Susan glanced at her watch. “Then I’d better get going. I have no idea how long the crew was planning to work, but I wouldn’t think it would be much past six o’clock.”
“If you learn anything you’ll call me tonight?” Brett asked.
“Of course,” Susan said, getting up from her seat in his office and tucking her purse under her arm. “Is there anything else you want me to find out?” She hoped he didn’t hear any sarcasm in her voice.
“Not right now,” Brett muttered, still writing and paying little attention to her.
Susan drove home reviewing what little she had discovered up to now. Frankie’s phone call was certainly suspicious, but was someone else lying? Wasn’t it more than possible that a call had been made by another member of the crew as well? There was so much confusion; of course someone could take a few minutes for a private call without anyone noticing. Or could he? She was thinking about this when she arrived in front of her house. The questions were interesting, but not so interesting that she didn’t notice that the horde of vehicles had shrunk to one cherry-red pickup truck.
Susan parked next to the large Dumpster, trying to leave room for Jed’s Mercedes, got out, and hurried into the house. She was anxious to talk with Josie, having decided to explain straight out what had happened to Simon Fairweather and why she was asking all these questions. Surprisingly enough, Clue didn’t enthusiastically greet her entrance. Susan frowned and walked slowly up the stairs, straightening the plastic runner as she went. On the second floor she could hear strange smacking noises above her head. She climbed up to the attic.
Josie was kneeling on the floor, holding a heavy object that was apparently forcing bolts into the wood beneath her. Clue was lying near the top of the stairs, seemingly fascinated by the sight. Susan stooped down and scratched the dog’s ears.
“Hi!” Josie said, sitting back on her heels and pushing her blazing hair off her sweaty forehead. “Great dog you’ve got there. Tell her to lie down and she lies down.”
“She does?” Susan asked, amazed by this revelation.
“I’ll be done with this in a few minutes, if the noise is bothering you,” Josie continued.
“That’s okay. I was just going to go downstairs and … and start dinner,” Susan improvised. “You can hardly hear that thing on the first floor. Say,” she added, turning back after she started to leave, “would you like to stay for dinner? It’s just going to be stuff on the grill in the backyard.”
“Well, I …”
“I’d really appreciate it. Jed will be here and you could help me explain all the diagrams we made to him. Of course, if you’re busy tonight …”
“Not me. I don’t even know anyone in town except for the men I’m working with, and I don’t think I should try their patience by spending more time with them than actually necessary for a while. Thanks, I’ll take you up on that offer.”
“It’s going to be a simple meal,” Susan reminded her.
“No problem. I don’t know how to cook myself. But I’m a master of the microwave, and I know the name of every bakery in every town I’ve ever worked in.”
“Then come on down when you’re done here. By the way,” she added, “what is that thing you’re using?”
“Nail gun,” Josie explained casually.
Susan watched the metal smash into the heavy plywood and tried not to imagine what it would do to human flesh and bone. “I’ll get started on dinner. I’ll see you later.”
“Great.” Josie turned back to her work, and Susan hurried down the stairs to scrounge around in the refrigerator. She wanted to talk to Jed, to ask him to leave the two women alone for a while.
Her husband still wasn’t home by the time Susan had laid out everything that could be grilled from her refrigerator and thawed chicken breasts in the microwave.
“Hi!” Josie appeared in the kitchen, Clue at her side.
“Hi! Would you like a drink? I’m having a glass of white wine.”
“Do you have a light beer?”
“Sure do. It’s in the refrigerator. If you don’t mind, you could get it yourself,” Susan suggested, busy dipping strips of chicken in a sesame-seed marinade.
“Fine with me. I’m not used to people waiting on me.” Josie walked over to the large Sub-Zero and opened the door. “Wow!” she exclaimed, examining the beer and ale selection. “I gather you don’t feel it’s absolutely necessary to buy American.”
“I think there are some bottles in there that aren’t imports,” Susan protested.
“The finest product of what I think are called designer breweries these days,” Josie agreed, picking out a bottle with the image of a blue heron on its label. “Do you mind if I drink from the bottle?”
“Not at all,” Susan assured her, laying the last of the meat on an ironstone platter. “Would you like to go outside? It’s probably cooler there. I’ve got some cheese and crackers that we can snack on until Jed arrives.”
“Great. Shall I bring the dog?”
“If you don’t mind her begging.”
“This good dog begs?” Josie asked, apparently amazed. She picked up Susan’s wineglass and started out the door. Susan followed with a tray of snack food.
They settled down on the patio, the food resting on a small table between them. Clue, miraculously, lay at Josie’s feet.
“Gorgonzola, Cheshire cheddar, Brie with herbs.” Susan pointed to the various cheeses. “The crackers are Pepperidge Farm,” she added, trying to head off a comment about her buying habits.
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Josie assured her. “I love good food. It’s just that I can’t afford a lot of it. Carpenters don’t make great money and I’ve got a son in camp now who’s starting boarding school in the fall.”
“Where’s his father?” Susan asked without thinking.
“Heaven knows,” Josie answered, and then volunteered no more.
Both women were silent for a moment, drinking their beverages and spreading cheese on crackers.
“I didn’t mean to …”
“I don’t want you to think …”
They spoke at the same time, looked at each other, and laughed.
“You go first,” Susan insisted.
“I don’t want you to think that I was trashing Ken Cory this afternoon,” Josie surprised her by saying.
“I didn’t.” Susan paused to swallow her cheese. “What are you talking about?”
“When I said that you should plan everything out and avoid making last-minute changes. You didn’t originally plan on having a tub on the third floor, did you?”
“Not really,” Susan admitted. “Although I did consider it earlier, but I thought it was an expense we could do without.” She looked seriously at the other woman. “You think Ken talked me into spending money that I didn’t need to, don’t you?”
“Look, that’s what I’m talking about. This guy is my boss and he has to earn a living. Just be careful about last-minute decisions, they can cost you a lot of money, okay?”
Susan nodded, silent for a moment. “Do you think Ken Cory is honest?” she asked quietly.
Josie frowned. “Look, I have no reason to think he isn’t. He did today what a lot of contractors do. He suggested that you make the job slightly larger. Sure, he’ll make a bigger profit, but you approved of the suggestion. It’s not like he’s doing things you didn’t agree to or charging you for things that he didn’t do.”
“Contractors do that?” Susan asked.
Josie shrugged. “Some do. I try not to work for those companies.”
Here was the opening Susan had been waiting for. “Have you worked for Cory Construction before?” she asked, leaning forward and picking up a cracker shaped like a butterfly.
“No. I’ve never worked in Hancock before. Usually I work in resort communities on the summer houses of rich people.”
“That must be interesting,” said Susan, who loved reading magazines like Architectural Digest.
“Fra
ming a wall is framing a wall whether it’s a wall in a twenty-room mansion or a tract house in a housing development. But I like my job a lot and I must admit that rich people build houses in beautiful locations.”
“How did you happen to be hired by Ken Cory?”
“A friend of a friend knew that he was looking for someone to work on this one short job. I was free …” She shrugged again. “And here I am.”
Susan got the impression that the young woman was becoming uncomfortable. “Do you live nearby?”
“I’m staying downtown in an apartment over a nail salon, Pink Pinkies Plus. It’s a summer sublet. The location is okay. I wish it were a little closer to the deli. I like a good corned beef on rye, but long, painted nails are not a particular obsession of mine.” Susan followed her glance down to the short, utilitarian nails on Josie’s callused hands.
“How are things going?” Susan asked, not knowing exactly what else to say. She didn’t want to sound like she was interrogating this young woman. “Do you think the crew is going to accept you?”
“Yeah. They all seem like pretty nice guys.”
“Frankie looks like a fun person,” Susan threw out, hoping she might move the topic back to the phone call.
“He does.” Josie laughed. “I get a huge kick out of that hair of his. You’ll never believe what he told me.”
“What?”
“He used buttermilk to start his dreadlocks.”
“What?”
“I guess it’s pretty difficult to get blond hair to grow into dreadlocks. He says that at first he had to make it really sticky and he used to put buttermilk on it and twist it around and around.”
“That doesn’t sound very clean,” Susan said.
“He’s clean now. Neat even, if you don’t mind the way his hair looks. And he doesn’t use anything on his hair anymore. Apparently after years of working on it, his hair just goes into dreadlocks naturally.” Josie took a long pull on her beer. “You’re wondering about that phone call?” she asked.
“I … I was just wondering whether I missed a phone call,” Susan said, glad she remembered the excuse she had given earlier for her interest.
But Josie wasn’t having any of it. “Why did you really want to know who was talking on the phone?”
Susan sipped her wine and tried to think of an answer.
EIGHTEEN
“That’s some story,” Josie commented as Susan finished her explanation and her second glass of wine at the same time.
“Is this the first you’ve heard of Simon Fairweather’s death?” Susan asked, tossing a cracker to the dog.
“No wonder she’s always begging,” Josie said with a grin. “And to answer your question, no. The crew has talked about little else. But these guys don’t feel comfortable around me yet; they tend to shut up when I’m in the room. I’ll hear a lot more as they loosen up.”
“And do you think Frankie could have made that call?” Susan asked.
“Sounds like it’s possible. I walked in on him right before I came down and introduced myself to you, so the time is right. But …”
“But what?” Susan asked.
“Well, Frankie doesn’t strike me as stupid. Why would he call the police department from your house? Everyone knows that the police have access to phone records, so why make the call from here? Why not wait until he could get to a pay phone someplace else?”
“That’s a good question,” Susan muttered, trying to think of a good answer.
“In fact, why would Frankie call at all? Why would anyone who’s a member of the crew call and make an accusation like that? Now you and the police are going to investigate everyone connected with Cory Construction. What does Frankie—or anyone else—gain by that?”
“A murder investigation always starts with more questions than answers,” Susan muttered.
“What do you know about murder investigations? You weren’t a cop, were you?” Josie asked, putting down her unfinished beer and sticking out her hand. Clue immediately jumped up and placed her head on the carpenter’s lap.
Susan knew it was ridiculous to be jealous. Clue had always preferred whoever was closest to the food. She passed the platter of cheese to Josie, making sure that was the reason for the retriever’s allegiance. And then she answered the question.
“I’ve helped solve a few,” she said modestly. “Actually, more than a half-dozen. Kathleen, my friend who had the baby today, was once a police officer and we’ve worked together.”
“Oh. Is that why you hired Cory Construction? Is someone on the crew a suspect in the murder of this Simon Fairweather?”
“I don’t think the police have a list of suspects yet,” Susan said, realizing that she wasn’t actually answering the question.
“What about Frankie?” Josie persisted.
“What about him?”
“Do you think he made that call? You don’t think he’s the murderer, do you?”
“They’re two separate issues,” Susan answered. “The person who made that call may just know who the murderer is, like he said. And I don’t have any idea if it’s Frankie. The call may have been to someone else and be perfectly innocent.”
Josie was silent a moment, scratching the dog with one hand and twisting a lock of her own hair with the other.
“Is something bothering you? Are you feeling guilty over telling me about Frankie?” Susan guessed.
“No. Not really … well, maybe.” Josie stopped fidgeting and spoke up. “You see, Frankie grabbed a few minutes alone with me while we were winding down for the evening.”
“And?” Susan prompted.
“And he said it was important, very important, that he talk with me privately.” She dug into a pocket of her coveralls and pulled out a grimy piece of paper. “He gave me his phone number and asked that I call him tonight.”
“Did he say anything else? Besides that it was important?”
“No, but he looked very serious. I got the feeling that … well, that it was a matter of life and death.” Josie looked up at Susan. “I don’t want to get him in trouble. I don’t know him well, but he and Kyle were the only two workers who smiled when I was introduced to the group and Frankie even offered to get me a Coke when I complained about the heat in your attic.”
“You might be protecting him,” Susan suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Knowing the identity of a killer could put a person in danger.”
“You mean that if he did make the call, he might know something that puts him in danger,” Josie said slowly.
“It’s a well-known fact that it’s easier to kill a second time,” Susan said, ignoring the conversation she’d had with Brett just a few hours before.
“I could give him a call, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable about this unless I could explain that I told you—and why,” Josie said. “I wouldn’t want him to be in any danger.”
“If you saw him on the phone, perhaps someone else did, too,” Susan reminded her.
Josie took a deep breath and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Okay, I’ll do it. Where’s your phone?”
“Hanging on the wall in the kitchen. I’ll show you.”
“I can find it,” Josie assured her.
“Do you want me …”
“I’d rather be alone,” answered the self-assured young woman, then started off. Clue leaped up and followed her new friend into the house.
Susan poured herself another glass of wine and sat back to await Josie’s return.
Which took so long that Susan’s first impression was that Josie hadn’t managed to get through to Frankie. “Line busy?”
“Uh, yes, for a while, and then when I got through and I explained who I was and all, he … he asked that I come over to his apartment. He said he wanted to speak with me.” The young woman sat down and scratched Clue behind the ears.
“And?”
“And I told him that I was still here with you—I didn’t explain about the phone c
all or anything else—and he suggested that I talk you into coming along.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. He gave me an address.” Josie held out a piece of paper. “He said it’s an apartment down by the water.”
Susan studied it. “This street isn’t familiar to me unless it’s that little alley down near the place where they sell kayaks. You know, I think that’s it.”
“Then you’ll come with me?”
“I’d love to,” Susan said. “Just let me leave a note for Jed.”
“You can give me the message in person,” Jed announced, opening the gate to the backyard. “Sorry I’m late. I started listening to one of Lou Chandler’s long stories and I didn’t know how to get away politely. Any news about Kath?”
“Nine-pound, thirteen-ounce girl. Why don’t you give Jerry a call? He might be home with Alex by now.”
“Where are you going?”
“Josie and I have an errand to run. It won’t take long. I was going to grill for dinner.”
“I ate two entire bowls of nuts at the club bar. Believe me, I’m not starving. Why don’t I get the grill heated?”
“Wonderful. We’ll be back in half an hour or so.”
“I parked my car behind yours,” Jed began.
“Then we’ll take my truck,” Josie called out, leading the way with Susan trotting close behind.
“Wow. And I thought the Cherokee was a climb to get into,” Susan said, stepping into the bright red vehicle.
“People who drive pickups have a lot of names for those four-wheel-drive yuppie vans,” Josie said, not volunteering to supply more information. “Where do I go?” she asked, starting the engine.
“Turn left at the end of the driveway. We’ll head down to the water. I think I can find this. I just didn’t know anyone lived in that area. I thought it was all commercial.”
“Oh, Frankie said that we shouldn’t be surprised by the entryway. His apartment is at the top of a warehouse of some sort.”
“That makes more sense. Then I think I know where we’re going. Just stay straight on this road and turn when we get to the dry cleaner’s on the left-hand side. That road should take us right to the river.”
Remodeled to Death Page 13