This Old Murder (14 page)

NINETEEN

THEY SPLIT UP and drove back to the work site in two cars. Josie made sure that Dottie traveled with her.

“It was good of you to talk about your past.” She started the conversation as she steered her truck away from the curb. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Didn’t have a choice, did I?”

“You could have lied.”

“But you knew the truth.”

“When you came to work for me, I told you I’d keep your secret.”

“And you would, wouldn’t you? You know, you’re a good person. I haven’t run into a whole lot of good people in the past few years.” Dottie was silent for a moment. “You didn’t sleep with that Noel person to get him to leave you his business, did you?”

Josie was shocked. “I . . . No, is that what you thought?” “I didn’t know. It did strike me as a possibility. I mean, most men don’t just leave a business to a good friend.”

“Noel wasn’t most men.”

“Look, I’m offending you and I sure didn’t mean to. What I’m trying to say is thank you and that Noel Roberts left his business to the right person.”

“I shouldn’t get upset. You aren’t the first person to wonder about my relationship with Noel and you won’t be the last. It’s been a difficult day for us all.” She stopped the truck for a group of giggling teenage girls, their blankets dragging on the road as they crossed to get to the beach. “They look like they’re about to have a good time, don’t they? Not a care in the world, as my mother would say.”

“They’re young. Wait until they get older. They’ll do less giggling then,” Dottie predicted.

Josie thought about Tyler. He was probably the same age as these girls. “I hope you’re wrong,” she said fervently.

“That Annette is just a kid,” Dottie said.

Josie got the impression that the other woman wanted to change the subject. “Yes. In fact, I think she’s the youngest carpenter Island Contracting has had. But I think she’s going to work out.”

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“She went to a vocational school upstate. Their graduates are working for other contractors on the island. Far as I know, everyone’s pretty happy with them. Of course, the others are male.”

“Women have to be twice as good as men to survive in this business.”

“You know, I used to think the same thing, but then I ran across some truly incompetent women, so bad I had a hard time figuring out how they got their licenses, who trained them. And then I realized that there were men who wanted all those women to be bad carpenters or whatever because that confirmed their own prejudices. I’ve been a bit more careful about hiring people since I figured that out.”

“Bastards.”

“I won’t argue with you about that,” Josie said, remembering a few of the disastrous hires she’d made before she realized what was going on. It had been difficult for the company, but worse on the young women who, thinking they had the training necessary for a viable career, suddenly found themselves out the money it had cost them to be trained and without employment.

“What do you think about Jill?” Dottie suddenly changed the subject.

Josie was reluctant to discuss one worker with another. “She seems to be a good carpenter. And she’s worked for four or five years. She wasn’t hired straight out of school. And she had very good references from her last job. She worked out in the Pacific Northwest.”

“She didn’t want to tell the police about the body.”

Josie thought about that for a minute. “Neither did I. Neither did you.”

“And we both have good reasons for that. But Annette thought we should. If you think about it, you realize anyone who is innocent will think we should.”

“I don’t know about that,” Josie answered slowly. “Maybe Jill just doesn’t like authority figures or something.” They had arrived at the house; Josie parked at the curb and both women jumped out before resuming their conversation.

“Like maybe she knows what they can do to an innocent person,” Dottie suggested as they walked up to the front door.

“That’s not necessarily so.”

“Maybe not. But it’s something to think about because there’s one thing wrong with all this.”

“What?” Josie asked, turning the key in the lock and pushing open the door.

“We all have to depend on one another. If one person goes to the police, we’re all in trouble. That’s what’s wrong with this plan.”

“Maybe,” Josie said, walking in the door and flipping on the light switch. “But it looks to me like it’s not all that’s wrong with this plan.”

“What else?”

“It looks like someone got to the body before us.”

Dottie peered over Josie’s shoulder. “Oh, shit.”

There was a scrambling behind them and then Jill and Annette appeared.

“What the—”

But Jill’s assessment echoed Dottie’s. “Oh, shit.”

The canoe was in the middle of the floor. Empty. The blanket that had been tucked around Courtney had been left behind.

“Turn off the light,” Dottie hissed.

“What . . . Oh, you’re right!” Josie reached out, flipped the switch, and plunged them into darkness.

“What are we going to do?” Annette’s question came out as a whimper.

“Excellent question.”

“Guess we don’t have to worry about telling the police anything.” Josie thought she heard relief in Jill’s voice.

“Unless the police are the ones who found the body and took it away,” Dottie suggested.

“How would they have known about her?” Annette asked.

Josie had been looking around. “I don’t think it was them. If the police had found her, they would still be investigating— or if not, they would have hung that yellow scene-of-the-crime tape around the place.” In the past, she had illegally crossed that tape more times than she wanted to think about.

“So who was it?” Annette persisted.

“Could have been one of those television people,” Jill said.

“But wouldn’t they have called the police?”

“Maybe they have a good reason not to,” Josie suggested. It was dusk and there was ample light to examine the room, but that would change as soon as the sun set. “Maybe we should look around—but don’t touch anything! Whoever moved the body might have left a clue to his or her identity, and if we don’t find it before it gets dark, it would be nice if it was still here in the morning.”

“What are we looking for?” Jill asked.

“Clues!” Annette sounded excited. “Pieces of fabric that might have been ripped from clothing as someone dragged the body across the floor. Hairs. Cigarette butts. Maybe even a glove or something like that!”

“Or if we’re really lucky, a small pile of the perpetrator’s DNA.”

“I don’t think . . . You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

“I am. And I shouldn’t be,” Dottie said. “As the boss says, let’s search. We don’t have a lot of time to lose.”

“Where do we start?”

“With the canoe,” Josie said with more assurance and authority than she was feeling. “How was it taken down? Is there anything in it? Any sign of how Courtney was killed?”

“Excuse me?”

Josie looked at Dottie. “It would be interesting to know how she was killed, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I thought we knew how. At least, I thought you knew how it was done. You were up there so close to her for such a long time.”

“There was no sign—”

“No gunshot wound?”

“No knife sticking out of her chest?”

“No long, thin cord tied tightly around her neck?”

“I didn’t even see any bruises.” Josie answered their questions. “She was covered with a blanket. Well, not exactly covered. It wasn’t over her head or anything like that. It was lying across her from her feet up to her chest—and tucked in neatly. Almost as though she had been asleep. But she wasn’t sleeping,” she added quickly before Annette could jump to another conclusion. “I’m sure she was dead. She was . . . well, I’m sure she was dead.” She glanced around the room.

“Look, there’s nothing here that we didn’t put here. One of us might recognize something that doesn’t belong, something that has been moved, something different. All we can do is look.”

They looked. Fifteen minutes later they had nothing. No clues and no ideas. The canoe had been hung from the rafters by a metal chain attached to large metal hooks screwed into beams across the ceiling. The hooks were still there. The chain was piled neatly in the bottom of the canoe. Island Contracting’s policy was to keep a neat workplace. It impressed the customers and saved time in the long run. Nothing, as far as anyone could tell, had been moved. Since the house was unoccupied, there was a lot of dust around. Now that layer of dust was full of scuffed footprints and other marks of human habitation. There was no way of knowing which, if any, had been made by whoever had removed Courtney’s body.

It was getting dark. They were going to be forced to turn on the lights or leave. Josie picked the last option. “Time to go. If there’s anything here, we’ve missed it—”

“Shut up! Someone’s outside.”

“Get down! Shh!”

At Josie’s order, the women dropped to the floor

“Do you think it’s the murderer?” Annette sounded terrified.

“Shh!”

“Josie! I know you’re here. Where are you?”

She recognized the voice and stood. “Everything’s all right. It’s Sam.”

“Who?”

“Her boyfriend, stupid!”

Josie ignored her crew’s comments. “Sam. We’re in here, Sam!”

“Who’s we? Did you have some trouble with the electricity? Why are all the lights off?”

“We . . . we didn’t want anyone to know we were here. I’ll explain later,” she added.

“Fine. Are you ready to go?”

“Wh—”

“You were meeting Tyler and me for dinner.”

“Oh, I forgot! It’s late! Tyler must be starving!”

“Tyler is fine. I fed him an entire pizza with the works and he’s gone home to watch videos.”

Josie instantly reverted to mother mode. “He’s had pizza two nights in a row. And he watches videos at that store all day. Shouldn’t he be out getting some fresh air?”

“He’s fine. We ate at a table on the boardwalk. He’s had his daily allotment of air—and cheese. I, on the other hand, am starving.”

“Oh, Sam . . .”

“We’d better get going now that we’ve finished up here.” Dottie spoke up.

“Yeah, good night.” Jill picked up the hint.

“See you in the morning,” Annette added, sounding a bit doubtful.

“Why doesn’t Dottie drive the truck and Jill the Jeep,” Josie suggested. “Annette can ride.”

“Okay.”

“Good night.”

“Good night. Thanks for everything.” Josie realized they all wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. She felt the same way. “You must be starving,” she said, looking up at Sam with a smile on her face.

“I am. Good night, ladies.” He waited until they were alone and then put both hands on Josie’s shoulders and turned her toward him. “What is going on here, Josie?”

She had a question of her own. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your truck and the Island Contracting Jeep are parked out front. I even know that you were at your office earlier.”

“The same way, right?”

“Your truck was parked outside. Anyone could tell you were there.”

“I never thought about that.” Josie spoke slowly.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on now? Or do you want to wait until we get to the restaurant?”

Josie decided that wasn’t the time to tell him that she had already eaten. “Let’s go to the restaurant. We can talk there.”

And she would have the entire drive to decide just how much she was going to tell him.

TWENTY

JOSIE GOT INTO Sam’s antique MGB. “Do I need to go home and change? Where are we going?” she asked, peering through the windshield.

“How about Basil’s new spot? I’d like to try it and he won’t care what you look like. Although you look very nice,” Sam lied diplomatically.

“I didn’t know his new place was open yet.”

“You’ve had other things to think about. It opened last week. I hope we can get a table.”

Josie didn’t answer. Sam was just making conversation. They both knew Basil would fit them in someplace.

“I saw the menu when Basil was placing his wine order. This should be an interesting meal.”

“I don’t remember exactly what he was planning. I know he was talking about a Southwestern theme emphasizing fish on the menu—or was it Thai?” She was momentarily diverted. She’d eaten earlier but, in fact, was always hungry. And Basil’s meals were always worth relishing.

“He couldn’t make up his mind. So he decided to try a multicultural approach. All the main courses emphasize fish, but the recipes are Thai, Tex-Mex, Caribbean, American Southern, Cajun, French, even a bit of English—Basil thought he needed to provide fish and chips for families who want to eat with their children.”

“Interesting.”

“As is his selection of wines. If I buy a bottle of good Chardonnay, will you at least tell me a bit of what’s going on?”

Josie opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again. Sam knew her. He knew she wouldn’t have been leading her crew around that house long after the workday had ended unless she had a good reason to be there. And he knew there was something odd about doing it in the dark. She leaned back against the soft glove-leather seat (original equipment) and closed her eyes. “Yes. In fact, I’d like to ask your advice. Just don’t tell me we should go to the police. We already decided against that.”

It was dark; her eyes were closed. She didn’t see Sam roll his eyes. “You’re making me very nervous” was all he said.

“Join the crowd.” She opened her eyes as the car made a sharp turn. “Are we already there?”

“Yup. But I don’t see anyplace to park. Is that car coming or going?”

It turned out to be leaving and they slid easily into the spot vacated by the big white Lincoln Town Car. They both got out, and as Sam locked the doors, Josie stared up at the bright sign over the long one-story building. A KETTLE OF FISH was spelled out in green neon light. They walked under the sign and through a door decorated with an imaginative underwater scene.

Josie looked around curiously. Island Contracting had remodeled two of Basil’s five restaurants, but he had bought this building recently and decided to go through this season with what he called “a little minor decorating.”

What was minor decorating for Basil would have been considered a major project by almost anyone else. The walls had been painted with white gloss paint and displayed fish, not the normal stuffed variety, but the type found in galleries in SoHo, fish formed of every material: glass, pottery, fabric, metals, painted on paper, made from paper, and displayed on paper. The effect was unique, modern, and chic. Just the sort of environment to attract the type of people who work in the media, she realized, spying Bobby Valentine at a large table with three members of his crew.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked as she hesitated.

“I . . . I was wondering if there’s a table free. But . . . not too close to Bobby Valentine.”

“Why are you avoiding him? I thought you all were getting along just fine.”

“We are, but . . . Well, I thought we were going to have a chance to talk.”

“And you don’t want him to overhear what we’re talking about?”

“Exactly.”

“No problem. We’ll just tell Basil—”

“You’ll just tell Basil what?”

He was right behind them. They turned and were confronted with a remarkable sight. Basil Tilby had outdone himself. His long legs were encased in dark green slacks. His shoes were silver. He had on a T-shirt of the same shade as his pants, but his jacket was a work of art. Fashioned of canvas, it had been painted with mythical creatures of the deep. Aquarius poured water from a large urn across Basil’s shoulders. Mermaids swirled about his lapels. Josie was speechless.

“We’d like a table, but preferably on that side of the room.” Sam pointed away from Bobby Valentine’s party.

“No problem. Most of my customers prefer the other. Let’s see . . . How about that small one by the window?”

“Perfect.” Sam looked around. “Is this the smoking area?”

“No, all smoking is done on the enclosed porch.”

“Then why is that the most popular side of the room? This is just as charming and it has a view.”

“That side has become our own little media hangout.”

“We noticed the people from Courtney’s show there.”

“They’ve been here every night since we opened. And where they go on the island, crowds follow, as Josie knows by now. I can’t complain. I’ve never had a restaurant become popular so quickly.”

“Has Courtney shown up recently?” Sam asked, sitting down across from Josie.

“Nope. But the crowd keeps hoping and her producer says she’ll be here any day now.”

“Really?” Josie felt she had to say something.

“Yes. How is it working with her?” Basil asked, handing her a menu written on a large white piece of paper shaped like a life preserver.

“Great!”

From the expression on the men’s faces, she realized her response had been just a bit too enthusiastic. “Although it would be nice to be interviewed by her instead of Bobby Valentine pretending to be her.”

“Is that what’s going on now?”

“Yes, it’s called working around her.”

“Only, of course, she’s not around,” Basil suggested.

“No, not anymore.”

“I hate to interrupt, but watching Tyler wolf down pizza was a real appetizer. I’m starving. What do you suggest?”

“Everything is good. Everything is fresh, but the penne al mare and filets de daurade à la julienne de légumes are my personal favorites.”

“I’ll have the penne,” Josie said.

“And I’ll have the sea bass,” Sam said. “Now what about wine?”

Sam’s last question required a serious discussion with Basil, and Josie looked across the room at Bobby Valentine. He seemed to be enjoying himself, eating some sort of pasta and drinking what looked like a martini as he chatted with the cameraman, the woman who set up the lights, and someone she didn’t recognize.

Josie stared and wondered if he knew about Courtney’s death. If so, he didn’t seem terribly distressed. Did that mean he really thought her disappearance was normal? Or was he just a good actor?

“You’re staring.”

Startled, Josie looked back at Sam. “I . . . I guess I’m sort of curious about the TV people,” she admitted.

“I’m a little surprised you don’t get enough of them during the day.”

Sam’s tone of voice was odd and Josie frowned, then grinned as she realized what she was hearing. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous of Bobby Valentine.”

“I know it’s foolish—”

“Oh, Sam, don’t say that! No man’s ever been jealous over me.”

“That’s a compliment. It means you’re trustworthy.”

Josie suspected it meant she rarely had one man in her life and never two at once. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Sam. “You’ll understand more when I tell you what’s going on, but . . .”

A young man, wearing a conventional suit but sporting a tie shaped like a fish, brought the wine Sam had ordered and began the elaborate opening and tasting process that Josie sometimes found so irritating. This was one of those times. Until . . .

“You’re so lucky to be working on a television show,” the young man gushed. “They’re fascinating, aren’t they?”

“Well . . .”

“I’ve been changing my station every night to make sure I wait on them. Just listening in on their conversation is an incredible opportunity. That producer—”

“Bobby Valentine.” Josie supplied the name.

“He told me to call him Bobby,” the young waiter said proudly.

“You were saying . . .” Josie prompted.

“And pouring wine,” Sam reminded him.

“Oh, sorry.” He poured a bit and offered the glass to Sam.

Sam tasted, nodded, and smiled. “Fine.”

While their glasses were filled, Josie encouraged the waiter to chat. “They’re interesting people, aren’t they?”

“Yes, especially Courtney. I thought she was just another carpenter, but she’s done everything! All those different types of shows . . .”

“What sort of shows?” Sam stopped sipping long enough to ask.

“Lots of things! A painting show—not the stuff you hang on the walls, but the type of things you put in the walls—”

“Faux finishes.” Sam offered the correct term.

Josie, as always, amazed by the depth of Sam’s knowledge as well as curious about who he might have dated who knew these things, asked a question. “She did a show about faux finishes?”

“Yes. It was very successful, according to her. But she even talked about her failures. She said she hosted some sort of needlepoint show that was a complete disaster.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she said sewing just wasn’t her thing, that she would leave it to the less artistic types.”

“Very cool of her,” Sam commented, smiling.

Josie was suddenly reminded of fifth grade. The second week of school Miss DeFrancisco had announced that they were going to elect class officers: a president, a vice president, a secretary, and a treasurer. Courtney had, of course, run for president. But her opponent had been an unknown quantity: a new girl who had, only a week earlier, moved to town from Southern California. The girl claimed to have met many famous actors and rock stars—Bruce Springsteen among them—and, using these supposed connections as any seasoned politician would—had won. When the results were announced, Josie had been thrilled, covertly glancing across the room to where Courtney was seated, hoping to spy a tear trickling down her pale cheek, or at least a grimace. But Courtney had leaped from her seat, hand out, to congratulate the winner.

“I guess the best man won,” she had said, and then giggled. “The best woman, I should say.”

But Josie had seen the blush on the winner’s embarrassed face and known Courtney’s barb had met its mark. And, for some reason, the new girl had become less and less popular as the year went on.

She wasn’t listening to what their waiter was saying.

“. . . and she never refuses to sign an autograph. She signed a photo for me the first night they were all here and the next night she signed one for my father. He’s a big fan of
Courtney
Castle’s Castles
.”

“Wait a second. Where did you get all these photographs?”

“Courtney herself. They’re publicity photos.”

“She carries them with her?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly. They were in a large briefcase, but I think someone else on her staff actually carried them.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit conceited?”

“She’s a celebrity. That’s what celebrities do.”

“Oh, I guess. I haven’t known a whole lot of celebrities.” Josie picked up her wineglass and took a sip. “Do they come in here a lot?”

“Every single night since we opened.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You can go get an autographed photo if you want.”

“But Courtney’s not here.”

“No, but I noticed the briefcase lying on the floor.”

“You mean they pass out her photos even when she’s not here?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, nice, huh?”

“Do you wait on them every night?” Josie asked.

“All except for the first night they were here. I hadn’t figured out how to trade stations then.”

“And when did Courtney disa—stop coming in?”

“A few nights ago. It was weird.”

“Why?”

“Her crew was planning to have some sort of celebration for her. Champagne was ordered. Basil was planning a special dinner. Then she didn’t show up.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie exclaimed.

“Nope. They waited for over half an hour, then Bobby insisted everyone drink the champagne and eat. It was odd.”

“And she hasn’t been here since then?” Josie asked.

“Nope. And that’s strange, too, because Bobby was sure she’d be back. He said she never, ever missed a day of shooting.”

“Really?” Then he had lied to her. Josie smiled and drained her glass.