This Old Murder (17 page)

“Yeah. It’s fine with me. Gotta run.” Josie waved and dug around in her pockets for the keys to her truck. For once, they were where she thought she had left them. She hopped in the truck, started the engine, and roared off down the road. She’d go to the office and then pick up their food at Deli Delight for lunch and be back in no time at all.

And, surprisingly, everything worked out the way she expected it to. Except she returned to work with more to think about. Next door to Deli Delight was Le Château, the only French restaurant open for lunch on the island. And there, going into the front door of Le Château, were Sam and a woman who could only be Sondra. Josie had been wrong. She wasn’t tall, thin, blond, and chic. She was tall, thin, brunette, and definitely chic, wearing clothing Josie couldn’t find in a store, couldn’t afford if she did, and wouldn’t look good in anyway.

She spent the rest of the afternoon depressed.

TWENTY-FOUR

SAM HAD LEFT a message at Josie’s office. It was brief and to the point. He had gotten the tapes. Why didn’t she come over to his house when she was done with work and he’d cook dinner and they could go through them together.

She had wasted most of her day. She had worried about Cheryl and Howard. She had wondered about Sam and his ex-lover. She had thought about where Courtney’s body might have gone and who might have moved it. She had wondered exactly what Sam and his gorgeous ex-lover were doing.

Then she had tried to put up a wall while listening in on Bobby interviewing her crew members. Dottie had started out characteristically abrupt, verging on rude. Surprisingly, after a while, Bobby Valentine had appeared to charm her, and by the last question they had been chuckling together over something one of them had said. Jill had been less susceptible to Bobby Valentine’s charms although he began the questioning by flattering her. (Had his “Wow! I haven’t met many carpenters who look this gorgeous!” been more than a bit insulting to the rest of them? Josie thought.) Jill had merely nodded and waited for the questions to begin. She hadn’t warmed up. She had been polite, professional, and cold. Annette had been a nice contrast. Young, bubbly, obviously thrilled with the possibility of being on television, she had chatted on and on, full of enthusiasm for her job, her life, the house they were remodeling. Bobby Valentine had been smitten. Her interview had exceeded the total time he had spent with the other two.

When the interviews were finished, Josie had watched Chad help another young man roll wires and put lights and microphones and things away. Then she had started to wonder again what Sam and Sondra had been doing all this time.

Josie had taken the time to go home and change before heading to Sam’s house at the north end of the island. Her closet didn’t provide anything as chic as the wraparound silk blouse and linen capri pants Sondra had worn to lunch, but her jeans were clean, her yellow-and-white-striped oxford-cloth shirt pressed, and her green plastic flipflops only a few weeks old.

Sam lived in a small ranch house tucked into the dunes at the exclusive north end of the island. He and Josie had been remodeling it over the years; recently they had installed some rather elegant outdoor lighting. It was still light out, but Sam had turned on the display and Josie smiled as she hopped from her truck and walked up the wooden boardwalk to the deck that encircled the house. She peeked through the screen door into the living room. Sam was stretched out on one of the twin couches, a remote control in one hand fast-forwarding through the channels on the large TV, which stood to the left of the fireplace.

“Sam?”

“Josie, come on in.” Sam slid his lean, jean-clad legs to the floor, stood, stretched, and smiled. He was tall and tan, his sandy hair falling over his glasses and into his eyes, and Josie was instantly glad they were having this evening together. She might even have forgotten about Sondra if the woman herself hadn’t appeared in the kitchen doorway, a tray in her hands.

“I found some munchies,” Sondra announced, walking into the room. “You must be Josie. I’m Sondra.”

“Hi.” Josie looked over at Sam. “I thought you were going to be cooking.”

“The grill is warming up,” he explained. “Sondra volunteered to prepare some appetizers while I got these things organized for you. There’s a lot here, but you should be able to scan them in a little over an hour.”

“Sam’s spent the last few hours going over the tapes, getting them in order, tossing out the duplicates and the ones that don’t show Courtney. I’m afraid I just grabbed from a pile in the tape room, and some of the ones I brought weren’t at all useful or relevant,” Sondra added, putting the tray down on the cherry coffee table.

“It was very nice of you to bring these,” Josie said, remembering her manners.

“It wasn’t a big deal. I was coming down for a long weekend anyway. And it’s been great seeing Sam. He and I go way back.” Sondra beamed at Sam. Sam beamed back at Sondra. Josie reached out for a gourmet potato chip.

“We put the tapes in chronological order, and the first one is in the player. I’ve marked the rest of them. They’re on the coffee table,” Sam explained. “You might want to get started while I cook dinner. There are about three hours of tape here. But Sondra and I found that once you get going, you can start zipping through fast-forward. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Great.” Not thrilled that this would leave more time for Sam and Sondra to reminisce, Josie sat down on the couch Sam had just vacated and pressed play on the remote.

And found herself in the early eighties with a very perky, very curly Courtney Castle. Once again Josie wondered what she would look like if she went to Courtney’s hairdresser.

“Good evening. Welcome to
Crafty Times with Courtney
Castle
.” Courtney as a brunette was sitting on a bench with what looked like a million stuffed animals scattered around her. “Today’s show is called ‘Stuffies for All,’ and we’re going to meet Janie Jones, creator of this plethora of absolutely adorable toys, and she’s going to tell us how to make them ourselves. . . .”

Josie watched about fifteen minutes of this show before pressing fast-forward and heading to another
Crafty Times
with Courtney Castle
, to a show entitled ‘Stenciling for All.’ She pressed the fast-forward button again and found a Courtney in a new environment with shorter, flatter, lighter hair.

Josie leaned forward and squinted at the screen. Courtney, wearing denim overalls, was actually sitting on a bale of hay in what appeared to be a garden-variety barn. “Welcome to
Country by Courtney
,” she announced, smiling broadly. “Today our topic is apples and we’re going to make apple butter and apple chutney, see cider being pressed during a short field trip, and then learn all about those absolutely appealing Appalachian apple dolls . . .” Josie pressed fast-forward.

“Welcome to
Country by Courtney
. . .” The hair was the same, but the overalls had been replaced with jeans and a gingham blouse. “On this show we’re going to be talking about corn. Corncob pipes. Corn stacks to decorate your home for Halloween. Corn relish . . .”

Josie pressed again. And again. And again. Through
Country by Courtney
and “Rhubarb, the First Sign of Spring in our Garden.” Through Country by Courtney and “Beans from the Vine and Bush.” To
Country by Courtney
and “Give Peas a Chance,” where she switched from fast-forward to eject.

The next tape contained another show, another Courtney. Blond this time, still curly but less bubbly. Although perhaps the topic and the set lent themselves to a more conservative tone. “Hello, I’m Courtney Castle and this is the first show of
Crewel with Courtney
. Now some in our audience will understand me when I say there is really nothing cruel about crewel . . .”

Josie couldn’t hit the button fast enough.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one. On this tape, at least,
Crewel with Courtney
had a very short run. The next transformation was entitled
Decorate Your Castle with Courtney
Castle
. Courtney was moving into her own now. Her hair was golden and worn in a polished style reminiscent of those popularized by the Breck girls of Josie’s childhood. She was dressed in an elegant navy suit and looked right at home in the English chintz drawing room, where, apparently, the opening of the show took place. There was an entire tape filled with three hours of this show and covering topics from “Swags for Every Room” to “Tassels to Go” to “Damask and the Den.”

From the general to the specific. The next tape was of two different shows:
Stencil Your Castle with Courtney Castle
and
Faux Finishes in Your Castle with Courtney
. Josie didn’t take her thumb off the fast-forward button until she arrived at the end.

She was putting the final tape in the machine when Sam appeared in the doorway. “Three minutes to dinner,” he announced. “We can eat in here, but if you’d like to take a break, it will take only a minute to set up out back.”

“Out back,” she said. “I’ll just use the bathroom and join you.”

Sondra and Sam were enjoying goblets of something fruity and dark red on the deck off the kitchen. They were deep in a conversation about someone skiing in Aspen when Josie appeared.

“You look tired. What can I get you to drink?” Sam asked. “Sondra made sangria. Do you want a glass?”

“It’s delicious, but it can be lethal,” Sondra said. “Remember the time we got so drunk at my apartment when I was living down in the Village and neither of us could remember the name of the restaurant where we were supposed to be meeting one of your colleagues?”

Sam laughed. “Sure. We were with that producer and his girlfriend. He kept insisting that we were planning to go for sushi and she was positive we had made reservations at some Thai place.”

“I’ll have the sangria,” Josie announced. Perhaps it would help her get through what was beginning to seem like a long evening.

“And I’ll get it for you while Sam apologizes for telling you you look tired, and then, after you’ve had a glass and are feeling mellow, I’ll apologize for talking about people you don’t know in front of you.” And with this Sondra stood and trotted back into the house.

Sam looked at Josie and grimaced. “Sondra’s right and I’m sorry.”

“She’s nice,” Josie said, hoping the admission didn’t sound as begrudging as she felt.

“She is. I hope John knows how lucky he is.”

“John?”

“Her fiancé. She’s meeting him here tomorrow. His family has that big pink stucco house down near the beach.”

“She’s engaged?” Josie was beginning to like Sondra more all the time.

“Yup. Getting married in a few weeks. I was invited to the wedding—with a date. It’s in the city. I was hoping you’d be able to go with me. We could stay with Mom,” he added. “Or maybe a suite at the Plaza?” he added, a wicked leer on his face.

“How do you know I won’t be in jail for murdering Courtney Castle?” was Josie’s reply. She didn’t mean to be overheard, but Sondra had returned, a full pitcher of sangria in one hand, a clean goblet in the other.

“So you hate her, too, huh?” Sondra asked, pouring the wine and handing the glass to Josie.

“I sure di—don’t like her.” Josie was prompted to change her words by a gentle kick in the shins. She was thankful that soft Italian loafers were Sam’s preferred choice of footwear.

“That’s true of most people who work with her for any length of time.” Sondra took a sip of her drink.

“Sondra was telling me about Courtney while we went through the videotapes this afternoon,” Sam explained, opening the grill.

A delicious scent wafted in the air, but Josie was interested in something other than food. “What about her?” she asked.

“Well, as you saw on the tapes—” Sondra started.

But Josie interrupted. “Explain the tapes first. They didn’t make a lot of sense to me. Was Courtney the star of all those shows?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then why didn’t I ever hear about her?” Josie interrupted impatiently. “I mean, I may not watch a lot of public television, but I watch some. And I see promos for upcoming shows. Generally, I know a fair amount of what’s on.”

“But you only see the shows broadcast by your public station. There are hundreds of stations all over the country and they put different shows on the air. Most of those shows come from the public broadcast network feed; the local stations pay to put them on the air. And some of the shows originate at the station themselves; those shows have a fairly limited distribution.

“Most of the shows you saw on those tapes were locally produced and distributed to a very small audience,” Sondra explained. “They may not have been seen by more than a thousand people—maybe fewer.”

“Why are there so many different shows?” Josie asked.

“Because, up until this last show—
Courtney’s Castle
or whatever she calls it—she was a complete failure.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie was thrilled.

“Actually, I’m wrong. If she had been a failure, she would never have gotten to anchor all those different shows. Courtney, in the vernacular of my business, is talent looking for the proper vehicle. That is, she was until now.”

“I don’t understand exactly,” Josie admitted.

“That’s because I’m not explaining very well. Maybe I should tell you a bit more about my chosen field.”

Sam served the meal and, Josie’s appetite having returned with the news that Sondra was engaged, they ate while Sondra talked.

“You see, television is a very mobile business. People move from station to station and from job to job within the station. They move up, they move out, they move laterally. It’s the norm. Courtney’s career has been fairly typical of someone who doesn’t make it big right away. You may not have been paying attention to the call letters at the beginning of the shows you just watched—”

“No, not at all.”

“Well, the first few tapes were done at a small station in North Dakota.”

“How did Courtney end up in North Dakota?”

“Who knows? Getting your first job—your foot in the media door, so to speak—can be difficult. If you’re smart—and lucky—you decide where you want to work after graduation and figure out a way to get an internship there. Then you network like mad and hope that someone will remember you when you need a real job.”

“In North Dakota?”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Sondra admitted. “Usually people go after the jobs at the bigger stations, either New York, Boston, L.A., or Washington. She probably tried those and when, surprise, surprise, they weren’t enthusiastic about hiring a young person with limited experience right out of college, she looked elsewhere. She probably got a job the way the rest of us did: off the bulletin board in the mass-communications department at college. Who knows? It’s probably not important. What is important is that someone gave her a chance to anchor a show.”