This Old Murder (10 page)

“But why, Sam?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get busy and find out.”

TWELVE

JOSIE WAS NOT accustomed to anyone other than herself ordering her crew around. But she had to admit that Bobby Valentine was doing a good job of it.

“She is not here. She probably had important personal business to attend to. That’s the key phrase for you all to remember. Courtney had important personal business to attend to. That’s what you say if anyone asks. But nobody, and I mean nobody, is to say anything to the press! Understand? Now we’re going to continue work on the show as though Courtney was still here.”

“And how the hell are we going to do that? Do you have some sort of Courtney dummy that you’re going to lean against the wall to watch us work?” Dottie sneered.

“We have already shot some of Courtney’s cutaways, and we can do interviews without her. You don’t have to worry about that part of it. We know what we’re doing. We do this all the time.”

That got Josie’s attention. “She’s disappeared like this before?”

“Not like this. No, not like this. But Courtney Castle is a very busy woman with many diverse demands on her time. She’s frequently called on to be someplace else while we tape a show, and when that happens, we are required to work around her absence.”

“Really? It’s interesting to know how television works, isn’t it?” Annette asked her colleagues enthusiastically.

Apparently the other women weren’t so impressed. “So what do we do now?” Jill, ignoring Bobby Valentine’s lecture, asked Josie the question.

“Let’s get to work out back,” Josie answered. “If that’s all right with you?” she asked the producer rather sarcastically.

Apparently he didn’t notice or care. “Whatever. I’m going to be in the trailer if anyone needs me. But, remember, no talking to the press!” With those parting words, he turned and left the house.

Jill leaped to her feet and, grabbing an imaginary microphone, said, “Please, no interviews! No interviews!”

Annette joined in, laughing and protesting to a crowd of imaginary paparazzi. “No pictures, please, no pictures!”

“Yeah, as though the press would be interested in the likes of us,” Dottie said.

“Well, let’s get to work,” Josie said, standing and stretching. “Courtney can do her thing and we’ll do ours.”

The women picked up their assorted tool belts and boxes and headed out of the house and toward the bay.

“Am I the only person who thinks it’s a little strange that Courtney has vanished?” Annette asked.

“Hey, she’s not a carpenter. She’s on-air talent. Probably thinks she can do anything she wants to do.” Dottie slung her heavy belt across her shoulder and followed Josie.

“Sure, but still ...” That was Annette’s only comment. The intern was sitting on the dock, writing furiously in a spiral notebook. He jumped to his feet and brushed his too-long hair off his forehead. Annette unconsciously mimicked his movement, smiling nervously.

Josie grinned. “Why don’t you see if he . . . what is his name? . . . needs anything from us before we start work?”

“I’ll . . . Oh, you’re asking me to do it?” Annette was flustered by the suggestion.

“Yup.”

“Chad. His name is Chad Henshaw,” Annette said, hurrying down the path to the dock.

“An adolescent crush. Why do you encourage them?” Dottie asked rhetorically.

“I think they’re sweet,” Jill said.

“I do, too. And as long as Annette keeps working, I don’t see what harm it does,” Josie commented.

“God, you’re all romantic fools.” Dottie sneered. “Wake up and smell the coffee, as my dad used to say.”

“What I think is that they’re both young and a summertime romance is appropriate.”

Jill put down her toolbox and looked back at the house. No one could hear them. “Doesn’t anyone else think it’s strange that Courtney has disappeared? I mean, today that producer is acting like it’s normal, but yesterday he was real panicked when she wasn’t around. What happened to all that police interest? What happened to dredging the bay?”

“Heaven knows,” Josie answered slowly. What
had
happened to dredging the bay? “Listen, you all know what to do and I’d appreciate it if you’d go on without me. I left my phone in the truck. I need to make a few calls.”

“While you’re at it, you might give the lumberyard a nudge about the gutter they should have delivered last week,” Dottie reminded her.

“There’s always something. If it’s not a missing television personality, it’s a missing piece of gutter.” Josie sighed dramatically and started back to her truck. She was pleased to hear chuckling behind her. Courtney’s disappearance was making her nervous. And she was afraid she wasn’t the only one who felt like that. Dottie seemed to be affected and it didn’t surprise her. But she was surprised by how jumpy Jill seemed to be. Of course, Annette was in the midst of summer love. Josie grinned at the memory of Annette’s expression when Chad Henshaw appeared.

The police line was still protecting the work site, but Josie had been allowed to pass through this morning and her truck was parked behind the row of trailers queued at the curb. She grabbed her phone from under the seat and sat down on the runningboard to make her calls. The first one was not to the lumberyard. It was answered on the first ring.

“Sam! Thank heavens you’re there. Do you have a moment?”

Happily enough, he claimed to have as many as she needed.

“Sam, there isn’t any dredging going on! Do you know why? Well, could you find out? Well, I know, but . . . If you could just make a few calls. Maybe Basil knows something? No, she hasn’t shown up yet. Bobby Valentine says it’s normal. Apparently she’s disappeared like this before. Well, that’s what he claims. And he doesn’t want anyone to talk to the press. What do you think?”

She was silent for more than a few moments while he shared those thoughts with her. “Well, what I think—” She tried to interrupt, but he wasn’t finished.

The gist of Sam’s thoughts was that Josie should go on with her work and ignore anything having to do with Courtney Castle or her disappearance. And that she should be quiet concerning their mutual past.

She frowned and listened to his suggestions. But he wasn’t saying anything surprising and so her attention wandered . . . to a very interesting conversation that seemed to be taking place right behind her truck.

“. . . look, you’re not going to be able to keep it quiet forever,” a deep male voice was insisting.

“I’m not talking about forever. I’m talking about now. Right now.” The second speaker was also a man.

“What about her friends? Her family? Her masseuse? Her hairdresser? Her therapist? Won’t they all wonder where she’s gone?”

“Courtney is seeing a therapist?”

“I don’t know. I just assumed—”

“Just because someone is crazy doesn’t mean they’re doing something about it. But that’s not the point. We’ll just tell anyone who calls that she’s not available and that she’ll get back to them.”

“But what happens when she doesn’t?”

“Hey, anyone who knows Courtney knows that she doesn’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about other people. Her not returning a call is par for the course.”

“Yeah, I won’t argue with you about that. The promises she made us, you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I’d believe it. I’d believe anything. She’s talent, remember.”

Josie was fairly sure the second speaker was Bobby Valentine. It sounded like the other was someone he trusted with his problems. She wished she knew who it was. But, more important, it was obvious that Bobby Valentine was more concerned with Courtney’s disappearance than he had claimed to be. Josie bit her lip and thought for a moment.

Sam was apparently waiting for a response to something he had said. “Josie?” his voice called out of the receiver.

“Sam. Shh!” she hissed back at him. “I’m listening.”

But the two men had either stopped talking or moved away. Josie got up cautiously and looked around. No one. Then she noticed an open window in the trailer. The voices could have come from inside; if so, the speakers might still be there.

“Hang on, Sam. I’m just going to go into the house and . . . get those specs you want.” Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, she hurried up the sidewalk, chatting into the receiver as she went. “I’m going to the house. There’s no one around. Don’t hang up. I need to talk to you some more. Sam? Are you there? Sam?”

“I’m here, Josie. What’s going on? Are you in trouble? Is something wrong?”

“No. No. We’re . . . I’m . . . Everything’s fine. I’m in the house and . . . I don’t want . . .” She looked around. She was alone. “Sam, you’ll never guess what!” Without waiting for his response, she related the conversation she’d just overheard. “What do you think?”

“Nothing. It seems to me you don’t really have any new information. We knew yesterday that the people who worked with Courtney were shocked by her disappearance. It was just today that they regrouped and decided to present it to the world as a normal event.”

Josie was silent. “That’s true. But . . .” She paused. “Yeah, that is true,” she repeated slowly.

“Maybe it means nothing,” Sam said. “Or maybe it’s a problem, but it’s not your problem.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” Not that she believed it for a second. “I suppose I’d better get back to work.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about the dredging.”

“Great.” Josie leaned back against the wall and propped one foot up on the frame protecting the artwork. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to find out more about what Courtney had been doing during the past . . . what was it? Sixteen years. Sixteen years and seven months to be more exact.

Sixteen years and ten months since she had been in contact with her family. Well, to be more accurate, seventeen years and ten months since they had been in contact with her. Sixteen years and one month since she had gotten her courage together and sent them the short, perky letter announcing the birth of Tyler Clay. The short, perky letter that had not been answered. For a moment, she relived that pain.

Did she want to feel it again? Did she
need
to feel it again? Could she find out what Courtney had been doing during this time without evoking those feelings? Sam had once hired a private detective who could probably have done it all easily, but she couldn’t afford to pay for a detective and she didn’t want Sam involved. She had chosen to move beyond her past. If she was going to return to it, she sure wasn’t going to drag the man she loved along for the ride.

There was one other person she didn’t want following her into her past: Tyler. Her son had gone through periods when he was curious about his heritage. He’d asked more than a few questions about his father, who he was and where he was. But Josie had insisted on keeping her secret and Tyler had become interested in other things. His fifth-grade class project had been to make a family tree and so the question arose once again. With the insecurity of his teen years approaching rapidly, Josie had been about to panic when Risa had come to the rescue. “You are a lucky child. You choose your own family. You make a tree anyone would be proud of,” she had told him.

Tyler had done just that. From baseball players to presidents, he had collected relatives and hung them on his tree. The end result was the envy of his peers—and it amazed the adults in his life. While Albert Einstein might look like a great-grandfather to many people, only Tyler would have claimed him for his own.

When Noel Roberts died, Tyler had lost the closest thing he had to a father, but Josie’s relationship with Sam had provided him with a surprisingly good substitute at an age when he desperately needed a male role model. Josie really believed her son had come to terms with and accepted a life without a traditional family. She sure didn’t want her slightly abnormal relatives to enter the picture and screw everything up.

Why had she ever agreed to do this damn television show?

THIRTEEN

JOSIE KNEW WHAT she had to do. And she hoped she could count Risa as an ally. She was going to need one. She headed for her landlady’s apartment right after work. Risa was sitting on a lounge on her screened-in front porch, an exotic aperitif on the table by her side, and a pile of magazines sliding off her lap.

“This year I take a holiday,” Risa announced as Josie stopped in the doorway.

“When?” She didn’t ask where because she knew Risa would consider only Italy an appropriate destination.

“In the fall. After little Tyler goes back to that school you send him to.”

“Is Tyler home?” Josie asked, suddenly realizing her son might be bounding down the stairs at any minute.

“He is at video store. He is always at video store.” Risa begrudged every minute Tyler Clay spent in the company of others.

“He’s only been working there a few days. I’m glad he enjoys his job. We wouldn’t want him to be miserable, would we?”

“No, and he says he will get me some foreign movies I have been wanting to see, so that is good.”

“Foreign movies? I thought Family Video only rented family tapes.” Were there any family-oriented foreign movies? What did European children watch? she wondered.

“That is true. But my Tyler, he can order—special order— anything I want. Privately. Between friends. So I have my own private film festival this summer.”

That was okay then. “I need to talk to you. Before Tyler comes home,” Josie stated flatly.

“Sì. You have a problem? Not with little Tyler?”

“No, not with Tyler. With me. But I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

“Sit. Tell me.”

Josie knew that the less she told Risa, the better. Not because she couldn’t trust her to keep a secret but because Risa was a worrier. “I need to track down someone, someone I knew years and years ago. Before I came to the island.”

“Ah.” Risa nodded her head, a suitably serious expression on her face.

“I . . . I don’t want Tyler to know about this.”

The nodding became more vigorous and a hairpin fell onto the floor.

“I may have to leave messages and to have . . . uh, people . . . call me back. I wondered . . . I mean, I don’t want messages left on the phone at home because of Tyler . . .”

“Sì. Sì.” More nodding. More pins falling to the floor.

“And I don’t want anyone else to overhear, so I think that leaving my office number would be a mistake.”

“Definitivamente. Sì.” Risa had long and luxurious hair, but just how many pins could she lose before it fell to her shoulders? “You need to use my number. Of course. What about address?”

“What?”

“Do you need also to give out my address to these people you need to get in touch with?”

“I . . .” She hadn’t thought of that. “I may, in fact.”

“Then you just give out my apartment number instead of yours. Easy, no?”

“Yes . . .”

“But maybe too easy.” The nodding stopped and the frowning began. “Do you want this person to be able to find you just like that?” She snapped her fingers.

“I . . . You know, I never thought about it. Maybe not.” Josie thought for a moment. “I suppose I could rent a box at the post office. But this is an awfully small island and there aren’t a whole lot of people who live here all year long. If someone was to look for me, he or she would probably find me.”

Risa seemed to hesitate, which was unusual for her. “Is Pigeon your real name? Your family name?”

“Yes. Of course. Yes.” The question surprised her. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, we . . . I . . . There were people who thought maybe you had been married at one time when you first came to the island. I didn’t like to ask too many questions back then and now . . . well, now you are you. I no longer have questions. If you know what I mean.”

Josie thought she did. “Now no one questions who I am or where I came from. But I was born Josie Pigeon . . . well, Josephine Pigeon to be exact. Why?”

“Because I watch a show on television about computers searching out people. You can be found if you use your right name. So people not look for you. Or else they would have found you.”

“But I’m not connected to the Internet,” Josie protested.

“That does not matter. It searches phone books, address books, credit records.” Risa shrugged dramatically. “I not know how it does it, but it does.”

“Interesting. I guess that means no one has wanted to get in touch with me.” She had a moment of feeling hurt by this fact, right before she decided to appreciate it.

“It means you can find who you look for,” Risa reminded her.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. I’ll just have to make a few phone calls. Maybe only one.”

“And you leave my phone number to call back to.” The nodding had started again.

Josie had another thought. “But how will you answer the phone? I mean, what excuse will you give that you’re answering the phone instead of me?”

“I leave on answering machine.”

“All the time? Even when you’re home?”

“Sì. All the time. Even when I am here. Why not?”

“No reason. And I really will try not to use your phone number.”

“You do what you have to do. I take care you get any messages. Sí?”

“Yes. Yes, and thank you, Risa. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” After a few more words, Josie headed up to her own apartment. She knew what she had to do. Although she had rarely given serious consideration to contacting anyone from her past, she thought of the one person she could go to: Naomi Van Ripper, reference librarian at the town library. Miss Van Ripper (she had insisted on Miss rather than Ms. even though she had certainly grown up during the consciousness-raising sixties) had acquired all of the official information about the town—newspapers, maps, public service flyers from various civic organizations—and she kept her ear to the ground about all else. And like a good librarian, Miss Van Ripper loved sharing her information. Josie grabbed the portable phone while the door to her apartment was swinging shut behind her.

Now what was the information number she was always seeing on TV? After five wrong tries, she got through and asked for the number of her hometown library. She wrote down what she was told and then punched in a new set of digits. “Hello, I’m . . . calling to speak with Miss Van Ripper.” Josie held her breath, hoping no one would ask her name and thinking furiously about a good alias if someone did. “Oh, Dr. Van Ripper. I didn’t know . . . Really? That’s wonderful. I knew her . . . well, I guess it was years and years ago. Oh, old friends,” Josie lied. Inspired, she continued. “I was supposed to call her this week—not at the library but at home, and I seem to have lost the number. Oh . . . yes, exactly, that’s what I mean . . . call her at the place she’s staying . . . at the shore. Yes. Right near here, in fact.” Josie grabbed for a pen and a magazine and wrote furiously on the cover. “That’s perfect. Yes. Thank you. I appreciate it.” Resisting the urge to ask how things were in her hometown, Josie hung up.

Just in time. Tyler walked in the door.

“Hi, Mom. When’s dinner?”

“Whenever you get it on the table.”

“I thought I was going to be cooking on Monday and Wednesday nights.” When Tyler turned thirteen, Josie had insisted that he share in the kitchen chores. He had turned out to be a better cook than she was. Tyler leaned across the counter that divided the kitchen space from the rest of the room and peered at the Sierra Club calendar hanging on the wall. “Yeah. You wrote it down. Right here. Tonight is your night!”

“Then how about pizza?” She was anxious to call the number she had just been given. If she could talk her son into walking around the corner to the Italian takeout that had popped up in the first floor of an old Victorian mansion that summer, she would have the time.

“I had pizza for lunch. But . . .” He perked up. “How about a large calzone?”

To Josie calzone was just rearranged pizza, but as long as he was happy with that solution . . . “Sounds good to me. Why don’t you call and place the order?”

“Okay. Diet Coke?”

“Sure. And make sure you get a drink for yourself. I meant to go to the grocery store today, but . . .”

“I’ll pick up a six-pack there—that way is the cheapest,” Tyler offered.

“Great.”

“And I can go down and place the order, then wait there until it’s ready. That way it won’t have to wait around on the counter and get cold or anything.”

Josie suddenly remembered that the cutest girl on the island was working at the pizza place this summer. “My wallet is in—”

“I’ll take care of it. I still have some money from my allowance. You can pay me back.”

“Fantastic.”

Tyler dashed out the door and bounded down the stairs. Josie waited until the front door slammed behind him before dialing the phone. She was making a local call. It turned out that Dr. Van Ripper was on vacation—less than ten miles north of where Josie was standing right now.

The phone was answered before Josie had decided what to say.

“Hello?”

“Is this Miss . . . I mean Dr. Van Ripper? This is Josie Pigeon.” The words were out of her mouth before she had considered what announcing her presence might mean.

Happily, the name seemed to mean nothing to the librarian. “Yes?”

“I . . . You . . . I need to ask you some questions,” Josie blurted out.

“Miss whatever, why are you calling me? I am no longer a reference librarian. And I am on vacation. Why do you imagine I would want to answer any questions you might ask— even if I could?”

“I . . . It’s about Courtney Castle.” It was the only answer Josie could come up with—and it seemed to work. At least the phone wasn’t slammed down.

“Courtney Castle? What about her?”

“She’s . . . Well, I need to ask some questions about her. I’m . . . doing research.”

“Are you a reporter? Why didn’t you say that up front? Why would you expect me to answer your questions unless you tell me why you’re asking them?”

“Well, I—”

“Are you calling from nearby? From the shore?”

“Yes, I—”

“From the island where Courtney is taping her television show, right?”

“Yes, exactly.” Josie was relieved to be telling the truth at last.

None of this seemed apparent to Dr. Van Ripper. “What do you need? Background information for an article you’re doing?”

“Background information would be a good place to start,” Josie admitted, glancing at the large grandfather clock that held the place of honor in the middle of the room. She sure hoped Tyler took his time getting dinner. She had just remembered how Naomi Van Ripper loved to talk.

“I’ve known Courtney since she was a small child. She was beautiful even then. I remember how her blond hair would glimmer in the light coming through the library windows as she studied at the table in the reference room on Saturday mornings.”

Dr. Van Ripper must have been asked this many times before because Josie recognized a prepared speech when she heard one. And so far, while the image produced might be a publicist’s dream, it was also a lie. Courtney had not been one to spend her weekends in the library. In fact, now that Josie thought about it, she remembered the rumors about how Courtney had bragged about getting the librarians to do her research so that she didn’t have to spend long hours in the library. And her hair had been brown and stringy, not something that had shimmered ethereally in the sunlight. Not that there had been any sunlight. The Carnegie Foundation, which had generously donated the library to the town, had been fond of dark stained-glass windows through which natural light could not penetrate. And the fluorescent bulbs that hung from the reference room’s ceiling turned everything beneath them a sallow hue. But the tale of Courtney Castle’s early life was continuing.

“She was a unique child. Popular with adults as well as her peers. A wonderful student, of course. Although she didn’t take shop or anything like that when she attended our excellent public schools.” An artificial chuckle punctuated this statement. “I’m not surprised that she ended up on television. With her looks and brains, she is a natural. But I have to admit that her interests in the building trade must have developed after she left town.”

“When was that?” Josie leapt in with a question.

“When was what?”

“When did Courtney leave town?”

“Why, just like most young people, she left when she went to college. Not that she just vanished from the scene, mind you. With all her interests, she was a busy young woman, of course. I seem to remember that she did a student service project somewhere in Africa after her freshman year of college. And she took classes at Harvard between her sophomore and junior years. But she is close to her family. She always visits her parents at Christmastime. And frequently joins them for their annual jaunt to the Caribbean in the spring.”

Josie could just imagine her own mother drooling over this dutiful daughter and comparing Courtney with the unwed mother slash carpenter she herself had brought into the world. “And did you always see her during these visits home?”

“Naturally. That’s Courtney for you! She stops in at the library to say hello whenever she is in town. Without fail. That’s what I mean. She is just the most considerate person. She never forgets the people who helped her when she was young. That’s the sign of an unusually fine person, I think. Courtney Castle is a success—well known, wealthy, famous. And she still appreciates her old friends. She’s done quite a bit for our town, you know.”

“No, I didn’t. What?” Josie was relieved that the conversation had moved to more concrete ground. She had almost been expecting Dr. Van Ripper to refer to herself as one of the little people. From what she remembered of this woman, it would be extremely out of character.

“Why, she’s been the speaker at more than one of the high school commencements over the years. She was given the key to the town by the mayor just a few years ago. And she was at the opening ceremony for the new gazebo in the town square—”