This Old Murder (4 page)

Josie didn’t bother to introduce herself to the woman or defend her crew’s work. Instead she examined Courtney Castle’s profile with a shocked expression on her face. “You know—” she began, but Annette Long interrupted.

“Oh, Ms. Castle, I can’t tell you how excited I am to meet you. We’re all just thrilled that you’re going to put Island Contracting on the air.”

“Yes, we haven’t been able to talk about anything else,” Jill added.

“Well, some of us are more thrilled than others.” Dottie had joined them.

“And we were going to clean up the front lawn right after lunch. Right, Josie?” Annette lied.

“Yes. I . . .” Josie was still staring.

“I think Josie and I should do a walk-through of the site,” Courtney announced. “Right, Josie?”

“I . . . You . . . Yes, that would be a good idea. You all finish eating. This won’t take long.”

“Let’s start out back. The blues are there and we can compare the finished product with what’s here as we go.”

“Great.”

The two women, one chic and clean, one dirty and dowdy, entered through the open front door.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Annette bubbled.

But Dottie and Jill had gone back to their lunches.

FIVE

IT WAS ALMOST six o’clock, well after the official start of the island’s cocktail hour, so Josie wasn’t too surprised to find a parking place right in front of Sam’s store. Most of his customers would already be home, immersed in their first or second gin and tonic of the day. They were, after all, on vacation. But Josie wasn’t. Furthermore, she was upset and in a hurry.

Which probably explained why she smashed right into a display of Beaujolais, knocking six bottles to the floor.

“Oh, damn!”

“They made it all the way here from France without a break, Josie. You could at least let me sell them to thirsty customers.”

Josie was fumbling with her overalls. “It was my hammer. I thought I’d left this in the truck,” she muttered, pulling it from her back pocket.

Sam had finished replacing the bottles on the shelves. “No harm done. So, are you here to see me, or am I a convenient stop on the way to the video store?”

“Have you seen Tyler today?”

“I just happened to return the tape we rented while he was at work, yes.”

“And?”

“And he was having a ball. I was in the store less than five minutes, and during that time, he explained a new system of shelving foreign movies to the owner, told a woman he was sure her preschool son would get a lot out of
A Clockwork
Orange
—his words, not mine—and flirted with one of the cutest girls I’ve seen on the island in a long while. He was having a ball,” Sam repeated. “And don’t worry. The little boy is going to be watching
One Hundred and One Dalmatians
tonight despite Tyler’s helpful advice.”

“Do you think he’ll get fired?” Josie asked, suddenly discovering something new to worry about.

“No way. Everyone in the place was getting a huge kick out of his enthusiasm and energy. You know Tyler. Besides, the store doesn’t carry anything X-rated. Anyone who wants to get something like that will have to go a few blocks away to Island Video.”

“But won’t the owner be upset if Tyler recommends tapes he doesn’t carry?”

“Both stores are owned by the same person. Doesn’t make a bit of difference to him which place people choose to rent from.”

“Oh, so you think Tyler is doing a good job.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you think I could possibly just stop in and—”

“I think—and you know—you should leave him alone.”

“You’re right. I just needed something to do. It’s been a strange day.”

“
Courtney Castle’s Castles
couldn’t already be causing problems.” Sam opened a bag of gourmet potato chips and passed them to her as he spoke.

“Sort of,” she admitted through the crunching. “You know, last night when we were watching the show, I thought Courtney looked familiar. But today when she was at the house—”

“Courtney Castle is already on the island? She’s getting to work early, isn’t she?”

“I don’t think . . . That’s not the point. Sam, there’s something strange about . . . Courtney. You see—”

“Did I hear Miss Josie Pigeon saying something about Courtney Castle? Did you hear anything about that, son?”

“Well, Chief, I guess I did.”

Sam and Josie exchanged looks and turned to greet Chief Rodney and his son, the official (and during the winter months the only) police presence on the island.

“I was just telling Sam that I met Courtney Castle this afternoon,” Josie explained.

“Yeah, so we heard.” Mike Rodney managed to make the simple statement sound menacing.

“Can I help you?” Sam asked politely.

Chief Rodney got right to the point. “Sure hope so. We’re looking for donations for the Annual Police Association Auction, Sam. We thought a bottle of one of your imported bubblies could fetch a pretty price.”

“Always ready to help out the local organizations, you know that,” Sam said agreeably.

“What Annual Police Association Auction?” Josie asked.

“I’ve never heard of an annual police association auction. I didn’t even know there was a police association on the island. What is it?”

“Most municipalities have a police association. Among other things, they raise money to help the officers in times of crisis, to do things like help the widows of officers killed in action,” Mike Rodney explained.

“You mean this money is to go to your mother if the chief dies on the job,” Sam said.

“Not just Mom—”

“I have no intention of dying either on or off the job, and that’s just one of the uses for any funds we may raise. There’s also equipment available that would help us do our jobs more efficiently that cannot, for one reason or another, come out of the town budget.”

“Is the donation tax deductible?” Sam asked.

“It will be. The papers were filed as soon as we heard that Courtney Castle was coming to the island.”

“What does Courtney Castle have to do with . . . this police association auction?” Josie asked quickly.

“She’s going to be our auctioneer,” Mike bragged. “It was Dad’s idea.”

“We thought it would be wise to take advantage of having a famous celebrity in our midst.”

“You asked her to do this already?” Sam asked.

“You called her?” Josie asked at the same time.

“In point of fact, she called us. Or, to be more specific, her producer called. She needs police protection, you see.”

“Police protection?” Sam repeated the words.

“She’s a famous person. Sometimes famous people attract oddballs,” Mike said.

“I don’t think this is anyone’s business, Mike,” his father warned.

Josie realized that Mike was explaining more than his father wanted him to. “You mean Bobby Valentine called you?” she asked.

“Sure did.”

“To ask for police protection for Courtney Castle.”

“To watch out for things while the show is in town,” his father explained. “Crowd control.”

“Crowd control? What crowds?”

“According to this Bobby Valentine, there’s always a crowd around wherever the show is taped.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I gather you didn’t know anything about this,” Sam said.

“No one mentioned it to me,” Josie admitted. “But I don’t see why it should be much of a problem.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Sam said. “A bunch of spectators could disrupt deliveries if they’re kept in the street, to say nothing of what might happen if they’re allowed to wander around on the property. It sounds to me like a police line of some sort is an excellent idea.”

“Does this mean you’re planning on hanging that yellow police tape around my work site?”

“No, that’s just the point,” Mike said proudly. “Courtney Castle doesn’t want anyone to see a police line. We’re going to prevent curious people from getting anywhere near your work. The entire block will be cordoned off.”

Josie could just imagine what Cheryl’s husband would have to say about that. “What about the neighbors? The other people who live on the street?”

“Right now we’re working on having passes printed up,” Mike explained.

“But . . .” Josie began.

“How large an area is going to be cordoned off?” Sam asked. “Surely the whole block is a bit excessive.”

“We will do whatever Miss Courtney Castle asks,” the chief of police answered.

Josie took another step backward. A fatal one for the Beaujolais, as it turned out. Glass and wine flew in all directions, drenching Josie’s overalls as well as Sam’s chinos and loafers. The ensuing cleanup didn’t interest the Rodneys, and claiming urgent police business, they stepped over the mess and left. Sam called to an employee to bring a mop and he led Josie to his small office in the rear of the store. He seated her in his desk chair and grabbed a wineglass from a nearby shelf. “Red or white?”

“I’ll stick with red,” she answered, glancing down at her stained clothing.

Sam waited until she’d had time to taste the wine before he asked his first question. “Why do you object to this police line? Even if it’s a bit excessive, it probably won’t be a problem for you.”

“Ha! Everything about Courtney and her show will be a problem for me!”

“How can you possibly know that? You’ve just met!”

“She doesn’t make a good first impression,” Josie answered after a short pause.

“Meaning?”

“Sam, you should have been there. She drove up in this hot car—a silver Porsche, for heaven’s sake.”

“Wow. I wonder if PBS pays for that.”

Josie couldn’t believe it; he sounded envious. “You know, Sam—”

“It doesn’t matter. Go on. What did she do when she drove up?”

“She . . . she started to complain about everything immediately. She didn’t like where the Dumpster was located or how we filled it. Ask Jill or Annette or Dottie. They all heard her complaining.”

“I don’t doubt you, Josie, but so what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that she bugs me. I’m really beginning to regret agreeing to be on television.”

Sam picked up his full glass, then put it down without drinking. “I think I’ll keep my head clear.”

Josie didn’t have any such compunction. She drained her glass and stared at the desk before her.

“We could go out to dinner,” Sam suggested. “Sounds like you need a break. And tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

Josie frowned.

Sam knew what she was thinking. “How about if we just get a beer and a pizza at that new restaurant down on the boardwalk. You’ll be home long before Tyler arrives.”

“I hear that place is usually crowded.”

Sam shrugged. “Let’s give it a try anyway. We can take your truck.”

“It’s filthy,” Josie warned him.

“So are we,” Sam said, glancing at their wine-stained clothing. “So are we.”

But the popularity of the new pizza place had apparently been exaggerated. They were almost the only customers in the gleaming white-tiled room. Sam looked around as he pulled Josie’s chair out for her. “Guess we won’t have to wait long for our food.”

Josie looked over his shoulder, recognizing a member of Tyler’s old Cub Scout troop. “Luke! Look at you! You look so grown up!” She knew she sounded stupid.

Apparently the teenager was used to the clichés of adults. “Hi, Ms. Pigeon. I saw Tyler at the video store this morning. Cool job.”

“This looks like a pretty good place to work, too.”

Another couple walked in the door.

“Hey, we make the best pizza on the island. We’ve been jammed every day since we opened. Course it looks like everything’s changed now. Maybe you could do something about that,” he added, handing Josie a menu.

“Me? What do I have to do with it?”

“You’re what brought that carpenter lady to the island, aren’t you?”

“What carpenter?”

“You’re talking about Courtney Castle, aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. She’s over at Basil’s new place tonight.”

“So?”

“So that’s where all our customers have gone.”

“They followed Courtney Castle to dinner?” Josie asked, amazed. She herself was thrilled to be away from Courtney for the evening.

“Damn right. There’s a line around the block over there. The line that should be going out that door,” Luke added, nodding to the pizza parlor’s entrance.

“I don’t think you have to worry about this being permanent. Courtney is new to the island. After a few weeks, people will become accustomed to seeing her around and maybe they won’t be quite so starstruck,” Sam said.

“I sure hope so, Mr. Richardson. This is a great job. I get all the leftover pizza I want at the end of each day. And the tips are good, too. If they go out of business, I’m dead meat.”

Josie had been looking around the large room. “Did you mention any of this to the couple sitting at that table by the window?”

Luke followed her glance. “No. What do they have to do with it?”

“Well, the pretty young woman is one of my carpenters. But the young guy is a summer intern on Courtney’s show. Maybe if he likes the food, he could mention it to Courtney and she might start coming here.”

“Hey, cool. Do you think maybe I should give him a menu and he could take it to her, and then she’d try the pizza and like it and start coming here?” Luke asked.

“It’s possible.”

“Hey, I’d better make sure they get good service. And they could order out. I’ll tell them we deliver.”

“You have takeout service?” Sam asked as Luke turned to rush off.

“Well, not for just anybody, Mr. Richardson. But for Courtney Castle . . . well, that’s different.”

“Things are different for Courtney Castle?” Josie mused, a frown creasing her face.

“I think, Josie, you’d better get used to it.”

SIX

IT WAS SUMMER. People who had struggled to earn enough money to buy summer houses at the beach were enjoying those homes. Rental agencies had NOTHING AVAILABLE THIS SEASON signs posted in their windows. Daytrippers from inland lugged tons of paraphernalia to and from the sandy beach, many of them with children in tow. The island had only two main roads that carried most of the vehicles traveling north or south. But a traffic jam at seven-thirty in the morning? Josie was glad she had a mug of coffee propped between her toolbox and a new sweatshirt on the seat by her side. She had gotten up early and left her apartment quickly, pausing only to greet her very sleepy son. She thought there wasn’t a chance she’d be late the first day of taping. But now . . . The car behind her was honking and she threw an angry glance over her shoulder. Probably some damn tourist rushing to his rented house with a bag of warm doughnuts from the bakery.

“Damn idiot. How the hell does he expect me to move? Maybe I’m supposed to run right over the cars in front of me?” Annoyed, she reached out for her coffee and succeeded in spilling it over the sweatshirt. “Damn!” At least it hadn’t splashed on her new carpenter’s pants. As she raised the mug to her lips, a hand jogging her arm through the window did just that. “What the—?”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you, Miss Pigeon. Thought you might want to get to work.”

Josie looked up from her wet clothing into the eyes of the police chief. “How can I . . .” she started her question and then realized she was being ungrateful, stupid and ungrateful. The way had been cleared for her truck to move around the block and out of what seemed to be a continuous line of stopped cars.

“You can go right around there and then Mike will lead you through the traffic up to your work site. We don’t want Courtney Castle to think you’re going to make a habit of being late for work.”

“Courtney—”

“Hey, lady, we cleared people out of the way. Are you going to sit there and sulk about your dirty clothes or get going?”

She got going. With any luck, she’d still beat Courtney and Courtney’s crew. But when she drove up to the house, she realized she was wrong. There were, if possible, even more trucks and vans in front of the house than before. Courtney, wearing worn overalls that were tight in places most overalls didn’t even skim, a bright red T-shirt bearing its allegiance to Yale across the chest, immaculate Donna Karan sneakers, a red bandanna around her neck, and a bright red barrette in her thick, shimmering hair, was leaning against the Dumpster she had been so upset about the day before, munching on a rice cracker.

Josie got out of her truck and forced a smile onto her face. “Hi.”

“You’re late.” Courtney didn’t bother to raise her eyes higher than the stains on Josie’s carpenter’s pants.

“There was a traffic jam.” Josie looked around. “I guess you know that. You are the traffic jam.”

“We’ve been here since five. Been taping since six A.M. It doesn’t take very long for word to get out and for crowds to appear. Bobby told the cops that we would need all-day protection, but I guess they assumed we worked a nine-tofive schedule or something.” The stains were still fascinating Courtney.

Josie was acutely aware of the crowd milling around. Of the many things she wanted to say to this woman, none of them were for public consumption. She swallowed. “I don’t understand. I thought the show was about this house, about the job we’re doing on it. How could you get started without us?”

Courtney’s eyes raised to Josie’s face and then drifted off to a space just above her left shoulder.

Bobby Valentine filled the silence. “We have lots of standups to get on tape. Cutaway shots, things like that.”

“You’re not needed for any of that,” Courtney stated, popping the last of her cracker in her mouth and wiping imaginary crumbs off her hands.

“And I’ve had our intern interviewing members of your crew. We need background information. Something for Courtney to say as she introduces everyone. You know, a little snippet about their pasts, how they became carpenters, how they ended up working for Island Contracting.”

“You put that information on television?” Josie asked, looking around.

“Yes. Our audience loves that sort of stuff.”

“But I thought this show was about the remodeling job. What does the background of my workers have to do with anything?”

“Hey, you’re gonna be amazed! Some of these women will get fan letters. Hell, Courtney gets at least a half-dozen marriage proposals a year.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dottie said, joining them. “She’s what every man wants—blond, sexy, and capable of fixing anything that goes wrong around the house.”

“I’ll bet that young woman with the great body—Jill, I think she said her name was—will be getting fan mail,” Bobby Valentine continued. “She sure fills out a T-shirt nicely.”

Josie saw a frown forming on Courtney’s face. If she had to make a prediction, she’d guess that Jill was going to be receiving limited airtime. “She’s a good carpenter. That’s all I care about. Speaking of which, we’d better get to work.”

“We’re ready for you at the back of the house.” Courtney started in that direction as she spoke.

“What? I was . . . We were . . .”

“Our cameraman is set up at the end of the dock.”

Josie was confused. “The show starts out there? I thought—”

“No. We just want to get a few cover shots while the sun is shining on the bay.”

Josie looked down at her pants. “I don’t suppose I have time to go home and change?”

Courtney laughed. “Not only don’t you have time to change, you need to keep those clothes around in case we want shots on either side of this one to match.”

“You mean everyone has to spend the entire series in the clothing they’re wearing today?”

“Nope. But you do need to be wearing one thing in each show. We don’t want to be cutting back and forth between shots and discover some sort of fashion show going on. And if you’re going to be changing your clothing, you’ll have to help us out and remember what you’re wearing when. We don’t have a continuity person on the show. This is public television, remember, not Warner Brothers.”

“But I haven’t even started working and I’m filthy,” Josie protested, looking down at the coffee stains.

“You’re a carpenter. You’re not supposed to be immaculate. I’m going to check my face and I’ll be back in a few minutes, ” Courtney announced, then turned and headed toward the large trailer Josie had visited yesterday.

“Remember, Courtney wears work clothes, too,” Bobby Valentine said aloud. But Courtney’s work clothes had been translated into a fashion statement by the likes of Ralph Lauren. She also wore tons of makeup and had recently had her blond hair done. “So let’s get started.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Courtney?”

“Nope. We don’t need her for this.”

Josie hurried after him. “I don’t understand. I thought this was an interview. You know, that she was going to ask me questions and I’d answer them, and so on.”

“We already taped her questions. Now we’ll tape your answers.”

“But how will I know what to say?”

Bobby Valentine chuckled. “I’ll ask you questions, the same questions we taped Courtney asking. And we’ll tape your answers. It’s the only way we can do this type of thing without multiple cameras. This is public broadcasting, you know, not Turner Broadcasting.”

“What if I make a mistake? You know, stutter or say something stupid?”

“We’re not live. Everything will be edited. And no one wants you to look anything but your best.”

Josie wasn’t so sure of that, but she figured she had to trust someone.

“And this isn’t a quiz, remember. I’m just going to ask you a bit about your background. The same type of things we’re asking the rest of the crew.”

“Shouldn’t I have on makeup?”

“Not unless you’re planning on wearing it while working during the rest of the project. You might want to run a comb through your hair though.”

She started to search her pockets.

“Use mine,” he offered, handing her an elegant tortoise-shell model.

“Thanks.” She scraped it across her unruly curls. “What do you think?”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Better, I guess. But don’t worry. Our viewers will probably assume it’s windy on the dock.”

They circled the house, walking around planks of wood. Josie noticed everyone on her crew hard at work, except for Annette, who was talking with the show’s intern as she rather lackadaisically sorted through a delivery from the lumberyard. They made a cute couple, Josie thought, jumping up onto the dock. The cameraman was waiting for them. He pointed to where he wanted her to sit, and after a bit of rearranging her clothing and another ineffectual combing of her hair, the interview began.

Bobby Valentine read from a sheet of paper.

“Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

The question took Josie by surprise. “Ah, not on the island. I was raised in . . . in the suburbs.”

There was a moment or two of silence. Then Bobby Valentine spoke up. “Cut. You can tell us a bit more about yourself. You know, not just the suburbs but the suburbs of what city, in what state. You know the type of thing. Give our viewers something to relate to. Now let’s start again.

“Take two. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

“I grew up in the suburbs, Bobby—”

“Cut!”

“Why? Do I have to name a place? I . . . Oh, sorry.”

“Take three. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

“I was raised in the suburbs, Courtney. Like a lot of women, I had no idea how to use tools. And I didn’t expect to need to. I took home economics in high school, not shop.”

Bobby Valentine’s eyes narrowed, but he asked the next question on his list. “How did you come to live here on this island?”

“I was lucky. I was looking for a place to live, a community where I could raise my son and earn a living, and I remembered this place. I had . . .” Here she stumbled at bit. “I had been on the island when I was a kid. I came back here just to look around. And I stayed.” She smiled, realizing what a sanitized version she was presenting of her life. No mention of dropping out of college pregnant, no mention of the irreparable rift with her parents. But also no mention of someone who needed recognition, who needed mentioning. “I was very lucky to meet up with Noel Roberts when I got here,” she added quickly.

Bobby Valentine looked startled, but he picked up on her cue. “Noel Roberts?” he repeated the name as a question.

“Noel was the owner, the creator actually, of Island Contracting. He trained me as a carpenter, and when he died, I inherited the company from him—”

“Cut!”

Josie was startled. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you just tell all our viewers that this man, this Noel Roberts, was your lover?”

“No, I told you. He was my friend.”

“He left you a company out of friendship?” Bobby Valentine asked.

“Some friend,” the cameraman muttered, fussing with his lens.

“Yes. He did. And he deserves credit for creating the company. Why did you stop the camera?”

“Thought we needed to chat for a minute. Let’s get going.”

Josie nodded. The cameraman looked through his viewfinder. Bobby Valentine asked another question. “How long have you owned Island Contracting?”

That one was easy. “Over three years.”

“Do you happen to know how many remodeling projects you’ve been involved in during that time?”

Josie frowned before remembering that making faces on camera wasn’t particularly appealing. “Heavens, I don’t know. At least five houses, maybe more. And we’ve done other projects as well. Small carpentry jobs like building shelves over at the island’s hardware store and putting in skylights for one of the realtors on Ocean Avenue. We built the Christmas display that is set up on the island every year. And we do some nautical things—we’ve worked on docks just like this one.” She smacked the rail for emphasis and was startled when the wood cracked and a piece fell into the water. “Not this one, of course. The docks we’ve rebuilt don’t fall apart.”

“Island Contracting’s location is unique, but there’s something even more interesting about your company. I understand you hire only women workers. Why is that?”

“That’s not exactly true. I mean, it’s not a company policy. It just happens to work out like that.” She stopped. The questions were getting closer to things she didn’t want to discuss. “Island Contracting, in Noel’s time, did try to hire people who needed a second chance in life.” She paused again. “A lot of them happened to be women. And,” she added, becoming enthusiastic as she realized they had segued to a safe topic, “you have to remember how much things have changed since Island Contracting was created. Women began training in the trades in the late sixties and early seventies, but even now there are companies that go out of their way to only hire men. For some women, a place like Island Contracting is a miracle as well as the only opportunity they’ve been offered to use their skills professionally.

“You know, Bobby, there are government-sponsored programs to get women off welfare and into the workforce. And some of those programs have only recently discovered that people in the trades—electricians, plumbers, carpenters, rockers, and others—are in an ideal position to change their lives. We pay living wages and sometimes can adjust the work hours to accommodate women who are raising small children and— Oh!” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I called you Bobby. I forgot.”

“Don’t worry. Your answer was too long. And Courtney has included information about those programs in two of her show introductions. We’ll just edit that out.

“Now, let’s see.” He looked down at his list. “Where did you learn your trade? Did you go to school?”

Josie remembered Courtney’s Ivy League T-shirt and sighed. “Actually, I . . . ah, didn’t finish college. And I learned my job right here. At Island Contracting.” At least she didn’t have to admit to only completing one semester of college. But between the coffee stain and some judicious editing on the part of Courtney’s staff, she was fairly sure she’d come off looking stupid as well as sloppy. Why, she wondered as Bobby Valentine asked the next question calling for a revealing answer, had she agreed to be a part of
Courtney Castle’s Castles
?