This Old Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  This Old Murder

  Valerie Wolzien

  Just about a decade ago, Valerie Wolzien, who was then a housewife, began composing her first mystery novel on a warped old card table in her basement. All her subsequent whodunits pay implicit tribute to that hard-won apprenticeship: Each of them has the conciseness and seamlessness that only revision can bring. In this engaging home construction drama which has all the excitement of a slippery roof, contractor Josie finds herself twice famous and once accused. After a PBS remodeling series invades her site, Ms. Pigeon fights back intrusive media people. But when the hostess of the show turns up as a bloody corpse, Josie's curses turn into pleas. Straight-edge sleuthing.

  Valerie Wolzien

  This Old Murder

  The fourth book in the Josie Pigeon series, 2000

  ONE

  JOSIE PIGEON EXAMINED her reflection in the dressing room’s mirrors, a frown creasing her freckled face.

  “It looks… You look… uh, lovely… dear.” The slim, young saleswoman seemed to be having a difficult time finding the right words.

  Josie didn’t bother responding. She knew she didn’t look lovely. She never looked lovely. Slightly overweight, with frizzy red hair that she had given up trying to control, she was usually satisfied with perky and thrilled if anyone thought she was cute. “Maybe I should try a smaller size?”

  “It’s not fashionable to wear them tight.”

  “I’m not trying to be fashionable! I’m buying them to work in,” Josie explained. “They’re carpenter’s pants. I’m a carpenter.”

  “A carpenter?”

  “Yes, in fact, I own my own contracting company.” She was bragging, but after three years it still pleased her to say those words.

  The saleswoman was not impressed. “I did think you were a bit old to be a student.”

  “I’m going to be on TV,” Josie stated, trying to gain prestige. “On Courtney Castle’s Castles.”

  “Courtney Castle! She’s wonderful. So pretty and chic. You would never know she’s a carpenter from just looking at her…” Realizing that she was possibly treading on less than popular ground, the saleswoman changed the topic. “And she builds the most wonderful houses! Did you see that log cabin in Minnesota? My husband was watching with me and he said it looked more like a log palace. Of course, that’s why they call them Courtney Castle’s castles, isn’t it?”

  Happily, the woman chatted on and on and Josie wasn’t forced to admit that she had never seen the Courtney Castle show. To tell the truth, watching builders on television wasn’t her idea of a relaxing way to spend an evening. And every time she happened on a show while channel-surfing, there seemed to be a man explaining just how easily the homeowner could do something Josie and her crew were well paid to do. “I’ll take these and another pair, if you’ve got them in my size,” she finally interrupted.

  “Of course, and maybe you could tell that lovely Courtney to come in here if she needs any clothing. I’d be happy to put aside some things for her.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” Josie lied, fumbling around in her purse for the one credit card she possessed that wasn’t maxed out and then handing it to her.

  “Josie Pigeon.” The saleswoman, reading the name on the card, was now gushing. “I’ll be watching for you on television. Wait until I tell my husband I met someone who actually knows Courtney Castle. He’ll be so excited!”

  Josie just took her card back.

  The level of excitement in the office of Island Contracting made the saleswoman seem blasé by comparison.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to meet Courtney Castle. She’s been my idol since I was a little girl!” At nineteen, the speaker was the youngest member of Josie’s crew. To most of her coworkers, Annette Long still was a little girl. Sitting on the floor, legs crossed in a yoga position, blond hair tied in a skinny ponytail snaking between bony shoulder blades, she barely looked old enough to smoke the cigarette she was holding.

  “You know, TV people are real snots. You probably won’t like her at all in person.” Dottie Evans was the oldest member of the crew as well as the most recently hired. In the few weeks she’d been with Island Contracting, no one had heard her say anything positive about anyone. Her graying hair was badly cut, barely covering her ears. Her skin was pale, puffy around the eyes, and the frown that was usually found on her face did nothing to enhance her appearance.

  The third member of the crew spoke up. “I just wish they were filming a different job. I mean, Island Contracting has remodeled some great houses-old Victorians downtown, big modern things on the water, that little chapel we turned into a family home over the winter… Now that job would have interested television viewers. But a 1964 A-frame on the bay-it’s so dull.” As she was speaking, Jill Pike looked around at the birdhouses decorating the shelf that circled the room near the ceiling. Each one represented a remodeling job completed by Island Contracting. Brightly colored cottages covered with gingerbread sat beside modern duplexes, that were next to little Cape Cod boxes, and so on. A frown caused her sunburned nose to crinkle. “It would be nice if we made a really good impression,” she said wistfully.

  “Why? You think someone watching the show will see you working, fall in love with you, and take you away from all this?” From the blush on Jill’s face, it was apparent that Dottie Evans’s comment had hit at least one nerve.

  “I don’t think we should get our hopes up about becoming rich and famous. After all, how many people even watch those building shows?” Josie asked, hoping to change the topic.

  “How many people? Thousands… maybe millions! They’re some of the most popular shows on television! And Courtney Castle’s show is the best! There was an article all about her in Parade magazine just a few months ago. She lives in this fabulous penthouse apartment on the water in Boston. She gutted the whole place-even replaced the windows with huge made-to-order Pellas. It’s fabulous!” Annette waved her hands around to demonstrate the size of the glass as she spoke.

  “Working as a contractor for a television show must pay really well,” Dottie commented sarcastically.

  “Better than working for a contracting company,” Jill agreed somewhat wistfully.

  “No one gets paid anything unless we get going,” Josie reminded her crew. “We’ve got to get three walls down before they can start taping our work.”

  “Do they want us to wear anything special?” Jill asked.

  Josie remembered her new carpenter’s pants. Should she tell her crew about them? Wouldn’t it look a bit odd if they all appeared at work wearing new clothing next Monday? “No one has mentioned anything about it to me” was all she said.

  “Maybe we should all get our hair done,” Dottie suggested, more than a hint of a sneer in her voice.

  “Do you think I should?” Annette asked, taking the suggestion at face value as she grabbed the end of her long ponytail and examined it anxiously for split ends.

  “You look wonderful,” Josie said honestly.

  “Will they bring their own makeup artists and hairdressers? There was an article about the show in Cosmo, and Courtney said she couldn’t do it without her staff.”

  Josie was stunned. “There was an article about a carpenter in Cosmopolitan magazine?”

  “She’s not just any carpenter! She’s a celebrity!” Jill said vehemently.

  “I don’t get it.” Dottie’s flat voice interrupted them. “If this Courtney Castle wants to use our remodeling job on her television show, doesn’t she want us to wait for her arrival to start work? Or, with that big apartment and her hairdressers and makeup artists, is she too prissy to do the down-and-dirty demolition?”

  “They have to condense weeks of work into a half-dozen shows, so they want
the demolition done before they arrive,” Josie said.

  “Guess they figure any idiot with a sledgehammer knows how to smash the hell out of a wall,” Dottie said.

  “The trick is to keep the ceiling standing at the same time,” Josie said. “So we’d better get going. The shoring up is going to take some extra time.”

  “Someone has to stop at the hardware store and get those metal braces we ordered last week,” Jill reminded them.

  Josie smiled. Betty Patrick, an old friend and previously the right-hand woman at Island Contracting, had left in the spring to get married, but Jill Pike seemed to be filling her shoes (or work boots, as was the case) nicely. “Why don’t you take the Jeep and pick up that stuff? The rest of us can go together in the truck,” Josie suggested, grabbing her toolbox- the signal that the work day had begun.

  The women got busy. It wasn’t eight yet, but the sun was strong and the day promised to be warm. Along with tool-boxes and rolls of blueprints, two large thermoses of iced tea were tossed in the back of the 1969 Chevy truck, the pride, joy, and money pit of Island Contracting.

  The house that was being remodeled was on the bay side of the seven-mile barrier island where Island Contracting was located. Built nearly forty years earlier on speculation by a man who had gone bankrupt waiting for an economic surge that had occurred one year too late, the house was the only one of the dozen original homes that had not been extensively remodeled during the building booms of the early seventies and late eighties, when families had discovered the joys of owning a second home where a boat or two could be docked.

  The women chatted as they traveled and Josie was left to wonder-for the millionth time-whether or not she should have accepted the opportunity to appear on television.

  The offer had been made a few weeks earlier via a message left on Island Contracting’s answering machine from the show’s producer, Bobby Valentine. That was how he referred to himself. “Bobby Valentine here,” he had answered his phone. Josie, working on the assumption that each and every call to Island Contracting’s office might be a potential client, had, initially, called back immediately. Bobby Valentine had a proposition-that’s how he put it after a few minutes of flattery.

  “We’ve heard about Island Contracting. You hire only women. Right?” Before Josie could explain that while there were only women on her crew, it wasn’t really a company hiring policy, Bobby Valentine continued. Josie later learned that although he asked many questions, he usually didn’t wait for any answers. “Make a great bit on the show, it will. Courtney loves to do something different, you know?”

  “I-” This was before Josie had learned not to bother trying to answer.

  “Yeah, I can see it now. Women crawling around on beams with the sun shining off their muscular biceps-that image makes a statement. Women can do anything men can do, right?”

  “Certainly, and-”

  “Maybe a short segment on what you women eat for lunch. You know, whether it’s best to bulk up on carbs or if natural foods give you the most energy. Maybe we could even include your favorite recipes. Sort of a combination cooking and remodeling show. What do you think?”

  She didn’t think much of the idea, but since he didn’t give her the opportunity to answer, he was never to know this.

  “Yeah, we could emphasize the healthy lifestyle that you women live. Working outdoors, getting lots of exercise. Maybe include a segment on stretching. How you all prepare to do the backbreaking labor you do without… ah, without breaking your backs. How about that?”

  She had no idea how to respond this time.

  “We can work out the details later. So what do you think? Have we a great idea or what?”

  It took Josie a few minutes to realize that it was time for her to speak up. “You… you want to hire us to be in a movie?”

  “No movie. No way! Think video, not film. Think cable, not theaters. We’re asking you to be on Courtney Castle’s Castles. Turn your home into your castle. You know. On television.”

  “Oh, well-”

  “We don’t pay you, you know. But the publicity is priceless. Courtney’s name is a household word. You’d be really happy if that could be said about Josie Pigeon and Island Construction, wouldn’t you?”

  “ Island Contracting,” Josie corrected him faintly. She had no idea what to make of this unusual offer.

  “We understand you ladies are going to be starting work on an old A-frame down on the bay. The job’s unusual and would fit right into our shooting schedule. How about it? I need an answer ASAP. You know how it is. I promise you we won’t get in your way. If anything, the job will go faster. You’ll have our crew to help out. What do you think? Can we make a deal?”

  That had been three weeks ago, and to this day Josie had absolutely no idea why she had said yes so quickly. In fact, every day since then she had wondered why she had said yes at all, every single day, right after Bobby Valentine’s daily phone call.

  It didn’t take long for Josie to begin expecting those calls. Generally they came around noon; always they contained a bit of information and a lot of lunacy. Bobby Valentine, as he had told her himself, was full of ideas. She just wished that he would keep them to himself and that they wouldn’t have anything to do with her or with her company. About half of his ideas were easy to turn down. After all, Courtney Castle wasn’t paying for the renovation. The owners of the house were. And Josie was able to contact them through a New York City law firm. A series of faxes had gotten all the legalities out of the way. The owners agreed that the job could be taped and shown on TV. All they asked was that they not be disturbed. They were considering selling the house. That it would be on television for all the world to see was a big plus as far as they were concerned. So that part had been easy. Dealing with Bobby Valentine was proving not to be.

  So far, she had agreed to be interviewed in her wonderful little office, which overhung the water, on the Friday before filming began, to pose walking up the beach as the sun was rising, (actually, Bobby Valentine had wanted a shot as the sun was setting, but when Josie explained it was difficult to arrange on the East Coast, he had changed his shooting schedule), and to sit with her entire staff and talk over the plans. She had refused to be interviewed in her home. She knew that anyone who saw the mess in her apartment would be unlikely to hire her or her company. She had refused to allow her son to be interviewed-in fact, she had insisted that Tyler not be asked about it, as she was pretty sure he would be thrilled to get his sixteen-year-old face on the boob tube. She had refused to answer questions about her relationship with a man Bobby referred to as a hotshot lawyer from New York City before she even asked how he knew about Sam Richardson. When she woke up in the middle of the night, worried that she had made a terrible mistake agreeing to do it at all, she wondered why a producer from what her crew claimed was a popular television show was so interested in her life.

  And now, as she turned the last corner to the house, it was time to get some answers. And the first question she was going to ask was: What the hell is going on here?

  TWO

  "DON’T YOU REMEMBER? I’m absolutely positive I told you I was bringing some people by this week to start taping.”

  But that wasn’t the answer to the first question Josie had asked. The first question out of her mouth had been “Where is Bobby Valentine?” She asked a half-dozen people and she got six different answers. Bobby Valentine was “out back.” Bobby Valentine was “inside.” Bobby Valentine was “in the van.” Bobby Valentine was “in the truck.” Bobby Valentine was “in the living room.” Or, possibly, Bobby Valentine was “off site for the morning.” He might have been in all those places at one time, but right now he was by her side.

  “Josie Pigeon, right?”

  She turned and looked at the man standing beside her. “You’re Bobby Valentine?”

  “In the flesh. Don’t I look the way you imagined?”

  Josie didn’t answer. She hadn’t, in fact, imagined Bobby Valentine
at all. But if she had, she had dressed him in more urbane clothing-the type of sports jacket and slacks that Sam wore in his store or possibly an Armani pinstripe. But Bobby Valentine was wearing pressed jeans and a shirt made of smooth white Egyptian cotton. Pigskin loafers covered sockless feet and a gold Rolex hung on his tanned wrist. He resembled one of the Wall Street moguls who vacationed on the island.

  “What do you think? I bought this shirt just for the shoot.” He pointed to his breast pocket.

  Josie looked more closely. There was a tiny gray hammer embroidered on the silky fabric.

  “I thought about a whale, of course, to stay with the sea-shore motif, but when I saw this thing, I couldn’t resist. Courtney will love it.”

  “It’s very nice,” Josie said, moving aside to avoid being run over by a young man carrying a huge round metal frame with shiny white fabric stretched across it.

  “Hey, you! Watch out for that reflector! Hold it at your side.”

  With a quick word of apology for bumping Josie’s arm, the worker moved quickly out of range of Bobby Valentine’s voice. “These damn interns. They come to us for the summer. By the time they know how to do their job, they’re back snug in their dorm rooms at Princeton or Amherst or wherever. Sometimes I think they’re worth less than what we pay them.”

  “What do you pay them?” Josie asked, glad the subject was no longer Bobby Valentine’s clothing.

  “Nothing. Zip. Nada.”

  Josie glanced back over her shoulder at the young worker, who had put down his burden and was now edging a massive black box off the lift at the back of a large truck. The strain caused his muscles to tighten beneath the Cornell T-shirt he wore. “He isn’t on salary?”

  “Nope. He gets college credit for doing all this. Pretty neat system, huh?”

  “It sure is,” Josie answered, wondering if it could be implemented in the building industry.