“Thank God. I don’t know why I let him get to me like that. I don’t mind answering questions . . . most of the time,” she added. “I don’t even know what he needs to ask me about.”
“The dead man. Or maybe the fact that the dead man was dressed up as the ghost or the bride or whatever spirit is supposed to haunt the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast. The fact that he was carrying the identification papers of one of your new crew members.”
Josie, not surprised by the island’s strong grapevine, sighed. “Yeah. All that. I guess I may as well forget getting a good night’s sleep.”
“Look, we’ll double-check your order and leave a message at your office if we find a problem. You get over to the police station.”
Josie grinned. This was the best reason she could think of to deal with independent local stores. “That would be great. The sooner I get over there, the sooner I’ll get home—I hope. Thanks.”
“No problem,” he answered as the door of his store closed behind her.
Mike Rodney was leaning against his cruiser, smoking a cigarette.
“I thought you quit,” Josie commented, heading toward her truck.
“Scientists have discovered that an addiction to nicotine is just as strong as an addiction to heroin,” he announced, tossing the butt on the ground and stomping on it.
Josie decided this was no time to bring up the island’s anti-littering campaign. “Do you trust me to get to the station on my own or do I have to come in your car?”
She hadn’t expected him to take her question seriously, but he actually considered for a moment. “You can take your truck and I’ll follow you. No way you can escape that way—your old thing can’t outrun me.”
Josie, who hadn’t even considered escaping, wondered if she should have called Sam before leaving the hardware store. “I’ll be sure to stay under the speed limit” was her only statement—said a bit sarcastically— before climbing up into her truck and starting off down the street. Mike Rodney, as promised, followed close behind, lights on the police cruiser pulsing. Despite not looking in her rearview mirror, Josie felt a headache coming on.
Mike’s father and Officer Petric were in the lobby, hanging around the dispatcher’s desk, seemingly waiting for Josie and her escort to appear.
“I found her,” Mike announced loudly.
Josie glanced over at him wondering exactly what was going on. “I wasn’t hiding,” she explained.
“No place to hide on an island,” Chief Rodney explained to his new officer.
“Do you think we could get on with all this?” Josie asked impatiently. “I have a business to run, a child to raise, and . . . a wedding to plan.”
“Yeah. Well, we won’t keep you longer than absolutely necessary,” the chief said. “We need some information about your workers. We coulda gotten a search warrant and just gone into your office files, you know.”
Josie, aware of what sort of order her files were in, knew they were unlikely to learn much there. “Are we going to talk here?” she asked after greeting the summer dispatcher. The lobby was the busiest spot in the police station. When the dispatcher wasn’t answering calls from residents worried that the smoke billowing from a neighbor’s Weber grill was the sign of a house fire, she directed visitors to the booth where beach passes were sold, distributed tide tables, explained fishing regulations, and accepted checks for the numerous speeding tickets the Rodneys issued to drivers going five miles an hour over the island speed limit. The revenues from the latter more than paid her salary.
“We’ll go into my office,” the Chief announced as though Josie had suggested something else.
Josie was surprised to discover that everyone except for the dispatcher was included. The three officers crowded into Chief Rodney’s office. Josie was familiar with the room. Island Contracting had built it after Hurricane Agatha destroyed the municipal center the summer before. Instead of the fake wood paneling that covered the cinder-block walls in the rest of the building, this room had cherry walls and built-in bookshelves wide enough to hold the large flat-screen television the Chief claimed to find essential to his work. Josie noticed a second television monitor, now turned off, and wondered if the department was paying large cable bills. One wall was lined with oak filing cabinets. Three chairs sat in front of the big oak partners’ desk placed in the middle of the room. The only other furniture was the expensive ergonomically designed desk chair in which the Chief sat. He pointed to the chair directly in front of him, which Josie interpreted as an order. Becoming more and more anxious to get this over with, she sat. The two officers sat on either side, Trish Petric pulling a notebook from her back pocket and flipping it open, apparently prepared to take notes.
“You act as a secretary as well as a police officer?” Josie asked.
“She does what I ask her to do,” Chief Rodney growled, but Trish glanced over at her, and Josie thought she saw a smile flash across the woman officer’s face.
“Oh.”
“Suppose you pay attention to your situation and forget about women’s lib and solidarity and such shit,” Mike Rodney suggested.
“I don’t know what my situation is,” Josie pointed out.
“You are here to help the police investigate the murder of an unknown man,” Mike explained.
“You told me I was here to answer questions about my crew,” she reminded him.
“There’s no difference between the two things. To our way of thinking someone on your crew probably killed the guy, stuffed him behind the wall, then found him, pretending to be all innocent.” Chief Rodney was glaring at Josie in a way that made her appreciate the wide table between them.
“Why?” she asked quietly.
“Why what?” he growled back.
“Why would anyone on my crew kill someone then stuff them in the wall and then pretend to find them? Why not just kill them and dump them in a Dumpster, or in the ocean, or in a house a different company is remodeling? You would never connect the murder with anyone working for Island Contracting if the body had been found somewhere else.” She realized the flaw in her thinking as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“But the body was found with the driver’s license of a man named Leslie Coyne. The same Leslie Coyne who is working for you. So there’s that connection,” Trish pointed out quietly.
“Yeah, I’d forgotten about that for a sec,” Josie admitted.
“You had, had you?” Mike leaned down at her.
“Yes, I had! It’s been a difficult few days, and I have a lot on my mind,” she ended weakly.
“Yeah. Well, we do, too,” Chief Rodney said. “And we’re busy here, so why don’t you tell us how you came to hire the people on your crew.”
“Well, I didn’t actually hire them. Not this time,” Josie admitted.
“Not this time?” Trish looked up from her note-taking to ask the question.
“No, I usually do, of course. Sometimes I put ads in the trade papers, but mostly I just run a local ad. And people come to me, of course. Island Contracting is well known. I’ve never had trouble finding workers.”
“Yeah, yeah. So everyone wants to work for you. So why didn’t you hire the people working for you this summer?” Mike Rodney asked.
“Because Nic did . . . I hired Nic though,” Josie pointed out.
Trish was frowning. “You allowed someone else to hire your summer crew?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
Trish asked a follow-up question. “Is that usual for Island Contracting?”
“Definitely not,” Josie answered.
“Then why . . . ?”
Josie didn’t allow her to ask another question. It was time for this to end. The Rodneys were grinning at her obvious discomfort. “Island Contracting is not like other companies,” she began, ignoring something that sounded like “no shit” from one of the men. “I try to hire people who need a second chance in life. Nic belongs to an organization of women who work in my business— c
ontractors, owners, carpenters, electricians, everything. And they held a convention in Washington DC a few weeks ago. She met Leslie, Mary Ann, and Vicki there, and offered them jobs with Island Contracting. I knew about it and had given her permission to do so, as long as the people she offered jobs to understood that I have the last word.”
“Why don’t you belong to this organization?” Trish asked.
“I’m not much of a joiner. And although I had read about it in a few trade mags, I didn’t really pay attention. I didn’t realize how important the work they’re doing is until I met Nic.”
“That’s interesting,” Trish commented.
“You know what’s interesting to me?” Chief Rodney asked.
“What, Dad?” his son asked on cue.
“I’m real interested in knowing what a man—what one Leslie Coyne in particular—was doing at a convention of women workers.”
The three officers looked at Josie, but she didn’t say anything. The same question had occurred to her.
FOURTEEN
JUST WHEN JOSIE thought her summer couldn’t get more complicated, Tilly Higgins arrived on the island.
A silver BMW convertible was parked by the curb in front of Island Contractings’s office when Josie arrived the next morning. It had been past midnight when Josie finally left the police station, she hadn’t slept well, and she was exhausted. Despite the early hour, Tilly Higgins appeared well-rested and full of energy as she leaped out of her car, bounded up the walkway, and started talking before Josie had unlocked her office door.
“You must be Josie Pigeon. Christopher described you, but he didn’t mention you were so young!”
Josie suspected that Christopher didn’t think of her as young, but she only smiled and offered a conventional greeting.
Mrs. Higgins didn’t seem to detect any lack of enthusiasm on Josie’s part. “The weather has gotten warm so early this year. New York was absolutely stifling, so I decided I had no choice but to come down here! Besides, I was dying to see how you’re getting along. Owning a big family home by the shore has always been one of my dreams. And that it would be designed by my grandson . . . Well, I can’t imagine anything better.” She stopped, and for a minute a serious expression appeared on her face. “How is dear Christopher working out? I know he has tons of talent,” she continued without waiting for an answer to her question. “Dear Christopher has had a bit of trouble in college. He’s been known to drink too much and Seymour was very worried last year, but as I told my husband, drinking is so common on college campuses these days and all Christopher needed was something to do. This project has been a godsend,” she continued. As Josie fit the key into the lock, Tilly fiddled with the half-dozen gold bangles dangling from each wrist. Tilly was also wearing tight cropped white linen pants, a tiny plaid halter top, and silver sandals. She looked, Josie thought, as though she patronized the same stores as Sam’s mother.
“It’s so much cooler here. I cannot wait for our new home to be finished so we can move right in.”
“There’s a lot to be done before that can happen,” Josie was quick to point out.
“And that’s why I’m here! Dear Christopher said you needed me to make some decisions about kitchen appliances, or cupboards, or something similar,” she added.
“I do, but . . .”
“He said you told him you wanted to place orders for these things ASAP.”
“Yes, of course. It’s just that . . .” Josie stopped and took a deep breath. Her life and this project would be much easier if this woman made these decisions early— and stuck with them. And, fortunately, she didn’t seem to know about the murder.
“Of course, I’m sure you’re extra busy, what with these terrible bodies turning up and all, so maybe you could just give me the brochures or Websites or whatever and leave me here to make up my mind. If we’re both lucky, I should be done before noon. I have a date for lunch,” she explained. Josie, surprised by this development, didn’t know what to say. Tilly hadn’t finished. “I can assure you that I really do know how to use the Internet,” she continued. “My grandchildren made sure of that years ago. And Christopher tells me that the most up-to-date information—catalogues and such—is on line. You do have a high-speed connection, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to show you the catalogues I have here, and I do have an excellent list of suppliers’ sites on the Web as well,” Josie added, hoping she could find it. She pushed open the office door and stood back to allow Mrs. Higgins to precede her into the room.
Josie was proud of her office. She felt it exuded the charm of Island Contracting’s best work. Over a dozen little houses stood on a shelf that ringed the room near the ceiling, each one a model of a completed Island Contracting project. Visitors to the office for the first time usually commented favorably on the display. Tilly Higgins didn’t. She headed straight for Josie’s desk at the far end of the room, and much to Josie’s surprise, sat down and flipped on the computer.
Josie rushed to join her. She was barely computer literate herself. It had taken her a long time and a lot of work to feel comfortable keeping records in her hard drive instead of on paper, but the last few years of Island Contracting’s records were stored in the machine that Tilly Higgins was about to use, and she wanted to make sure they were safe.
Mrs. Higgins seemed to recognize Josie’s concerns. “I’m just going to go online and check out some of the Websites Christopher mentioned,” she explained, pulling a small leather-bound notebook from her straw purse and flipping through it. “He gave me two lists,” she added. “One is the Websites, and one is exactly what I need to decide on now, like whirlpools . . .” She found what she was looking for and frowned. “The dear boy included measurements—I don’t suppose they’re exact at this stage of the project, though.”
“You should come as close to his specifications as possible. He may have designed around certain parameters,” Josie suggested, knowing how an inch here and an inch there could add up to disaster.
Tilly sighed and brushed her highlighted hair off her forehead. “Then this may take longer than I had hoped.”
“I really need to get over to the . . . to your house,” Josie stated.
“Oh, there’s no need to stay here with me. Absolutely no need. I’ll be fine. I’ll just do a bit of research, make a preliminary list for Christopher, and . . .” For the first time, Tilly Higgins seemed unsure of herself. “And I could lock up for you.”
Josie didn’t have any reason not to trust this woman, but she had no intention of letting anyone else lock her office. “Why don’t I come back in two or three hours and see how you’re doing. I can lock up if you’re done, and you can give me a copy of the items you’ve picked out.”
“And then you can order them! Of course that’s the way to do it! Christopher has had nothing but good things to say about you, and now I can see why.”
Josie, who had thought some less-than-good things about Christopher, just smiled. “I have my cell phone with me in case you have any questions or want to leave early. The number is taped to the top of the monitor.”
“Good thinking. I’ll just call if I need you.”
“Great,” Josie replied, hoping she would do just that. “And there’s an answering machine that will pick up, so don’t worry about the phone.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Higgins was pounding the keys and scrolling down the screen and didn’t bother to look up. “Or would you like me to pass on your messages?”
“Thanks, but don’t bother. I’ll check them when I get back.” Josie stuck her hands into the pockets of her overalls and frowned. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving Mrs. Higgins there alone, but she didn’t see that she had any choice. If she had been going to object, she should have done so immediately. Sunlight gleamed off the heel of Mrs. Higgins’s silver shoe and Josie had an inspiration. She paused. “It’s possible someone might be stopping by this morning. Carol Birnbaum, my future mother-in-law. She’s going
to be remodeling the kitchen in her New York apartment, and she wants to look at some of those catalogues too. I hope you don’t mind sharing them with her.”
“Of course not. I’ll just glance through these Websites and she can have all the time she needs with them,” Tilly offered generously.
“Great. Then I’ll leave you to your task.” Josie’s cell phone was out of her pocket before the office door swung closed behind her, but she waited until she was in her truck before calling Carol to ask for help babysitting the office. Fortunately, Carol was free and willing, and when Josie explained she was in a hurry, cut short her discussion of possible wedding gowns.
Josie parked her truck in front of the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast sign knowing that if Mrs. Higgins were interested in anything other than appliances and fixtures, she would hear about it. She got out, noting that Nic’s purple truck was there, as well as Vicki’s car and the white Volkswagen beetle with the torn-up fender that Mary Ann drove. Assuming Leslie had come with Vicki, her entire crew was on site nice and early.
Unfortunately, the local police seemed to be there as well. Josie walked by the cruiser, parked behind the Dumpster next to the house, and had to work to resist kicking its shiny side. She just hoped that whatever the Rodneys were there for didn’t take too long and didn’t involve arresting anyone. With a long list of the possible reasons going through her mind, she was more than a little surprised when she opened the front door and discovered her crew and Trish Petric sharing coffee, doughnuts, and apparently, a joke together. She was even more surprised when the laughter stopped as soon as she entered the room. It was almost as though they felt guilty to be found enjoying themselves—or uncomfortable about whatever had caused so much mirth. Josie put a smile on her face and tried to ignore whatever was going on.
“Hope you left some coffee for me,” she said, dropping her tool box on the floor. The crash attracted the attention of everyone in the room, and all with the exception of the police officer were quick to assure her that both coffee and doughnuts were available.
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