Читать онлайн «Murder, She Wrote: Gin and Daggers»
Автор Дональд Бейн
Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher
Gin and Daggers
The first book in the Murder, She Wrote series, 1989
Dedicated to the memory
1934-1987
To my daughters, Laurie and Pamela, who are, on occasion, delightful mysteries to me; and my wife Renée, who keeps me honest.
And special gratitude to an editor’s editor, Ellen Edwards; agent and friend for thirty-five years, Ted Chichak; treasured friends Phyllis James, Rosemary Goad, and Craig and Jill Thomas; the ebullient Sally Bulloch of London’s superb Athenaeum Hotel & Apartments; the entire crew of that grand lady, the
Chapter One
“Care to take a closer look, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Well, I suppose so,” I said.
“Hold on, then, here we go. ”
My heart, which had been nestled securely in its usual place, now moved up to my throat and lodged there, beating as though a crazed bass drum player were doing a paradiddle on it. I reached over and touched him on the arm. “Please, maybe we shouldn’t…”
He banked the Cessna 310 into a tight turn, forcing me back against my seat. “There it is, Mrs. Fletcher, right down there in that clump o’ trees. ”
My eyes were closed. I forced them open and looked in the direction his finger was pointed until I spotted my home in Cabot Cove.
“There’s the firehouse,” he said, guiding the small aircraft down closer to the trees. His name was Jed Richardson, and he operated Jed’s Flying Service out of our small airport.
“Yes, I see. But maybe we should land now, Jed. I have an appointment. ”
“Right you are, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said, laughing and bringing the aircraft back to a straight-and-level attitude.
Jed had flown me to Bangor, where I’d been interviewed on a local television station about the publication of my latest novel.
I’d offered to drive, but the station had insisted upon flying me in.Seth Hazlitt, my good friend from Cabot Cove, was waiting for me at the airport.
“You all right, Jess?” he asked as we walked away from the plane.
“Yes, I think so. ”
“You look a little green. ”
“It must be the light. ” He didn’t know how rubbery my legs were.
“Mort’s at the house waitin’ for you. He says he’s come up with some new clues. ”
“Really? I hope they make more sense than the last batch. Do we really have to get into it now?”
“Won’t take long, Jess. He’s pretty eager to wrap it up. ”
“How did you identify the murderer so fast, Jessica?” Mort asked as we sat in Seth’s living room.
“Elementary, my dear Metzger. The initial clues pointed clearly-too clearly, I think-to the Oriental woman who owned the shop, but then I learned-and it really was made too easy for me-that the letter opener used to kill Marc Silbert was missing from the ornate holder in which it usually sat. The art collector certainly had a motive, too, but it had to be the brother, and that’s the problem with the whole case. ”
Seth patted our sheriff and friend, Morton Metzger, on the back. “It just needs some more refinement, Mort, that’s all. ”
