Death at a Premium (13 page)

Josie had to interrupt. “Wait a second. Who brought up the murder and who asked the first question? And what was it?” she added.

Leslie’s frown matched those on his crew members’ faces. “Can’t say that I remember exactly.”

“I don’t either,” Mary Ann agreed.

“Now that I think about it, I believe Trish and I were talking about it when you all got here,” Leslie said. “I think I brought it up—to change the subject. I asked her if there were any developments since last night or something like that.”

“Was she reluctant to tell you anything about the police investigation?” Josie asked.

Leslie frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“She sure didn’t seem reluctant to me,” Mary Ann spoke up. “She was talking about the autopsy in . . . well, in more detail than I was interested in hearing, that’s for sure.”

“He was stabbed, right?” Josie asked.

“He was stabbed many times,” Mary Ann answered, pushing her unfinished sandwich away. “The medical examiner told the police that he . . . he didn’t die easily. I think that’s how Officer Petric put it.”

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where was he stabbed? In his chest or in the back?” Josie asked.

“I don’t think she mentioned that,” Mary Ann said. “Why would it make any difference?”

Josie, who had been watching her share of television shows involving forensics over the last few years, wasn’t quite sure why she had asked this particular question.

But Vicki spoke up. “I think if you’re stabbed from behind it means you didn’t know the person who killed you, but if you were stabbed in the chest, it means you waited for the killer to walk up to you—so you know him, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Nic said. “Why wouldn’t someone you know walk up behind you and stab you? And why would the dead person necessarily move away from an unfamiliar person who walks up to them? The knife could have been hidden until the last minute, right?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a regular knife. It was a mat knife that killed this guy,” Leslie pointed out.

Josie hadn’t heard that before. “Which sort of directs attention to one of us, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t see that,” Leslie said stubbornly. “Lots of people use those things.”

“But I’ll bet we all have one in our toolboxes—sort of convenient,” Josie answered.

“That’s what we should do: We should make sure our tools are in order,” Mary Ann said, jumping up. “At least that’s what I’m going to do right now. My stuff is upstairs.”

“I don’t think . . .” Josie began, but Mary Ann was beyond hearing.

“You may as well let her go check out her tools. She won’t be comfortable using them until she’s satisfied herself that nothing she owns was used to kill that poor guy,” Vicki said.

“But there wasn’t a weapon found with the body. He must have taken it away with him,” Nic said.

“He?” Leslie spoke up. “Exactly why do you think the killer is a man?”

“I don’t. I was just talking generally,” Nic answered. “Anyway, the killer—he or she—could have used something, cleaned it off, and put it right back in one of our toolboxes. Not that I think he or she did—it would take too much time and effort. If I killed someone on an island, I’d just chuck the murder weapon in the water.”

“The tide might bring it right back to the shore,” Vicki pointed out.

“Okay. On the bay side of the island then. You could just toss it off one of the public docks. It would land in that muck on the bottom and vanish completely.”

“Someone might see you,” Vicki pointed out.

“So what? People are always chucking stuff into the bay—crab lines, minnow traps, old bait, shells, whatever. It would be easy to pretend to be crabbing or fishing and get rid of most anything small.”

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought. Maybe you’re the killer,” Leslie said, only half-joking.

Josie stepped in immediately. They had a job to do, and accusations of murder wouldn’t make for a congenial workplace. “Look, none of us killed the guy, but that doesn’t mean we’re not all suspects. The Rodneys aren’t bright enough to do a real investigation and I promise you, they would be thrilled to pin this thing on one of us, so we need to stick together and be careful.”

“No, it’s like I said, we gotta investigate it ourselves,” Leslie insisted.

“What we have to do is finish this project on time and on budget,” Josie reminded them all. “That’s what we’re being paid to do. I think we should leave finding the killer to the police and get on with our work.”

“Is that an order?” Nic asked.

“I can’t stop what you do in your spare time, but I don’t want you investigating when you should be working.”

Mary Ann appeared in the doorway, a half-smile on her face. “There’s someone here.”

Josie jumped up immediately. “Who is it?” she asked, wiping her hands on her pants.

“Two women. They’re all dressed up like they’re going on some sort of fancy cruise or something, but they know you, Josie. The one wearing sunglasses with all these little diamonds on the frames asked if you were busy. I said we were on lunch break, but they just walked right in and started on up the stairs. I didn’t know if I should try to stop them or what, but I warned them to watch out—that the floors were torn up and the ceiling was coming down—but they ignored me.”

Josie wasn’t hanging around to hear more. She knew the women were Tilly Higgins and her future mother-in-law, but she couldn’t imagine why they had shown up here together. And she wasn’t going to waste another minute before finding out. Her work boots pounded up the stairs, and she arrived on the second floor in time to see Carol lifting up the yellow police tape so Tilly could duck beneath it and enter the room where the body had been found.

“Carol!”

“Josie, my dear. Lovely to see you.” Sam’s mother paused long enough to greet her future daughter-in-law before bending down and following the other woman.

Josie didn’t hesitate before joining them.

“You’d never know there was a body here just a day ago, would you?” Tilly said, sliding her sunglasses onto the top of her head and peering around.

The room had been cleared of all evidence of the crime. Sunlight was streaming in through the stained-glass windows in the gables onto a decidedly dusty floor. The door hadn’t been closed and the residue of ripped Sheetrock, plaster, and horsehair insulation liberally coated everything in the room. Carol pulled her Lilly Pulitzer sweater close about her, but Tilly ignored the filth and leaned against a windowsill to peer out at the street below.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Josie protested. “Besides, there’s nothing to see, and the police . . .”

“The police on this island are fools. You and I know that, Josie. And I’ve been explaining the situation to Tilly. She is very concerned.”

“There will be no evidence that anything happened here once we’re finished,” Josie said to reassure her client. “The room is being stripped down to the studs and completely rebuilt. Your grandson has plans for wide window seats in each gable, built-in cabinets along that wall, and double closets at this end of the room.”

Tilly Higgins looked around and nodded slowly. “This will be one of three double rooms for the youngest grandchildren,” she explained to Carol. “There will be two bunkbeds in each one and lots of storage for games, toys, sports equipment, computers, and all the stuff that kids seem to need these days.”

Carol nodded sagely. “We had so much less when we were young,” she said.

“Some people still have much less,” Josie couldn’t resist pointing out.

“True, true,” Carol agreed absently, then turned her attention to the other woman. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think we need to think about this very carefully,” Tilly answered seriously. “Dear Seymour was stopped by the island police—for going less than fifteen miles over the speed limit—and he had nothing good to say about them. In fact, if you believe my husband, the police here are incompetent, and I’m afraid he might be concerned about us moving into a home famous for an unsolved murder as well as a ghost.”

“The ghost isn’t real,” Josie protested.

Tilly Higgins opened her eyes wide. “And just how do you know that?”

“Because there isn’t any such thing as ghosts,” Josie answered.

“But there is a law requiring a Realtor to explain to potential buyers that a house is considered to be haunted,” Sam Richardson’s deep voice explained.

SIXTEEN

“THERE IS, SAMMY? I had no idea!” Carol Birnbaum said in response to her son’s statement.

“This is your son? The lawyer you were telling me about?” Tilly Higgins asked, smiling and looking from mother to son.

“Yes, this is Sammy, my son and Josie’s fiancé. As I told you, they’re planning a Labor Day wedding and . . .”

“Carol, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m working here,” Josie pointed out. She was more than a little disturbed by Sam’s appearance—and his statement. “And I don’t see why you’re here talking about some obsolete law,” she continued, scowling at him.

“The law’s not obsolete. In fact, it’s barely over a decade old,” Sam explained.

“Tell us about it,” Tilly suggested.

“There are laws in some states—I know New York has one—that require the person selling a house to inform potential buyers of stories or rumors that the home is haunted,” Sam explained. “For a Realtor to hide them could quite possibly negate a sale.”

“Superstitions and superstitious people,” Josie scoffed. “Most buyers know that there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“I wouldn’t argue with you about that, but whether or not there are ghosts is not the point. Owners might be inconvenienced by the stories themselves. Workers could refuse to work in a home said to be haunted, for instance, and it’s only fair that potential buyers be informed of that possibility.”

“I’ve heard tales of the bride’s ghost since I was a teenager, and those stories certainly didn’t keep my husband from purchasing this place,” Tilly said, but to Josie’s ears, she sounded a bit uncertain.

“I’ve heard those stories too, but I don’t believe in ghosts and can’t imagine turning down a . . .” Josie floundered, hoping to find exactly the right words. “. . . An excellent job and the chance to create a fine home like the one your grandson has designed just because someone made up a bunch of stupid stories.”

“Dear Christopher did joke around about an exorcism,” his grandmother admitted. She was frowning.

“I don’t think there’s any need for that,” Sam said. “After all, hundreds, possibly thousands of people have stayed in this house over the years, and no one has seen or heard a ghost.”

“Exactly!” Josie beamed at him.

“Then why do we all know the story of the ghost?” Carol asked.

“Whoever owned this place thought the story added to its value.” Sam chuckled. “I guess you never picked up one of the brochures touting the bed-and-breakfast. The poor bride’s disappearance was prominently displayed on every single piece of promotional material. And there was a large painting of her framed on the wall in the hallway.” He looked around. “What happened to that? Did anyone save it?”

“We didn’t throw out anything. It’s probably either in the garage or up in the attic. There are still things to be sorted through up there,” Josie suggested.

“It would be interesting to see it again,” Sam said, and then, turning to Tilly, he changed the subject. “I made reservations for one P.M., not that the restaurant will be crowded at lunchtime, but perhaps we should be going.”

Josie’s mouth fell open, but not a sound came out. Sam was Tilly Higgins’s lunch date? What was going on here? “Where are you two going?” she asked, hoping her question sounded merely casual.

“We’re having lunch at the Seagull. Basil’s meeting us so we shouldn’t be late.”

“Why are you lunching on the island?” Josie asked. “I mean, I didn’t know you two knew each other.” She stopped. She couldn’t afford to offend this woman, but she didn’t understand what was going on.

“Mother thought that Mrs. Higgins . . .”

“You know I asked you to call me Tilly,” Tilly said.

Sam smiled at her before continuing. “Mother thought that Tilly and I might go into business together,” he said, smiling at Josie.

There were so many surprises in that sentence that Josie wasn’t sure what to ask first. “What sort of business? You’re not selling the store, are you?”

“Of course not, I’m just thinking of expanding next year, offering classes in wine and what food goes with what wine. You know the sort of thing.”

Actually, Josie didn’t. Before she had met Sam, most of the wine she drank came from a box. Most of the food that went with it was pepperoni pizza—with extra garlic. These days Sam either brought something from his store or ordered from the wine list when they ate in restaurants. But she had more questions. “Do you think that sort of thing will be popular here? I mean, do people go on vacation and then take classes?”

Mrs. Higgins leaped in here. “Oh heavens, yes. Why, we know people who take cruises that are really quite intellectual—classes in the morning, island tours in the afternoon. That sort of thing has become very, very popular in the travel industry.”

“But here on the island? Sam, you know most people who vacation here just want to lie on the beach, swim in the ocean, fish . . .”

“Perhaps that’s because no one has offered anything else,” he answered.

Josie frowned. “Yeah, I guess that’s possible.” She looked over at Mrs. Higgins. “So you’re interested in wine, too?”

“Not actually. I’m more concerned with the food. Not that I actually cook anything, but I know a lot about food and wine,” she ended.

“So I think she’ll be impressed with Basil’s place, don’t you?” Sam asked Josie.

Josie could tell that he was anxious to leave. “Of course, it all sounds so interesting,” she added, making an effort to smile.

“See you tonight,” Sam said, kissing the top of Josie’s head. “Shall we be off?” he asked Mrs. Higgins.

It seemed to Josie that Tilly was having no trouble smiling up at Sam. Taking the arm he offered, she accompanied him to the door.