Death at a Premium (6 page)

“Most delivery men know not to speed,” Josie said.

“This was a parking ticket. Apparently the rear wheels of his truck were outside of the line demarcating the loading zone.”

“There’s something wrong with that woman. Last night . . .”

“Josie, I really have to run. Dinner’s at seven tonight.”

“I’ll call if I’m going to be late,” she said, but Sam was already shifting his MGB into gear. He roared off down the street, and she hoped Officer Petric wasn’t patrolling the ten or so blocks between the deli and Sam’s store.

She wasn’t, because she was manning a speed trap right around the corner from the deli—a speed trap Josie drove right into. She pulled over and waited for Officer Petric to stroll up to her truck.

“Ms. Pigeon, are you aware that you were going fortyfive in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone?”

“Not really. You see, my speedometer hasn’t been working, but I usually drive under the island speed limit. I’ve lived here for a long time. I’m used to it,” Josie continued, although she was aware of the fact that she didn’t have Officer Petric’s attention.

“When I took this job, I was warned that some of the natives might expect special attention, but . . .”

“Look, I’m not a native. I wasn’t born here. And I certainly don’t make a habit of speeding. And . . . are you writing me a speeding ticket?”

“No. I’m just giving you a verbal warning. But I can’t ignore that expired inspection sticker,” she added, ripping a sheet of paper off her pad and passing it to Josie. “You’ll see there’s a court date and time. Be there.” And, without giving Josie time to say anything (which might have been lucky, considering what Josie was about to say), the woman spun on her heels and returned to her cruiser. Josie turned the key in the ignition, put the truck in gear, and drove off. She was furious, and her face was nearly the color of her red hair.

She drove the fifty or so blocks back to the work site as slowly as possible. A couple of joggers passed her, chatting and laughing. Bicycles whizzed by. A woman pushing a baby in a stroller very nearly kept pace. And Officer Trish Petric stayed right on her tail.

By the time Josie arrived at her destination, she was so upset that she didn’t even wonder why her entire crew was sitting on the front porch doing nothing instead of being inside ripping down walls. She tucked the ticket in the breast pocket of her overalls, grabbed the now-dripping bag of hoagies, and started toward the house to join her crew.

She was surprised when the policewoman pulled over to the curb behind her truck. Didn’t this woman have anything to do other than hassle Josie and those she cared about? But she was even more surprised when her crew jumped down off the porch and met her halfway to the house.

“Hey, I know you’ve all been working hard, but we just took a coffee break less than an hour ago,” Josie said, handing the bag of sandwiches to Leslie. She looked over her shoulder. Officer Petric was sitting in the cruiser staring up at the house. “There’s Diet Coke in the truck,” she continued. At least she wouldn’t get a ticket for abusing her workers or some other trumped up charge.

“I’ll get the Coke,” Vicki offered.

“We should eat on the porch,” Mary Ann said.

“It would be cooler inside . . .” Josie began.

“We should eat on the porch,” Nic said, glancing at the police car and then back to Josie.

Josie decided to exert some authority. “I think . . .”

“It’s okay,” Mary Ann interrupted. “The cop is leaving.”

“Let’s all go inside,” Leslie said.

Josie was beginning to feel as though no one was listening to her, and she didn’t like the feeling. “I think . . .”

“There’s a body upstairs,” Nic interrupted again. “A dead body.”

Josie looked over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Leslie said. “We waited until she was gone to say anything.”

Well, Josie thought, at least she had hired a smart crew.

SEVEN

WHERE DID YOU find it? Do you know who it is?
These and about a million other questions occurred to Josie as she followed her crew back into the house, but no one said anything until the front doors were closed and they could no longer be heard by anyone on the street. Then she couldn’t wait any longer.

“Where did you find it? Do you know who it is? Is it a woman or a man? How did he . . . or she die? Who found . . .”

“We’ll show you,” Mary Ann spoke up. “She’s upstairs.”

“Les knocked down the wall and . . . well, and there she was . . . and there she is.” Vicki, not surprisingly, sounded upset.

“Where?”

“Behind the linen closet at the end of the hall on the second floor.” Leslie answered.

“What are we going to do?” Vicki asked.

Josie was honest. “I don’t know.”

“I guess just walling her back up is out of the question,” Leslie said, and Josie thought she detected a bit of wishful thinking.

“Yes, it certainly is . . .”

They had arrived at the top of the stairs and Josie led the way down the hallway toward what looked like a thick roll of drop cloths. Only when they were closer did she realize that there were feet protruding from one end— feet wearing socks woven with a design of flamingos and encased in bright pink Keds.

Josie knelt down and peered into the opposite end of the roll. Long blond hair and the top of a pair of sequin-adorned sunglasses were all she could make out in one quick look, and one quick look was all she could stand.

“Crap.” She leaned back on her heels and repeated the word. “Crap.”

“What are we going to do?” Vicki asked.

“We have to call the police, don’t we?” Mary Ann said.

“Yeah, but how are we going to explain that we didn’t speak up when Josie arrived here with that police escort?” Leslie asked.

“That might be a problem,” Vicki agreed.

“I don’t see why. We were in shock. Finding a dead body hidden behind a wall isn’t something that happens every day. I don’t think anyone can blame us for anything we did or didn’t do,” Mary Ann said.

“But . . .”

“Let’s go downstairs.” Josie interrupted.

“Do you think we should just leave her here?” Mary Ann asked.

Josie stood up. “She’ll be fine here for the time being. And I don’t know about you all, but I’ll be more comfortable someplace else.”

They all seemed to agree.

The bag of hoagies was waiting for them on a shelf in the foyer, but no one was particularly interested in lunch. Josie passed them out anyway. She had been through this before, and knew that keeping as normal a schedule as possible would help alleviate the stress. Besides, she was a person who needed to eat when she was nervous.

Apparently Leslie fell into that category as well, she thought, watching him rip open the wrapping and take a huge bite of his sandwich. Nic, Vicki, and Mary Ann didn’t join the feast. Mary Ann sat down on the bottom step staring at her food without eating as much as a nibble. Nic didn’t even bother to take the last sandwich; she just stood staring out the window to the street. Vicki took one bite, gagged, and rushed out into the backyard where, Josie assumed, she threw up in private.

“We have to call the police, but I think we should take a few minutes and talk first,” Josie began. “You see, I’ve dealt with the police on this island for years and they’re . . . well, they’re incompetent at best.”

“And at worst?” Leslie asked, his mouth full.

“I know this is going to sound odd, to say the least, but they hate me. You see, the permanent police force is made up of Mike Rodney Senior and Mike Rodney Junior. And Mike Rodney Junior is . . . was . . . well, we dated for a while. It didn’t work out, and I stopped seeing him. He wasn’t happy about that, and he and his father have been hassling me ever since.” And the new officer on the island seemed to be following in that tradition, she added to herself.

“But this is murder, not a speeding ticket,” Vicki said, reappearing in the room.

“How do you know she was murdered?” Nic asked, turning around.

“She didn’t roll herself in those cloths and build a wall to hide behind,” Mary Ann pointed out. “I suppose she might have died of natural causes before being hidden, but I can’t imagine why anyone would do something like that.”

“We don’t really know anything.” Leslie said.

“We know we have to call the police soon, so let’s not worry about what we don’t know, and focus on what we do,” Josie suggested. “Leslie was ripping down that wall, right?”

“Yes. Just Sheetrock on two-by-fours, it didn’t take any time at all. But when the wall came down, she came with it,” Vicki explained.

“She fell on top of the rubble,” Mary Ann added. “So she must have been propped up inside the wall. You know, standing up.”

“Why?”

“Because if she had been lying on the floor, she wouldn’t have fallen out like that,” Mary Ann said. “I mean, she might have sort of rolled out, but she wouldn’t have fallen over on top of the wallboard and stuff, would she?”

“No, I guess not. Look,” Josie added, “I hate to do this, but I’m going to call the police and let them know what we’ve found. The longer we wait, the more explaining we’re going to have to do.”

“If they ask why we didn’t call sooner, how are we going to explain the time lag?” Leslie asked.

Josie shrugged. “I don’t think we have to. We can just say that we found the body when we were tearing down the wall. You four were together when the body was found and I was . . .” She remembered that Officer Petric had followed her here and would know her crew was waiting on the porch for her return. “Well, I was out picking up lunch, and you showed me as soon as I returned. If anyone asks about the time discrepancy, just let me handle it. Okay?”

“Sure,” Nic agreed.

Mary Ann spoke up. “But we’ll tell the truth, won’t we? I don’t believe in lying to the police.”

“We won’t lie. But remember what I told you. These police officers are not like the ones you might have run into other places,” Josie warned.

Leslie held out his cell phone. “Do you want to call or shall I?”

“I will,” Josie said. “I suppose I should use 911.”

“Only if it’s an emergency, Miss Pigeon.”

She recognized that deep voice, and with a sigh, looked up and discovered Mike Rodney Senior, the island’s chief of police, in the open doorway, leaning against the door-jamb. As usual, he was not smiling.

“I prefer to use
Ms.,
Chief Rodney.”

“From what I hear, you’re gonna be using Mrs. sometime at the end of summer. Guess I should offer my congratulations. Who woulda thought a carpenter like you would get herself a big-shot lawyer for a husband? Guess you have hidden talents, Miss Pigeon.”

She knew she was being baited. And she knew she shouldn’t rise to the bait. But she started to anyway. “I have . . .”

“We found a body,” Mary Ann interrupted. “A dead body. Upstairs.”

Chief Rodney slowly turned away from Josie. “What did you say?” He asked the question slowly, as though speaking to a backward child.

“There’s a dead body upstairs.” Nic spoke up. “A woman.”

Chief Rodney shook his head. “What is it about you and dead bodies, Miss Pigeon?” he asked, apparently too surprised to take the opportunity to insult Josie.

Josie had no idea how to answer his question, so she ignored it. “She’s in the hallway upstairs. She’s the reason we were talking about calling the police when you arrived.” She started toward the staircase. “I’ll show you.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll go up myself. You all can just wait down here.” He yanked a cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number as he stomped up the risers.

No one said anything until he was out of sight. “God, you were telling the truth. He really doesn’t like you,” Mary Ann whispered.

Josie nodded. She looked over at Leslie and Vicki. Leslie was picking at a hangnail with an intent expression on his face. Vicki was staring at him as she chewed on her lower lip. Nic had turned her back on the room and was again gazing out the window to the street.

Josie could no longer hear the police chief’s footsteps or his orders to whomever he had called. She leaned against the wall behind her. In a few minutes she would be involved in a murder investigation again, an investigation which might delay work on Island Contracting’s biggest summer project. An investigation that would put her in frequent—possibly daily—contact with the island’s police officers. An investigation that might even make it necessary to delay her wedding. Well, everything had its bright side, she decided, as Chief Rodney stomped back down the stairs. The expression on his face seemed to indicate that any bright side to this situation was escaping him. He looked furious.

“What the hell sort of game are you playing, Josie Pigeon?”

She certainly hadn’t expected this sort of response. “I’m not playing any game. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. I reported finding a dead body, and as you’ve probably figured out, a murdered body. Because, of course, someone wrapped her in that old cloth and someone must have walled her in . . . I mean, it might have been the same someone, not two someones . . .” She realized she was losing track of the point she had been trying to make. “The woman was murdered. I reported finding her body to the police. To you. So I don’t understand why you’re angry.”

“You don’t understand?” Chief Rodney’s face was red as a fresh strawberry and getting redder by the minute. “You don’t understand?” he repeated. “You think I like people making fun of me?”

“I . . . I wasn’t.”

“Maybe you’d better come up and take a closer look at your murdered woman.”

“I . . .”

“Now!” he roared.

Josie followed him up the stairs. She was shocked by what had happened in the few minutes since she had entered the room. There had been absolutely no attempt made to preserve the crime scene. What was Chief Rodney doing while the rest of the country was watching
CSI
and other crime shows? she wondered, staring at the cloth that was now lying in the middle of the floor. A shoe—no, a leg, she realized—was propped up against a wall.