Death at a Premium (23 page)

“Seymour’s family was in banking and securities, but Seymour has been diversifying since he took over running the firm. Seymour has a talent for putting together many different pieces and turning them into a successful whole. Higgins International has a finger in many pies,” Tilly explained.

“Oh.”

“Just what is that thing doing there?” Tilly asked, frowning. She was pointing to the dropcloth Trish had left on the floor the night before. Josie looked down at it. Had someone moved the dropcloth since then? She was about to wonder what that might mean, when the door at the end of the hall leading to the attic opened and Leslie appeared, a dozen bulging plastic bags cradled in his arms.

“Hi, boss!” He spoke to Josie, but directed his charm at Tilly Higgins.

Mrs. Higgins, a woman who, Josie suspected, got through much of her life by displaying her own considerable supply of charm, didn’t bother to respond in kind. “What do you have there?” she asked abruptly.

Leslie glanced down at his laden arms before answering. “Garbage. Mostly old knob-and-tube wiring that should have been removed up there long ago.”

Josie opened her mouth to make a comment and then shut it without speaking. Leslie was lying. This place had been rewired decades before. Knob-and-tube wiring was something no insurance company would ignore. Josie didn’t know what was going on, and she was determined to find out. But she didn’t feel the need to share her problem with her employer. “Leslie, when you get back from the Dumpster, give Mary Ann a hand with the last window at the end of the second floor corridor, will you? Nic and Vicki have almost finished ripping the tiles out of the bathrooms on that floor.”

“No problem.”

Josie’s cell phone rang as Leslie galloped down the stairs. “Excuse me, but this might be about your tile order,” she said, pulling the phone from her pocket.

“I was thinking about those tiles, Christopher,” Tilly said as they walked off down the hallway. “Perhaps those glass ones are not the look we want. One of my friends has some wonderful hand-painted Italian tiles on the walls of her guest bath . . .”

Josie answered her phone, hoping Christopher was explaining to his grandmother that changing her tile order would cost extra money—and might delay the whole project. “Hi. Josie Pigeon here.”

Betty was on the other end of the line, but Josie’s smile faded as she heard the reason for her friend’s call. “Son of a gun. Are you sure?” Josie listened to her friend’s answer and a few new examples of JJ’s brilliance before hanging up, tucking the phone back in her pocket, and heading off to see what Christopher and his grandmother were doing. Betty had given her something new to think about: according to Seymour Higgins’s granddaughter, one of the “pies” in which her grandfather had a finger was the insurance company that had just raised Island Contracting’s premiums.

Josie went to join Christopher and his grandmother with a few questions of her own. But their questions had priority and Josie had to explain over and over that while the changes that Christopher wanted might, yes, improve the final result, they would cost more—much more—than the budget they had agreed on. Under normal circumstances, Josie felt uncomfortable asking for more money, but now, considering her insurance company’s lack of hesitation on that score—and its relationship to the Higgins family fortune—she casually mentioned a few tens of thousands of dollars.

Tilly Higgins blew up. “I don’t understand you trades-people!” she said in response to Josie’s explanation of the difference in cost between a new wood floor and custom-cut tilework. “You lay out the price of a job, and once it has begun and everything is demolished, you begin adding to the cost of the job. It’s unconscionable. When I go to Barney’s for a sweater, I pay the price on the tag. If you were running the store, I would end up paying ten . . . fifteen . . . even twenty percent more! I don’t understand how you think you can get away with these casual markups.”

“If you went to Barney’s and instead of buying a plain sweater, you bought one with a mink collar, you would expect to pay more, right?” Josie asked, working to keep her voice level.

“I would never buy a sweater with a mink collar—too tacky—and besides, I already own three mink coats. Why would I want a sweater with a fur collar?”

“That might not be the best example,” Josie began again. “But the point I’m making is that you changed the plans, so of course you would expect to pay more when you are asking for more.”

“My husband is not going to understand this sort of thing. I had to talk him into buying this place. It’s important that the remodeling goes smoothly and doesn’t end up costing more than the price we have agreed on. Dear Seymour is so worried about money these days.”

“Are you saying that your husband doesn’t change the prices of things himself? I think I can tell you that, in fact . . .”

“I am not going to stand here and argue with you over these things. I told Seymour that we should hire a bigger contracting company, but he insisted on your little business doing the job. And now, of course, with that body turning up . . . well, you should be glad that the island police have allowed you to continue working here. If Seymour hadn’t intervened, you might be standing in line for unemployment benefits right this minute!”

“I . . . I might what?” But Josie’s words were spoken to Tilly’s back as she stalked down the hall.

“Christopher, you deal with this. I’m late for tennis,” she called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs.

“My grandmother is a bit sensitive about money these days,” Christopher explained quietly. “Grandfather was more than a little upset when she bought herself that new BMW convertible without talking it over with him. And she had the kitchen in their townhouse remodeled only a few months ago.”

“But I’m only trying to charge for changes she has made.”

“That’s the problem, you see. If he had wanted the changes made, he’d be happy to pay for them.”

“And what did she mean about your grandfather intervening in the police investigation of the murder?” Josie asked.

“Grandfather put pressure on the local police force to . . . to keep their investigation away from this building, I guess is how he explained it.”

“I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

“Just that Grandfather is anxious to be in this house by the end of the summer.”

“He’s made that plain more than once,” Josie said.

“And he was worried that a full-scale investigation into the murder might cause delays in our schedule.”

“Not nearly as much as all the changes your grandmother wants to make,” Josie pointed out.

“But he doesn’t know about them yet, does he? Anyway, I don’t really know what happened—or if anything happened, I guess. But Grandmother said that he had made sure the island police stayed away from the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast after the body was found here.”

“Really? And your grandmother told you that?”

“Yes, at breakfast this morning. She’s just as anxious as he is to have this project completed on time. She’s already busy picking out furniture and curtains and stuff. She’s even spoken with a friend who has a niece who is an editor at
Elle Décor,
and has convinced her that this place might be worth a story in their magazine next spring.”

“But the island police . . .”

“Apparently Grandfather spoke with your local police chief and the man was willing to make sure his investigation didn’t interfere with our work. He probably made a sizable contribution to the island police benevolent society—or whatever you have here. That’s the way Grandfather usually works.”

“And why shouldn’t he, when he can get that money by simply charging someone else an exorbitant premium for services?”

“Excuse me? I don’t follow that.”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” she answered, furious. “Look, I have things to do. Could you make a list of all your grandmother’s changes and whether you think we can talk her out of them? I’ll take a look later this afternoon and we can discuss it—as well as a few problems that we’re having . . .”

“What?”

“Nothing serious. Some of the lights could be installed more cheaply if we didn’t have to cross beams, and what do you want to do about access to the plumbing once we close up the walls? Little stuff like that. Are you going to be around later?”

“Sure. Let me give you my cell phone number and you can give me a call.”

“Great.”

Josie was in her truck on the way to the police station before it occurred to her that what she had just learned might explain Trish Petric’s presence at the Bride’s Secret the night before. Perhaps that young officer had been investigating the murder on her own, since the Rodneys apparently had been bribed to leave the murder unsolved.

TWENTY-EIGHT

THE LOCAL POLICE department had offices in the large brick municipal building located near the center of the island. Josie parked in the macadam parking lot, skirted the long line of tourists waiting to buy beach passes in the booth provided, and entered the lobby where Officer Petric sat, perched on the edge of the dispatcher’s desk.

Mrs. Tracy Pepper, who worked as the weekday dispatcher in the summer and returned to her job as an elementary school secretary the rest of the year, looked up and smiled. “Josie Pigeon. I was just talking about you over the weekend. Word on the island is that you and Sam are going to have the wedding to end all weddings. Did I hear a rumor about twelve bridesmaids?”

“You may have heard that, but all I can say is you can’t believe everything you hear,” Josie answered.

“Well, I sure hope you don’t forget my husband and me—we wouldn’t want to miss the sight of Tyler in a tuxedo escorting you down the aisle. Which church have you reserved, by the way? The Catholic church is the biggest, of course, but I think the Episcopal has the most charm. On the other hand, the Methodist church has that large hall for the reception. You know all your guests will hang around for that if Risa is going to be catering. What do you think?”

“I’m letting Sam decide on the church,” Josie said, dropping that problem right in her fiancé’s lap. She realized Trish Petric was staring at her. “Good to see you again,” Josie said.

Trish just nodded, not bothering to put a smile on her face.

“Officer Petric and I ran into each other in the middle of the night at the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast,” Josie said to Mrs. Pepper.

“I will be filing a report, if you’re interested in all the details,” Trish explained, sliding off the desk. “I’m going to hit the road. Good to see you again,” she said over her shoulder as she marched to the door.

“She’s not very friendly, is she?” Josie asked when she and the dispatcher were alone together in the lobby.

“Well, not to you, that’s for sure. I haven’t had any complaints. She’s certainly quite competent. Does her work well, fills out reports on time—which is more than I can say for the Rodneys,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Sometimes this office runs weeks behind when it comes to paperwork. You would be amazed.”

“Not really,” Josie admitted. “Remember, I was once young and foolish enough to date Mike, and he used to brag about taking the long view and not getting bogged down in petty details. I sort of guessed that meant he didn’t fill out a lot of forms in a timely fashion.” Josie didn’t mention that she hated paperwork as well.

“Well, Officer Petric is a real addition to the department.” Mrs. Pepper looked at the closed door that led to the police department offices. “Are you here about the construction job?”

“You mean the murdered man at the Bride’s Secret?”

“No.” She turned her back and began to go through files in the bottom drawer of her desk. “I mean the new forensic center.”

“The what?”

“The new forensic center.” The dispatcher didn’t raise her voice, but she enunciated as clearly as possible.

“What new forensic center?”

“The one that’s going to be built over the winter— don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it yet!”

“No. Is the state going to locate a new laboratory in the area?”

“It has nothing to do with the state. The island police department is going to have its very own forensic laboratory—I should say laboratories. But I probably shouldn’t have mentioned them to you. The public announcement hasn’t been made.”

“I certainly haven’t heard anything about it,” Josie said. “Do you have any idea where the money is coming from?”

“The rumor is a private donor, but that doesn’t mean anything, does it?” She looked up, an indignant expression on her face. “And when I consider how much is really needed here on the island—wouldn’t you think that anyone wanting to contribute to the community would realize we need a new playground at the elementary school more than a forensic lab? I mean, the only real crimes we have here are the bodies that keep turning up on Island Contracting’s work sites . . . not that anyone blames you, of course.”

Josie had been ready to confront the Rodneys about this new rumor, but she decided there was more to learn here first. Mrs. Pepper not only kept her ear to the ground, but she answered the phone: she was in a unique position to know more about what was going on than most. And she might be convinced to share her information with the mother of one of her all-time favorite students. “There’s no evidence connecting anyone working for Island Contracting with the dead man,” Josie pointed out.

“Except that good-looking electrician—wasn’t his driver’s license found on the corpse?”

“Yes. But he didn’t know the man.”

“Of course that’s what he would say.”

“Do you know something I don’t know?” Josie asked.

“He had all those speeding tickets, and he didn’t pay some of the fines—that’s illegal—and it’s not at all honest. I don’t know about you, but I would have a hard time trusting someone like that.”

Josie remembered the bags Leslie had been hauling from the attic. By coming down here she may have missed the opportunity to identify their contents. Contents about which Leslie certainly had lied. “Yes. You’re right there,” she said. “But I thought it was odd that Leslie was brought down here yesterday just to be asked about the tickets. I mean, he said that no one asked him about the murdered man. Of course, he could have lied,” she added.