Read Online Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page A

asked. “You know what they say about murder.”
    “What do they say, Mr. Morrison?” Seth asked.
    “Cherchez la femme.”
    “What does that mean?” Sue, the cabin girl, asked.
    “It means ‘Look for the woman in the case,”’ I said. “Alexandre Dumas.”
    Hand on hip, Sue asked, “Why the woman?”
    “Most murders are crimes of passion,” Chris Morrison responded. “You always look to the spouse first. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Fletcher?”
    “I suppose so,” I said.
    “If you ask me, his wife did him in,” Chris said. “They didn’t look all that happy at dinner last night.”
    “Ready, Seth?” I asked, standing.
    Robert Morrison, Evelyn’s brother, hadn’t said anything during lunch. As Seth and I stepped outside, he followed.
    “A word, Mrs. Fletcher?”
    “Yes?”
    Morrison looked at Seth.
    “Think I’ll stroll up and see if Mrs. Molloy is awake,” Seth said, “and ask if she needs anything.”
    “That would be nice, Seth. Let me know if I can help.”
    “Ayuh.”
    Morrison and I walked to the end of the main lodge and turned the corner, stopping at a large outdoor sink where lucky fishermen cleaned their catch. It had clouded over since we went to lunch, and turned chilly.
    “I understand you’re good friends with Mr. and Mrs. Cook, Mrs. Fletcher.”
    “That’s right. We were neighbors in Maine.”
    “I’m sure you can understand that my sister and I are extremely upset over what’s happened.”
    “As we all are.”
    “Perhaps not. You and your physician friend are here as guests of the Cooks. A relaxing, carefree week. We, on the other hand, are here not only to allow family members to get together socially, but to iron out some family business.”
    “Oh? What sort of business?”
    “Succession issues, corporate structure—we always use this week as a retreat of sorts, a chance to get away from the pressures of the boardroom and discuss things in a peaceful atmosphere. The point I wish to make, Mrs. Fletcher, is that to be intruded upon by this investigation will hamper our ability to resolve certain business issues.”
    “It will be an intrusion into all our lives,” I said, not pleased at the direction the conversation was taking. Obviously, he felt he and his wealthy family were above being investigated.
    “Let me get to the point,” he said. His voice was flat, a monotone, and grating. “Mr. and Mrs. Cook obviously are well known in this area. I noticed that the homicide investigator—Pitura, is it?—is on a first-name basis with them. They call him by his first name, too. Surely, they could make a case with him that no member of my family could possibly be involved in this sordid mess. He could also prevail, using the health of his business as a basis. We’re very good customers of this ranch, Mrs. Fletcher. We come here every year and are generous with our treatment of the staff. I really think that—”
    “Are you suggesting I intervene with the Cooks, Mr. Morrison, and ask them to seek some sort of special treatment for you and your family?”
    “That would be very much appreciated.”
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. There’s been a brutal murder committed on the ranch. Everyone must be considered a suspect until the police solve the case. I understand how painful this is for your family, but—”
    “I thought you might be more cooperative, Mrs. Fletcher.”
    “I am cooperative, Mr. Morrison, but at the moment, my cooperation is extended to Investigator Pitura and his people. Excuse me. I want to check on Mrs. Molloy—the widow.”
    The Morrison gene, the one that seemed to imbue each family member with a sourness, came through on his face. I started to leave, stopped, turned, and asked, “Mr. Morrison, what business is your family in?”
    He answered by walking in the direction of the cabins.
    Seth was coming from the honeymoon cabin as I approached.
    “How is she?” I asked.
    “Still resting. I spoke with her for a few minutes. I