Valerie Wolzien - This Old Murder

She turned and looked at the man standing beside her. “You’re Bobby Valentine?”

“In the flesh. Don’t I look the way you imagined?”

Josie didn’t answer. She hadn’t, in fact, imagined Bobby Valentine at all. But if she had, she had dressed him in more urbane clothing-the type of sports jacket and slacks that Sam wore in his store or possibly an Armani pinstripe. But Bobby Valentine was wearing pressed jeans and a shirt made of smooth white Egyptian cotton. Pigskin loafers covered sockless feet and a gold Rolex hung on his tanned wrist. He resembled one of the Wall Street moguls who vacationed on the island.

“What do you think? I bought this shirt just for the shoot.” He pointed to his breast pocket.

Josie looked more closely. There was a tiny gray hammer embroidered on the silky fabric.

“I thought about a whale, of course, to stay with the sea-shore motif, but when I saw this thing, I couldn’t resist. Courtney will love it.”

“It’s very nice,” Josie said, moving aside to avoid being run over by a young man carrying a huge round metal frame with shiny white fabric stretched across it.

“Hey, you! Watch out for that reflector! Hold it at your side.”

With a quick word of apology for bumping Josie’s arm, the worker moved quickly out of range of Bobby Valentine’s voice. “These damn interns. They come to us for the summer. By the time they know how to do their job, they’re back snug in their dorm rooms at Princeton or Amherst or wherever. Sometimes I think they’re worth less than what we pay them.”

“What do you pay them?” Josie asked, glad the subject was no longer Bobby Valentine’s clothing.

“Nothing. Zip. Nada.”

Josie glanced back over her shoulder at the young worker, who had put down his burden and was now edging a massive black box off the lift at the back of a large truck. The strain caused his muscles to tighten beneath the Cornell T-shirt he wore. “He isn’t on salary?”

“Nope. He gets college credit for doing all this. Pretty neat system, huh?”

“It sure is,” Josie answered, wondering if it could be implemented in the building industry.

“So what do you think?”

“About what?”

“All this.” Bobby Valentine swept his arms in a circle that encompassed the area.

Josie could only think of it as mayhem. Two large vans with COURTNEY CASTLE’S CASTLES-MAKE YOUR DREAM HOME COME TRUE emblazoned on the side panels were nose to nose in the driveway. An even larger trailer was parked at the curb. It was hard to believe that these three vehicles, despite their size, had provided enough space to transport all the flotsam and jetsam that filled the front yard. There were tables and chairs, folded and piled high, enough for a small wedding reception. There were big black lights attached to various poles and stands. There were strange metal boxes prickly with buttons and levers. The sidewalk was covered with enough coils of wire to hook up the entire island.

“Impressive, huh?”

Josie was blunt. “I don’t see how we’re going to work around all this junk.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Remember, we do this all the time. Inland Contracting will be just fine.”

“ Island Contracting. The name of my company is Island Contracting.”

“Oh?” He looked at her, a surprised expression on his face. “Well, I guess you should know. Don’t worry. Courtney is good with names. You’ll get your free publicity.”

“If you’ll be able to see us in the middle of all this stuff,” Josie said, frowning.

“That’s all that’s taking the smile off your pretty face? Hey, don’t worry! Once we’re set up, you won’t even know we’re around.”

“You’re going to hide all this?”

“Behind the scenes.”

Josie realized that they were talking about two different things. Bobby Valentine was concerned about the show that was going to air. Her concern was to get the remodeling done well and on time. Free advertising was fine and good, but she needed the final payment for this job to keep her company in business. But they would fight these battles as each day came up. Starting now.

“I’ve got a load of Sheetrock coming the day after tomorrow,” she began.

“I know what you’re thinking and you don’t have to worry about a thing. I promise you, all of this will be out of sight before my guys go home tonight. Courtney’s going to be here to check out everything tomorrow morning. And you know what Courtney always says-”

“A place for everything and everything in its place,” Annette chimed in enthusiastically.

“Exactly! Well, I see we have a fan of the show here.” Bobby Valentine beamed at the young carpenter.

“You bet! I love Courtney Castle! I can’t wait to meet her!”

“Well, you’ll have that privilege tomorrow.”

“You told me you weren’t going to start filming until next week!” And they sure wouldn’t be ready before then, Josie knew.

“No problem. No problem. We may tape a bit here and there, but Courtney’s really just coming to get a feel for the place and the job. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Go on with your work as though she wasn’t even around. Believe me, that’s what Courtney would tell you to do.”

Dottie Evans stopped on her way to the small front deck, her habitual sneer on her face. “And she expects us to do things just because she tells us to. Right?”

“What time will she be here?” Josie asked quickly, frowning at Dottie. Annette’s obvious hero worship might be a bit naive, but at least it wasn’t hostile.

Apparently Bobby Valentine didn’t mind-or notice. “You don’t have to worry about Courtney. She just wants what’s best for the show. You’re gonna love her.”

Dottie hefted a huge box of nails up on her shoulder and stomped into the house. The expression on her face was plain: She doubted it. But Josie was thankful that she didn’t seem to feel the need to say anything more.

Dottie let the old, ripped, aluminum screen door slam behind her, but Josie’s attention was drawn to a heavyset man in filthy jeans and an even dirtier red T-shirt walking up the sidewalk. “You Josie Pigeon?” he asked, pulling a bandanna from his pocket and mopping his perspiring forehead.

“Yes,” she answered, glancing over at Bobby Valentine for an introduction.

“I wanna see your blues,” the stranger continued, referring to the blueprints, which, as far as Josie knew, were still stashed in her truck.

“I… I faxed a copy to your office,” Josie answered, still expecting Bobby Valentine to join in the conversation.

“I ain’t got an office. I run my business from my home, an apartment over on One Twenty-third. And I ain’t seen no blues. And I gotta get any special orders in today.” The bandanna went back into his pocket and a toothpick came out- and went straight into his mouth.

“You’re the plumber!” Josie exclaimed.

“Yup. Wayne Wagner, at your service.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Josie said enthusiastically, starting forward with her hand outstretched.

“Whoa. Just wait one second here. You’re who?” Bobby Valentine got between Josie and her subcontractor.

“Wayne Wagner. The plumber Ms. Josie Pigeon hired to add two bathrooms to this here project. And you are?” The toothpick went back in the pocket and a pair of glasses came out. Wayne used them to examine Bobby Valentine.

Bobby Valentine didn’t waste any time responding to the other man. “I need to speak with you in private, Ms. Pigeon. We’ve got ourselves a problem. A big problem.” His elegant shoe dug into the lawn as he spun around and stalked off. Josie followed him across the grass, off the curb, and up the steps into the trailer.

“We have a problem,” he repeated when they were alone.