Death at a Premium (8 page)

“Sure.”

“Christopher, what are you up to?” came a voice from behind them. “Why, I remember you when you were just a baby and now look at you—designing houses for your grandparents!”

Tight designer jeans, a deep reddish-purple silk shirt, Gucci loafers worn without socks, and hair dyed a brown so dark it was almost magenta. Luigi had arrived.

NINE

THE HIGGINSES WEREN’T willing to accept second-best, and Luigi was here to see that they didn’t get it. He made that point more than once in the hours he spent examining the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast. He didn’t like anything. Nothing was as Seymour Higgins had described it to him, and Luigi wasn’t the least bit reticent when it came to expressing his disappointment.

“This place is horrible. I know that this sort of mid-century crap is popular in some circles, but so inappropriate for a woman of your grandmother’s class and sensibilities. I was expecting something very different— very, very different. Something with an air of romance. At the very least some ambience. You do know how this place got its name, don’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” Christopher answered. Josie thought he looked as though he couldn’t care less.

“There was a murder here—a murder for love.” His emerald-green eyes (contacts, Josie guessed) opened wide, and Luigi told the tale. “This place was built as a wedding present from a man to his future wife. It may not look like much now, but supposedly at that time it was incredible. There weren’t many big houses on this island in those days, and this one was the biggest and grandest of them all. People came by train from Philadelphia and New York City just to see it.”

“So that’s why Grandfather bought this house—to tell my grandmother that he loves her as much as the man who built this place loved his wife.”

Luigi made a skeptical sound. “He’d better hope she loves him more than that bride did. This place is called the bride’s secret, not the wife’s secret.”

“I don’t get it,” Christopher said.

“The story is that they never got married. She vanished the night before the wedding. No one on the island ever saw her again.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Your grandfather said there were rumors, of course.”

“What sort of rumors?”

“Apparently the architect also vanished. Some people said that he fell in love with the woman while building the house, and they ran off to California the night before the wedding. But apparently there were a lot of people who thought that while the affair might have happened, the trip to California was, alas, wishful thinking. Your grandfather believes that the man who built the house found out about the affair, killed his fiancée, hid her somewhere on the property, and then moved into the house to be near her body. So romantic, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” Josie answered, but Luigi wasn’t interested in her answer.

“Mr. Seymour Higgins and I think the story is very, very romantic. Mr. Higgins said that when he worked here while in college, there were brochures on the hallway table in case guests were interested in the building’s history. Although naturally those brochures didn’t mention the ghosts.”

“What ghosts?” Josie asked.

“As I understand the story, some people claim that the bride’s body was concealed in the walls. And that her ghost—and the ghost of her murderer—roam the hallways during storms.” He shrugged his silk-clad shoulders. “I never believe that crap, but I cannot believe this is the same Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast that your grandmother and grandfather described to me.”

He wasn’t talking about the demolition. Apparently Christopher’s grandparents had waxed lyrical about the Bride’s Secret, omitting the extensive changes made in the last forty years. Josie, who had followed Luigi downstairs and had noticed the tell-tale tiny scars behind his ears, was tempted to suggest that the house had not benefited from as much nipping and tucking as some people had. But she said nothing, merely taking notes when Luigi actually said something that she could use.

To give Christopher credit, he had made all the right suggestions, even offering a pile of catalogues from which to choose toilets, tiles, refrigerators. Everything was rejected.

Luigi was here to look around, to get a feel for the place. But except for a few impractical suggestions concerning additional closet space, anything that might move the project along was ignored. And he wasn’t interested in what they had accomplished. Josie pointed out the work they had done, the demolition, even the places where the dummies had been found. Luigi listened and then changed the subject back to himself and his work. “I simply cannot make decisions in any foreign environment. I need my own space. My office, my city.”

“And isn’t this incredibly hideous?” They were in the kitchen, and Josie could only agree that there was nothing at all appealing or even practical about the small space. But she couldn’t just demolish the room and then leave it empty. Someone had to make some decisions. She was about to explain this when Mary Ann stuck her head around the corner and waved. “Josie, when you have a minute . . .” She vanished.

“I think someone on my crew needs me.”

“I believe I need you now,” Luigi answered. “I want to get everything in my mind before I see dear Seymour and Tilly.”

The Higgins were paying the bills, so Josie had no choice but to listen. “Of course. I’ll just close this door. I can’t imagine why it’s open. She reached out for the knob and realized that Vicki was standing on the top step.

“We need you!” Vicki whispered urgently.

“I’m busy in here,” Josie answered loudly. “You know Luigi needs my help right now. I’ll come on out when I’m free.”

“But . . .”

“Later.” Josie slammed the door in her worker’s face.

Christopher finally spoke up. “You know, Luigi, there are some beautiful homes on the island. There are some wonderful local workers.”

“Isn’t she local?” Luigi stared at Josie’s jeans, work boots, and unmanicured nails as though he couldn’t imagine any other possibility.

“Yes, Josie is a contractor—a carpenter,” Christopher said.

Luigi peered at Josie. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe I remember your name.”

“It’s Pigeon. Josie Pigeon.”

“What an odd name, I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone named Pigeon before.”

“Josie owns the best contracting company on the island,” Christopher said, making Josie feel a bit better.

“I know who she is. I just didn’t remember her name there for a moment. It was a very long drive here from the city. The traffic was horrible. I really should have a nice lunch—perhaps a small crab salad and a nice glass of Vouvray—and lie down for a bit. I hate to admit it, but I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

“Why don’t you both go to lunch at Basil’s new place?” Josie suggested quickly.

The idea didn’t seem to appeal to Luigi. “Is it here on the island? I have a very sensitive stomach and I can eat only very fresh food, prepared in the best continental manner.”

“The restaurant has been reviewed favorably in
The
New York Times,
” Josie said. “It’s considered one of the best restaurants in town.”

“Really?
The New York Times
?” Luigi said slowly. “Perhaps I have heard about it.”

“Basil Tilby owns it. In fact, he owns several restaurants on the island. You may know of him. He’s been interviewed on the Food Network more than once, and there was an article written about his fish dishes in
Gourmet
magazine last June,” Josie added.

“I think we might just try it for lunch.”

Josie realized she wasn’t included in this invitation. Not that she cared. “Take your time. I’ll be here when you get back,” she said to Christopher, hoping he would drop Luigi in the ocean on the way.

“I have many people to see this afternoon. If I don’t come back, you will understand,” Luigi said starting for the door.

“If he doesn’t come back, I know you’ll be thrilled,” Christopher whispered to Josie. He grinned, then followed the decorator from the room.

No sooner was he gone than Mary Ann and Vicki appeared.

“Are they gone for a while?” Vicki asked.

“Are they going to be back soon?” Mary Ann asked.

“They went to lunch. I hope we never see Luigi again. I can’t imagine what the Higginses were thinking when they suggested he come down here and waste our time. But that’s not our problem. We need to get back to work. Where’s Leslie?” Josie asked.

“He’s with the body. We didn’t want to leave it alone,” Mary Ann explained.

“That stupid thing!” Josie exploded. “Put it in the Dumpster and let’s get on with this job.”

“You don’t understand,” Vicki said.

“No, we found another body. A real one,” Mary Ann explained.

“Damn. I guess we’re going to have to call the police,” Josie said.

TEN

JOSIE WAS EXPECTING Mike Rodney or his father to respond to her call, and she didn’t know whether to be pleased or concerned when Trish Petric stepped out of the police cruiser. Josie knew the Rodneys would cause problems, but she found herself longing for the devil she knew.

“We got some sort of stupid prank call about another body,” Trish said immediately.

“I called . . .” Josie began.

“It’s illegal to waste police time,” Trish interrupted.

“I don’t think you’re going to find this a waste of your time. There’s a dead woman on the floor in the master bedroom suite,” Josie explained.

“Yeah, right. Of course. So why are you all sitting out here on the porch if there’s a body inside?”

Nic looked around at her fellow workers. “I guess no one wanted to stay in there with her. I know I sure didn’t. She gives me the creeps.”

Trish looked disgusted. “Perhaps the person who shows me the body should be someone who doesn’t get the creeps so easily.”

Josie had been leaning against a post supporting the roof of the porch, and she shifted her weight to her feet. “I’ll go in with you. Leslie, Vicki, Mary Ann, and Nic can wait out here for the rest of your department.”

“I’m alone on this one,” Trish informed them. “The Chief and his son are busy.”

“You’re kidding. There’s a dead body in the house. What are they doing that could be more important than being here?” Nic asked.

For the first time Trish looked a bit less confident. “They’re down on the dock making sure the state’s nonresident saltwater fishing regulations are posted.”

“It takes two grown men to do that?” Leslie asked.

“They’re fishing. Or crabbing,” Josie explained. “And if the blues are running early this year, they may decide to check out some of the charter boats that go out as well.”

“Making sure state fishing regulations are enforced is an important duty of police departments in shore areas,” Trish insisted.

“Yeah, right.” Josie knew those “duties” would be quickly forgotten when the Rodneys heard about her crew’s latest discovery. “So do you want to see the body now?”

“I’m not the one slowing us down asking questions.”

Josie opened the door and entered the house. She didn’t bother to reply to Trish’s criticism.

Leslie and Vicki had discovered the body as they began pulling the wooden panels off the walls upstairs. According to Vicki, the body, tightly wrapped in a blanket, had been dumped in a space left when the wall was wrapped around the chimney leading from the living room fireplace to the roof. Josie explained this as she led the police officer up the stairs. “When the walls were paneled, I guess someone figured leaving an unusually large space would protect the paneling from any heat escaping from the chimney. Not that it would. It really wasn’t safe at all, and certainly not up to code,” she added, opening the door and standing back so Trish could precede her into the room.

“Oh my God. She’s real,” declared Officer Petric.

Leslie had unwound the royal blue Hudson Bay blanket which had surrounded the body and revealed maroon dried bloodstains on the woman’s back.

The police officer walked a few steps into the room and then stopped, fumbling for the cell phone hanging from her belt. “I need to call in about this. I need . . . uh, I think I need backup.”

Josie knew she had the unfortunate distinction of having viewed more murder victims than most people, but she was still surprised by the police officer’s obvious discomfort. Trish was, after all, a professional, and it wasn’t as though the scene before them was particularly gory. The body lay on the floor, face toward the wall. Except for the bloodstains and the location, the woman might have been taking a nap. Her long blond hair straggled down her back and mixed with the dried blood covering her pressed dark cotton shirt. A long white shirt and deck shoes worn without socks completed her outfit. No one, as far as Josie knew, had turned the body over to examine her more carefully. Apparently Trish wasn’t going to do it, either. She had moved over into a corner as far away as it was possible to get without leaving the room to make her phone call. Josie leaned against the door-jamb and waited for the arrival of the rest of the island’s police force. She heard her crew moving around downstairs, chatting together quietly. “I should go and . . .”

Trish looked up. “I’d prefer you to stay right where you are.”

“Oh, okay. It’s just that I hate wasting time and my crew could be working in another part of the house.”

“I said I’d prefer you to stay right where you are,” Trish repeated.

Josie realized there was nothing to be gained by arguing. Besides, she was amused by the police woman’s avoidance of the body. Trish was circling the dead woman, examining her without moving in for a closer look, frowning with one hand on the butt of her gun as though she expected some sudden movement on the part of the cadaver. Downstairs, the squeal of old wood splitting signaled a renewal of demolition. Josie just hoped no more bodies were discovered. She looked up, realizing Trish was speaking to her and not into her phone. “Excuse me?”

“I asked you if you knew her . . . if you could ID the dead woman.”