This Old Murder (15 page)

TWENTY-ONE

THE WAITER WAS called away to another table and they were left alone. “I think you have a lot to tell me,” Sam said, glancing down at his watch.

“I have no idea where to begin,” she said honestly. Or how much to say, she added to herself.

“Why don’t you start by telling me where Courtney is.”

“Where she is? Why do you think I know?”

“Just an impression I got when you and the waiter were chatting.”

“How? What did I say?”

“It wasn’t what you said but what you didn’t say. You wanted to know when she stopped coming here and what Bobby Valentine said. You didn’t ask if anyone knew where she had gone.”

“Oh.”

“I know you, Josie. You were quizzing that young man. If you hadn’t known where she is, you would have asked him.”

“Do you think he noticed?”

Sam smiled. “Nope. I think he was absolutely thrilled to talk about Courtney.”

“Yeah, he was, wasn’t he? It’s weird how much people like to talk about her.”

“It’s because she’s a celebrity. Some people love getting close to celebrities; it makes them feel that a bit of that fame rubs off on them.”

“I suppose.”

“So where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Josie . . .”

“No, it’s true, Sam. I did know, but now I don’t.”

“Then I’ll change my question. Where was she?”

“In—” A waitress arrived carrying steaming plates and Josie stopped speaking. It took a few minutes—and two refusals of freshly ground pepper and one for fresh shavings from a chunk of Parmigiano-Reggiano—to regain their privacy.

“So where was she?” Sam repeated his question.

“She was in the canoe hanging from the ceiling of the living room.” Her food smelled wonderful. She didn’t want to answer these questions. She wished Sam would leave her alone and let her eat.

“Courtney Castle was hiding in a canoe hanging from the rafters of the house you’re remodeling? I can’t believe that!”

“It isn’t exactly like that,” Josie admitted. “You see, she was dead . . . is dead.”

Sam looked at her, reached for his wineglass, changed his mind, and folded both hands in his lap. “Say that again.”

“She’s dead, Sam. Someone killed her. I think,” she added.

“You
know
she’s dead, but you
think
someone killed her.”

“I know she’s dead. And someone must have killed her. She didn’t climb a ladder up to the canoe, get in, cover herself neatly with a blanket, and die. Besides, we put the ladder there. Later, we put the ladder there later.” She took a deep breath and tried again. “There was no ladder up there. Someone on my crew put it there, and climbed up, and looked inside. And there she was. Am I making any sense at all?”

“Are you hungry?”

Surprised by the change of topic, she looked down at her plate. “It looks delicious, but I did eat earlier. Why? Do you want to leave?”

“No, I’m starving and this looks wonderful. I want to eat it while you tell me the entire story—from the beginning to the end.”

“I . . .”

“And you shouldn’t leave anything out, Josie. Because it sounds to me like you might be needing my help—and I can’t do anything unless I know everything.”

Josie sighed. “Okay. You’re right. Just let me get my thoughts together.” She sipped her wine, sighed again, and began the tale.

“It started when she didn’t show up. I didn’t know what to think. Bobby acted as though it was nothing. He said Courtney went off and did things—fund-raising, stuff like that—all the time. I didn’t give it another thought, frankly. At least, not until I climbed the ladder and found her.”

“Josie—”

“Sam, just hear me out. I’ll tell you everything. That is, everything I know.”

“Fine. Why don’t you start with why you climbed that ladder?”

“Because Dottie told me Courtney was up there!” Josie continued, telling him of her crew’s discovery and how she had been forced to stay up there with the dead body while Bobby Valentine, pretending to be Courtney Castle, had interviewed her. “It was creepy.”

“I can imagine. Did you get the impression that he knew she was up there?”

“I thought about that, but I have no idea if he did or not. I know he wasn’t in a position to look in while he was talking to me. I’m sure of that.”

“But he could have done that before, right?”

“I guess.”

“And what about later?”

“Yeah, he might have come back later and looked in, but . . . Do you think he took her down?”

“I suppose. The canoe was on the floor when I picked you up there. Did you take it down or did you find it that way?”

“Found it that way.”

“And she wasn’t in it.”

“No, it was empty. Except for the blanket.”

“The body was gone, but the blanket was left behind?”

“Yes.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Why?”

“Whoever moved her didn’t use the blanket to do it.”

“Obviously, but so what?”

“It might not mean anything, but it might mean that whoever did it came prepared with some means of transport.”

“Or maybe they just picked her up, plunked her in one of the wheelbarrows out back, pulled a tarp off the wood back there, tossed it over her, and rolled her away.” Josie picked up her fork and stuck it in her pasta. Excellent!

“Good point. So go on with the story. What happened between the time you did the interview on the ladder and I arrived at the house?”

“We worked.”

Sam put down his fork and looked at Josie. “You mean you left the body alone?”

She heard the disapproval in his voice and hesitated. “Well, not exactly alone. We were shocked, of course, but we discussed the situation and decided to do nothing until we could spend some time alone and discuss the problem. We took away the ladder, of course, so no one could get up to the body.”

“You thought that by ignoring it, it would go away.” He saw the expression on her face and stopped speaking. “I’m sorry. Of course you didn’t. It’s just that this whole story is a bit hard to understand. Go on. When did you find the body?”

“In the morning.”

“And what exactly did you all do once you found her?”

“Well, we talked about it . . . about her, of course. Everyone climbed up the ladder and looked at her. That is, I think everyone did.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“No, I guess not.”

“What exactly did you all do?”

“Well, after a very uncomfortable interview with Bobby Valentine, pretending to be Courtney, we went back to work.”

“Inside the house?”

“No. It would have been difficult to work with it . . . her . . . Courtney’s body hanging over our heads. We had a lot to do in other parts of the house.”

“So you all stayed away from the canoe for the rest of the day?”

“Yes.”

“No one went in that room?”

“Well, that’s not true. We probably all went in there at one time or another. I know what you’re thinking, Sam, and you’re wrong. No one could have moved the body without someone else knowing.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking, but why don’t you explain why not.”

“Because it was up in the canoe and getting that canoe down to the floor without dumping it”—Josie suddenly had a vision of Courtney’s body—“her out would have been impossible.”

“And would that matter? After all, she’s already dead. Or do you mean that it would make a lot of noise and attract attention?”

That wasn’t what Josie had meant, but she was willing to accept his suggestion. “Yes. Exactly.”

“But one person could have brought the canoe down from the ceiling?”

Josie thought back to the elaborate pulley system that held the canoe up. “Yes, I think so. Someone strong though. It isn’t one of the new fiberglass affairs, remember, it’s handmade from wood. I haven’t lifted it myself, but it probably weighs a couple hundred pounds. We had one when I was a kid, and it weighed at least that much.” She stopped talking and picked up her fork, hoping Sam would give her a chance to eat. For once she wasn’t hungry, but she had just had a flash from her past, a memory startling in its clearness. She and Courtney had been members of the same Girl Scout troop (at her mother’s insistence) and one entire miserable weekend they had been paired by their troop leader for the annual camping-canoe trip. Courtney’s older brother had required the family’s new sleek fiberglass vessel and so the pair of thirteen-year-old girls had paddled up and down the Delaware River in the Pigeons’ handmade craft. It had been awful. Too heavy to carry around rapids, the boat had been repeatedly smashed against rocks and fallen limbs. Courtney, her hair tied back in a navy and white bandanna that matched her outfit of trim white poplin shorts and Brooks Brothers’ navy polo, had been stonily silent, obviously appalled to be parted from the clique of popular girls and their up-to-date sporting goods. Josie had struggled to make the best of it, but her eyes had been filled with tears more than once and she had been so miserable that even her mother’s relentless angry comments about the damaged canoe couldn’t minimize the relief she felt when the trip had finally ended and she was safely home.

“Did anyone else come into the house after you discovered Courtney’s body?”

“I suppose so. The television crew is in and out all the time.”

“How many people are there with the show?”

Josie thought for a minute. “Five most of the time. Bobby Valentine, of course. And a cameraman—no, two cameramen although one is a woman. Someone is always running around setting up some sort of equipment—I suppose he could be a third cameraman—and there’s the intern. The one Annette has a crush on.”

“Anyone else? Deliverymen or the like?”

“I don’t think so. No one I remember.”

“Okay. Tell me about the rest of the day.”

“There’s nothing much to tell. We worked. The camera crew worked—”

“Doing what?”

“Actually, I don’t know. But they seem to stay very busy.”

“Did they do any more taping? More interviews?”

“No. Is that odd?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. I once dated”—he glanced up at Josie, who had frequently accused him of having dated someone in every possible profession—“a television producer. But she worked for a major public television station and that may be different from freelancing for public television, but all I know is that she seemed to always be busy.”

“Really.” Josie was jealous. She was always busy, too, but wearing dirty overalls and T-shirts, not wearing Armani and lunching at 21. “Oh, the Rodneys stopped by.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.”

“Did you get the impression that they knew about Courtney?”

“No. They didn’t say anything about it.”

“And I think we can be sure they’d mention your hiding a murder victim. Which leads us back to my first question. How did you know she was murdered? Is it just because of the place you found her? Or did you see a wound?”

“I didn’t see anything. In fact, she looked wonderful.”

Sam squinted at her. “Wonderful? You’re sure she was dead?”

“I’m sure.”

“And she wasn’t pale or anything?”

“Actually, she looked like she was wearing makeup.” Josie thought for a minute. “You know, I think she was. She had on eye shadow. And probably blush and lipstick.”

“Really?”

“Of course, Courtney probably hasn’t been seen without makeup in public since she was in eighth grade.”

“Unlike some women we know and love.” Basil appeared at their table, a small plate in his hand. “I hope you two are enjoying your meal.”

“Definitely.”

“It’s wonderful.” Josie agreed with what Sam said.

“The chef is still experimenting with new things. Try these, a variation on shrimp toast. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll get myself a drink and join you.”

“Have a glass of our wine and sit down,” Sam said.

“Let me say good evening to my most famous guests, then I’ll get a glass and be right back.”

“Your most famous guests?”

“Yes. The staff of the Courtney Castle show. I want to talk to you about them and I’d rather they didn’t overhear anything.”

Josie almost choked on her food. This was what she had been hoping for!

TWENTY-TWO

THE DAY’S EVENTS and two dinners had taken their toll; Josie was exhausted by the time she arrived home.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” Sam said, glancing up at the lights burning in the windows on the second floor. “Looks like Tyler is still awake.”

“I think he said something this morning about having a friend stay over.” It seemed like years ago. She looked up at Sam. “I figure if he has friends over they’ll reciprocate and he will stay with them. I love having him home, but . . .” She didn’t have to finish the sentence. They had agreed that Tyler should remain ignorant of their sex life and thus it was impossible for them to spend the night together while he was home. It had only been a few weeks, but she missed their closeness.

“Good thought.” Sam leaned over and kissed her good night. “I’ll stop by early tomorrow. I want to think about this evening. Your story was incredible enough, but I sure don’t know how it fits in with what Basil said.”

“So I’ll see you early tomorrow?”

“Yup. I’ll bring doughnuts.”

“Make that crumb cake.”

“You got it.” A few more kisses, then he returned to his car. Josie heard the engine start as she opened the door and climbed the stairs to her home.

Her apartment door was locked—a pleasant surprise. She had asked Tyler repeatedly to lock it if he planned on falling asleep or showering before she arrived home. He usually ridiculed her suggestion (“Ma, you’re paranoid. I’m not a small kid. What do you think is going to happen? Are you worried that someone will walk in the door and abduct me?”). Since that was just one of the scenarios that kept her awake at night, she only smiled stiffly and repeated her request. And, son of a gun, he had remembered.

Of course, she always had trouble finding her key. She dropped her bag on the floor with a loud
clunk
, but before she could find it, the door opened.

“Hi! Mom! Hi!” Her son and a boy she didn’t recognize were standing before her, foolish smiles on their faces.

“Hi, sweetie,” she answered, too tired to remember how much her son hated her calling him that.

But tonight Tyler seemed genuinely happy to see her. “Mom, this is Eric Swanson. His uncle owns Family Video.”

Josie offered her hand to the young man. “Nice to meet you, Eric.” She turned back to Tyler. “It’s been long day and if you two don’t need anything, I’d really like to get to bed.”

The young men assured her that she was extraneous, and she headed off to her bedroom. She showered and fell into bed, too exhausted to worry about Courtney’s death and where her body had gone.

But she woke up worried about Tyler. The summer wasn’t turning out as she had planned. She always worked hard, year round when she could get the contracts, but spring and summer were Island Contracting’s busiest months and working from sunup to sunset was normal. Tyler, though always busy with some project or part-time job, had been home in the evening, ready to spend time with his mother. This year things were different. Tyler was working many evenings, and when he wasn’t, there always seemed to be a friend of his around. He thought he was grown up, but she knew better. He still needed a mother. She had to find a way for them to spend more time together.

She drove up to the work site and hopped out of her truck. The television vans were still there, but there was no sign of Sam’s little sports car. Oh, well, he was probably at the bakery, picking up crumb cake and coffee. At least that’s what she hoped.

Still thinking about Tyler, she was startled by a loud voice calling her name. “Hey! You! Pigeon!”

It was a man’s voice. And he sounded angry.

Josie turned around, trying to find its source. “I don’t see . . . Oh, there you are. I didn’t know who was talking.”

“What’s wrong with her, Howard? She on drugs or something?”

The couple next door stood on their front deck. By the expressions on their faces, Josie guessed they weren’t there to enjoy the beautiful morning. Oh, lord, as if she didn’t have enough troubles . . . Josie put a smile on her face and walked toward them. “Good morning,” she started hopefully, trying to remember whether any of the work scheduled for today was noisier or dirtier than usual.

“We need to talk.” Howard didn’t return her smile.

“Right this minute.” His wife ditto.

“I’m sorry about the noise—”

“We’re not concerned with undue noise,” Howard stated.

“Although they could keep it down a bit, Howard,” his wife added.

Josie tried again. “The dirt. There’s always lots of dust during the demolition phase, but I assure you that’s almost over—”

“It’s not the dust,” Howard informed her.

“The windowsills have been filthy, Howard. Just filthy. We don’t come to the beach to breathe dirty air.”

“The trucks—”

This time his wife spoke up first. “They make a lot of noise and their exhaust is awful, just awful, Howard. There’s no reason such a small job should require so many trucks—”

“It’s not the trucks,” he said, interrupting his wife.

Nothing would be gained by losing her temper—but Josie did it anyway. “So what the hell is it?”

“Don’t get snippy with me, young woman. I . . . I happen to be friends with the owners of this house—your employers, I must remind you—and I’m sure they would be interested in knowing what is going on in their home.”

Shit! They knew about the murder! “Going on?” Josie repeated, stalling for time. How much did they know?

Howard frowned and spoke one word. “Inappropriate.”

That was one way of looking at it. “I guess,” Josie said weakly.

His wife was less succinct. “I thought maybe we could force ourselves to accept the dirt, the noise, all the commotion from the television people and the press and all, but when I saw what was going on . . . Well, I don’t think you should expect people to put up with that type of thing. Almost in our own backyard.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what I can do about it.”

“You don’t see . . . She says she doesn’t see, Howard!”

“I hear her, Cheryl. I hear her.”

“The world is going to hell in a handbasket. That’s what my father always said and he was right,” Cheryl continued to rant.

That was one of the frequently used parental phrases when Josie was growing up also. But this wasn’t the time to reminisce, she realized. Josie started again. “I am very sorry, but what’s happened has happened. I really don’t know what I can do other than find out whose fault—”

She was caught off guard by Howard’s change of topic. “What is the name of the contracting company remodeling that house?”

On the other hand, at least she knew the answer to this question. “Island Contracting. There’s a sign in the front yard.” She pointed over her shoulder.

“And who is the owner of Island Contracting?”

“I am.”

“And ask her how that happened, Howard. I heard that a man left her the company. And why would he do that if they hadn’t been having an improper relationship? Ask her about that, Howard.”

“Don’t change the subject, Cheryl. We’re talking about how she runs her company, not how she
came
to run her company!”

Josie had to think that one through. “Noel and I were just friends. He didn’t leave me Island Contracting because we were lovers, he left it to me because he thought I would run it the way he wanted it run.”

“That’s not what we hear, missy.”

“Cheryl—” her husband started, but she wasn’t going to be interrupted.

“We hear that you and this Noel person were more than friends. A lot more. So much more that you had a son by him!”

Josie was stunned. She had no idea what to say. “I . . .”

“Acting as though you inherited the company because you were the best person for the job! How stupid do you think we are? What do you know about being a carpenter?”

“Cheryl . . .”

“I am an excellent carpenter. And you have no right to talk about things you know nothing about. Everyone on the island, everyone who knew Noel . . . or knows me . . . everyone would tell you that what you’re saying is completely untrue. Completely!”

“And beside the point entirely,” Howard roared. “Miss Pigeon, what are you going to do about that slut you have hired?”

“That slut?” Josie was stunned. “What slut?”

“She hired more than one slut, Howard! You heard her admit it! Who knows what those women are doing when we’re not watching!”

Josie realized what was going on—or at least enough to ask the correct question. “What did you see?”

“We saw one of your carpenters with one of those television people!” Cheryl crossed her arms and stepped back as though she was a lawyer who had just finished an elaborate closing argument.

“Who?”

“The young one,” Cheryl said. “In fact, you could say the young ones. That girl on your crew and that boy who came along with Courtney Castle.”

“Annette and Chad?” Annette and Chad were the problem? Josie was so relieved, she felt faint. These horrible people didn’t know about the murder! They were talking about Annette and Chad! “What about them bothers you?” she asked quietly.

“Well, that slut and that—”

“Annette is not a slut.” Josie spoke firmly, and it seemed to have an impression on Howard.

“That may be. But we’re not concerned with her morality here. What she does on her own time is, naturally, her own business. But you should be concerned about what she does while you are paying her, don’t you think?”

“Well, I . . .”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be paying people to have sex.”

“I’m not doing that!” Josie protested.

“Howard, you are, as always, missing the point completely!” Cheryl inhaled and aggressively stuck out her rather large breasts encased in shimmering turquoise polyester. “The point is not what they were doing! The point is where they were doing it!”

“Well, I don’t know!” Her husband seemed to be alarmed by her statement. “They—”

“They were doing it practically on our property! That is the point!”

Howard quickly added his agreement. “My wife is right. That’s the point! She—”

“Annette.” Josie supplied the name.

“Okay, Annette, if you insist. Annette was supposed to be working, doing what you pay her to do, and she was over on our property necking with that young man!”

“That’s all? They were necking and you’re upset about that?”

“You are missing the point, young lady! They weren’t working—”

“Perhaps Annette was on a break,” Josie suggested. “She is allowed two fifteen-minute breaks a day as well as half an hour for lunch. What she does during that time is her own business—although, of course, she is not supposed to be trespassing on your property.”

“Exactly! That is exactly the point we’ve been trying to make!” For the first time this morning Josie saw a faint smile on the other woman’s face.

“I always warn everyone who works for me not to trespass,” Josie lied. She hadn’t, in fact, thought it was necessary. The women who worked for her were well trained and intelligent. They knew they shouldn’t be wandering around on property that belonged to others. “I’d be happy to remind Annette of that particular policy, if you like.”

“And what about the young man she was with?” Cheryl asked.

“Look, he’s not my problem. You’re going to have to talk to Bobby Valentine—he’s the show’s producer—if you want Chad Henshaw warned.”

“We know who Bobby Valentine is. We had him over for cocktails just the other night.” Cheryl was smug. Josie got the impression that Cheryl considered this a social coup.

“Well, he’s the one to talk with about Chad. And I don’t know what he can do. Chad isn’t an employee. He’s a summer intern. He’s not paid. You can’t fire a volunteer, can you?”

“You know nothing about it. Summer interns may not be paid, but they get college credit for what they do. That’s probably important to him.”

“Maybe. All I know is, he’s not my business. Period. As I said, I’ll remind Annette not to trespass on your land.”

“That’s all you’re going to do?”

Josie was beginning to find these people—and this conversation—tedious. “What in heaven’s name do you want me to do? Fire her?”

“Yes. Get her off the island.” Cheryl’s answer came out as a shriek.

“Are you nuts? For necking with a young man on your property? What the hell is wrong with that?” Josie realized her voice was rising and she was in danger of screaming back. “You must be completely crazy. You—”

Howard interrupted, his voice booming deeply over the soprano rantings of the two women. “You are right. We are overreacting. You just remind that young woman to stay on her side of the property line and we’ll all be fine. Come along, Cheryl. Live and let live, as I always say.” He grabbed his wife’s arm and propelled her off the deck and back into their home.

Josie was left standing on the sidewalk, her mouth open.