Read Online Coffee, Tea, or Murder? by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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originally been planned for, and it appeared that they were expecting more guests to arrive. Finally, at eight thirty, Sal Casale rose from where he was seated with a gentleman I didn’t recognize and asked for everyone’s attention. Once he had it, he said, “As you all know, being here this morning isn’t the way it was supposed to be. In case anyone hasn’t heard, Wayne Silverton was found stabbed to death last night at the airport.”
Even though Wayne’s death wasn’t news to anyone in the room, there were gasps and groans.
Casale held up his hand. “I’m not sure what this means for how we’ll be spending the rest of our time in London, but that’s being figured out now. In the meantime, I’d like to introduce you to our British partner, Mr. Churlson Vicks.”
Vicks got to his feet, cleared his throat, and tapped his fist to his lips a few times. He was a solidly built gentleman wearing a gray suit with a muted stripe, a blue shirt with a white collar, and a burgundy tie. Everything about him was square: his jaw, forehead, and shoulders. I judged him to be in his early sixties, perhaps a few years younger. He looked every bit the successful businessman, his face unnaturally tanned, especially for one of British descent, his teeth whiter than they should have been for a man his age.
“We’re all terribly shocked and upset over Wayne’s brutal death,” he said in a well-modulated voice tinged with a British accent. “Wayne was a visionary whose belief in a new era of air travel will be sorely missed.” Another throat clearing and more taps to the mouth. “I believe that those who knew Wayne will agree that he would want us to forge ahead despite his demise, both with SilverAir, and with our plans for this inaugural trip to London. Therefore, the schedule you’ve been given will remain basically the same—except, of course, if the authorities charged with bringing Wayne’s killer to justice have needs that necessitate change. Let me now introduce Inspector George Sutherland from our esteemed Scotland Yard.”
George thanked Vicks, introduced his two associates, and said, “While I appreciate the reason you are here in London, and that a schedule has been established for you, I am afraid the investigation into Mr. Silverton’s murder must take precedence. However, I will try not to inconvenience you too much. Since we are gathered together in this room, my associate, Ms. Simmons, will read names from the passenger and crew manifests provided by SilverAir’s London operations office. Please respond when your name is called.”
The young woman read off the names, eliciting a variety of responses—“Yo,” “Here,” “Present.” When she was finished, she told George that there were eleven people who hadn’t responded. I’d kept track as she read. Captain Caine and the flight attendant, Ms. Molnari, were among the missing, along with Christine Silverton, and others whose names I didn’t recognize.
“Thank you for indulging us in that exercise,” George said. “Reminds one of being back in school, doesn’t it?’
There were a few laughs.
“I will want to speak with each of you individually,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll have an opportunity to do that as the day progresses, and during the flight back to the States.”
“You’re coming with us?” one of the reporters asked.
“Yes,” George replied. “You’ll have the pleasure of my company as a passenger, and I’ll have the pleasure of experiencing this new airline. Please let my associates know before you leave here this morning where you intend to go, and how you can be reached. We’ll need a complete list of names, addresses, and phone numbers, including mobiles. In the meantime, I believe the hotel staff is eager to serve your breakfast. Enjoy your full English fry-ups.”
George slipped into the vacant chair next to me.
“Full English fry-ups?” I said.
“Full English breakfast,” he responded. “Also known
Even though Wayne’s death wasn’t news to anyone in the room, there were gasps and groans.
Casale held up his hand. “I’m not sure what this means for how we’ll be spending the rest of our time in London, but that’s being figured out now. In the meantime, I’d like to introduce you to our British partner, Mr. Churlson Vicks.”
Vicks got to his feet, cleared his throat, and tapped his fist to his lips a few times. He was a solidly built gentleman wearing a gray suit with a muted stripe, a blue shirt with a white collar, and a burgundy tie. Everything about him was square: his jaw, forehead, and shoulders. I judged him to be in his early sixties, perhaps a few years younger. He looked every bit the successful businessman, his face unnaturally tanned, especially for one of British descent, his teeth whiter than they should have been for a man his age.
“We’re all terribly shocked and upset over Wayne’s brutal death,” he said in a well-modulated voice tinged with a British accent. “Wayne was a visionary whose belief in a new era of air travel will be sorely missed.” Another throat clearing and more taps to the mouth. “I believe that those who knew Wayne will agree that he would want us to forge ahead despite his demise, both with SilverAir, and with our plans for this inaugural trip to London. Therefore, the schedule you’ve been given will remain basically the same—except, of course, if the authorities charged with bringing Wayne’s killer to justice have needs that necessitate change. Let me now introduce Inspector George Sutherland from our esteemed Scotland Yard.”
George thanked Vicks, introduced his two associates, and said, “While I appreciate the reason you are here in London, and that a schedule has been established for you, I am afraid the investigation into Mr. Silverton’s murder must take precedence. However, I will try not to inconvenience you too much. Since we are gathered together in this room, my associate, Ms. Simmons, will read names from the passenger and crew manifests provided by SilverAir’s London operations office. Please respond when your name is called.”
The young woman read off the names, eliciting a variety of responses—“Yo,” “Here,” “Present.” When she was finished, she told George that there were eleven people who hadn’t responded. I’d kept track as she read. Captain Caine and the flight attendant, Ms. Molnari, were among the missing, along with Christine Silverton, and others whose names I didn’t recognize.
“Thank you for indulging us in that exercise,” George said. “Reminds one of being back in school, doesn’t it?’
There were a few laughs.
“I will want to speak with each of you individually,” he said. “Perhaps we’ll have an opportunity to do that as the day progresses, and during the flight back to the States.”
“You’re coming with us?” one of the reporters asked.
“Yes,” George replied. “You’ll have the pleasure of my company as a passenger, and I’ll have the pleasure of experiencing this new airline. Please let my associates know before you leave here this morning where you intend to go, and how you can be reached. We’ll need a complete list of names, addresses, and phone numbers, including mobiles. In the meantime, I believe the hotel staff is eager to serve your breakfast. Enjoy your full English fry-ups.”
George slipped into the vacant chair next to me.
“Full English fry-ups?” I said.
“Full English breakfast,” he responded. “Also known
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