Free This Old Murder by Valerie Wolzien Page A

to collect more branches. “Here.” She handed one to Dottie, who jammed it into her hair so that it stuck up like a feather in a child’s Native American headdress. “You, too,” she said impulsively, and, forgetting that Josie was the boss, began tucking leaves and tiny branches into her mop of red hair.
    Josie laughed and stuck a curl of red pepper in her mouth like a lizard’s proboscis. “You guys be the flora and I’ll be the fauna,” she said, giggling. These women hadn’t been working for her for long and she was usually reluctant to “let down her hair” with new employees, but the taping was creating a lot of tension and she couldn’t resist the temptation to let off a bit of steam. Apparently the others felt the same way—except for Dottie, who was still scowling. Or maybe scowling was something Dottie enjoyed; she certainly did it enough.
    Josie picked up a long roll, held it like a microphone in front of her face, and stood. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Josephine Pigeon, host of
Pigeon’s
. . .
Pigeon’s Palaces
.”
    The women shrieked with laughter.
    “And I would like to introduce you to my crew.” She held the roll out to Annette. “This is Annette Long, star of
Annette’s
Adobes
, a build-it-yourself-with-the-stuff-in-your-backyard show. And this woman is Dottie Evans, star of
Dottie’s Duplexes
, building for two—”
    “How about
Dottie’s Dives
?” Annette suggested through giggles.
    “I was hoping for
Dottie’s Dumps
. Build your own trashy place to crash,” Dottie admitted, almost smiling.
    “And me! What about me?” Jill demanded.
    “Jill’s . . .”
Josie drew a blank. “
Jill’s
what?”
    “I have it,” Dottie said, really getting into the swing of things. “How about Jill Pike, builder of the
House of Jill Repute
.”
    “I love it!” Annette jumped up and down, causing the whole dock to shake. “
House of Jill Repute!
That’s a good one!” She seemed to notice a lack of enthusiasm in Jill’s response. “Don’t you get it? Jill Repute. Like Ill Repute. Like a whorehouse.”
    “I get it. I get it.” Jill sounded weary, and Josie jumped in to rescue the moment.
    “How about
Jill’s Joints
? It can go on the air right after
Dottie’s Dumps
. We’ll create a new Saturday-night lineup for PBS.
Dottie’s Dumps, Jill’s Joints, Annette’s Adobes,
and then . . . ta da . . .” Josie took a deep bow before continuing. “
Pigeon’s
Palaces.
Who needs Courtney Castle and her dumb show?”
    “Yeah, you’re better than that snob any day of the week,” Annette said enthusiastically. “They should give you a show. And we could all be on it! We’d knock Courtney Castle dead!”
    “I’m afraid someone’s beaten you to it.”
    The women turned to see who was speaking.
    Two men, their regulation police uniforms covered with international orange vests, stood together, arms crossed, serious expressions on their closely shaven faces. Josie recognized one of them. “Mike, did you say something?” she asked Mike Rodney, police officer, son of the island’s police chief, and all-around pain in the ass as far as she was concerned.
    “Well, I guess I did, didn’t I, Mark?” he asked the man standing by his side.
    “You sure did, Mike. You said—”
    But Mike Rodney apparently wanted to offer the information himself.
    “I said I was afraid someone had beaten her to it and that’s what I meant.”
    “Beaten who to what? What are you talking about?” Josie was pulling the leaves from her hair as she spoke. She was becoming nervous. Mike was an idiot, but she had seen that expression on his face before. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
    “I’ll say something’s happened. Tell them, Mikey.”
    That distracted Josie. She had never heard anyone call Mike Rodney “Mikey” and she had known him ever since she came to the island. “Who are you?”
    “I’m Mikey’s cousin. My name’s Mark.”
    “Mark Rodney?” Josie asked,