Read Online Coffee, Tea, or Murder? by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B

here as a fry-up. Everything fried. Of course, most Brits avoid it these days in health consciousness and have cereal and yogurt for breakfast. But the hotels feel their guests want something authentic.”
    “And you, sir?” Seth asked.
    “I love my fry-ups,” George said with a chuckle. “Nothing like a proper, hearty breakfast to start the day.”
    While George’s two assistants circulated among the tables, taking down names and contact information, the waitstaff served us heaping platters of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes, fried bread, and mushrooms. Despite the grim event of the previous night, appetites were not diminished, and we attacked our fry-ups with gusto.
    When the meal was over and people began leaving the room, George took me aside. “I have a copy of your schedule for the day and evening,” he said. “Will you be following it?”
    “I don’t think so,” I replied. “I’d like to have enough free time to spend with you.”
    “That certainly appeals, Jessica, but I’m afraid I’ll be tied up virtually all day getting ready to accompany you back to Boston. I’m sure you’ve noticed the vultures waiting outside.”
    “The press.”
    “Yes. This is a big story here in the UK. Silverton’s plans to introduce a new carrier to London generated lots of press. Now, with his demise, the stories will get even bigger, and more numerous. The pressure is on. I’ve been in touch with stateside law enforcement. It will truly be a hands-across-the-sea investigation.”
    “Then you do whatever it is you have to do, George. Actually, it might be more beneficial for me to spend time with the other passengers. I might learn something valuable.”
    “Best you stay clear of it,” he said.
    “Why? You allowed me to accompany you to the scene of the crime. I feel very much a part of this. Wayne Silverton came from Cabot Cove, and I was privileged to have been invited on the inaugural flight of his new airline. Someone with whom I crossed the Atlantic may have murdered him. I want to know who that was, and see him, or her, brought to justice.”
    “And I know better than to argue with you, Jessica. I will free myself for dinner.”
    “So will I.”
    Seth came up to us. “Looks like you two are scheming something big,” he said.
    “We always are,” George said, with a wink. “Good to see you again, Doctor. I hope we have a chance to talk.”
    “Since you’ll be on our flight home, I suspect we’ll have lots of time for gab.”
    “I look forward to it,” George said.
    I walked George and his two associates outside where chaos reigned. The cramped, U-shaped area in front of the Savoy was chockablock with vehicles, some belonging to the police, others to the media. The elegantly attired doormen, and less decked out parking attendants, scrambled to maintain order and to keep traffic moving. George’s Jaguar was parked directly in front. Limousine drivers in dark suits, white shirts, and ties stood to one side, holding signs indicating they were waiting for members of our large party. One explained to me that they’d had to park out on the Strand because of the logjam near the hotel.
    George and I arranged to meet back at the hotel at six. He squeezed my arm and walked to the driver’s side of his car. The doormen cleared a path for his car, and he made his way out to the Strand.
    I returned inside to rejoin Seth, the Metzgers, and the Shevlins who were lingering over coffee. By this time, the lobby was swarming with press, and we decided the best way to avoid them was to keep to the timetable of tourist attractions that Wayne had set up for us. There were a number of choices presented to us on the schedule. We’d opted for a visit to The Charles Dickens Museum that morning. Lunch was free time. In the afternoon, we were to spend time at the Old Bailey, where we would be briefed by one of the court’s judges on the differences between British and U.S. law. That there are any surprises many people,