Read Elaine Orr - Jolie Gentil 05 - Trouble on the Doorstep for Free Online Page A

walk toward me.
    Great. More repair complaints .
    He held out his hand as he approached. “Andrew Markham,” he said. “Are you her friend who’s an appraiser?”
    “I know her, and I am an appraiser,” I said. “I’m Jolie Gentil.”
    He gave me a broad smile. “So, you really know her if you answer like that,” he said.
    I flushed slightly. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
    “Not at all. I just,” he lowered his voice and looked toward Scoobie and the teens. “I wanted to let you know she’s been a bit different since the storm.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked. I didn’t add that Elmira seemed as sour as ever to me.
    He seemed to choose his words carefully. “A couple of us have wondered if maybe, well…if she had a few days without her usual meds or something. You know, during the storm.”
    “I don’t really know much about Elmira, or any medicines she takes,” I said. Though it might explain a lot about her moods. Or not.
    He smiled again, and I was reminded of an unctuous uncle of my father’s. “She’s been more upset than usual, especially about the repair estimate, anything storm-related.”
    I looked at him directly. “It does seem a bit high.”
    He shrugged. “My wife Louise and I are simply thrilled to have the complex handle everything.” He gave an expansive wave. “Everything in the yards was cleaned up within two days.”
    “You are fortunate,” I said, still not sure why he was talking to me.
    He gave a firm nod. “I thought I’d give you my card. Would you like us to call you if she seems more distressed?” Before I could choke out a strong “no” in response, he took a small business card from his pocket. It said, “Andrew Markham, Experienced Retiree.”
    I smiled at him. “Lots of experience?”
    “More than ten years. My wife and I made some good investments.”
    I sensed he wanted to chat more, and nodded toward Scoobie. “I’m glad for you.” Thanks to Robby raiding our retirement funds, I won’t have savings again for years. “I need to say goodbye to my friend and get to my next appointment.”
    After a couple more mindless pleasantries, he walked back into his house, and Scoobie walked over.
    “What the heck are you doing here?”
    I gave him a thirty-second summary. “That estimate was ridiculous,” I concluded.
    “What do you care?”
    “It just makes me wonder about the bids for those repairs,” I said. “I wonder how much Eric and Steve were going to bid for this job?”
    “Did you just hear my question?” he asked.
    I stuck out my tongue, and then lowered my voice, “I don’t give a tinker’s damn about her. But some insurance company is going to get rooked.”
    Scoobie shrugged. “They can look out for themselves.”
    I left Scoobie and his volunteers to their digging and drove to the complex office. I was going to give them a couple business cards and try to turn the conversation to the hurricane repairs.
    The office for the entire complex was in the independent living apartment building. As I made my way up the short walkway I took in the meticulously groomed flower beds, minus flowers on a late November day, and the expensive-looking porch furniture sitting by the entry door. It didn’t look like a place where people gathered for a smoke.
    When I opened the office door, which was just off the small lobby, a man of about forty glanced up and cut off my hello. “We don’t have any comment for the media.”
    I had met Fred Brennan at Rotary. He was one of those people who looks perpetually sure of themselves and doesn’t mind interrupting anyone if he wants to make a point.
    “Then you’re in luck. I’m not with the media.” I gave him my friendliest smile and introduced myself.
    He looked at me more closely and I thought he recognized me but wasn’t sure why. “Don’t mean to be rude. I just got off a five-minute phone call trying to say no comment ten different ways. We’ve had a lot of questions about a hit-and-run that