This Old Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “Damn idiot. How the hell does he expect me to move? Maybe I’m supposed to run right over the cars in front of me?” Annoyed, she reached out for her coffee and succeeded in spilling it over the sweatshirt. “Damn!” At least it hadn’t splashed on her new carpenter’s pants. As she raised the mug to her lips, a hand jogging her arm through the window did just that. “What the-?”

  “Hey, I’m trying to help you, Miss Pigeon. Thought you might want to get to work.”

  Josie looked up from her wet clothing into the eyes of the police chief. “How can I…” she started her question and then realized she was being ungrateful, stupid and ungrateful. The way had been cleared for her truck to move around the block and out of what seemed to be a continuous line of stopped cars.

  “You can go right around there and then Mike will lead you through the traffic up to your work site. We don’t want Courtney Castle to think you’re going to make a habit of being late for work.”

  “Courtney-”

  “Hey, lady, we cleared people out of the way. Are you going to sit there and sulk about your dirty clothes or get going?”

  She got going. With any luck, she’d still beat Courtney and Courtney’s crew. But when she drove up to the house, she realized she was wrong. There were, if possible, even more trucks and vans in front of the house than before. Courtney, wearing worn overalls that were tight in places most overalls didn’t even skim, a bright red T-shirt bearing its allegiance to Yale across the chest, immaculate Donna Karan sneakers, a red bandanna around her neck, and a bright red barrette in her thick, shimmering hair, was leaning against the Dumpster she had been so upset about the day before, munching on a rice cracker.

  Josie got out of her truck and forced a smile onto her face. “Hi.”

  “You’re late.” Courtney didn’t bother to raise her eyes higher than the stains on Josie’s carpenter’s pants.

  “There was a traffic jam.” Josie looked around. “I guess you know that. You are the traffic jam.”

  “We’ve been here since five. Been taping since six A.M. It doesn’t take very long for word to get out and for crowds to appear. Bobby told the cops that we would need all-day protection, but I guess they assumed we worked a nine-tofive schedule or something.” The stains were still fascinating Courtney.

  Josie was acutely aware of the crowd milling around. Of the many things she wanted to say to this woman, none of them were for public consumption. She swallowed. “I don’t understand. I thought the show was about this house, about the job we’re doing on it. How could you get started without us?”

  Courtney’s eyes raised to Josie’s face and then drifted off to a space just above her left shoulder.

  Bobby Valentine filled the silence. “We have lots of standups to get on tape. Cutaway shots, things like that.”

  “You’re not needed for any of that,” Courtney stated, popping the last of her cracker in her mouth and wiping imaginary crumbs off her hands.

  “And I’ve had our intern interviewing members of your crew. We need background information. Something for Courtney to say as she introduces everyone. You know, a little snippet about their pasts, how they became carpenters, how they ended up working for Island Contracting.”

  “You put that information on television?” Josie asked, looking around.

  “Yes. Our audience loves that sort of stuff.”

  “But I thought this show was about the remodeling job. What does the background of my workers have to do with anything?”

  “Hey, you’re gonna be amazed! Some of these women will get fan letters. Hell, Courtney gets at least a half-dozen marriage proposals a year.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Dottie said, joining them. “She’s what every man wants-blond, sexy, and capable of fixing anything that goes wrong around the house.”

  “I’ll bet that young woman with the great body-Jill, I think she said her name was-will be getting fan mail,” Bobby Valentine continued. “She sure fills out a T-shirt nicely.”

  Josie saw a frown forming on Courtney’s face. If she had to make a prediction, she’d guess that Jill was going to be receiving limited airtime. “She’s a good carpenter. That’s all I care about. Speaking of which, we’d better get to work.”

  “We’re ready for you at the back of the house.” Courtney started in that direction as she spoke.

  “What? I was… We were…”

  “Our cameraman is set up at the end of the dock.”

  Josie was confused. “The show starts out there? I thought-”

  “No. We just want to get a few cover shots while the sun is shining on the bay.”

  Josie looked down at her pants. “I don’t suppose I have time to go home and change?”

  Courtney laughed. “Not only don’t you have time to change, you need to keep those clothes around in case we want shots on either side of this one to match.”

  “You mean everyone has to spend the entire series in the clothing they’re wearing today?”

  “Nope. But you do need to be wearing one thing in each show. We don’t want to be cutting back and forth between shots and discover some sort of fashion show going on. And if you’re going to be changing your clothing, you’ll have to help us out and remember what you’re wearing when. We don’t have a continuity person on the show. This is public television, remember, not Warner Brothers.”

  “But I haven’t even started working and I’m filthy,” Josie protested, looking down at the coffee stains.

  “You’re a carpenter. You’re not supposed to be immaculate. I’m going to check my face and I’ll be back in a few minutes, ” Courtney announced, then turned and headed toward the large trailer Josie had visited yesterday.

  “Remember, Courtney wears work clothes, too,” Bobby Valentine said aloud. But Courtney’s work clothes had been translated into a fashion statement by the likes of Ralph Lauren. She also wore tons of makeup and had recently had her blond hair done. “So let’s get started.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Courtney?”

  “Nope. We don’t need her for this.”

  Josie hurried after him. “I don’t understand. I thought this was an interview. You know, that she was going to ask me questions and I’d answer them, and so on.”

  “We already taped her questions. Now we’ll tape your answers.”

  “But how will I know what to say?”

  Bobby Valentine chuckled. “I’ll ask you questions, the same questions we taped Courtney asking. And we’ll tape your answers. It’s the only way we can do this type of thing without multiple cameras. This is public broadcasting, you know, not Turner Broadcasting.”

  “What if I make a mistake? You know, stutter or say something stupid?”

  “We’re not live. Everything will be edited. And no one wants you to look anything but your best.”

  Josie wasn’t so sure of that, but she figured she had to trust someone.

  “And this isn’t a quiz, remember. I’m just going to ask you a bit about your background. The same type of things we’re asking the rest of the crew.”

  “Shouldn’t I have on makeup?”

  “Not unless you’re planning on wearing it while working during the rest of the project. You might want to run a comb through your hair though.”

  She started to search her pockets.

  “Use mine,” he offered, handing her an elegant tortoise-shell model.

  “Thanks.” She scraped it across her unruly curls. “What do you think?”

  He looked at her doubtfully. “Better, I guess. But don’t worry. Our viewers will probably assume it’s windy on the dock.”

  They circled the house, walking around planks of wood. Josie noticed everyone on her crew hard at work, except for Annette, who was talking with the show’s intern as she rather lackadaisically sorted through a delivery from the lumberyard. They made a cute couple, Josie thought, jumping up onto the dock. The cameraman was waiting for them. He pointed to where he wanted her to sit, and after a bit of rearrangi
ng her clothing and another ineffectual combing of her hair, the interview began.

  Bobby Valentine read from a sheet of paper.

  “Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

  The question took Josie by surprise. “Ah, not on the island. I was raised in… in the suburbs.”

  There was a moment or two of silence. Then Bobby Valentine spoke up. “Cut. You can tell us a bit more about yourself. You know, not just the suburbs but the suburbs of what city, in what state. You know the type of thing. Give our viewers something to relate to. Now let’s start again.

  “Take two. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

  “I grew up in the suburbs, Bobby-”

  “Cut!”

  “Why? Do I have to name a place? I… Oh, sorry.”

  “Take three. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”

  “I was raised in the suburbs, Courtney. Like a lot of women, I had no idea how to use tools. And I didn’t expect to need to. I took home economics in high school, not shop.”

  Bobby Valentine’s eyes narrowed, but he asked the next question on his list. “How did you come to live here on this island?”

  “I was lucky. I was looking for a place to live, a community where I could raise my son and earn a living, and I remembered this place. I had…” Here she stumbled at bit. “I had been on the island when I was a kid. I came back here just to look around. And I stayed.” She smiled, realizing what a sanitized version she was presenting of her life. No mention of dropping out of college pregnant, no mention of the irreparable rift with her parents. But also no mention of someone who needed recognition, who needed mentioning. “I was very lucky to meet up with Noel Roberts when I got here,” she added quickly.

  Bobby Valentine looked startled, but he picked up on her cue. “Noel Roberts?” he repeated the name as a question.

  “Noel was the owner, the creator actually, of Island Contracting. He trained me as a carpenter, and when he died, I inherited the company from him-”

  “Cut!”

  Josie was startled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you just tell all our viewers that this man, this Noel Roberts, was your lover?”

  “No, I told you. He was my friend.”

  “He left you a company out of friendship?” Bobby Valentine asked.

  “Some friend,” the cameraman muttered, fussing with his lens.

  “Yes. He did. And he deserves credit for creating the company. Why did you stop the camera?”

  “Thought we needed to chat for a minute. Let’s get going.”

  Josie nodded. The cameraman looked through his viewfinder. Bobby Valentine asked another question. “How long have you owned Island Contracting?”

  That one was easy. “Over three years.”

  “Do you happen to know how many remodeling projects you’ve been involved in during that time?”

  Josie frowned before remembering that making faces on camera wasn’t particularly appealing. “Heavens, I don’t know. At least five houses, maybe more. And we’ve done other projects as well. Small carpentry jobs like building shelves over at the island’s hardware store and putting in skylights for one of the realtors on Ocean Avenue. We built the Christmas display that is set up on the island every year. And we do some nautical things-we’ve worked on docks just like this one.” She smacked the rail for emphasis and was startled when the wood cracked and a piece fell into the water. “Not this one, of course. The docks we’ve rebuilt don’t fall apart.”

  “ Island Contracting’s location is unique, but there’s something even more interesting about your company. I understand you hire only women workers. Why is that?”

  “That’s not exactly true. I mean, it’s not a company policy. It just happens to work out like that.” She stopped. The questions were getting closer to things she didn’t want to discuss. “ Island Contracting, in Noel’s time, did try to hire people who needed a second chance in life.” She paused again. “A lot of them happened to be women. And,” she added, becoming enthusiastic as she realized they had segued to a safe topic, “you have to remember how much things have changed since Island Contracting was created. Women began training in the trades in the late sixties and early seventies, but even now there are companies that go out of their way to only hire men. For some women, a place like Island Contracting is a miracle as well as the only opportunity they’ve been offered to use their skills professionally.

  “You know, Bobby, there are government-sponsored programs to get women off welfare and into the workforce. And some of those programs have only recently discovered that people in the trades-electricians, plumbers, carpenters, rockers, and others-are in an ideal position to change their lives. We pay living wages and sometimes can adjust the work hours to accommodate women who are raising small children and- Oh!” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I called you Bobby. I forgot.”

  “Don’t worry. Your answer was too long. And Courtney has included information about those programs in two of her show introductions. We’ll just edit that out.

  “Now, let’s see.” He looked down at his list. “Where did you learn your trade? Did you go to school?”

  Josie remembered Courtney’s Ivy League T-shirt and sighed. “Actually, I… ah, didn’t finish college. And I learned my job right here. At Island Contracting.” At least she didn’t have to admit to only completing one semester of college. But between the coffee stain and some judicious editing on the part of Courtney’s staff, she was fairly sure she’d come off looking stupid as well as sloppy. Why, she wondered as Bobby Valentine asked the next question calling for a revealing answer, had she agreed to be a part of Courtney Castle’s Castles?

  SEVEN

  AS THE FIRST day of shooting Courtney Castle’s Castles continued, the crowds, discouraged by police efforts to keep anyone from seeing anything interesting, dispersed and returned to the sand and surf. Josie and her crew weren’t lucky enough to have that option.

  After the interview was over, Josie hurried back to work. They were going to frame in the extension at the back of the house before opening that wall to the outside. The same thing would be done in the front, and then, when the interior walls had been removed and if the good weather held, the upward expansion would begin. The entire project was scheduled to take six weeks. Each week Courtney and/or her crew would be on hand for at least two days of taping. The end result was to be a completely remodeled house and one fund-raising television series.

  Her crew had begun marking out the new foundation. Here on the bay, the only foundation possible was of pilings pounded into the ground by the same company that did underwater work for docks and bridges. It was a unique process, and the show was interested in taping this part of the construction.

  And Josie was interested in moving beyond the interview stage.

  Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who felt this way. As soon as the television crew was out of hearing range, the complaints began.

  “God, why do they want to know so many personal things about us?” Jill said, pulling her T-shirt away from her body. The sun was bright and the women were sweating as they worked.

  “Nosy parkers,” Dottie muttered.

  Josie raised her eyebrows. That seemed like an awfully subdued reaction from the person she had expected to find the most upset. “They did ask some awfully personal questions,” she commented.

  “At least the producer interviewed you. We got stuck with that kid intern. He asked me where I grew up, when I decided to be a carpenter, how I learned my trade, what led me to Island Contracting. I wanted to tell that young punk that he could just mind his own business!” Jill said angrily.

  “I think he’s cute.” Annette spoke up. “We ran into each other last night at that pizza place on the boardwalk and had dinner together.”

  “That kid wearing the Cornell T-shirt? Are you nuts? He’s the product of some prep school in a wealt
hy suburb. His parents have so much money, he doesn’t even have to get one of those easy summer jobs that most kids have. He’s an intern. An intern!” Dottie made the term sound like something awful. “And just in case you’re getting any ideas, I can tell you that he’s not going to be interested in a carpenter. Those Ivy League types are only slumming when they’re being nice to the likes of us.”

  Annette put down the plumb line she was using and looked straight at Dottie. “What about Josie and Sam? He’s a lawyer and she’s just a carpenter…” She glanced over at Josie.

  “I don’t think of myself as ‘just a carpenter.’ And Sam doesn’t either,” Josie said. “And if you like this guy, go for it.”

  Annette’s face broke into a large smile. “He asked me to go out with him tonight. I said I didn’t know what time we’d be finished work-”

  “We’ll be done in time for you to see him. Why don’t you go tell him it’s a date? And if you need an excuse to be out front, get the thermos of coffee and the bakery box from the front seat of my truck. We may as well take a coffee break now.”

  Annette bounced off happily.

  “You and Sam are an exception,” Dottie stated flatly. “And you probably know it. How many college-educated men have you dated since you entered the trades?”

  “Not many-not that I’ve dated all that much. But Annette is young and it’s nice to be young and think all things are possible.”

  “You’re right,” Jill agreed, nodding. “Let Annette keep that feeling for as long as she can- Why are you back so soon?” she asked as Annette reappeared. “And where’s the food Josie told you to bring?”

  “I ran into Chad -that’s his name, Chad Henshaw-and he told me there’s food set up on a table in the driveway.”

  “Yeah, I saw the truck delivering it,” Dottie said. “They hauled out all sorts of goodies. But it’s for the TV people, not for the likes of us.”