Read Online Gin and Daggers by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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always draw the biggest crowds.”
“All right, I’ll be there.”
She thanked me, nodded at Lucas, and crossed the room with a sensuous sway out of a commercial for a Caribbean paradise.
“What do you think?” Lucas asked me, his eyes wide.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Jason Harris.”
“Do you know him, Lucas? I mean, before I mentioned his having been at the house, and his relationship to Marjorie?”
“I don’t know him, Jessica, but I certainly have heard of him. There was a lot of consternation when Marjorie started playing mentor to him. I did a little checking. He’s what I suppose could be termed a ‘failed poet,’ a bright but misdirected talent.”
“He said so little at the party. Has he had anything published?”
“Not that I know of, unless he’s been in some of those small literary quarterlies.”
“How does he live?”
“Probably by getting into the good graces of people like Marjorie Ainsworth. You know the type. Users, low-lifes who pretend to be artists, and who prey on the need of true artists to share something of their talent with the less fortunate.”
I suspected he was basically right in his evaluation, although I also recognized it was presumptuous of me. Obviously, Marjorie saw something worthwhile in Jason Harris and was willing to share her knowledge with him. Was Maria Giacona his lover? Funny, but I’d immediately assumed she was.
My mind raced as we perused the menu in search of a palatable main course. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew Lucas was. He had a voracious appetite.
What would Maria Giacona tell me in the morning—that she had information incriminating Jason Harris in Marjorie Ainsworth’s murder? Or would she present some defense of him in anticipation of his being charged with the killing? What a silly game, I told myself as I returned my attention to the menu. Those questions would be answered tomorrow, and there was little sense losing a night’s sleep by speculating.
I ordered creamed Finnan haddie garnished with a poached egg. Lucas went for London beef that was sliced tableside. A platter of boiled vegetables accompanied both entrées, prompting him to say, “We British can do anything with boiled vegetables except digest them.”
I sensed that a few people recognized me as Lucas and I left the restaurant, but no one said anything—hooray for British reserve. Lucas walked me to the elevator.
“You shouldn’t stay alone tonight, Jessica.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine. I’m over the initial shock. I want to concentrate on my speech, and on being helpful to anyone seeking to solve Marjorie’s murder.”
“You don’t understand, Jessica. A national treasure has been murdered, and the way the press has painted it—including that idiot Coots from Crumpsworth—you’re being pointed to as the prime suspect. I’ll stay with you. There’s a couch and two rooms. I promise I won’t ...”
I laughed with genuine affection for him, took his hands in mine, and said, “Lucas, you are a sweet man and I sincerely appreciate your concern for me. But, believe me, I don’t need anyone. I’ll see that the door is securely locked. The way I feel now, I’ll sleep through anything, including an all-out assault by the Household Guards.”
He reluctantly accepted my rejection of his offer, kissed me on the cheek, and said he was only a phone call away.
“I take comfort in that, Lucas. Thank you for joining me for dinner. Oh, by the way, we never did get into a discussion of Gin and Daggers.”
“Yes, there were too many other things. We’ll catch up with that tomorrow. Your plans?”
“I don’t have any aside from meeting Ms. Giacona, but I suspect they’ll develop. There are people who’ve called me today whom I really should see, old friends, even a relative or two. Let me play it by ear. I’ll call you when I’m back from Hyde Park.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t. It might hinder the
“All right, I’ll be there.”
She thanked me, nodded at Lucas, and crossed the room with a sensuous sway out of a commercial for a Caribbean paradise.
“What do you think?” Lucas asked me, his eyes wide.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Jason Harris.”
“Do you know him, Lucas? I mean, before I mentioned his having been at the house, and his relationship to Marjorie?”
“I don’t know him, Jessica, but I certainly have heard of him. There was a lot of consternation when Marjorie started playing mentor to him. I did a little checking. He’s what I suppose could be termed a ‘failed poet,’ a bright but misdirected talent.”
“He said so little at the party. Has he had anything published?”
“Not that I know of, unless he’s been in some of those small literary quarterlies.”
“How does he live?”
“Probably by getting into the good graces of people like Marjorie Ainsworth. You know the type. Users, low-lifes who pretend to be artists, and who prey on the need of true artists to share something of their talent with the less fortunate.”
I suspected he was basically right in his evaluation, although I also recognized it was presumptuous of me. Obviously, Marjorie saw something worthwhile in Jason Harris and was willing to share her knowledge with him. Was Maria Giacona his lover? Funny, but I’d immediately assumed she was.
My mind raced as we perused the menu in search of a palatable main course. I wasn’t hungry, but I knew Lucas was. He had a voracious appetite.
What would Maria Giacona tell me in the morning—that she had information incriminating Jason Harris in Marjorie Ainsworth’s murder? Or would she present some defense of him in anticipation of his being charged with the killing? What a silly game, I told myself as I returned my attention to the menu. Those questions would be answered tomorrow, and there was little sense losing a night’s sleep by speculating.
I ordered creamed Finnan haddie garnished with a poached egg. Lucas went for London beef that was sliced tableside. A platter of boiled vegetables accompanied both entrées, prompting him to say, “We British can do anything with boiled vegetables except digest them.”
I sensed that a few people recognized me as Lucas and I left the restaurant, but no one said anything—hooray for British reserve. Lucas walked me to the elevator.
“You shouldn’t stay alone tonight, Jessica.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll be fine. I’m over the initial shock. I want to concentrate on my speech, and on being helpful to anyone seeking to solve Marjorie’s murder.”
“You don’t understand, Jessica. A national treasure has been murdered, and the way the press has painted it—including that idiot Coots from Crumpsworth—you’re being pointed to as the prime suspect. I’ll stay with you. There’s a couch and two rooms. I promise I won’t ...”
I laughed with genuine affection for him, took his hands in mine, and said, “Lucas, you are a sweet man and I sincerely appreciate your concern for me. But, believe me, I don’t need anyone. I’ll see that the door is securely locked. The way I feel now, I’ll sleep through anything, including an all-out assault by the Household Guards.”
He reluctantly accepted my rejection of his offer, kissed me on the cheek, and said he was only a phone call away.
“I take comfort in that, Lucas. Thank you for joining me for dinner. Oh, by the way, we never did get into a discussion of Gin and Daggers.”
“Yes, there were too many other things. We’ll catch up with that tomorrow. Your plans?”
“I don’t have any aside from meeting Ms. Giacona, but I suspect they’ll develop. There are people who’ve called me today whom I really should see, old friends, even a relative or two. Let me play it by ear. I’ll call you when I’m back from Hyde Park.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t. It might hinder the
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