“If you’re asking if we’re lovers-”
Actually, she would love to know if that was true, but it really wasn’t the question she meant to ask. “No. I mean, is she always honest with you?”
It was a simple question but it seemed to give him pause. “Courtney is talent.”
“So?”
“Have you been around television people before?”
“I remodeled a house for a director and his… well, I always assumed she was his wife while I was working, but later I heard that his wife wanted the house as part of her divorce settlement. And he claimed she had no right to it as she had never seen it; his poor mistress had had all the wear and tear of remodeling. Weird.”
“Compared to the ego of your average on-air personality, that’s nothing. Courtney isn’t the worst of the lot, but she has her moments. Well, all you have to do is look around this place and you know that. Her life story is here.” He waved to the wall behind her, which was covered with awards and photographs. They were reflected in the mirrors across the way, but Josie hadn’t had the time to examine them. “And the first thing Courtney does when anyone comes to interview her is go around this room and relate what she considers the fascinating high points of her life.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with her honesty- or lack of it.”
“It’s not that this stuff is lies, it’s more like it shows only the side of things that Courtney wants to present to the world. And that’s kind of the way she lives. If there’s something negative in her past, you won’t hear about it from her. And that’s the way she lives her life-with an emphasis on the positive. Which means she doesn’t always tell the truth. Period.”
“Oh.” Josie thought that was interesting. “So you first heard about this project from Courtney, but you don’t know how she heard about it. And, really, you don’t know if she would have told you the truth even if she had told you.”
“I guess you could put it that way.”
“Do you think she wrote the note?”
“The one that was interpreted as being about her murder?”
“It’s the only one I’ve heard of.”
“I’m sure she wrote it. It was in her handwriting. But, Josie, it had nothing to do with her disappearance or anything. The note was just part of a piece of paper; the other half was found on the floor when the place was searched. The entire note was “Kill Courtney Castle’s Castles segment three.’ It was no big deal. Courtney was making notes about the show. She had decided to leave out one segment and put in another.”
“What were they? The segment she wanted left out and the substitution?” Josie asked.
“The original segment was a short tour of the neighborhood, probably a comparison of all the similar houses. She was substituting a segment about the background and training of your workers.”
“Which is why she wanted so many questions asked about that subject,” Josie mused. “Did Courtney really have that much power? Did she choose what subjects you covered?”
“Hey, she’s the talent.”
Josie thought for a moment. He still hadn’t answered her original questions. “So what exactly did she say about me?”
“She said that she had helped you and that you betrayed her.”
“What?”
“She claimed you seduced her boyfriend.” He looked skeptical.
“And you believed her story?”
“Hey, she’s talent,” he repeated.
EIGHTEEN
JOSIE HAD PICKED up three pizzas as well as two six-packs of Coors and one of Diet Coke. But even after a hard day no one seemed particularly hungry. Everyone had been talking about Courtney and what to do with her body since they walked in the door, still sweaty from work.
So far, they had consumed one pepperoni pizza, half of the cheese with extra garlic, and all the beer. Annette seemed to be a bit tipsy. Josie realized she had been serving beer to a minor and decided the only thing to do was to make sure Annette had a ride home-after they made some decisions.
If they ever came to an agreement. The women had repeated and repeated the details of the day. Their shock at the discovery of Courtney’s body. Their panic when it looked like Bobby Valentine might discover their secret. The long afternoon, not talking about what was uppermost on their minds, waiting for this evening so they could.
“We need to come to some decision,” Josie insisted. “Courtney cannot stay up there. She is going to start to smell soon.” A giggle escaped her lips. “And she would really hate that.” She felt another giggle bubble up and pursed her lips. Perhaps Annette wasn’t the only woman who had had too much to drink.
“What do you suggest?” Jill asked quietly. Jill had been noticeably reticent, eating and drinking little, walking around the room examining the birdhouses that lined the small space.
“Frankly, I have no idea what to say. My instinct is to call the police-” Josie said.
“Good God. Why?” Dottie’s flat voice interrupted.
“They’re here to help us,” Annette said.
“Bull.”
“Well, I don’t know how you were brought up, but my mother always said that if there was a problem I could go to the cop on the corner for help. Or dial 911,” Annette added.
“Your mother may have been right for where you grew up. But the police on this island are notorious for arresting the wrong person. And I’m afraid the wrong person they arrest for Courtney’s murder could be…” Josie paused. “Could be one of us.”
Dottie looked at Josie. “Do you want to tell her or do you want me to?”
“I… It’s your business. You should be able to keep it private if you want” was Josie’s answer.
“Yeah, I should be able to. But in my life, what should be and what are are two different animals.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re entitled to your privacy,” Jill said.
“She’s right,” Josie agreed.
“Yeah. But I think I should explain. Otherwise no one is going to understand why I think we should-or should not- call the cops.”
“Listen, it’s completely your decision.” Josie had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but she understood what Dottie was up against.
“Okay. No point in beating about the bush. I was in prison.”
Neither Annette nor Jill spoke.
“I think if you’re going to say that much, you’re going to have to explain what put you in prison and how you ended up at Island Contracting,” Josie suggested quietly.
“What put me in prison was stupidity and how I ended up here is Josie.”
“Maybe you should tell them just a bit more,” Josie said.
“Prison?” The word just reached Annette’s consciousness.
“Yeah, I was there for assault. I beat up some idiot in a bar fight. Turned out his brother-in-law was a cop. I didn’t deny doing it. The bastard deserved what he got. But I didn’t deserve three years in prison. In some circles, punching that guy in the mouth would have been considered a public service.”
“Why? Why did you do it?” Annette asked.
“Guy called me a dyke. Said working as a carpenter wasn’t an appropriate job for a woman. He kept trashing me. And I got angrier and angrier and drank a bit too much. On the way out of the bar, he grabbed my breast and I slugged him-once or twice.”
“And you were arrested?” Annette sounded horrified.
“Yeah. And a few months later convicted. I got six years.
But served slightly less than three. I was released early because of good behavior-and because Josie was willing to hire me. But maybe you would like to explain about that.”
“Well, it’s a long story. I don’t know whether you know the history of Island Contracting, but it was begun by a man named Noel Roberts and he tried to hire people who needed help.”
“Women who needed help?”
“I’m not sure he set out to hire women, whether women just happened to need more help than men, or whether he was one of the only contractors who would hire women workers. It was the early sixties. There weren’t many women in the business and the ones who were had a very difficult time finding jobs.”