This Old Murder (2 page)

And now, as she turned the last corner to the house, it was time to get some answers. And the first question she was going to ask was: What the hell is going on here?

TWO

"DON’T YOU REMEMBER? I’m absolutely positive I told you I was bringing some people by this week to start taping.”

But that wasn’t the answer to the first question Josie had asked. The first question out of her mouth had been “Where is Bobby Valentine?” She asked a half-dozen people and she got six different answers. Bobby Valentine was “out back.” Bobby Valentine was “inside.” Bobby Valentine was “in the van.” Bobby Valentine was “in the truck.” Bobby Valentine was “in the living room.” Or, possibly, Bobby Valentine was “off site for the morning.” He might have been in all those places at one time, but right now he was by her side.

“Josie Pigeon, right?”

She turned and looked at the man standing beside her. “You’re Bobby Valentine?”

“In the flesh. Don’t I look the way you imagined?”

Josie didn’t answer. She hadn’t, in fact, imagined Bobby Valentine at all. But if she had, she had dressed him in more urbane clothing—the type of sports jacket and slacks that Sam wore in his store or possibly an Armani pinstripe. But Bobby Valentine was wearing pressed jeans and a shirt made of smooth white Egyptian cotton. Pigskin loafers covered sockless feet and a gold Rolex hung on his tanned wrist. He resembled one of the Wall Street moguls who vacationed on the island.

“What do you think? I bought this shirt just for the shoot.” He pointed to his breast pocket.

Josie looked more closely. There was a tiny gray hammer embroidered on the silky fabric.

“I thought about a whale, of course, to stay with the sea-shore motif, but when I saw this thing, I couldn’t resist. Courtney will love it.”

“It’s very nice,” Josie said, moving aside to avoid being run over by a young man carrying a huge round metal frame with shiny white fabric stretched across it.

“Hey, you! Watch out for that reflector! Hold it at your side.”

With a quick word of apology for bumping Josie’s arm, the worker moved quickly out of range of Bobby Valentine’s voice. “These damn interns. They come to us for the summer. By the time they know how to do their job, they’re back snug in their dorm rooms at Princeton or Amherst or wherever. Sometimes I think they’re worth less than what we pay them.”

“What do you pay them?” Josie asked, glad the subject was no longer Bobby Valentine’s clothing.

“Nothing. Zip. Nada.”

Josie glanced back over her shoulder at the young worker, who had put down his burden and was now edging a massive black box off the lift at the back of a large truck. The strain caused his muscles to tighten beneath the Cornell T-shirt he wore. “He isn’t on salary?”

“Nope. He gets college credit for doing all this. Pretty neat system, huh?”

“It sure is,” Josie answered, wondering if it could be implemented in the building industry.

“So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“All this.” Bobby Valentine swept his arms in a circle that encompassed the area.

Josie could only think of it as mayhem. Two large vans with COURTNEY CASTLE’S CASTLES—MAKE YOUR DREAM HOME COME TRUE emblazoned on the side panels were nose to nose in the driveway. An even larger trailer was parked at the curb. It was hard to believe that these three vehicles, despite their size, had provided enough space to transport all the flotsam and jetsam that filled the front yard. There were tables and chairs, folded and piled high, enough for a small wedding reception. There were big black lights attached to various poles and stands. There were strange metal boxes prickly with buttons and levers. The sidewalk was covered with enough coils of wire to hook up the entire island.

“Impressive, huh?”

Josie was blunt. “I don’t see how we’re going to work around all this junk.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Remember, we do this all the time. Inland Contracting will be just fine.”

“Island Contracting. The name of my company is Island Contracting.”

“Oh?” He looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. “Well, I guess you should know. Don’t worry. Courtney is good with names. You’ll get your free publicity.”

“If you’ll be able to see us in the middle of all this stuff,” Josie said, frowning.

“That’s all that’s taking the smile off your pretty face? Hey, don’t worry! Once we’re set up, you won’t even know we’re around.”

“You’re going to hide all this?”

“Behind the scenes.”

Josie realized that they were talking about two different things. Bobby Valentine was concerned about the show that was going to air. Her concern was to get the remodeling done well and on time. Free advertising was fine and good, but she needed the final payment for this job to keep her company in business. But they would fight these battles as each day came up. Starting now.

“I’ve got a load of Sheetrock coming the day after tomorrow,” she began.

“I know what you’re thinking and you don’t have to worry about a thing. I promise you, all of this will be out of sight before my guys go home tonight. Courtney’s going to be here to check out everything tomorrow morning. And you know what Courtney always says—”

“A place for everything and everything in its place,” Annette chimed in enthusiastically.

“Exactly! Well, I see we have a fan of the show here.” Bobby Valentine beamed at the young carpenter.

“You bet! I love Courtney Castle! I can’t wait to meet her!”

“Well, you’ll have that privilege tomorrow.”

“You told me you weren’t going to start filming until next week!” And they sure wouldn’t be ready before then, Josie knew.

“No problem. No problem. We may tape a bit here and there, but Courtney’s really just coming to get a feel for the place and the job. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Go on with your work as though she wasn’t even around. Believe me, that’s what Courtney would tell you to do.”

Dottie Evans stopped on her way to the small front deck, her habitual sneer on her face. “And she expects us to do things just because she tells us to. Right?”

“What time will she be here?” Josie asked quickly, frowning at Dottie. Annette’s obvious hero worship might be a bit naive, but at least it wasn’t hostile.

Apparently Bobby Valentine didn’t mind—or notice. “You don’t have to worry about Courtney. She just wants what’s best for the show. You’re gonna love her.”

Dottie hefted a huge box of nails up on her shoulder and stomped into the house. The expression on her face was plain: She doubted it. But Josie was thankful that she didn’t seem to feel the need to say anything more.

Dottie let the old, ripped, aluminum screen door slam behind her, but Josie’s attention was drawn to a heavyset man in filthy jeans and an even dirtier red T-shirt walking up the sidewalk. “You Josie Pigeon?” he asked, pulling a bandanna from his pocket and mopping his perspiring forehead.

“Yes,” she answered, glancing over at Bobby Valentine for an introduction.

“I wanna see your blues,” the stranger continued, referring to the blueprints, which, as far as Josie knew, were still stashed in her truck.

“I . . . I faxed a copy to your office,” Josie answered, still expecting Bobby Valentine to join in the conversation.

“I ain’t got an office. I run my business from my home, an apartment over on One Twenty-third. And I ain’t seen no blues. And I gotta get any special orders in today.” The bandanna went back into his pocket and a toothpick came out— and went straight into his mouth.

“You’re the plumber!” Josie exclaimed.

“Yup. Wayne Wagner, at your service.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Josie said enthusiastically, starting forward with her hand outstretched.

“Whoa. Just wait one second here. You’re who?” Bobby Valentine got between Josie and her subcontractor.

“Wayne Wagner. The plumber Ms. Josie Pigeon hired to add two bathrooms to this here project. And you are?” The toothpick went back in the pocket and a pair of glasses came out. Wayne used them to examine Bobby Valentine.

Bobby Valentine didn’t waste any time responding to the other man. “I need to speak with you in private, Ms. Pigeon. We’ve got ourselves a problem. A big problem.” His elegant shoe dug into the lawn as he spun around and stalked off. Josie followed him across the grass, off the curb, and up the steps into the trailer.

“We have a problem,” he repeated when they were alone.

Josie didn’t reply; she was too busy staring. Unlike its utilitarian exterior, the interior of the trailer resembled a luxury spa. One entire side was mirrored. A beauty-parlor chair sat before a large buffet littered with pots and tubes of ointments and creams. A small refrigerator was built into a wall; a microwave hung above it. An exercise bicycle stood in the middle of the hallway. At the far end of the space a brocade-covered couch was piled high with lace pillows. The walls were frosted with framed awards and photographs of large estates. Josie peered at the large color photograph by her left shoulder. It was of a stone mansion larger than anything she had ever seen.

“Who was that man?” he asked, flopping down in a chair, not bothering to offer a seat to Josie.

“You heard him say his name. Wayne Wagner.”

“And who is he?”

“The plumber.”

“The plumber or a plumber?”

“Both, I guess.” She paused. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Is he just a friend of yours who happens to be a plumber? Or is he Island Building’s plumber?”

“We don’t have a plumber on staff right now,” Josie answered, understanding him despite the incorrect name. “But he is the plumber we hired for this project, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He just frowned.

“That is what you want to know, isn’t it? I’ve never met him before,” she added when there was no answer to her question. “My crew changes and sometimes we have a plumber on the staff, but right now we don’t. And the plumber I usually use was busy and recommended Wayne.” After a pause, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong? Is something wrong, she asks,” he said loudly, although Josie had no idea who he imagined he was speaking to. “Yes, something is wrong. I will tell you what is wrong.”

“What?”

“Well, unless Wayne Wagner is going to have some very serious surgery before next week, he’s not going to fit in with the image we have of this project.”

Josie suddenly realized what he was talking about. “You mean the problem is that Wayne isn’t a woman?”

“Got it in one! And we’ve sold this show to the stations as an all-female show. They were chomping at the bit to get it for a spring or summer fund-raiser. Now what the hell am I going to do?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look, television shows don’t make themselves. It takes lots of equipment, lots of people, and lots and lots of money to make a halfway decent show.”

Josie remembered the piles of equipment and the large staff outside and nodded her head.

“And there’s only so much money to go around.”

“Of course.” Was there anyplace where that wasn’t true?

“So we sell our shows to the stations before we make them. And, frankly, finding your company was a godsend.”

“Why?”

“Because the biggest pots of cash go to the shows that make money.”

“I don’t understand.” Josie put up a hand to stop him. “I thought this show was for public television. I thought only commercial television worried about making money.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else. Why do you think they’re always having those long fund-raisers?”

“Well, I don’t watch PBS all that much,” Josie admitted. “I did when my son was young.
Sesame Street
and
Zoom
and stuff like that.”

“Ever wonder what it costs to make one of those cute little Muppets?”

“Not really,” Josie admitted.

“Lots.”

“But what does all this have to do with my plumbing sub?”

“That’s right. You may have a point. He’s a
sub
contractor, not a contractor. We might just manage to work this out. Depends on how we sell it.” Bobby Valentine seemed to be speaking almost to himself.

“I still don’t understand,” Josie reminded him.

“Well, we sold this show to public broadcasting as a fund-raiser. I mean, we know contracting shows are a dime a dozen, but one that featured women workers . . . Well, it’s different, if you know what I mean. And it sure would have more appeal as a fund-raiser and . . . and stuff like that. It’s well known that women control where the contributions go in most families.”

“Really?” Josie knew nothing about it. When her son, Tyler, was four years old, she had sent twenty-five dollars to Channel 13 because he longed for a bright blue stuffed Cookie Monster. That was her entire experience with fund-raising. But Bobby Valentine had bigger things on his mind.

“You know, there’s nothing to get excited about here. That Wayne isn’t really on the staff of your company. We’ll just keep him in the background.” Bobby Valentine got up and opened the trailer’s door for Josie.

Once again she was struck by the amount of equipment standing around. There was an awful lot of stuff that was supposed to be hidden in the background with Wayne Wagner. Josie just hoped that someone knew how to go about doing it.

THREE

JOSIE HAD MET Sam Richardson when he retired from his job as a prosecuting attorney in New York City and moved to the island to begin his new life as owner-manager of an upscale liquor store. That had been three years earlier. Most of the time she was wildly in love with him. And other times she wondered why they even bothered to speak to each other. This was one of those times.

Sam had just admitted to being a fan of the Courtney Castle show.

“If I was still living in my New York apartment, I wouldn’t even have glanced at those building shows, but we’ve done so much work on my house, and I’ve even gotten an idea or two from watching them. In fact, those indents in the shower walls, the ones we’re going to redo when Island Contracting has some free time, were an idea I got from watching Courtney.”

“The idea isn’t original with her. Half the decorating magazines have been featuring them for years,” Josie said sullenly. Sam was almost twenty years older than she was and certainly more educated and experienced. Building and remodeling was the one—and only—area where she was the expert. It wasn’t as though she was competitive, but still . . .

They were sitting in a booth at one of Basil Tilby’s restaurants that had opened near the end of last year’s season. A good friend, Basil had hired Island Contracting to remodel the place. Josie had come there expecting Sam to spend at least some of the meal admiring her work—and not spend any time talking about another woman.

“I’ve never seen the show,” she admitted.

“Josie, you should. You’re going to be working with this woman for the next few weeks. It’s on tonight at nine-thirty. We’ll skip dessert and go over to my house to watch it. I have a few pints of Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer,” he added when she didn’t answer.

“I wasn’t worried about missing dessert,” she protested, somewhat dishonestly. “I was just thinking about Tyler. I told him he had to be home by ten-thirty, so I’d better be home to make sure he remembers.”

“Josie, Tyler is a responsible kid—”

“Sam, he’s sixteen years old.”

“He does just fine away at school.”

“Where there is a huge staff to keep an eye on the kids. And it’s not just that. There’s a lot to keep him busy at school. Tyler belongs to all sorts of clubs, he has to participate in a team sport each season, and he has piles of homework.”

“Are you saying idle hands are the devil’s playground?”

“Something like that. Tyler spent yesterday in his room in front of that damn computer.”

“So?”

“I don’t know. You hear so much about bad things on the computer. Sex and all . . .”

“Josie, he probably checked out the sex available in cyberspace years and years ago.”

“I know. I just worry.” She took a deep breath. “The truth is, I’m afraid I’m boring him. That he’s happier at school than he is at home.”

“He sure looked happy at my house Sunday afternoon.”

“He was stuffing his face with junk food. Of course he was happy. But unless you’re going to spend the entire summer on your deck grilling hot dogs for him, he’s going to need a bit more to stay busy.”

“Well, once he starts working . . .”

Josie leaned forward so quickly that she almost tipped over her glass of wine. “You know something, don’t you? You two were in the kitchen for a long time. Where has he applied for work? What does he want to do this summer?”

“He hasn’t just applied for a job. He’s got one. But I think you should wait for him to tell you about it.”

“I . . . Why . . .” Josie was rarely speechless and then it didn’t last for long. “My son has a job and he hasn’t even mentioned it to me! What’s going on, Sam?”

“Josie, he just wants you to see his point . . . to get to know . . . to understand . . .” Sam stopped and took an un-characteristically loud gulp of the wine he had carefully chosen. “I’m blowing this for Tyler, Josie, and I hate to do that. I promised him I would help prepare you.”

“For what? Why would I have to be prepared for any job Tyler would take?”

“Now don’t start imagining all sorts of horrors.”

“I won’t have to imagine anything if you tell me what’s going on.”

“Look, it’s a great job for Tyler. He knows a lot about . . . well, about the subject. He’ll get to be around people. The pay is good—”

“It’s off island, isn’t it? My son isn’t even going to spend the summer with me! That’s it, isn’t it, Sam?”

“No, it isn’t. Now, see, you’re doing exactly what I thought you would. You’re imagining problems that just are not going to happen.”

“Sam . . .”

“Josie, I’ll tell you, but you must listen to everything I have to say before going nuts.”

“Just as long as I can go nuts when you’re done.”

“I really think you won’t want to when you hear what I have to say. Tyler got a job at Family Video.”

“But, Sam, that’s wonderful! He’ll be able to ride his bike to work and he’ll be just a few blocks away from you, so when it rains maybe you’ll be able to drive him home. Why did either of you think I’d object to him working there? I’ll even be able to see him in the evening when we drop in to pick out a video— Oh, no!” she cried, realization dawning. “It’s a night job, isn’t it? He wants to work the night shift.”

“Josie, we’re not talking about overnight in a ghetto convenience store. Tyler has been asked to work three full days and three evenings a week. The evening shift runs from three to midnight with an hour off for dinner.”

“Midnight! Why midnight? The store’s only open until eleven.”

“I asked the same question. Apparently there’s a lot to do after the customers leave. Tapes to check in. Shelves to clean up.”

“He can’t do it. He can work days, but not the evening shift.”

“I suggested that, too, but the store’s policy is that no one gets preference. If you work there days, you work there evenings. But, Josie, it’s not as though he’s going to be miles away from home. And he’s not going to be hanging out on street corners, for heaven’s sake. He’s going to be working.”

“But it’s at night, Sam!”

“Look, I didn’t say anything to Tyler, but I have to admit I think he’s right about this. What difference does it make if he’s home by ten-thirty or twelve-thirty as long as you know where he is, what he’s doing, and that he’s safe? If he were home, he’d probably be sitting in front of his computer or watching TV. In any case, you’ll be in bed. So what difference could it possibly make to you if he’s at the video store instead of in your living room or his bedroom?”

“I just like him to be home before I go to bed. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it makes me feel better knowing he’s around.”

“Then why did you send him to boarding school?”

“Because he’s so smart he was ahead of most of the teachers on the island. When Noel’s will was read and I found that he had not only left me Island Contracting but had put aside enough money for Tyler to go to boarding school, I was incredibly relieved. It’s important that he get a good education. But I miss him! And that’s part of the reason I like him to be home in the summer. He only gets short vacations the rest of the year. And if he’s working nights, he’ll end up sleeping all morning. We’ll hardly see each other. Besides, I don’t like him riding his bike late at night. The bars will be closing and there will be drunks on the road.”

Sam refilled their glasses thoughtfully. “Look, I didn’t mean to get involved in this, but since I am, let me suggest a compromise.”

“Go ahead.”

“What if you let Tyler take this job—with two conditions,” he added quickly. “First that he’ll get up in the morning and see you before he goes to work if at all possible whether he worked late the night before or not.”

“Not a chance! Do you have any idea how long it takes a teenage boy to get out of bed in the morning? I won’t make it to work on time.”

“He has to agree to set his alarm and get himself up. Okay?”

“Well, maybe. What’s the second condition?”

“He agrees to allow me to drive him home on the nights he works. That will mean he has to either get a ride to the store earlier or walk, but for a kid who’s been on a track team all spring, that won’t be a hardship.”

“You’ll drive him home? Really?”

“I just said I would.”

“Oh, Sam, that’s so sweet of you!”

“So you agree?”

“If he agrees to everything you suggested, how can I complain?”

Their waitress placed a huge platter of antipasti on the table between them.

“Perfect timing,” Sam said, spearing a long strip of roasted pepper and popping it in his mouth.

“Can I bring you anything else?”

“Maybe some Pellegrino,” Sam suggested.

“Fine. And I’ll tell the chef to start your risotto in about ten minutes, shall I?”

“Excellent.”

Josie was too busy digging into the pickled eggplant to reply.

“So what’s this Courtney Castle like in person?” Sam asked.

Josie realized he was changing the topic and hoping for a comparable change in her mood. But he’d sure asked the wrong question.

“Why is everyone so interested in Courtney Castle? It’s almost as if she’s a sex symbol rather than a carpenter.” The truth suddenly dawned on her. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Sexy? Yes, in a wholesome all-American-girl sort of way,” Sam admitted. “She has gorgeous hair.”

“So she’s young?”

“To me she is. I’d guess she’s around your age actually.”

“Do you think she ended up having a show of her own because of her looks?”

“I have no idea. But there aren’t a lot of unattractive people on television,” Sam said. “After all, if you’re designing a show, you want people to watch, and most people would prefer to watch good-looking personalities.

“Josie, why did you agree to do the show? You keep saying that it will be good publicity for Island Contracting, but you have lots of work. And unless you’re planning to work off island, most of the people watching will never hire you no matter how good you all look.”

“I know that. But I was flattered to be asked and, frankly, it had a lot to do with Tyler.”

“Did you think they might hire him?” Sam asked, obviously mystified.

“I never even considered it.” Josie sighed and turned her attention to the platter of food they were sharing. “I thought it would bring status to Island Contracting. Well, to me, actually. I thought all those rich people who send their kids to Tyler’s school would watch and they wouldn’t think of me as just a carpenter anymore.” She looked up at him, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “Stupid, huh?”

“Not really.” Sam spoke slowly. “Have you gotten the impression that some of his classmate’s parents look down on you? Has Tyler said something?”

“To tell the truth, no. I worried a lot about that happening when he started there, but it hasn’t been a serious problem. I’m sure there are some snotty kids, but the school has a huge scholarship fund, so there are some kids who have all their expenses paid. Besides, it’s a place that values intelligence and creativity. And, of course, Tyler excels in those areas.”

“But you said—”

“I know. The problem is me, Sam. I go to things at school and I feel like . . . an employee of his friends’ parents. Everyone is very nice,” she continued before he could say anything, “but they ask questions about remodeling their homes as though I couldn’t possibly have anything else to talk about. Not that I could contribute to conversations about vacations in St. Bart’s or flying to Paris for the spring shows. I just thought that this would improve my image, if you understand what I mean.”

“You’re looking for status conferral,” Sam said. He didn’t remind her that if she had accepted one of his many offers of marriage, she could afford to see a bit more of the world.

“I guess. I sort of figured that these people watched public television and they would think more of me for being on it.”

“And it might work. But you just might find out that these people are watching
The Simpsons
instead of
Masterpiece
Theatre
.”

Josie grinned. “I suppose.” She hesitated, then continued. “Do you think I’m being stupid?”

“No, you see a problem and when an opportunity comes up to do something about it, you act. I think you’re being smart. But . . .”

Josie didn’t even have time to enjoy his compliment. “What? What but?”

“You’ve never watched Courtney.”

“That’s what I was telling you . . . Why?”

“I don’t want to prejudice you. Let’s finish up here and go home and watch. Then you can tell me what you think.”

Their risotto had arrived, but Josie discovered that she’d lost her appetite.

Josie’s bowl of ice cream was melting on the coffee table. She hadn’t said a word while the show was on. She hadn’t said a word in the nine minutes since it ended. Sam had been waiting patiently—until now.

“I’m going to get another bowl of ice cream. Would you like another one? Or maybe a glass of brandy or something?”

“No, I’m fine.” She was silent for a few minutes longer. “She really is pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You know, she reminds me of someone. I can’t figure out who—”

“You’ve probably seen her photograph in a magazine or a newspaper. So she seems familiar.”

“I suppose that’s it. She has awfully long—and clean— fingernails for a carpenter.”

“Perhaps they’re fake. Or maybe she just had a manicure.”

Josie remembered the equipment she had seen in the van that afternoon and decided he could be right.

“What did you think?” Sam finally asked.

“I think I may have made a mistake. Courtney is the star of that show and the house is the costar. I don’t see how being on it is going to help Island Contracting.” Or me.

But she didn’t say the last two words aloud.