A Fashionable Murder (26 page)

“Josie? I’m just going to put this on your forehead.”

She sat up and the towel-wrapped bag of ice slid onto her chest. “What are you doing? That thing’s freezing! Get it off me!” She grabbed it and tossed it onto the floor. “I was just beginning to feel warm.” She sighed, sinking back into the couch cushions.

“Josie . . .”

Sam didn’t continue and Josie looked up into his concerned eyes. She remembered the worried expression on his face downstairs when she had finally made it to his building. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m fine, but I had to walk here from . . .” She suddenly realized she didn’t want to continue this part of the conversation. “It’s really very cold outside,” she ended.

“Did you leave Mother at her place and walk here?” Sam asked.

“I . . . yes. She should be home now,” Josie said. “Her hair color is fixed,” she added.

“Well, that’s a relief. Would you like a glass of brandy? Or maybe some tea?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I have a bit of a headache, but nothing serious.” She reached out for his hand. “I was so glad to see you when I walked in the door, Sam.”

If she had expected anything it was that he would reply in kind, expressing relief that she had returned safely, but Sam seemed distracted, getting up and walking toward the kitchen. “I think some herb tea,” he said, ignoring her.

“I really don’t want anything.” But Sam was filling the teakettle and Josie decided that maybe he was right. Maybe a cup of tea would be a good thing.

“So where did you and Mother spend the day? It couldn’t have taken the entire time to have her hair done.”

“No. Of course not. We went to this incredible sale. It was almost all clothing down . . . over . . . on the pier. At the Spotlight Sale.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Mother is always talking about going there. What did you buy?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t get anything. I spent a lot of time looking . . . and holding clothing while your mother tried things on. It was the most fascinating place. Did you know that famous people, actresses and all, donate clothing and then their names are on the hangers?”

“And they charge more for those things?” Sam asked.

“I guess. To tell the truth, those things were designer gowns and they seemed incredibly expensive—thousands of dollars for some of them—and it never occurred to me that where they came from had much to do with it.”

“I’m glad you had a good day,” Sam said, returning to her side with a steaming mug with a tea bag hanging out.

“It was interesting,” Josie admitted. “How long do you think this snow is going to last?”

“I bought a small radio today. I was beginning to feel a little cut off from the world, frankly. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll go get it and we can listen to the news. A storm in New York pretty much captures the media’s interest . . . but I wanted to talk with you for a minute.”

Sam’s voice and expression were deadly serious and, suddenly, Josie was afraid of hearing his next words. He put down the tea and took both her hands in his. “Josie, how do you think Mother is doing?”

It was pretty much the last thing she thought he would ask and, for a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer. “You mean, do I think she’s beginning to become senile or something like that?”

“Sort of. Have you noticed any changes in her?”

Josie chuckled. “Besides her hair color?”

“I know I sound like a worried son, but this could be important, Josie. You’ve been with her almost every day since you came to the city. Think. Has she seemed strange? Or said anything strange to you? Anything at all?”

Josie thought. Carol and she had talked about Sam, about Pamela Peel, about decorating and clothing and hairstyles. She decided to tell the truth, some of it. “She is very worried about you,” she answered.

“About me? In what sense?”

“Because Pamela Peel’s body was found here. She . . . we’ve been thinking that whoever killed her wanted you to be the major suspect. And you know how Carol worries about you even when there’s nothing to worry about.”

“And she thinks that this time there is something real to worry about.”

“Yes. Yes, she does,” Josie said. “Sam, we’re both really worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Josie. It’s Mother I’m worried about now.”

“But there’s no reason—”

“There is. I can’t tell you everything, but there really is. Really,” he repeated.

She didn’t know what to say.

“Josie, you know Mother didn’t like Pamela.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, Mother thinks she keeps her feelings hidden, but she’s an open book to me. I always know how she feels about the women I date.” And he smiled gently at her. “I knew how much she liked you the first time she came down to the island.”

Josie smiled back. “It wasn’t me she liked. She was crazy about Tyler and I was his mother, so she had to accept me.”

“Well, whatever. But I am very, very worried about Mother. It may be only a matter of time before Mother is the primary suspect in Pamela’s murder.”

For just a moment, Josie wondered if this entire conversation was a hallucination caused by the concussion Sam was so worried about. Then she regrouped. Sam thought his mother had killed Pamela Peel. That’s why he was acting so strangely. And, of course, his mother was acting strangely— because she was worried that Sam was the only suspect. She began to giggle inanely. “Oh, Sam, you won’t believe . . .”

“I’m sorry, Josie. I don’t see what’s so funny.” He leaned down and picked up one of her eyelids and peered inside. “Are you feeling okay? Maybe you should lie back down.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s not funny really. I guess I’m just a little relieved.” She took a deep breath and regained her composure. “It’s just that your mother is worried about you. That’s why she’s acting so odd. Well, odder than usual.”

Sam rested his head in his hands. “Why? Why is she worrying about me this time?”

“She thinks you might be arrested for killing Pamela Peel.”

Sam looked up and into her eyes. “She is the one person who knows I didn’t kill her. She’s the one person who can prove I didn’t kill her. So why should she be so worried?”

“How . . . I don’t understand. Why is Carol the one person who can prove you didn’t kill Pamela? And, if that’s true, why is she in such a panic that you might be arrested?”

“Josie, the only answers I have don’t make any sense,” Sam answered quietly. “At least,” he added, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, “at least I hope I don’t understand their meaning.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

EVERY BABY HAS bad days, days when he cries for no apparent reason, days when he won’t sleep, days when he makes the lives of those around him absolutely miserable. And those days almost always happen at the least convenient time.

JJ was having a really bad day.

So was his mother.

“Josie, I’d put him down, but he screams even louder,” Betty said into the phone. “I hope you can hear me. I spent hours calling everyone on the list Carol made—before JJ began to act up—and I have three different companies who have worked for Henderson and Peel and seem to be willing to talk.”

“What do you mean, seem to be willing?”

“I couldn’t just ask what they knew about Pamela Peel. I mean, that would have been a little strange when I introduced myself as a prospective client, right? Oh, wait, JJ’s taking his teething ring. . . . You know he’s quite young to be teething.”

“He’s completely amazing in every way. Now tell me about these three contractors,” Josie insisted. She had finally convinced Sam that it was perfectly safe to leave her alone and he had wandered into the bedroom to listen to the radio for news of the storm. The last time she’d checked, he was dozing on the bed. But Sam’s restlessness would likely prevent him from sleeping too long and she wanted to talk to Betty without an audience.

“Well, I told all the companies that I would be hiring Henderson and Peel for a big job and I wanted to be sure that they were used to working with them.”

“Good thinking.”

“Thanks for that. There are days when I think my brain is beginning to bear a strong resemblance to Pablum.”

Josie decided not to tell her friend that it was only going to get worse as JJ got older. “So give me the list and I’ll let you go. Maybe JJ will fall asleep and you can take a long bath and get to bed early.”

“Oh, Jon and I are thinking of bundling JJ up and going for a walk in Central Park. JJ loves being in his backpack and the city is so gorgeous in the snow.”

“You must be talking about a different city from the one I was just walking in—the one where there’s absolutely no place to put all this snow, where there are no cabs, where . . .” She remembered the waiter who had offered her free hot chocolate to warm up, and stopped complaining.

“I know. But look out the window when you get a chance. It really is gorgeous this evening. Oh, damn, JJ’s losing interest in his teething ring. Listen, I faxed the list over to your place. It should be downstairs at the front desk. But don’t hang up without telling me everything you’ve learned.”

“That will be easy because I’ve learned almost nothing.”

“That’s not possible. You’ve been so busy.”

“Well, not nothing exactly. I know a lot about how hairdressers stay in business; I know a little about how interior decorators work. I can tell midtown from downtown. And, thanks to Sam’s mother, I am damn near intimate with some of the departments at Saks Fifth Avenue. But, as for finding out who killed Pamela Peel . . . well, that I don’t know. But I am sure that Carol thinks Sam is going to be arrested for Pamela Peel’s murder and Sam is afraid Carol will be.”

“You’re kidding!” Betty’s words could barely be made out as her son’s expression of unhappiness moved into high frequency.

“I’ll call you as soon as I check out these contractors,” Josie assured her and hung up without a formal good-bye. Sam was still snoring and she decided she could dash down to the lobby and be back before he noticed her absence. She rummaged in her purse for the keys Sam had given her. Then, locking the door behind her, she hurried toward the elevator.

Harold was wiping the floor with a huge fluffy mop and he looked up when the elevator doors opened and she stepped out. “Ms. Pigeon! Should you be walking around on your own? Symptoms of a concussion can appear hours after the initial injury.”

“I’m fine. Really. But I was just talking on the phone with a friend of mine and she said she had faxed something here.”

“Tell you the truth, I’ve been too busy to check the machine, but it’s right in that room there if you wanna look for yourself. Your name will be on it, right?”

“I guess so,” Josie answered, heading toward the heavy brass-covered door Harold had indicated.

It was his office, she realized once inside. Unlike the lobby, designed and decorated to impress, in here everything was unadorned and functional. There was a large computer sitting on an old gunmetal desk. Packages from FedEx, United Parcel, and the U.S. Mail were stacked on a bench in one corner. A huge bulletin board, covered with notes and diagrams, hung crookedly on one wall. A large coffeepot steamed away on top of a trio of filing cabinets. The scent of pepperoni wafted from old, greasy cartons squashed into an overflowing, black plastic wastebasket. A fax machine had been placed on upturned plastic milk cartons; its messages slid out onto the floor underneath.

“Welcome to my world.” Harold stood behind her. “Did you find what you were looking for in the mess?”

“I think they’re probably on the floor under the machine,” Josie said, surprised by his presence.

“Well, don’t bend down. You might get a head rush; don’t want you passing out. I’ll get them for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Josie would have preferred to do this herself, but she didn’t see how she could protest.

Fortunately, Betty had written both Josie and Sam’s names across the top of the list of names and phone numbers.

“Mr. Richardson looking to remodel instead of move?” Harold asked, handing over the faxed message.

“No. I’m a contractor, you know,” she added.

“No, I didn’t. Who do you work for?”

“I own my own business,” Josie said, feeling, as usual, the pleasure that statement gave her. “Island Contracting.”

“Then why the list?”

“I’m looking for a . . . a carpenter who worked for me last summer,” Josie improvised.

“And you think he may be with one of those companies now?”

“It’s possible. A friend of mine who is living in the city now made the list. She thinks these companies are likely candidates.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost seven P.M. “Thanks for letting me in here. I don’t want to keep you from leaving for home, though.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving anytime soon.”

“I thought you went off duty at seven.”

“Not tonight. Tonight I do an overnight. The night doorman lives up in the Bronx. Trains aren’t running so he’s stuck there and I’m stuck here. Not that I mind. These residents are my friends as well as my employers. I like to help them out in emergencies.”

“Emergencies like murder investigations?” Josie asked, suddenly realizing that Harold could be an untapped wealth of information.

“This is a first for me, to tell the truth. Not for Mentelle Park Apartments though,” he added. “There was a man who found his wife in bed with his business partner. Shot them both dead and then turned himself in to the police. That was back in the fifties, though, before my time.”

“Oh.” Josie was quiet for a minute, looking down at the list Betty had sent and counting six contracting companies. “Do you know anything about any of these companies? Have any of them worked here?” she asked, remembering Betty’s comment about the list kept by the building where she lived.

Harold took the list from her and read through it with a frown on his face.

“Well, I don’t know about this carpenter you’re trying to find, but I do know two of these contractors. Seems to me both of them have worked here.” He scratched the back of his neck and continued. “Remodeling is big, real big, these days. Not like when I first came to work here. Back then, when someone didn’t like their apartment, they moved. Then we became a condo building. Most of the buildings around either went condo or co-op, and it wasn’t just a matter of finding a new place and getting your deposit back anymore. Now people had to buy and sell and they had to be approved by new boards and new residents had to be approved by the board here. It got harder and harder to move and it seemed a whole lot easier to just remodel what you had. Of course, remodeling always looks easier than it’s going to be.”