Murder, She Wrote Read online

  I spotted Mayor Shevlin and chatted with him until he was called away by an aide. Everyone was in high spirits, no surprise. The annual fishing derby was always cause for a heightened sense of well-being, but this year the recapture of Darryl Jepson, the resolution of Wes Caruthers’s murder, and Maureen Metzger’s safe return home had added an extra dimension to the day.

  I was standing talking to some members of the committee when Mort Metzger pulled up in his marked squad car. Attired in his dress uniform, he got out, came around to the other side, and opened the passenger door.

  “It’s Maureen,” someone said.

  Sure enough, Maureen Metzger stepped from the vehicle. She wore a pretty red dress, and her smile stretched from ear to ear. Spontaneous applause erupted, and people shouted expressions of joy and relief. Maureen gave everyone an energetic wave, like a popular political figure greeting her constituents.

  I joined others who’d formed a line to personally greet our returning heroine. When I reached her, she threw her arms around me, saying in my ear, “Don’t let me cry. Please don’t let me cry.”

  Her husband came up behind her.

  “She looks pretty good considering what she’s gone through, doesn’t she?” he said proudly.

  As he said it Brian Kinney, his arm in a sling, walked up to him. He was accompanied by his pregnant wife, Alice, and their young daughter, Emma. Mort looked at Brian quizzically.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Brian said. “I just wanted to say how pleased Alice and I are with the way you rescued your wife from Darryl Jepson.”

  Mort seemed unsure how to respond.

  I filled in the silence. “Brian’s map certainly helped you find and rescue your wife,” I said to Mort. “He’s to be congratulated, too.”

  Mort hesitated, his face set in a scowling question mark. Then, to my delight, he extended his hand to Brian. “You’re okay,” Mort said.

  Brian beamed; so did Alice.

  “But stay out of trouble,” Mort added.

  “You can count on it,” Brian said with a grin.

  The sound of the band playing a spirited Sousa song as its members marched into place in front of the raised platform captured everyone’s attention. The band played a second number, a medley of show tunes, which had everyone tapping their toes; some sang along to the music.

  But then our beloved mayor, Jim Shevlin, stepped to the microphone and waited for the music to stop. When it had, he asked for everyone’s attention.

  “What a great day!” he exclaimed. “Not only will the winners of our annual fishing derby be announced, a recent event that had everyone upset and looking over their shoulders is now over. It’s a real happy ending for Cabot Cove!” He pointed to Maureen, who stood with her husband in front of the stage. “Welcome back, Maureen Metzger,” he said. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  A chant broke out: “Yay, Maureen! Yay, Maureen!”

  “And don’t forget our sheriff,” Shevlin shouted into the microphone.

  “Hip, hip, hooray, Mort! Hip, hip, hooray!”

  “Okay,” said the mayor, “it’s time to award the fishing prizes. We had some great anglers this year who fished their hearts out. I doubt if there’s a fish left in Moon Lake that isn’t afraid of our hooks.”

  There was laughter.

  “Let me introduce Tim Nudd of Nudd’s Bait and Tackle Shop, who’ll announce the winners.”

  Tim replaced the mayor at the mike and ran through a recitation of how the fishing contest was managed and the winners decided. There were a number of categories, which Tim smoothly navigated. Each winner came up on the stage to accept the award, a handsome wood-and-silver trophy with his or her name on it. When the rainbow trout category was introduced, I glanced at Maureen, whose face reflected her interest.

  “. . . and the winner is . . . Maureen Metzger, whose winning catch was a nineteen-inch beauty.”

  While each of the winners who’d preceded Maureen to the stage received a well-deserved round of applause, the mention of her name brought about an eruption of clapping and shouted congratulations. The band’s leader, a music teacher at the local high school, must have been cued in earlier because when Maureen’s name was announced, he led the musicians in a rousing rendition of the old tune “Ain’t She Sweet?”

  Maureen wiped tears from her eyes as she stepped on the stage and accepted her trophy and cash prize. I looked at Mort, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes were misting.

  It was a fitting ending to what had been a tension-filled, frightening week.

  The mayor took over the microphone once again. “We have one last prize to announce. The winner of the Chamber of Commerce twenty-five-hundred-dollar reward for information leading to the safe return of Maureen Metzger is Brian Kinney.”

  That night, a dozen of us gathered at Mort and Maureen’s house for a celebratory party. To my surprise Maureen had taken the time to prepare an assortment of hors d’oeuvres. Mort was in especially good spirits, bantering more than usual with the guests. Toward the end of the evening Maureen came from the kitchen, took off her apron, and said that she had an announcement to make. A hush fell over the gathered in their backyard and she reined in her emotions.

  “First of all,” she said, “thank you for coming tonight, every single one of you. To know that Mort and I have so many caring, wonderful friends makes me want to cry—again.” She laughed. “But I won’t. I’ve shed enough tears to last me a lifetime. What I want to say is that despite how my first time as a fisherman—I should say fisherwoman—ended up—I mean being captured and all—the fishing was for me a wonderful experience. And catching the biggest rainbow trout makes it even more special. I can’t wait for next year’s fishing derby and spending a wonderful weekend on Moon Lake with my dear friend Jessica.”

  All eyes turned to me, and I hoped they couldn’t read in my face what I was thinking. As much as I love Maureen Metzger, fishing with her had been a challenge. She looked right at me.

  “But this time, Jessica, I’ll be a better fishing buddy,” she said, reading my mind. “I promise. And as long as no one escapes from prison while we’re at the lake, we’ll have a blast!”

  She shouted the final words.

  When I went to bed that night, my mind was filled with thoughts, most pleasant, some not so pleasant. Overall, things had worked out for everyone except for Darryl Jepson, who was now back behind bars in the state penitentiary; and John Pelletier, who was being held in the county jail awaiting his trial for manslaughter; and Caruthers’s son, Cory, who was about to face a jury after years of getting away with murder. He had been Jepson’s accomplice at the mini-mart.

  I had promised myself that if Maureen was found safe and sound, I would welcome her to join me for next year’s fishing derby. It was time to keep that pledge. I found myself smiling at the contemplation of another weekend at Moon Lake with her. Maureen is good people, just like most folks in Cabot Cove.

  But as I fell asleep, I had one final thought.

  Next year it would be Jessica Fletcher who caught the biggest fish.

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