“Very.”
“There’s a matching room at the back of the house, but some idiot turned it into a bathroom decades ago. There’s a window seat there, but it’s been covered with stained old Contact paper. I can’t wait to remove it.”
“This place is remarkably symmetrical: matching tower rooms on the second floor, the two eave rooms up here . . .”
“And the tops of the towers were turned into identical closets, one at either end of the hall here.”
“This is going to be a huge private home,” Sam commented, walking down the hallway and opening door after door.
“Yeah. It’s been on the market for years. The couple who ran it as a bed-and-breakfast claimed to barely be paying the taxes and keeping the building standing on what they made taking in guests. But it seemed too big to sell for a private home. Everyone assumed whoever bought it would keep it as a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Who did buy it?”
“Seymour and Tilly Higgins. I haven’t met them, but apparently they’re wealthy enough to buy this place and remodel it—and old enough to have six grandchildren to occupy all the bedrooms when they have family gettogethers. I just hope they have plenty of money and care about their family enough to do everything the right way.”
“Well, the money’s there. Seymour Higgins is one of the most influential men on Wall Street,” Sam said.
“Rich?”
“Really, really rich.”
“Good, because this place is going to need a lot of money to pull it out of the swinging sixties and into this century.”
“Interesting that he’s buying a place here rather than out in the Hamptons with the rest of the rich and famous.”
“The island has sentimental value for them. He and his wife met here—apparently they both worked on the island one summer when they were in college.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know, but I’m meeting with Mrs. Higgins in a few weeks to review some of the finishing details. Maybe she’ll tell me all about it then.”
“That should be interesting,” Sam said. He had lifted an orange vase off a hall table and was examining its base. “You know, these things are collectable.”
“By who?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she began to wonder if whom was proper. Sam would know, of course, but he was too nice to correct her.
“There are lots of collectors of mid-century furniture and accessories,” Sam answered without comment.
Josie didn’t say anything. She didn’t share Sam’s fondness for anything made in the 1950s and ’60s. Perhaps because she hadn’t been born until almost two decades later. “Well, if Seymour Higgins is a big shot in financial circles, maybe he’ll know where to sell them.”
Sam was looking out a window.
“Can you see the bay from here?” Josie asked, joining him.
“No, but I was looking at the backyard. There’s a three-stall garage out there.”
“Yes, but there’s only space for two cars. One of the stalls was converted to a laundry room. There are two washer and dryer combos as well as a bathroom. There’s also an outdoor shower around back.” She frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was wondering how the electric comes into the buildings. Maybe I can keep the power on there when the house is disconnected from the grid. I think I’ll go down and check it out. Can you hang around a bit longer?”
“Sure, let’s go take a look.”
They went back downstairs, this time passing through the kitchen into the small pebble-strewn backyard. An old-fashioned wooden clothesline had once stood there. Now its ropes, torn by winter storms, lay on the ground, clothespins still attached.
A door had been installed in the middle of one of the old-fashioned garage doors. Sam grabbed the knob and it opened easily. “This is unlocked too,” he said.
Josie nodded. “But it may not have been unlocked for long. I know the architect’s been here a few times— perhaps he left it open. We’ll lock up before we leave.”
Sam was no longer paying attention. The far wall of the garage was covered with car posters. “That’s a Jaguar X-type. Probably nineteen sixty-four . . .” he said, moving toward them.
Josie, knowing how much Sam loved classic cars, left him to peruse the collection and continued into the laundry area. The layout was pretty much as she remembered it: the far wall was lined with a pair of washer and dryers. A pile of broken-down plastic laundry baskets had been dumped beneath the large, battered oak table which dominated the middle of the room. Josie was examining the bank of outlets on the wall behind the appliances when Sam joined her.
“That’s one of the best collections of sixties car posters I’ve ever run into. Too bad no one took care of them: in good shape, they’d be worth some real money.”
“Why don’t you take them? I’m thinking of setting up a table saw out here. A thick layer of sawdust won’t increase their value.”
Sam frowned. “I can’t just remove things without the owner’s permission.”
“It’s just a few old posters.”
“They do belong to someone though, and they need to be protected. Maybe you could take them down and put them somewhere safe before you begin work.”
“Maybe.” Josie wasn’t going to promise anything. “Look, we’re going to have to empty the house before we start demolition. We could put a bunch of the furniture in this bay and cover it with heavy tarps . . .”
“That’s a good idea. I’m no expert in mid-century furniture, but I believe some of those lamps you hate so much are Holmegaard glass—popular in the sixties and not cheap even then. If they are Holmgaard, they’re worth real money to collectors.”
Josie frowned. “Not good news,” she announced.
“Why not?”
“Because when they were worthless, I was going to toss them in a pile, cover them up and forget about them. Now they’ll have to be protected until someone in the Higgins family figures out what to do with them. Clearing the place will take an extra day or two—I hate to get behind schedule early on a job.”
“You don’t even have a crew for this one.”
“That’s not going to be a problem!” she protested and glanced down at her watch. “In fact, Nic should be arriving back soon. As soon as I talk to her, I’ll know who I need to look for. I’ll call around, and Island Contracting should be up and running in a day or two. You know I rarely have trouble finding workers.”
“There’s an awful lot of building going on on the island this summer and more than one new construction company,” Sam pointed out. “Basil said he couldn’t find a free plumber when a pipe broke in one of his kitchens over the weekend.”
“Really?” Josie sounded doubtful for the first time. “I wonder who he called . . . Did you hear something outside?” she asked, interrupting herself.
“Just shouting. Probably neighborhood kids.”
“I don’t know why neighborhood kids would be calling my name,” Josie said, starting toward the doorway and using her hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun. “I think . . . Oh, god, it must be Nic. She drives the only purple pick-up on the island. She’s probably in the house looking for me. I’ll be right back,” she promised.
Fifteen minutes passed before she returned to the garage. Sam, who had kept himself amused browsing through a pile of old car magazines he had discovered in a corner beside a rusting hot water heater, was surprised by the expression on his fiancé’s face: she was scowling.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I have a problem . . . a legal problem.”
“Finally something I can help you with.” He stood up. “What exactly is wrong?”
“I . . . Well, you’re not going to like this, but you know I told Nic to go ahead and offer jobs to a few people on my approval. I trust her, and she was going to be seeing old friends—women she had worked with before. Well, it never occurred to me that there might be a problem. After all, the convention she was
attending was for women in the construction industry . . . it never occurred to me . . .” She stopped speaking.
“What never occurred to you? Did she offer someone a job—someone you don’t want to hire?”
“Exactly. Could that be a problem?”
“Probably not. I assume whoever was looking for a job understood that you have the final say . . .”
Josie nodded vigorously. “Of course.”
“So, if you think one of the people Nic wants isn’t qualified to work for Island Contracting, I can’t imagine that there would be a legal problem. You have the final say over who you hire.”
“We already agreed to that,” Josie pointed out.
“Unless of course you don’t want to hire them because you don’t like their race or religion.”
“And that would be illegal, wouldn’t it?”
“It would be, but it doesn’t sound like you, Josie. You’ve never seemed at all prejudiced and you’ve hired lots of minorities. What’s the problem?”
“A man. Nic inadvertently offered a job at Island Contracting to a man. An exceptionally good-looking man. And he flirts.”
“Then, my dear, you just might have a few problems— not all of them legal.”
THREE
TWO DAYS LATER they were still talking about Josie’s new employee over dinner in their favorite restaurant— not that the discussion had changed since the topic was introduced. Sam repeated his opinion that Josie could face—and lose—a large discrimination lawsuit if she refused to hire someone on the basis of their sex. By the time Josie’s fried shrimp appetizer had been demolished, she had come to accept the fact that there was no way around it: Island Contracting was about to hire a male employee Josie didn’t know.
“I’ll bet he’s going to cause all sorts of problems,” she sighed, pouring tartar sauce on the two crab cakes the waiter had just placed before her. “We’ve all always gotten along great. Dropping a preening single man into the mix . . . well it’s going to be a big problem.”
Sam chuckled. “You sound just like some older male partners of the firm I worked for in the seventies when the first women lawyers were hired.”
“That’s different!” she protested, her mouth full of crab.
“Not really.”
“It was! It is! Especially in the construction industry! Do you know the percentage of women in my business?”
“No, but . . .”
“Actually, neither do I, but I’m sure Nic can tell you all about it. The point is that Island Contracting’s hiring policy has gone just a little way toward leveling the playing field, toward giving women an equal chance in a business where the only thing that should matter is that a worker can do the work, not what sex they happen to be.”
“I think you may be arguing against yourself,” Sam said gently, using his fork to stab one of the grilled shrimp atop his Caesar salad.
“But you know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do, and I’ve appreciated the opportunities you’ve provided by hiring women in a business generally not thought of as appropriate for them. But the law is the law. You can’t tell this man that he doesn’t have a job because he’s the wrong sex.” He put the shrimp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “How did Nic end up offering this guy a job, anyway? I would have thought that was the last thing in the world she would do.”
“She thought he was a woman.”
“I gather they haven’t met.”
“They have now, but they hadn’t when she offered him the job.” Josie put down her fork and concentrated on her explanation. “See, Nic ran into an old friend at the convention, a carpenter named Vicki. They got to talking and Nic told Vicki about Island Contracting, and ended up suggesting Vicki apply for a job. Vicki said fine, and asked if Island Contracting was interested in hiring an electrician she knew. Well, Nic couldn’t ignore that. We’ve been looking for competent electricians since Island Electric shut down.”
Sam nodded.
“And, anyway, this Vicki said the electrician’s name is Leslie.”
“More men are named Leslie than women, in my experience at least.”
Josie didn’t argue. “But the real problem is that Nic got the impression that Vicki and Leslie were involved romantically.”
“But . . .”
“And she had always assumed that Vicki was a lesbian.”
“Apparently that’s not true?”
“Apparently not. She’s involved with Leslie.”
“Then, if Leslie is taken, maybe there won’t be any problems.”
“You may be right—and the entire crew knows each other.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Leslie and Vicki asked if there was a job for their friend, a carpenter named Mary Ann.”
“Have you hired her too?”
“Yes. In fact I’ve turned in their personnel information to my insurance company and they’re all here on the island looking for apartments . . .”
“But you haven’t met them?”
“No, but I’ve only hired them provisionally; if there are any problems, out they go.”
“Leaving you without a crew right at the beginning of the summer,” Sam reminded her.
“I know, but I don’t have a whole lot of options this year. I made some calls the day before yesterday and you were right. No one seems to be available. The formation of two new contracting companies on the island has created a real shortage of workers.”
“Josie, this summer is going to be extra busy for you— you’re going to be planning our wedding as well as working.”
“And Tyler. Don’t forget Tyler.”
“Oh, it’s impossible to forget Tyler even when he’s five hundred miles away at school.”
Josie put down her fork, half of her crab cakes untouched. “It’s been years since Tyler spent a summer on the island.”
“And you’ve always missed him terribly.”
“I did, of course, but . . . well, I always thought he was better off at camp or school, that he should be learning things and keeping busy and . . . becoming independent. Growing up.”
“All of which he has done very nicely. You know Tyler loves the island. He wants to spend more time here before he goes off to college. And he’ll be busy. Working for the only company that creates publicity materials for most of the island businesses, beginning research for his senior project, and taking a class online, he probably won’t have a moment to spare. It’s not as though he’s going to be sleeping late and lounging around the house.”
“I know. Tyler has a lot of energy and I want to be with him.” She grimaced and picked up her fork. “I guess I’m just not used to being a full-time mother anymore.”
“You and Tyler may not have been living together twenty-four/seven, but you’ve been a full-time mother to him no matter where he is or what he’s been doing.”
Josie smiled. “It’s nice of you to say so. I guess I’m just afraid he’ll be bored staying here this summer.”
“Tyler is incapable of being bored, and you are changing the subject so you don’t have to figure out what you’re going to do if this new crew doesn’t work out.”
“There’s no way I can figure that out ahead of time. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find new people and there’s no telling who might be available,” she added, knowing perfectly well who would be available late in the season: the carpenters, electricians, and plumbers no one wanted to hire—usually for good reasons.
“There is one personnel decision we could make right now,” Sam suggested quietly.
“What?” Josie asked, surprised. Sam didn’t interfere in Island Contracting business unless she asked for help, and he was usually reluctant to get involved even then.
“We could ask Basil to cater our wedding reception. Even if you decide against a big wedding, we owe it to our friends to have a party to celebrate our union. If Basil’s free and says yes, it’s one less thing to worry about. One less decision to make later,” he added
gently.
“I guess that’s okay. Do you think he’ll make those little lobster quiches?”
“I’m sure he’ll make anything you ask him to make.”
Josie finished off the last of her dinner, pushed back from the table, and yawned. “I’m exhausted. I think I’d better head home and get to bed. I have to be up early tomorrow. There was a message from the insurance company on my machine this afternoon. No one answered at the office when I called back, but I need to touch base with my agent. We can’t get down to work until I have everyone included on my insurance policy, so I sure hope there aren’t any problems.”
“No dessert?”
She hesitated. Dessert was her favorite course. “I wonder what sort of pie’s on the menu tonight . . .”
A young waitress appeared at their table in time to hear her question. “Raspberry cream, Dutch apple, and Shaker lemon slice. It’s made with slices of fresh lemons, nothing like lemon meringue, and it’s become a real favorite in the past few weeks when it’s on the menu.”
“Could I have a slice of the lemon—no, two slices; I’ll bring one home to Tyler—to go?” Josie asked.
“Don’t see why not. Would you like one too?” she asked Sam.
“I think I’ll just take the check. An early night sounds like a good idea. Mother’s due on the island sometime tomorrow and I’d like to straighten up the house a bit before she arrives.”
“Why bother? She’d love to do it for you.”
“I know. And I know if I don’t do some cleaning before she comes, I’ll spend the next few weeks looking for things she’s ‘put away.’ ”
“I suppose Carol’s going to want to be involved in any wedding plans.”
“I can’t imagine anything else, but Mother knows this is our wedding. She’ll leave the decisions up to us.”
Josie wasn’t sure how true that was, but the pie had arrived, two extra-large slices packed up in Styrofoam containers, and as soon as Sam signed the credit card receipt, she was ready to hit the road.
As Sam had said, Tyler wasn’t hanging around the house watching television. A note taped to her apartment door informed Josie that her son was at a beach party given by old family friends and would be home sometime around midnight. Josie sat down on the couch and, discovering the remote control beneath a pile of her son’s computer magazines, flipped on the television. In a few minutes she was chuckling over a rerun of Frasier. By the time the show ended, she had finished both pieces of pie. She was throwing away the evidence of her gluttony when she noticed the light flashing on her answering machine.
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