Read Online Murder, She Wrote: Prescription for Murder by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online Page B

was accompanied by a middle-aged woman wearing an apron. Ivelisse had retreated to her alcove but by this time seemed to have regained a sense of the moment and had started to cry. The woman in the apron put her arms about Ivelisse and gently led her from the room.
    “She’s the housekeeper,” I overheard Oona say to Westerkoch.
    “Does she even know what’s going on?” he muttered.
    “Who? The housekeeper?”
    “No! His wife.”
    “Who can tell?”
    “I heard that’s why he stole the formula from Havana,” Westerkoch said, “to speed up the process to find a treatment. It doesn’t look like he succeeded.”
    “Shush! Someone will overhear you.”
    “Who cares?”
    The band members had stopped playing and were packing up their instruments. Adelmo, the cigar roller, had left his desk. Another blinding lightning strike followed by a crash of thunder drew an audible gasp from the guests. It was succeeded by the sound of sirens coming from the front of the house. The security man who’d been at the door when we’d arrived opened it, and two uniformed EMTs rushed in.
    “Where?” one of them asked.
    I stepped forward and said, “Follow me.” I led them out to the deck. Despite the recent celestial fireworks, the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. The EMTs knelt next to Seth and relieved him of his task. One of them used a stethoscope on Vasquez and attempted to find signs of life.
    “You see what happened?” the other EMT asked Seth, helping him to his feet.
    “There was a bolt of lightning,” Seth said, breathing heavily, “but I’m not sure if it hit him.”
    “Are you okay, mister? Do you need to sit down?”
    “Just winded,” Seth managed to get out, sinking into a chair someone pulled over for him. “I’m a doctor, been trying to revive him. Too late, I’m afraid.”
    “Looks that way, Doc. I’m sorry, but there’s no pulse,” the other EMT said.
    “Are you all right, Seth?” I asked, kneeling at his side. I looked into his ravaged face. His jacket was soaked through and he was exhausted. I couldn’t tell if the drops of water on his cheeks were from the rain or tears.
    “I couldn’t save him, Jessica,” he said hoarsely, raising his trembling hands and wiping his eyes.
    “If you couldn’t, no one could,” I said. “You were right there when it happened, Seth. You’ve been working on him all this time. There wasn’t anything more you could do.”
    Seth shook his head sadly. “What a loss for humanity.”
    And what a loss for you, my dear friend,
I thought.
    The EMTs left, returning a few minutes later with a gurney. Seth and I watched them carefully lift Vasquez from the deck, place him on the gurney, cover him with a lightweight blue tarp, and roll him into the house, where everyone stepped back to give them a path to the front door. As one of the EMTs opened the door, two men wearing raincoats came through it. One of them put up his hand to stop the EMTs; the second man showed them a badge.
    “What’s going on here?” a guest demanded, his eyes on the gurney. “The man is dead. Let them through.”
    One of the newly arrived men, a heavyset fellow whose sparse hair had been plastered to his head by the rain, announced, “Police.” He asked the crowd, “Who’s in charge here?”
    When no one stepped forward, Seth did. “The deceased is Dr. Alvaro Vasquez. This is his house. He was hosting a party, and—”
    “We know who the deceased is,” the portly detective said. “Are you a friend?”
    “Yes, I am,” Seth replied.
    The second detective, a considerably younger man, asked everyone to sit. He turned to Seth and asked, “Has anyone left the party?”
    Seth was obviously taken aback at being asked the question. He looked at me in bewilderment.
    “We wouldn’t know,” I said. “We’re from out of town. We don’t know everyone who was invited, but a man at the door had a guest list.”
    His partner surveyed the others in the room. “Does anyone