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  The note was from Risa and explained the stuffed refrigerator. Risa suggested Josie taste as many dishes as she could and choose enough for a four-course traditional festive Italian meal. The squid, tender and delicious, satisfied Josie’s stomach and her fatigue returned. She placed the dirty dishes in the sink and headed for a quick shower and bed.

  “Mom? Do I smell food?”

  Tyler wandered out of his room. He was wearing an old pair of boxer shorts and a ragged Fish Wish Bait Shop T-shirt. His red hair was tousled and he needed a shave. His mother thought he looked adorable. “Are you hungry?” she asked needlessly. Tyler was always hungry.

  “Starving.”

  Urchin jumped up on the counter and stretched a paw toward the tomato-covered seafood.

  “No, Urch.” Tyler picked the cat up and dropped her gently on the floor. “That’s for us.”

  “Do you want the squid or something else? Risa has left a ton of food here,” Josie commented. Now that her son was awake, she was discovering a second wind.

  “Who do you think carried all this stuff up here?” Tyler asked, opening the refrigerator door and peering in. “I think veal meatballs and arugula sounds weird, but it’s really delish,” he assured his mother. “I can heat it myself,” he added, popping the container in the microwave. “You and Sam were out late tonight,” he commented sociably, opening the freezer and pulling out a carton of ice cream to tide him over while his main course heated.

  “I stopped at the Bride’s Secret on the way home,” Josie explained.

  “Any more dead bodies around?”

  “No.” Josie scratched Urchin’s bony little head. “Tyler, what do you know about Officer Petric?”

  “Why should I know anything about her?”

  “I just thought you might. You always seem to hear things that I don’t.”

  “We did talk once or twice,” he admitted reluctantly. “I know that she summered on the island when she was a kid—like you did.”

  “Really? She’s never mentioned that to me—not that we’ve had a lot of heart-to-heart conversations.”

  “Oh? Well, she had relatives here, and she stayed with them. But I don’t know much more than that. She did say that there was only one pizza place here back then.”

  Josie smiled. “Guess those weren’t the good old days.”

  “Yeah, can you imagine the long line of people waiting for pies on weekends?”

  “I wonder if Chief Rodney worked here then.”

  “Yeah, maybe he gave her tickets and now she gives other people tickets . . . that would be weird.”

  “I suppose.”

  Tyler pulled a hot dish from the microwave with his fingertips and slid it down on the table. “There is one thing I don’t get about her.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She just happened to mention to me once that she was first in her graduating class at the police academy.”

  “Good for her. What don’t you get?”

  “I don’t get why she’s working here when she could have gone anywhere.”

  Half an hour later Tyler’s question was one of the three keeping Josie awake. The other two were why Trish hadn’t mentioned summering on the island as a child when she and Josie were talking about their childhoods, and how could Josie possibly explain to Risa or Basil that she had chosen one and not the other to cater her wedding reception?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE PRESENCE OF home owners rarely improves a work site—at least in the opinion of contractors and their crews. An architect’s appearance can bring with it problems or solutions. Unfortunately, Christopher and his grandmother walked into the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast a second or two after the elegant mahogany wainscoting in the living room had separated from the cracking plaster and smashed onto the floor.

  “I thought your plans called for that lovely old wood remaining in place, dear,” Tilly Higgins said, looking at Christopher through the plaster dust.

  “They do, Grandmother.”

  “The plaster was separating from the old lathes. This way we can replaster the walls and refinish that old mahogany before reinstalling it,” Josie spoke up, hoping the old mahogany hadn’t been damaged beyond repair in its sudden contact with the floor.

  “Do you think perhaps you should move it?” Tilly asked, waving her hand before her face.

  “Moving it will stir up more dust—maybe you would prefer my crew to wait until you’ve left the building?” Josie asked.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Christopher said, taking his grandmother’s arm and leading her toward the stairway. “We’re here to walk through the bedrooms and bathrooms on the second and third floors.”

  “And closets. I don’t think your grandfather has any idea about closets,” Tilly added. “Every time I mention adding storage, he just says it’s under control, don’t worry, there will be plenty of space for everything. I’d like to see for myself while I’m here.”

  “Actually, he was here checking storage in the bedrooms a few days ago,” Josie pointed out, relieved that the subject had been changed. She would wait until they were alone to examine the woodwork more closely. “Did your grandfather talk to you about the possibility of adding to the master bedroom suite and decreasing the size of the room next door?” she asked Christopher.

  “He said something about it on the phone, I think. I’ve been away visiting my old roommate’s family cottage up in Maine for a bit of sailing and clam digging.”

  “Poor Christopher works so hard during the school year; he certainly deserves a break this summer. I always say summer isn’t summer unless there’s an opportunity to take a nice vacation, don’t you?”

  Josie didn’t answer. She didn’t want Christopher hanging around and looking over her shoulder constantly, but she worked hard—harder than most students, she suspected—and she hadn’t had a summer vacation in decades. “Well, your husband thinks that adding storage to the master bedroom suite is worth giving up some space in the smaller suite next door.”

  “Seymour is always complaining about my clothing. He thinks a woman can own a half dozen or so outfits and then somehow manage to appear perfectly dressed on all occasions. He’s always telling me how his mother owned one little black dress that she dressed up or dressed down with a few accessories. Completely absurd. The woman’s jewels and furs were famous from Manhattan to Paris. No one even noticed what she was wearing underneath all that glitter and hair most of the time.”

  “Did she vacation here?” Josie asked.

  “Lord, no. She hated the beach—so much sand and surf—unless it was in Nassau or Bermuda or possibly the South of France, and she was looking at it out the window of a deluxe hotel suite. But she believed in work— for everyone other than herself—and insisted on Seymour having summer jobs, which is how he ended up here.”

  “Grandfather is always saying that he inherited a fortune and was taught a work ethic,” Christopher commented.

  Josie had a work ethic, but she wasn’t sure whether or not it would have been quite so strong if she had been lucky enough to inherit a fortune. “What sort of fortune? I mean, where did the money come from?” she asked.

  “Seymour’s family was in banking and securities, but Seymour has been diversifying since he took over running the firm. Seymour has a talent for putting together many different pieces and turning them into a successful whole. Higgins International has a finger in many pies,” Tilly explained.

  “Oh.”

  “Just what is that thing doing there?” Tilly asked, frowning. She was pointing to the dropcloth Trish had left on the floor the night before. Josie looked down at it. Had someone moved the dropcloth since then? She was about to wonder what that might mean, when the door at the end of the hall leading to the attic opened and Leslie appeared, a dozen bulging plastic bags cradled in his arms.

  “Hi, boss!” He spoke to Josie, but directed his charm at Tilly Higgins.

  Mrs. Higgins, a woman who, Josie su
spected, got through much of her life by displaying her own considerable supply of charm, didn’t bother to respond in kind. “What do you have there?” she asked abruptly.

  Leslie glanced down at his laden arms before answering. “Garbage. Mostly old knob-and-tube wiring that should have been removed up there long ago.”

  Josie opened her mouth to make a comment and then shut it without speaking. Leslie was lying. This place had been rewired decades before. Knob-and-tube wiring was something no insurance company would ignore. Josie didn’t know what was going on, and she was determined to find out. But she didn’t feel the need to share her problem with her employer. “Leslie, when you get back from the Dumpster, give Mary Ann a hand with the last window at the end of the second floor corridor, will you? Nic and Vicki have almost finished ripping the tiles out of the bathrooms on that floor.”

  “No problem.”

  Josie’s cell phone rang as Leslie galloped down the stairs. “Excuse me, but this might be about your tile order,” she said, pulling the phone from her pocket.

  “I was thinking about those tiles, Christopher,” Tilly said as they walked off down the hallway. “Perhaps those glass ones are not the look we want. One of my friends has some wonderful hand-painted Italian tiles on the walls of her guest bath . . .”

  Josie answered her phone, hoping Christopher was explaining to his grandmother that changing her tile order would cost extra money—and might delay the whole project. “Hi. Josie Pigeon here.”

  Betty was on the other end of the line, but Josie’s smile faded as she heard the reason for her friend’s call. “Son of a gun. Are you sure?” Josie listened to her friend’s answer and a few new examples of JJ’s brilliance before hanging up, tucking the phone back in her pocket, and heading off to see what Christopher and his grandmother were doing. Betty had given her something new to think about: according to Seymour Higgins’s granddaughter, one of the “pies” in which her grandfather had a finger was the insurance company that had just raised Island Contracting’s premiums.

  Josie went to join Christopher and his grandmother with a few questions of her own. But their questions had priority and Josie had to explain over and over that while the changes that Christopher wanted might, yes, improve the final result, they would cost more—much more—than the budget they had agreed on. Under normal circumstances, Josie felt uncomfortable asking for more money, but now, considering her insurance company’s lack of hesitation on that score—and its relationship to the Higgins family fortune—she casually mentioned a few tens of thousands of dollars.

  Tilly Higgins blew up. “I don’t understand you trades-people!” she said in response to Josie’s explanation of the difference in cost between a new wood floor and custom-cut tilework. “You lay out the price of a job, and once it has begun and everything is demolished, you begin adding to the cost of the job. It’s unconscionable. When I go to Barney’s for a sweater, I pay the price on the tag. If you were running the store, I would end up paying ten . . . fifteen . . . even twenty percent more! I don’t understand how you think you can get away with these casual markups.”

  “If you went to Barney’s and instead of buying a plain sweater, you bought one with a mink collar, you would expect to pay more, right?” Josie asked, working to keep her voice level.

  “I would never buy a sweater with a mink collar—too tacky—and besides, I already own three mink coats. Why would I want a sweater with a fur collar?”

  “That might not be the best example,” Josie began again. “But the point I’m making is that you changed the plans, so of course you would expect to pay more when you are asking for more.”

  “My husband is not going to understand this sort of thing. I had to talk him into buying this place. It’s important that the remodeling goes smoothly and doesn’t end up costing more than the price we have agreed on. Dear Seymour is so worried about money these days.”

  “Are you saying that your husband doesn’t change the prices of things himself? I think I can tell you that, in fact . . .”

  “I am not going to stand here and argue with you over these things. I told Seymour that we should hire a bigger contracting company, but he insisted on your little business doing the job. And now, of course, with that body turning up . . . well, you should be glad that the island police have allowed you to continue working here. If Seymour hadn’t intervened, you might be standing in line for unemployment benefits right this minute!”

  “I . . . I might what?” But Josie’s words were spoken to Tilly’s back as she stalked down the hall.

  “Christopher, you deal with this. I’m late for tennis,” she called over her shoulder as she started down the stairs.

  “My grandmother is a bit sensitive about money these days,” Christopher explained quietly. “Grandfather was more than a little upset when she bought herself that new BMW convertible without talking it over with him. And she had the kitchen in their townhouse remodeled only a few months ago.”

  “But I’m only trying to charge for changes she has made.”

  “That’s the problem, you see. If he had wanted the changes made, he’d be happy to pay for them.”

  “And what did she mean about your grandfather intervening in the police investigation of the murder?” Josie asked.

  “Grandfather put pressure on the local police force to . . . to keep their investigation away from this building, I guess is how he explained it.”

  “I don’t get it. What are you saying?”

  “Just that Grandfather is anxious to be in this house by the end of the summer.”

  “He’s made that plain more than once,” Josie said.

  “And he was worried that a full-scale investigation into the murder might cause delays in our schedule.”

  “Not nearly as much as all the changes your grandmother wants to make,” Josie pointed out.

  “But he doesn’t know about them yet, does he? Anyway, I don’t really know what happened—or if anything happened, I guess. But Grandmother said that he had made sure the island police stayed away from the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast after the body was found here.”

  “Really? And your grandmother told you that?”

  “Yes, at breakfast this morning. She’s just as anxious as he is to have this project completed on time. She’s already busy picking out furniture and curtains and stuff. She’s even spoken with a friend who has a niece who is an editor at Elle Décor, and has convinced her that this place might be worth a story in their magazine next spring.”

  “But the island police . . .”

  “Apparently Grandfather spoke with your local police chief and the man was willing to make sure his investigation didn’t interfere with our work. He probably made a sizable contribution to the island police benevolent society—or whatever you have here. That’s the way Grandfather usually works.”

  “And why shouldn’t he, when he can get that money by simply charging someone else an exorbitant premium for services?”

  “Excuse me? I don’t follow that.”

  “It doesn’t matter right now,” she answered, furious. “Look, I have things to do. Could you make a list of all your grandmother’s changes and whether you think we can talk her out of them? I’ll take a look later this afternoon and we can discuss it—as well as a few problems that we’re having . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing serious. Some of the lights could be installed more cheaply if we didn’t have to cross beams, and what do you want to do about access to the plumbing once we close up the walls? Little stuff like that. Are you going to be around later?”

  “Sure. Let me give you my cell phone number and you can give me a call.”

  “Great.”

  Josie was in her truck on the way to the police station before it occurred to her that what she had just learned might explain Trish Petric’s presence at the Bride’s Secret the night before. Perhaps that young officer had been investigating the murder on her own, since the Rodneys apparentl
y had been bribed to leave the murder unsolved.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE LOCAL POLICE department had offices in the large brick municipal building located near the center of the island. Josie parked in the macadam parking lot, skirted the long line of tourists waiting to buy beach passes in the booth provided, and entered the lobby where Officer Petric sat, perched on the edge of the dispatcher’s desk.

  Mrs. Tracy Pepper, who worked as the weekday dispatcher in the summer and returned to her job as an elementary school secretary the rest of the year, looked up and smiled. “Josie Pigeon. I was just talking about you over the weekend. Word on the island is that you and Sam are going to have the wedding to end all weddings. Did I hear a rumor about twelve bridesmaids?”

  “You may have heard that, but all I can say is you can’t believe everything you hear,” Josie answered.

  “Well, I sure hope you don’t forget my husband and me—we wouldn’t want to miss the sight of Tyler in a tuxedo escorting you down the aisle. Which church have you reserved, by the way? The Catholic church is the biggest, of course, but I think the Episcopal has the most charm. On the other hand, the Methodist church has that large hall for the reception. You know all your guests will hang around for that if Risa is going to be catering. What do you think?”

  “I’m letting Sam decide on the church,” Josie said, dropping that problem right in her fiancé’s lap. She realized Trish Petric was staring at her. “Good to see you again,” Josie said.