Death at a Premium (24 page)

“Nope. He was almost arrested over those tickets.” Again Tracy lowered her voice and leaned closer to Josie. “If you ask me there was something odd about that—it didn’t make any sense. And I’m not the only person who thinks so.”

“Who else?”

“Officer Petric was outraged—literally outraged—by the whole thing.”

“Really?’

“Yup. She could hardly talk, she was so angry. She stood right where you’re standing right now and told me that she was thinking of quitting the force over it all.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But she’s young and idealistic. I pointed out that leaving her first job without a good recommendation might affect her entire career, and that she would do more good by working hard this summer and learning from the experience.”

“And she agreed with you?”

“Well, she’s still here, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Did you know that Officer Petric used to spend summers here when she was young?”

“Of course I did. I didn’t understand why she would take this job, to tell the truth, but she explained that she had ties to the island that went way back. Her being here made more sense after I understood that. She’s so smart—first in her class at the police academy and in college, I understand—there had to be a reason why she would turn up on the island working for our police department.” Mrs. Pepper looked over Josie’s shoulder and smiled. “Chief Rodney . . . I was just about to make some coffee. Perhaps you would like a cup?”

“Is that why you’re here, Miss Pigeon? Looking for a free cup of coffee?”

“No, Chief Rodney, but I do want to talk to you.”

“Then step into my office. We can have some privacy. No point in the entire island knowing our business, is there, Mrs. Pepper?”

“Definitely not, Chief Rodney.” The dispatcher waited until the police chief’s back was turned to wink at Josie, who smiled back and then followed the man through the doorway to his office.

“So, what can I do for you, Miss Pigeon?”

“I . . .”

“Other than offer Island Contracting the job of a lifetime, that is.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come now, Josie, I know you and Mrs. Pepper are thick as thieves. I can’t imagine that you and she have been talking out there for . . .” He glanced down at his watch. “For almost five minutes without her spilling the beans about the new forensic laboratory that is going to be built right here on the island.”

“How did you know I’d been here for five minutes?”

Chief Rodney pointed to the television monitor Josie had noticed the last time she was here. This time it was on and broadcasting a clear view of the dispatcher’s desk as well as the front door. “New security cameras. Our little island got its share of funds from the Department of Homeland Security, same as the big cities.”

Josie turned, looked up, and together they watched a young woman and a small child walk through the police station doors, cross the lobby, and speak to Mrs. Pepper. The dispatcher waved in the direction of the rest rooms and the visitors took off.

“Gotta remember to remind that Pepper woman that these rest rooms are not for the general public—only people here on official police business,” Chief Rodney growled.

“No audio?” Josie asked.

“No, we were gonna get it, but it turned out to be too expensive.”

“Sound was too expensive but you’re talking about funding a new forensics laboratory?” Josie asked, relieved that her conversation with the dispatcher hadn’t been overheard.

“Different funds. Wait until the island sees what’s going to be built in that empty lot behind the old water tower.” He pulled rolled blueprints from beneath his desk and began to spread them out. “Look at this.”

She looked—and marveled. “This is incredible. Do I count six laboratories?”

“Seven. And nine offices, and three men’s rooms and one ladies’ room. Not bad, right?”

“Incredible,” she repeated. “Where did the money come from?”

“Private donor. Wants to remain anonymous. You know how it is.”

“Not really, but I’d sure like to find out.” Josie leaned closer, examining the handwritten instructions concerning under-floor plumbing requirements. “So when is this project going to be up for bids?”

“What bids? I’m not following you, Miss Pigeon.”

“I assume bidding for this project will be open to all the contractors on the island.”

‘‘No . . .”

“And off-island, I suppose,” she added, thinking she had made a mistake.

“You’re missing the point, Miss Pigeon. The anonymous donor has already picked a contractor—and you’re it.”

“Island Contracting’s going to build this?”

“You got it.”

“It doesn’t have to be bidded out?”

“Nope. And there’s a contract ready to be signed just as soon as you’re finished with your summer project. All nice and legal. Congratulations.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to say,” she started before another thought struck. “This is being done on the cheap, right? I can’t afford to take on a job that might end up costing me money.”

“Nope. The anonymous donor has been real generous. What do you think about . . . for the job,” he added, naming a figure.

“I think it’s fantastic. Maybe too fantastic to be believed,” she added.

“You believe it, Josie Pigeon. Sounds to me like this may be your lucky year.”

“Yeah, courtesy of your anonymous donor,” Josie said, turning and looking back up at the security monitor. Christopher Higgins had just walked in the front door of the station house with his grandfather—better known in this room, at least, as the anonymous donor.

TWENTY-NINE

“LOOKS LIKE YOU have company—the architect of your new forensic laboratory and his grandfather, who I assume donated the money for your building,” Josie pointed out.

“Damn it, Josie, why do you think you know who donated the money for this project?”

“I recognized the handwriting on the blues you just showed me. I should—Christopher keeps changing the ones I’m using to remodel his grandfather’s house.”

“And Seymour Higgins must be happy with your work since, as you have guessed, he insisted on hiring Island Contracting for this project.”

“We do excellent work for a reasonable price.”

“Yeah, but you’re a real pain in the butt, Josie. I told him that there were other companies, but he insisted on you.” Chief Rodney shrugged. “You know what they say: never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“So I’ve heard. . . . They’re leaving,” Josie said, surprised.

“Probably here to drop off some papers—that Seymour Higgins must spend a fortune on lawyers. There are always more papers to sign. I’ve wasted many precious hours on that man.”

“But anything for a forensic laboratory, right?” Josie knew she sounded sarcastic, and apparently Chief Rodney heard it too.

“This is a big deal, Josie. And it’s important to me for reasons other than the fact that it will be a tribute to my years—my decades—running this police department.”

“Don’t tell me your name is going to be on the building. I don’t believe it!”

“I suggested the Rodney and Higgins Forensic Center, or even the Higgins and Rodney Forensic Center, but Mr. Higgins . . . Seymour . . . insisted on the Rodney Island Forensic Center.”

“So you expect the island to be named after you as well?” Josie asked. “And who the hell thinks we need a forensic center—or even a single laboratory—here anyway?”

“If we had a forensic laboratory here we might know who the dead man is,” Chief Rodney replied. “And how the hell can anyone figure out who killed the man unless we can identify him, I’d like to know.”

“Still no identification? Really?”

“Nope. No one matching his description has disappeared in the last month or so. A photograph was distributed nationally, but not a word. We could have a dangerous serial killer loose on the island and without that laboratory, there’s no goddamn way we’re gonna know it.”

“A serial killer who dresses up his victims as brides? Doesn’t that sound just a bit unlikely to you?”

“You think serial killers are sane? Do you have any idea of the strange ritual tortures some of them inflict on their victims? Why just last night on television there was a show about sexual deviancy, and . . .”

“I don’t want to hear about it, Chief. Really I don’t.”

“Well if you watched shows like that you might understand why we need a forensic laboratory here.”

“Look, I’m not gonna argue with you. All of this comes as a complete surprise to me. And as for building a forensic laboratory—well, I don’t even know if I want to be working for Seymour Higgins again. And I won’t know until I’ve finished up this project.”

Chief Rodney frowned. “It would be very, very foolish of you to turn down his generous offer, and it might screw up the entire goddamn project. You wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”

Josie recognized the worried expression on his face and worked to keep from smiling. She could screw this up if she turned down the contract! The smile escaped and she beamed. For the first time in the years since she had been living on the island, Josie Pigeon had the upper hand when it came to dealing with the Rodneys. “I’ll have to examine the contract very carefully,” she explained and turned to leave the room. “And we’ll have to agree—in writing—to a minimum of interference from . . . your office,” she added as she made her exit.

The door slammed behind her and Tracy Pepper looked up. “Josie, you make that man angrier than anyone on the island.”

“Yeah, well, his son hates me even more,” Josie pointed out.

“True.”

“I suppose I’d better be getting back to work. Now that I know Chief Rodney can see everything that goes on out here, I feel sort of self-conscious.”

“That damn camera bugged the hell out of me until I realized he couldn’t see anything I didn’t want him to see.”

“What do you mean?”

“Notice where the file cabinets are?”

Josie looked over in the corner and smiled. “So when you’re going through the files . . .”

“I can’t be seen on camera, and no one else can either.”

“But . . .”

“And some residents have begun using the back door to come and go as well. It’s more convenient if you park in the back lot,” the dispatcher pointed out.

“And can’t be seen on camera, either.”

“Got it in one. In fact, I’ve recently noticed that Trish Petric prefers that particular entrance.”

“Really?”

“And someone else uses it, although he doesn’t come down the station all that frequently.”

“Who?”

“Sam Richardson. In fact, he stopped in and asked me to tell you that he’s waiting in the parking lot for you.”

“How did he know I was here?”

“Could be that red Island Contracting truck parked out front.”

Josie grinned. “Yeah, I suppose that could be it. While I was talking with Chief Rodney, Seymour Higgins and his grandson were here, right?”

“Sure were. They dropped a bunch of papers off for the chief to sign.”

“That’s what Chief Rodney said.”

“Damn that man and his camera. It’s fine if he wants to see who is coming and going, but why does he think he has a right to spy on me? I’m thinking of having a torrid affair right in the middle of my desk—give him something interesting to watch.”

“That might take his mind off last night’s television, for sure,” Josie said. She added a good-bye, agreed to tell Tyler that his old school secretary was asking after him, and waving to Chief Rodney, left the building by the front door.

She hurried around to the back, where Sam Richardson was sitting in his MGB, top down, face up to the sun.

“Sam, I’m so glad you’re here. You won’t believe what has happened!”

“Something good, I hope!”

“Something amazing, but I have to get back to work.”

“Josie . . .”

“The truck is out front.”

“I know. That’s how I found you. I was over at the Bride’s Secret and everything was going just fine,” Sam paused and fingered a lock of her hair, “but I have something to show you. And if I’m right, things may not be quite so fine after I do.”

Sam had her complete attention. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“I think I should show you rather than tell you. Let’s go to my house.”

“Sam, I have to work.”

“I know. But this will be time well spent, unless I’m wrong—and I really don’t think I am.”

“Okay. But I’ll drive my truck. That way I can leave from there and not waste any more time.”

“You got it.” He started his engine. “Meet you there in ten minutes.”

Josie nodded and hurried back to her truck. She drove to Sam’s place, her worry about what he was going to show her replacing the joy at having a large winter building project fall into her company’s lap.

Sam had bought one of the few ranch houses built in the dunes in the 1950s. Except for the addition of a deck across the front of the home, which Josie had hated until Hurricane Agatha tore it off, he had done nothing to modernize the place. And he wouldn’t. Sam loved the 1950s and 1960s, and the entire postwar look, as much as Josie hated it. But she didn’t have time to think about their divergent tastes. Sam had left his front door open, and Josie entered and found him hunched over his computer. She walked across the room and looked over his shoulder.

“You’re shopping on eBay? I got the impression that you wanted to show me something important.”

“I did and I do. Look at this.”

“An incredibly ugly chair.”

“Vintage California design,” he said. “And look at this one.”

“I don’t . . .”

“Keep looking,” he ordered and scrolled down the screen. “Think, Josie, haven’t you seen these things before?”

“Not those exactly, but I’ve seen chairs like them here in your house. And those white Plexiglas chairs look like the ones that were in the dining room at the Bride’s Secret.”

“How many were there?”

“Twelve.”

“There are twelve for sale here . . .”

But Josie was still browsing. “Look at that hideous buffet—it looks like one that was in the living room at the Bride’s Secret. And those white lamps, they’re like the ones that were in the foyer.” She stopped speaking as Sam pointed to the next item for sale. “That looks just like the dresser that those lamps were sitting on. Sam, this is the furniture from the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast.”