Murder, She Wrote Read online

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  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Universal Studios Licensing LLC

  Murder, She Wrote is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. All rights reserved.

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  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Fletcher, Jessica, author. | Bain, Donald, 1935- author. | Paley-Bain, Renée, author.

  Title: Murder, she wrote : hook, line, and murder / Jessica Fletcher, Donald Bain & Renée Paley-Bain.

  Other titles: Hook, line, and murder | Murder, she wrote (Television program)

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2016.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016019626 (print) | LCCN 2016031274 (ebook) | ISBN 9780451477835 (hardback) | ISBN 9780698411692 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Fletcher, Jessica—Fiction. | Women novelists—Fiction. |

  Women detectives—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | FICTION / Media Tie-In. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3552.A376 M276 2016 (print) | LCC PS3552.A376 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016019626

  First Edition: October 2016

  Cover art: Lake © Songquan Deng/Moment/Getty Images

  Cover design by Katie Anderson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Other Books in the Murder, She Wrote Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Part One Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Part Two Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Part Three Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Part One

  Chapter One

  The big white banner with the blue letters flapped across the front of Town Hall.

  CABOT COVE DERBY DAYS HAVE ARRIVED.

  CATCH ’EM WHILE THEY’RE BITING.

  TROPHIES! CASH PRIZES! REGISTER HERE.

  “I suppose you’ve already signed up, Mrs. Fletcher,” Seth Hazlitt said as we descended the steps of the downtown municipal building where we’d attended an early-morning meeting.

  “As a matter of fact, I have,” I said. “Got my fishing license, my derby permit, reserved a guide, and I convinced Jim Shevlin to rent me one of his cottages out on Moon Lake for the week.”

  “Isn’t the mayor participating in the derby himself?” my physician friend asked.

  “He said he may—if he can convince his wife, Susan, to give up one of her summer weekends. But she says she’d rather camp out down in Kittery at the outlet stores. Anyway, Jim has two cottages on the lake property, so he can always bunk in the other one if he wants to fish in the derby.”

  “Who’s going to be your fishing partner this year?”

  “I haven’t got one. Since I’m camping out for the whole week—I’m making a little vacation out of it—I figured it was better to sign up as a singleton this year.”

  “Sure you’ll be comfortable all alone in a cabin in the woods? No phone? No TV? Sounds a tad boring if you ask my opinion, which I know you haven’t.”

  “Sounds heavenly to me,” I said as we made our way down the dock at the end of Main Street. “I have a pile of books I’ve been meaning to get to, and when the derby is over, I’ll fish just long enough to catch something to eat, then climb into the rocker on the porch and spend the rest of my week reading.”

  “But what’ll you do when the sun goes down? The electricity there is spotty at best. Barely enough to run the plumbing.”

  “I’ll have a flashlight and a lantern, and there are always candles. I’m not afraid of the dark.”

  “Isn’t it rash to be going by yourself? You never know who could be wandering in the woods looking for trouble.”

  “I’m actually looking forward to being by myself.”

  “You spend enough time by yourself at home. I think you should invite someone to keep you company, help you handle the camping chores. I’d join you myself, but I already have patients booked for the week.”

  Seth held open the door to Mara’s Luncheonet
te for me. “I’ve never been concerned about roughing it,” I said. “Besides, I can’t think of anything nicer than getting up with the birds, going out on the water, and throwing in a line when the fish are hungry for breakfast.”

  “I’m not serving any fish for breakfast this morning,” Mara said as she carried a tray past us, the aroma of eggs and bacon trailing behind her.

  “Speaking of breakfast,” Seth said, sliding into a chair at an empty table, “fancy some blueberry pancakes?”

  “Not for me but you go ahead.” I took the chair opposite his and picked up Mara’s menu. I don’t know why I bothered. I knew it by heart.

  Mara slid two mugs of coffee onto the table. “What made you think of fish for breakfast?” she asked. “You can get smoked salmon on a bagel, but that’s the extent of my marine offerings this morning. It’s local; I got it straight from the smokehouse.”

  “I’ll have that,” I said.

  Seth tucked a napkin in his collar. “Mrs. Fletcher here has gone and signed herself up for the fishing derby. She plans to camp out in the woods with the wolves.”

  “We don’t have any confirmed sightings of wolves in Maine,” I said. “You must be thinking of coyotes.”

  “Nevertheless,” Seth said, ignoring me, “if she’s smart, she’ll pack some of your bagels so she has something to eat in the morning in case the trout aren’t biting. I’ll have the short stack with maple syrup, none of that artificial stuff.”

  Mara pulled herself up tall. “And when have I ever served you ‘artificial stuff,’ Dr. Hazlitt? I have some maple butter if you want a change of pace from maple syrup.”

  “The syrup is fine with me. I like to stick with what Mother Nature provides.”

  I waited until Mara had left to remark that I didn’t recall having heard that Mother Nature ever made pancakes.

  “You’re changing the subject,” he said.

  “What subject?” I asked.

  “You. Alone in the woods. What happens if you come across a bear or get chased by a moose? What if you sprain an ankle or worse, break a bone?”

  “Good heavens, Seth, you’d think I’d never gone anywhere by myself. I just came back from New York City. There’s more danger there than in the forests of Maine.”

  “I thought you said the crime rate was down in the city.”

  “It is, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone entirely. Anyway, I’ll be fine in Jim’s cabin. I booked a fishing guide for two days, so someone will be checking on me.”

  “For two days.”

  “Yes, for two days. Why are you such a worrywart all of a sudden?”

  He shrugged. “Just don’t like the sound of it. A woman alone—if you’ll pardon my sexist view—is puttin’ herself in harm’s way.”

  “And a man alone wouldn’t?”

  Seth harrumphed. “Don’t go planting words in my mouth. I believe in the buddy system. Two people can look out for each other. Safer that way. And remember, you don’t even drive. How are you supposed to get home in an emergency?”

  “I’ll have my bicycle and my cell phone.”

  “If there’s even service up there. If you take my advice—”

  “Okay, Seth, I’ll give it serious consideration.”

  “That just your way of tellin’ me to mind my own business?”

  “Did it work?”

  “Mebbe, but only for the moment,” he said as Mara placed our orders in front of us.

  While I spread cream cheese on half my bagel, Seth made circular designs with the maple syrup in the center of his pancakes and carefully cut into them to keep the syrup from dripping onto the table.

  Cabot Cove Derby Days is an annual fly-fishing competition that takes place on local lakes and streams. Instead of a weigh-in, contestants are invited to place the fish they catch in a measuring trough together with their derby permit—showing the number—and take a picture before releasing the catch back into the waters. Prizes are awarded by type of trout, and the photographs of the winners are displayed at Nudd’s Bait & Tackle for all to admire.

  We were halfway through our breakfast when Sheriff Metzger came in with his wife. “May we join you?” Maureen asked, pulling out a chair.

  “Of course,” I said, moving my mug to make room on the table.

  “I saw you coming from Town Hall,” she said, fluffing her red hair and stealing a look at her husband, who frowned down into a menu. “Did you sign up for the derby, Jessica?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” I said, smiling.

  “Jess and I were just talking about it before you came in,” Seth said.

  “Seth,” I said, shooting him a cautionary look.

  He shifted his gaze to Mort. “You plan on entering the derby, Sheriff?”

  “Someone has to hold down the fort at headquarters,” Mort replied. “Two of my deputies have asked for the weekend off so they can take part in it. We can’t have the whole department on the water and nobody keeping an eye on the town.”

  “So when will it be your turn?” Maureen Metzger asked, batting her eyelashes at him. “I’m dying to try it, but he always has to be on duty whenever anything fun is taking place.” She faked a pout, then smiled up at Mara who came to take their orders. “I’ll have the Veggie Benedict, please.”

  “What’s that?” Seth asked.

  “Sautéed vegetables on an English muffin with hollandaise sauce,” Mara rattled off. “It was Maureen’s suggestion and it’s pretty popular.”

  Maureen grinned.

  Mort set aside the menu. “I’ll have the usual: fried eggs, bacon, and home fries.”

  Maureen shook her head. “I keep telling him he has to eat a green thing every day, but he doesn’t listen.”

  Mort rolled his eyes but gave his wife a warm smile.

  Maureen was our sheriff’s second wife. His ex, Adele, had opted to return to New York City where Mort had been a member of the police force before abandoning the Big Apple for Cabot Cove’s more quiet life. But that was not what Adele had in mind, and after trying out Cabot Cove for a few years she decided it was not for her.

  Though they parted amicably, Mort had been a little lost until he’d met Maureen, a fiery redhead who threw herself into every project with joy and enthusiasm. Her first passion was cooking. She was a devoted fan of all the shows on the cooking channels and had transformed her kitchen into a laboratory for experimental cuisine. At many a dinner their friends were guinea pigs for her culinary inventions, some of which were—putting it politely—difficult to stomach. But she’d kept at it, and we all had to admit that a lot of her recent creations were delicious.

  “Hear anything about that guy who escaped from the state prison last week?” Seth asked Mort.

  “Jepson? Not a word.”

  “How’d he escape?”

  “The paper said he hid under a pile of dirty linen. An easy disguise for him. When the laundry truck left the prison, he left with it.”

  “Well, that was clever,” Seth said, “but if he was still in one of those orange or yellow prison uniforms, he shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

  “He probably ditched those clothes first thing,” Mort said. “My contacts at the state troopers’ office figure he must be hiding out somewhere along the Canadian border.”

  “That’s a lot of miles to cover,” I said.

  Mort nodded. “There was a report he was sighted in Calais across the bridge from New Brunswick, but the border patrol was on alert, making it tough to get past them. They’re figuring if he hitched a ride up U.S. One, he could be near Quebec by now. They alerted the Mounties in both provinces. Anyway, not our problem anymore.”

  “Wasn’t he a local boy?” Maureen asked.

  “Yeah,” her husband replied, “but a long time ago.”

  “An angry young man,” Seth said. “I seem to remember him thre
atening his attorney and everyone associated with the case.”

  Mort made a face at Seth and shook his head, darting his eyes at his wife.

  “Oops! Sorry,” Seth said, taking a big forkful of pancake.

  Maureen seemed to have missed the exchange. “Why was he in prison?” she asked.

  “He killed a man in a robbery,” I said.

  “They had him dead to rights on the store’s security tape,” Mort said. “He pleaded not guilty, but the jury saw right through him, through both of them, in fact.”

  “Don’t start, Mort,” I said.

  “I know you believe the other guy’s story, Mrs. F., but you can’t convince me.”

  Seth cleared his throat loudly. “You ever fished in a derby before?” he asked Maureen.

  She looked curiously from her husband to me before answering. “I never have. I was hoping Mort would teach me so we’d have a hobby we could do together. He doesn’t like to cook.”

  “I like to eat,” Mort pointed out. “Don’t I always appreciate what you make?”

  She winked at him. “You do, even when I’m not certain the dish came out the way it was supposed to.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” Mort said. “You worked hard at it.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher here doesn’t have a partner for the derby,” Seth said, studiously avoiding my eyes. “Just mebbe she’d be willing to teach you.”

  Maureen’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Jessica! Would you? I’d be so grateful.”

  “Well, I—”

  “I’ve been dying to learn how to fish, and Mort just doesn’t have the time. I know what equipment I need to buy, and Charles Department Store is running a special on fishing gear ahead of the derby.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that,” Mort said.

  “You didn’t ask,” his wife replied. “Jessica, I’ll be the best company. I won’t talk too much and scare away the fish. I’ll even bait the hook if I have to, even though I always feel sorry for the worm when I watch those fishing shows on TV. And for the fish, too.”

  “You’ve been watching fishing shows?” Mort asked.

  “Actually, the derby is for fly-fishing. No bait is used and no harm comes to the fish,” Seth put in before the conversation was dragged in another direction.