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time, it would have been too much for them.
They would have been tired and grumpier than usual when they
arrived at the top, so when Edwin said something nasty, the other
guy, we’ll call him Georgie, lost it and tossed him. Then he
climbed down and went home to feed his dog.”
    Laughing like fools felt really good. I chose
not to tell Daph about the international phone call I still had to
complete before I could even consider taking on an Agatha Raisin or
Miss Marple persona. Best to wait until I had all my chickens in a
line or was it ducks? I guessed I’d never really sound
American.
    After Daphne headed home, taking with her the
leftovers from dinner that she planned to enjoy the next night
rather than a T.V. dinner, I sat to re-read nasty, presumptuous
Edwin’s letter, again. A combination of annoyance and thrill of the
hunt overtook me.
     
    Dear Elizabeth,
    May I address you by your given name? Well,
if you are reading this then I am already dead so this is a moot
question. We have not been properly introduced although Patton
showed his approval of you and that carries weight with me. This
bequest will surely take you by surprise because you do not know
the history behind it. Thus, let me begin at the beginning.
    When I was a young man with endless promise,
I met and befriended the artist Edward Granger and his lovely wife
Ellyn. We met at the Atlantic House bar one stormy summer night and
after a few drinks we became the best of friends. In those days,
the drinks were cheap and the regulations about public imbibing
were few. Thus, the partying never ended and no one was censured
for their behavior. Ed was a heavy drinker. We had a lot of good
times, many laughs and much alcohol in that long-lost summer of my
youth. Eventually, they and their heavy partying New York theatre
friends returned to the city. I took the train into New York one
weekend that following winter only to discover that ours had been
only a summer idyll.
    My death is the result of what I know and
what my murderer does not want to reach the eyes and ears of the
world. I knew your departed aunt, Libby. She was one of the few
people in this cruel town who was kind to me. Libby was far too
good for a town overrun with immoral artists and socialists.
Eventually, we had a falling out, one that could not be mended and
so we parted with bad feelings. What she foisted off on me was too,
too unfair and unkind. For the rest of my life, those angry,
displaced spirits plagued me. My death will end their hold on me.
Or, perhaps not. I suppose I shall be one of their ilk. Despite the
bitter ending of our friendship, I had intended to leave my
manuscript to darling Libby. When she died before me, I despaired
that all of my hard work would be lost. Thus, when her will named
her niece I regained my hope.
    Now, you must solve the mystery that I leave
behind me. Perhaps, the revenants will return to their original
home and they shall be yours to placate. Keep this manuscript or
toss it out but think on this; therein lie truths that will earn
you (and posthumously, I) fame and glory.
    As you now know, via my Boston attorney, my
life has been threatened numerous times. Now, obviously, the
murderer has succeeded. Curiosity drives me to wonder how the man
will finally take my life. That is for you to know---if you have
the courage. Libby was a courageous woman. I suspect you are, as
well.
    FIND MY MURDERER!
    Edwin M. Snow III
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    First thing the next morning, I picked up my
cell phone from the bedside table. I needed to catch MI6 Forensic
Agent Nigel Hoppington before he departed for his usual long lunch
at his favorite pub the Whistle and Owl in the shadow of Tower
Bridge, just steps from the famous Black Friars. I was well aware
that I was opening a Pandora’s Box but it could not be helped. I
needed Nigel’s expert advice. Nigel and I had grown up together.
Both children of preoccupied parents who’d left our rearing to
hired help. We had