Death at a Premium (3 page)

“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.

The message was from her insurance agent, asking her to call him at home if it “wasn’t too late” when she got his message. Josie frowned. What was too late for one person was the shank of the evening to another, but her agent had never before called her at home. That, combined with the fact that this was the second call today, worried Josie enough for her to decide that it very definitely wasn’t too late. She reached for the phone.

It wasn’t good news and it was delivered rather abruptly by her agent, who explained that he didn’t mind her calling—it was just that he had been in the shower. When Josie hung up a few minutes later, she knew she had a problem. Leslie Coyne was uninsurable.

There are people who eat when they’re worried and those who don’t. Josie could never understand the latter group. She headed straight for her freezer where she expected to find a pint or two of Ben and Jerry’s finest.

Unfortunately Tyler had gotten there first. Her small freezer was empty except for three ice cube trays, a frost-covered Weight Watchers mac and cheese meal, and a bag of peas so old Josie couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t been in the freezer when she rented the apartment. She closed one door and opened the other. The refrigerator wasn’t much better. And there was no milk—a necessity for a teenage boy who could easily empty two boxes of cereal in twenty-four hours. She sighed and reached for her purse. A trip to the twenty-four-hour Wawa was in order.

Less than fifteen blocks away from her apartment, the convenience store marked the beginning of the small town at the southern end of the island. As usual at this time of day, the parking lot was busy with customers coming and going, buying the last six-pack of the day, or picking up Rice Krispies for tomorrow’s breakfast. Josie noticed Leslie Coyne driving off as she pulled into a parking spot, hopped out of her truck, and hurried into the crowded store, determined to quickly complete her errand. Unfortunately the woman at the head of the check-out line had misplaced her credit card. By the time the sliver of platinum plastic had been discovered tucked in a side pocket of her Coach carry-all, Josie was about to scream with frustration.

And that was before she left the store and found her son sitting in the police cruiser parked out front.

“Tyler!”

“Mom!”

“What’s going on? I thought you were going to a beach party.”

Officer Trish Petric answered Josie’s question. “We’re just talking, Ms. Pigeon. That’s all that’s going on here. Your son and I were having a little chat. And now I think it’s time he went home. I have to finish my patrol.” And much to Josie’s amazement, her son—with a sheepish expression she had never before seen on his face— got out of the car and, thrusting his hands in his jeans pockets, stared at the ground.

“Get in the truck and we’ll go home,” Josie said.

“I rode my bike here.”

“Toss it in the back.”

“I’d rather ride home . . . it won’t take more than five minutes,” he added. Tyler hopped on his bike and had taken off in the other direction before his mother could protest.

She bit her bottom lip. She could use those five minutes to think of something to say to him . . . maybe. What did any mother say to her child after discovering him “chatting” with the local police? What could Tyler have done? Underage drinking, illegal drugs, and shop-lifting all came to mind immediately, but none of those things sounded like her son. But wasn’t the family frequently the last to know when teenagers had serious problems? Could Tyler be suffering from a serious addiction and she hadn’t even had an inkling of the problem? She drove home, her imagination active. By the time Tyler walked into their apartment, she had envisioned him homeless on the streets of a big impersonal city after a long series of unsuccessful stints in various treatment centers. So vivid was her vision that she was almost shocked by his happy, wholesome demeanor as he greeted his cat.

“Hi there, Urch, time for bed,” he announced, lifting his small Burmese cat high in the air.

“Why were you talking to that police officer?” Josie asked, knowing immediately that she sounded rather ridiculous.

“Officer Petric had some questions for me, about some of the kids on the island. Nothing serious,” he added, heading, as he usually did, for the refrigerator. “Anything to eat in here? I’m starving.”

Josie smiled. That was her Tyler—always hungry. And he was exactly the right person for Officer Petric to question about the other teenagers. Tyler knew and was liked by everyone. “There’s cereal, and I just bought milk. And I hid a bag of Mint Milanos in the cupboard over the refrigerator,” she added, smiling now that she no longer had to worry.

“Thanks, Ma. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on those cookies,” Tyler said, reaching for the bag.

Josie grinned at him. “I’m going to head off to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day for me. What are you doing?”