“Courtney is never, ever seen without one of those wigs.”

“You’re telling me you think she’s dead because… because these three wigs are here and she isn’t?”

“I am telling you that if these three wigs are here and she isn’t, she is dead.”

“She wears one in the shower? When she sleeps?”

“No, of course not. But you don’t hear water running, do you?”

“So? Maybe she’s sleeping somewhere. Maybe she’s gone for an evening swim. I can think of a million places she might be.” A wooden canoe in the middle of the house wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t know Courtney. She takes her hair seriously. Very, very seriously. If her wigs are here and she’s not, she’s dead.”

“Maybe she has another one. And she’s at a party someplace wearing it.”

“No. Courtney has had her wigs made by a woman who lives in Queens for longer than I’ve known her. That woman made her three wigs, those three wigs. There’s only one explanation. Courtney is dead.”

“And her wig walked back here?” Josie realized she sounded sarcastic. But he had taken her away from an evening with her son for what seemed like a foolish reason. Now, if he had seen Courtney’s body, like she had… She leaned forward and looked at him. Bobby Valentine was frantic.

Josie made a quick decision, took a deep breath, and plunged in. “You know, don’t you? It’s not just a guess with these wigs and all. You know that she’s dead.”

Bobby Valentine let out a long relieved breath. “Yes. Yes. And… you do, too?”

It was a question. “Yes. I saw her body.”

“Thank heavens!” The relief was visible. His entire body seemed to relax. “So where is she?”

“What?”

“Where is Courtney? Where is her body?”

TWENTY-NINE

"YOU DON’T KNOW where Courtney’s body is?” Josie asked.

“Not at this minute. No. Do you?”

“No.” Josie frowned. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“In the canoe?”

“Canoe? What canoe?” Bobby Valentine grabbed her shoulders. “Did you toss her in the bay, for God’s sake?”

“Let go of me!” Josie pulled back and heard the sound of her shirt ripping. “Let go!”

“What the hell is going on?”

“I-”

“He-”

“Sam, what are you doing? Stop that!” As the words slipped out, Josie realized exactly what Sam was doing. He was, to her complete amazement, punching Bobby Valentine in the nose.

“Josie, call the police,” he shouted back.

“Damn it! Would you please stop hitting me?” Bobby Valentine, the younger and clearly stronger man, pulled himself free and started slugging back.

Josie, in a panic, grabbed the first thing her hand met and threw it at the two men. There was a crash and then an incredible smell filled the air. But the fighting stopped.

Sam was leaning against one wall of the trailer, breathing heavily. Bobby Valentine stood in the middle of the floor, fists clenched, eyes flashing, and nose running. “What did you do?” he asked Josie.

“Yeah, what was that?”

The two men were looking at her as though she had done something wrong!

“I…” Josie looked down at the floor. She had broken a large bottle of some sort of smelly oil. “Bath oil?”

“Probably massage oil,” Bobby Valentine explained. “The bath oil would be in the bathroom. Courtney believed that daily massages kept her sane. At least that’s what she said. There’s a portable massage table stashed under the couch.”

“Daily massages?” Sam repeated the words as he rubbed his knuckles.

Josie thought it was time to get back to the point. “Why did you come in here and start punching?” It was so unlike Sam to do something like that.

“Why do you think? I walked in and this man was grabbing at you. Look, your shirt is in shreds! What did you expect me to do?”

Josie and Bobby Valentine both looked at her ripped sleeve. “Well, not exactly in shreds,” she said.

“You thought I was assaulting Josie?” Bobby Valentine sounded as though he could hardly believe it.

“You were grabbing her,” Sam stated stubbornly.

“He was upset. He thought I had put Courtney in a canoe and floated her out to sea,” Josie explained. Truth be told, she was thrilled. Sam had fought for her! He had been protecting her… well, her whatever!

Sam kicked a piece of broken glass across the room. “I guess this means you know Courtney is dead.” He looked up at Bobby Valentine.

“Yeah. Good thing, too, because if she was alive to see what we did to this place, she would have killed us.”

The oil was liberally splashed on both the flowered chintz armchair and couch; it was also forming a large patch on the Berber wool wall-to-wall carpeting. (Courtney had chosen these furnishings, Josie suddenly realized. They reminded her of her mother’s home.)

“It’s new and it’s something she’s always wanted. This trailer was Courtney’s pride and joy,” he continued.

Sam had been walking around, looking at everything. “It should be,” he commented. “I never thought public broadcasting paid well enough for people to afford things like this. It’s not a perk, is it?”

“A perk? You mean something that’s provided for her by the company? No way! We do everything on the cheap. The salaries are low, ridiculously low, in fact. And we survive on free work provided by our internship program.”

“Then who pays for this? Or is Courtney Castle independently wealthy?”

“It’s donated. Like the food we eat. Like the T-shirts the crew wears. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“You’re kidding!” Josie looked around. “Is stuff like this normally donated to public broadcasting people?”

“I can answer that one,” Sam said. “No. Not usually. Right?” He looked at the producer for confirmation.

“Never. At least not that I know about.”

“Who provided all this junk?” Sam asked.

“That I don’t know,” Bobby Valentine answered.

“I thought there was always on-screen credit for donated items,” Sam said.

“Sometimes. But it’s not required. We’re very careful to credit two groups of donors. First, of course, donations that are made because the donor is looking for an on-screen credit. You know, like those travel and accommodation credits you see on most of the shows on television. And we always credit anything that might look like a conflict of interest.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, if we use a brand-name piece of equipment during a show-a donation, right-well, we make sure the credit goes out on the air because the viewer has seen the brand name and we want to be sure that it is understood that we’re not endorsing the brand but using it because it was free.”

Sam nodded.

Josie had another question. “What about publicity? Personal publicity? When brands are mentioned, does that mean those things were paid for? Not donated?”

“No way! Do you think actresses pay for those dresses they wear to the Academy Awards? Famous people are always being given things. That’s just the way it is.”

“Who paid for this trailer?” Sam asked.

“I really don’t know. We’re not putting up a trailer company credit at the end of the shows, so it must have been a private donation, that’s all I know.”

“Could you find out?”

“I could ask around. See what the scuttlebutt is.”

“Great.”

Josie didn’t see why Sam was so interested in who paid for the trailer. They had just discovered that Bobby Valentine knew Courtney was dead. There were, it seemed to her, a lot more important and immediate concerns. “So where did you see Courtney?”

“I thought you said he knew she was dead. You mean, you don’t have a body? Again?”

“Sam, you make it sound as though I’ve somehow been negligent in losing Courtney. I keep telling you it had nothing to do with me. I left her hanging in the canoe.”

“The canoe that is… that was… in the living room, the one we did the interview next to?”