Death at a Premium (9 page)

Josie wondered if Trish watched the same cop shows she did. “No. I guess she couldn’t be the missing bride, though. Too recently killed.”

“What do you know about a missing bride?”

Josie was surprised by the sharpness of the question. Apparently Trish was even more upset by this discovery than she had imagined. “It’s the legend of the house, before it was a bed-and-breakfast,” she said, and then repeated the story Luigi had told just a few hours before.

Trish wasn’t impressed. “Of course she couldn’t be the bride. That’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. In the first place, all anyone has to do is look around to realize that this place has been remodeled more than once. If the so-called bride’s body had been concealed here, someone would have found her before now. And, besides, you’re talking about something that was supposed to have happened decades ago, right?”

“Yes, the house was built back in the early forties, sometime before World War Two.”

“And does that woman look like someone who has been dead since then?”

“No, of course not. That’s exactly what I was saying. It’s just that there’s this legend and now this body . . . I wasn’t thinking. It’s so odd. There are so many coincidences.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, look at her. She looks like those dummies. It’s like someone wanted us to find her after finding the dummies.”

“Dummies? I understood there was one dummy found here.”

“We found another, but we didn’t want to bother the police with it.”

Trish frowned.

“The point I was making is that it’s odd to find the dummies and then to find her. It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Josie stopped speaking.

“Not to me. But you probably know more about this than I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, someone on your crew found these dummies you’re talking about, and then found her, right?”

“Right.”

“And maybe that person knew what order to find them in.”

“That’s not possible. They were all working together when the woman was found.”

The sound of screen doors slamming against the walls in the foyer announced the arrival of the rest of the island’s police force. “Paaaattty, where the hell are you?”

Josie recognized the voice as belonging to Chief Rodney, unhappy to have his fishing interrupted. She wondered why he was the only person who didn’t call his new deputy Trish. Perhaps they had a personal relationship?

“Up here, Chief. In the master bedroom with the body. And Josie Pigeon,” she added.

Josie wasn’t thrilled to be included almost as an afterthought. “I wanted to go back downstairs and work with my crew,” she said as Chief Rodney and his son appeared in the doorway. “We do have a job to do here, you know. Officer Petric didn’t want me to leave this room for some reason.”

“Did you find her?” Chief Rodney had gained more than a little weight in the past few years and he squatted awkwardly over the body, tilting back and forth as he tried to balance. After a few seconds, he snorted and stood up with much creaking of knees, ankles, and hips.

“No, my workers did.”

“I’ll wanna talk to those ladies as soon as possible.”

“Those ladies?” Josie recognized his assumption. “Not only ladies, Chief. Leslie found her. He’s a man.”

“Not a member of the fairer sex? That’s quite a departure for Island Contracting, isn’t it, Miss Pigeon?”

“We’ve had men on the crew before,” she stated.

“Yeah, well, I know there are some people who think you should do that a little more often. Someone was making a joke about Island Contracting’s coven just the other day.”

“Who? Where?”

“Sure don’t want to be telling tales out of school, but it just might have been someone down at the Fish Wish Bait Shop. Perhaps you know someone down there who might feel a little resentful when he thinks about your company and its chauvinistic hiring practices?”

Before Josie could protest that Leslie’s presence on the job proved Island Contracting didn’t have any chauvinistic hiring practices, Mike Rodney Junior, leaning over the body, spoke up.

“Of course, maybe they weren’t talking about the sex of your workers—maybe they were thinking about all the dead bodies that seem to appear when you and your ladies are around.”

Josie was too angry to think of an appropriately scathing response.

ELEVEN

“THIS HAS BEEN one of the worst days of my life.” Risa, Josie’s landlady, placed a large platter of antipasto on the table before her. “You just sit back and taste this tuna focaccia. I make the bread with flour from chicken peas—flour not easy to find in this country. Good food will help you relax. Good food very important. Good food make a party.”

Josie speared a shrimp that had been grilled with fresh herbs, put it in her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully before asking a question. “Chicken peas? What are chicken peas?”

“Little round things, you find them on those awful salad bars. You know them.”

Enlightenment dawned. “I think you mean chickpeas.”

“Chicken peas. Chickpeas. Makes no difference what you call them. Difference is in using them to make flour— flour from wheat will not make these as good. And good food important for parties.”

Josie looked up from the delicious display. “Who is giving a party?”

“You! You and Sam will give party when you are married!”

“We . . .” Light dawned. “You mean our wedding reception!”

Risa nodded vigorously, her long dark hair flying about, the layers of silk that made up her clothing rippling. “Yes. Wedding reception that someone must cook for.”

“I don’t know if there’s going to be a wedding.”

“What?” It was almost a shriek. “No wedding? How can that be? The whole island look forward to your wedding. Everyone talk about it. You and Sam just have nervous nerves. You be fine. You will have wedding.”

“The whole island?” Josie repeated Risa’s words, momentarily distracted from the problem at hand.

“The whole island. You and Sam may fight, but you and Sam make up. Everyone waiting for your wedding. I shall go to New York City to buy beautiful new dress and pair of those pointy tall shoes that women on TV wear.”

“That’s more than I’ve done,” Josie admitted. “But, Risa, Sam and I aren’t fighting. It’s just that I’ve found a body in the house I’m working on.”

“Ah, you find the bride at the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast?”

“You’ve heard that story?” Josie was surprised.

“Yes, of course. I once thought to maybe buy that house. The realtor who showed house to me told me about ghost. Not that I believe in dead people coming back. But I believe in murder, of course. Now. Now because I know you.”

Josie understood that Risa was referring to her own experience with dead bodies, not making an oblique threat. But she had another question. “When did you think about buying that place?”

“Long time ago. Before you move to island and bring Tyler into world. I want to make more money renting more places, and Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast was place where that could have happen—not that last owners do, but I could have done. But then you and Tyler move in here and . . .” She shrugged her elegant shoulders, sending a long turquoise scarf scudding to the floor. “And once you and Tyler here, I know nothing else need to happen.”

Josie sat for a moment, taking it all in. Risa would have made more money—a lot more money—renting out apartments in that big building rather than making do with the small rent she charged Josie, to say nothing of the hours and hours of free babysitting Risa had provided, along with what must quite literally be thousands of delicious free meals. And now Risa wanted to take part in her wedding—was asking to work, for heaven’s sake. Josie realized she had no choice but to gratefully accept her offer. And that’s what she was doing when Mike Rodney drove up.

Josie and Risa had been seated at a white metal table on Risa’s screened-in porch. The summer before, Hurricane Agatha had badly damaged this side of the house, and Josie had rebuilt and expanded the porch over the winter. Watching Mike stamp up the sidewalk to the house, she only wished she had replaced the screens with a solid wall. She did not want to talk to him, but unfortunately, he had a clear view of her through the new screens.

“Josie. We need to talk to you immediately,” he announced halfway to the steps.

“We?” Risa asked. “I do not see a we. I see a me. Only a me.”

Mike was on the top step waiting for someone to open the door and he frowned at her words. “It’s a figure of speech. American speech,” he added, rather nastily.

Josie jumped to Risa’s defense. “Risa is an American. She became a citizen a few years ago.”

“Funny, she don’t talk like one.”

Josie was about to protest his statement, if not his grammar, when Risa spoke up for herself. “I take test to become American citizen. I learn about United States of American Constitution. I know you cannot enter my house unless I allow you to do so.”

Mike’s hand had been on the door knob and he froze, glaring at the two women through the screen door.

“I think we should ask him in,” Josie suggested, hoping no one could detect from her voice how much she was enjoying this encounter.

“Or I could have someone come and arrest you both for obstructing a legitimate police investigation into the murder of an unknown man.”

“Woman,” Josie interrupted.

“I think you cannot do that,” Risa spoke up, still trying to show what she had learned for her citizen’s exam. “I think . . .”

“I think you can let me come in now or I will get a warrant and bring Miss Josie Pigeon down to the station for questioning. And I mean it!” Mike’s voice was approaching a roar.

“I think we should invite him in,” Josie said again. “I’d rather talk to him here than at the police station.”

Risa quickly changed her tactics. “And you both sit and have some of my antipasto while you talk. I get another plate and fork.” She swept off to the kitchen as the policeman, not waiting for an invitation, slumped into the seat she had vacated.

“You found another body,” Josie guessed.

“Lord, no. What’s wrong with you? Isn’t one body per remodeling job enough?”

“You mentioned a dead man.”

“The guy you found at the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast this morning.”

“In the first place, I didn’t find him. One of my crew found him. In the second place, he found a woman, not a man.”

“A man disguised as a woman.”

Josie blinked. “Huh?”

“Not much of a disguise, either,” the officer added, helping himself to the largest bruschetta and popping it in his mouth. “Just that damn wig plopped on his head. You wouldn’t think it would fool anyone for long,” he added, chewing.

“I don’t understand. Are you telling me that the body we found—the one wrapped in a Hudson Bay blanket— was a man? And that he was wearing a blond wig to look like a woman?”

“Yeah, that’s just what I’m saying. Anything complicated about that?”

“Not really.” Josie answered slowly. “Do you know who the man is? Did anyone recognize him?”

A small pile of shrimp disappeared into Mike Rodney’s mouth before he answered. “Nope. Course no one’s looked at him either, except Dad and me and our cute new department employee. Made her a bit sick to tell the truth. She’s been sort of pale and quiet ever since.”

“Is that why you’re here? Do you want me to see if I recognize him?”

“Why? Do you think you know him?”

“I have no idea. How would I know if I know . . .” Josie decided to give up. “Exactly why are you here?” she asked.

Mike leaned forward and pulled a roll of papers from his back pocket. “Got some questions about your crew.”

“What sort of questions? Officer Petric took statements from everyone just a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, but we ran their names through the computer down at the station and came up with some interesting facts.” He swiped the last shrimp off the plate and stuffed it in his mouth.

Josie hoped he would choke on it. “What facts?” she asked.

“Let’s see . . . they’re all right here.” He slowly unrolled the sheets and appeared to reread them. Josie suspected he was doing it merely to irritate her. Perhaps she could convince Risa to add one of those undetectable poisons that mystery novelists were so fond of to her next batch of scampi.

“You hired some real interesting women this time, Miss Pigeon . . .”

“Yes, I did. They’re competent workers as well as strong people.” She picked up a round of tender fried squid and ate it. Delicious. Absolutely delicious.

“This Leslie guy is a terror on the highway—he had so many tickets that he had to go to court to prove he couldn’t earn a living without having a license the last time it came up for renewal.”

“That’s why you’re here? What else? Does Mary Ann have a pile of unpaid parking violations? Perhaps Vicki was once ticketed for jaywalking? Maybe Nic . . .” she ran out of ideas.

Unfortunately, Mike Rodney hadn’t. “Maybe Nic was once arrested for murder,” he said, smiling and chewing and talking at the same time.

Josie gasped at his words although his appearance was pretty appalling as well. “What are you saying? What do you mean, ‘maybe?’ Was she or wasn’t she?”

“She was.”

“Being arrested isn’t the same thing as being convicted,” Josie pointed out.

“Yeah, but just because a case is hard to prove doesn’t mean it ain’t legit. Ask any cop. Besides,” he swallowed and grinned, “she was convicted. Even spent time in prison.”

Josie didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Risa had returned. As promised, she had a plate, silverware, and napkin in hand. And she was followed by Sam Richardson.

“Sam! What are you doing here?” The question was out of Josie’s mouth before she realized that Risa must have called him from the phone in the kitchen.

Sam smiled, walked over to her chair, kissed the top of Josie’s head, and placed a protecting hand on her shoulder before answering. “I always think it’s interesting to appear anyplace where a police cruiser is parked. You never know what you’ll discover.”