Read Online Murder, She Wrote: Prescription for Murder by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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thanks.”
Vasquez raised his eyebrows questioningly at me.
“No, thank you, sir,” I said. “I just thought some fresh air would be nice.”
“You can’t blame my cigars for the stuffy air inside, Jessica. Ivelisse and I have an understanding. I can smoke to my heart’s content, but only outside, or in my office at the other end of the house. I had a professional air cleaner installed in it, like ones in restaurants. I am an agreeable husband, yes?”
“It certainly sounds that way.”
He fired up his lighter and went through the elaborate ritual of lighting his cigar, blowing a stream of smoke into the air with a satisfied smile. “Come. Let me show you my latest gadget on the boat,” Vasquez said. “Jessica, you haven’t seen my new toy.”
“Uh-oh,” I said as a drop of rain landed on my nose. I looked up into the black sky. “Better get back inside,” I said.
“Nonsense,” said Vasquez, “just a few raindrops. I can’t waste this good cigar.” He drew deeply on it and watched the blue smoke curl up into the air.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t have a cigar to save.” With that I made for the French doors and stepped inside. I looked back to where Seth and Vasquez continued to stand together, Vasquez smoking, Seth saying something that I couldn’t hear. As I watched them, shadows emerged from behind a shed farther along on the deck. I squinted until I could make out Westerkoch and Oona Mendez. They approached Seth and Vasquez, stopped for a moment to say something, and came inside.
“A storm’s brewing,” Oona said.
“So I see,” I said.
A sudden shaft of lightning illuminated where the two men stood, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
“They should come in,” I said. “They told me that lightning here in Tampa is particularly dangerous.”
Seth slapped Vasquez on his back and headed inside.
“Why is he staying outside?” I asked.
“He wants to finish that cigar,” Seth replied with a laugh, brushing a few raindrops from the sleeve of his jacket.
More lightning bolts turned the deck brilliantly white, as if giant klieg lights had been turned on. The light show drew others to the French doors, Westerkoch, Oona, and Ivelisse Vasquez.
“Hello,” Ivelisse said, smiling at me. “I’m Ivelisse Vasquez. Have we met?”
Her comment startled me, as much as a clap of thunder that made me jump.
Outside, Vasquez looked up as though surveying the heavens. He took another deep drag on his cigar and raised it, seemingly offering it to the gods. As he did, the brightest and most menacing of lightning bolts carved a jagged path from the sky to where the deck met the water. In its harsh light Vasquez looked like a Shakespearean thespian portraying Hamlet, a spotlight establishing his stage presence. Then, as we watched in horror, Dr. Alvaro Vasquez doubled over and dropped to his knees, the cigar flying from his hand. He pitched forward and lay still as the sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets.
Chapter Six
O ona Mendez shrieked.
Karl Westerkoch said, “Damn,” and pushed the door open a crack, allowing the sound of the pelting rain to reach inside.
Ivelisse Vasquez stood motionless, her face blank.
Seth wrenched open the door and ran out into the downpour. I followed.
He knelt over Vasquez and placed his fingertips against his neck. “Get an ambulance,” he shouted to no one in particular. “Call nine-one-one!” With that, he straddled Vasquez and began administering CPR.
I looked back in the hope that someone would bring an umbrella, but no one moved until Xavier appeared carrying a tan raincoat. Seth climbed off, and Xavier spread the coat over his father, including his face. Seth pulled it back and again tried to discern a pulse in the neck. He shook his head and continued pressing on Vasquez’s chest with rhythmic thumps. “Come on, Al. Don’t give up,” he told his patient. “Where’s the ambulance?” he called out.
“Did you call for
Vasquez raised his eyebrows questioningly at me.
“No, thank you, sir,” I said. “I just thought some fresh air would be nice.”
“You can’t blame my cigars for the stuffy air inside, Jessica. Ivelisse and I have an understanding. I can smoke to my heart’s content, but only outside, or in my office at the other end of the house. I had a professional air cleaner installed in it, like ones in restaurants. I am an agreeable husband, yes?”
“It certainly sounds that way.”
He fired up his lighter and went through the elaborate ritual of lighting his cigar, blowing a stream of smoke into the air with a satisfied smile. “Come. Let me show you my latest gadget on the boat,” Vasquez said. “Jessica, you haven’t seen my new toy.”
“Uh-oh,” I said as a drop of rain landed on my nose. I looked up into the black sky. “Better get back inside,” I said.
“Nonsense,” said Vasquez, “just a few raindrops. I can’t waste this good cigar.” He drew deeply on it and watched the blue smoke curl up into the air.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I don’t have a cigar to save.” With that I made for the French doors and stepped inside. I looked back to where Seth and Vasquez continued to stand together, Vasquez smoking, Seth saying something that I couldn’t hear. As I watched them, shadows emerged from behind a shed farther along on the deck. I squinted until I could make out Westerkoch and Oona Mendez. They approached Seth and Vasquez, stopped for a moment to say something, and came inside.
“A storm’s brewing,” Oona said.
“So I see,” I said.
A sudden shaft of lightning illuminated where the two men stood, followed by a low rumble of thunder.
“They should come in,” I said. “They told me that lightning here in Tampa is particularly dangerous.”
Seth slapped Vasquez on his back and headed inside.
“Why is he staying outside?” I asked.
“He wants to finish that cigar,” Seth replied with a laugh, brushing a few raindrops from the sleeve of his jacket.
More lightning bolts turned the deck brilliantly white, as if giant klieg lights had been turned on. The light show drew others to the French doors, Westerkoch, Oona, and Ivelisse Vasquez.
“Hello,” Ivelisse said, smiling at me. “I’m Ivelisse Vasquez. Have we met?”
Her comment startled me, as much as a clap of thunder that made me jump.
Outside, Vasquez looked up as though surveying the heavens. He took another deep drag on his cigar and raised it, seemingly offering it to the gods. As he did, the brightest and most menacing of lightning bolts carved a jagged path from the sky to where the deck met the water. In its harsh light Vasquez looked like a Shakespearean thespian portraying Hamlet, a spotlight establishing his stage presence. Then, as we watched in horror, Dr. Alvaro Vasquez doubled over and dropped to his knees, the cigar flying from his hand. He pitched forward and lay still as the sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets.
Chapter Six
O ona Mendez shrieked.
Karl Westerkoch said, “Damn,” and pushed the door open a crack, allowing the sound of the pelting rain to reach inside.
Ivelisse Vasquez stood motionless, her face blank.
Seth wrenched open the door and ran out into the downpour. I followed.
He knelt over Vasquez and placed his fingertips against his neck. “Get an ambulance,” he shouted to no one in particular. “Call nine-one-one!” With that, he straddled Vasquez and began administering CPR.
I looked back in the hope that someone would bring an umbrella, but no one moved until Xavier appeared carrying a tan raincoat. Seth climbed off, and Xavier spread the coat over his father, including his face. Seth pulled it back and again tried to discern a pulse in the neck. He shook his head and continued pressing on Vasquez’s chest with rhythmic thumps. “Come on, Al. Don’t give up,” he told his patient. “Where’s the ambulance?” he called out.
“Did you call for
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