This Old Murder by Valerie Wolzien Page A

the house, walking around planks of wood. Josie noticed everyone on her crew hard at work, except for Annette, who was talking with the show’s intern as she rather lackadaisically sorted through a delivery from the lumberyard. They made a cute couple, Josie thought, jumping up onto the dock. The cameraman was waiting for them. He pointed to where he wanted her to sit, and after a bit of rearranging her clothing and another ineffectual combing of her hair, the interview began.
    Bobby Valentine read from a sheet of paper.
    “Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”
    The question took Josie by surprise. “Ah, not on the island. I was raised in . . . in the suburbs.”
    There was a moment or two of silence. Then Bobby Valentine spoke up. “Cut. You can tell us a bit more about yourself. You know, not just the suburbs but the suburbs of what city, in what state. You know the type of thing. Give our viewers something to relate to. Now let’s start again.
    “Take two. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”
    “I grew up in the suburbs, Bobby—”
    “Cut!”
    “Why? Do I have to name a place? I . . . Oh, sorry.”
    “Take three. Tell us a little about your background, Josie. Where were you brought up?”
    “I was raised in the suburbs, Courtney. Like a lot of women, I had no idea how to use tools. And I didn’t expect to need to. I took home economics in high school, not shop.”
    Bobby Valentine’s eyes narrowed, but he asked the next question on his list. “How did you come to live here on this island?”
    “I was lucky. I was looking for a place to live, a community where I could raise my son and earn a living, and I remembered this place. I had . . .” Here she stumbled at bit. “I had been on the island when I was a kid. I came back here just to look around. And I stayed.” She smiled, realizing what a sanitized version she was presenting of her life. No mention of dropping out of college pregnant, no mention of the irreparable rift with her parents. But also no mention of someone who needed recognition, who needed mentioning. “I was very lucky to meet up with Noel Roberts when I got here,” she added quickly.
    Bobby Valentine looked startled, but he picked up on her cue. “Noel Roberts?” he repeated the name as a question.
    “Noel was the owner, the creator actually, of Island Contracting. He trained me as a carpenter, and when he died, I inherited the company from him—”
    “Cut!”
    Josie was startled. “What’s wrong?”
    “Did you just tell all our viewers that this man, this Noel Roberts, was your lover?”
    “No, I told you. He was my friend.”
    “He left you a company out of friendship?” Bobby Valentine asked.
    “Some friend,” the cameraman muttered, fussing with his lens.
    “Yes. He did. And he deserves credit for creating the company. Why did you stop the camera?”
    “Thought we needed to chat for a minute. Let’s get going.”
    Josie nodded. The cameraman looked through his viewfinder. Bobby Valentine asked another question. “How long have you owned Island Contracting?”
    That one was easy. “Over three years.”
    “Do you happen to know how many remodeling projects you’ve been involved in during that time?”
    Josie frowned before remembering that making faces on camera wasn’t particularly appealing. “Heavens, I don’t know. At least five houses, maybe more. And we’ve done other projects as well. Small carpentry jobs like building shelves over at the island’s hardware store and putting in skylights for one of the realtors on Ocean Avenue. We built the Christmas display that is set up on the island every year. And we do some nautical things—we’ve worked on docks just like this one.” She smacked the rail for emphasis and was startled when the wood cracked and a piece fell into the water. “Not this one, of course. The docks we’ve rebuilt don’t fall apart.”
    “Island