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  “Yeah, it’s really neat of Grandfather and Grandmother to trust me, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, really neat,” Josie lied, wondering what was wrong with these people. Why couldn’t they just hang their grandkid’s artwork on their refrigerator like everyone else in the country?

  “And I’ve come up with an innovative concept that will blow away my professors. You could be starting on a project that will turn up in Architectural Digest.”

  Or one that will destroy Island Contracting’s reputation. Josie sighed and made a suggestion. “Why don’t we lay your plans out on the counter in the kitchen, and you can explain everything to me. In detail.”

  It took over an hour, during which time her crew arrived and was instructed to finish removing furniture from the upper floors of the house, and to store everything except broken-down wicker in the garage. Christopher explained, drew diagrams in the dust on the counter-top, waved his arms around in circles to demonstrate the scope of his vision, and finally got down to brass tacks and explained an alternative solar energy system that he claimed to have designed. It was a piece of this, a bit of that, and it might actually save his grandparents money—if they lived sixty more years and the sun decided to shine at least twenty hours a day for each and every one of those years. Josie had no choice but to try to talk the young man out of his idea.

  “It’s not that this isn’t interesting—it is,” she lied. “But this is all custom work, and I’m honestly not sure Island Contracting has the expertise needed to do it. We could find a specialist if you and your grandparents decide to go solar. There are companies doing wonderful, innovative work on solar energy, but most of their installations work better on new homes. Retrofitting can be very complex and incredibly expensive. And this island isn’t exactly situated in the Sun Belt, you know,” she added gently. Christopher looked crushed. If his ideas weren’t threatening to screw up her project, she would feel some sympathy for him.

  He seemed to take her suggestion seriously. “What about wind power? We’re on the ocean. There are winds—the prevailing westerlies . . .” he finished somewhat less confidently.

  “We’re on the east coast. The prevailing westerlies come from the west, don’t they?” Josie wasn’t absolutely sure of her facts here, but she did remember quizzing Tyler about wind currents for a test when he was in fourth grade.

  “I . . . yeah, I guess.”

  “And I don’t think the island’s planning commission would give you permission to erect windmills on the property,” Josie said.

  “Yeah. Well, I thought of that, of course.” Christopher stared down at the blueprints and chewed on his top lip.

  “I noticed that you did a real nice job placing skylights in the mansard roof . . .” Josie began, now truly feeling sorry for him.

  “And they open—they will help cool the house in the evening,” he explained a bit more enthusiastically. “Ventilation can be a real problem in these old houses.”

  “And you’ve located two heavy-duty exhaust fans in the attic as well.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to keep the symmetry of the home intact. Besides, two fans will move twice as much air as one.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Efficient, inexpensive, unobtrusive,” Josie said. She was beginning to wonder if her job really was to encourage this young man rather than getting to work with her crew.

  “And I’ve been thinking about the stained glass windows at the top of the attic stairs.”

  “You’re going to remove them? Have you checked with your grandparents about that?” Actually, Josie thought they were ugly, but she knew lots of people admired that type of window, even though they blocked the view and certainly didn’t improve ventilation.

  “No, my Grandmother particularly mentioned remembering those windows from her youth, but I know of a company that removes the glass, resets it in frames that can be pivoted so they open and close, and then replaces them in the wall. They look exactly the same, but of course they’re much more functional.”

  “Who removes them and who installs them after they’re altered?” Josie asked. She didn’t know this company, and she didn’t want Island Contracting to end up responsible for someone else’s shoddy work.

  “They do. It’s all guaranteed, too. I’ll give you the company’s number if you would like to check them out.”

  She nodded. “Definitely.”

  “They’ll be here at the end of the week—unless you want me to call and reschedule,” he added. “I think . . . I’m sure I can convince them to do that if it’s necessary.”

  Josie considered her answer for a bit before speaking. “No, the end of the week will be fine, but you need to check these things out with me before scheduling anything else. My ladies . . .” She stopped, realizing she could no long use this term when talking about her crew. “My crew can’t do two things at once. And it’s easier for us and safer for delicate windows and woodwork to remain at the place where they’re fashioned until we’re ready to install them, rather than sitting on the worksite for any length of time. That’s why we always specify delivery dates when we order replacement windows and the like.”

  He nodded. “I’d never thought about it like that.”

  Josie sighed. Of course he hadn’t. He had probably been busy figuring out how to buy beer without an ID. “Look, I’m sorry to dash off, but I need to get to work with my crew.”

  Christopher took the hint. “Then I’ll leave you alone. I just want to check out where the drain lines from the bathrooms meet on the second floor. It would be nice to follow the same path for the new ones . . . right?” He looked to her for confirmation.

  She smiled. “Right!” Christopher was a quick learner. If she could teach him to check out all the details with her, this could turn out to be an easy project.

  That optimistic thought evaporated before she left the kitchen and set her foot on the bottom step. A loud noise, something crashing to the floor no doubt, and certainly not unusual on a worksite, sent her clomping up the stairs two at a time. What if Leslie had been hurt?

  She arrived on the landing to discover her entire crew laughing loudly. Leslie was sprawled on the floor, a large sledgehammer clasped to his bare chest. Nic was leaning against the wall, Vicki at her side, both in need of support as they howled. Mary Ann, laughing as well, stood squarely in the center of the room, supporting the ceiling over her head. Josie ran over to help out.

  “What happened?” Josie asked as she and Mary Ann lowered the wallboard to the floor.

  Vicki stopped laughing long enough to explain. “Leslie gave the wall a smack and the ceiling fell down.”

  “And Mary Ann caught it,” Nic added. “The whole thing.”

  Apparently you had to be there, Josie decided. To be sure, she was relieved that no one had been hurt, but she was also smiling because her crew was getting along so well on their first day together. “We’ll have to be more careful. It looks as though whoever divided up the rooms used the cheapest materials and didn’t know a whole lot about standard construction techniques.”

  Nic was examining the wall board. “Yeah, not a whole lot of nails in this thing. Looks like the tear down will be easy.”

  “I don’t know,” Leslie said, getting up from the floor and walking over to a wall socket. “Look at this . . . it wasn’t even grounded properly. The third wire’s just hanging. We better be careful.”

  “Don’t tell me the only man on the crew is afraid of a little electric shock,” Mary Ann said.

  Josie waited to see how Leslie responded to Mary Ann’s teasing. He brushed his hair back off his forehead, his hand leaving a trail of dirt, and looked over the entire group before answering. “I’ve been shocked more times than I can count, but I’ve never been in the middle of a house on fire—and that’s what we need to worry about. I’m strong, but I don’t think I can carry all four of you out of a burning building at the same time.” He smiled, revealing even white teeth. “Unless, of course, one of you ladies
would like to carry me.”

  “In your dreams,” Nic said.

  “Not a chance,” Mary Ann added.

  Vicki just laughed. “I guess my fiancé has delusions of grandeur.”

  “Your fiancé? I thought you were . . . well, I thought you were just dating,” Josie said, both relieved at how well Leslie took the women’s teasing and surprised by Vicki’s statement.

  “So did I,” Nic said.

  “We were, but . . .” Vicki looked over at Leslie and smiled. “We’ve become more than that in the time we’ve been together.”

  “You always were a fast worker,” Mary Ann said to Leslie.

  “How long have you known Leslie?” Nic asked her.

  “Oh, years. I think we first met on a job about two years ago, right Les?” Mary Ann replied.

  “I didn’t know that.” Nic spoke slowly.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Leslie asked, his charming smile reappearing on his face.

  “It does to me,” Nic answered. “That’s not what I thought, or what I told Josie. I misrepresented you.”

  “But it’s like Leslie said,” Vicki pointed out. “It doesn’t really matter.”

  “It does to me. You’re here on the island because I found jobs for you at Island Contracting. I’m responsible . . .”

  “No, you’re not,” Josie said. “I am. And, as of this moment, I’m happy with the work you’re all doing. But this is a small crew on a big job—it’s essential that we all get along. It’s your job to see that you get along. And I expect that you’ll all do just that.

  “Now, I don’t know about you all, but I’m hungry. Time for lunch.” She had made her point. She got up and headed for the door. “My treat,” she called back over her shoulder. “I assume we can all agree on that.”

  SIX

  ISLAND CONTRACTING HIRED new workers each season. This was partially determined by the company’s location, as there weren’t many carpenters, plumbers, and electricians living full time in this expensive beach community. And while there was always work available during the summer, the winter months were slow. But for many years Josie had worked with one other woman. Betty Jacobs, currently mother and East Side matron, had been Betty Patrick, carpenter and sexy island native for years before her marriage to one of Sam’s best friends. Josie frequently missed her friend, but never as much as she did at this moment. She desperately needed someone to talk to. And Sam, she knew, was not that someone.

  Unfortunately, he was standing at the back of the line of customers in front of the counter as she entered the Italian deli at the north end of the island. His smile indicated that he didn’t share her reluctance to see him.

  “Josie! What are you doing here? You usually don’t take a break on the first day of a new job.” He planted a kiss on top of her red mop.

  “I’m treating my crew to lunch. Most of them are new to the island and don’t know the best places to eat yet. But what are you doing here? You don’t usually go in for this type of food,” she added, peering over the counter as a huge, oily, Italian roll was stuffed with ham, cheese, and salami before being cut in half and rolled in wax paper.

  “Mother says the imported prosciutto here is as good as Dean and Deluca sells. She wants to serve it with figs for a first course tonight—it’s a great combination— better than with melon, I think. So if you want some, you’d better be on time for dinner.”

  Josie bent her lips into something resembling a smile, but not quite enough like a smile to fool Sam.

  “What’s wrong? Anything I can do? Isn’t the new crew working out?” His own smile had been replaced with an expression of concern.

  She made a better effort. “Nothing. I was up early doing paperwork . . . and you know how I hate paperwork.”

  He did. “I could take that particular burden off you, you know.”

  He had made this offer before. Josie would have loved someone else to take over Island Contracting’s paperwork, and she would allow that to happen just as soon as she got everything in order so she didn’t risk dying of embarrassment over the state it was in. She figured that would happen sometime in 2020—if she was exceptionally diligent. “I know, and I may take you up on that sometime. You’re next,” she pointed out, as the man in front of Sam walked off with his bag of hoagies.

  Sam placed his order and turned back to Josie. “Too bad you have to eat with your crew—it’s a gorgeous day. Perfect for a picnic on the beach.”

  Josie pursed her lips. “I can’t . . . I mean, I really do have to eat with my crew. We have a lot to discuss.”

  “I know. Perhaps when we’re married. . . .”

  “I think that’s your Mom’s ham,” Josie interrupted. “Six double Italians—no peppers on two,” she told the man behind the counter. “And I’ll take two six packs of Diet Coke as well.” She turned back to Sam.

  “How is your mother doing?” she asked, mainly to be polite.

  “She’s fine, but I think I should warn you. She’s sort of enthusiastic about our wedding . . .”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “And you know how Mother gets when she’s enthusiastic.”

  Josie nodded. “Right over the top.”

  “She has everything planned right down to the favors for the guests.”

  “Favors?”

  “Small candles shaped like wedding cakes. Actually, they’re sort of charming.”

  They sounded anything but charming to Josie. “Did she bring them with her?”

  “Just samples.” He hesitated. “She pointed out that it’s easier to get things in New York City than here. Which is true, of course. Josie . . . I think she’s going to talk to you about your wedding dress tonight. Mother says most brides in the city order their gown months ahead of time, and she’s worried that you won’t be able to find one you like this close to the wedding.”

  Josie could only sigh.

  “She just wants everything to be perfect for you,” he added.

  “I know. I really do know that, Sam. I just . . . I can’t deal with that right this moment. This project . . .”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll remind Mother that you’re a working woman and you can’t spend every minute of the day worrying about our wedding. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  Josie wasn’t so sure, but her order was ready, so she paid the bill and allowed Sam to help her carry everything to her truck.

  “You know how much I love you, Josie,” he said, leaning through the open window.

  She looked into his blue eyes and she knew. “I do. I really do.”

  “So you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll have the wedding you want and it will be perfect.”

  “I just hope we make it though the planning phase without offending every single one of our friends and relatives.”

  “Yeah. Well, they’ll get over it. Oh, Mother wanted me to find out if Tyler is coming to dinner tonight.”

  “Definitely. But you know he eats everything. She doesn’t have to make special plans for him.”

  “I think she was deciding whether to have pound cake and fruit for dessert or pound cake and ice cream. She assumed Tyler would prefer the ice cream.”

  “Definitely,” Josie said, not bothering to add that she would as well. “Sam, last night Tyler . . .”

  Sam’s cell phone trilled the first few stanzas of Mozart’s “A Little Night Music” and he answered before she could continue. Josie didn’t have to hear more than his side of the conversation to realize there was trouble at the store. “I’ve got to run,” he told her—not a surprise since she had just listened to him tell the person on the other end of the line that he would be there immediately. “That new cop gave one of my regular delivery men a ticket, and he’s threatening to stop making deliveries to the island.”

  “Most delivery men know not to speed,” Josie said.

  “This was a parking ticket. Apparently the rear wheels of his truck were outside of t
he line demarcating the loading zone.”

  “There’s something wrong with that woman. Last night . . .”

  “Josie, I really have to run. Dinner’s at seven tonight.”

  “I’ll call if I’m going to be late,” she said, but Sam was already shifting his MGB into gear. He roared off down the street, and she hoped Officer Petric wasn’t patrolling the ten or so blocks between the deli and Sam’s store.

  She wasn’t, because she was manning a speed trap right around the corner from the deli—a speed trap Josie drove right into. She pulled over and waited for Officer Petric to stroll up to her truck.

  “Ms. Pigeon, are you aware that you were going fortyfive in a twenty-five-mile-per-hour zone?”

  “Not really. You see, my speedometer hasn’t been working, but I usually drive under the island speed limit. I’ve lived here for a long time. I’m used to it,” Josie continued, although she was aware of the fact that she didn’t have Officer Petric’s attention.

  “When I took this job, I was warned that some of the natives might expect special attention, but . . .”

  “Look, I’m not a native. I wasn’t born here. And I certainly don’t make a habit of speeding. And . . . are you writing me a speeding ticket?”

  “No. I’m just giving you a verbal warning. But I can’t ignore that expired inspection sticker,” she added, ripping a sheet of paper off her pad and passing it to Josie. “You’ll see there’s a court date and time. Be there.” And, without giving Josie time to say anything (which might have been lucky, considering what Josie was about to say), the woman spun on her heels and returned to her cruiser. Josie turned the key in the ignition, put the truck in gear, and drove off. She was furious, and her face was nearly the color of her red hair.

  She drove the fifty or so blocks back to the work site as slowly as possible. A couple of joggers passed her, chatting and laughing. Bicycles whizzed by. A woman pushing a baby in a stroller very nearly kept pace. And Officer Trish Petric stayed right on her tail.