“Good point. So you thought about telling me about your past when you heard about Courtney’s show.”
“To be honest, no. I did think about telling either Courtney or Bobby Valentine though. I actually tried to bring up the subject with Courtney. But she said she was too busy to talk. That she had to meet someone.”
“When?” Josie asked, surprised when Jill didn’t continue.
“That morning. The morning she interviewed you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I think I may have been the last person to see her alive.”
“Well, not the last person,” Josie said. “The last person to see her alive was her killer.”
“The person she said she had to meet,” Jill said.
“Sounds like it to me,” Josie agreed, wondering just who that person could have been.
TWENTY-SEVEN
JOSIE SLAMMED HER hammer against the two-by-four, wedging it into place. They’d been working for two hours without a break. It was hot, her arms and shoulders ached, and sweat was pouring down her forehead. She smacked the board one more time, and with a loud crack, the last piece fell into place. The women sighed and then laughed a bit.
“Time for lunch.” Josie pulled a filthy bandanna from her pocket and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “There’s a giant thermos of iced tea in the back of the truck. Anybody want to run to the deli?”
Fifteen minutes later four very tired women were sitting on the dock, large sandwiches on their laps, passing around a giant bag of Chee•tos. There was a gentle breeze off the water, and Josie, busy consuming her year’s allowance of fat in one sitting, took a break, leaned against the silvery wooden rail, and closed her eyes. She’d been up early and then worked hard all morning.
“The world is your oyster, but you’ll never crack it lying on a mattress.”
The words were spoken in a shrill, familiar voice. Josie reached into her past and identified it. Naomi Van Ripper. Josie opened her eyes and looked right into the stern face of the librarian. “We’re on our lunch break,” she said, and then regretted the explanation. She didn’t have to justify her actions-or those of her crew-to anybody.
“Then you are free to speak with me.” It wasn’t a question.
Josie sighed. No reason to be rude. “I suppose.”
“Privately.”
Josie stood up and stretched. “Okay. But I’ll have to eat at the same time.”
Dr. Van Ripper looked down at the food in her lap, and for a horrible moment Josie was afraid politeness was going to force her to offer to share. “Not exactly a healthy repast, is it? Very high-calorie.”
“I burn a lot of calories,” Josie said, standing up for herself. “If you want to speak privately, maybe we’d better go back to the house.”
“It will be filthy, but I suppose that can’t be helped.”
“Remodeling is dirty work.” Josie led the way up the path. She walked briskly and was maliciously pleased to hear Naomi Van Ripper panting with the effort of keeping up.
But once they were inside, the librarian reasserted her dominance. “What is that thing?” she asked, pointing to the well-wrapped sculpture still sitting by the fireplace.
“It’s art. The owners asked us to be especially careful with it.”
“Oh. Is it sturdy?”
“It’s made from steel… What are you doing?”
“Sitting down. If it’s made of steel, it certainly won’t be damaged by my weight.”
Josie wasn’t inclined to argue. “I hope not.” She leaned back against a pile of Sheetrock and pulled her sandwich from its greasy wrapping. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I had explained. I need to speak with you.”
Josie took a big bite of her sandwich. A large ruffle of ham fell from her mouth and into her lap. She reached down, dusted it off, and popped it in her mouth.
Naomi grimaced.
Josie took another bite and reminded herself that anger would accomplish nothing. She chewed and waited for the other woman to speak.
“I had an interesting conversation with Courtney.”
“When?”
“What difference would that make?”
“I’m just… you know, curious.”
“I don’t know. A few days ago. Apparently what she said is true, otherwise you would know all about it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Josie admitted. “What did Courtney say about me… that you think may be true.”
“She said you maintain absolutely no contact with your family. Disgraceful.”
Josie had opened her mouth to answer before the final, condemning word. But when she opened it again, she found she had no idea what to say. It had been years since she had thought much about her family. Because she had trained, carefully trained, herself not to. “You don’t know anything about it. They chose not to have contact with me.” She knew she sounded like a stubborn child, inarticulate and angry.
“Why, I happen to know a lot about it. I speak with your mother at least once a week and I frequently see your father at the hospital.”
Josie noted that some things didn’t change. Apparently her mother still visited the library for a weekly pile of books. That didn’t surprise her any more than her father’s dedication to his job as hospital administrator did. She had assumed that their lives had gone on without her, but the reality of that fact was surprisingly painful. “They complain about me?” she asked, suddenly unable to eat another bite.
“No, they’re more dignified than that. But everyone in town knows how much you hurt them.”
“I hurt them! What about how they hurt me?” She was shocked into saying more than she planned. “I needed them! I was desperate! I can understand their shock, but to abandon me and my son-their grandson-like they did! How dare they claim to be the ones who were hurt? How dare they?”
“That’s not-”
“I never talk about them,” Josie continued. “You just ask my son. I have never, no matter how much they hurt me, I have never, ever, ever said anything against them. They left me stranded with no money, no insurance, no nothing. But I created a life for myself and I brought up Tyler alone. And I’ve been a good mother and he’s a good kid. And you can ask every single person I know-you can ask my son. I have never, ever complained or criticized my family. Ever. Never.”
“I don’t believe I accused you of that particular failing.”
“You said everyone in town knew that I hurt my parents!”
“Not this town. Your hometown. The town you grew up in.”
Josie heard a bit of compassion in Naomi Van Ripper’s voice, but she heard the words also. “So my parents have been complaining about me? Telling everyone they meet that their daughter is a dreadful person?”
“No. I doubt if they have said more about you than you claim to have said about them.”
“So you’re just assuming I hurt them! What do they do? Wander around with pitiful expressions on their well-groomed faces? Did my father rip the Father’s Day poster I made him in fifth grade off his office wall? Are they ashamed of me and my life?” Josie realized that she was going to begin crying if this conversation went on much longer.
“Josie, I believe you misunderstand the situation. If your father doesn’t have your poster on his office wall, it’s because he doesn’t have an office. He was forced to retire many years ago. Fifteen or sixteen. Right after you left college.”
Josie was stunned. He had barely been in his fifties then. Her workaholic father retired early? “I don’t understand. Why did he retire? He was so young and he loved his job.”
It was Naomi Van Ripper’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know, do you?”
“I don’t know what? What are you talking about?”
“Your father had a stroke. Right after you vanished. At least, that’s what we thought when we pieced the story together later.”
But Josie was focusing on the original statement. “My father had a stroke? Was it serious?”