-- Written by Anne
Why did I choose April 11th
as Jessica’s birthday? Because it was
the day they began shooting the first episode of “Murder, SheWrote” in 1984 …
and the day they completed filming the final episode, in 1996.
--Anne (akd10_1999)
4/4/00
“I
don’t know about you, but I don’t think it was any random yay-hoo that broke in here last
night.”
Dennis Stanton, claims investigator
for Consolidated Casualty of San Francisco, readily agreed with Lieutenant
Perry Catalano’s assessment of the crime scene at the
“What makes you think so?” he asked.
“It’s obvious that the thief had
only one particular item on his shopping list,” Catalano said. “He breaks into the basement, bypasses a
whole floor of valuable stuff, then smashes the glass case and takes just the
one book.”
“Leaving behind five other equally
valuable exhibit specimens within easy reach, yes,” Dennis concluded. “I quite agree with you, Lieutenant. By the way, has anyone seen or heard from the
owner yet this morning?”
“You mean the guy who donated the
book? Yeah, that’s him standing over
there,” Catalano said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Patrick O’Hansen. I guess you’ll be wanting
to talk to him, but do me a favor – do it away from the crime scene, okay?”
Dennis smiled and bowed
slightly. “I wouldn’t dream of
inconveniencing you, Lieutenant.”
Catalano, who had worked with Dennis
on several previous occasions, was unimpressed.
“Huh,” he said, and moved off to talk to the police photographer.
A cell phone rang in Dennis’s
overcoat pocket; he moved discreetly away from the cluster of police officers
before pulling it out and answering it.
“Yes, Rhoda, what did you find?”
“You hit the nail on the head,
Dennis,” Rhoda Markowitz, his office secretary said. “Not only is Patrick O’Hansen leaving town,
he’s leaving immediately – like, today.
Apparently he isn’t canceling his travel plans on account of the theft
of his book.”
“No,” Dennis agreed. “Quite the opposite, in
fact. Were you able to find out
where he’s going?”
“According to the airline, he’s
booked on a 12:45 flight to
“Excellent,” said Dennis. “Rhoda, this is what I need …”
*******
CABOT
COVE,
Deputy Andy Broome shook his head as he watched the gathering
from his barstool – across the room a group of Japanese men and Buddhist monks
were mingling around the jukebox.
Neither was the typical sort of tourist group come to visit
“Interesting gathering,
isn’t it. Are they traveling together, do you think?”
Andy turned to regard the man seated
next to him – a tall gentleman, dressed in tweeds with leather patches on the
elbows of his jacket. An overcoat was
draped on the bar in front of him, while a briefcase and an antique umbrella
were propped up against his stool. From
away, no doubt, but Andy decided to be friendly anyway.
“Actually, no,” he said. “They’re two separate groups. The gentlemen from
“Fascinating! And they just happened to book rooms in your
quaint little town for the same week?”
“So it would seem,” said Andy. “But then, we see a lot of weird coincidences
in this town.”
“So I’ve heard. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Dennis Stanton, and I’m with
Consolidated Casualty,
Andy accepted it reluctantly. “Deputy Andy Broome, Cabot Cove Sheriff’s
Department.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Deputy,” said
Dennis.
Afraid that Stanton might next try to sell him some
long-term life insurance policy, Andy ignored him and returned to the matter at
hand: the beer that was quickly warming
up on the bar in front him. Taking a
long sip, he tried to ignore the rising volume of voices in the background and
relax.
It soon became impossible to ignore
the noise. Apparently there was a
disagreement brewing between members of the Buddhist contingent and the
businessmen from
That was the starting signal; all
hell broke loose after that. The far end
of the bar became a swirling hurricane of orange robes and dark three piece
suits, while a handful of fishermen sat on the pool table cheering them on and
placing bets as to which side would come out on top.
Andy sighed; so much for
relaxation. He drank the rest of his
beer in one long swallow, pushed the glass away, and waded into the fray.
It was hopeless; there were just too many of them,
and he was quickly in danger of being trampled.
It was then that he heard a deafening shout, and immediately everyone
around him fell silent.
Andy turned in the direction the shout had come
from, and saw Dennis Stanton standing on the bar, holding a thin-bladed sword
in his hand – must’ve been hidden in the umbrella, he thought. Wherever it had come from, it had caught the
attention of the combatants.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” Dennis said in a
more moderate voice. “You are showing
distasteful manners in front of your hosts!
I suggest you all repair to your hotel rooms for some serious meditation
on your behavior. Please do not make me
ask twice.”
The glint in his eye showed that he was serious, and
gradually the room emptied. Making his
way back to the bar, Andy caught up with Dennis as he was calmly resheathing
the sword in the umbrella and collecting his coat.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I don’t think I could have managed to break that up alone.”
“It was my pleasure,” Dennis said casually. “Now, perhaps in gratitude you could give me
directions to
*******
“Another cup of tea, Seth?”
Seth looked up from the serving
spoon he was polishing. “Don’t mind if I
do,” he said, and pushed his cup across the kitchen table to Jessica, who
refilled it. “After all, if you’re going
to trick me into helping you polish your silver, the least you can do is keep
me refreshed.”
Jessica laughed and set the tea
kettle back on the stove. “I didn’t trick you. You asked if there were any
projects I needed help with while I was home during spring break.”
“I was thinking more along the lines
of storm windows and yard cleaning,” Seth muttered as he polished.
“Did those
already.” Jessica dumped another
handful of silverware on the table.
Seth sighed. “Is this all?
Or do you have more of your ancestors’ silverware stashed around here?”
“That’s all,” Jessica assured
him. “Except there is one silver picture
frame I have on the mantle that needs a quick polish too. I’ll go get it.”
“No, no, I got it,” Seth said. He took a fortifying gulp of tea, got up from
the table, and went into the living room, while Jessica resumed sorting the
silver that had already been polished clean.
There was a quiet rap at the back
door, and when Jessica turned to see who it was, there was Dennis Stanton
standing in her kitchen.
“Dennis!” she exclaimed. “I don’t believe it!”
Dennis gave her a warm embrace. “Believe it,” he said when he released
her. “I did promise to come to Cabot
Cove someday, remember.”
“So why are you here? Business or pleasure?”
Dennis swept her hand into his, raised it to his
lips, and kissed it. “Why, pleasure, of
course! I came to see you, dearheart.”
Jessica was skeptical. “Oh really,” she said. “And do you always bring your briefcase and
that umbrella sword thing with you on pleasure trips?”
Just then Seth re-entered the
kitchen with the picture frame. Dennis
dropped Jessica’s hand and turned to greet him.
“Dr. Hazlitt, I presume?” he said.
“You presume correctly,” said
Seth. “Who are you?”
Dennis produced a card with another
of his patented flourishes. “Dennis Stanton, of Consolidated Casualty. I’m a claims investigator, and a friend of
Jessica’s from
Seth took the card and looked at it
closely. Then he turned to Jessica and
said, “Jess, isn’t this the guy you told me about who
used to be a professional jewel thief?”
“Actually,” said Jessica, who had
retreated to a corner of the kitchen to watch the amusing exchange, “yes.”
Seth leveled a suspicious glare at
the newcomer.
“Ancient history, Doctor,” said
Dennis. “Since meeting Jessica I have
reformed my ways, and turned my talents to the forces of good.”
“Good,” said Seth. “So what are you doing here?”
“As I tried to tell Jessica, my
first purpose was to visit her in her natural setting … but as she so
accurately deduced, that was not my sole reason for coming.”
“You’re working on a case,” Jessica
observed from her corner.
“I’m working on a case,” Dennis
echoed, somewhat sheepishly.
“Ah, ha,” said Seth, who was trying
to smother the tiny flame of jealousy that had popped up unexpectedly inside
him. “And, as a claims investigator, we
can assume you’re here investigating a claim?”
“Yes,” said Dennis, “though I’m not
at liberty to discuss the details.”
“Oh?” said Jessica, her curiosity
aroused. “Why not?”
Dennis, sensing that he was about to be subjected to
a gentle-but-thorough interrogation, collected his things and backed toward the
door. “Well, it’s a matter of some
sensitivity,” he explained lamely. “A great deal of money at stake and all. Jessica, dearheart, would you be free for
dinner this evening by any chance?”
“She’s busy,” Seth said abruptly.
Jessica swung around, her eyes
wide. “I am?”
Seth made an attempt at some
complicated sign language, the gist of which seemed to be “later.” Jessica
turned back to Dennis.
“I’ll call you,” she said.
Dennis’s face lit up with a
smile. “I’ll count on it,” he said
warmly. “I’ll be staying at the Hill House Inn.
Til then …?” He lifted her hand
again and favored it with a second kiss.
Seth sighed inwardly.
After Dennis had gone, Jessica said,
“All right, Seth, what am I doing tonight that I don’t know about yet?”
Seth improvised quickly. “Going out to dinner with me,” he said. “I was going to invite you, to try out that
new place on
“You don’t like him, do you,” said
Jessica.
“I said no such thing! It’s just that I can see,” said Seth wryly,
“why he was so successful in his former profession.”
*******
The new restaurant on
“Michael, what are you doing here?” she
demanded.
Michael pouted. “Is that the best greeting you could come up
with?” he said. “After all we’ve been
through!”
“You mean after all you’ve put me
through.”
“Whatever. Did you know, Jess, that
it took me five minutes of fiddling with your lock before I realized the door
was open?”
“Michael …”
“You really shouldn’t do that, you
know. All sorts of unsavory types might
decide to drop in for a visit.”
“I know one that wouldn’t have been
deterred even if I had locked the
doors,” Jessica said, looking pointedly at him.
Trouble was, she was having an awfully hard
time trying to keep from smiling.
Michael had a certain charm about him, and he meant well – these things
had helped keep their friendship intact despite a number of misadventures.
“Make that two,” said Michael. “Tell me what Mr. Dennis Stanton is doing
here in Cabot Cove.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Michael shrugged. “No matter. We can talk about it later. Right now I want to discuss other matters
pertaining to some of the other unusual visitors being hosted by your fair
little village. And then we can talk
about us.”
“Forget ‘us,’” said Jessica. “What about them?”
“It’s actually one particular person
that I have a vested interest in,” said Michael. “I have reason to believe that hidden among
the various East Asian contingencies that have all decided to descend upon your
village is Patrick O’Hansen, an intelligence gatherer with terrorist
connections and a master of disguise. He
once escaped our grasp by dressing up as a nun.”
“Ah, really,” said Jessica.
“He’s a slippery one, he is. And he could be disguised as anyone or
anything. He could be hidden among the
Japanese financiers or the Buddhist priests.
He could even be mixing in with your local population, driving a pickup
truck with a bumper sticker reading, ‘Why’s
it called Tourist Season if we can’t shoot at them?’ A very dangerous man,
Jessica.”
“No doubt. Michael, get out.”
“But Jess! Surely you want to know more about him than
that!”
“I most certainly do not,” Jessica
said firmly. “Because every time I know more about anything you’re involved in,
I end up in the middle of it. I am too
busy right now to be in the middle of anything except my new book. Good luck on your search, and get out.”
“But Jessica, darling …”
“And don’t call me ‘Jessica
darling!’”
*******
The word that there was very possibly a terrorist
agent sojourning in Cabot Cove came as unwelcome news to its Sheriff when
Jessica reported it the next morning, over breakfast at the coffeeshop with him
and Seth.
“I hate to be the bearer of
unpleasant news,” she finished apologetically, “but I figured you did need to
know. And for all of his faults and
recklessness, Michael’s word does carry some weight with me.”
“And when did this Michael Haggerty impart this
information to you?” Seth asked.
“Overnight?”
“Well, yes,” said Jessica. “To be perfectly honest,
I found him in my bedroom when I came home last night.”
Seth nearly choked on his coffee as that little
jealously flame sputtered back to life.
“You found him where?”
Jessica shook her head. “Michael is a dear friend, but he does take
too many liberties. Mostly because he
can, I suppose.”
“You can say that again,” Seth said with a sidelong
look.
Mort Metzger, who had taken in the
news with uncharacteristic silence, had bigger problems at hand. “I don’t need this,” he finally said, with
some weariness. “I have my hands full already with the Japanese execs and the
Buddhist monks. Namely, I have to keep
them from starting a gang war on
“But Sheriff,” said Jessica, “it is
possible that the two problems are connected.
If what Michael told me is true, then the man you’re looking for could
be hidden among the either of the two diplomatic groups.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” said
Mort. He didn’t look much happier.
Jessica finished her orange juice
and reached for the check. “Well, I’ve
got a lot to do today,” she said. “See
you both later?”
“Oh, Jess, I nearly forgot,” Seth
said. He reached down into a shopping
bag under his chair, and brought out an old, leather-bound book. “Here,” he said. “I was snooping around the library’s old book
sale yesterday, and found this. It’s a
collection of Mark Twain’s work, I believe.
Down payment on your birthday.”
Jessica accepted it with glowing
eyes. “Seth!” she exclaimed. “It’s
beautiful! Thank you!”
After she had gone, Mort leaned
across the table to Seth and asked, “Okay, Doc – when’s her birthday?”
Seth sat back in his chair with a
smug look on his face. “Don’t tell me
you’ve forgotten!”
Mort bit back a few choice
“Tell you what,” said Seth. “You rip up one of my parking tickets, and
then I’ll tell you.”
“That’s extortion!” Mort
exclaimed. “Besides, why should I give
in to you when I could just ask Mrs.
F herself?”
“Because you know and I know that
you would … really rather not do that.”
Mort had to admit the truth in
Seth’s words. He reached into his jacket
pocket and pulled out his collection of Seth’s parking tickets, held together
with a rubber band - he liked to carry them around so he could taunt the doctor
with them from time to time – and deliberately removed one of them randomly
from the stack. He then proceeded to
ceremonially tear it in half.
“There,” he said. “Satisfied?”
Seth leaned forward, as though about
to impart some particularly sensitive information. “April 11th.”
“That’s two days away!”
“Two days, ay-yuh,” said Seth. “Tell you something else: that Twain book
isn’t the main gift – I just picked that up for her collection. I’ve found something better, I wrote it down
somewhere …” He
searched his pockets, but came up empty-handed.
“Uh, oh,”
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, but … I
think I left the slip of paper in the book.
I was using it as a marker.”
Mort set his coffee cup down with a
smile. “Well, it’s all over, Doc,” he
said. “Your surprise has about as much
chance of surviving til Mrs. F’s birthday as a snowball does on hot
blacktop. Unless, of
course, you can get it back.”
*******
Dennis perused the tables in the library’s basement
book sale, trying to look interested in travel books fifteen years out of date.
“Can I help you find something?”
Dennis looked down; Jean O’Neil, the
librarian, was at his side in her wheelchair.
“I was looking for something in the
way of American classics,” he said. “By
Mark Twain, in particular. Would you have anything like that?”
Michael Haggerty, browsing in the
gardening section, tucked this bit of information away, and moved toward the
door unnoticed.
Jean sighed. “You know, we did! A beautiful leather-bound collection of Mark
Twain stories. But we sold it yesterday
– to Doctor Hazlitt, I think. He has a
good eye for books.”
Dennis did some quick arithmetic in
his head. “You don’t say,” he said.
*******
Once Michael had slipped back outside, he made his
way to a pay phone.
“Yeah, it’s me, lad,” he said. “I’ve finally got a line on the material
we’re looking for. Riley was right; the
list was in the Twain book that got stolen from the
As Michael was speaking, he saw one
of the Buddhist monks passing by out of the corner of his eye and was
astonished to see that he was wearing … an earring?
“Patrick O’Hansen,” Michael muttered
to himself. “Look, I’ve got to go – I’ll
contact you later.”
*******
Michael slipped from shadow to shadow, professional skill and experience keeping him well in range of his quarry, yet unseen and undetectable. He had been lurking in the vicinity of the Hill House Inn, expecting that at some point O’Hansen would make a move, and when he did emerge, he followed him … to the library basement, where O’Hansen cleverly picked the lock to the door, letting himself in without a sound.
Michael followed at a discreet
distance, incorporating himself into the darkness, waiting for him to
re-emerge. When he did, Michael
let him pass, then drew his gun and slipped behind him – now that O’Hansen had
the bait, it was time to make his move.
But before he could do so, he heard a muffled shot, the sound of a gun
with a silencer firing. Michael
plastered himself to the grass, thinking incredulously that O’Hansen must have
spotted him, as impossible that was to believe.
But no second shot followed, nor any sound at all – which
seemed very odd. Cautiously
Michael got up, and approached the bushes he’d seen O’Hansen disappear into –
and nearly fell over the body of the man, shot to death with a single bullet.
Michael quickly recovered from his
shock, and deftly searched the dead man’s jacket pockets. No book.
The MI5 agent had only time to
register this completely unlooked for development when he heard the click of a
gun behind him, and the area was flooded with light from high beam flashlights.
“Don’t move,” Mort Metzger’s voice
said.
Michael shaded his eyes against the
glare and silently cursed himself for being so stupid.
*******
“So that’s how I figure it,” Mort
told Jessica and Seth the next morning at breakfast in her kitchen. “O’Hansen went to the library book sale
looking for a book he’d hidden there when he first arrived in Cabot Cove – I
mean, what better place to hide a book?
That much Haggerty told us. He
followed O’Hansen to the library, waited til he brought the book with the goods
outside, then plugged him and took it away from him. I mean, it was like door-to-door delivery!”
“Yes, but if that’s how it
happened,” Jessica countered, “where is it now?”
“What do you mean, where is it?”
“The book. I mean, if, as you say, Michael took it from
O’Hansen, why didn’t you find it on him when you arrested him?”
“Well, he must have hidden it.”
“Then he must have hidden it pretty
fast, wouldn’t you say?”
“These spy types are pretty slick,
Mrs. F,” Mort said, grabbing his hat and heading for the door. “I bet he could
have stashed that thing in a dozen places in the time it takes to say
‘Boo.’ But we’ll find it. See ya later, Doc.”
When Mort left, Jessica watched him
go and shook her head.
“What’s the matter, Jess?” Seth
asked her.
“I just can’t figure out,” she said
in a puzzled tone, “why an international terrorist would decide to hide here,
in Cabot Cove of all places!”
“Doesn’t seem strange to me at all,”
Seth said mildly.
Jessica turned and looked at
him. “What do you mean?”
“The way I figure it,” he said,
“Cabot Cove has two things going for it.
First of all, it’s at the very edge of the civilized world. And second, Jessica, you are here, and as everyone knows, you attract trouble like a
candle attracts moths!”
Jessica looked at him in astonishment,
then grabbed a dish towel and threw it at him.
*******
It was on her way to the Sheriff’s
Office to deal – somehow – with the Michael problem that Jessica came upon
Mayor Sam Booth leading the Japanese business contingent on a walking tour of
the town.
Sam caught sight of her and hailed her. “Ah,
Jessica, you got a moment?”
Jessica sighed inwardly; now was not
the best time for introductions. But the
mayor seemed to be running out of points of interest, and Sam clearly viewed
her as a ‘point of interest,’ so she decided to help him out.
“Gentlemen,” Sam announced, “allow me to
introduce you to one of Cabot Cove’s most famous citizens, mystery writer JB
Fletcher. Jessica, this is Mr. Okura,
the group’s leader, and his associates, Mr. Hikaru, Mr. Sonisari, Mr. Leeamu,
Mr. Fujiyama, and Mr. Yosaka.”
There were some scattered
appreciative sounds, and a lot of polite bows.
“It is a great honor meeting you,
Mrs. Fletcher,” one of group said. “I
run a publishing house in
“Why, thank you, that’s
good to know,” said Jessica. She wasn’t
sure what else to say, and a few of the group members seemed anxious to get on
with the tour; Mr. Leeamu was fidgeting with a little jade stud in his ear. Jessica shot a meaningful look at Sam. “Well, I won’t keep you from your walk,” she
said, looking pointedly at him.
Sam, who was basking in the light of
civic pride, abruptly came back to the present.
“Oh, yes, yes, thanks, Jessica,” he said. “Follow me this way, gentlemen!”
Jessica watched as they moved on,
following Sam in an obedient cluster, then returned to her own errand.
*******
“Jessica, at
last!” Michael exclaimed when he saw her come into the cell block. “I’ve been here for over eight hours! Where on Earth have you been, lass?”
Jessica looked at him in
surprise. “Where I’ve needed to be,” she
replied.
Michael grinned. “As evasive as ever,” he said. “No matter; you can tell me all about it as
soon as you get me out of here.”
“What makes you think you’re going
anywhere?”
The MI5 agent’s grin vanished. “I assumed you were here to bail me out,” he
said with the slightest touch of annoyance.
“Well, I was, but on my way over
here I had a change of heart,” she said.
“It occurred to me that Mr. O’Hansen was killed not more than thirty
paces from you. If it’s true that you
didn’t kill him, then there is an excellent chance that his murderer knew you
were following him.”
“Jessica …”
“And since he knew you were in the
vicinity and in all likelihood saw you, then it seems to me that this would
place you in considerable danger.”
“Jessica, I am perfectly capable of
looking after myself!”
“Oh, I’m sure!” said Jessica with
all sincerity. “But the killer has shown
remarkable cleverness so far, and if something were to happen to you in Cabot Cove, well, you can imagine how I’d
feel about that. No, I think that the
safest place for you is right here.”
Michael had a terrible feeling he
knew where this was leading. “You’re
still upset about
Jessica shook her head,
smiling. “Michael,
really. Do you think that I would
carry a grudge, just because you abandoned me in a jail cell ‘for my own
good’?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” he
replied grimly.
Jessica said nothing but turned to
leave; in panic, Michael called out to her:
“Jessica – are you really going to
just let me sit here in this bloody cell and cool my heels?”
Jessica turned at the door and fixed him with eyes that twinkled with mischief. “Yes,” she said simply, “- for your own good.”
*******
Seth approached Jessica’s house with
a sense of trepidation: he knew that she
wasn’t home, but the sure and certain knowledge of what Jessica would do to him
if she were to catch him snooping around made all assurances and certainly
meaningless. Still, this was
important. He had to get that bookmark
back before it was too late – if it wasn’t already too late – and this was the
only way he could think of to do it. He
took a deep breath, made sure the coast was clear, and went inside.
He had only just begun a thorough
search of the living room when he thought he heard a sound from the front
door. His first thought was that it was
his friend come home early, and he beat a hasty
retreat to the dining room, where he could watch the door from behind the china
cabinet.
Whoever it was at the front door, it
couldn’t be Jessica, because they were trying the lock. No, it sounded more like someone picking the
lock with deliberate care … and then realizing that the door wasn’t locked to
begin with. The door opened, and Dennis
Stanton walked in.
Dennis listened closely for a
moment, then very quietly shut the door behind him and stepped down into the
living room. He hadn’t gone more than a
few steps when the door opened with considerably more gusto and Jessica herself
stepped inside, wearing a look of stern disapproval. Seth shrank back further behind the china
cabinet: he had no idea where Jessica had appeared from so suddenly, but he was
certainly glad that she hadn’t been lying in wait for him.
Dennis stopped where he was with a
resigned smile, and turned around with deliberate grace to face her.
“Dennis,” said Jessica, “what are
you doing here?”
“Why, waiting for you, dearheart,”
Dennis answered smoothly. His charm was
turned up to the max, but it wasn’t working.
Jessica ran a hand through her hair
in annoyance. “Don’t ‘dearheart’ me,
Dennis Stanton,” she said. “I know you
better than that. You’re here because
you’re after something. What are you
looking for?”
Dennis looked taken aback. “Jessica, to imply that I would come here
solely for business purposes …”
“What are you looking for?” Jessica
repeated.
“Much though I would love to tell
you, I’m afraid at the moment circumstances leave me not at liberty to say.”
“I figured. Dennis, you know I love you dearly, but you
and Michael both know full well that I don’t like you walking in
unannounced. Yet you persist in waltzing
in here both when I’m here and when I’m not!”
“The Sheriff and Doctor Hazlitt seem
to have leave to come and go as they wish,” Dennis
pointed out.
“That’s different!”
“How so?”
“They’re not trying to be … to be sneaky about it!”
Seth cringed.
Jessica came down into the living
room and circled the insurance investigator, who started to make tentative
steps backward for the door.
”When
you decide to let me in on what you’re looking for, then you can come back,” she said, “provided that I’m home and that
you knock first!”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to do that,” said
Dennis hastily, not immune to the force of Jessica’s gaze, which at that moment
resembled that of an irritated barracuda.
“I wish you a very good day.” And
with that he tipped his cap and hastily left.
Seth took his cue to exit. While Jessica’s back was turned, he edged his
way from out behind the china cabinet, slipped into the kitchen, and fled out
the back door.
Jessica noticed this, having known
all along he was there, but decided not to say anything.
*******
Dennis left with an unfamiliar
feeling of consternation – he’d been thwarted, outsmarted, caught
red-handed! He wasn’t used to that.
It then occurred to him that Jessica
might not have possession of the
book, as he had assumed. It had been a
natural conclusion that the doctor had given the book to her, but that was all
it was, a conclusion: he had no evidence
to back that up.
The obvious next step, therefore, was to confirm his suspicions by ruling out that the book was still with Seth. Pleased with his flawless logic, Dennis set off in that direction at a brisk pace.
Getting inside wasn’t a problem –
didn’t anybody in this town lock their doors?
What was a problem was that
Seth lived with an organizational system that was clearly comprehensible to himself only. Books
and papers were stacked on almost every available flat surface in Seth’s
office; only his desk remained neat as a pin.
The sound of someone clearing their
throat behind him made him stand up straight and take notice … of Mort, and one
of his deputies standing in the office doorway.
“Looking for something, Mr.
Stanton?” Mort asked.
“Not anymore, I suppose,” Dennis
replied.
“Darn straight,” said Mort. “Floyd, take this guy down to the station and
book him for breaking and entering … oh, yeah, and for carrying a concealed
weapon,” he added, relieving Dennis of his trademark umbrella cane sword and
drawing the blade out a few inches.
“One thing I’d like to ask you
first, Sheriff,” Dennis said. “How on
earth did you know I was here?”
Mort and Floyd exchanged
glances. “We were forewarned,” Mort said
at last. “That’s all I’m gonna say.”
Dennis sighed. Thwarted, outsmarted, and caught
red-handed. “That’s all right, Sheriff,”
he said. “It was enough.”
*******
Dennis sat on the cot in his cell,
his long, lanky legs drawn up, idly tapping a complicated rhythm on the metal
bars with his fingers. He looked over at
Michael, who was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“So,” he said. “Pleasant facilities they have here.”
“Yes,” said Michael. “I’ve been given to understand that they are
a marked improvement over the old ones.”
“Funny, that such a small town
should need so many sophisticated cells.”
“This is not an ordinary small
town,” said Michael.
There was another long pause as each
returned to their own thoughts. At
length Dennis broke the silence again.
“How long have you known Jessica?”
he asked.
Michael frowned, counting. “Nine years,” he said. “I met her in the
Dennis looked at Michael in
astonishment and laughed. “The famous
recluse?” he said.
“The very same. Well, it worked for awhile, anyway. Anyhow, her search and mine were linked; we
ended up working in tandem; she managed to put the whole thing together in a
couple of days. We’ve run into each other
on and off since then. How about you?”
“I met her six years ago at a party
in
Michael mulled this over. “And she’s been running circles around you
ever since.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Dennis said,
drawing himself up slightly. “I’ve had
my share of adventures to brag about.”
“No doubt,” said Michael. “So have I.
But that doesn’t change the fact that whenever that woman’s around she
ends up with the upper hand, no matter how much control you or I had over the
situation to begin with.”
“Yes,” Dennis sighed. “The present situation is no different …”
“She’s running circles around both
of us,” they said together.
*******
When Jessica made her next
appearance in the cell block of the Cabot Cove Sheriff’s office it was not for
a social call. Any hopes that Michael or
Dennis might have entertained that she was there to bail them out vanished when
they saw the determined look on her face – this was business.
“All right, you two,” she
began. “For the last couple of days
you’ve been making nuisances of yourselves running around town and prying about
my house looking for something that neither of you will name. Now a man is dead, this ‘thing,’ whatever it
is, remains unfound, and there may be more deaths if this mess isn’t cleared up
soon. So – level with me.
“First of all, what is it exactly
that both of you are looking for, and why are people getting killed over it?”
Dennis and Michael exchanged
glances.
“The ‘thing,’” Dennis said at last,
“is a rare book, insured by my firm for $35,000. Three days ago it was stolen from a museum
exhibit. It was my theory that it was
actually taken by its owner, Patrick O’Hansen, who had loaned it to the museum
in the first place. That would
constitute a serious case of insurance fraud, so I followed him here, in hopes
of uncovering his involvement and recovering the book.”
“But it’s not just any book, Jessica,” Michael said. “Like I told you, the British government has
suspected for some time that O’Hansen had ties to certain terrorist groups,
including the IRA. A week ago we learned
that a list of coded high security radio frequencies for the British embassy in
“Hmm,” Dennis said, mostly to
himself. “Had we known Mr. O’Hansen had
such dubious connections, we would never have issued him the policy.”
“But if Mr. O’Hansen was a master of disguise, how
were you able to recognize him to follow him?” Jessica asked.
“By his earring,” said Michael. “It was small, and he was wearing it in his
right ear. Not the sort of thing you
would expect to see on a Buddhist monk – which, by the way, was the cover he used to sneak into Cabot Cove unnoticed. He was hiding in plain sight, right in the
middle of that cultural exchange tour from
Here Michael became more serious. “The trouble is, lass, we don’t know who his
contact was – only that this was where they were supposed to meet. With him still at large, you’re in a
dangerous position, Jess – if you do, in fact, have
that book.”
“I do,” Jessica said. “And thanks to the amount of time you’ve both
spent lurking around my house, you might as well have posted a neon sign
shouting ‘Here It Is’ over my front door.”
*******
Imagine, Jessica thought as she
threw herself down in her favorite chair – a few uninterrupted hours at home,
without having to worry about either Dennis or Michael breaking and
entering. She took a deep breath, then
let it go, letting some of her pent-up tension go with it, and reached for the
Mark Twain book, the same one that Dennis and Michael had been chasing – and
the one that Patrick O’Hansen had been murdered for.
The book was a fine piece of
craftsmanship, its leather binding unblemished, its pages barely cut. For a book dated somewhere around 1910, it
was in remarkably good shape. Which was
why she was surprised when she opened it and found the front endleaf torn and
curled, the only flaw in an otherwise meticulously preserved volume.
Ah, well, she though, you couldn’t
expect something so old to be absolutely perfect. Yet the endleaf bothered her, and in spite of
herself, she picked at it and pulled it away from the inside cover. A little folded piece of tracing paper
fluttered out, covered with numbers and symbols – undoubtedly the list of coded
communication frequencies Michael had described.
Her curiosity sparked, she wondered
what other secrets the book might hold, but further investigation showed the
back endleaf and the spine – always favorite hiding places – intact and
undamaged. There was one other
possibility: Jessica picked the book up
by its covers – carefully – and shook it out.
Here, a second piece of paper slipped out and fell to the floor.
Jessica picked it up and looked at
it. It was a scrap torn from a larger
sheet, and had an internet website printed in the top corner. It didn’t much resemble the coded sheet she
had found first, but somehow they had to be related. Well, there was only one way to find out; it
was time to surf the ‘net.
Jessica booted up her computer,
connected the modem, and entered the website address letter for letter. Then she hit return, and held her breath …
and nearly choked when the web page came up.
The page belonged to a jewelry shop
in
It didn’t take long for her to put together the rest
– Seth, the gift of the book, her approaching birthday. Jessica quickly logged off and put her head
in her hands; she had just ruined Seth’s surprise.
“Ah, me,” she sighed aloud. “It even has matching earrings …”
That was when she made the final connection, and
everything concerning the murder of Patrick O’Hansen fell into place.
*******
Jessica took Michael’s warning about the danger she
might be in seriously, so wasted no time in piecing together what she now knew
and coming up with a plan to prove it.
She took the Twain book and its contents – minus Seth’s jotted down
website note – back to the Sheriff’s office, and placed them on Mort’s desk.
“Hey, Mrs. F,” Mort said. “Back so soon?”
“Yes. Mort,
this book Seth found at the library sale is what Patrick O’Hansen was murdered
for – only the killer didn’t have it, I did.”
Mort held up his hand. “Whoa.
If it’s that important, how did it find its way into a used book sale?”
As concisely as she could, Jessica repeated what
Dennis and Michael had told her regarding the book, its secret, and the people
involved with it.
“O’Hansen’s killer didn’t find what he was after, so
it’s pretty safe to assume that he’s still in Cabot Cove. Now, Michael’s intelligence sources don’t
know who he is or what he looks like … and I’m reasonably sure that Mr.
O’Hansen himself didn’t know who he was or what he looked like either.”
“That would make sense,” Mort said. “It doesn’t pay to be recognizable in the
business these guys are in. But if
that’s the case, how were they supposed to find each other here for the
exchange?”
“By a pre-arranged sign that would identify
themselves to each other,” said Jessica.
“And I think I know what that sign was, and who O’Hansen’s contact
is. But I’ll need to keep the book just
a little longer to confirm it.”
*******
The waterfront was quiet and dark; all of the
fishermen that worked there had long since gone home. The night was still, the only sounds coming
from the lap of wavelets against the wharf and the creaking of boats leaning
against their moorings. A single lamp on a pole cast a pool of light beneath
it, and here Jessica waited until she heard the quiet footsteps she had been
expecting.
“Good evening, Mr. Leeamu,” she said. “At least, that was how you were introduced
to me – I doubt it’s your real name.”
The figure of a man – one of the members of the
Japanese business contingent – came forward into the lamplight. “Who I am is unimportant,” he said. “I received a note from Mr. Dennis Stanton,
regarding a piece of insured property he wished to discuss selling. I was to meet him here, at this time.”
“He’s unavailable,” said Jessica. “I came in his place.” She took the leather-bound Twain book out of
her totebag and held it up in the dim light.
“This, I believe, is what you are looking for – and what you murdered
Patrick O’Hansen to get.”
Leeamu gave a short laugh. “Mr. O’Hansen’s death was unfortunate,” he
said. “But what makes you think I came
to Cabot Cove to meet with him?”
“Your earring,” said Jessica. “When the mayor introduced me to your group,
I noticed that you were the only one wearing one – it’s not a piece of jewelry
usually worn by Japanese businessmen.
O’Hansen wore a matching one.
That’s how you were able to recognize him among the group of Buddhists
visiting from
“The Japanese and Buddhist groups had been picking
fights with each other ever since they arrived in Cabot Cove – it would have
been easy for you to pass a message to him in the confusion during one of the brawls,
setting up a meeting time and place. Who
knows, you may have even incited one of fights to create just such an
opportunity. Either way, O’Hansen went
to retrieve the book from its hiding place the night of the meeting – the
library used book sale. He couldn’t find
it because it had already been sold … but you didn’t know that until you killed
him and failed to find it on his body.”
“You cannot prove any of this,” Leeamu said.
“I think we can,” said Jessica. “The gun you used to
kill O’Hansen can probably be fetched up from the harbor at next low tide. We also have the testimony of your fellow
travelers that you didn’t join the trade mission until the last moment. And I’m pretty sure that a background check
will find that all of your business credentials have either been borrowed or
fabricated.”
“There is a Mr. Haki Leeamu,” the man said, “but you
are right: he is not here on this trip.”
With a surprisingly fast motion he whipped out a switch blade and held
it inches from her face. “I am Lee Duck
Wan, agent for the People’s Republic of
Jessica retreated from the knife point until she had
been backed up against the wall of a tackle storage shed. From there, there was no where else to
go. Wordlessly, she handed over the
book.
Lee grabbed it and went straight for the front
endleaf, taking the piece of tracing paper out of its hiding place. Then he opened it, and his expression of
triumph turned to one of dismay.
“This paper is blank,” he said. “O’Hansen cheated me!”
“Actually, no,” said Jessica calmly. “I did.”
Lee looked at her in amazement. “You?” He dropped the book and raised the knife for
a swift stab … then froze where he stood at the touch of cold metal against his
own throat.
Dennis and Michael stepped into the light flanking
Lee, Dennis never letting the tip of his umbrella cane sword waver from the
Chinese man’s neck. Mort, Andy, and
Floyd were right behind them.
“Take one step toward her,” Michael warned Lee, “and
I swear, it will be your last.”
*******
The party held at Jessica’s house
the next evening celebrated both her birthday and the closure of the O’Hansen
murder case. Dennis and Michael were not
forgotten; they had been invited as well, and what’s more, they were on their
best behavior – this, Seth had gently reminded them, was the least they owed to
their hostess for getting them both out of jail and cleared of homicide
charges.
After dinner Seth got up to clear
the plates, and headed into the kitchen.
Jessica watched him go, then after a moment, got up and followed him.
“Seth,” she said, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
Seth was so startled that he nearly
dropped the plate he was rinsing in the sink.
“Um, funny you should say that, Jess.
There’s something I needed to say to you too.”
“You first.”
Seth was plainly uncomfortable. “Well, um, I think I was a little harsh on
your friends Michael and Dennis. They
care about you, and they aren’t half as bad as I thought they were.”
Jessica stared at him. “That’s all?”
“Well, um, yes. I mean, given their tendencies for getting
into mischief … I was just looking out for you, is all.”
“Oh, that’s a relief,” said
Jessica. “I was beginning to think that
you were jealous of them or something.”
Damn that uncanny perception of
hers! “Uh, no, nothing like that,” he said. “Now you.”
Jessica lowered her eyes. “The pendant and the earrings are beautiful,”
she said. “But I have to confess … I found the scrap of paper in the book you
gave me. I thought it might have something
to do with the case, and I looked up the website – and that’s when I realized
my mistake. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right, Jess,” said
Seth. “I shouldn’t have carelessly left
it for you to find. After all, you can’t help what you are.”
A faint, returning
smile. “No, I suppose not.”
Seth gave her a quick embrace. “Now let’s get out there so you can cut that cake. I’ve been looking forward to it all day!”