Death at a Premium (7 page)

“She’s a dummy,” Josie whispered as recognition dawned.

“And you thought I was a dummy and wouldn’t realize that fact.”

“No, never. I thought she was real. I never imagined anyone would make this up. Why would anyone hide a dummy behind a wall? This makes no sense.”

“Oh, it makes sense, Josie Pigeon. You or someone you hired is screwing with the police department— interfering with police business—and that’s against the law.”

“Is it against the law? Could he arrest me?” A few hours later Josie was stretched out on a well-padded chaise longue set in the middle of the deck behind Sam’s house in the dunes. She had a glass of chardonnay produced by a little known Monterey vineyard in one hand, and a cracker piled high with freshly picked crab in the other. Despite the setting and the accoutrements, she was anything but relaxed.

Sam took his time before answering. He took a sip of wine and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing in a manner Josie always found irritating. He held his glass up in the waning light and stared at the pale golden liquid. Josie was considering picking up the plate of crabmeat and using it to hit him over the head when he finally answered her question. “It’s possible you might be charged with any number of things, but I can’t imagine any of the charges sticking.”

“So I don’t have to worry, right?”

“I didn’t say that. Anytime either of the Rodneys is involved in your life, you should worry. Those two really have it in for you. And I’m beginning to think their new officer is just as bad. She came into the store this afternoon and . . .”

“Sam, I forgot to tell you. She had Tyler in her patrol car last night, in the parking lot at the Wawa.”

“Perhaps we should talk about this another time,” Sam interrupted. “Here he comes now, and I think that platter he’s carrying is filled with Mom’s figs and prosciutto.”

“Yeah, I am,” Tyler said. “You know, this stuff is okay. Sweet and salty at the same time, like a honey pretzel,” he said, dropping down and sprawling on a chair (his mother had no idea why he had given up sitting and taken up sprawling on his thirteenth birthday) after leaving the tray precariously resting on the table’s edge.

Sam rearranged the tray. “If honey pretzels would make you happy, perhaps you should stick to them. This stuff is almost twenty dollars a pound.”

“I really like this,” the teen said, and as if to prove it, he stuffed two ham-wrapped fig halves in his mouth at the same time.

“Tyler!”

“Mom, Mrs. Birnbaum said to bring this plate out to you and to help myself,” he said after swallowing. “What am I doing wrong?”

Tyler had great grades, perfect SAT scores, and was generally considered intelligent and charming. As he stuffed another fig in his mouth, his mother couldn’t imagine why.

Sam grabbed some of the figs before they could vanish. “I gather you and my mother haven’t figured out a solution to your problem.”

“Nope. I suggested
Carol
since that’s what Mom calls her, but Mrs. Birnbaum thinks that’s too impersonal. Then I got this really cool idea:
Top Mama,
but I guess she doesn’t think it’s as cool as I do.”

“She might have a point there. I’m sure you two will figure out something eventually.”

“Yeah, we’re both really smart.”

“What are you trying to figure out?” Josie asked.

“What to call Sam’s mom. She’s going to be my step-grandmother after you and Sam get married, right?”

“Good point,” Josie said. She took a deep breath and changed the subject. “You know, I was wondering about last night when I saw you and . . .”

“I gotta go, Mom. I promised Mrs. Birnbaum that I’d help in the kitchen.”

As the sliding glass door closed behind Tyler, Sam said, “Well, whatever was going on last night, he’s sure not anxious to talk to you about it.”

“And that’s what worries me. I can’t think of a single good reason for him to have been in the police cruiser.”

“It’s probably something perfectly innocent,” Sam said. “Good cops try to get to know the community. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Josie didn’t agree. In fact, she had so many things to worry about that she was beginning to lose count.

EIGHT

LESLIE FOUND THE second body. He had gone into the crawl space under the house searching for the water main shut-off valve and discovered another blond-wigged manikin stuffed behind a false ceiling near the water meter. When he climbed out, filthy and with silky cobwebs in his hair, and announced his discovery, Josie, Nic, Mary Ann, and Vicki crawled underneath the house without hesitating.

“This is really weird,” Leslie said and no one disagreed with him. “I suppose we should get her—it—out of here and call the police.”

“There’s no need to call anyone,” Nic said.

“But we called the police yesterday,” Vicki reminded her.

“Only because we thought we had discovered a dead body,” Josie said. “The police aren’t interested in this junk.” She poked the dummy with her finger. “And neither am I. Let’s get this thing out of here and get back to work. Leslie, would you toss this in the Dumpster?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Josie led her crew back outside. There was a fresh sea breeze and the sun was shining. She felt like shit. The previous night’s dinner had been delicious—and completely unsatisfactory. Sam’s mother had found it impossible to hide her enthusiasm for the wedding and had been full of suggestions for the service as well as the reception. She had even brought out the little candles shaped like wedding cakes. Josie, who had not yet made a guest list, was certainly not ready to think about favors. Sam seemed to know how Josie felt, but when he attempted to change the subject by mentioning a cruise his mother had taken a few months before, Carol offered suggestions for possible honeymoon locales. And when Josie brought up the house Island Contracting was working on, Carol had asked whether or not Josie was going to alter Sam’s house in any way after they were married.

Tyler was absolutely no help at all. His enthusiastic participation in any conversation about the wedding would have led anyone listening to suspect he was trying to avoid another subject—and that’s exactly what Josie did think. Then her son took off, claiming to have a date immediately after dinner. He had arrived back home after Josie was asleep, and he was still in bed when she left that morning.

A completely unsatisfactory evening, and now another stupid manikin.

She was trying not to ask herself what else could go wrong when Christopher Higgins walked around the corner of the house. Josie frowned. His appearance would waste her time if nothing else. He met her frown with a smile. “I come bearing gifts: bagels, lox, and cream cheese,” Christopher announced. He held up a large brown bag.

“Cool,” Leslie said, pulling the dummy up the last few steps and dragging it toward the Dumpster that now stood in the middle of the backyard.

“What the hell is that?” Christopher asked.

“What does it look like?” Josie asked.

“To tell you the truth, it looks like a bride,” he answered seriously.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Long blond hair, long white dress . . . I mean, it sort of looks like someone was making a dummy of a bride.”

“You know, he’s right,” Mary Ann said, walking closer to examine the wig and clothing hanging off the dummy. “It does look sort of like a bride—or someone going to a prom or something.”

“The one yesterday didn’t, though,” Vicki pointed out.

“Yesterday?” Christopher asked.

Josie didn’t think he had to know anything about that. “We found a bunch of stuff behind one of the walls we knocked down yesterday. It’s not that unusual. Workers—not my workers, but some workers—dump debris and garbage behind walls before they’re closed in. It’s easier than making an extra trip to the Dumpster. But you don’t have to worry. No one from Island Contracting would do anything like that.”

“I hope not. Food wrappers and that sort of garbage might attract rodents, and we certainly don’t want that.”

“Of course not,” Josie agreed and then asked him a question. “Why are you here?”

“You mean you don’t think I’m just playing delivery boy?” he teased.

She didn’t have time to fool around, and neither did her crew. “No. Why?” she repeated.

“I wanted to check out a few changes with you . . .”

This was one of the phrases Josie least wanted to hear.

“. . . before Luigi arrives to check out the house.”

“I’m sorry. I must have missed something. Who is Luigi? One of your relatives?” Josie asked.

“Luigi is my grandmother’s decorator. He decorated my grandparent’s New York townhouse—more than once, in fact. He also has a client here, a woman who owns one of those big houses up in the dunes. A Mrs. Fairchild. Maybe you know her?”

“No.” Josie neglected to add that she usually didn’t socialize with the island’s elite.

“Grandmother and Mrs. Fairchild are old friends, and when my grandfather heard that Luigi was going to be down here, he asked him to look in on our project. I think they’re checking up on me,” he added. The smile had vanished from his face.

Josie realized Christopher wasn’t any happier with this surprise visit than she was. “How long do you think Luigi will be on the island?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just a few days. He has lots of clients in the city—I would assume he has to get back to them sometime soon.”

Josie thought it was time to put Christopher out of his misery. “This might just work out for us. I have lots of decisions for your grandmother to make. None of the bathroom fixtures or the tiles for the kitchen backsplash have been selected. Maybe Luigi can look around and then help your grandmother pick out what is appropriate. He’ll have a lot to keep himself occupied.”

“What about those bagels and lox? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving,” Leslie reminded them all, changing the subject.

Christopher passed around the food, but Josie, though hungry, was not easily distracted. “Do you know if there’s anything in particular Luigi has come to see?”

“No. Well, I don’t know.” Christopher picked up a bagel half and smeared it with cream cheese. “To tell you the truth, Luigi works more closely with Grandmother than Grandfather, and I don’t think Grandmother was all that enthusiastic about Grandfather allowing me to remodel this house.”

“Really?” Josie resisted smiling. It sounded as though she and Mrs. Higgins had something in common.

“Yeah. I heard her talking to him when they didn’t know I was in the room next door, and she said it made no sense.” He stopped eating for a moment. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone in my class is jealous—no one else will have a senior thesis project like mine. No one else has relatives who will let them do something like this to a house they just bought.”

“Perhaps your classmates’ families aren’t . . . well, don’t have the resources your family does,” Josie suggested.

The young man brightened up considerably. “You know, you’re probably right. It might not have anything at all to do with my professional qualifications.” Or lack thereof, Josie thought. “And it might just be that no one else bought a house this year.”

She decided it was time to return to the task at hand. “It would be a big help if you could convince your grandmother to pick out appliances and bath fixtures sometime soon. Not that we need to get them in immediately, but if we can place the orders we’ll be sure they’re here when we need them. Otherwise the end of the project might be delayed, and I know you’re interested in finishing on time—right?”

“Yeah, even early would be nice,” Christopher enthused. “Then I could take a short break. Maybe spend a few weeks in the Hamptons before school starts.”

Josie didn’t comment. She wasn’t sure which would be worse: having him around and wasting her time for the entire project, or having to push the completion date so he could “spend a few weeks” relaxing before his classes began. “Look, I appreciate being given advance notice of Luigi’s arrival and we’re all going to enjoy the food you brought, but you did mention some changes you wanted to discuss,” she reminded him.

“Oh yeah, well, I was talking to my grandfather last night and I began to worry about storage.”

“Closets?”

“Yeah, closets and less conventional storage spaces. This place doesn’t have a basement, you know, and so all the stuff that families usually keep in the basement must be kept somewhere.”

“One of the garage bays was being used.”

“Yeah, but my grandfather specifically mentioned a place to store his fishing gear . . .”

“The garage would be perfect.”

“. . . in the house,” he finished his thought.

Josie frowned. This was one of those ideas that could diminish Island Contracting’s profit margin, unless she was careful. “We could increase the size of that small porch behind the kitchen.”

“And enclose it, right?” Christopher seemed enthusiastic about that idea. “Then Grandfather could bring his stuff right in from a day at the beach and leave it there. It would keep the house much cleaner, which Grandmother would love.”

“But it would increase the cost of the project, possibly by as much as fifteen thousand dollars,” she finished.

The enthusiasm vanished. “Oh. That might be a problem. You see, Grandfather thinks I . . . I don’t want Grandfather to think . . .”

“You forgot he wanted it and now you want it in the plans without him realizing that,” Josie guessed.

“Sort of. Do you think we could add the porch and maybe decrease costs someplace else? You know, find some extra money in the project?”

Josie was tempted to tell him that if he ever hired a contracting company that put fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of slush in a project, he had hired the wrong company. But Christopher was young. He would learn, and it wasn’t her job to teach him. “I think we’ll have to talk to your grandfather about increasing the final cost of the project before we touch that porch.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to my grandfather. I can handle it, but I’d rather do it in my own way. Okay?”