“Then how about pizza?” She was anxious to call the number she had just been given. If she could talk her son into walking around the corner to the Italian takeout that had popped up in the first floor of an old Victorian mansion that summer, she would have the time.
“I had pizza for lunch. But…” He perked up. “How about a large calzone?”
To Josie calzone was just rearranged pizza, but as long as he was happy with that solution… “Sounds good to me. Why don’t you call and place the order?”
“Okay. Diet Coke?”
“Sure. And make sure you get a drink for yourself. I meant to go to the grocery store today, but…”
“I’ll pick up a six-pack there-that way is the cheapest,” Tyler offered.
“Great.”
“And I can go down and place the order, then wait there until it’s ready. That way it won’t have to wait around on the counter and get cold or anything.”
Josie suddenly remembered that the cutest girl on the island was working at the pizza place this summer. “My wallet is in-”
“I’ll take care of it. I still have some money from my allowance. You can pay me back.”
“Fantastic.”
Tyler dashed out the door and bounded down the stairs. Josie waited until the front door slammed behind him before dialing the phone. She was making a local call. It turned out that Dr. Van Ripper was on vacation-less than ten miles north of where Josie was standing right now.
The phone was answered before Josie had decided what to say.
“Hello?”
“Is this Miss… I mean Dr. Van Ripper? This is Josie Pigeon.” The words were out of her mouth before she had considered what announcing her presence might mean.
Happily, the name seemed to mean nothing to the librarian. “Yes?”
“I… You… I need to ask you some questions,” Josie blurted out.
“Miss whatever, why are you calling me? I am no longer a reference librarian. And I am on vacation. Why do you imagine I would want to answer any questions you might ask- even if I could?”
“I… It’s about Courtney Castle.” It was the only answer Josie could come up with-and it seemed to work. At least the phone wasn’t slammed down.
“Courtney Castle? What about her?”
“She’s… Well, I need to ask some questions about her. I’m… doing research.”
“Are you a reporter? Why didn’t you say that up front? Why would you expect me to answer your questions unless you tell me why you’re asking them?”
“Well, I-”
“Are you calling from nearby? From the shore?”
“Yes, I-”
“From the island where Courtney is taping her television show, right?”
“Yes, exactly.” Josie was relieved to be telling the truth at last.
None of this seemed apparent to Dr. Van Ripper. “What do you need? Background information for an article you’re doing?”
“Background information would be a good place to start,” Josie admitted, glancing at the large grandfather clock that held the place of honor in the middle of the room. She sure hoped Tyler took his time getting dinner. She had just remembered how Naomi Van Ripper loved to talk.
“I’ve known Courtney since she was a small child. She was beautiful even then. I remember how her blond hair would glimmer in the light coming through the library windows as she studied at the table in the reference room on Saturday mornings.”
Dr. Van Ripper must have been asked this many times before because Josie recognized a prepared speech when she heard one. And so far, while the image produced might be a publicist’s dream, it was also a lie. Courtney had not been one to spend her weekends in the library. In fact, now that Josie thought about it, she remembered the rumors about how Courtney had bragged about getting the librarians to do her research so that she didn’t have to spend long hours in the library. And her hair had been brown and stringy, not something that had shimmered ethereally in the sunlight. Not that there had been any sunlight. The Carnegie Foundation, which had generously donated the library to the town, had been fond of dark stained-glass windows through which natural light could not penetrate. And the fluorescent bulbs that hung from the reference room’s ceiling turned everything beneath them a sallow hue. But the tale of Courtney Castle’s early life was continuing.
“She was a unique child. Popular with adults as well as her peers. A wonderful student, of course. Although she didn’t take shop or anything like that when she attended our excellent public schools.” An artificial chuckle punctuated this statement. “I’m not surprised that she ended up on television. With her looks and brains, she is a natural. But I have to admit that her interests in the building trade must have developed after she left town.”
“When was that?” Josie leapt in with a question.
“When was what?”
“When did Courtney leave town?”
“Why, just like most young people, she left when she went to college. Not that she just vanished from the scene, mind you. With all her interests, she was a busy young woman, of course. I seem to remember that she did a student service project somewhere in Africa after her freshman year of college. And she took classes at Harvard between her sophomore and junior years. But she is close to her family. She always visits her parents at Christmastime. And frequently joins them for their annual jaunt to the Caribbean in the spring.”
Josie could just imagine her own mother drooling over this dutiful daughter and comparing Courtney with the unwed mother slash carpenter she herself had brought into the world. “And did you always see her during these visits home?”
“Naturally. That’s Courtney for you! She stops in at the library to say hello whenever she is in town. Without fail. That’s what I mean. She is just the most considerate person. She never forgets the people who helped her when she was young. That’s the sign of an unusually fine person, I think. Courtney Castle is a success-well known, wealthy, famous. And she still appreciates her old friends. She’s done quite a bit for our town, you know.”
“No, I didn’t. What?” Josie was relieved that the conversation had moved to more concrete ground. She had almost been expecting Dr. Van Ripper to refer to herself as one of the little people. From what she remembered of this woman, it would be extremely out of character.
“Why, she’s been the speaker at more than one of the high school commencements over the years. She was given the key to the town by the mayor just a few years ago. And she was at the opening ceremony for the new gazebo in the town square-”
“The what?”
“We have a beautiful new Victorian gazebo in the town square. Bands play there on summer evenings. The elementary-school children hold their graduation ceremony there in the spring. Brides for miles around have their pictures taken there.”
“Sounds nice.” Josie was wondering where the town square was located.
“It seems to me that you people are always around when Courtney comes home,” Dr. Van Ripper was continuing.
“My people?” Josie had a moment of wondering about her parents before she realized the librarian was speaking of her imaginary position as a member of the press.
“Yes. You sure love everything Courtney does, don’t you?”
“She does appear to have a very interesting life,” Josie admitted.
“And she’s such fun to be around. I can’t wait until tomorrow to see her.” The librarian was now gushing.
“To see her? Where is she? I mean, where are you going to meet her?” Josie asked.
“Why, on the island. She invited me to the house her company is filming. I cannot wait! So fascinating, don’t you think?”
Josie, in fact, didn’t know what to think.
FOURTEEN
THERE ARE PEOPLE who feel that sleeping on a problem will help to solve it, that the subconscious will take over and answer questions. But it wasn’t true for Josie. When she went to bed with a problem, she found neither solution nor sleep.
Well, houses don’t get remodeled by lying in bed and worrying, Josie thought, stretching her arms over her head and swinging her legs to the floor. If she dressed quickly, there would be time for a bowl of cereal before she left. Grabbing clean but old overalls and a T-shirt from her closet shelf, she headed for the bathroom, running her fingers through her hair as she went.
But she had forgotten one of the realities of a home with a teenage boy living in it: cereal vanishes. Sighing, she considered the other possibilities. A dirty plate in the sink and an empty grease-stained box in the garbage indicated that her son had finished off the calzone as a midnight (or later) snack. A can of Slim-Fast on a shelf remained untouched, as did a package of Rye Krisp, but she was going to have a hard day. She deserved a good breakfast. Dumping a packet of cat food in her son’s cat, Urchin’s, empty bowl, she grabbed her key chain and wallet and headed out the door. Tyler knew where to find her if he needed her. And she knew where to find the best greasy breakfast on the island.
A few minutes later she walked through the door of an institution: Sullivan’s (as the sign she had just strolled under informed anyone who cared to read the small print) had been established in 1927 right after the hurricane the year before had damaged or destroyed most of the buildings on the island. It was the only general store on the island and a lunch counter had been added the next summer. In the early fifties, an addition had been tacked on with room for a row of plastic upholstered booths and a dozen small tables. Not too much had changed since then. In fact, there were rumors that the grease in the deep-fat fryer qualified as original equipment. Few tourists ventured into this part of the store, satisfied to fill their needs for sunscreen on good days and playing cards and gizmos to keep the kids happy when it rained at the front. Glancing at a display of garish beach towels, Josie followed her nose to the source of one of her favorite meals.
“A number four. Over easy,” she said to the young waitress in a turquoise uniform almost before her bottom touched the chair.
“Coffee?” The woman took Josie’s abrupt order in stride.
Jose nodded. “Please. With cream and sugar.”
“Gotcha.”
Josie had barely finished her first mug of coffee when a massive oval plate was put on the paper placemat in front of her. Two fried eggs, yellow with butter, sat in the middle encircled by strips of crispy bacon, links of sausage, and rectangles of golden French toast. A large pitcher of sweet syrup whose antecedents had nothing to do with any tree was plunked down on the table, then the waitress left to satisfy the needs of another noncholesterol-fearing customer. Josie dug in.
She was halfway through the platter when she was joined by a friend.
“Mind if I sit with you?” Basil Tilby stood by her side. A fixture on the island, he was a notorious clotheshorse. Today his lanky frame was decked out as a sailor-not the type actually to travel over the water, more like someone from a Broadway production of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.
“Sure. Why are you here?”
“To eat. Of course.”
Josie was surprised. Basil was a gourmet; this was about the last place she would have expected him to be eating. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Kristina makes one of my favorite breakfasts. I stop by every few weeks.”
Josie couldn’t wait to see what Basil ordered. “Really? How’s the summer going for you?” As another businessperson dependent on the vagaries of seasonal profits, he would understand that her question translated as “How’s business?”
“Great. But not as interesting as yours. What’s going on with Courtney Castle?”
“She’s disappeared.”
“So I hear. Any idea why?”
“No. What have you heard?” While hosting in any of his restaurants, Basil chatted with the clientele and picked up a lot of information.
Basil leaned across the small table and whispered his answer. “That the police believe you killed her.”
“What garbage! No one even knows if she’s dead!” Josie was outraged enough to stop eating for a moment. “Her producer says she does this all the time.” She was aware of the exaggeration, but she was upset and tired.
“All the time? Makes you wonder how they manage to film all those television shows, doesn’t it?”
Josie recognized sarcasm when she heard it, but the arrival of Basil’s meal distracted her. “What is that?”
He looked down at his own large platter with a smile and picked up his fork. “Fried scrapple. Kristina makes her own. Wonderful.” A small pitcher with light amber liquid was placed by his plate. “Real maple syrup,” he explained. “Wouldn’t touch that stuff,” he added, glancing over at Josie’s pitcher.
She ignored his criticism of her taste buds. “What’s scrapple?”
“One of those foods it’s better not to ask about and just enjoy. Want to try some?” Knife raised, he offered a piece to her.
“No, thanks. What did you hear about Courtney?”
“That the Rodney clan believes you killed her and dumped her in the bay, but they’re too cheap to have the water dredged for the body.”
“So what does that mean? They’re going to wait for it to float to the surface?”
“Well, there’s a gruesome thought for this early in the morning.” However, it didn’t seem to stop him from enjoying his breakfast. “What do you think?” he asked, when he stopped to pick up his mug of tea.
Josie noticed that he had brought his own tea bag. Her bitchier self wondered if he had also insisted on using bottled water. “If you mean do I know what happened to Courtney, the answer is no.”
“There’s a rumor going around that you knew her before you came to the island.”
“Sam told you that?” She felt betrayed.
“Sam? No, I haven’t seen Sam since I placed a wine order with him late last week.” Basil stopped eating for a moment and looked up at Josie. “So it’s true, is it?”
“No…” She stopped. What was the point in lying? Basil, like everyone else on the island, would find out sooner or later. Sam knew. Risa knew. The island’s grapevine was working. Soon everyone would have heard the news. She looked at Basil and saw sympathy in his eyes.
“Yes, it’s true, but I don’t want anyone to know, Basil! My past is my past. It’s private and it doesn’t have anything to do with… whatever is going on here. We… we knew each other when we were kids. We weren’t really friends. We didn’t even like each other.” She pushed her platter away even though there was a piece of French toast left on it. “What did you hear? And who told you?”
“Nothing really specific. There was a young man at Café Portofino last night trying to impress his date. I think he might be one of those horrible young police officers Chief Rodney hires-good-looking, of course, but with less brains than your average turnip. Anyway, throughout most of their meal he was bragging loudly about being on the crime scene. Discussing clues and evidence like some sort of Columbo wanna-be. Among the things he said was that the police thought Courtney had been a victim of foul play. And that you and the members of your crew were possible suspects-”
“Members of my crew? Why the hell would any of them kill Courtney? They didn’t know her well enough to hate her!”
“From what this young kid was saying, the police think that you did,” Basil said.
“Well, it’s not true. I didn’t. Kill her, that is.”
“But you admit to knowing her before she came here?”
Basil had lowered his voice and was leaning across the table. Josie glanced around. It didn’t look to her as though anyone was paying undue attention to their conversation. Three men at the closest tabl
e were arguing about a recent fishing trip. A young mother was correcting her small son’s table manners. Another mother was criticizing her teenage daughter’s choice of beach attire. An elderly couple was sharing the local newspaper as they ate breakfast. No one seemed particularly interested in anything the two of them were saying. “Yes. But that was a long time ago. Before Tyler was born. It can’t have anything to do with her… disappearance the other day.”
“I don’t see how you can know that.”
“I haven’t seen her in years and years! I haven’t seen anyone she knows. I didn’t even know that she was doing that damn television show! How could I have anything to do with whatever has happened?”
“Josie, I’m just telling you what I overheard. And I would have even if you hadn’t asked me. Josie, you know what idiots the Rodneys are. It’s almost as though they are genetically programmed to arrest the wrong person. And, in this case, it sounds like the wrong person is you!”
Josie glanced down at her wrist and then up at the clock hanging on the wall.
“You know, doctors do all sorts of implants these days. Maybe you could have something done with a watch.” Josie’s inability to keep watches with her was well known among her friends.
“I’m going to be late for work.”
“You’d better get going. Unless I miss my guess, the Rodneys and their minions are going to be hanging around with questions. And you know how they never believe the answers anyone gives them. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“If the reason they believe everyone is dishonest is that they’re basing their judgments on themselves.”
“Yeah.” Josie tossed all the change from one of her overall pockets on the table and waved to the woman behind the counter. “Thanks. That was great-as usual.”
This Old Murder Page 11