “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said, almost stroking the cloth binding on the top album.
    “It’s not sacred scripture, you know.”
    “I’m well aware of that,” she said. “But they are part of someone’s life, surely someone long gone. It almost feels as if we’ll be trespassing to read them.”
    I smiled at her use of ‘we’ as I dampened a couple of towels. Aunt Madge prides herself on not gossiping, but I knew she was as eager to look at the albums as I was. For starters, I wanted to see Richard Tillotson’s face in something other than a grainy old newspaper photograph.
    The albums weren’t that dusty, since they’d been in a trunk. What they were was falling apart. As Aunt Madge opened the top one – its velvet cover a deep red in all but a corner that had evidently been more exposed to light and was almost pink – there was the crackle of aged paper and the three photos slid sideways on the page.
    “Do you suppose someone took them out at some point?” I asked.
    “No. The glue just dried up, that’s all.” She moved the photos back to their original spots on the page and closed the book. “I have some of those little adhesive corners you use to put photos in albums. I don’t think it would hurt anything to fasten these more securely. I’ll help you after dinner.”
    AFTER I FINISHED DUSTING all the albums, I settled on Aunt Madge’s couch and pulled one of them to me. I started with one that seemed close to the time of Richard Tillotson’s disappearance. It was a challenge to figure out which photos went with which captions, and I was not sure I should refasten the ones that had come unglued. Eventually I figured if I didn’t one of Gracie’s kids would grab an album and scatter all the old photographs.
    Richard was taller than most men in the 1920s, perhaps six feet. It made me realize that his skeleton must have been bent a little at the knees to stand up in the attic wardrobe. The pre-skeleton Richard had wavy dark hair and a broad smile. This was in contrast to his future