Read Online Rum and Razors by Jessica Fletcher - Free Book Online
Authors: Jessica Fletcher
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about you and the Marschalks.”
His face turned hard. It was a youthful face, far younger than his age. He was light-skinned, almost Caucasian. His hair was reddish blond. His clothing was expensively cut.
“We have to go,” one of his aides said.
“In a minute,” Jensen responded. He looked me squarely in the eye. “Are you down here writing a book about this?” he asked.
“About this? This scandal? Heavens, no. I’m on vacation, pure and simple.”
“Come here,” he said, taking my arm and leading me to a corner where the others wouldn’t hear. “Let me tell you something, Mrs. Fletcher, that you probably already know. Walter and Laurie Marschalk are two of the nicest people in the world. I treasure their friendship. Now let me tell you something you don’t know. My colleagues who are calling for this absurd probe into Walter’s purchase are whores. They’re on Diamond Reefs pad and have been for a long time. Until today they’ve snuck around trying to dig up evidence to support their claims. Now, they think they have. But you read the paper. Nothing but rumors and innuendo designed to ruin innocent people like the Marschalks—and me. It’s all political. Greed. Jealousy.”
“I’m certainly happy to hear there’s no substance to the story,” I said, not quite sure what the proper response was.
“Senator!” an aide said sharply.
“Have to run, Mrs. Fletcher. Have to catch a flight to Miami. Nice meeting you. Say hello to Walter and Laurie for me.”
“They’re in Miami,” I said. “They’re due back tomorrow. What about this Mesreau character I read about?”
“Just a crazy old coot who got his throat slit by assailants unknown. I’ll get over to buy you a drink before you leave the inn. That’s a promise.” With that he was gone, saying over his shoulder, “I’ve read some of your books. They’re good. I like them a lot.” He stopped, added, “If you need anything, anything at all, see my secretary. Room Seven. Tell her I said to give you carte blanche.”
I left the building and climbed into Peter’s Jeep.
“Just heard the news on the radio,” he said as he started the engine.
“What news?”
“Senator Bobby Jensen resigned this afternoon over the investigation.”
“I just—I just spoke with him.”
“Bet it’s the last we’ll ever see of him on St. Thomas,” said Peter. “They say he’s got millions stashed away in Miami. Probably go back there and be a big-shot lawyer. Where to?”
“Home,” I said, thinking of Cabot Cove.
I considered walking down to the lagoon, but a typical late afternoon rainstorm seemed imminent. The air was uncomfortably close. I went to my room, stretched out on the bed, and closed my eyes. For some reason I was hungry, famished. The sandwich at Blackbeard’s Castle had been tasty but small. I got up, took a banana from the fruit basket on the wicker table, and sat on the terrace. Music by a steel drum band at Diamond Reef drifted to where I sat. They seemed to have music twenty-four hours a day. I pondered what I was about to do, which meant chewing my cheek, a bad habit that sometimes gets out of hand. Why not? I was free for dinner. I’d be dining at the inn for the rest of my stay once Walter and Laurie returned.
I found Mark Dobson’s card in my purse and poised to call him, thought better of it, got Diamond Reefs number from the operator and called its restaurant directly. “I’d like to make a dinner reservation for eight this evening,” I said.
“Of course. What is your room number?”
“I’m not staying at Diamond Reef. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. How many for dinner?”
“Just myself.”
“Your name?”
“Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Splendid, Mrs. Fletcher. See you at eight.”
Chapter 6
I dislike people who aren’t on time, and make it a habit—no, it’s really more of an obsession-to be where I’m supposed to be when scheduled. It has long been my contention that people who
His face turned hard. It was a youthful face, far younger than his age. He was light-skinned, almost Caucasian. His hair was reddish blond. His clothing was expensively cut.
“We have to go,” one of his aides said.
“In a minute,” Jensen responded. He looked me squarely in the eye. “Are you down here writing a book about this?” he asked.
“About this? This scandal? Heavens, no. I’m on vacation, pure and simple.”
“Come here,” he said, taking my arm and leading me to a corner where the others wouldn’t hear. “Let me tell you something, Mrs. Fletcher, that you probably already know. Walter and Laurie Marschalk are two of the nicest people in the world. I treasure their friendship. Now let me tell you something you don’t know. My colleagues who are calling for this absurd probe into Walter’s purchase are whores. They’re on Diamond Reefs pad and have been for a long time. Until today they’ve snuck around trying to dig up evidence to support their claims. Now, they think they have. But you read the paper. Nothing but rumors and innuendo designed to ruin innocent people like the Marschalks—and me. It’s all political. Greed. Jealousy.”
“I’m certainly happy to hear there’s no substance to the story,” I said, not quite sure what the proper response was.
“Senator!” an aide said sharply.
“Have to run, Mrs. Fletcher. Have to catch a flight to Miami. Nice meeting you. Say hello to Walter and Laurie for me.”
“They’re in Miami,” I said. “They’re due back tomorrow. What about this Mesreau character I read about?”
“Just a crazy old coot who got his throat slit by assailants unknown. I’ll get over to buy you a drink before you leave the inn. That’s a promise.” With that he was gone, saying over his shoulder, “I’ve read some of your books. They’re good. I like them a lot.” He stopped, added, “If you need anything, anything at all, see my secretary. Room Seven. Tell her I said to give you carte blanche.”
I left the building and climbed into Peter’s Jeep.
“Just heard the news on the radio,” he said as he started the engine.
“What news?”
“Senator Bobby Jensen resigned this afternoon over the investigation.”
“I just—I just spoke with him.”
“Bet it’s the last we’ll ever see of him on St. Thomas,” said Peter. “They say he’s got millions stashed away in Miami. Probably go back there and be a big-shot lawyer. Where to?”
“Home,” I said, thinking of Cabot Cove.
I considered walking down to the lagoon, but a typical late afternoon rainstorm seemed imminent. The air was uncomfortably close. I went to my room, stretched out on the bed, and closed my eyes. For some reason I was hungry, famished. The sandwich at Blackbeard’s Castle had been tasty but small. I got up, took a banana from the fruit basket on the wicker table, and sat on the terrace. Music by a steel drum band at Diamond Reef drifted to where I sat. They seemed to have music twenty-four hours a day. I pondered what I was about to do, which meant chewing my cheek, a bad habit that sometimes gets out of hand. Why not? I was free for dinner. I’d be dining at the inn for the rest of my stay once Walter and Laurie returned.
I found Mark Dobson’s card in my purse and poised to call him, thought better of it, got Diamond Reefs number from the operator and called its restaurant directly. “I’d like to make a dinner reservation for eight this evening,” I said.
“Of course. What is your room number?”
“I’m not staying at Diamond Reef. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. How many for dinner?”
“Just myself.”
“Your name?”
“Fletcher. Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Splendid, Mrs. Fletcher. See you at eight.”
Chapter 6
I dislike people who aren’t on time, and make it a habit—no, it’s really more of an obsession-to be where I’m supposed to be when scheduled. It has long been my contention that people who
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