This Old Murder (13 page)

SEVENTEEN

"TURN OFF THAT damn camera!” Josie glared over Bobby Valentine’s shoulder at the cameraman.

“Yeah, cut! Why don’t we all take a coffee break? We can continue this later.”

Josie wasn’t accustomed to taking breaks before work had even begun, but she didn’t see that she had any choice. “Just let me get my crew back in here working and we can find someplace more private to talk.” She didn’t wait for him to argue; she had a responsibility to the homeowners and her employees. She hurried out the back door to where the women were waiting for her. She had expected to find them idle. To her delight, they were prefabricating new frames for all the windows. She had a twinge of guilt; she should be working alongside her crew.

“How’s it going?” Dottie asked, standing.

“Not well,” Josie admitted. “Bobby Valentine knows that I grew up with Courtney.”

Annette gasped, and Josie realized she had just explained more than she had planned to. “I . . . I can’t imagine that my past has anything, anything at all, to do with Courtney’s murder. I know I’m asking you to take my word for it, but—”

“Who else knows she’s dead?” Dottie interrupted to ask.

“I . . . I didn’t tell anyone. As far as I know, no one else knows.”

“You should keep it that way,” Dottie stated flatly. “And maybe we should all get together later to talk.”

Josie stared at the other woman for a moment, taking her time to decide. “You’re right.” Annette’s and Jill’s faces also displayed concern. “I have to talk to Bobby Valentine and I won’t tell him about . . . Courtney, but I hate to lose more work time. Would it be possible for us to meet for dinner tonight at the office? Pizza and beer? My treat.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Me, too.”

“Count me in.”

Annette and Jill agreed with Dottie.

“Good. I’d better get going then. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll go ahead and demo the south wall and then we can start framing in the second-floor addition.”

“Great.” With a new crew, there was always a moment when Josie realized that either she had hired the right people or she hadn’t. This was the moment. And she had.

She left to find Bobby Valentine, knowing that she could depend upon these women to keep going.

Chad was near the front deck. “Mr. Valentine said he would be waiting for you in Courtney’s trailer. It’s the one with the show’s logo stenciled on the doors.”

“Thanks.” She started toward the street and then turned back to the young man. “I hear you and Annette are dating.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I don’t want to be a busybody, but I think it’s nice. I mean, that you two are seeing each other. You’re both new on the island and it can be lonely.” She realized she sounded like an idiot and changed the subject. “Courtney’s trailer is the one with the logo on the doors? Is that what you said?”

Chad looked at her as if he thought she had lost her mind. “Yeah. That’s the one. I . . . I’ll see you.”

“Yes. Sure.” Why didn’t she shut up? Her father had said she babbled like a brook when she was nervous—and after all these years she could still feel the sting of his comments. Well, she had more important things to worry about now. She continued on her way.

There were two trailers on the street, but only one carried the gold castle with COURTNEY CASTLE printed in a circle around it, and that one also displayed an open door. Josie climbed the two steps that hung from its side and called out, “Hello. Bobby?”

“Josie. Come on in. Close the door behind you.”

She did as he ordered, again amazed by the interior of Courtney’s trailer. But apparently she wasn’t going to have a lot of time to look around.

“Sit down. I think we need to have an honest talk.”

Josie sat on the edge of the plush chintz-covered couch. She wasn’t going to get comfortable until she found out exactly how much he knew about Courtney’s past—and hers.

But it seemed that he was the one who was going to ask the questions. “So, Josie Pigeon, how much do you know about all this?”

“I . . . To be honest, I have no idea what you’re asking me. What do I know about the show? About why you’re here? How you all found Island Contracting? I don’t know anything. And I think I should be the one asking the questions and you should be providing the answers.” She leaned back and felt something stabbing at her spine. Glad to have something to do in the awkward silence that seemed to be forming, she pulled out a pillow and examined it carefully.

“A gift from a fan. Courtney gets hundreds, thousands, every year.”

Josie stared down at the pillow in her lap. She didn’t know much about handwork, but this elaborately embroidered throw pillow displayed dozens of different (and complicated-looking) stitches in even more hues of threads. The part that had stabbed her was worked in metallic threads. It was Courtney’s castle. But the words around the logo were different. “ ‘Courtney Castle’s Crewel Work?’ ” she read, then turned and picked up another pillow. This one was needlepoint— that much she knew from the endless floral monstrosities her mother had worked on for years and years. The castle was the same (although slightly tilted), but the script around the seal read “Stencil with Courtney Castle.” She looked up at Bobby Valentine. “This isn’t Courtney’s first show?”

“Not by a long shot. But we think she’s finally found her niche. Or I suppose I should say that’s what we did think.”

“What do you think now?”

“I don’t know what to think, frankly.” Bobby Valentine looked her straight in the eye and Josie wondered if he was about to lie—or tell the truth. “You and Courtney grew up together.”

She didn’t know what he knew, but she didn’t feel obligated to increase his knowledge. “We lived in the same town.”

“I understood you were friends.”

“Our mothers were friends.”

“You went to high school together.”

Josie remembered the question he had asked about home economics class. No reason to deny it. “Yes.”

“And college.”

“We started at the same college,” she admitted.

“But you were never close.”

“Bobby, I don’t know what Courtney told you, but we hated each other.”

He didn’t respond.

“What did she tell you?” she asked.

“That you were good friends.”

“What?” Josie squealed. “No way!”

“Well, not friends exactly. She said she was sort of your mentor. That you were one of those shy, awkward, unpopular kids—”

“Did she mention my adolescent acne?”

“I don’t think so.” He squinted at her freckled face.

“I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

“And isn’t a mentor someone who supports another person, helps her along in life?”

“Sort of.”

“Then Courtney wasn’t mine. Believe me, she didn’t want me to get ahead and she didn’t help me to get ahead. Ever.”

“She said . . .” Bobby Valentine stopped without revealing what Courtney had said.

“She said what? What about me? What about my relationship with her? And when did she say it to you?”

“Excuse me?”

Josie stuffed all the pillows behind her back and relaxed a bit. “Tell me,” she demanded. “Tell me what Courtney said about me.”

“Well, she said a lot, but not in any particular order. I mean, I just might have confused or forgotten some of the details.”

“What did she say?” Josie repeated.

“Let me think. If I tell you how the story came out, maybe you’ll understand why I’m sort of reluctant to tell you. It wasn’t a cohesive tale.”

“Do me a favor. I have work to get done. Just tell me the general idea and I won’t blame you for leaving out the many details.”

“Well, I don’t think she told me anything about you when we were first talking about the project.”

“How did you come to choose this job to feature on your program?”

“I don’t remember. We’re always looking for something unusual. A house of historical interest. A conversion of an industrial site into homes. A job that takes place in Hawaii in the middle of winter.”

“You’re kidding.”

“About Hawaii? Nope.
Courtney Castle’s Castles
has taped remodeling jobs in Maui, Honolulu, and St. Thomas—three winters, three shows. Why freeze when you can get a tan while you work?”

“I suppose. So, how did you find those jobs?”

“Well, we get lots of letters from people who think their remodeling job should be on television. Some think it would be interesting to get the publicity, some think they’ll get special deals from workmen and suppliers if they’re on the show. Others want free advice from experts.”

“So you pick from the people who write?”

“Not always. We’ve been doing this show for almost four years. We have lots of professional contacts looking out for interesting projects.”

“But this job. How did you hear about it?”

Bobby Valentine shook his head. “I don’t remember exactly. It seems to me that we got a message from someone here in town. A neighbor maybe.”

Josie thought for a moment before asking the next question. “Did you hear about the job itself or about Island Contracting?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. But I do know that what makes this an interesting story is you and the women on your crew. I can’t imagine any other big selling point, so I would assume that’s what we heard.” He gave her his intent “I’m telling the truth here” stare.

“But you don’t know who you heard it from.”

“No.”

“Or who was contacted at the show.”

“Well, come to think of it, that was probably Courtney herself. I think I first heard about it from her. She was excited about the idea of an all-women contracting company. Thought we could sell it to a station for their fund-raising period. Financing like that is important for us. Our productions aren’t produced by a single station, and while we have a few backers—a charitable foundation, a paint company, and a chain of hardware stores at present—we still need station support if we’re going to keep producing shows. And the stations are always looking for something to put on during their fund-raisers that won’t drive away the audience.”

Josie wasn’t interested in the financial woes of public television; she returned to the subject at hand. “So you think someone from the island called Courtney and told her about me.”

“About Island Contracting. I know I didn’t hear about you until fairly recently.”

“But Courtney might have known about me earlier and just not spoken about it, right?”

“It’s possible.”

“Look, what sort of relationship do you and Courtney have?”

“If you’re asking if we’re lovers—”

Actually, she would love to know if that was true, but it really wasn’t the question she meant to ask. “No. I mean, is she always honest with you?”

It was a simple question but it seemed to give him pause. “Courtney is talent.”

“So?”

“Have you been around television people before?”

“I remodeled a house for a director and his . . . well, I always assumed she was his wife while I was working, but later I heard that his wife wanted the house as part of her divorce settlement. And he claimed she had no right to it as she had never seen it; his poor mistress had had all the wear and tear of remodeling. Weird.”

“Compared to the ego of your average on-air personality, that’s nothing. Courtney isn’t the worst of the lot, but she has her moments. Well, all you have to do is look around this place and you know that. Her life story is here.” He waved to the wall behind her, which was covered with awards and photographs. They were reflected in the mirrors across the way, but Josie hadn’t had the time to examine them. “And the first thing Courtney does when anyone comes to interview her is go around this room and relate what she considers the fascinating high points of her life.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with her honesty— or lack of it.”

“It’s not that this stuff is lies, it’s more like it shows only the side of things that Courtney wants to present to the world. And that’s kind of the way she lives. If there’s something negative in her past, you won’t hear about it from her. And that’s the way she lives her life—with an emphasis on the positive. Which means she doesn’t always tell the truth. Period.”

“Oh.” Josie thought that was interesting. “So you first heard about this project from Courtney, but you don’t know how she heard about it. And, really, you don’t know if she would have told you the truth even if she had told you.”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“Do you think she wrote the note?”

“The one that was interpreted as being about her murder?”

“It’s the only one I’ve heard of.”

“I’m sure she wrote it. It was in her handwriting. But, Josie, it had nothing to do with her disappearance or anything. The note was just part of a piece of paper; the other half was found on the floor when the place was searched. The entire note was “Kill
Courtney Castle’s Castles
segment three.’ It was no big deal. Courtney was making notes about the show. She had decided to leave out one segment and put in another.”

“What were they? The segment she wanted left out and the substitution?” Josie asked.

“The original segment was a short tour of the neighborhood, probably a comparison of all the similar houses. She was substituting a segment about the background and training of your workers.”

“Which is why she wanted so many questions asked about that subject,” Josie mused. “Did Courtney really have that much power? Did she choose what subjects you covered?”

“Hey, she’s the talent.”

Josie thought for a moment. He still hadn’t answered her original questions. “So what exactly did she say about me?”

“She said that she had helped you and that you betrayed her.”

“What?”

“She claimed you seduced her boyfriend.” He looked skeptical.

“And you believed her story?”

“Hey, she’s talent,” he repeated.

EIGHTEEN

JOSIE HAD PICKED up three pizzas as well as two six-packs of Coors and one of Diet Coke. But even after a hard day no one seemed particularly hungry. Everyone had been talking about Courtney and what to do with her body since they walked in the door, still sweaty from work.

So far, they had consumed one pepperoni pizza, half of the cheese with extra garlic, and all the beer. Annette seemed to be a bit tipsy. Josie realized she had been serving beer to a minor and decided the only thing to do was to make sure Annette had a ride home—after they made some decisions.

If they ever came to an agreement. The women had repeated and repeated the details of the day. Their shock at the discovery of Courtney’s body. Their panic when it looked like Bobby Valentine might discover their secret. The long afternoon, not talking about what was uppermost on their minds, waiting for this evening so they could.

“We need to come to some decision,” Josie insisted. “Courtney cannot stay up there. She is going to start to smell soon.” A giggle escaped her lips. “And she would really hate that.” She felt another giggle bubble up and pursed her lips. Perhaps Annette wasn’t the only woman who had had too much to drink.

“What do you suggest?” Jill asked quietly. Jill had been noticeably reticent, eating and drinking little, walking around the room examining the birdhouses that lined the small space.

“Frankly, I have no idea what to say. My instinct is to call the police—” Josie said.

“Good God. Why?” Dottie’s flat voice interrupted.

“They’re here to help us,” Annette said.

“Bull.”

“Well, I don’t know how you were brought up, but my mother always said that if there was a problem I could go to the cop on the corner for help. Or dial 911,” Annette added.

“Your mother may have been right for where you grew up. But the police on this island are notorious for arresting the wrong person. And I’m afraid the wrong person they arrest for Courtney’s murder could be . . .” Josie paused. “Could be one of us.”

Dottie looked at Josie. “Do you want to tell her or do you want me to?”

“I . . . It’s your business. You should be able to keep it private if you want” was Josie’s answer.

“Yeah, I should be able to. But in my life, what should be and what are are two different animals.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re entitled to your privacy,” Jill said.

“She’s right,” Josie agreed.

“Yeah. But I think I should explain. Otherwise no one is going to understand why I think we should—or should not— call the cops.”

“Listen, it’s completely your decision.” Josie had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but she understood what Dottie was up against.

“Okay. No point in beating about the bush. I was in prison.”

Neither Annette nor Jill spoke.

“I think if you’re going to say that much, you’re going to have to explain what put you in prison and how you ended up at Island Contracting,” Josie suggested quietly.

“What put me in prison was stupidity and how I ended up here is Josie.”

“Maybe you should tell them just a bit more,” Josie said.

“Prison?” The word just reached Annette’s consciousness.

“Yeah, I was there for assault. I beat up some idiot in a bar fight. Turned out his brother-in-law was a cop. I didn’t deny doing it. The bastard deserved what he got. But I didn’t deserve three years in prison. In some circles, punching that guy in the mouth would have been considered a public service.”

“Why? Why did you do it?” Annette asked.

“Guy called me a dyke. Said working as a carpenter wasn’t an appropriate job for a woman. He kept trashing me. And I got angrier and angrier and drank a bit too much. On the way out of the bar, he grabbed my breast and I slugged him—once or twice.”

“And you were arrested?” Annette sounded horrified.

“Yeah. And a few months later convicted. I got six years.

But served slightly less than three. I was released early because of good behavior—and because Josie was willing to hire me. But maybe you would like to explain about that.”

“Well, it’s a long story. I don’t know whether you know the history of Island Contracting, but it was begun by a man named Noel Roberts and he tried to hire people who needed help.”

“Women who needed help?”

“I’m not sure he set out to hire women, whether women just happened to need more help than men, or whether he was one of the only contractors who would hire women workers. It was the early sixties. There weren’t many women in the business and the ones who were had a very difficult time finding jobs.”

“What did he do? Put an ad in the paper asking for women who needed help and were trained carpenters or plumbers or electricians to apply to Island Contracting?” Jill asked.

“No, he was more . . . what’s the word? More proactive than that. For instance, I was pregnant and waiting on tables at a luncheonette here on the island when I met Noel. We chatted a few times when he came in to eat and one day he asked me to have dinner with him.” Josie smiled, remembering that afternoon. It had been unseasonably hot. The air-conditioning hadn’t been turned on yet. She had been seven months pregnant with swollen feet and sweating profusely as she worked. It had never occurred to her that Noel might be making a pass. She had accepted out of curiosity and because, in her financial situation, a free meal was something she couldn’t pass up.

“It was at that dinner that he made his offer. I could come to work for him—in the office, if necessary, and bring the baby if I couldn’t find anyone to take care of him—and he would teach me a trade and keep me employed and—this was the most important thing then—insured.

“I didn’t even stop to think, I had agreed before I finished my salad.” She had already been living in Risa’s house but had never suspected that her landlady would be willing—in fact, thrilled—to sit with Tyler until he was old enough for day care.

“And over the years, I learned that Noel hired many women under similar, if not identical, circumstances. So when Sam told me about Second Chance—”

“What’s that?” Annette asked.

“Second Chance is an organization dedicated to keeping recidivism rates low,” Dottie explained.

“It’s made up of people who believe that those who are convicted of a crime are less likely to end up in prison again if they are given a second chance to live a normal life. And that the first thing necessary for a normal life is a job. Sam’s known about the organization for years.”

“Sam Richardson? The guy you date who owns the liquor store? Why would he know about it?” Jill asked.

“He used to be a prosecuting attorney in New York City,” Josie explained.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, in fact, he was involved with the group when he was in New York, and he still keeps in touch and gets their newsletters. So when he read that they were looking for placements for women who had been trained in nontraditional jobs—for women that is—he told me about it and I sent in Island Contracting’s address.”

“And when I was up for parole, I was put in contact with Second Chance and they sent me Josie’s name.”

“Most of the prisoners . . . people . . .”

“Call us prisoners. That’s what we were.”

“Well, most of them had been trained while they were in prison,” Josie continued to explain. “But Dottie had been a carpenter before she was arrested, and, frankly, I thought I was lucky to get her.”

“And I thought I was lucky to be here . . . until that snotty bitch was murdered.”

“Why?” Annette asked.

“Look, I’m on probation. And one of the many terms of my probation is that I’m not supposed to be fraternizing with the criminal element—and I think you could probably call the person who killed Courtney Castle a criminal—so I just hope it wasn’t one of you.”

The words were spoken casually, but Josie knew the situation and knew Dottie was dead serious. “And that’s why Dottie believes we shouldn’t tell the police about Courtney’s body.”

“Yes. Not only am I the most likely suspect, but I think you could say that being a suspect in a murder investigation violates the terms of my parole.”

Annette nodded. “You’d end up back in prison.”

“Got it in one.”

“I go along with Dottie.” Jill spoke up. “I don’t think we should tell them either. What do you think, Josie?”

Josie took a deep breath. “I tend to agree with you two. The police on the island are . . . well, they’re not exactly competent. But we all have to agree to keep silent. If one of us doesn’t go along, we’re all in trouble.”

“She’s talking about you,” Dottie said, pointing to Annette.

The young woman nodded seriously. “But it is illegal to withhold evidence in a murder investigation. I’ve seen it on TV.”

“Yes, but, in fact, we’ve already done that.”

Annette looked up at Dottie, her eyes opening wider. “You’re right. I didn’t think.”

“Look, the truth is, you either believe I did it and then you should call the cops and we’ll all be questioned and I’ll be arrested. Or you believe I didn’t do it and we shut up until the real murderer is found.”

“Oh, I’d never think that you killed anybody!”

“Until a few minutes ago, you probably never would have thought that I’d been convicted of assault and spent three years in prison.” Dottie’s voice was surprisingly gentle.

“I guess that’s true. But it’s different. You were angry at someone for insulting you and you just hit him. You didn’t murder him. And, besides, you have no reason to be angry at Courtney Castle. She didn’t do anything to you.”

“As far as you know,” Dottie said.

“You were in prison for the last three years, what could she do?”

“Listen”—Dottie reached out and put a hand on Annette’s arm—“you’re a sweet kid. But you haven’t been around much and I gotta tell you: You really don’t know me. I mean, I appreciate that you believe in me, but, honey, what you’ve heard about prison is true. Everyone’s got a sob story to tell and most of ’em are lies.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Then I agree with you all. We shouldn’t tell the police anything!”

Josie sighed, relieved. “Fine. We will keep the information to ourselves. But there’s one other question. What are we going to do with the body?”

“We could just leave it up there and, when it starts to smell, climb on up and claim to have discovered it then. Of course, that doesn’t really help us, does it? I mean, the police would investigate and Dottie would be arrested, et cetera, et cetera,” Jill said, looking worried.

“We could hide the body, find out who the murderer is, and then turn both the body and the murderer over to the police,” Annette suggested. “Just like Chad’s mother does.”

“Oh, yeah, and we could rent us a big barn and put on a show and raise money for the orphans.” Dottie’s sarcasm couldn’t be missed.

“I’m just trying to help,” Annette protested.

“And you are,” Josie said firmly. “If you think about it, Annette has come up with the only solution that will keep Dottie out of prison. Anything else will mean calling in the police and they’ll arrest Dottie, for parole violation if not murder.”

“So what are we going to do with Courtney? Dump her in the ocean?” Jill asked.

“We can’t do that!” Annette cried. “Someone might see us!”

“We can’t do that because, on the off chance that this scheme to find the murderer actually works, we’re going to have to provide the police with Courtney’s corpse.” Dottie was blunt.

“So we need to store her somewhere.” Josie couldn’t imagine where. “What we need is some sort of large refrigerator or a freezer. Can you tell if a body’s been frozen after it thaws out?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” Dottie answered.

“Well, if it got freezer burn . . .” Jill seemed about to giggle and Annette snorted.

Josie realized they were all tired and very close to hysteria. “Sam has a large refrigerator at the back of the store. I don’t know how we could sneak her in there—”

“No way.” Dottie was adamant.

“What’s wrong with that? We can trust Sam.”

“I’m not trusting anyone who was a prosecutor, I can tell you that right now.”

“If it weren’t for Sam, you wouldn’t be here. You might not even have a job. You might not have gotten parole,” Josie protested.

“You think he’s going to break the law just to keep me out of prison?”

It didn’t sound all that likely to Josie either. Maybe they could hide the body in his refrigerator without him knowing.

Jill seemed to read her mind. “How big is this refrigerator? Maybe we could sort of shove her in a place where she won’t be found.”

“I’ve got it!” Excited, Josie jumped up. “We can put it . . . her down in one of the freezers behind the Fish Wish.”

“That’s a restaurant?”

“It’s the bait shop. And they have a freezer in the back of the store just filled with boxes and boxes of frozen moss bunker. We could put Courtney underneath. She’ll be safe there for months—they don’t get down to the bottom of that freezer until late August.”

“And what are you going to do? Just walk in and ask if you can use their freezer to store a famous television personality?”

“No, I thought maybe we could sneak in there in the middle of the night and put her away. I have the key to their back door. We’re going to be adding a deck out back as soon as we finish this job.”

“Then I guess we know what we have to do,” Dottie said, getting up and stretching.

“What?” Annette asked.

“Go get Courtney and take her to the . . . what did you call it? The Fish Wish.”