“Look. Be honest. If I had listed star of porn videos: Ample Assets, Born to Bop, and Vegetarian Meat-”
“What?”
“Vegetarian Meat. Apparently the producers were aiming for distribution in the California New Age market.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s what I was told.”
“Was it… um… different from the other two?”
“There were some windchimes hanging in the background and we did it on a zafu.”
“A what?”
“It’s this round pillow that people sit on when they meditate-it may be comfortable for that, but for what I was doing, give me the average bed pillow any day of the week. Other than those things, it was same old, same old. You know.” Jill paused. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
“Would I have hired you if I had known about the movies?” Josie thought about the question. “I can’t think of any reason not to. I mean, you had the qualifications to do the job and the experience.” She paused.
“But things are different now that Courtney’s dead.” Jill spoke what she thought Josie was thinking.
“Does that have anything to do with your films?” She asked a second question when Jill didn’t answer the first. “Did Courtney know about them?”
“She may have.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you know those interviews that Bobby Valentine did yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Twice he referred to me as the photogenic Ms. Pike.”
“But he was filming you.”
“Yes, and he said something about that, too: how much I seemed like someone who was accustomed to being before the camera.”
“Could he have been referring to anything else? Have you done any more legitimate film work?”
“Nope. Not a bit. Those videos and whatever is shown on Courtney Castle’s Castles. That’s it. I wondered, you know, if I should tell someone about the films once I heard about the television show.”
“Why?”
“Because once you’re on TV, you’re not exactly the same anonymous person you were before. It did occur to me that I might be recognized.”
“Good point. So you thought about telling me about your past when you heard about Courtney’s show.”
“To be honest, no. I did think about telling either Courtney or Bobby Valentine though. I actually tried to bring up the subject with Courtney. But she said she was too busy to talk. That she had to meet someone.”
“When?” Josie asked, surprised when Jill didn’t continue.
“That morning. The morning she interviewed you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I think I may have been the last person to see her alive.”
“Well, not the last person,” Josie said. “The last person to see her alive was her killer.”
“The person she said she had to meet,” Jill said.
“Sounds like it to me,” Josie agreed, wondering just who that person could have been.
TWENTY-SEVEN
JOSIE SLAMMED HER hammer against the two-by-four, wedging it into place. They’d been working for two hours without a break. It was hot, her arms and shoulders ached, and sweat was pouring down her forehead. She smacked the board one more time, and with a loud crack, the last piece fell into place. The women sighed and then laughed a bit.
“Time for lunch.” Josie pulled a filthy bandanna from her pocket and wiped the sweat off her forehead. “There’s a giant thermos of iced tea in the back of the truck. Anybody want to run to the deli?”
Fifteen minutes later four very tired women were sitting on the dock, large sandwiches on their laps, passing around a giant bag of Chee•tos. There was a gentle breeze off the water, and Josie, busy consuming her year’s allowance of fat in one sitting, took a break, leaned against the silvery wooden rail, and closed her eyes. She’d been up early and then worked hard all morning.
“The world is your oyster, but you’ll never crack it lying on a mattress.”
The words were spoken in a shrill, familiar voice. Josie reached into her past and identified it. Naomi Van Ripper. Josie opened her eyes and looked right into the stern face of the librarian. “We’re on our lunch break,” she said, and then regretted the explanation. She didn’t have to justify her actions-or those of her crew-to anybody.
“Then you are free to speak with me.” It wasn’t a question.
Josie sighed. No reason to be rude. “I suppose.”
“Privately.”
Josie stood up and stretched. “Okay. But I’ll have to eat at the same time.”
Dr. Van Ripper looked down at the food in her lap, and for a horrible moment Josie was afraid politeness was going to force her to offer to share. “Not exactly a healthy repast, is it? Very high-calorie.”
“I burn a lot of calories,” Josie said, standing up for herself. “If you want to speak privately, maybe we’d better go back to the house.”
“It will be filthy, but I suppose that can’t be helped.”
“Remodeling is dirty work.” Josie led the way up the path. She walked briskly and was maliciously pleased to hear Naomi Van Ripper panting with the effort of keeping up.
But once they were inside, the librarian reasserted her dominance. “What is that thing?” she asked, pointing to the well-wrapped sculpture still sitting by the fireplace.
“It’s art. The owners asked us to be especially careful with it.”
“Oh. Is it sturdy?”
“It’s made from steel… What are you doing?”
“Sitting down. If it’s made of steel, it certainly won’t be damaged by my weight.”
Josie wasn’t inclined to argue. “I hope not.” She leaned back against a pile of Sheetrock and pulled her sandwich from its greasy wrapping. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I had explained. I need to speak with you.”
Josie took a big bite of her sandwich. A large ruffle of ham fell from her mouth and into her lap. She reached down, dusted it off, and popped it in her mouth.
Naomi grimaced.
Josie took another bite and reminded herself that anger would accomplish nothing. She chewed and waited for the other woman to speak.
“I had an interesting conversation with Courtney.”
“When?”
“What difference would that make?”
“I’m just… you know, curious.”
“I don’t know. A few days ago. Apparently what she said is true, otherwise you would know all about it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Josie admitted. “What did Courtney say about me… that you think may be true.”
“She said you maintain absolutely no contact with your family. Disgraceful.”
Josie had opened her mouth to answer before the final, condemning word. But when she opened it again, she found she had no idea what to say. It had been years since she had thought much about her family. Because she had trained, carefully trained, herself not to. “You don’t know anything about it. They chose not to have contact with me.” She knew she sounded like a stubborn child, inarticulate and angry.
“Why, I happen to know a lot about it. I speak with your mother at least once a week and I frequently see your father at the hospital.”
Josie noted that some things didn’t change. Apparently her mother still visited the library for a weekly pile of books. That didn’t surprise her any more than her father’s dedication to his job as hospital administrator did. She had assumed that their lives had gone on without her, but the reality of that fact was surprisingly painful. “They complain about me?” she asked, suddenly unable to eat another bite.
“No, they’re more dignified than that. But everyone in town knows how much you hurt them.”
“I hurt them! What about how they hurt me?” She was shocked into saying more than she planned. “I needed them! I was desperate! I can understand their shock, but to abandon me and my son-their grandson-like they did! How dare they claim to be the ones who were hurt? How dare they?”
“That’s not-”