Murder, She Wrote: Fit for Murder

Description

Jessica Fletcher learns that exercise can be murder in this new entry in the USA Today bestselling Murder, She Wrote series.

Former editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette, Evelyn Phillips is back in Cabot Cove. Evelyn tells Jessica and Seth that she got a couple of really weird notes from Bertha Mae Cormier so she’s come back to town to check on her old friend. She demands that Jessica come with her to see Bertha Mae, who is a bit dithery but no more so than Jessica remembers her being in recent years.
Jessica does become somewhat concerned when Bertha Mae starts to talk about her new neighbor, Martin Terranova. He is quite charming and very health conscious and he teaches yoga and meditation in his pool house. Maureen Metzger says that she and Bertha Mae became friends in Terranova’s class and mentions how solicitous he is to his older clients.
Jessica attends one of his classes and does notice that Terranova is flirtatious with several elderly clients, especially Bertha Mae. Evelyn is becoming convinced that Bertha Mae is being mesmerized by Terranova and that he is after Bertha Mae’s money. A short while late, Martin turns up dead in his weight room. What at first blush seems to be an accident, soon proves to be murder and Jessica must put her investigative skills to the test when Evelyn becomes the prime suspect.Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Award-winning writer Terrie Farley Moran coauthors this bestselling series.Chapter One

I pedaled my bicycle along the streets of my hometown, heading for the wharf that edged the inlet of the Gulf of Maine that gave Cabot Cove its name. I marveled at how bright and warm the sunshine was for this early in the spring. Here we were, barely past April Fools’ Day, and it felt as though we were moving rapidly from sherpa-lined-jacket weather to sweatshirt weather. Of course, we Mainers knew better than to expect a soft and easy slide from winter to spring. I’d be keeping my coats, jackets, scarves, hats, and gloves handy for some weeks to come.

I parked my bicycle in the rack at the north end of the row of storefronts that lined the street above the wharf. I stood for a moment, watching a sight I never tired of-all the activity that went along with boating and fishing. People carrying fishing poles and nets were scurrying about waving and joking with one another. I knew that the fishermen and lobstermen who worked these waters for a living had cast off hours ago, so those who remained on the dock this late in the morning were more relaxed. Their goal was a day of fishing that, if they were lucky, would result in some bragging rights along with a nice dinner of crispy fried flounder.

I looked at my watch, murmured, “Oh dear,” and strode quickly toward Mara’s Luncheonette, where, undoubtedly, my good friend and everyone’s favorite town doctor, Seth Hazlitt, was sitting, tapping his fingers impatiently on the Formica tabletop, because, according to my watch, I was nearly ten minutes late.

Two fishermen, sporting colorful fishing lures pinned to their bucket hats, were coming out of Mara’s, and the smells of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon wafted through the doorway. I thanked the man who held the door for me and wished them both “good fishing.” They smiled in reply.

I spotted Seth at a table toward the middle of the room. I was surprised to see he was sitting with Walter Hendon, our harbormaster, and Pierce Collymore, newly appointed chief of the Cabot Cove Fire Department. When the department’s longtime chief Angus Billingsworth had announced he was retiring due to ill health, Collymore was among several out-of-town fire officials who applied for the job. Much to the chagrin of some of the locals who felt the job should go to a Cabot Cove resident, Collymore was selected by our mayor, Jim Shevlin, and the town council. He’d recently moved here from a village in northern Vermont.

I slid into a vacant chair and apologized to Seth for being late. “But I am glad to see that Walter and the chief have been keeping you company.”

“Aye, Jessica.” Walter’s blue eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Doc here looked so forlorn; I couldn’t walk by and leave him sitting by himself.”

“Hogwash,” Seth blustered.

“Not hogwash at all,” the fire chief chimed in. “Never see you at a table that you don’t have a crowd of your friends laughing and talking.”

I could see by the look on Seth’s face that he was ready to argue over this simple truth, so I quickly changed the topic. “When I was parking my bicycle I couldn’t help but notice that the harbor is really bustling for so early in the season. I’m guessing it’s this springlike weather we are having.”

“Ayuh. You’re right about that. Winter will be back right around Wednesday and the less hardy fishermen will be in rockers near the fireplace. ‘Course those whose livelihood depends on the waters will be out there every day that doesn’t feature cat-four hurricanes or severe winter blizzards.” Pleased that he had defended the way of life that had been at the core of our town for centuries, Walter leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and gave me a satisfied smile.

I hadn’t seen Mara come up behind me, coffeepot in her hand, until I heard her cheery greeting. “Morning, Jessica. Here’s your coffee. I’m just about to serve blueberry pancakes to these fellows. Will you be having the same?”

“Not today, I’m afraid.” I shook my head and patted my midriff. “I’ve been spending too many hours sitting in the library researching my latest book, so I haven’t been getting enough exercise. I decided just this morning that I have to spend more time on my bicycle and watch what I eat for the next few weeks.”

Mara scribbled on her order pad while saying, “One boiled egg and one mini blueberry muffin coming up.”

“You know me too well,” I said to her back as she hustled to the kitchen. She returned in a flash with three plates, each with a short stack of her piping hot award-winning blueberry pancakes. Try as I might, I could never figure out the special something that made her hotcakes so delicious. Whenever I asked, she declared it was a secret she would take to her grave. I’d begun to believe her.

After slathering butter on his pancakes, Seth reached for a tin container that sat midtable. “Nothing like true maple syrup. Comes from hearty New England maple trees. Mara gets this local, you know. Farmer up by Bangor.” He passed the syrup to Walt.

“What do you think I am? A flatlander? Maine born and raised, and don’t you forget it. I know real maple syrup when I taste it. It’s the chief here that is new to our state and our ways. Tell him about your maple syrup.”

The look on Pierce Collymore’s face said he wasn’t sure whether Walter was joking. “Walter, you do know that Vermont produces more maple syrup than any other state . . .”

But Walter had become too distracted to hear so much as one word that Pierce said.

“Oh, will you lookee there? Speaking of flatlanders . . .” Walt pushed back his chair and pulled his dark blue harbormaster cap off his head; a jolt of static electricity caused a few strands of hair to rise with the cap. He waved the cap to get someone’s attention and then began signaling for them to join us.

Seth and I turned toward the door and I could barely believe my eyes. Evelyn Phillips, former editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette, who’d left to travel the country, catching up with family and friends, was walking through Mara’s like a rock star, stopping to shake hands and even accepting a kiss on the cheek from Cabot Cove town historian Tim Purdy, who was perched on one of the round stools that lined Mara’s counter.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Seth said. “Of all mornings for Dan Andrews to be among the missing. Gregory Leung told me Dan’s doing interviews at the hospital today.”

Spontaneously, we all stood as she approached our table. After Evelyn shook hands all around, Walt introduced her to Pierce Collymore and then indicated an empty chair. As she settled in, I realized that in the time she’d been away from Cabot Cove very little about her had changed. Her tousled gray hair appeared a bit longer than I remembered but still didn’t reach her earlobes. Her black quilted jacket was unzipped, revealing what I’d come to think of as Evelyn’s usual uniform of jeans and a plaid shirt. This one was black and green.

Mara placed my breakfast on the table and filled a clean cup with steaming coffee for Evelyn, who dropped on the floor her massively oversized tote, which landed with a thud that nearly shook the room. Then she looked at us expectantly. “What is going on in this town? I checked into the Hill House last night, and just as I was leaving reception and heading to my room, I ran into your good mayor and his wife, Jim and Susan Shevlin. They’d had dinner at the hotel and were heading home. We exchanged greetings, and I assumed they would spread the word and ruin my surprise arrival for sure. But no one seems to have heard that I’m in town. What has happened to the Cabot Cove gossip mill?”

“Nothing at all wrong with the gossip mill,” Seth said with an evil grin. “I suspect all it means is you’re not as popular in these parts as you thought you were.”

“Oh, Seth, don’t tease Evelyn like that.” I gave his hand a light slap. “Evelyn, we are all delighted to see you. I, for one, can’t wait to hear of your adventurous travels.”

“Actually, Jessica, that’s not what brings me-“

Walter interrupted. “Much as I’d love to hang on your every word, Evelyn, I have to get back to work. Stop by the wharf later and fill me in.” He stuffed a fork overloaded with pancake into his mouth, stood, and walked to the cash register without waiting for a reply. And I suppose Pierce felt out of place, because he dropped a piece of bacon on top of a pancake and wrapped it in a paper napkin. He picked it up, said a quick round of good-byes to us, and followed along behind Walter.

Evelyn dismissed them with a backhand wave. “It’s really you two I came looking for this morning. I think there is a bit of a problem here in town that you might be able to help me solve.”

I was content to let Evelyn give us more information, but Seth cut right in.

“Didn’t you say you arrived last night? How in the dickens did you find out about this so-called problem so quickly?” he asked.

“Because I had my suspicions before I ever got on the plane in Chicago.” Evelyn gave him a triumphant grin. Always a scrapper, she skipped a beat or two to wait for Seth’s response, but when there wasn’t any, a mildly disappointed Evelyn began her tale.

“You know I have a good many friends in Cabot Cove,” she began, and I immediately gave Seth a warning look. Evelyn continued. “I keep in touch as much as I can, and I am always happy to hear back. But lately . . .”

She seemed to change her tack. “You both know Bertha Mae Cormier. Her great-great-grandfather was one of the first settlers of this part of coastal Maine and she’s lived here all her life. Naturally, when I took over the Gazette she was one of the people I sought out for background information, and as time went by, we became friends.”

“Of course you did.” I smiled and nodded toward the counter where our town historian was finishing his breakfast. “Just as you did with Tim Purdy and a number of other history buffs, as I recall. Smart move for a newspaper gal.”

Pleased by the compliment, Evelyn’s cheeks turned a pale shade of pink, and then she switched to all business once again. “Bertha Mae and I have been keeping in touch-letters, email, even the occasional text, although texting is not Bertha Mae’s strong suit. But lately . . .”

“Has she cut off contact?” I asked, knowing how often in my book-tour travels I would meet someone in the business-another writer, an editor, or, oddly enough, even a bookshop owner-and we would strike up a great friendship and keep in touch for a while, be it long or short, and then somehow, the day would come when we were no longer in touch. “That often happens with time and distance.”

“Believe me-that is not the problem. That I would have understood, but if anything, Bertha Mae has increased writing to me, and her messages are . . . well, the best way I can describe them is weird.”

Seth had begun shifting in his chair, clearly bored with this conversation and anxious to get on with his day. But Evelyn had aroused my curiosity. Everyone in town had long known that Bertha Mae was flighty. What could her messages possibly contain that would cause Evelyn to be concerned enough to fly halfway across the country to check on her? She could have called any one of us-particularly her friend Dan Andrews, who had taken over as editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette-and asked that we check in on Bertha Mae.

“Weird in what way? Are her language skills slipping? We all know that happens as we get older,” I said, since, as a writer, that was one of my biggest fears.

Evelyn shook her head. “I only wish that was it. No, it is her choice of topics. In one email she described how she is doing a new exercise program that will ensure she will outlive most of Cabot Cove. In another she talks about marrying a younger man and what a scandal that would cause. I am not sure if she is making this up or if her brain is going to la-la land. Seth, without violating doctor-patient confidentiality, how do you think Bertha Mae is?”

Seth stood and pushed his chair under the table. “Sorry to disappoint you, Evelyn, but Bertha Mae is not my patient. Even if she was I wouldn’t give you so much as a hint. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, the patients I do have are waiting for me. Jess, I’ll take care of your breakfast.”

Evelyn smiled ruefully. “Doctors! They are as bad as lawyers.”

“Evelyn, every profession has ethical constraints. I know Seth would respect yours, and you should respect his.”

“I respect his ethics. I just wish he didn’t follow them so tightly.” Evelyn clapped her hands. “Say, I’m going to stop by Sassi’s Bakery, and then I am going to surprise Bertha Mae with her favorite pastries-chocolate croissants. Why don’t you come along?”

“I’d love to, but I can’t. I have a hair appointment at Loretta’s.” I glanced at my watch. “Oh dear. I am nearly late.” I crumpled my napkin, tossed it on my plate, and picked up my purse. “But, please, let’s get together a few times while you’re in town. I’ll arrange a dinner party.”

“Sounds good to me. And you can do me a favor while you are at the gossip shop. Drop Bertha Mae’s name once or twice and let me know what chatter you pick up.”

I nodded absently and ran for the door, grateful that Seth had settled our check.

Chapter Two

I dropped my bicycle’s kickstand and left it parked under the short barber’s pole attached to the wall between the large pink-trimmed window and the wide corner door that was the entrance to Loretta’s Beauty Parlor. As soon as I opened the door I could hear the hair dryers and the patrons’ chatter going full blast.

Pert young Coreen Wilson, Loretta’s longtime assistant and manicurist, was on the telephone. She hung up, jotted a note in the appointment book, and came to greet me. “Hi, Mrs. Fletcher. Loretta is in the back, but she will be right with you. Please sit in her chair and I’ll drape you.”US

Additional information

Dimensions	0.7500 × 4.1250 × 6.7500 in
Series	Murder, She Wrote
Imprint	Berkley
Format	General Trade
ISBN-13	09780593640708
ISBN-10	0593640705
Author	Jessica Fletcher, Terrie Farley Moran
Audience	General / adult
BISAC	FIC021000, FIC022070
Subjects	books mystery, cozy mystery, mystery thriller suspense, cozy mysteries, murder mystery books, fiction books, cozy mystery books, mysteries and thrillers, books fiction, mystery series, women sleuths, mystery and thrillers, cozy mysteries women sleuths series, women sleuths mysteries, murder she wrote, murder she wrote books, murder books, mystery books, romance, fiction, mystery, murder, novels, mysteries, cozy, mystery and suspense, police, books for women, mystery novels, crime books, murder mystery, detective novels, FIC022070, FIC021000