“Interesting.”
“As is his selection of wines. If I buy a bottle of good Chardonnay, will you at least tell me a bit of what’s going on?”
Josie opened her mouth to protest and then shut it again. Sam knew her. He knew she wouldn’t have been leading her crew around that house long after the workday had ended unless she had a good reason to be there. And he knew there was something odd about doing it in the dark. She leaned back against the soft glove-leather seat (original equipment) and closed her eyes. “Yes. In fact, I’d like to ask your advice. Just don’t tell me we should go to the police. We already decided against that.”
It was dark; her eyes were closed. She didn’t see Sam roll his eyes. “You’re making me very nervous” was all he said.
“Join the crowd.” She opened her eyes as the car made a sharp turn. “Are we already there?”
“Yup. But I don’t see anyplace to park. Is that car coming or going?”
It turned out to be leaving and they slid easily into the spot vacated by the big white Lincoln Town Car. They both got out, and as Sam locked the doors, Josie stared up at the bright sign over the long one-story building. A KETTLE OF FISH was spelled out in green neon light. They walked under the sign and through a door decorated with an imaginative underwater scene.
Josie looked around curiously. Island Contracting had remodeled two of Basil’s five restaurants, but he had bought this building recently and decided to go through this season with what he called “a little minor decorating.”
What was minor decorating for Basil would have been considered a major project by almost anyone else. The walls had been painted with white gloss paint and displayed fish, not the normal stuffed variety, but the type found in galleries in SoHo, fish formed of every materiaclass="underline" glass, pottery, fabric, metals, painted on paper, made from paper, and displayed on paper. The effect was unique, modern, and chic. Just the sort of environment to attract the type of people who work in the media, she realized, spying Bobby Valentine at a large table with three members of his crew.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked as she hesitated.
“I… I was wondering if there’s a table free. But… not too close to Bobby Valentine.”
“Why are you avoiding him? I thought you all were getting along just fine.”
“We are, but… Well, I thought we were going to have a chance to talk.”
“And you don’t want him to overhear what we’re talking about?”
“Exactly.”
“No problem. We’ll just tell Basil-”
“You’ll just tell Basil what?”
He was right behind them. They turned and were confronted with a remarkable sight. Basil Tilby had outdone himself. His long legs were encased in dark green slacks. His shoes were silver. He had on a T-shirt of the same shade as his pants, but his jacket was a work of art. Fashioned of canvas, it had been painted with mythical creatures of the deep. Aquarius poured water from a large urn across Basil’s shoulders. Mermaids swirled about his lapels. Josie was speechless.
“We’d like a table, but preferably on that side of the room.” Sam pointed away from Bobby Valentine’s party.
“No problem. Most of my customers prefer the other. Let’s see… How about that small one by the window?”
“Perfect.” Sam looked around. “Is this the smoking area?”
“No, all smoking is done on the enclosed porch.”
“Then why is that the most popular side of the room? This is just as charming and it has a view.”
“That side has become our own little media hangout.”
“We noticed the people from Courtney’s show there.”
“They’ve been here every night since we opened. And where they go on the island, crowds follow, as Josie knows by now. I can’t complain. I’ve never had a restaurant become popular so quickly.”
“Has Courtney shown up recently?” Sam asked, sitting down across from Josie.
“Nope. But the crowd keeps hoping and her producer says she’ll be here any day now.”
“Really?” Josie felt she had to say something.
“Yes. How is it working with her?” Basil asked, handing her a menu written on a large white piece of paper shaped like a life preserver.
“Great!”
From the expression on the men’s faces, she realized her response had been just a bit too enthusiastic. “Although it would be nice to be interviewed by her instead of Bobby Valentine pretending to be her.”
“Is that what’s going on now?”
“Yes, it’s called working around her.”
“Only, of course, she’s not around,” Basil suggested.
“No, not anymore.”
“I hate to interrupt, but watching Tyler wolf down pizza was a real appetizer. I’m starving. What do you suggest?”
“Everything is good. Everything is fresh, but the penne al mare and filets de daurade à la julienne de légumes are my personal favorites.”
“I’ll have the penne,” Josie said.
“And I’ll have the sea bass,” Sam said. “Now what about wine?”
Sam’s last question required a serious discussion with Basil, and Josie looked across the room at Bobby Valentine. He seemed to be enjoying himself, eating some sort of pasta and drinking what looked like a martini as he chatted with the cameraman, the woman who set up the lights, and someone she didn’t recognize.
Josie stared and wondered if he knew about Courtney’s death. If so, he didn’t seem terribly distressed. Did that mean he really thought her disappearance was normal? Or was he just a good actor?
“You’re staring.”
Startled, Josie looked back at Sam. “I… I guess I’m sort of curious about the TV people,” she admitted.
“I’m a little surprised you don’t get enough of them during the day.”
Sam’s tone of voice was odd and Josie frowned, then grinned as she realized what she was hearing. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? You’re jealous of Bobby Valentine.”
“I know it’s foolish-”
“Oh, Sam, don’t say that! No man’s ever been jealous over me.”
“That’s a compliment. It means you’re trustworthy.”
Josie suspected it meant she rarely had one man in her life and never two at once. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Sam. “You’ll understand more when I tell you what’s going on, but…”
A young man, wearing a conventional suit but sporting a tie shaped like a fish, brought the wine Sam had ordered and began the elaborate opening and tasting process that Josie sometimes found so irritating. This was one of those times. Until…
“You’re so lucky to be working on a television show,” the young man gushed. “They’re fascinating, aren’t they?”
“Well…”
“I’ve been changing my station every night to make sure I wait on them. Just listening in on their conversation is an incredible opportunity. That producer-”
“Bobby Valentine.” Josie supplied the name.
“He told me to call him Bobby,” the young waiter said proudly.
“You were saying…” Josie prompted.
“And pouring wine,” Sam reminded him.
“Oh, sorry.” He poured a bit and offered the glass to Sam.
Sam tasted, nodded, and smiled. “Fine.”
While their glasses were filled, Josie encouraged the waiter to chat. “They’re interesting people, aren’t they?”
“Yes, especially Courtney. I thought she was just another carpenter, but she’s done everything! All those different types of shows…”
“What sort of shows?” Sam stopped sipping long enough to ask.
“Lots of things! A painting show-not the stuff you hang on the walls, but the type of things you put in the walls-”
“Faux finishes.” Sam offered the correct term.
Josie, as always, amazed by the depth of Sam’s knowledge as well as curious about who he might have dated who knew these things, asked a question. “She did a show about faux finishes?”
“Yes. It was very successful, according to her. But she even talked about her failures. She said she hosted some sort of needlepoint show that was a complete disaster.”