Read Online Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice by Donald Bain - Free Book Online Page A

murder in Cabot Cove. Everyone views us as being an idyllic, crime-free, picturesque town that never has to deal with the sort of problems other communities have. But that’s a whitewashed version of the town’s history. The truth is that we’re a community of men and women, some of whom do bad things. I got to thinking about it at the council meeting the other night when the debate over the women’s shelter erupted. We have domestic violence, just like every other place, and maybe we should own up to it, the way you and Edwina and others are doing with the shelter.”
    A family came into the store and started browsing shoes.
    “I think we’d better let them have our seats,” I suggested. We walked outside and stood under a canopy to avoid the last remnants of the big, wet, white flakes.
    “I understand what you’re saying, Tim, but I really don’t think that you should devote a chapter to murders that have occurred here. It isn’t as though we had a Lizzie Borden or Jack the Ripper. And as for me writing a chapter like that, I’m afraid the answer is no.”
    “I sort of figured you’d say that, Jessica,” he said, not trying to keep the disappointment from his voice, “but maybe you’ll think more about it. Will you?”
    “Sure, but please don’t count on my changing my mind. Now, you must excuse me. I have a few more errands to run, and I’m meeting my ride home in a half hour. Great seeing you, Tim. Best to Ellen.”
    I pulled up my hood and darted across the street into the dry cleaner’s to pick up a pair of slacks that I’d had altered.
    “Hi, Jessica,” Jack Wilson said as he paid his bill. “Nasty day.”
    “Looks like it’s already stopping,” I said. “How’re things with my favorite vet?”
    “Busy as usual. I can’t believe what happened to Josh Wolcott.”
    “The whole town’s in shock.”
    “Except the person who killed him. Have you heard anything?”
    “Nothing more than anyone else,” I said, fudging the truth a little.
    “What I hear is that the sheriff and the state investigators are narrowing in on Myriam Wolcott.”
    I thought of what Jim Teller had said, that Myriam was considered a suspect. At that early stage of the investigation, everyone who ever knew Josh would be under suspicion until the field was culled to those with the greatest motive and the means to have killed him. I just hoped that our sheriff, Mort Metzger, wouldn’t rush to judgment and prematurely accuse anyone of the crime, something he was known to have done on occasion.
    My final stop was the law office of Cyrus O’Connor, Jr. Cy had moved back to Cabot Cove after graduating from law school and joined his father in a practice that the elder O’Connor had established years ago, a general law firm that handled virtually every legal problem anyone might have with the exception of felony criminal cases. Unfortunately, Cy’s father had died of a massive heart attack while representing a client in court, leaving Cy as the firm’s sole practitioner. He was a pleasant young man with a sharp mind and an obvious love of the law. I arrived at his office to pick up a codicil I’d had added to my will, and as I walked into the reception area, I was surprised to see Myriam Wolcott’s mother, Mrs. Warren Caldwell, seated and reading a magazine. She glanced up at me, gave forth the tiniest of smiles, and returned to her reading. My “hello” elicited another glance, another painful smile, and renewed interest in the magazine.
    As I took a chair across the room from her, Cy O’Connor’s receptionist, Sharon Bacon, came from his office. Sharon was in her early sixties, a stout woman in all senses of the word. She was a round, resolute, and reliable assistant to her boss. She’d been Cy Senior’s receptionist and legal aide since her graduation from secretarial school, and although she possessed no degree, her knowledge of the law and her understanding of its arcane language had been of considerable help