Read Online A Little Yuletide Murder by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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phone?”
“Not at all.”
I dialed the number for police headquarters. Deputy Tom Coleman answered, asked me to hold, and a minute later Mort came on the line.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to calling,” he said.
“I wasn’t going to. I didn’t think it was my business. But I just heard that you’re charging Jake Walther with Rory Brent’s murder.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It came from ... well, just a rumor floating around town.”
“Damn Cabot Cove rumor mill,” he said. “No. I had Tom drive Jake back to his house this morning. Kept him overnight and stayed up asking him questions. He admits he and Rory didn’t get along. Maybe that’s an understatement. But he swears he didn’t kill him.”
“Does he have an alibi?” I asked.
“Claims he does. Says he spent the morning fixing a crumbling stone wall with his wife’s brother, Dennis.”
“Believe him?” I asked.
“No reason not to, unless his alibi doesn’t hold water. I was just about to go out to talk to Dennis when you called.”
“Well, Mort, I’m glad the rumor doesn’t have any foundation in fact. I’m with Cynthia Curtis. We’re talking about the children’s story program for the festival.”
“Sounds like a good thing to be doing. I think Doc is a little upset at not having it all to himself again this year.”
“Oh, is he? I certainly don’t want that to be the case. I’d rather bow out than hurt his feelings.”
“Don’t give it a second thought, Mrs. F. You know Seth. Gets him self riled up over stupid things. Got to run. Talk with you later.”
I hung up and told Cynthia what the true situation was with Jake Walther. When I finished, she asked, “What do you really think, Jess? You write about murders and have ended up solving some real ones.”
“Too many real ones,” I said. “I don’t know what I think. What I’m determined to do is to not come to any conclusion until Mort and other investigators do their job.”
“I wish you could instill that philosophy in everyone else in town.”
“Well, maybe just expressing it to enough people will have that effect. Now let’s get down to the business of the children’s Christmas story hour.”
Chapter Eight
My meeting with Cynthia lasted until ten. From the library I went directly to the office of my dentist, Anthony Colarusso, who was also president of the Cabot Cove Chamber of Commerce. Tony was not only a fine and caring dentist, he was an avid fisherman with whom I’d spent many pleasant mornings on some of the area’s tranquil streams and rivers in search of elusive trout. We always fished with barbless hooks in order not to injure the fish we caught, enabling us to easily remove the hook from their mouths and send them back into the water for another day.
I didn’t have a specific problem prompting me to make my 10:15 appointment, but a note on my calendar told me it was time for my semiannual checkup and cleaning. As usual, most of our conversation revolved around fishing, although the gauzy, metallic paraphernalia in my mouth kept the talk one-sided.
After agreeing we would be at a trout stream in the spring on the opening day of the fishing season, Tony said, “Shocking what happened to Rory Brent.”
“It certainly was. Poor man. How could anyone do such a thing?”
“Rory was a patient. I always enjoyed it when he came in. Never had a bad word for anybody, always laughing and joking. I’m told Sheriff Metzger is focusing on Jake Walther as the most likely suspect.”
It was inevitable, I suppose, that Jake Walther would be brought up in our conversation. I could only assume his name was being bandied about all over town that morning, as it had been since the earliest moments following the determination that Rory had not died of natural causes. Amazing, I thought, how scuttlebutt takes on a momentum of its own, the mere hint of an accusation mushrooming into the assumption of truth.
I said, “I just left
“Not at all.”
I dialed the number for police headquarters. Deputy Tom Coleman answered, asked me to hold, and a minute later Mort came on the line.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to calling,” he said.
“I wasn’t going to. I didn’t think it was my business. But I just heard that you’re charging Jake Walther with Rory Brent’s murder.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It came from ... well, just a rumor floating around town.”
“Damn Cabot Cove rumor mill,” he said. “No. I had Tom drive Jake back to his house this morning. Kept him overnight and stayed up asking him questions. He admits he and Rory didn’t get along. Maybe that’s an understatement. But he swears he didn’t kill him.”
“Does he have an alibi?” I asked.
“Claims he does. Says he spent the morning fixing a crumbling stone wall with his wife’s brother, Dennis.”
“Believe him?” I asked.
“No reason not to, unless his alibi doesn’t hold water. I was just about to go out to talk to Dennis when you called.”
“Well, Mort, I’m glad the rumor doesn’t have any foundation in fact. I’m with Cynthia Curtis. We’re talking about the children’s story program for the festival.”
“Sounds like a good thing to be doing. I think Doc is a little upset at not having it all to himself again this year.”
“Oh, is he? I certainly don’t want that to be the case. I’d rather bow out than hurt his feelings.”
“Don’t give it a second thought, Mrs. F. You know Seth. Gets him self riled up over stupid things. Got to run. Talk with you later.”
I hung up and told Cynthia what the true situation was with Jake Walther. When I finished, she asked, “What do you really think, Jess? You write about murders and have ended up solving some real ones.”
“Too many real ones,” I said. “I don’t know what I think. What I’m determined to do is to not come to any conclusion until Mort and other investigators do their job.”
“I wish you could instill that philosophy in everyone else in town.”
“Well, maybe just expressing it to enough people will have that effect. Now let’s get down to the business of the children’s Christmas story hour.”
Chapter Eight
My meeting with Cynthia lasted until ten. From the library I went directly to the office of my dentist, Anthony Colarusso, who was also president of the Cabot Cove Chamber of Commerce. Tony was not only a fine and caring dentist, he was an avid fisherman with whom I’d spent many pleasant mornings on some of the area’s tranquil streams and rivers in search of elusive trout. We always fished with barbless hooks in order not to injure the fish we caught, enabling us to easily remove the hook from their mouths and send them back into the water for another day.
I didn’t have a specific problem prompting me to make my 10:15 appointment, but a note on my calendar told me it was time for my semiannual checkup and cleaning. As usual, most of our conversation revolved around fishing, although the gauzy, metallic paraphernalia in my mouth kept the talk one-sided.
After agreeing we would be at a trout stream in the spring on the opening day of the fishing season, Tony said, “Shocking what happened to Rory Brent.”
“It certainly was. Poor man. How could anyone do such a thing?”
“Rory was a patient. I always enjoyed it when he came in. Never had a bad word for anybody, always laughing and joking. I’m told Sheriff Metzger is focusing on Jake Walther as the most likely suspect.”
It was inevitable, I suppose, that Jake Walther would be brought up in our conversation. I could only assume his name was being bandied about all over town that morning, as it had been since the earliest moments following the determination that Rory had not died of natural causes. Amazing, I thought, how scuttlebutt takes on a momentum of its own, the mere hint of an accusation mushrooming into the assumption of truth.
I said, “I just left
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