This Old Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  “When?” Josie asked, surprised when Jill didn’t continue.

  “That morning. The morning she interviewed you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. In fact, I think I may have been the last person to see her alive.”

  “Well, not the last person,” Josie said. “The last person to see her alive was her killer.”

  “The person she said she had to meet,” Jill said.

  “Sounds like it to me,” Josie agreed, wondering just who that person could have been.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  JOSIE SLAMMED HER hammer against the two-by-four, wedging it into place. They’d been working for two hours without a break. It was hot, her arms and shoulders ached, and sweat was pouring down her forehead. She smacked the board one more time, and with a loud crack, the last piece fell into place. The women sighed and then laughed a bit.

  “Time for lunch.” Josie pulled a filthy bandanna from her pocket and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “There’s a giant thermos of iced tea in the back of the truck. Anybody want to run to the deli?”

  Fifteen minutes later four very tired women were sitting on the dock, large sandwiches on their laps, passing around a giant bag of Chee•tos. There was a gentle breeze off the water, and Josie, busy consuming her year’s allowance of fat in one sitting, took a break, leaned against the silvery wooden rail, and closed her eyes. She’d been up early and then worked hard all morning.

  “The world is your oyster, but you’ll never crack it lying on a mattress.”

  The words were spoken in a shrill, familiar voice. Josie reached into her past and identified it. Naomi Van Ripper. Josie opened her eyes and looked right into the stern face of the librarian. “We’re on our lunch break,” she said, and then regretted the explanation. She didn’t have to justify her actions-or those of her crew-to anybody.

  “Then you are free to speak with me.” It wasn’t a question.

  Josie sighed. No reason to be rude. “I suppose.”

  “Privately.”

  Josie stood up and stretched. “Okay. But I’ll have to eat at the same time.”

  Dr. Van Ripper looked down at the food in her lap, and for a horrible moment Josie was afraid politeness was going to force her to offer to share. “Not exactly a healthy repast, is it? Very high-calorie.”

  “I burn a lot of calories,” Josie said, standing up for herself. “If you want to speak privately, maybe we’d better go back to the house.”

  “It will be filthy, but I suppose that can’t be helped.”

  “Remodeling is dirty work.” Josie led the way up the path. She walked briskly and was maliciously pleased to hear Naomi Van Ripper panting with the effort of keeping up.

  But once they were inside, the librarian reasserted her dominance. “What is that thing?” she asked, pointing to the well-wrapped sculpture still sitting by the fireplace.

  “It’s art. The owners asked us to be especially careful with it.”

  “Oh. Is it sturdy?”

  “It’s made from steel… What are you doing?”

  “Sitting down. If it’s made of steel, it certainly won’t be damaged by my weight.”

  Josie wasn’t inclined to argue. “I hope not.” She leaned back against a pile of Sheetrock and pulled her sandwich from its greasy wrapping. “Why are you here?”

  “I thought I had explained. I need to speak with you.”

  Josie took a big bite of her sandwich. A large ruffle of ham fell from her mouth and into her lap. She reached down, dusted it off, and popped it in her mouth.

  Naomi grimaced.

  Josie took another bite and reminded herself that anger would accomplish nothing. She chewed and waited for the other woman to speak.

  “I had an interesting conversation with Courtney.”

  “When?”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “I’m just… you know, curious.”

  “I don’t know. A few days ago. Apparently what she said is true, otherwise you would know all about it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Josie admitted. “What did Courtney say about me… that you think may be true.”

  “She said you maintain absolutely no contact with your family. Disgraceful.”

  Josie had opened her mouth to answer before the final, condemning word. But when she opened it again, she found she had no idea what to say. It had been years since she had thought much about her family. Because she had trained, carefully trained, herself not to. “You don’t know anything about it. They chose not to have contact with me.” She knew she sounded like a stubborn child, inarticulate and angry.

  “Why, I happen to know a lot about it. I speak with your mother at least once a week and I frequently see your father at the hospital.”

  Josie noted that some things didn’t change. Apparently her mother still visited the library for a weekly pile of books. That didn’t surprise her any more than her father’s dedication to his job as hospital administrator did. She had assumed that their lives had gone on without her, but the reality of that fact was surprisingly painful. “They complain about me?” she asked, suddenly unable to eat another bite.

  “No, they’re more dignified than that. But everyone in town knows how much you hurt them.”

  “I hurt them! What about how they hurt me?” She was shocked into saying more than she planned. “I needed them! I was desperate! I can understand their shock, but to abandon me and my son-their grandson-like they did! How dare they claim to be the ones who were hurt? How dare they?”

  “That’s not-”

  “I never talk about them,” Josie continued. “You just ask my son. I have never, no matter how much they hurt me, I have never, ever, ever said anything against them. They left me stranded with no money, no insurance, no nothing. But I created a life for myself and I brought up Tyler alone. And I’ve been a good mother and he’s a good kid. And you can ask every single person I know-you can ask my son. I have never, ever complained or criticized my family. Ever. Never.”

  “I don’t believe I accused you of that particular failing.”

  “You said everyone in town knew that I hurt my parents!”

  “Not this town. Your hometown. The town you grew up in.”

  Josie heard a bit of compassion in Naomi Van Ripper’s voice, but she heard the words also. “So my parents have been complaining about me? Telling everyone they meet that their daughter is a dreadful person?”

  “No. I doubt if they have said more about you than you claim to have said about them.”

  “So you’re just assuming I hurt them! What do they do? Wander around with pitiful expressions on their well-groomed faces? Did my father rip the Father’s Day poster I made him in fifth grade off his office wall? Are they ashamed of me and my life?” Josie realized that she was going to begin crying if this conversation went on much longer.

  “Josie, I believe you misunderstand the situation. If your father doesn’t have your poster on his office wall, it’s because he doesn’t have an office. He was forced to retire many years ago. Fifteen or sixteen. Right after you left college.”

  Josie was stunned. He had barely been in his fifties then. Her workaholic father retired early? “I don’t understand. Why did he retire? He was so young and he loved his job.”

  It was Naomi Van Ripper’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “I don’t know what? What are you talking about?”

  “Your father had a stroke. Right after you vanished. At least, that’s what we thought when we pieced the story together later.”

  But Josie was focusing on the original statement. “My father had a stroke? Was it serious?”

  “Very. He was in the hospital for months and then in a rehabilitation facility for almost a year. He speaks now and can use his upper body, but he can’t walk.”

  “He’s paralyzed? He stays in bed?”

  “Heavens, no. He uses one of those scooters and gets around just fin
e.”

  “But… but he can’t work like that. And golf. He can’t play golf or tennis, can he?” When her father wasn’t working, he could usually be found playing one of those two games at the country club.

  “No, he can’t. It’s been quite a change for him, but your father is a strong man and he has managed just fine-to all outward appearances, that is.”

  Josie knew what that meant. Brought up in a family where “No one wants to hear what’s wrong with you” was a constant theme, and “Keeping yourself to yourself ” was considered a virtue, outsiders wouldn’t have any way of knowing to what extent her father was suffering. “When did it happen?”

  “The stroke?”

  “Yes, the stroke.”

  “Years ago. I told you.”

  “But when? Exactly.”

  “Three days before Christmas your freshman year of college-your only year of college apparently.”

  Josie didn’t even hear the second half of the statement. “Are you sure? I mean about the day. Exactly. Are you sure it was three days before Christmas? Not a day later?”

  Dr. Van Ripper took being accurate very seriously. “Let me think about it. As I recall, you were due home the day before Christmas Eve.”

  “I was, but how did you know that?”

  “Your mother was in the library the week before trying to find a recipe for some sort of cookie you liked. I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was something made with peppermint. She said she had never made them.”

  Josie slowly nodded her head. “They were made from pink and white dough, twisted together and shaped like little candy canes. Our next-door neighbor used to bake them for Christmas when I was a kid, but then she moved to Florida. My mother always said they were just too much trouble to make.” She looked at the librarian. “Are you sure she was going to make them? For me?”

  “That’s what she was planning. To surprise you, she said.”

  “It would have amazed me,” Josie admitted. “But about the stroke. Are you sure it happened the day before I was to come home?”

  “Yes. I was one of the last people to see your father that day. It was snowy and I took a longer than usual lunch hour to pick up a few last-minute gifts. I should have walked-you should always walk when you can, of course-but I was hoping to find a large stockpot for my sister-in-law and I didn’t want to have to lug it halfway across town on foot, so I ended up driving around downtown looking for a place to park. I had just about given up when I saw your father get into that big black Mercedes he always drove. Funny how you remember things when tragedy strikes, isn’t it? Later that night, when I heard the news, all I could think of was how healthy and happy he had looked, tossing the wrapped gifts he was carrying into the passenger seat and waving for me to take his spot when he left. I called out a greeting, of course, and he replied, saying something about how it would be a good Christmas because you would be home.” She nodded to herself. “He looked wonderful. Who would have known?”

  “He said that? That it would be a good Christmas because I would be coming home?”

  “Yes, I think his exact words were that you would be home tomorrow. So, you see, that was the day he had the stroke. Is the date very important?”

  “Yes. To me, it’s very important.” She thought for a moment before continuing. “He almost died. That’s what you said, that he almost died.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Van Ripper paused for a moment, then added meaningfully, “And no one from town ever saw you again.”

  “I…” There was just too much for Josie to assimilate. Everything she had thought, every hurt, every angry moment, had been, apparently, based on an untruth, a misunderstanding. She had no idea what to think. “I don’t know what to say. You… You and everyone in town… You don’t understand what happened. How… this all got started.” She looked around at the torn-apart house. The life she lived now, the life she had created for herself, was, if she could believe this woman, based on a misunderstanding.

  Dr. Van Ripper was staring at her and Josie realized she should say something. She grasped at the only topic that didn’t seem to matter very much at the moment. “You mentioned Courtney. What does she have to do with this?”

  “It was Courtney who told me that you still have no contact with your family.”

  Josie tried to focus on the topic at hand. “I don’t think she and I spoke about that.”

  “Perhaps not, but she has spoken with your family.”

  “When? Recently?”

  “My dear, just because you chose not to keep in touch…” She didn’t end the sentence.

  “You mean other people did.”

  “Others, yes, and Courtney was prominent among them.”

  “You did say that she always came to the library to visit when she was in town, but I’m sure she didn’t visit my parents the same way. Of course, her mother and my mother are probably still close.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they are. I don’t want to upset you more, but there are people in town who are of the opinion that Courtney has become something of a substitute daughter.”

  “For my parents?” Josie realized she sounded stricken. It was almost as though she had discovered she actually did have a family only to have it taken away from her once again.

  “Yes. Things have been difficult for them, of course. And since you chose not to be around-for whatever reason- they have come to depend on Courtney more and more.”

  “Is that what they say?” Josie asked. Something didn’t sound right here. Unless things had changed dramatically, her parents weren’t likely to be complaining about their lives-or their daughter’s choices. Of course, she realized, things had changed dramatically. A lot had happened. She had changed. Why wouldn’t they have done so also?

  She remembered the last time she had spoken with her mother. She’d called right before leaving school, thinking that the announcement of her pregnancy would be easier on the phone, that they could use the night to get over the shock and then the three of them could sit down and talk it through once she arrived home. Looking back, she knew it had been a cowardly thing to do, but she had been young, scared, and, she had to admit, stupid.

  Her mother’s response to the news she had blurted out abruptly had been straightforward-or so she thought at the time. She had said nothing. After a few minutes of silence on the other end of the line, Josie had asked to talk to her father.

  Her mother had finally spoken. “I’m sorry, dear, but under the circumstances, your father will not-cannot-speak with you. I’m very sorry, dear, but you’re going to have to… take care of… yourself by yourself. Your father… I… Your father and I have a lot on our plates just now-”

  Josie had hung up without listening to more. That was the last time she’d spoken with either of her parents. Over the years she had replayed the conversation again and again. She had wondered about each and every word of rejection. It had never occurred to her that the circumstances her mother was referring to were something that had happened at home, not her pregnancy.

  “Josie, you’re becoming a bit absentminded, dear. It’s not an attractive trait.”

  It was true. She was getting absentminded. She needed to find out more about Courtney. She needed to ask questions this woman might be able to answer. She took a deep breath and opened her sandwich again. She would think, worry, mourn her relationship with her parents later. Right now she had to find out who killed Courtney Castle before her murder damaged the life Josie had-whether prompted by necessity or a foolish misunderstanding-worked so hard to create.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  "SO DID COURTNEY visit my parents the way she visited you at the library?” Josie asked.

  “That’s a dreadfully imprecise question. Are you asking if she visited as frequently or, possibly, whether or not she talked as intimately to them as she does to me?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Naturally, there’s no way I can compare my visits with those Courtney paid to your parents, but I believ
e she saw them frequently.”

  “And they talked about me.”

  “I don’t know that.”

  “You said Courtney told you I didn’t have any contact with my family,” Josie reminded her.

  “Yes, that was recently, when she and I spoke here on the island. At home, I quite frankly don’t remember her mentioning you or your family. She talked mainly about the television shows she was on. She’s been very successful, you know.”

  Josie thought about the tapes she had watched the night before. Not, she knew, so very successful until recently. But she wasn’t there to trash a dead woman. “She did a lot of different types of shows. Did she ask your advice about her career?”

  “She asked my advice about everything.” It was obvious that Dr. Van Ripper was proud of this fact.

  Through the open doorway Josie could see her crew picking up their tools and preparing to return to work on the addition. They were a great bunch of women, responsible and energetic; she owed it to them to solve this murder before it damaged the lives of innocent people. “Really?” she asked aloud. Talk, talk, talk, she chanted silently.

  “Courtney worked very, very hard for her successes. But she made time to return home at least once-and sometimes twice-a year, and we always talked about how her career was going. She had things planned out from the time she graduated from college, you know.”

  “Really?” Well, it had worked the last time.

  “Yes. There were changes, of course. She had hoped to make it to a network and anchor a newscast, and I think a show like Today or Good Morning America would certainly have benefited from her talent. But she changed her mind after her first job in public television.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I remember how it happened. She had been working out west somewhere for about a year and she spent the first week of her annual vacation in New York City, visiting the networks and deciding if she wanted to work for one of them. She came home quite discouraged.”