JOSIE GOT INTO Sam’s antique MGB. “Do I need to go home and change? Where are we going?” she asked, peering through the windshield.
“How about Basil’s new spot? I’d like to try it and he won’t care what you look like. Although you look very nice,” Sam lied diplomatically.
“I didn’t know his new place was open yet.”
“You’ve had other things to think about. It opened last week. I hope we can get a table.”
Josie didn’t answer. Sam was just making conversation. They both knew Basil would fit them in someplace.
“I saw the menu when Basil was placing his wine order. This should be an interesting meal.”
“I don’t remember exactly what he was planning. I know he was talking about a Southwestern theme emphasizing fish on the menu-or was it Thai?” She was momentarily diverted. She’d eaten earlier but, in fact, was always hungry. And Basil’s meals were always worth relishing.
“He couldn’t make up his mind. So he decided to try a multicultural approach. All the main courses emphasize fish, but the recipes are Thai, Tex-Mex, Caribbean, American Southern, Cajun, French, even a bit of English-Basil thought he needed to provide fish and chips for families who want to eat with their children.”
“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 material: 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.”
“Really?”
“Yes, she said sewing just wasn’t her thing, that she would leave it to the less artistic types.”
“Very cool of her,” Sam commented, smiling.
Josie was suddenly reminded of fifth grade. The second week of school Miss DeFrancisco had announced that they were going to elect class officers: a president, a vice president, a secretary, and a treasurer. Courtney had, of course, run for president. But her opponent had been an unknown quantity: a new girl who had, only a week earlier, moved to town from Southern California. The girl claimed to have met many famous actors and rock stars-Bruce Springsteen among them-and, using these supposed connections as any seasoned politician would-had won. When the results were announced, Josie had been thrilled, covertly glancing across the room to where Courtney was seated, hoping to spy a tear trickling down her pale cheek, or at least a grimace. But Courtney had leaped from her seat, hand out, to congratulate the winner.
“I guess the best man won,” she had said, and then giggled. “The best woman, I should say.”
But Josie had seen the blush on the winner’s embarrassed face and known Courtney’s barb had met its mark. And, for some reason, the new girl had become less and less popular as the year went on.
She wasn’t listening to what their waiter was saying.
“… and she never refuses to sign an autograph. She signed a photo for me the first night they were all here and the next night she signed one for my father. He’s a big fan of Courtney Castle’s Castles.”
“Wait a second. Where did you get all these photographs?”
“Courtney herself. They’re publicity photos.”
“She carries them with her?”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. They were in a large briefcase, but I think someone else on her staff actually carried them.”
“Doesn’t that seem a bit conceited?”
“She’s a celebrity. That’s what celebrities do.”
“Oh, I guess. I haven’t known a whole lot of celebrities.” Josie picked up her wineglass and took a sip. “Do they come in here a lot?”
“Every single night since we opened.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You can go get an autographed photo if you want.”
“But Courtney’s not here.”
“No, but I noticed the briefcase lying on the floor.”
“You mean they pass out her photos even when she’s not here?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, nice, huh?”
“Do you wait on them every night?” Josie asked.
“All except for the first night they were here. I hadn’t figured out how to trade stations then.”
“And when did Courtney disa-stop coming in?”
“A few nights ago. It was weird.”
“Why?”
“Her crew was planning to have some sort of celebration for her. Champagne was ordered. Basil was planning a special dinner. Then she didn’t show up.”
“You’re kidding!” Josie exclaimed.
“Nope. They waited for over half an hour, then Bobby insisted everyone drink the champagne and eat. It was odd.”
“And she hasn’t been here since then?” Josie asked.
“Nope. And that’s strange, too, because Bobby was sure she’d be back. He said she never, ever missed a day of shooting.”
“Really?” Then he had lied to her. Josie smiled and drained her glass.