This Old Murder (20 page)

“Josie, you’re becoming a bit absentminded, dear. It’s not an attractive trait.”

It was true. She was getting absentminded. She needed to find out more about Courtney. She needed to ask questions this woman might be able to answer. She took a deep breath and opened her sandwich again. She would think, worry, mourn her relationship with her parents later. Right now she had to find out who killed Courtney Castle before her murder damaged the life Josie had—whether prompted by necessity or a foolish misunderstanding—worked so hard to create.

TWENTY-EIGHT

"SO DID COURTNEY visit my parents the way she visited you at the library?” Josie asked.

“That’s a dreadfully imprecise question. Are you asking if she visited as frequently or, possibly, whether or not she talked as intimately to them as she does to me?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Naturally, there’s no way I can compare my visits with those Courtney paid to your parents, but I believe she saw them frequently.”

“And they talked about me.”

“I don’t know that.”

“You said Courtney told you I didn’t have any contact with my family,” Josie reminded her.

“Yes, that was recently, when she and I spoke here on the island. At home, I quite frankly don’t remember her mentioning you or your family. She talked mainly about the television shows she was on. She’s been very successful, you know.”

Josie thought about the tapes she had watched the night before. Not, she knew, so very successful until recently. But she wasn’t there to trash a dead woman. “She did a lot of different types of shows. Did she ask your advice about her career?”

“She asked my advice about everything.” It was obvious that Dr. Van Ripper was proud of this fact.

Through the open doorway Josie could see her crew picking up their tools and preparing to return to work on the addition. They were a great bunch of women, responsible and energetic; she owed it to them to solve this murder before it damaged the lives of innocent people. “Really?” she asked aloud. Talk, talk, talk, she chanted silently.

“Courtney worked very, very hard for her successes. But she made time to return home at least once—and sometimes twice—a year, and we always talked about how her career was going. She had things planned out from the time she graduated from college, you know.”

“Really?” Well, it had worked the last time.

“Yes. There were changes, of course. She had hoped to make it to a network and anchor a newscast, and I think a show like
Today
or
Good Morning America
would certainly have benefited from her talent. But she changed her mind after her first job in public television.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I remember how it happened. She had been working out west somewhere for about a year and she spent the first week of her annual vacation in New York City, visiting the networks and deciding if she wanted to work for one of them. She came home quite discouraged.”

“They didn’t want her?”

“Heavens, no! I can’t imagine such a thing!” came the indignant response. “But she was upset by the greed and self-importance she found there . . . Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Josie had mumbled something about how it sounded like Courtney would fit right in, but on second thought she decided that silence was best.

“She knew then and there—talking with me in the library reference room—that she would dedicate her life to public broadcasting. She wanted to share herself with the public. That’s the way she put it.”

“Very generous of her.”

Dr. Van Ripper looked up sharply. “You always were jealous of Courtney.”

“I ...” Why deny it? Josie just shrugged. “So Courtney decided to work for public broadcasting.”

“Yes, and, as the network of such shows as
Masterpiece
Theatre
and
Julia Child’s Kitchen
, I certainly thought she was making an excellent decision. It is the correct place for her to be. And that’s important when you choose your career.”

“Definitely.”

Dr. Van Ripper looked around. “You think this is the correct place for a young woman who had all your advantages to end up?”

Josie took a deep breath. Her red hair began to become slightly static; people who knew her would be aware of her rising anger. “Yes, I do. I am a hard worker. I am successful. I have a useful trade and I use it to help people. I am proud of what I do and I believe that anyone would be. Including my family.” The last words came out of her mouth before she had thought them through. But she heard them and realized, surprised, that they might possibly be true. “This is an excellent place for a young woman who was brought up with many advantages to end up,” she concluded, smiling sincerely.

The librarian seemed startled. “Well, perhaps.”

“But let’s get back to Courtney. Did she talk to you about her personal life?”

“You mean men?”

“Yes.”

“No. Of course, I knew she had many admirers, many, many admirers, but she didn’t talk about them. We usually discussed her career.”

Josie frowned. “Do you know a lot about television?”

“Well, no, but I am very interested in the subject, and my sister happens to be very involved in charitable work, and the foundation she runs is a major donor of funds for public television.”

Bingo! She’d known it. Courtney was not the type of person to stay in touch with an elderly librarian just for old times’ sake. She had gotten Naomi Van Ripper to do much of her high school research many years ago. And she had used her—or her connection to her sister—to move up in public television. Suddenly, Josie felt tired and old and, above all, deeply sad. She folded the wrapping over the remainder of her sandwich and got up. “I’m glad we could talk, but I have to get back to work.”

“I hope, Josie, that I have given you something to think about. Perhaps you should reconsider some of your decisions. Your parents are getting old. And there might be other people in town who would be happy to see you.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” Josie replied seriously and honestly. “Thank you very much.”

“Well, I’m glad. I’ll be seeing you around. Courtney invited me to visit the set anytime I please.”

“Do that.” Without another word, Josie turned and walked out of the house, back to her crew.

Tyler was asleep on the couch when Josie entered her apartment. She looked down at him and smiled. He was beginning to grow a beard, but she could still see the little kid he had been. She sat down in the chair across from the couch. Urchin, Tyler’s little brown Burmese cat, jumped into her lap and the two of them stared at her son. After years of worrying about the consequences of raising him without any family other than herself, it was possible that she would present him with grandparents sometime in the near future. Would that make him happy? Improve his life? She had no idea. It was the same problem she’d had for the last seventeen years of motherhood. She never knew if her decisions were right, if what she was doing was good for her son.

She was still deciding whether or not to contact her parents when Tyler’s eyes opened and he smiled at her. “Hi. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I just got here,” Josie lied. “Have you had dinner?”

“No, and I’m starving.” He sat up and stretched. “Is there anything in the house?”

“I don’t know.” She got up and headed over to the refrigerator. The last time she had looked, this morning, there had been a half-gallon of milk, some diet soda, a quart of orange juice, and a full complement of all the things that seemed to grow in there: bottles of catsup and mustard and jars of mayonnaise, jam, and pancake syrup. If she had eggs, she could produce a cheese omelet. Or, perhaps, if that package of hot dogs hadn’t been consumed yet . . . She pulled open the door, ignoring the magnet and shopping list as they dropped to the floor. “What the . . . ?”

A bright blue casserole sat on the top shelf.

“It’s that tortellini salad you like so much. Risa said she made extra.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without that woman,” Josie said honestly, pulling the casserole from the refrigerator.

“She also sent up bread and a bowl of those great burnt peppers.” Tyler got up and started opening drawers and grabbing silverware.

“She really takes care of us.” Josie glanced over at her son before she continued. “She’s almost like a member of the family, a relative.”

“What do you mean? She’s better than a relative. You and I don’t cook this well!” Tyler said.

Josie realized that his concept of family was limited to the two of them. What would happen if she expanded that concept? What would happen if, after all these years, she called home and explained her side of that last phone call? Her misunderstanding of her mother’s statements? She frowned.

But Tyler’s concerns were more immediate. “Hey, do you want orange juice, beer, milk, or diet soda?”

“Diet soda. Cream soda, if there is any. Or else . . .” She noticed the tiny flashing light on her answering machine as she spoke. “Did you check for messages when you came in?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. That Bobby Valentine called. He said he needed to speak with you. He said it was . . . uh, urgent.”

Josie glanced at her son. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed. “Urgent, hey?” She sighed. “Did he leave his number?”

“Yeah, it’s the first message. The second was from Sam. He said he was calling to say hello.”

Josie rolled her eyes. It seemed that dinner would have to wait.

Bobby Valentine hadn’t just insisted on talking to her. He had insisted on seeing her. Immediately. And he wouldn’t tell her why. Not, he had said, on the phone. He was in Courtney’s trailer. He needed to see her there. Immediately.

If he hadn’t sounded so worried, she would never have left home without eating. Now, banging on the aluminum door of the trailer, she regretted that decision. If it was so important that he see her, why wasn’t he answering the door?

“For heaven’s sake, shut up! Do you want everyone in the neighborhood to know we’re here?”

Well, if they hadn’t heard her banging, they probably got the point when she screamed. She would have made more noise if she hadn’t been grabbed from behind and pulled toward the darkened trailer.

“What the . . . ?”

“Stop kicking me, damn it!”

The door fell open, smashing into the wall behind it, and Josie and Bobby Valentine fell into the trailer, crashing into furniture and landing in a tangle on the floor.

“Damn. Damn. Damn. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Me? You attacked me. You asked me to come here and then you attacked me from behind!” Josie rolled away from him as she spoke. “Turn on the lights and tell me why I’m here before I call the police!”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Bobby Valentine scrambled to his feet and, ignoring his own injunctions about silence, slammed the door, and switched on the overhead light. “Look, damn it! Look!”

He pointed.

She looked. And looked again. “What the hell is that?”

“Courtney . . .”

“It’s not Courtney.” Josie walked across the floor to the exercise bike. “It’s a wig. Courtney wore a wig?”

He walked over to the mirrored wall and pressed a tiny button she hadn’t noticed before. A door sprang open and a hidden shelf appeared. Three wig stands stood on it. Two had identical Courtney pageboys. One was bald. The third wig was sitting on the seat of the exercise bike, not a strand of hair disturbed by the move.

“You called me here because one of Courtney’s wigs is out of place? I’m missing my dinner for hair?”

“Courtney is dead.”

Josie looked at him, walked over to the wig, and examined it. “There’s no blood on it.” She glanced around the room, relieved by what she didn’t see. “There’s no body.” She looked up at him. “Why do you think she’s dead? And why did you call me here to see this?” She wanted to add one more question. What did Bobby Valentine actually know?

“Courtney is never, ever seen without one of those wigs.”

“You’re telling me you think she’s dead because . . . because these three wigs are here and she isn’t?”

“I am telling you that if these three wigs are here and she isn’t, she is dead.”

“She wears one in the shower? When she sleeps?”

“No, of course not. But you don’t hear water running, do you?”

“So? Maybe she’s sleeping somewhere. Maybe she’s gone for an evening swim. I can think of a million places she might be.” A wooden canoe in the middle of the house wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t know Courtney. She takes her hair seriously. Very, very seriously. If her wigs are here and she’s not, she’s dead.”

“Maybe she has another one. And she’s at a party someplace wearing it.”

“No. Courtney has had her wigs made by a woman who lives in Queens for longer than I’ve known her. That woman made her three wigs, those three wigs. There’s only one explanation. Courtney is dead.”

“And her wig walked back here?” Josie realized she sounded sarcastic. But he had taken her away from an evening with her son for what seemed like a foolish reason. Now, if he had seen Courtney’s body, like she had . . . She leaned forward and looked at him. Bobby Valentine was frantic.

Josie made a quick decision, took a deep breath, and plunged in. “You know, don’t you? It’s not just a guess with these wigs and all. You know that she’s dead.”

Bobby Valentine let out a long relieved breath. “Yes. Yes. And . . . you do, too?”

It was a question. “Yes. I saw her body.”

“Thank heavens!” The relief was visible. His entire body seemed to relax. “So where is she?”

“What?”

“Where is Courtney? Where is her body?”

TWENTY-NINE

"YOU DON’T KNOW where Courtney’s body is?” Josie asked.

“Not at this minute. No. Do you?”

“No.” Josie frowned. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“In the canoe?”

“Canoe? What canoe?” Bobby Valentine grabbed her shoulders. “Did you toss her in the bay, for God’s sake?”

“Let go of me!” Josie pulled back and heard the sound of her shirt ripping. “Let go!”

“What the hell is going on?”

“I—”

“He—”

“Sam, what are you doing? Stop that!” As the words slipped out, Josie realized exactly what Sam was doing. He was, to her complete amazement, punching Bobby Valentine in the nose.

“Josie, call the police,” he shouted back.

“Damn it! Would you please stop hitting me?” Bobby Valentine, the younger and clearly stronger man, pulled himself free and started slugging back.

Josie, in a panic, grabbed the first thing her hand met and threw it at the two men. There was a crash and then an incredible smell filled the air. But the fighting stopped.

Sam was leaning against one wall of the trailer, breathing heavily. Bobby Valentine stood in the middle of the floor, fists clenched, eyes flashing, and nose running. “What did you do?” he asked Josie.

“Yeah, what was that?”

The two men were looking at her as though
she
had done something wrong!

“I . . .” Josie looked down at the floor. She had broken a large bottle of some sort of smelly oil. “Bath oil?”

“Probably massage oil,” Bobby Valentine explained. “The bath oil would be in the bathroom. Courtney believed that daily massages kept her sane. At least that’s what she said. There’s a portable massage table stashed under the couch.”

“Daily massages?” Sam repeated the words as he rubbed his knuckles.

Josie thought it was time to get back to the point. “Why did you come in here and start punching?” It was so unlike Sam to do something like that.

“Why do you think? I walked in and this man was grabbing at you. Look, your shirt is in shreds! What did you expect me to do?”

Josie and Bobby Valentine both looked at her ripped sleeve. “Well, not exactly in shreds,” she said.

“You thought I was assaulting Josie?” Bobby Valentine sounded as though he could hardly believe it.

“You were grabbing her,” Sam stated stubbornly.

“He was upset. He thought I had put Courtney in a canoe and floated her out to sea,” Josie explained. Truth be told, she was thrilled. Sam had fought for her! He had been protecting her . . . well, her whatever!

Sam kicked a piece of broken glass across the room. “I guess this means you know Courtney is dead.” He looked up at Bobby Valentine.

“Yeah. Good thing, too, because if she was alive to see what we did to this place, she would have killed us.”

The oil was liberally splashed on both the flowered chintz armchair and couch; it was also forming a large patch on the Berber wool wall-to-wall carpeting. (Courtney had chosen these furnishings, Josie suddenly realized. They reminded her of her mother’s home.)

“It’s new and it’s something she’s always wanted. This trailer was Courtney’s pride and joy,” he continued.

Sam had been walking around, looking at everything. “It should be,” he commented. “I never thought public broadcasting paid well enough for people to afford things like this. It’s not a perk, is it?”

“A perk? You mean something that’s provided for her by the company? No way! We do everything on the cheap. The salaries are low, ridiculously low, in fact. And we survive on free work provided by our internship program.”

“Then who pays for this? Or is Courtney Castle independently wealthy?”

“It’s donated. Like the food we eat. Like the T-shirts the crew wears. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie looked around. “Is stuff like this normally donated to public broadcasting people?”

“I can answer that one,” Sam said. “No. Not usually. Right?” He looked at the producer for confirmation.

“Never. At least not that I know about.”

“Who provided all this junk?” Sam asked.

“That I don’t know,” Bobby Valentine answered.

“I thought there was always on-screen credit for donated items,” Sam said.

“Sometimes. But it’s not required. We’re very careful to credit two groups of donors. First, of course, donations that are made because the donor is looking for an on-screen credit. You know, like those travel and accommodation credits you see on most of the shows on television. And we always credit anything that might look like a conflict of interest.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, if we use a brand-name piece of equipment during a show—a donation, right—well, we make sure the credit goes out on the air because the viewer has seen the brand name and we want to be sure that it is understood that we’re not endorsing the brand but using it because it was free.”

Sam nodded.

Josie had another question. “What about publicity? Personal publicity? When brands are mentioned, does that mean those things were paid for? Not donated?”

“No way! Do you think actresses pay for those dresses they wear to the Academy Awards? Famous people are always being given things. That’s just the way it is.”

“Who paid for this trailer?” Sam asked.

“I really don’t know. We’re not putting up a trailer company credit at the end of the shows, so it must have been a private donation, that’s all I know.”

“Could you find out?”

“I could ask around. See what the scuttlebutt is.”

“Great.”

Josie didn’t see why Sam was so interested in who paid for the trailer. They had just discovered that Bobby Valentine knew Courtney was dead. There were, it seemed to her, a lot more important and immediate concerns. “So where did you see Courtney?”

“I thought you said he knew she was dead. You mean, you don’t have a body? Again?”

“Sam, you make it sound as though I’ve somehow been negligent in losing Courtney. I keep telling you it had nothing to do with me. I left her hanging in the canoe.”

“The canoe that is . . . that was . . . in the living room, the one we did the interview next to?”

“Yeah. In fact, she was in there when you were asking all those questions.”

“How long did she hang there?” Bobby Valentine asked.

“Less than forty-eight hours as far as I know.”

“You think she was moved from someplace else after she was killed?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t say that.” Josie thought for a moment. “But I see what you’re getting at. She disappeared two days before. I suppose she was probably up there until Jill found her.”

“Jill? She’s the pretty one with the chest, isn’t she? Why was she up there?” Bobby Valentine asked his second question before Josie had time to answer—or protest—the first.

“She was figuring out a way to get the canoe down without damaging it. She was doing her job, and I don’t think—”

“If you didn’t know the body was up there, then when— and where—did you see it?” Sam asked Bobby Valentine.

“Last night. It . . . was here.” He pointed at the oil-soaked chair. “Just sitting there . . .”

Sam nodded. “Sure, rigor would have started to wear off . . .” he mumbled to himself. “How was she killed?”

“I haven’t the foggiest. I mean, I didn’t see any blood or anything,” Josie said.

“How was she killed?” Sam directed the same question to the producer.

“I . . . I think she may have been hit on the head.” Bobby Valentine started to look a bit pale and sat down in the makeup chair before he continued. “I didn’t look as closely as I should have,” he admitted, his voice a bit shaky.

“You came in here and found her. It must have been a shock,” Sam said slowly.

“Not a shock. Not at first. You see, I didn’t know she was dead. I came in after work. . . . I wanted to check her answering machine for messages. And I didn’t turn on the light or anything. I . . . She was in the chair. I was surprised . . . thrilled . . . relieved to see her, I guess. And then, almost immediately, I realized she wasn’t all right. Well, that she was dead.”

“How closely did you look at her?” Josie asked, remembering how reluctant she had been to do the same thing.

“I . . . I moved her. I didn’t mean to. I went up to her and . . . I guess I touched her on the shoulder. I don’t remember exactly.”

“You were in shock,” Sam said. “It’s completely understandable. Go on.”

“Well, I think I may have pushed her a bit. Anyway, she fell over and . . . I saw a large lump on her temple. No blood. But it was certainly ugly.”

“I didn’t see a bump,” Josie said. “But . . .” She looked across the room at the wig on the exercise bike. “It could have been hidden by the wig, couldn’t it?”

“It probably was,” Bobby Valentine said. “She loved that thick wave that came across her forehead. The injury was right underneath.”

Josie nodded.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asked her.

“When she was up in the canoe, one of the things I noticed was that she was made-up and her hair was in perfect order. Maybe that was to disguise the injury. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Well, whether that was the motivation or not, it seems to have been one of the end results. None of you touched her when she was up there?”

“I don’t think so,” Josie answered. “No one said they had. And it was a little creepy.”

“What did you do, run tours?” Bobby Valentine must have realized how he sounded. “Sorry, I’m a bit upset.”

“Not surprising,” Sam said.

“Everyone on the crew did look up there,” she explained. “But I don’t think anyone touched her.”

“Let’s go back to when you discovered the body here,” Sam asked Bobby Valentine. “After you found out that Courtney was dead, what did you do?”

The producer snorted. “I headed for the nearest bar and got drunk.”

Sam frowned. “You went down to Gallagher’s?”

“If that’s the name of the fake Irish place down by the fiveand-dime, the answer is yes.”

“Good description. It’s owned by a man named Smith. He calls it Gallagher’s because he wanted people to think of it as that friendly little Irish place on the corner, but the name is the only good thing about it,” Sam commented.

“Yeah. He serves off-price brands while claiming they’re top-shelf. But it did the trick. I was plastered.”

“And when did you return here?” Sam asked.

“I came back this morning. And she was gone.” Bobby Valentine put his head in his hands. “I was hung over. For a moment, I wondered if I was going mad. If I had imagined the entire thing. That was wishful thinking, I guess.”

“There was no sign of her here this morning?” Sam asked.

“None.”

“What about the wig?” Josie asked.

“What wig?”

Josie pointed. “That one.”

They all stared at the blond wig, which was still, despite the fight, sitting on the exercise bike.

“It wasn’t there this morning,” Bobby said.

“You might not have seen it,” Sam suggested.

The other man seemed to consider the question. “I think I would have. I came in the door and I looked around. Frankly, I felt like shit. Not just the hangover, but I was terrified of seeing Courtney again. Her body, that is.” He stood up and walked over to the doorway. “I didn’t come in any farther than I needed to be to close the door behind me. And, frankly, I didn’t even look around until I had the door closed. Then . . . Then, frankly, I was thrilled to death that the body was gone. I told you. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I was dreaming or seeing things. And when I realized she was really gone, I got out of here as fast as possible.”

“But you came back—” Sam started to say.

“Are you sure about the wig?” Josie asked at the same time.

“The wig. I really think I would have noticed it from here.”

“Why did you come back this evening?” Sam asked.

“Wait a second, Sam.” Josie got up and stood by Bobby Valentine’s side. “You didn’t move from this spot?” she asked.

“No. I’m sure of that.”

“And Courtney was sitting . . . placed . . . whatever in that chair last night?”

“Yes.”

Josie frowned and then walked over to the chair he had indicated.

“Why did you return here this evening?” Sam repeated his question.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About Courtney. She appeared and then disappeared. I . . . I wondered if she would do it again.”

“You thought she might come back?” Josie had been circling the chair and she stopped to ask the question.

“It might sound stupid, but I didn’t know why she was here in the first place.” He shrugged. “So I thought it was possible that she might come back.”

“But she didn’t.” Sam’s voice was flat.

“No. Her hair did, though.”

For one horrible moment Josie thought Bobby Valentine was going to giggle.

Then he put his head in his hands and began to cry.