Death at a Premium (25 page)

“Is that what it looks like to you?”

She looked again. “Yes. Is that what it looks like to you?”

Sam smiled grimly. “Yes. That’s exactly what it looks like to me.”

“But how did you find it?”

“I was just killing time this morning, looking for some mid-century antiques.”

“Where are you going to put any more furniture? Your place is jammed.”

“That’s not important now. What I’m trying to tell you is that I came upon a Holmegaard lamp that looked like one you moved just a few weeks ago. And then there was this chair . . . and this vinyl couch . . . and this . . . and this . . .”

“All from the Bride’s Secret?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure about that immediately, but then I looked more closely and discovered something very interesting.”

“What?”

“The pieces I thought I recognized—the ones you just recognized—are all being sold by the same person.”

“Not one of the Higgins family, I gather.”

“No, the person selling these things is using ZapU as his or her screen name.”

“Who?”

“ZapU.” Sam spelled it out. “I didn’t get it for a minute and then I realized it could be . . .”

“An electrician! It’s Leslie! That’s what he was doing this morning—carrying more things out of the house to sell!”

“What things?”

“I don’t know what it was—everything was stuffed into black plastic garbage bags. He said it was old knob-and-tube wiring, but all that crap was removed years and years ago. I’m sure about that.”

“So you knew he was lying.”

“Yes.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Nothing. Tilly Higgins and Christopher were with me. I have a policy of keeping problems with employees within the company and away from our employers.”

“Good policy, but you know you can’t ignore this now.”

“No, of course not. But how can I prove that this ZapU is really Leslie?”

Sam was scrolling through his screen. “No problem. Let’s see, there’s a seller’s profile here somewhere—here. Look. New seller. Unrated. Lives less than twenty miles from here as well.”

“Unrated? You’re saying he hasn’t done this before.”

“Not using this name, but you know how it is with computers—you can drop or pick up a new screen name almost any time you wish just by signing up for a new service.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Yeah definitely. Leslie could do this every time he works on a new job. Josie, speeding might not be the only illegal habit Leslie Coyne has.”

She stared at the screen and tried to absorb what Sam was saying. “I need an electrician on this job—I costed it out with a minimum of subcontractors—and he’s an excellent worker and a more-than-competent carpenter.”

“As well as a hard worker if he heads home at night and sells things on eBay. It’s not just taking photos, writing up descriptions, and setting up an account before you list items that takes work. It’s also packing up the goods and mailing them out once they’re sold. There are entire companies set up so that people can sell things without all the work that goes along with it. Leslie has been one busy young man.”

“If this is Leslie. You’re basing all this on circumstantial evidence—the name, the location, the fact that this seller has no history. We haven’t proved anything yet.”

“Well, then let’s prove it.” Sam scrolled through the items for sale. “Like this lamp?”

“It’s certainly bright,” Josie said, staring at the brilliant indigo glass base shaped like a teardrop and topped with a torn ivory linen shade.

“It will look better with a new shade. In fact, it will look perfect next to the bed in the guest room. I’ll offer to pay more than it’s worth and see if the seller is willing to end the auction and sell to me.”

“And then?”

“And then I’ll explain that I’m from the city and at the shore—not on this island—for a few weeks and offer to meet and pick it up. Between the high price and the fact that Leslie—or whoever—won’t have to bother packing and shipping, I think we may flush out our seller.”

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Josie said. She wondered if they actually had to use the lamp once they bought it, but decided this wasn’t the time to have an argument over a difference in taste.

“Okay. I’ll make a very generous offer,” Sam said as his mother joined them.

“Sammy, I saw Josie’s truck out front—is she here?”

“I am, Carol, but not for long. What’s wrong?”

Sam’s mother was flushed and obviously very upset. “I’ve just had terrible news!” she explained, running her hands through her well-lacquered hair.

Sam jumped up. “Are you okay? Has someone died?”

“No, but . . . it’s Josie. My dear, my friend Gert just called with the total bill for your wedding gown.” Carol held a slip of paper in her hand and Josie reached for it. “Before you look, I want you to promise me that you will allow this dress to be my gift to you.”

“I don’t think . . .” Josie looked at the number and gasped. “I know I can’t spend this amount on a dress, and I won’t let you, either.”

“But . . .”

“Carol. I’m sure about this. I just wrote a check for that amount recently—it paid my increased insurance premium for Island Contracting—and I had to struggle to pay that. I can’t spend that type of money on a dress that I will only wear for one day. Period.”

Sam looked at his mother. “Perhaps you might switch to plan two,” he suggested gently.

THIRTY

SAM HAD WORKED late into the night to discover the identity of ZapU. His last phone call to Josie had awakened her around three A.M. Sam explained that he had left messages for ZapU all over the Internet and he would call Josie just as soon as he received a reply. Josie drove to work in a fog. She needed to know if Leslie was selling property he had stolen from the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast on eBay, but she also wondered if she could get him to set the caps for lights on the first floor before she was forced to fire him. Hurrying up the front steps to the work site, she was so busy thinking about this situation that it took her a few minutes to realize that her crew was busy too—discussing her son.

“Tyler couldn’t have been sweeter, but I certainly don’t understand what his teachers are thinking of,” Nic was saying.

“I know what you mean, I thought anthropologists studied primitive tribes in places like Africa,” Vicki interrupted.

“Maybe you ladies are closer to those tribes than you realize,” Leslie suggested.

“That may be, but I finally had to tell him that the only way I could make sure I had all the places and dates absolutely correct was to check my resumé—and then he asked for a copy of it. He said it would make a great footnote. I sure never expected to be in a footnote!” Mary Ann said.

Both Vicki and Nic were laughing at Mary Ann’s tale, and even Leslie was leaning against the wall with a broad grin on his face when Josie entered the room.

“When did you all talk to Tyler?” she asked abruptly. “And why?”

Complete silence greeted her appearance, and no one seemed anxious to answer her questions. Nic and Mary Ann found something to stare at on the floor while Vicki and Leslie focused on each other.

“We’re not supposed to tell you,” Mary Ann finally said, looking up.

“He wanted it to be a surprise,” Vicki added.

“Wanted what to be a surprise?” Josie asked.

“It’s his senior project,” Nic answered after another long lull. “He’s studying us.”

“Not just us, there are other women too,” Vicki said.

“Women who work on the island,” Mary Ann continued. “He’s thinking of studying anthropology in college and his adviser at school suggested that he might want to fashion a senior project around a small society. At least I think that’s what he said . . .”

“Anyway, what we’re trying to say is that your son is spending his summer studying the working women on this island,” Nic said.

“And that includes us,” Vicki said.

“And that includes Officer Trish Petric, doesn’t it?” Josie asked slowly.

“Probably does,” Nic answered.

“But you’re not going to ask him a lot of questions about it, are you?” Vicki asked.

“The kid really wants to keep it a secret from you,” Leslie pointed out.

“But why?” Josie asked.

“He wants to surprise you with the finished project. He explained that it’s sort of a tribute to you—to all the years you’ve worked without recognition,” Mary Ann said. She smiled. “You must know how proud he is of the way you’ve created a life for yourself and for him.”

“I . . . I suppose.” Josie felt herself tearing up. “So how did he manage to talk to you all without me knowing about it?” she asked a bit gruffly.

“He arranged for you to be out of town, in New York City buying your wedding dress,” Vicki answered.

“I’m not going to buy that dress,” Josie began. “Wait a second, are you telling me that Tyler orchestrated my shopping trip to New York?”

“Apparently he’s friends with the waitress who works the breakfast shift at Sullivan’s,” Mary Ann explained.

“Tyler asked that young woman to talk about going to New York and buying a wedding gown while I was eating breakfast there?”

Her crew was grinning as Nic answered. “Yeah, that’s exactly what he did. He wanted to talk to us all without you around, so he arranged for you to be someplace else. He even said he had a backup plan if that one didn’t work. Pretty smart, huh?”

Josie frowned. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So you’ve got a smart son who appreciates all you’ve given him. Why do you look so unhappy?” Nic asked.

“Because Tyler’s not the only person who has been manipulating me.” Josie thought about this for a moment while her crew waited for her continue.

“From the beginning of this job things have been happening that I can’t explain . . . not just the dummies appearing and the murder, but other things like our insurance situation. I hire new crews all the time and this isn’t the first time my insurance company has questioned me about workers, but this is the first time that the problems appeared so quickly or were so impossible to resolve. And then there have been so many problems with the police . . .” She looked at her crew. “What Tyler’s been doing may have been manipulative, but it was for a good cause—he was working on his project and trying to be nice to me. But I think the killer has been manipulating me—and you all—and the police—for a different reason. He’s been trying to protect himself.”

Vicki gasped and Leslie put his arms around her.

“You know who the killer is?” Nic asked.

“Yes. I do.” Josie reached up and pushed her hair off her forehead. “I don’t know why the man was killed. I don’t even know who the dead man is. But I do know who killed him.” Josie looked around the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast, a sad expression on her face. “I don’t like it though. Not one bit.”

Before anyone could ask anything else, Josie’s cell phone rang. Sam was calling with the news that Leslie was, in fact, selling the contents of the Bride’s Secret Bed and Breakfast on eBay, using ZapU as his screen name. Sometime in the early morning, Leslie had answered a couple of the messages Sam had left for him, and he had identified himself. Josie thanked Sam for getting to the bottom of that problem, said she was busy and would call him later, and flipped her phone shut without mentioning her new suspicions.

Then she took a deep breath and straightened out her shoulders. She was going to do something she hated to do, something she usually worked hard to avoid doing: she was going to go talk with the island police. She had spent way too much time with them in the past few weeks, but she didn’t see that she had any other option.

Josie drove to the police station, reviewing what she believed to be facts. By the time she was parking in the lot by the municipal building, she knew what she had to say and she knew how to say it. She walked into the police station through the front door, resisting an urge to wave at the surveillance camera pointed in her direction. Trish Petric was sitting in the chair behind the dispatcher’s desk; she looked up and smiled as the door swung closed behind Josie.

“Is Chief Rodney in?” Josie asked.

“Yes.” Trish pointed at the monitor. “And he probably knows you’re here now, too. If you’re trying to avoid him, you should have used the back door,” the officer added.

Josie half-smiled. Now that she knew why Tyler had been talking with Trish Petric in her patrol car, her antagonism had disappeared. “Actually, I want to talk to him . . . and you too, if it’s possible.”

“I’m stuck here while the regular dispatcher is at the dentist, but she’s due back any time now. Do you think your business with the chief will take more than a few minutes?”

“That depends on whether or not he believes me,” Josie answered. “If you’ll just come back when you’re free?” She opened the door to the offices at the rear of the building, then stopped and asked a question.

“Officer Petric, do you know if Seymour Higgins has ever been stopped for speeding on the island?”

The police officer laughed, glanced through the open door, and lowered her voice. “Not recently. To tell you the truth, that’s sort of a touchy subject. You know he’s made a very generous donation to the police department.”

Josie nodded. “The forensic center, yes.”

“Well, we don’t give him tickets because of that.” She shrugged. “I don’t approve, but there’s not much I can do about it except express my disapproval, and no one here listens to me. Although, come to think of it, I haven’t caught him speeding in a month or so.”

“But do you know if Chief Rodney ever stopped him for speeding?”

“He sure did. Back in the winter. Apparently that’s when they met. I don’t know what there was about that meeting that led to his donation to the department, but apparently Chief Rodney impressed the hell out of Seymour Higgins.”

“You know, I think that’s exactly what happened,” Josie said and continued on her way.

Chief Rodney was napping at his desk. Josie stood in the open doorway to his office, watching his chest rise and fall as he snored, and thinking about what she was about to do. This man had absolutely no respect for her. She couldn’t remember if he had ever believed something just because she said it was true. Now she was going to tell him one of the last things he wanted to hear and she had to convince him that what she was saying was the truth. But, first, she had to wake him up.