she?”
“Hank,” Margaret and I both said.
“Humph.” It came out sounding more like a curse.
“You may have seen that Eric Morton was found in the Cozy Corner, so you can probably understand my interest in whatever he had been doing just before he died.”
She nodded and Hank pretended to zip his mouth shut.
“Actually,” I continued, “I’m here more because of Eric’s partner’s death, Steve Oliver. His bro…”
“About damned time somebody looked into that. Must be a lot of ass-kissing going on to call that a hit and run.”
Tell me what you really think.
Margaret pointed toward the door, and Hank glared at her. She turned back to me.
“Steve’s brother Bill is a friend of mine. He thinks it more than a little odd that Steve and Eric both got letters warning them not to bid on the repair project and then Steve gets hit and Eric was stabbed.”
“Are you helping the police?” Margaret asked.
“Not exactly. In fact they…” I began.
“Could use a lot of help. Probably can’t find the way to the bathroom without a map,” Hank offered.
“Enough!” Margaret said.
“All right, all right,” Hank said. He didn’t look the least bit chagrined.
“To be honest, Sgt. Morehouse gave me orders not to talk about the case.” I saw Hank’s eyes light up but Margaret looked at him and held up one finger, so I continued. “So unless they ask you directly, it would help me if you didn’t mention I came by to talk to you.”
“Why did you pick me, for gracious sakes?” Margaret asked.
“You and Elmira are the only ones I know…” I stopped. “I forgot about my friend Lance Wilson. He’s here for a few months.”
Margaret nodded. “In the independent living apartment building.”
“Lucky guy,” Hank said. “Food’s a lot better.”
We ignored him.
“All I really wondered is if you had heard anybody talking about estimates for the storm-related repairs,” I said.
“Not in this building,” Margaret said. “Aside from the fact that it has sturdier construction than the duplexes…”
“You should be here when they test the damn fire alarms. All the hallway doors automatically close. Just when people need to be near their bathrooms, a lot of folks are stuck in the hall.”
“I’ll remember to bring plastic bags,” I said, having realized that Hank was trying to see if he could annoy me. Two can play that game.
“Now Jolie,” Margaret said. “Hank’s enough.”
I could tell she wasn’t irritated. She probably just didn’t want to encourage Hank. He grinned.
She stood and walked to the tiny kitchen area where the coffee had now stopped perking. “A couple of us go over to the independent apartment building for lunch. We can eat here or there,” Margaret said. “A number of people from the duplexes also eat lunch there, and several of them have wondered about the estimates.”
“Most of them don’t give a damn,” Hank said. “They don’t have to pay the bills.”
Margaret ignored him. “I doubt anyone would have talked much about it if the young man hadn’t died right after he tried to turn in his bid for the work.”
I nodded, slowly, trying to consider whether the dollar value of the repairs was really that big an issue. Maybe there was a lot of overhead because it was an institutional setting of sorts. It still seemed as if Elmira’s repair estimate was inflated. “I wonder when they’ll reopen the bidding.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Hank asked.
This time we both looked at him.
“Tomorrow,” Hank said. “Ten o’clock meeting for all bidders. Only be one.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Marky Markham,” Hank said. “Brat son of the guy who built the place.”
THOUGH I DON’T mind being in the proverbial doghouse with George when I don’t tell him something, I thought knowing that the expected bidder was the son of the man who lived next to Elmira might be something he could get information on. But first I wanted to do some
“Hank,” Margaret and I both said.
“Humph.” It came out sounding more like a curse.
“You may have seen that Eric Morton was found in the Cozy Corner, so you can probably understand my interest in whatever he had been doing just before he died.”
She nodded and Hank pretended to zip his mouth shut.
“Actually,” I continued, “I’m here more because of Eric’s partner’s death, Steve Oliver. His bro…”
“About damned time somebody looked into that. Must be a lot of ass-kissing going on to call that a hit and run.”
Tell me what you really think.
Margaret pointed toward the door, and Hank glared at her. She turned back to me.
“Steve’s brother Bill is a friend of mine. He thinks it more than a little odd that Steve and Eric both got letters warning them not to bid on the repair project and then Steve gets hit and Eric was stabbed.”
“Are you helping the police?” Margaret asked.
“Not exactly. In fact they…” I began.
“Could use a lot of help. Probably can’t find the way to the bathroom without a map,” Hank offered.
“Enough!” Margaret said.
“All right, all right,” Hank said. He didn’t look the least bit chagrined.
“To be honest, Sgt. Morehouse gave me orders not to talk about the case.” I saw Hank’s eyes light up but Margaret looked at him and held up one finger, so I continued. “So unless they ask you directly, it would help me if you didn’t mention I came by to talk to you.”
“Why did you pick me, for gracious sakes?” Margaret asked.
“You and Elmira are the only ones I know…” I stopped. “I forgot about my friend Lance Wilson. He’s here for a few months.”
Margaret nodded. “In the independent living apartment building.”
“Lucky guy,” Hank said. “Food’s a lot better.”
We ignored him.
“All I really wondered is if you had heard anybody talking about estimates for the storm-related repairs,” I said.
“Not in this building,” Margaret said. “Aside from the fact that it has sturdier construction than the duplexes…”
“You should be here when they test the damn fire alarms. All the hallway doors automatically close. Just when people need to be near their bathrooms, a lot of folks are stuck in the hall.”
“I’ll remember to bring plastic bags,” I said, having realized that Hank was trying to see if he could annoy me. Two can play that game.
“Now Jolie,” Margaret said. “Hank’s enough.”
I could tell she wasn’t irritated. She probably just didn’t want to encourage Hank. He grinned.
She stood and walked to the tiny kitchen area where the coffee had now stopped perking. “A couple of us go over to the independent apartment building for lunch. We can eat here or there,” Margaret said. “A number of people from the duplexes also eat lunch there, and several of them have wondered about the estimates.”
“Most of them don’t give a damn,” Hank said. “They don’t have to pay the bills.”
Margaret ignored him. “I doubt anyone would have talked much about it if the young man hadn’t died right after he tried to turn in his bid for the work.”
I nodded, slowly, trying to consider whether the dollar value of the repairs was really that big an issue. Maybe there was a lot of overhead because it was an institutional setting of sorts. It still seemed as if Elmira’s repair estimate was inflated. “I wonder when they’ll reopen the bidding.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Hank asked.
This time we both looked at him.
“Tomorrow,” Hank said. “Ten o’clock meeting for all bidders. Only be one.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Marky Markham,” Hank said. “Brat son of the guy who built the place.”
THOUGH I DON’T mind being in the proverbial doghouse with George when I don’t tell him something, I thought knowing that the expected bidder was the son of the man who lived next to Elmira might be something he could get information on. But first I wanted to do some
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