Puzzles and Pearls
I recommend reading The
Highland Fling Murders, the 8th book in Donald Bain’s Murder,
She Wrote book series, and The Banks
O’ Loch Lomond, by Anne Del Borgo, prior to reading Puzzles and Pearls. I believe that the background that they
provide really makes this a much better story as it was by both of those works.
I would like to thank Donald Bain
for the wonderful character of George Sutherland.
I would
also like to extend a special thanks to Anne for the inspiration that The Banks
of
Just a short note
regarding continuity. While Banks O’ Loch Lomond was a great
influence for Puzzles and Pearls and
follows Jessica and George’s adventure there, it was written prior to On a Midsummer’s Eve (which you
really should read if you haven’t). Basically,
Puzzles & Pearls occurs along a parallel time line or in an alternate
reality (or unreality) if you prefer, than Anne’s wonderful Legends & Songs
Trilogy even though they share the same starting point of the Banks O’Loch
Lomond. Hopefully that makes sense. I suggest that you don’t let yourself get
bogged down in the continuity of things and just enjoy the story. I hope you do. -- Stephanie
“Good
morning, Mrs. Fletcher.” Jessica was
greeted brightly by her next-door neighbor, Stacy Nygaard.
The
first flowers of spring were in full bloom.
Deep purple crocuses, bright yellow daffodils and a river of red tulips
bordering Jessica’s front walk were a welcome sight after a long, bitter
“Oh,
Stacy, good morning. I must have been
daydreaming. How are you this morning?”
Jessica finally replied.
“Very
well, thank you, but I certainly can’t blame you for enjoying this beautiful
weather. I was just heading to the
clinic. Can I offer you a ride?” Stacy
said as she walked in the direction of her champagne colored Jeep Grand
Cherokee. She was dressed smartly in a
gray pantsuit and she carried a black Italian leather briefcase. Professional, yet feminine, Jessica
thought.
“Thank
you, but I think that I will take advantage of the weather and walk this
morning. See you at eight?”
“Sounds
good. Don’t forget about graduation
today,” Stacy reminded her, as she opened the door of her vehicle and reached
her briefcase across to the passenger seat.
“No,
believe me, I haven’t forgotten,” Jessica replied with delight.
**********
Jessica
enjoyed her leisurely walk toward the center of town. The gray storm clouds from the previous night
were clearing nicely and patches of blue now dominated the sky above. The sun’s rays warmed her face and a light
breeze ushered her along, carrying with it the scents of spring. Jessica walked toward Cabot Cove’s
Jessica
had been receiving physical therapy for the past several months after being diagnosed
with a frozen shoulder by her good friend, Dr. Seth Hazlitt. She had dislocated her shoulder the previous
year when she and her close friend, George Sutherland were attempting to flee
Jessica
hadn’t had the heart to tell George about her shoulder. He would undoubtedly feel dreadful if he knew
of the pain and disability that had plagued her over the winter months. The experience had certainly made Jessica a
believer in people who swore that they could predict the weather based on the
aches and pains in their joints. It was
not that George had not inquired about her shoulder on more than one occasion,
but Jessica was quite adept at skirting the issue, as she saw no point in
worrying him. He certainly had much
weightier matters to deal with everyday as a high-ranking inspector at Scotland
Yard in
**********
“Do
you have any other questions, Mrs. Fletcher?” Stacy asked. “You have your green Theraband and your new
home exercise print out so, you should be all set.”
“No
questions at all. You have been very
thorough. I greatly appreciate
everything that you have done for me,” Jessica said as she rose from her chair
and followed Stacy out of the treatment room.
“Well,
actually, Mrs. Fletcher, you deserve all of the credit because you did all of
the hard work. All I had to do was
convince you to do a few things that you really didn’t want to do and maybe
twist your arm a little bit. It is
always a pleasure to have a patient who is as compliant as you are,” Stacy said
with great sincerity.
“It
has been a pleasure to work with you as well and please, call me
Jessica.”
“I
will have to remember that when you are officially no longer my patient,” Stacy
replied while glancing down at her watch, “which would be right about
now.” They both laughed.
“Let
me know if there is anything that Mike or I can do for you while you are gone
and enjoy your time in
“I’m
glad to hear that,” Jessica responded as they passed through a swinging door
and into the small waiting room.
“Don’t
forget to pack your exercise band and instructions. There is no reason that you can’t do your
exercises while you’re gone and don’t forget that quality is more important
than quantity,” Stacy reminded her.
Jessica
and Stacy shook hands and gave each other a small hug before Stacy headed off
to see her next patient, but before she vanished once again behind the swinging
door, she turned, smiled and winked mischievously, before adding, “and no more
running through the woods with that Scottish inspector friend of yours, even if
he is as charming as he sounds.”
Jessica
felt her face flush slightly. Had she
talked about George that much?
Having
officially “graduated” from therapy, Jessica was now ready to get a few errands
crossed off her list before heading home to pack for her two-week stay at her
alma mater,
**********
Jessica
was greeted at the
“I
hope that you had a smooth flight, Mrs. Fletcher. Those small planes can get pretty bumpy at
times,” the young lady observed as she picked up both of Jessica’s bags.
“Yes,
they can, but we had a wonderful flight.
We had clear skies the entire way and Jed is a terrific pilot.”
“I
noticed he put her down right on the numbers, not an easy thing to do even
under VFR conditions like today.”
“No,
you’re right, it is not an easy thing to do.
Are you a pilot, Miss Ross?”
“No,
not me, but I do like to sky dive when I get the chance,” she said, glancing
upward at the blue sky above.
Jessica
shook her head. “I will never understand
why anybody would want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.”
Samantha
Ross ushered Jessica to the parking lot, which was located next to the
“I
apologize for the Jeep, but all of the college vehicles were already reserved
so I volunteered to drive my own.”
“That’s
quite alright, Miss Ross, this looks more than adequate,” Jessica said as she
climbed into the navy blue Jeep Wrangler.
“Please,
Mrs. Fletcher, call me Samantha, or Sam if you like,” she said as she settled
herself into the passenger seat. “I’m
afraid that we don’t have much time to have a proper dinner before your lecture
starts, but we do have time to catch something quick as we head back to
campus. Do you have a preference?”
“Actually,
why don’t you choose for us,” Jessica suggested. “I haven’t been in
“In
that case, I recommend the Bread Basket, one my favorite places. The sandwiches are superb and you can get
pretty much anything that you want. If
we’re lucky, maybe the sherry chicken soup will be on the menu today. If not, all of their soups are delicious and
very filling and their desserts are fabulous.”
“Sounds
delicious,” Jessica said enthusiastically.
**********
After
dinner, Samantha drove them to Meland Hall, which houses the largest lecture
hall on campus. It hadn’t changed, at
least on the outside, since Jessica’s college days when she had spent many
hours attending classes there. After
parking in a short-term parking spot in front of the building, Samantha showed
Jessica into the hall where she would be lecturing in a little less than an
hour. It was obvious that the room had
been prepared far ahead of time for her lecture that evening.
“Here
is the remote for the projector,” she said, handing the small controller to
Jessica. “It is already connected to the
lap top so, all we should have to do is insert your disk and you should be all
set.”
Samantha
booted up the computer, inserted the diskette that Jessica had brought with her
and assisted Jessica in loading the proper program. After the program had been loaded, she gave
Jessica a quick tutorial on operating the computer and the accompanying
audio-visual equipment.
“Now,
Mrs. Fletcher, if you don’t mind, I am going to run out and move my Jeep before
I get a parking ticket. I will drop your
bags off and be back in a jiffy.”
“That
sounds fine. It will give me a chance to
review a few of my notes,” Jessica replied.
**********
Jessica
had spent nearly an hour presenting “Murder Mystery Writing 101” for the
Harrison College Life Long Learning program and her voice welcomed a brief
respite.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, may I get you a cup of coffee, a soda, or maybe a glass of water?”
asked Samantha as she approached Jessica at the front of the room.
“A
glass of water sounds wonderful,” Jessica replied. “Coffee at this time of night will keep me up
until dawn.”
“I am so sorry about the lighting in the rear
of the room. I have called maintenance
but have no idea when they will get here.
Most likely tomorrow. Those poor
people in the back rows are practically in the dark,” she sympathized.
Samantha
Ross was a beautiful young lady with gray-blue eyes and short, stylish blonde
hair. She was tall and athletic, yet
elegant. Samantha was evidently very
intelligent and from their telephone conversations, Jessica had determined that
she was one of the most organized people that she had ever encountered. She was bursting with energy and enthusiasm,
which radiated to all of those around her.
Samantha
returned shortly with a tall glass of ice and a bottle of water, which she
handed to Jessica.
“You
enjoy your water and rest your voice and I’ll collect the questions for the
Q&A period,” Samantha said. “It has
been my experience that if we start with a few written questions, the audience
is less timid and more likely to get involved.
You probably don’t need the help, but we have had a few lecturers in the
past whose topics were…let’s say… mind-numbing,” she whispered the last word,
“and it was very helpful.”
“And
so, Mr. Heinz, I would recommend that you write, write and re-write. You may also benefit from taking some
workshops and it is always a good idea to become involved with other writers in
your field. As you probably already
know, becoming a published author is very hard work. I hope that I answered your question
sufficiently.”
“Yes,
you did. Thank you.”
An
eager young co-ed in the front row waved her hand enthusiastically.
“Yes,
the young lady in the front row,” Jessica prompted.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, is it true that you never intended on being a professional writer?”
“You
are quite right. I actually wrote my
first book without any intention of trying to have it published. I was really just filling time after my
husband passed away. It was just
something that I had wanted to try for quite some time, sort of a personal
challenge. My nephew stumbled upon my
manuscript and without my knowledge or permission passed it on to a friend in
the publishing world and the rest is history, as they say. I was very fortunate.”
The
next question came from a middle-aged woman seated in the center of the
auditorium. “Mrs. Fletcher, would you
mind signing a copy of your new book for me?
I brought it along with me tonight.”
“Certainly,
I’d be happy to sign your book. We can
do it as soon as we are finished here.”
The
question and answer period went much longer than originally planned, but
Jessica enjoyed the enthusiasm of her audience and stayed until they had no
further questions.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, that was absolutely wonderful.” Dr. James Andrews greeted Jessica as
she left the small stage. “Thank you so
much for speaking tonight. We are so
happy that you agreed to join us for the next couple of weeks. I know that all of our creative writing
students are looking forward to learning from you.”
“You’re
so kind, Dr. Andrews. It is my
pleasure,” Jessica replied.
Dr.
Andrews was a short, thin man with gray hair, nearly white at his temples. He was dressed in a gray suit with a white
shirt and red “power” tie and he wore small, round, wire-rimmed glasses. He was a pleasant man, but seemed to be a bit
frazzled at the moment.
“I
hate to run, but I have another engagement this evening,” Andrews said. “Samantha will make sure that you get back to
your hotel tonight and we can meet for breakfast tomorrow morning at the
Trestle to go over your schedule. Say,
eight o’clock?”
“Oh,
don’t worry about me. Samantha is doing
a wonderful job. I am sure that we will
be just fine. Eight o’clock at the
Trestle. I look forward to it.”
“I
am sorry about that, Mrs. Fletcher. Dean
Andrews is having a hectic week. I am
surprised that he even had time to make an appearance tonight,” Samantha
commented.
“Thanks
quite all right. I certainly didn’t come
here to be wined and dined,” Jessica said as she placed her diskette and a few
note cards into her briefcase.
“They
are revamping the criminology program here,” Samantha explained. “Some type of cooperative effort with the FBI
and some other law enforcement agency.
Anti-terrorism emphasis, I think.
They are working with consultants from the Boston Police Department, the
FBI and even Scotland Yard. I am sure
that Dean Andrews has been busy rolling out the red carpet for those
folks. Politics, you know.”
“You
wouldn’t happen to know any of their names, would you?” Jessica asked. “I have a friend who works for Scotland
Yard.”
“Let
me see, I have a memo here in my bag.
Special Agent John Spencer of the FBI, Detective Judy Walsh from the
Boston PD and Inspector Thomas Whitmore from Scotland Yard,” she read before
returning the paper to her bright yellow and gray backpack.
“No,
my friend’s name is George Sutherland.
Thank you for checking, though.”
“I
think that I have just about everything.
Just let me check once more and we can head back to your room at the Kappa
Delta house. I hope that’s right because
that’s where I delivered your luggage.”
“Yes,
an old friend, practically a sister, is the house mother there,” Jessica
explained. “Sort of nostalgic in a
way. We are looking forward to spending
some girls only time together,” she said with a slight grin.
“Let
me get the lights and we can sneak out the back way. It will be quicker,” Samantha suggested as
she motioned for Jessica to follow her.
“I should have asked, but you don’t mind walking, do you? It’s not very far.”
“No,
I would welcome a walk.”
“Oh,
shoot. Mrs. Fletcher, could you grab
that small stack of paper there next to the banister? Sometimes, I swear I would lose my head if it
weren’t attached,” Samantha admonished herself.
“I
like to keep a file of materials from each lecturer, including any unused
questions. You never know what will come
in handy in the future.”
As
Jessica reached for the papers, the prose on the top page caught her
attention.
“Of a’ the airts the wind
can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie Lassie
lives,
The Lassie I lo’e best.”
Good
old Robbie Burns, Jessica thought to herself.
“One minute, Samantha,” Jessica said as she glanced back into the now
empty auditorium.
“Is
everything okay, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes,
I just wanted to check on something,” Jessica replied as she handed Samantha
the small stack of paper.
“Strange,”
Jessica said shaking her head slightly.
“Aye,
the little ditty by Robbie Burns,” Samantha said in a very convincing Scottish
accent after noticing the questionnaire that Jessica had been reading. “Paul must have stopped by to catch part of
your lecture. He knows that I like
Burns. When I first met him, he would
leave little notes like that for me. I
think he wanted to ask me out on date.”
“Did
it work?”
“Not
exactly. We’re just good friends, but
sometimes I get the idea that he is interested in more than that. Back then he would leave poems and even notes
that were written in some sort of code, anagrams and such. It was kind of fun and got me hooked on word
puzzles. Actually, we’re meeting for coffee
later if you would like to join us.”
“Sounds
tempting, but I already have other plans this evening. Maybe sometime before I head back to Cabot
Cove,” she offered.
“Whenever
it fits into your schedule. I should
warn you ahead of time, though. If you
do meet Paul, don’t be surprised if he asks you for an interview.”
“Is
he a reporter?” Jessica asked.
“Yes,
but I hinted that you had a very busy schedule while you were here so hopefully
he won’t mention it, but knowing Paul, I wouldn’t count on it. He doesn’t get many opportunities to
interview celebrities here in
“No,
I don’t imagine that he does, although, I have never considered myself to be a
celebrity.”
“Just
the same, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
He can be fairly tenacious about certain things.”
“Point
taken. I’ve been adequately warned.”
Samantha
led Jessica through a small maze of hallways and out the rear door of the
lecture hall. The pair continued their
pleasant conversation as they made their way toward Jessica’s home for the next
two weeks, Kappa Delta house. Samantha
was a wonderful hostess and made Jessica feel very at ease. In addition to being highly intelligent, she
conveyed sincere interest in their conversation. Jessica certainly looked forward to spending
more time with her over the next two of weeks.
**********
“Jessica,
you’re here,” squealed Margaret Sands, as they hugged. “I am so excited to see you. You look wonderful, not a day older than the
last time we saw each other.”
“I
love to hear it, even if it isn’t true.
Look at you. You are stunning as
ever,” Jessica returned the compliment.
“Well,
living in a house with 30 young girls tends to keep you…well, hip, I guess,”
Margaret replied.
“Now,
I’ve already gotten your things settled.
Sam dropped them off a couple of hours ago. You’ll be staying in my apartment, which is
right around the corner here. It is
secluded from the girls’ rooms and most importantly it has its own private
bathroom,” Margaret explained as she led the way for Jessica. “It’s quite a bit smaller than our house, but
it does have two bedrooms so, I have plenty of space.”
“It’s
charming!” Jessica exclaimed as they entered the small residence. The living room was very tastefully decorated
in cream, navy and burgundy. Before
moving back to
“Very
warm and inviting,” Jessica observed after they had seated themselves in the
living room.
“Yes. It reminds me of Curtis. This room in particular makes me feel like I
am surrounded by him. It gives me
peace.” Her tone had become noticeably more somber.
“He
was a wonderful man, Margaret. I am sure
that you miss him terribly,” Jessica comforted her dear friend. They sat quietly, taking in their
surroundings for a few moments.
“Well,
on to a more cheerful topic,” Margaret said, trying to elevate her mood. “Tell me what you have been up to. It has been forever since we last saw each
other.”
They
discussed nearly all aspects of their current lives. Jessica was looking forward to summer and
working in her garden, had a book tour scheduled for fall and planned to host
both Thanksgiving and Christmas at her home in Cabot Cove. Margaret enthusiastically accepted her
invitation to visit for the holidays and showed Jessica the plans for her
latest interior design project, a renovation of the
**********
Jessica
awoke refreshed and invigorated and by six o’clock was ready for an early
morning walk around campus. She had
dressed in gray sweat pants and a red and blue windbreaker. The sun was rising and created a warm glow
across the entire campus. She loved
quiet moments like this. Suddenly, she
heard the sound of running shoes on the path behind her.
“Good
morning, Mrs. Fletcher.” It was Samantha
Ross. “Out for a morning walk? I thought that you might have slept in after
your busy day yesterday,” she said as she monitored her pulse. A serious runner, Jessica thought to herself.
“No,
this is my favorite time of day. I hate
to miss it,” Jessica replied.
“Do
you mind if I join you?” Samantha asked.
“I should be starting my cool down now.”
“Certainly,
by all means,” Jessica responded.
They
chatted about Jessica’s upcoming creative writing classes and Samantha offered
several suggestions for dining and entertainment while Jessica was visiting.
“Well,
this is me,” Samantha said, coming to a stop.
“I would recommend taking the path along the river. There are some spectacular views, spectacular
views for a college campus anyway,” she clarified.
“I
will be sure to do that. How far is the walk around campus?” Jessica queried.
“Two
and a quarter miles on the perimeter and closer to three miles if you take the
path along the river and make a figure of eight.”
“Do
you run quite a bit?”
“Only
a couple of laps this morning, but if I didn’t run every day, I would have to
give up cooking and I love food so, I run.”
“Do
you have a specialty?” Jessica asked inquisitively.
“I
just dabble a bit,” Samantha answered with a slight tilt of her head and shrug
of her shoulder. “Desserts, sweets,
anything with chocolate. My mother was
an executive chef so I have spent plenty of time in the kitchen. She and her partner owned the Vintage at the
Balmoral before she died. He still lets
me use the kitchen when I get in the mood and I even help out when the pastry
chef needs a hand. It is a nice change
from working in the library,” she explained.
“Actually, I will be there tomorrow night. You should come, be my guest.”
“That
sounds wonderful, but I have no idea what my plans are just yet.”
“I’ll
tell you what, Mrs. Fletcher, they always leave one empty table at the seven
and eight o’clock seatings, just in case somebody important drops by without a
reservation. I’ll put your name down for
the eight o’clock reservation just in case you decide you can make it. If you can’t, there is bound to be a walk-in
who will take it in a heartbeat.”
“I
certainly can’t say no to that,” Jessica agreed.
“Well,
I really should take a shower and get to work.
It was good to see you again, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said before continuing
up the walkway toward her home and disappearing inside.
Jessica
continued her walk along the river. It
was as lovely as she had remembered it.
After
meeting with Dean Andrews for breakfast to discuss her teaching schedule and
responsibilities for the next two weeks, Jessica was free for the remainder of
the day until an evening social sponsored by the
**********
Jessica
felt as though she had met every faculty member and administrative person
employed by
“Mrs.
Fletcher, would you please bear with me for just another ten minutes or
so. There are a few more people that I
would really like for you to meet.
Please, have a seat here at my table.
I know that they are running late after a long day of meetings, but they
should be here any minute,” he assured her.
“I will go and see if I can find them.”
Despite
her fatigue and desire to turn in for the evening, Jessica did as he requested
and seated herself at his table along with several other people, who she had
not previously met. With Dean Andrews
gone, they made their own introductions.
Dr.
Judith Kraft was an assistant professor in the English Department. She was a pleasant woman with an average
build, fine features and red hair. She
was dressed almost casually in a bright multi-colored, flowing skirt, white
blouse and long, dangling earrings.
Dr.
John Osman was a professor of archeology and he would certainly qualify as
tall, dark and handsome. Jessica guessed
his age to be between forty and forty-five.
His face was tan and he wore a heavy five o’clock shadow. His brown suit was exceptionally tailored and
was complimented nicely with a white shirt and muted brown tie.
Seated
next to Dr. Osman was Teresa Castleman.
She was dressed in a short, black skirt with a vintage black tweed
jacket, which covered a pink charmeuse blouse.
Her make-up had been carefully applied and accented her high cheekbones,
but was unsuccessful in hiding the expression of disinterest that she wore on
her slightly pretty face. She was by no
means unpleasant, but did seem uninterested in chitchat. Apparently Jessica was not the only one who
was ready to call it a night.
Seated
on the other side of Ms. Castleman was Karen Andrews, Dean Andrews’s wife. She was a very pleasant woman, who seemed to
be enjoying herself immensely. No doubt,
she was very familiar and comfortable playing the part of hostess.
Seated
on Jessica’s immediate left was Dr. Martin Koob. Dr. Koob appeared to be in his mid-forties
and had sandy brown hair with just a touch of gray. He was dressed in a navy suit with a white
shirt and red and blue paisley tie.
Jessica’s initial impression was that he was a pleasant man, but perhaps
a bit shy.
Jessica
tried her best to carry on polite conversation, but struggled to keep her eyes
open and had nearly succumbed to her exhaustion when Dean Andrews finally
returned with his guests.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, I would like to introduce you to the trio of consultants who are
working with our criminology department, Detective Judy Walsh of the Boston PD,
Special Agent John Spencer of the FBI and Chief Inspector George Sutherland of
Scotland Yard.”
Jessica
was instantly jolted awake at his words, but it took her a few moments to
completely process the information.
“Mrs.
Fletcher?” Dean Andrews said.
After
recovering from her initial shock, Jessica finally spoke. “It is a pleasure to meet you,
Inspector.” A hint of confusion
accompanied her words. Jessica stood,
shook hands and exchanged polite greetings with each of the three law
enforcement officials.
“The
pleasure is most certainly mine,” responded Sutherland, with a mischievous grin
and a twinkle in his green eyes.
“The
J.B. Fletcher! The mystery writer?”
Detective Judy Walsh asked.
“That’s
right, Detective Walsh,” Andrews answered.
“Mrs. Fletcher gave a lecture last evening as part of our Life Long
Learning program and she will be teaching creative writing for us over the next
couple of weeks,” he explained. “Jessica’s
first lecture was such a success that we have asked her to do a repeat
performance before she leaves,” he continued.
“Jessica is undoubtedly our most famous alumnus. She has even had a hand in solving one or two
real murders, I understand,” he continued.
By now, Jessica was feeling more than a bit awkward.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, my wife loves your books. She
can’t put them down,” Special Agent John Spencer interjected.
“Thank
you, Agent Spencer, that is so kind of you to say,” Jessica responded with a
kind smile.
“Perhaps
Mrs. Fletcher would like to sit in on some of our meetings this week?”
Detective Walsh suggested eagerly to the group.
“Oh,
you’re too kind, but no, I prefer to stick with writing about fictional
crime. True crime isn’t my turf, so to
speak. I really prefer to leave it to
professionals, like yourselves,” Jessica said, declining the offer.
“All evidence to the contrary, Mrs. Fletcher,” George replied, a thin smile creeping across his lips.
After
several minutes of polite conversation, Dean Andrews excused himself and
ushered the small contingency toward another group of attendees, but not before
George discretely whispered something close to Jessica’s ear. “Meet you outside, by the fountain, in twenty
minutes?”
She
smiled, her answer was clearly reflected in her now radiant face.
Jessica
said a few more goodbyes, located her coat and slipped out of the party and
into the fresh evening air. She had no
trouble finding the fountain again even after so many years. It had been one of her favorite places to
study as a student. No sign of George yet, though. She rummaged through her purse, dug out a
penny, gazed into the glassy water for a moment and tossed in the coin. She was so lost in thought that she hadn’t
noticed him watching her nor did she hear him approach from behind.
“You
certainly are a bonny site for this Scotsman’s sore eyes, Jessica Fletcher,” he
whispered softly into her ear before gently kissing her cheek.
“George! What on earth…what are you doing here?”
Jessica exclaimed as she turned to face him and gave him a huge hug. “It is so wonderful to see you, unexpected,
but wonderful,” she said as she released him from her embrace. Jessica’s face beamed with happiness.
“Well,
I’d say that is a tad better than ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Inspector,’”
he mocked playfully. “You had me worried
there for a minute, Jessica.”
“I’m
sorry about that, George, but I think I dozed off for a second and then seeing
you…well, it ‘threw me for a loop,’ as they say,” Jessica explained.
“Aye,
the look on your face was priceless, my dear.
No harm done, though. I think
that my ego is still sufficiently in tact.”
“Now,
let me look at you,” he said as he took her hands, raised them above her head
and pirouetted her around, admiring her graceful form.
“Ouch,”
she cringed.
“Oh,
Jess, forgive me. Your shoulder! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No,
it’s my toe. New shoes, and not very
sensible ones at that,” she explained.
“Are
you sure? You know you can always be
honest with me, Jessica,” he said.
“I am
always honest with you, George. I’m
surprised that you would even say that.”
She sounded a bit annoyed.
“I
do worry about you sometimes, Jessica. I
just don’t want you ending up back at the bloody physiotherapist,” he
replied.
“How
did you know that?” she asked in great surprise.
“Confidential
informant,” he answered, trying to inject a little bit of humor into the
situation.
After
a few moments of contemplation, Jessica asked, “Maureen Metzger?”
“Now,
how did you know that?” It was now George’s turn to be
surprised.
“Elementary,
my dear, Inspector,” Jessica retorted.
“She
rang you, didn’t she?” he asked with a nod.
She smiled and they both laughed.
“Well,
sort of. Mort left a message today
saying that Maureen had taken a call from you, but I haven’t had time to return
his call to get the details. Now, go on,
tell me what you’re doing here?”
George
spent the next few minutes explaining how he had been asked, at the last
minute, to fill in for a colleague, who had become ill with appendicitis. He had spent three days at
“Your
turn. Tell me about your lectures and
the classes that you will be teaching.”
Jessica did so quickly.
“Do
you have plans for the remainder of the evening?” George asked.
“The
only thing on my agenda was a long, hot bath and then to bed. What did you have in mind?”
He
reached into the pocket of his brown tweed jacket and withdrew his pipe. After lighting it and taking a few satisfying
puffs, he asked, “Care to take a walk with me?”
“Of
course,” she replied as she hooked arms with him. “Would you mind walking me back to my room,
though? I should really check in with
Margaret so she doesn’t wonder where I’ve run off to.”
“Fair
enough, but you’ll have to lead the way,” he answered.
The
walking paths were relatively quiet, with the exception of a few other faculty
and staff leaving the reception, the occasional student hurrying back to his or
her dormitory and a young couple walking hand in hand, seemingly in no rush to
go anywhere.
“On
your left,” they heard as long, fast strides approached them from behind.
“Oh,
hello, Mrs. Fletcher,” the voice said as the figure slowed to a stop next to
them.
“Samantha. You’re running again?” Jessica asked.
“I
had to make up for taking it easy this morning.
Besides, I find running relaxing.
Good for thinking, actually,” she said, not the slightest bit out of
breath.
“Samantha
Ross, I would like to introduce you to a good friend of mine, George
Sutherland.”
“It
is a pleasure to meet you, sir.
“Aye,
and it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ross,” he answered, while shaking her
hand.
“Please,
call me Sam. Sorry to intrude on your
walk. It is a lovely night for it.”
“Yes,
it is,” Jessica agreed.
“I
really should get going, sorry again for intruding. See you tomorrow night, Mrs. Fletcher? Bring the inspector, you’ll have a great
time, I promise.”
“I’m
not sure what my plans are for tomorrow night, but I will let you know if I…if
we can make it.”
“Good
enough for me. Enjoy the rest of your
walk, Mrs. Fletcher, and mar sin leibh an drasda, Inspector?” she said
as she jogged backwards, turned away and then resumed her run with long, smooth
strides.
“What?”
Jessica asked, confused by Samantha’s final words.
“She
said goodbye for now,” George explained.
“Charming lass.”
“And
a very intelligent woman,” Jessica commented.
“And very beautiful.”
“Hardly
noticed, with you on my arm, Jess.”
“What
do you mean, hardly noticed?” she said, giving his arm a light squeeze. “How could you not notice? She’s stunning!”
“I
said that I hardly noticed. A man would
have to be blind not to have noticed at all, Jessica. Now, what were these plans for tomorrow
evening?” George said in an attempt to change the topic.
“Nothing
definite yet, but Samantha invited me for dinner at the Vintage
restaurant. Apparently, she will be
helping out in the kitchen. Her mother
was actually the executive chef and part owner there at one time.”
“Miss
Ross is a chef?”
“Not
exactly. She is actually a research
librarian, but also has a love for cooking.
She helps the pastry chef on occasion.
After dinner, she mentioned some type of movie that is showing on
campus.”
“Well
then, I suggest we take her up on her invitation, at least for dinner, unless
you already have other plans.”
“No,
I’d love to. The reservation is at
eight,” she replied.
They
continued to walk along the well-lit path until coming to a small river where
the trail divided itself. They chose the
path that continued along the winding stream with plans to cross at its
southern most bridge. Their conversation
had slowed. Jessica enjoyed the warm,
clear night and George was deep in thought.
“Here
it is,” Jessica announced. “
George
stopped as they reached the center point of the small bridge, tamped down the
ashes in the bowl of his pipe and placed it back into his jacket pocket.
“Beautiful
campus,” he observed. George turned to
face Jessica and coupled her hands in his.
His kind, gentle green eyes looked downward, peering deeply into
hers. To his pleasant surprise, she held
his gaze.
“Jessica,
I need your opinion on a small matter, but first I need to clear up a couple of
things that have been weighing on my mind the past day or two,” he
admitted. “Jessica, are you sure that
your shoulder is all right?”
“Poor
man, what had Maureen Metzger said to him?” Jessica thought to herself.
“Honestly,
George, my shoulder is fine. Really, it
is, you needn’t worry. It’s good as
new. I promise,” she assured him as she
elevated her left arm and made a large circular motion with it. “See?”
“Aye,
I can see that it is fine now, but why didn’t you tell me that you were
having to see a physiotherapist? I seem
to remember us agreeing that you were free to share your burdens with me.”
“I wouldn’t classify it as a burden. It was really more of an inconvenience,” she said casting her glance downward and away from his eyes.
“Semantics,
Jess. That’s not the point. What kind of relationship do we have if you
can’t share these things with me? I’m
sure that Seth and Mort both knew about it, didn’t they?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,
yes, they both knew. That was
unavoidable.” She paused, looked upward
and once again met his eyes. “George, I
just didn’t want you to worry about me.
You have plenty of other troubles to deal with everyday and you
certainly don’t need to add me to your list.”
“Jessica,
love, you are rarely that far from my thoughts, although I will admit that I’m
usually more worried about what kind of trouble you’re getting your pretty
little neck into.”
“Point
taken,” Jessica said. “Thank you for
being concerned about me, George,” she said as she raised herself slightly and
gently kissed him on the cheek before turning to continue across the bridge. “Now, what was it that you wanted my opinion
about?”
Still
holding her hands in his, George gently pulled her back toward him and drew her
into his embrace. “In a minute,” he
murmured.
His arms enveloped her firmly, but with a certain gentleness. He bent his head downward, letting their cheeks brush slightly against one another. She could feel his warm, slow breathing against her neck and any desire that she had to continue their walk had quickly melted away. George released her slightly, lifted her chin gently and looked down into her eyes. “I’ve missed you terribly, Jessica.” She suddenly grew pale and drew herself down into his chest and deeper into his embrace. George could feel her tremble in his arms.
“What’s
the matter, Jess?” he asked tenderly.
“Look!”
she exclaimed as she pointed to the near shore.
The distinct outline of a human body could be seen lying in a crumpled
position, moonlight reflecting off Samantha Ross’s white illumiNITE running
vest. Her once beautiful face, partially
illuminated in the moon’s glow was trickled with thick, crimson blood while her
head lay in an unnatural position.
George
climbed down the rock retaining wall to the river’s edge, where Samantha Ross’s
body lay in a crumpled heap. He
carefully assessed her vital signs, being careful to not disturb anything.
“Jessica,
I’m afraid that she’s dead,” George said from below. “We had better call the authorities.”
“I’ll
do it. You stay,” Jessica said before quickly making her way to the Kappa Delta
house where she called 911. She returned,
accompanied by Margaret.
“Oh,
my! Is that Samantha Ross?” Margaret exclaimed.
The
faint sound of sirens could now be heard in the distance.
“Jessica,
why don’t you two stay up there? ” George suggested.
Although
Jessica would have preferred to explore things a little bit with George, she
knew that he was right. She also knew
that if Samantha’s death had not been an accident, it was vitally important to
not contaminate the scene. Shortly after
Jessica and Margaret seated themselves on a bench next to the walking path, two
police cars arrived, with lights flashing and sirens wailing.
“Did
one of you ladies call 911?” the young officer asked urgently. He appeared fresh out of the academy and
didn’t look any older than his early twenties.
“I
did,” Jessica said as she approached the young man.
“You
reported a body. Where is it?”
“Down
there,” Jessica said, pointing downward toward the river’s edge, where George
stood a few feet away from the body, which was now totally in shadow.
“And
who the…who’s down there with her?”
“Hey,
get out of there, you’re contaminating my scene!” he yelled with the utmost
authority.
“Excuse
me, officer, but that is my friend George Sutherland. He is a Chief Inspector with Scotland
Yard. We were together when we
discovered her.”
“I
don’t care who he is, I want him out of my crime scene.” He paused.
“Did you say Scotland Yard?”
“Yes,
I did, Officer….”
“Sorry,
ma’am, it’s Rellik, Officer Greg Rellik.”
“And
I am Jessica Fletcher.”
“Nice
to meet you,” he mumbled as he shook her extended hand.
“Carl,
call Jeff and get him down here immediately and then set up a perimeter!”
Officer Rellik barked at his colleague, who had also responded to Jessica’s 911
call.
Officer
Rellik stood at the edge of the river embankment as George ascended the last
few feet of rock wall.
“What
do you think?” Officer Rellik asked.
“Pardon
me?”
“Sorry,
Inspector, but I didn’t exactly know who you were?”
“Greg
Rellik, GFPD,” the young officer said as he extended his hand to shake with
George.
“George
Sutherland,” George replied.
“The lady said you were with Scotland Yard?”
“Aye. That’s right.”
“Well,
what do you think, Inspector?” Rellik asked again.
“Hard
to see much in the dark,” George deferred.
“I
had better at least check for identification so we can notify the parents. Care to take another look?” he offered.
Officer
Rellik, followed by George, climbed down to the lifeless form, which lay
partially against the base of the rock wall.
“Samantha?
Sam! No!” he yelled as he neared her body.
“You
knew her?” George asked after a few minutes.
“Ya’,
I know her,” the young officer answered faintly.
“Hey,
Rellik, you down there?” yelled a voice from above.
“Shut
up and get down here, Jeff. It’s Sam!”
“And
get the forensics squad here, yesterday,” he ordered.
**********
By
now, a moderately sized crowd of onlookers had gathered behind the yellow crime
scene tape, many whose morbid curiosity had them craning their necks in an
effort to get a glimpse of Samantha Ross’s body as it was removed from the
scene by the
George
and Jessica had finished answering routine questions from both Officer Rellik
and a GFPD Detective, named Jeff Rellik, and had provided their names and
contact information for the next couple of weeks. Jessica judged Detective Rellik to be in his
mid-thirties. He was dressed in gray
slacks, white shirt and dark gray jacket.
Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if the two officers were somehow
related. Rellik was not a common name
and the spelling was a bit unusual. They
had strikingly similar features – high cheekbones, firmly set jaws, closely cut
fair hair and an air of self-assuredness – and a slight accent, which she could
not quite place.
“Inspector
Sutherland, Mrs. Fletcher, if there is anything else that you remember, please
give me a call,” the Detective said, as he scribbled a number on the back of
his business card and handed it to George.
“We’ll
be sure to do that, Detective,” George said, taking the card and placing it
into his jacket pocket.
“Detective,
do you know if Miss Ross had any family here in
“No,
I don’t think that she did. Her father
passed away several years ago and her mother died in a car accident last
year. Excuse me a minute, I have to take
this,” he said as he flipped open his cellular phone and walked a few steps
away. “Just a second, I need to write
this down,” he said and he pulled a small notebook from his pocket. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Did you see anything of interest down there?”
Jessica asked as they waited for the Detective to finish his call.
“A
wound of some sort to her left upper back and some scratches on her neck, but
not much else. No footprints. Whatever happened, it happened up here and I
doubt if it was an accident.”
“I
was afraid of that. Did you notice all
of the matted grass next to the walking path and behind the bushes?” Jessica
asked.
“Glad
you waited,” Detective Rellik said when he returned. “I have one more question for you,
Inspector.”
“Certainly,
go ahead.”
“Any
idea what time it is in
“About
six in the morning,” George responded.
“I
guess it can wait a couple of hours, then.”
“What
can wait, Detective?” Jessica said.
“Notifying
Sam’s next of kin, an uncle who lives in
“Dr.
Charles Ross?” George asked.
“Might
be, Inspector, her employee file listed a Professor C.T. Ross,
“Do
you know him, George?” Jessica asked.
“Aye,
retired from The Yard about five years ago to take a post at the
university. Detective Rellik, I don’t
wish to interfere with your investigation, but Charles Ross is a mate and if
you don’t object…”
“No
problem, Inspector, I would appreciate it.
Worst part of the job. Just let
me know when the deed is done, okay?”
“I’ll
be sure to do that.”
George
escorted Jessica and Margaret back to the house. It was well past midnight now and early
morning dew was beginning to collect on the blades of green grass, through
which they walked.
“It
was a pleasure meeting you, George, even under the circumstances,” Margaret
said before excusing herself to check on the girls inside.
“Oh,
and Jessica, it’s past curfew, house rules, remember?” she said with a slight
smile and a wink as she disappeared through the door.
“Curfew?”
George said.
“Midnight. Although, I remember it being much earlier in
my day.” She smiled at the memory.
“Are there any other house rules I should know about?”
“Probably
number two.
“Which
is?”
“No
gentlemen on the premises without first being announced and without a proper
chaperone.”
“But
we don’t need a chaperone,” George replied.
“I
know we don’t need a chaperone, but those are the rules, at least they
were,” she said followed by a light laugh.
“Okay. What’s on tap for you tomorrow, Jessica?”
“I
have class until eleven and then I thought I would do some…exploring.”
“And
where might this exploration take you?”
“The
library, Samantha’s office to be precise.
She had a file that I want to review before I give my next evening
lecture.”
George
slowly shook his head and smiled knowingly.
“Just one file?”
“Well,
maybe more than one. What’s on your
agenda tomorrow?”
“The
morning and early afternoon are filled with more meetings, then I need to do a
couple of reports and get them faxed back to London and sometime I need to
squeeze in an errand or two. Are we
still intending on having dinner at the Vintage, Miss Ross’s invitation?” he
asked.
“I
think that sounds like a good idea, don’t you?
It will give me a chance to tell you what I dig up.”
“I
wouldn’t expect any less from J.B. Fletcher.
Meet you there at eight?”
“I’m
looking forward to it.”
George
escorted her to the door.
“Tell
me something. Did Jessie McGill ever
break a house rule?”
“Maybe
once or twice, why?”
“Just
curious. Pleasant dreams, Jessica,” he
said before kissing her softly on the cheek.
Jessica
watched him as he turned and walked in the direction of his hotel. He looked back briefly and smiled.
**********
Despite
the events of the previous night, Jessica woke relatively refreshed. Plenty of time for a nice walk around campus
before getting ready for her eight o’clock class, she thought.
She
dressed, once again, in her gray sweatpants and blue and red windbreaker, but
this time she did not take the walking path that passed in front of the
house. Instead, she walked through the
grass toward the river and
“Can
I help you with anything, Mrs. Fletcher,” a man’s voice said from behind.
Jessica
turned to see Officer Greg Rellik join her on the bridge.
“Doing
a little detective work of your own?” he asked.
“No,
just thinking. George told me that you
knew Samantha. Were you close?”
“Ya’
I knew her really well. If it weren’t
for Sam, I would never have graduated last year. She tutored me in Spanish for almost two
years.”
“She
was intelligent, wasn’t she?”
“Brilliant
would be more accurate,” he said, looking down and gently kicking a small
pebble with the toe of his highly polished shoe.
“Has
Detective Rellik come up with any leads yet?” she asked.
“Still
waiting on forensics and the autopsy.”
“Yes,
I suppose so. When will they be
completed?”
“Later
today or tomorrow is my guess.”
Jessica
continued to scrutinize the crime scene.
“Did you see this?” she asked, indicating a small, folded piece of
paper, which was lodged between two large rocks near the top edge of the stone
embankment.
“Could
just be a piece of trash that blew in during the night, hard to tell. It’s tough processing a crime scene at
night,” he explained.
After
returning from his patrol car with an evidence bag, Officer Rellik carefully
picked up the paper, by its edge, unfolded it and slid it carefully into the
bag.
“It’s
a fax,” he said after reading the piece of paper.
“Mind
if I take a look?”
Brenna
Letters
“Does
it mean anything to you,” Jessica asked.
“No,
but you never know with Sam, it could be a word game of some kind. She loved ‘em.”
“The
signature, Cole Conklin, anybody you know?”
“No. Never heard of him, but I’ll check it out.”
“Officer
Rellik, did you notice the young man who was sitting on the bridge last
night? The one who looked incredibly
distraught and on the verge of possibly becoming physically ill.”
“Paul
Peterson. He was a close friend of Sam’s.”
“The
reporter? Samantha mentioned him.”
“That’s
him. He’s a pretty good guy.”
“Samantha
gave me that impression,” Jessica said with a slight nod of the head.
“Sorry,
Mrs. Fletcher, but I have to go,” he said after glancing down at his
watch. “Thanks for your help,” he said
before returning to his patrol car.
**********
Jessica
returned to the house, showered, dressed and had a cup of coffee and toast
before heading across campus to her eight o’clock class. She greatly enjoyed the opportunity to teach
again. It had been years since she had
worked as a substitute high school English teacher. Secretly, she had always hoped that someday
one of her students would turn out to be the next Jane Austen or Charles
Dickens.
After
classes were finished for the day, Jessica headed for Samantha Ross’s office,
which was located in the James P. Patrick Library. The building was no more than two or three
years old and had floor to ceiling glass walls, which separated the ground
floor circulation area from classrooms, archives, and special collections,
which were also housed on the main level.
“Excuse
me, but I am Jessica Fletcher and…”
“Oh,
Mrs. Fletcher, I am so happy to meet you.
I was hoping that you would stop in some time while you were here. How can I help you?” asked Donna, the library
assistant who manned the circulation desk on that particular day.
“I
was wondering if you might help me find a file that Miss Ross had. It is for the lecture that I am giving again
tomorrow night.”
“Oh,
what a shock! She was such a nice
girl. Hard to believe that something
like that could happen here,” she commented.
“We’re really not supposed to let anyone into Samantha’s office, but
since you just need a file for your lecture, I don’t see any harm in getting
that for you.”
Donna
led Jessica to a small, windowless room located just off the main circulation
area. Oatmeal colored carpet and walls
matched the chair located behind Samantha’s desk on the far wall. The near wall was lined with tall, almond
colored filing cabinets while the other walls were hidden behind cherry
bookshelves. The room was immaculate and
verified Jessica’s initial impression that Samantha Ross had been a very
organized woman.
“Sam’s
files for the Life Long Learning program are in this first cabinet here. If you can’t find it there, she
cross-referenced everything and you might find it under ‘F’ for ‘Fletcher’ in
that cabinet. I’m not sure if she made an
electronic copy of it, but if she did, it would be with her CD’s and diskettes
on the shelves behind her desk. I need
to get back to the circulation desk, but I’ll check back in a few minutes just
in case you don’t find it.”
Jessica
found the file immediately. Samantha had
labeled it “Murder Mystery Writing 101” and had already filed it in the first
cabinet. Out of shear curiosity, Jessica
checked another file cabinet, which held files “D-F” and found another copy of
the materials under “Fletcher, J.B.” One of Samantha’s diskette files also
contained a disk labeled LLL-Murder Mystery Writing 101-JB Fletcher. Jessica slipped the “Murder Mystery Writing
101” file into her bag and continued to browse the room.
The
shelves located directly behind Samantha’s desk held a small collection of
framed photos, which clearly represented her passion for life – skydiving, a
snow skiing holiday with her parents, with friends on Halloween and with a
group of people on a field trip of some sort.
A burgundy calendar desk pad covered the center of the cherry desktop
while a black flat screen monitor, printer and combination scanner & copier
unit took up much of the remaining space.
Samantha’s appointment calendar, opened to the previous day, lay on the
right, front corner of the desk.
Otherwise, the desk top was bare, no pens, pencils or paperclips in
sight.
“Do
I dare open Samantha’s desk drawers? No,
better not, Donna will likely be back any moment,” Jessica thought to
herself. Time to go, she decided, but
not before she used Samantha’s small personal copier to make copies of her
appointment calendar from the previous week.
Jessica exited through the main circulation area, located Donna and
thanked her for her assistance. She then
returned to Margaret’s apartment where they enjoyed a late lunch of tuna on
wheat and small garden salads.
“What
do you have planned for the rest of the day, Jess?” Margaret asked as she
cleared their plates from the small dining room table.
“I
was hoping to just relax a little bit and maybe do some reading and then George
and I are meeting for dinner at eight.
Would you like to join us?”
“Thank
you for the invitation, but I have so much research to do on this decorating
project that I really need to work tonight.
Besides, I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Don’t
be silly. We would love for you to join
us.”
“No,
I really do have to work tonight and I get the impression that the Inspector
would love to have you all to himself,” she smiled knowingly.
“Marg,
it’s not like that. We’re just good
friends.”
“You
just keep telling yourself that, Jess,” she teased. “I think I know better. I can still read you like a book. Don’t forget, I remember what you were like
when you were dating Frank,” she reminded Jessica.
“Marg,
you’re imagining things,” Jessica protested.
“You
have all the same signs as you did back then.
Oh, I almost forgot,” Margaret said, knowing Jessica well enough to know
that it was time to change the subject.
“You had a message last night when you were at the alumni social. With all the excitement, I forgot all about
it.”
“Who
was it from?” Jessica asked.
“Paul
Peterson from the Herald. He wanted to
know if you would be available for an interview while you’re here.”
“Did
he leave a number?”
“Yes,
right here next to the phone.”
“I
think I’ll give Mr. Peterson a call.”
**********
“Hello, this is Paul Peterson,” a melancholy voice answered.
“Mr. Peterson, this is Jessica Fletcher. I’m returning your call from yesterday evening.”
“Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, I am so glad that you called me
back,” his tone had elevated significantly.
“I was hoping that you might find time to do an interview with me while
you are in
“Certainly, it would be my pleasure. When and where would you like to meet?”
“Whenever it’s convenient for you, Mrs. Fletcher. I’m flexible.”
“How about four o’clock this afternoon at your office?” she suggested.
“Perfect. Do you need directions?” he offered.
“No, I know where it is. I’ll see you at four o’clock,” she said before hanging up the telephone.
**********
Paul
Peterson was a good reporter. It was
obvious that he had taken a great deal of time to prepare for this
interview. He seemed to be quite
familiar with Jessica’s work. He was
focused and articulate and he asked very well thought out questions, but
Jessica could not help but think how different that he and Samantha Ross had
been. She was sure that the chaos that
was Paul Peterson’s office would, no doubt, have driven Samantha Ross
crazy.
“You
know, Mrs. Fletcher, I didn’t really think that you would be interested in
letting me interview you,” he said after they had finished. “Sam said that you would probably be too
busy.”
“You
two were good friends, weren’t you?”
“Yes,
we were. I still can’t believe she’s
gone,” he said quietly as he stood and turned away from her, but not before
Jessica noticed his eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Mr.
Peterson, would it be okay if I asked you a couple of questions about
Samantha?” she probed gently after giving him a few moments to collect himself.
“Sure,”
he said, turning to face her again. His
sad eyes were now watery and slightly reddened.
“I
don’t mean to be insensitive, but do you know if Samantha was seeing anyone?”
“No,
not here anyway,” he answered before pausing for a moment. “I thought maybe she met someone last summer
when she was in
“What
made you think that she met someone in
“Well,
a bunch of us got together at her place the night that she got back. There was this new book on her shelves, brown
leather, and no title. I was curious so
I opened it and on the inside, front cover was a man’s name, written over and
over. You know how girls do that kind of
thing? I think that it was a journal,
but I’m not sure.”
“Did
you read any of it?”
“Trust
me, I wanted to,” he said, with only the slightest hint of guilt about invading
his friend’s privacy. “But it wasn’t
written in English.”
“Was
it in Spanish?” Jessica asked.
“No. Something else,” he said shaking his head.
“She
was multi-lingual then?” Jessica said with a note of surprise in her
voice. Jessica had great respect for
people who were dedicated enough to learn a foreign language, much less two.
“You
could say that. She was fluent in at
least four or five languages, maybe more.”
“Four
or five? When did she have the time?”
Jessica asked, almost to herself.
“Like
most things, I think it just came easy to her,” he concluded.
“Mr.
Peterson, the name of the man in Samantha’s journal, was it Cole Conklin by
chance?”
“No,
it was Ian Brickman. Why?”
“Do
you know what the Brenna Letters are?” Jessica continued on her current train
of thought.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, I have already told Jeff Rellik all of this. That fax that Greg found was from me. It was a puzzle, a code. Sam loved word puzzles.”
“You
see,” he said as he grabbed a pencil and began writing on a piece of scrap
paper, which he had retrieved from a small pile on his desk. “The name Seuss refers to Dr. Seuss. You know, Green Eggs and Ham?”
“Sam I am?” Jessica filled in the blank.
“Right
and the other two are anagrams. “Brenna”
is “Banner” and “Letters” is “Trestle” or “Bridge.” “Cole Conklin” is “Nine o’clock. Do you see?”
“We
were supposed to meet at
“Why
were you meeting?”
Paul
thought hard for a moment, while chewing absentmindedly on the nail of his left
thumb, before answering.
“Did
Sam tell you that she was writing a book?” he asked.
“No,
she never mentioned it,” Jessica said, shaking her head.
“I’m
not surprised. Okay, anyway, she was
writing this book, but she would never tell me what it was about. She said that I could read it when she
figured out the ending. She left a
message yesterday around two o’clock and said that she had finally figured it
out and would know for sure after she talked to Dr. Osman.”
“Dr.
Osman, the archeology professor?”
“Yes. She was an archeology buff, used to audit
classes with Osman and even went on a couple of digs with him and some of the
people from the archeology department.
Word around town was that the two of them were having a fling.”
“Samantha
and Dr. Osman?” she asked.
“Ya’,
that was last spring, but she denied it.
She claimed that he wasn’t her type.”
“Who
was her type?”
“Let’s
see…she once described the perfect man as one part Indiana Jones, two parts
James Bond, a dash of Descartes and a pinch of Eliot. Certainly no one I knew.”
“Anyway,
I faxed her back that note around three o’clock. I got to the bridge around ten after
nine. She was…weird, excited weird. She said Osman was a slaidear,
whatever that means. She also said that
she needed to work out a couple of more things and needed to finish her run so
she could think. She was going to meet
me at Hannigan’s after she was done.
Last I saw her she was laying on the grass, stretching out because her
hamstrings had tightened up.”
“Do
you know when or where she met with Dr. Osman?” Jessica asked as she rose from
her seat and began to look closely at the personal photos on Paul Peterson’s
desk.
“No. Sometime before I got there, I guess. She didn’t say.”
“Is
there anyone else who you can think of that might have known that she was going
to be at the bridge last night?”
“Anybody,
everybody. She ran almost every night
and she was easy enough to see in that reflective vest. She always ran the same path, changed
direction, but always the same path.”
“Do
you know where her manuscript is?” Jessica queried.
“I
don’t know for sure, but I guess the best place to look would be on one of her
computers,” he said, turning his palms up slightly and shrugging his
shoulders. “Why?”
“I
just thought that I might enjoy reading it, that’s all.”
“Well,
Mrs. Fletcher, I should really get going.
Thanks again for doing the interview.
My boss will love it. Can I give
you a lift somewhere?” he offered as he collected his briefcase from the floor
“It’s
nice of you to offer, but I think that a walk would be nice and I don’t have
too far to go. It was nice meeting you Mr. Peterson. Thank you for talking to me about
Samantha. I know that it must have been
hard for you. It’s obvious that you were
close.”
“We
were.”
*********
Jessica
sighed as she collapsed onto the over-stuffed couch in Margaret’s
apartment. It was nearly six thirty,
which gave her plenty of time to shower and get ready for her eight o’clock
dinner with George. She took a long, hot
shower, which had its intended revitalizing affect. She chose a pale pink skirt with a matching
blouse. The outfit was perfect for
dinner at the Vintage, extremely comfortable, and she looked marvelous in it,
or so Margaret had declared while on their marathon shopping spree the previous
day. Jessica grabbed a light coat, in
case the weather changed, and her purse and exited the house to meet a waiting
taxi.
George
was already at the Vintage when Jessica arrived. She found him sitting casually at the bar,
drinking a single-malt scotch.
“Ah,
Jessica, you’re particularly lovely this evening,” he said as he rose from his
seat and greeted her with an expansive smile and a long hug.
“Thank
you, George, and you are as handsome as ever,” she returned his compliment with
complete sincerity.
“May
I show you to your table?” the hostess said as she approached the pair.
“Certainly,”
they said together before following her to their table.
The
food was delicious. George ordered the
“Would
you like to see our dessert menu?” the waitress asked when she returned to
clear their table.
“I’m
sorry, but I assumed that you would be without a pastry chef this evening,”
Jessica inquired.
“Actually,
we were, but we were able to get a substitute at the last minute,” the waitress
answered quietly.
“Did
you know Samantha Ross?” Jessica asked.
“Not
very well. I have only worked here for a few months. She filled in for us occasionally, but when
she was here it was fun. She was very
pleasant to work with, not temperamental, like our regular pastry chef. It was always fun explaining the dessert menu
to customers when she was here. She was
very inventive in the kitchen, right down to naming her desserts. Actually, we have a couple of her recipes on
the menu tonight. Would you like to try
one of them?”
George
nodded in agreement to Jessica’s silent question.
“What
do you recommend?” Jessica asked.
“Well,
actually, she had added a couple of new things just yesterday. She said that she might have a guest dining
here tonight and wanted to prepare something especially for her. I think this is one of them. ‘Supreme Cheesecake with Fresh Maine
Blueberry Sauce’ and the other one is right here,” she said pointing to the
menu, “’The Guilty Conscience’. See what
I said about the names? I also recommend
the trifle or ‘A Proper Trifle’, as Sam called it. That was another one of her personal
favorites.”
“Guilty
conscience? Sounds fattening,” Jessica commented.
“But
wonderful,” the waitress replied. “The
base is an exquisite chocolate fudge brownie topped with homemade vanilla ice
cream, surrounded by fresh whipped cream and then drizzled with Sam’s special
strawberry sauce.”
“I
can’t resist,” Jessica said.
“And
for you, sir?”
“Go
ahead, George, order the trifle,” Jessica prodded, “you know that you want to.”
“You’re
right. I’m afraid that I can’t pass that
up, especially if it is a proper trifle as you said,” George answered.
Once
the waitress left the table, Jessica commented, “She really was a sweet girl,
wasn’t she?”
“I
am sorry to interrupt, but Inspector Sutherland has a telephone call. You can take it at the bar, if you prefer,”
the hostess suggested.
“Excuse
me a moment, Jess, I had better take that,” George said as he rose from his
chair. “It must be urgent if someone
tracked me down here.”
Jessica’s
thoughts quickly returned to Samantha Ross and her unfortunate death the
previous night.
“Jess,
are you feeling all right?” George asked as he returned to the table.
“Yes,
I’m fine, just a bit tired,” she answered.
“Well,
then, I suggest that we see that this dear lady gets to bed,” he suggested.
The
waitress returned to the table a few minutes later with two delicate, oblong
dessert boxes in hand.
George
helped Jessica on with her coat and they departed the restaurant, arm in arm,
into the fresh, night air. Jessica
stopped abruptly to read a green flyer that flapped in the light breeze from
where it was attached to a nearby light pole.
“Know
what I’d like to do?” she said.
“What’s
that?”
“See
a movie, but I need to change first?”
“I
thought you were fagged,” he said slipping into his Scottish brogue.
“I
am, but I think that it might help us to get to know Samantha a little better
and she promised that we would enjoy it.”
“I
can’t pass up an offer like that, especially if it means extending our evening
together,” he replied.
They
returned to Margaret’s apartment where Jessica quickly changed into the most
comfortable outfit that she had packed – khaki slacks and a lightweight, creamy
white sweater. She placed their dessert
boxes in the refrigerator and rustled up a blue and green tartan blanket.
“Are
you anticipating being cold?” George asked, pointing to the blanket that
Jessica carried folded over one arm.
“It’s pretty warm tonight.”
“No,
but I don’t want to get wet?”
He
looked at her inquisitively, raising his eyebrows into the shape of question
marks.
“Where
exactly are we going that we might get wet?” he asked.
“Hartsoch
Quad. They show old movies on the side
of the gymnasium during the warmer months.
Something that I have never done before.”
“Nor
have I. Sounds interesting.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the quad. Jessica arranged the blanket on a flat area
located directly in front of a large red maple tree.
“Good evening, Mrs. Fletcher, Inspector,” Greg Rellik said
as he approached them. He was dressed
casually in blue jeans and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to
the elbows.
“Nice night. Sam
would have approved,” he observed.
“I think you’re right.
She promised that we would enjoy it,” Jessica offered. “Is there anything new on her case?”
“Not yet. Still
waiting on forensics and the autopsy. I
knew she should’ve taken out that restraining order, but she wouldn’t listen to
me.”
“Restraining order?
Was someone harassing, Samantha?” Jessica asked.
“Ya,’ Will
“So you think that this
“He claims to have an alibi, but he seems like a pretty
logical suspect to me. Looks like the
movie is about to start, I had better go,” he said before striding away with
his head lowered, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
After he left them, Jessica settled herself on the blanket,
sitting with her legs crossed and feet tucked beneath her. George sat down next to her. His long legs, crossed at the ankles, were
extended in front of him and he leaned backward slightly against the large
maple.
“What are you smiling at?”
Jessica asked.
“Sounds like Mr. Ferguson should have been the one taking
out the restraining order,” he commented with a soft laugh.
“George, I’m surprised at you. Don’t you think she had a right to defend
herself?” Jessica looked slightly
perplexed and perhaps a bit irritated by his comment.
“Of course she did.
You misunderstand me. I’m
actually quite impressed. I imagine it
was quite a scene, though. A rugby coach
getting his nose broken by a lass, in a pub, and most likely surrounded by all
his mates,” he explained. “Bloody
embarrassing, don’t you agree?” he concluded.
“I see your point, but do you think that he might have been
angry enough to kill her?”
“She certainly dented the man’s ego, but a motive for
murder, probably not, but you never know.
It might be worth looking into.”
Within
a few moments the red, brick wall of the old gymnasium had been transformed
into a movie screen and the prologue from
“I’m afraid your Miss Ross was a romantic, Jess.”
“Or enjoyed playing cupid,” she laughed. “Any objection to staying?”
“No, none at all,” George said, adjusting his position and
relaxing onto one arm. “I haven’t seen
this…in quite a long time,” he finished.
They watched the movie in near silence, simply content to be
in each other’s company and enjoying the warm spring evening.
“George,
what are you looking at? The movie’s
over,” Jessica asked as she followed his gaze upward.
“Cygnus,”
he answered.
“What?”
“The
Swan. It’s almost impossible to see in
“I’m
sorry, George, I have absolutely no idea what you’re pointing at,” she said,
shaking her head.
“Okay,
look over here. Do you see the Plough?”
he said pointing further to the East.
“Sorry. The only thing that I can pick out is the Big
Dipper.”
“Good
enough. We call it the Plough or Ursa
Major. Now, do you see Ursa Minor, up
and to the left a bit?”
“The
Little Dipper?” Jessica asked, rubbing the back of her neck against the strain
of looking upward into the dark sky above.
“Yes,
the Little Dipper. Now, to the left of
that is Draco, the dragon, but you can really see it better if you lay flat on
your back,” he suggested.
Jessica
adjusted her position and laid flat on her back with her knees bent. George remained on his side, propped on his
elbow and upper arm, which he had offered to Jessica as a headrest. She listened and watched him closely as he
pointed out each constellation above.
Rarely had she seen him this animated.
“You
can see the head, body and tail of Draco.
The tail forms the bend that you see below the Little Dipper,” George
explained as he pointed upward and traced the form of the dragon with his
finger against the night sky.
“Now,
if you look further left, you should see a cross.”
“Yes,
I see it.”
“That
is the Northern Cross. The stars that
make up the cross are also the chief stars that make up the
Swan.”
“I
can make out the cross, but I will have to take your word for it about the
Swan,” Jessica replied.
“Just
tip your head a little bit that way. Do
you see the bright star on the top of the cross? That is the swan’s tail. At the other end of the cross is the beak. Do you see it now?”
“Yes. I think I do.”
“Now,
if you go back to Draco and go upward you can see Cepheus. He looks like a man with a crown. Then further north is Casseopeia. She looks like the letter ‘M’. Do you see them?”
“Yes.”
“Have
you ever heard of the Myth called the Boast of Casseopeia?” he asked.
“No,
I haven’t.”
“Sorry,
Jess, I’m boring you, aren’t I?” he said, turning his gaze from the night sky
downward to her. They were almost close
enough for Jessica to feel his heart skip when his eyes took in her face, which
glowed in the moonlight.
“No. You’re not.
I’m just surprised.”
“You
never knew this about me, did you? Not
much time for star gazing these days though, besides it’s more fun when you
have someone to share it with,” he said with a slight hint of sadness in his
voice.
Jessica
met the deep gaze of his gentle green eyes.
“I
had better get you home before Margaret starts to worry,” he said, fighting off
every urge he had to do otherwise.
The
pair strolled in the direction of Jessica’s apartment, both of them quiet. Jessica was so lost in pleasant, warm
thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that George had taken her hand.
“Now,
tell me about your day,” he said and they continued to walk.
Jessica
told George about her visit to Samantha Ross’s office and her interview with
Paul Peterson.
“I
wonder if Miss Ross had a special friend that she was supposed to share this
evening with?” thought Jessica aloud.
“Aye,
I imagine she might have.”
“Paul
Peterson?” Jessica guessed. They had
seen Paul on the quad, alone, watching the movie earlier in the evening.
“Or
Greg Rellik,” George speculated.
They
slowed as they drew closer to Jessica’s apartment.
“Will
you have time for breakfast tomorrow?” Jessica asked as they approached the Kappa
Delta house.
“I’m
afraid not. I have to fly to
What
do you have on your schedule for tomorrow?” he asked.
“I
have a class at nine thirty and my evening lecture will run from six until
about seven thirty. Other than that, I
thought that I might visit one of the museums.”
“The
archeology museum, I presume?”
“Yes,
as a matter of fact. I’ve always wanted
to see it,” she said with a glint in her eye.
“Jess,
I know that you really liked Miss Ross.
I also know that you have a penchant for getting to the bottom of things
and that there is no use in trying to dissuade you so, just promise me that you
will stay safe while I’m in Washington. I needn’t remind you that there is still a
murderer running around somewhere.”
“You
know that I would never intentionally put myself in harms way,” Jessica assured
him.
“It’s
not your intent that worries me, Jessica.
Just be safe.”
“I’ll
call you when I get back. Charles gets
in tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps we can
meet up for a nightcap if you don’t have other plans then. I would like for you to meet him. In the meantime, get a good night’s rest,” he
said before kissing her gently on the forehead.
They
parted company at the main door of the house.
She watched him walk away and was struck once again, as she had been on
their very first meeting, by his gait, casual but self-assured. He looked back once, smiled and waved before
crossing the street and heading east, toward his hotel.
**********
Jessica’s
sleep was deep and pleasant and she awoke feeling very warm and content. She enjoyed a leisurely shower and joined
Margaret for a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon.
She
arrived early for her class and enjoyed the opportunity to chat casually with a
few of the students who had arrived early.
Her lecture ran smoothly and the students seemed to be eager to get
started on their first assignment.
“What
I would like for you to do before we meet again is to write a couple of pages
describing a setting of your choice,” Jessica instructed. “Try to pick a location that you are familiar
with, some place that you have actually visited. It is usually easier to write about something
that you know.”
“Has
anyone already chosen their setting?” Jessica inquired.
A
young man seated in the back row raised his hand timidly.
“Zach,
please, tell us what setting you have chosen.”
“I
was going to use the
“Good
choice, lots of history. Is there any
other reason that you chose it?”
“Yes. They say its haunted.”
“Haunted? I’ve never heard that. I can’t wait to read about it.”
“Would
anyone else like to share their ideas?”
“I
thought that I would use a lake side resort, like the one that I worked at last
summer,” a young lady in the front row answered.
“What
a wonderful idea! I can see that I am
going to have lots of good reading to do after we meet again.”
Jessica’s
class concluded shortly before eleven.
She returned to the apartment and called Trisha Hanson to make sure that
everything would be ready for her lecture that evening. With that done, Jessica had a light lunch and
enjoyed a few moments of quiet reading before leaving for the archeology museum.
**********
As
Jessica entered the front doors of the
“Miss
Castleman, how nice to see you again.”
Jessica greeted the young woman, who she had previously met at the
alumni social, with a smile.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, I’m surprised to see you here.
We don’t often have people from the English Department visit us,” she
responded pleasantly.
“Actually,
I have the afternoon off and thought that I might explore the museum a bit.”
“It
is usually only open on Saturdays, but I can ask Dr. Osman if it is okay for
you to tour it today. He is the director
of the museum. There are a couple of
doctoral students working on one of the displays, but they shouldn’t be in your
way.”
“I
wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.
I can always come back on Saturday,” Jessica offered.
“No,
Mrs. Fletcher, I am sure that it will be no trouble at all. Why don’t you come into the office and have a
seat and I will call Dr. Osman to make sure that it is okay for me to open the
museum for you.”
Jessica
took a seat in one of two burgundy chairs, which were located just inside the
entrance to the small office, and placed her handbag on her lap.
“I’m
sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, but he isn’t answering his phone just yet. I’ll run down and see if he is here. Just let me put a few things away and find my
key for the museum,” she said as she began riffling through her purse. “I know that it is in here somewhere. I apologize, for not being more organized,
but I just got back from running a couple of personal errands over my lunch
hour, you know how that is, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to visit the museum today.” Before she found the key that she was
searching for her desk was covered with a wallet, facial tissues, breath mints,
a packet of gum, several receipts and ticket stubs, lipstick, a toothbrush, a
travel size tube of Crest, a comb, two ball point pens, a large set of keys and
a compact.”
“Here
it is,” she said, pulling out a single key, which was attached to a small key
chain. She haphazardly stuffed the
remaining items back into her purse.
So
much for being more organized, Jessica thought.
“I’ll
be right back, Mrs. Fletcher. Shouldn’t
take but a minute.” She returned a few
minutes later.
“Good
news, Mrs. Fletcher, Dr. Osman is here and he said that it would be his
pleasure to give you a personal tour of the museum.”
“That
sounds wonderful,” Jessica replied.
Dr.
Osman was a very knowledgeable guide. He
was an outgoing man with charming manners and a smiling countenance. He was magnetic and engaging and his speech
was truly captivating. Samantha Ross and
Dr. John Osman would have made a very handsome and intriguing couple, if the
rumors of their having had an affair were true.
The
museum was very interesting and had nearly one hundred small but impressive
displays, which dated back as early as the 15th Century B.C. Most fascinating for Jessica was watching two
doctoral students work on a display of Viking tools and weapons, some of which
dated back to the Iron Age. The display
included many items, which were made of wrought iron including keys, a hilt,
and a set of shears that would have been used to cut cloth, thread or hair. A small collection of iron knives with antler
handles was included in the display as were two women’s knives. Dr. Osman explained that all of the articles
had been recovered from an excavation site at Hamwic two years ago.
Jessica
couldn’t pass up the opening that Dr. Osman had provided for her to delve into
his personal relationship with Samantha Ross.
“Was
Samantha Ross part of the excavation team at Hamwic?” she inquired as she
continued to watch the two students as they worked on the display.
“Yes,
she was,” he answered. “Samantha was a
very bright girl,” he commented before continuing to explain the significance
of the group’s find at Hamwic.
“Did
you know Miss Ross very well?” Jessica continued, probing delicately into their
supposed romantic relationship.
“Samantha
took several of my classes over the years.
She was very intelligent and outgoing and I enjoyed having her in class,
but no, I wouldn’t say that I knew her any better than any other student,” he
said, shaking his head.
“Was
she taking a class from you this semester?”
“No,
she wasn’t. Why do you ask?”
“Dr.
Osman, it is my understanding that she had an appointment with you the day that
she died.”
“She
did. That’s no secret. We met in my office shortly before the alumni
social, but to be frank, I really don’t understand why that is any of your
business,” he commented matter of factly and without any change in his
demeanor. If Dr. John Osman was
surprised or offended by Jessica’s interrogation, he didn’t show it.
Ignoring
his comment, Jessica continued her line of questioning. “Were you aware that Miss Ross was writing a
book?”
“I
think you’ve been misinformed, Mrs. Fletcher.
No, Samantha Ross wasn’t writing a book, she was thinking about writing
a book. That is why she asked me to meet
with her. She wanted me to collaborate
with her, to give the book more credibility,” he said with an air of
self-importance.
“Did you agree?” Jessica asked, trying to remain casual while once again turning her attention to the efforts of the two students.
“No,
I did not. Miss Ross was a bit of a
romantic, Mrs. Fletcher. I am a
scientist and I have no interest in writing or even collaborating on a work of
fiction. As you can see,” he said,
motioning with a wave of his hand at the collections on display in the museum,
“I am an archaeologist, not a bottle digger.”
“Bottle
digger?” Jessica asked, turning to face him.
“Treasure
hunter,” he clarified. “Unfortunately,
the two are often confused.”
“Is
that what Samantha’s book was about, a treasure hunter? It sounds interesting,” Jessica said, nodding
her head slightly.
“I’m
afraid it was rubbish, not very original, especially for a young woman as
bright as Samantha. It’s a shame because
she was a very talented writer.”
“I’m
afraid that we are going to have to conclude our tour, Mrs. Fletcher, I have a
class to teach in about ten minutes,” he said after glancing down at his
watch. He turned in the direction of the
exit, expecting Jessica to follow.
“Of
course. Thank you so much for taking
time out of your busy schedule to give me a personal tour. It was very educational,” she said as she
turned to follow him.
“It
was my pleasure,” he said very sincerely, but without turning around to face
her.
Dr.
Osman escorted Jessica back to the entrance of the small museum.
“Do
you mind if I ask you one more question about Samantha?” Jessica queried.
“Certainly,
what is it?”
“Did
you see her again that evening, after your meeting?”
“No,
I didn’t,” he said shaking his head. She
was very angry, almost livid, when I turned her down. She stormed out of my office and slammed the
door. Miss Castleman and I left for the
alumni social about ten minutes later and after the social I met friends for a
late dinner at Caliopes,” he explained, while once again checking the
time.
“Now,
if you will excuse me, I have a class to teach.
It really was a pleasure to meet you.
We really should get together again before you leave us,” he said while
looking her directly in the eyes and shaking her hand firmly with both of
his.
Jessica
found her way back to the main office, where she observed Teresa Castleman
working at her desk. She was
scrutinizing a piece of paper, which sat on the desk top in front of her. Her deep concentration was accompanied by
nervous fidgeting.
“Oh,
Mrs. Fletcher, you’re back. Did you
enjoy the tour?” she asked with enthusiasm once she realized that Jessica was
standing in the doorway.
“Yes,
it was very educational. I was thinking
about returning on Saturday. I have a
friend who would enjoy seeing it, he is a bit of an archaeology buff, you might
say. I was wondering what time the
museum might be open that day?”
“From
one o’clock in the afternoon until nine o’clock in the evening,” she said after
checking her wall calendar. “Dr. Osman
is scheduled to be giving tours that day.
They start on the hour,” she explained.
“Miss
Castleman, do you remember if Miss Ross was in the building the afternoon
before her accident?”
Teresa
Castleman appeared slightly surprised by Jessica’s question.
“Actually,
she was. She met with Dr. Osman at the
end of the day, just before we left for the alumni social.”
Jessica
was not sure how far she should continue along this line of questioning.
“Was
anyone else here at that time?” Jessica asked.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
After
resting her chin on her hand and thinking for a moment, Teresa answered
Jessica’s question.
“Not
that I know of. I think that Dr. Osman
and I were the last ones to leave. Yes,
I’m sure that we were the only other people who were here at that time,” she
clarified.
“Did
Samantha appear to be upset?” Jessica questioned.
“Not
that I could tell, but I didn’t actually speak with her. Why do you ask?”
“No
reason really, just that Dr. Osman mentioned that she was quite upset when she
left his office, but I saw her later that evening and she seemed to be in good
spirits. Then again, I didn’t know her
very well so perhaps she was upset,” Jessica said with a slight nod.
“Well,
if Dr. Osman said that she was upset, she probably was. Poor thing, I think that she just never got
over their breakup. You did know that
they had an affair, didn’t you?” she asked in a loud whisper.
“I
had heard that, yes. Well, I really should let you get back to work. Thank you so much for making arrangements for
me to see the museum today. It was
extremely educational.”
**********
Jessica
returned to Margaret’s apartment and cuddled up on the couch with a book. She and Margaret shared late afternoon tea
before Jessica left for her lecture.
Once again, the evening ran smoothly and Jessica thoroughly enjoyed
herself. Margaret was working diligently
when Jessica returned. Swatches of
fabric, paint chips and sketches covered all of the flat surfaces in the small living
room and adjoining kitchen and the television played quietly in the
background.
“Oh,
Jessica, you’re back. Are we still
having dinner tonight?”
“Of
course, I just need a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go. What time is our reservation?”
“Eight
fifteen. It’s only seven thirty. You have plenty of time. Go ahead and get ready and I’ll put away a
few of these things.”
Margaret
busied herself with cleaning up while Jessica went to the bathroom to freshen
up.
“Jess,
do you remember what flight George is on?” Margaret asked from the living room.
“Mid-Atlantic
1431 from
“Jess,
could you come here for a minute?”
“I’ll
be right out,” Jessica sang.
“I
think you had better come now,” Margaret said more urgently.
Jessica
hurried to the living room where Margaret sat, eyes transfixed on the small
television screen.
“What
is it, Marg?”
“Jessica,
sit down.”
Jessica
sat next to Margaret and shifted her attention to the breaking news bulletin.
This
is Tom Stone once again reporting live from
“Oh, Jess, I am so sorry,” Margaret said as she clicked off
the television. She sat down next to
Jessica and embraced her tightly. After
several minutes, Margaret wrapped a blanket around Jessica’s shoulders and the
pair continued to sit quietly on the couch.
Jessica was chilly and her hands and feet were freezing. She was obviously in shock.
Jessica
had felt the indescribable pain that now permeated through her entire body only
once before, when Frank had died. The
intense anguish that accompanied his passing had never diminished, but over
time it had occurred less frequently.
Now, however, the pain had returned and was accompanied by a deep
feeling of regret.
Frank
and Jessica had spent nearly thirty years together and he had been ill for
several months before his death. His
passing, while certainly no less painful, was not unexpected, but Jessica had
always felt fortunate to have had the opportunity to leave nothing between them
unsaid.
“Why
didn’t I tell him,” she thought to herself.
This time there had been far too many things left unsaid.
Over
and over Jessica’s mind played back the same images and memories…tea at Brown’s
Hotel in London; his kind, gentle green eyes, like Granny Smith apples; his
expansive grin; a view of the San Francisco skyline, secure in the comfort of
his strong arms, while standing at mid-span on the Golden Gate Bridge; George
standing on the stone steps of Sutherland Castle, in a kilt, waist-length black
formal jacket and white shirt; the tiny park, with a bench and a small bridge
crossing a narrow running stream, where he had once proclaimed his love for
her; the sting of seawater on their
faces as they stood on the edge of a sheer granite bluff overlooking the North
Sea; a candlelight dinner for two; the deep resonate Scottish burr of his
voice; the warmth of his hand as he massaged her injured shoulder; and his
gait, as he walked away for the final time, a turn, a smile and a wave and then
he was gone.
The
loud ring of the telephone was insufficient to disturb Jessica’s thoughts.
“Hello. How did you get this number?” Margaret asked
angrily.
“No. Why are you calling here? Mrs. Fletcher has no intention of speaking to
you or any other member of the press.
Please do not call here again,” she said angrily before she hung up the
phone.
“The
nerve,” she muttered to herself.
Jessica
sat numbly on the couch, occasional streams of tears quietly ran down her
cheeks.
“Jess,
here is your tea,” Margaret said as she sat the cup down on the end table
nearest Jessica. “Are you sure I can’t
get you anything else?” she asked, but she knew better than to press the
matter. Margaret was a good friend and a
dear woman. She understood Jessica’s
pain all too well and would do her best to comfort her beloved friend.
The
phone rang again an hour or so later.
“Hello,” Margaret answered. “Is
this some kind of sick joke?” she said as she slammed down the telephone.
Ten
minutes later, it rang again. Margaret
answered, but this time listened to the caller very closely.
“Yes,
Sheriff Metzger, I understand. Thank you
so much for calling,” she said before returning the receiver to its
cradle. Almost immediately, the phone
rang again. Margaret answered, spoke
briefly with the caller and then carried the portable receiver to the living room,
where Jessica sat motionless on the couch.
“Jess?”
“Jessica,
dear, you need to take this call.”
Margaret’s words barely registered, but Jessica obeyed and held the
receiver up to her ear.
“Jessica?”
Jessica’s
mind continued to play back memories, George’s deep resonant voice this time.
“Jessica,”
the voice said more urgently.
“Jess,
please answer me,” the voice pleaded.
“George?”
Jessica said in a half-whisper. The
heart has a way of playing tricks on the mind at times.
“Good.
Yes, that’s right. It’s George. Jess, I want you to listen to me very
carefully. I was not on that
airplane. Do you understand?”
“George?”
Jessica asked once again and with more conviction as her mind continued to
process the information that it was receiving.
“Yes,
love, it’s George,” he said tenderly.
“Oh,
George, I thought…” her words trailed off as tears once again streamed down her
cheeks and a deep ache choked her words.
“I
know, Jessie. I know. I just found out.”
“Jessica,
are you still there?”
“Yes. Where are you?” she asked softly.
“
“When
will you be back?”
“Several
hours yet. Well past twelve for sure,
probably later. I have a charter waiting
in
“Then
I’ll wait for you in the lobby of your hotel until you get back,” she said,
sitting herself up a bit straighter.
“No,
Jessica, you won’t.”
“Yes,
George, I will. We need to talk. It’s important,” she said emphatically.
“In
that case, I will come there, as soon as I get back, if that’s okay with
Margaret.”
“I
guess that will have to do,” she agreed and slumped once again into the soft
couch.
Margaret
and Jessica spent the next hours quietly.
Margaret fixed them a light dinner, but Jessica wasn’t hungry and didn’t
eat a bite. Eventually, Margaret
suggested playing some cribbage and Jessica agreed almost willingly, anything
to make time go faster.
Jessica
had never had a fear of flying, but she was decidedly nervous and wished more
than anything that George was not in an airplane right now. Jessica prepared tea while Margaret located
the cribbage board and a deck of cards.
The diversion was welcome and Jessica’s mind was finally able to slow
itself and focus on the game. They spoke
sporadically.
“Two
o’clock in the morning. Where is he?”
Jessica thought to herself.
“You
would have missed him wouldn’t have you?” Margaret asked softly.
“A
pair, for two,” Jessica said as she laid down a card. “Yes, I would have missed him a great deal.”
“Fifteen,
for eight,” Margaret said as she played a five of hearts. “Have you ever told him?”
“Twenty-one.”
Jessica played another card. “Told him
what?”
“Thirty-one,
for two,” Margaret said as she laid down a card and advanced a peg two
spaces. “Told him that you love him,
Jess. You do, don’t you?”
“Four.” Jessica said, playing a card. “It’s complicated.”
“Because
he’s in
“Yes,
partly,” Jessica responded. “Eighteen
and final card for one.” Jessica
advanced a peg one space.
“Fifteen
two, four, six, eight and two pair for twelve,” Margaret said as she laid down
her hand and advanced a peg twelve spaces.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Fifteen
two, four and a double run of four for fourteen and six in the crib. Your deal,” Jessica said, sliding the deck of
cards in Margaret’s direction.
The
speaker system buzzed before Jessica could answer Margaret’s last
question.
“I’ll
get it,” Margaret said as she stood. A
moment later, she returned, followed by George.
“Oh,
George, I thought you were….” Jessica
was once again flooded with a confused mixture of emotions.
“There,
there, Jess, it’s all right, I’m right here,” he said as he hugged her and
gently brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“I’ll
just leave you two alone,” Margaret said quietly as she excused herself.
“Jessica,
are you all right?” George asked after they were seated on the couch.
“I
am now,” Jessica said, looking up slightly at his handsome face. Her eyes hadn’t left him since he entered
the apartment.
“Good. I’m glad.
See, not a scratch. I’m perfectly
fine. Now, I think it’s time that you
got some sleep and I get back to my hotel.”
“George,
we need to talk, it’s important.
There’s something that I should have told you a long time ago. George, I am in…”
“Shhhhhhh,”
he said, as he gently pressed his index finger against her lips. “Not tonight.”
“But
George, I thought you would want to have this conversation,” frustration was
evident in her voice.
“Jessica,”
he said very tenderly, “you know that I would like nothing more than to have
this particular conversation with you, but not tonight.”
“Why
not tonight?” she challenged.
“Frankly,
because you have spent the last several hours on the proverbial emotional
roller coaster. It is almost three
o’clock in the morning, you haven’t slept and I’m not convinced that you
suddenly wanting to discuss this isn’t just the result of what I have put you
through tonight and extreme fatigue. Selfish
on my part, I know, but this is not a conversation that can be easily undone or
forgotten and as soon as you get a good night’s sleep, I think you’ll agree
with me,” he said with a note of finality in his voice.
“Neither
one of us is going anywhere for more than a week and if it takes more time than
that for you to get over this frightful incident and you still want to have
this discussion, we’ll do it when you come to London in October. All I’m asking is that you give yourself some
time.”
Jessica
knew that he was right. Defeated, she slowly allowed her head to fall forward
onto his shoulder and chest. She felt,
warm and secure in his arms and faded off into a peaceful sleep within minutes. George carried her to her room, tucked her
into bed and kissed her gently on the forehead before letting himself out of
the apartment.
**********
“Jessica,
telephone,” Margaret said as she opened the bedroom door slightly.
Jessica
picked up the telephone, which sat on the nightstand next to her bed, and heard
the click of Margaret replacing her receiver in its cradle.
“Good
morning, Jess.”
“Good
morning, George. Where are you?” she
asked as she suddenly realized exactly where she was and that he was not there
with her.
“My
hotel. Did I wake you?”
“Yes,
but that’s okay. George, why didn’t you
stay here last night?” she asked, still sounding sleepy.
“Jessica,
I think we both know why I couldn’t stay there last night.”
“For
the same reason that you didn’t want me to meet you at your hotel?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“George,
what time is it?”
“Seven. I figured you might need a wake up call this
morning and I wanted to make sure that you were all right before I had to leave
for the university.”
“I’m
glad you called. I have class at eight,”
she said, sounding more awake now.
“Are
you sure you don’t want to cancel and go back to sleep?”
“Of
course not.”
“I
figured that would be the case. Are you
free for lunch today?”
“Of
course. I have class until eleven and
then nothing the rest of the day. How
about you?”
“I’m
busy most of the day, but have time for lunch around one o’clock, if that will
work for you?”
“One
o’clock it is then.”
“I
will pick you up at Margaret’s shortly before.”
“I’ll
be here with bells on,” she promised before returning the phone to its place on
the nightstand.
**********
After taking a quick shower and having a cup of coffee, Jessica headed for the English Department. The morning air was invigorating and when combined with the enthusiasm of her students, the lingering stress and fatigue brought on by the events of the previous night soon dissipated and her thoughts returned to Samantha Ross.
“Jessica,
you’re back. How were your classes this
morning?” Margaret asked.
“Wonderful. I really enjoy being back in the classroom,”
she answered as she sat herself down in an overstuffed navy chair in the living
room.
“Would
you like me to fix you something for lunch?
You didn’t eat any breakfast.”
“Oh,
no, Marg. You don’t need to do
that. George is picking me up at for
lunch at one o’clock. I think I will
just sit here and relax until then.”
Jessica
removed a small notebook from her purse with the intention of making some notes
regarding the death of Samantha Ross, but she was soon overcome by a wave of
exhaustion.
“Marg,
would you mind waking me in about an hour?” she said as she set the notebook
down on the end table and headed for the comfort of her bed.
“Certainly,
have a good nap,” Margaret said as Jessica disappeared into her bedroom.
Jessica
awoke feeling fully rested and alert.
She could hear voices coming from beyond her door.
“Jessica,”
Margaret’s voice said softly through a small crack in the door. “Good, you’re awake. George is here.”
“Just
give me a minute to straighten up and I will be right out.”
“Sure
thing,” Margaret responded.
Jessica
took a few minutes at the small dressing table to touch up her hair and
make-up. Noticing that her clothing was
very wrinkled from her nap, she quickly changed into a navy skirt and white
blouse.
“Jessica,
you look wonderful,” George said as he crossed the room to greet her with a hug
and a kiss on the cheek, once she had joined them.
“I’m
sorry that I overslept, I hope we’re not too late for lunch.”
“Actually,
we’ll have to make it dinner, I’m afraid.
It’s already six o’clock. You
slept through lunch,” he said as he released her from his embrace.
“Why
didn’t you wake me?” Jessica asked, checking the clock on the dining room wall
to verify the time.
“Believe
me, I tried. You were terribly knackered.”
“Knackered?”
Jessica and Margaret said in unison.
“Tired,”
he explained.
“If
you don’t mind, I would like to show you something before we have dinner,
though,” he said, offering his arm to her.
“Sure,
where are we off to?” Jessica asked.
“Samantha
Ross’s flat. We’re meeting Charles and
Detective Rellik there. I didn’t think
you would want to miss it.”
“You’re
right. I don’t,” she said with a smile
before grabbing his hand instead and leading the way out of the apartment.
The
house was within walking distance, which gave George time to exchange
information with Jessica regarding Samantha’s murder. Charles and George had met with Detective
Rellik in the morning and were told that the autopsy confirmed that Samantha
had been stabbed, but that her death was actually the result of blunt force
trauma to the head and a fractured neck, most likely caused by the fall down
the rocky embankment. They were still
doing research to determine the type of weapon that had been used. Samantha had no defensive wounds on her hands
and there was no evidence of rape, despite several scratches on the front and
back of her neck. It had also been
determined that the scratches had been made by a fine, sharp object, most
likely not a person’s fingernails. No
weapon had been found and so far nothing significant had shown up in the trace
evidence.
In
turn, Jessica told George everything that she had learned. They agreed that there were still far more
questions than answers. The police had
already been through Samantha’s house once before, but Charles needed to take
care of a few things for his niece so the three men had agreed to meet there
that evening.
Detective
Rellik met Jessica and George at the front door. “Inspector, Mrs. Fletcher, how are you this
evening?” he asked politely. “Dr. Ross
is in the living room.”
The
house was much larger on the inside than it had first appeared. The living room was eclectic in style and
very organized, with the exception of the overflowing bookcases, which lined
the walls. A black, baby grand piano was
positioned in one corner. A desk
occupied another corner and the remainder of the room was filled with a large
sectional couch, two leather recliners and an entertainment center. Dr. Charles Ross was seated at the desk, slowly
examining a small stack of Samantha’s personal files. George made introductions and Dr. Ross
returned to the unpleasant chore of getting Samantha’s affairs in order.
“Did
Samantha play the piano?” Jessica asked.
“Not
before she moved in here. The landlord
didn’t want to move it. That would have
ticked me off, but not Sam. She saw it
as a challenge and started taking lessons, if you can believe that. Like most things, she picked it up pretty
quickly,” Detective Rellik answered.
“Detective,
I don’t think there is much that would surprise me about Samantha at this
point. She seemed to be a smart girl.”
“One
hundred thirty-eight IQ,” Charles said to no one in particular.
George
and Jessica examined the room, taking in the volumes of books, movies and music
that lined the shelves. Harry Connick,
Jr., Stevie Ray Vaughan, Motown’s Greatest Hits, the Rolling Stones, Aerosmith,
the Beatles, the Beach Boys, John Denver, Bach, Beethoven, the Sound of Music,
Andrew Lloyd Weber, and many more found their home next to Samantha’s
entertainment system.
Books
were arranged by subject and varied from Egyptology, archaeology, and lost
civilizations to the classics including Melville, Steinbeck and
Copperfield. A broad range of
biographies and cookbooks dominated the collection as a whole, but there were
smaller collections dedicated to the likes of Shakespeare, Dickens, Herriot,
Conan Doyle, Grisham, Patterson and even the poetry of Robert Frost, Rudyard
Kipling and Robert Burns.
“George,
I think you were right, Samantha was a romantic, at least based on her film
collection. Bringing up Baby,
“She
must have been older than I initially thought,” Jessica said as she read
several framed documents that had been pushed aside to make room for more
books. “A PhD in Information Science
from the
“She
would have turned twenty-eight this summer,” Charles said.
“Then
she was only twenty-five when she graduated with her PhD?” Jessica asked,
thoroughly impressed with the young woman’s accomplishment.
“That
sounds correct,” Charles responded matter-of-factly.
“Jessica,
didn’t you say that that reporter mentioned a diary or a journal of some kind?”
George asked as he lifted a book from a shelf.
“Yes. Brown leather, no title on the binding. Did you find it?”
“Possibly,”
he said as he paged through the tome.
“Sorry, Jess, I can’t read it.
It’s not in English or French.”
“Mr.
Peterson said that she was fluent in several languages,” Jessica commented as
she joined George and tried to make out Samantha’s writing.
“Spanish,
Portuguese, French, German, Romanian, Hebrew, Norwegian, and she was learning
Japanese and Scottish Gaelic last I heard,” Charles commented.
“Ian
Brickman? Sounds familiar, but I can’t
place it,” George said as he read the front inside cover of the journal out
loud.
“Samantha’s
love interest in
“Samantha
wasn’t seeing Ian Brickman,” Charles responded.
“Brickman was an arts and antiquities thief. Back in the late-nineties, the Swiss police
raided some bonded warehouses in
“His
name is on the inside of her journal,” George offered. “Take a look,” he said, holding the book out
to his friend and former colleague.
Charles
Ross spent the next thirty minutes slowly paging through Samantha Ross’s
personal journal, occasionally stopping to read a page or two.
“Detective,
did you happen to find Samantha’s manuscript?” Jessica asked Jeff Rellik, who
had been sitting quietly on the piano bench, observing the others.
“Not
yet. We also haven’t been able to locate
her laptop and we won’t be able to see a copy of her will or life insurance
policy until tomorrow afternoon, when her attorney gets back from
“Bloody
brilliant, Samantha, bloody brilliant!” Charles Ross exclaimed while shaking
his head.
“What’s
bloody brilliant?” George asked.
“It’s
not a diary. It’s more like a research
journal. It sounds like she was trying
to find Brickman. The final entry says
something to the effect of “I’ve got it.
Confirm Dr. Osman five o’clock today.
Apparently, she thought she knew where Brickman was. I can’t make it all out, but the passages
that I can translate make an awful lot of sense. Names, dates, places. So far it’s all circumstantial, but it fits
with what I remember from the case.”
“Dr.
Osman said that he met with her late in the afternoon on the day that she was
murdered, but he claims that she approached him with an idea for a fictional
novel and wanted him to collaborate with her on it,” Jessica commented.
“He
told me the same thing,” Rellik added as he approached Charles Ross in order to
look more closely at Samantha’s journal.
“It
sounds like she was planning on writing non-fiction to me,” George observed.
“If
Samantha thought that Dr. Osman was her link to Brickman, would she have
confronted him on her own?” Jessica asked as she began pacing.
“Yes!”
Charles Ross and Detective Rellik answered together. “Especially if she had the evidence to back
it up,” Rellik added.
“Assuming
that Samantha was right about a link between Dr. Osman and Ian Brickman, that
could mean that Dr. Osman might have killed Samantha to protect Brickman,”
Jessica thought out loud as she turned and continued her pacing.
“I
don’t think so, Mrs. Fletcher. Dr. Osman
has a pretty iron clad alibi. He was at
the alumni social until nine fifteen and then had dinner at Caliopes with Dean
Andrews, President Phillips and the mayor.”
“In
that case, Dr. Osman would have to be in close contact with Brickman, who must
be close by,” Jessica surmised. “There
were only a few hours between her meeting with Dr. Osman and the time of her
murder,” she reasoned.
“Mrs.
Fletcher, we don’t even know for sure that the two things are related,”
Detective Rellik argued. “We haven’t
ruled out the possibility that it was a random attack or an attempted
rape. She could have tried to get away
and fell off the embankment. Regardless,
it sounds like I will be paying Dr. Osman another visit to clear a few things
up,” Detective Rellik concluded.
“Anything
else you want to look at tonight, Dr. Ross?” Rellik asked.
“I
think Samantha’s journal will keep me plenty busy for the remainder of the
evening, Detective,” Charles answered as he closed the book.
“I’m
sorry, but I’m afraid I have to take that into the station as evidence, but
you’re welcome to come down and read it there,” Rellik offered. “Lord knows we don’t have anyone who can
translate it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Hopefully, we can get some help from the Foreign Language Department
sometime tomorrow.”
“Well,
if there is nothing else, I would like to lock this place up and get back to
the station,” Rellik said before escorting them from the house and locking the
door.
“Hungry,
Jess?” George asked.
“Famished,”
she replied.
“Care
to join us, Charles?” George offered.
“No,
thank you, George. I think that I will
take Detective Rellik up on his offer.
Do you think you can arrange for me to see a copy of the old case file
on Brickman? It might come in
handy. Samantha seems to have had an
intriguing theory and I would like to look into it a bit more,” he commented.
“Sure
thing. I’ll ring the Yard first thing
tomorrow morning unless you want me to fax something tonight.”
“No,
tomorrow morning should be soon enough.
This will keep me busy for awhile,” he said, holding up the journal.
“Can
I drop you two off somewhere, Inspector?
There are plenty of good restaurants between here and the station,”
Rellik asked.
“Aye,
that would be greatly appreciated, Detective,” George responded after Jessica
nodded her agreement.
The
foursome climbed into the dark blue, unmarked police car, Detective Rellik and
Dr. Ross in the front and Jessica and George in the back.
“Well,
Jessica, what are you in the mood for?” George asked.
“A
thick, juicy steak,” Jessica answered.
“Steak? Jessica, you don’t eat steak.”
“Steak,”
she confirmed.
“Okay,
you won’t get any further argument from me.
Detective, any recommendations for a steakhouse?” asked George.
“For
steak, I would recommend Roland’s Steakhouse.
It’s not as fancy as the Vintage, but the steaks are better.”
“Jess?”
“Sounds
good to me,” she answered.
“You
never fail to surprise me, Jessica,” he half whispered as he leaned his head
toward her ear. “Are you sure you
wouldn’t rather have some of that dreadful sushi instead?”
“No,
George, I really do want a steak. I
haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday,” she answered in hushed tones.
“Why
didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I
didn’t want to miss out on exploring Samantha’s house.”
“Now
that doesn’t surprise me in the least,” he said with a quiet chuckle.
**********
Mason
Roland’s Steakhouse certainly offered a friendly environment. Jessica and George were seated in an elevated
booth next to a window, which gave them a view of the passersby on
“Good
evening, my name is Anna, and I will be your waitress this evening,” said a
petite young co-ed who arrived at their table as soon as they had been
seated.
“Have
either of you ever dined with us before?” she asked eagerly.
“No,
I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure,” Jessica replied.
“Then
I will take a minute to explain how things work. The appetizer menu is right here,” she
indicated, pointing to the clear glass surface of the table, which covered the
small menu. “We have a full bar,
anything that you would like and your empty peanut shells go on the floor,” she
said as she set a small metal bucket of peanuts on the center of the
table. “And here are you menus. The specials tonight are the filet mignon
with fresh green beans and a spinach salad and the creamed pheasant with potato
and salad.”
“Can
I get either of you a drink from the bar or an appetizer to start?” she asked,
holding her pen to her notepad, ready to scribble down their orders.
“Certainly,
I would love a glass of red wine,” Jessica said.
“I’ll
have a Scotch,” George answered.
The
waitress wrote down their drink orders.
“I will give you a few minutes to look at your menus while I get your
drinks,” she said as she turned to leave the table. “Oh, I almost forgot. I need to see your i.d.’s before I can get
your drinks.”
“We
card everyone,” she said after seeing the quizzical expressions on both
of their faces.
“I
think I like this place,” Jessica declared with a laugh after the waitress
left.
Detective Rellik was right. The food was delicious. Jessica ordered the petite filet mignon and George chose the pheasant. Their conversation was relaxed and enjoyable with no mention of Samantha Ross’s murder or Mid-Atlantic flight 1431.
“Jessica?”
It was George’s voice. She had become
momentarily distracted.
“Jess,
would you like dessert?”
She
hadn’t noticed that Anna had already returned and cleared their plates.
“No,
not for me, thank you,” she declined politely before returning her gaze to the
window.
Anna
retrieved their check from her apron and placed it on the edge of the
table. George laid his credit card on
top of it and the waitress collected both and left for the register.
“Penny
for your thoughts?” George said.
“I
was just thinking…what do you see when you look at the window?”
“Streetlamps
and shoppers, what do you see?” he answered as he turned his attention to the
scene outside.
“More
importantly, what do you think Samantha Ross would have seen?” Jessica said as
she pulled out a piece of paper and pen from her purse and began writing.
“Jess,
what are you doing?” he asked with great interest as he squinted to make out
what she was writing.
“The
letters on the window. Mason Roland’s
Steakhouse. Did I mention that Samantha,
Paul, and Greg ate her the night before she was murdered or maybe more
importantly, the night before she met with Dr. Osman? I noticed it on her appointment calendar.”
“No,
you didn’t. I’m afraid you’ve lost me,
Jessica.”
She
continued to scribble in her notebook, pausing occasionally to think.
“Do
you think it’s possible that Samantha thought that Osman didn’t just know
Brickman, but that Osman is Brickman?
Look,” she said as she slid the notebook across to George.
“What
is it?” he said as he attempted to decipher the words on the page.
“A
sort of word puzzle connecting Osman to Brickman.”
IAN = BRICKMAN =
EVAN
HANS BRICKLAYER =
IVAN
JAN MASON
JACK SOMNA
JOHN MASNO
SMAND
NOSMA
OSMAN
JOHN OSMAN
“It’s
a bit…creative, Jess, even for you. So
you’re saying that Samantha Ross thought that Dr. Osman was the slaidear,
Brickman.”
“A
what?”
“A slaidear. A robber, a thief.”
“Actually,
I was just thinking out loud, but now I’m almost certain of it.”
“Detective
Rellik said that Dr. Osman has an air tight alibi,” George reminded her while
replacing his credit card into his wallet and placing a generous tip on the
table.
“I
know, but that doesn’t mean that Osman isn’t Brickman. It just means that Osman, or Brickman,
probably didn’t kill Samantha.”
“Let’s
go,” Jessica said as she got up from the table and headed toward the exit.
**********
“Jessica, this might be a tad easier, if you told me
exactly where we are going,” George said as he drove the silver Chrysler
Sebring rental car along a dark country road just outside of
“George, pull in right there, after the trees,” Jessica whispered as she pointed toward an old, neglected mailbox.
“Where are we and why are you whispering?” he asked as he pulled the car into what appeared to be an old, badly maintained farmstead.
“John Osman’s farm,” Jessica said as she quietly got out of the car, closed the passenger side door and headed for the front of the faded yellow, two-story house.
George caught up with her on the front steps, where she had already knocked on the door and was peering through the glass pane of the door, trying to make out the interior of the darkened house.
“Let’s try the back door,” she said as she descended the steps and walked around to the northwest corner of the house, without waiting for George to follow.
“He’s obviously not here, Jess. Perhaps Detective Rellik found him at the museum before it closed,” George suggested.
“In that case, there is no harm in checking things out then,” Jessica decided. She reached into her purse, retrieved her trusty flashlight and turned it on.
“Jessica, we can’t break into his house,” George said sternly.
“Of course not, but I would like to find out what’s been going on in the barn,” she said, pointing the small light at the ground and illuminating fresh tire tracks, which lead in the direction of the red, gambrel-roofed, Dutch barn, which stood a few hundred feet to the east.
They entered the barn through a door, which lead into a small milk house. Another small door lead into the wide central aisle of the main barn. There were a series of stalls, running the length of the structure on both sides. They proceeded to the far end of the barn, using the flashlight to quickly inspect each stall. Seeing nothing of interest, Jessica began climbing a set of stairs, which lead to the hayloft. After reaching the loft itself, Jessica swept the flashlight across the room from left to right. The light reflected off several rows of glass cabinets.
“That’s far enough,” they heard a grave voice say as a harsh floodlight was illuminated and aimed directly into their eyes. They both froze, with hands shielding their eyes, as they heard the unmistakable sound of a round of ammunition being chambered.
“This is quite a museum, Mr. Brickman,” Jessica said boldly.
“Yes, it is rather impressive, isn’t it,” he responded as he stepped out from the darkness that engulfed the majority of the loft. “Unfortunately for you, it’s not open to the public,” he remarked coldly. Dr. John Osman held a twenty gauge shotgun, aimed directly at George and Jessica.
“So you’re the treasure hunter that Samantha Ross was going to write her book about?” Jessica said, slowly lowering her hands as her eyes had begun to adjust to the bright light.
“Not so fast, Mrs. Fletcher, hands back up,” Osman commanded. “Back downstairs, both of you,” he ordered,” waving the shotgun in the direction of the stairs.
Jessica didn’t move.
“Do what he says, Jessica,” George said as he lowered his hands and motioned to take her by the elbow and escort her down the dark stairs.
“That’s right, Mrs. Fletcher, listen to the Inspector. He’s a smart man,” Osman commented, indicating again that he wanted them to descend the stairs.
“I don’t think so, Inspector. I’m not an idiot. Get your hands back up in the air,” Osman said, still holding them at gun point. Jessica began to descend the stairs, followed by George.
“So, you did kill Samantha Ross?” Jessica accused as she reached to bottom.
“No, I didn’t get the chance, but I will have to kill the two of you,” he declared without any emotion as he joined them at the bottom of the stairs. “Murder, suicide, I think. Yes, a lover’s quarrel, that’s perfect,” he concluded as he directed them out of the barn toward George’s rental car.
The barnyard was instantly awash with harsh, fluorescent light. George grabbed Jessica and tackled her sideways to the ground and away from Osman, shielding her with his own body.
“Police, freeze right there, Dr. Osman,” they heard a familiar voice command from behind them. “Drop the gun, get down on your knees, and place both hands behind your head, now!”
John Osman held out the shotgun with his left hand, slowly bent down and lowered the weapon to the ground before kneeling and placing his hands behind his head as instructed.
Detective Rellik rushed forward from the shadows and handcuffed Osman before reading him his Miranda rights.
“Are you okay, Jess?” George asked once Rellik had the situation under control.
“Yes, I think so,” she replied. “Although it is getting a little difficult to breath,” she said, attempting to adjust herself and wriggle from underneath his body weight.
“Sorry about that, you’re sure you’re all right? Your shoulder’s all right?” he asked as he released her, slowly got up from the ground and reached down to help her to her feet.
“Yes, are you?” she asked.
“Yes, just a tad dusty is all,” he answered before brushing the dirt from his trousers and jacket.
“Mrs. Fletcher, Inspector, are you two okay?” Detective Rellik asked as he approached them after allowing another officer to escort Osman to a waiting patrol car.
“How did you know that we were here?” Jessica asked.
“I got your message and came out here looking for Osman. I saw the two of you go into the barn and followed you, but Osman ambushed you before I could catch up. I heard him order you back downstairs so, I retreated to the stalls at the other end of the barn and radioed to my back up that you were on your way out. I guess you know the rest.”
“Yes, we know the rest,” Jessica said, nodding her head.
“What were you saying up there about a museum?” Rellik asked.
“We’ll show you,” Jessica said as she headed back into the barn and up the dark flight of stairs. Using her flashlight, she located the floodlight, which soon illuminated the rudimentary museum, which was located in the hayloft. It appeared that Dr. Osman had been hurriedly packing crates with hundreds if not thousands of valuable antiquities and other pieces of art. Most of the items were still displayed in their glass cabinets and nearly all of the pieces had been roughly dated, some as early as 2000 B.C.
“Look at this,” George said as he picked up a large notebook. The notebook contained maps showing the origin of each piece and from where each piece had been stolen. The loft had been renovated into three rooms. The largest room served as a simple museum. One of the two smaller rooms was being used to clean and restore the treasures and the other was being used as a photographic laboratory, which was being used to build a catalog of the stolen items. It appeared that Samantha Ross’s theory had been correct.
**********
Jessica,
George, Charles and Detective Rellik enjoyed brunch the following day in a
small café on
“Mrs.
Fletcher, I have to hand it to you. How
did you figure out that Osman and Brickman were the same person?” Detective
Rellik asked.
“Just
a hunch at first, but then I remembered something that Mr. Peterson said. He said that Samantha called Dr. Osman a slaidear,
but he didn’t know what it meant and neither did I. I was really just trying to figure out how
Samantha’s mind worked and then George used the same word to describe
Brickman. Charles seemed so certain that
Samantha had found a close link between Osman and Brickman. If there was no link, there was no reason for
Dr. Osman to lie about Samantha’s book.
If there was a close link, nothing could be closer than Osman actually
being Brickman? It was merely a logical
conclusion.”
“It’s
just too bad he has such an air tight alibi for the night of Samantha’s
murder,” Rellik commented, while rubbing his chin as though deep in
thought. “Any ideas on that, Mrs.
Fletcher?”
“No,
I’m afraid not, Detective. Have you
gotten any new information on the weapon?”
“Right
now it looks like a knife, but the blade had a very unusual shape, almost like
a scythe, but much smaller. It is taking
a lot longer than I had hoped to identify it.
We don’t have much else to go on right now. Sam’s attorney had his flight cancelled so we
won’t see her will or safety deposit box until at least tomorrow afternoon so,
for now we’re just trying to develop some more leads.”
“Until
then, I’m up to my ears in paperwork on this whole Brickman matter. Actually, I had better be getting back out to
Osman’s farm,” he said as he rose from the table.
“Mind
if I join you, Detective?” Charles Ross asked.
“I’d love to take a look at some of those artifacts.”
“No
problem. I imagine we’ll be there for a
few days by the look of things,” he concluded.
“Inspector, Mrs. Fletcher, care to join us?”
“Jess,
it’s up to you,” George said, deflecting the question.
“How
about tomorrow, Detective?” Jessica responded.
“Sure
thing. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Rellik
said as he and Charles departed the cafe.
“Well,
Jessica, what do you have planned for the rest of the day?”
“Nothing
really. I thought I might explore
downtown a little bit. Care to join me?”
“Of
course, where to first, my lady?” he said as he offered her his arm.
They
spent the next hour walking arm in arm, talking and window shopping.
“Want
to go in?” Jessica said as they approached McBaren’s Smoke Shop.
“Only
if you don’t mind.”
“Not
at all. I have something to pick up next
door,” Jessica said, indicating an interior entrance to the neighboring shop,
the English Tea Store.”
George
purchased a tin of McClelland pipe tobacco and a small package of Calibri
flints, which he placed in his jacket pocket.
“Did
you find what you were looking for?” he asked as Jessica returned, carrying a
small package.
“Yes,
as a matter of fact, I did.”
“Ready
to continue then?” he asked, once again offering her his arm.
Jessica
inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet smell of pipe tobacco, which lingered in
the shop. She had many fond memories
that she associated with that particular smell.
“Sure,”
she said, linking arms with George. They
exited the shop and continued along the busy street.
“Dessert?”
she said as she held a small open tin in George’s direction.
“Churchill’s
toffee, my weakness, I’m afraid,” he responded before accepting a piece.
“I
know. You keep a tin in your top left
hand desk drawer next to your Olivewood pen, your wallet and your car
keys.”
He
looked at her curiously for a moment.
“Sorry, Jess, I forgot for a minute just how observant you are.”
Jessica
stopped suddenly at a corner jewelry store and looked thoughtfully at the window
display. George stood closely behind her
and gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Romantic
chap,” he observed, looking over her shoulder.
The
window displayed several photos of a handsome couple, who Jessica judged to be
in their late twenties. An engagement
ring sat in the center of the display.
Attached to the ring box was a small note, which read, “Alexandra, Will
you marry me?” To the right was another photo of the couple taken outside the
same shop with the young man down on one knee and another note, which read,
“She said yes.”
“Let’s
go in,” he said as he grabbed her hand.
They were inside before Jessica could protest.
“What
are we looking for?” she asked somewhat apprehensively.
“Nothing,
really. My watch needs a minor
repair. Why don’t you look around while
I take care of this?” he suggested.
“It
should be ready on Tuesday, Mr.Sutherland,” the saleswoman said as she handed
him the stub from the repair ticket.
“Find
something you like?” George asked when he rejoined Jessica, who was browsing
the display cases.
“Most
of it,” Jessica replied.
“Anything
in particular?”
“No,
why?”
“No
reason. Ready to go?”
They
resumed their walk, arm in arm, in the direction of the
“
“Where
are we going?”
“To
watch,” he said, heading in the direction of the pitch.
“George,
I don’t know anything about rugby,” she said, catching up to him.
“Then
I’ll explain it to you.”
“You
play rugby?” she asked in surprise.
“As
a school boy, Jess, it’s a young man’s game.
I haven’t played since my university days.”
Jessica and George seated themselves on the
grass next to the field and watched for the remainder of the practice.
“That
must be the famous Mr. Ferguson standing on the edge of the pitch?” George
said.
“You
know, he looks vaguely familiar. Let’s
go and find out. I’d like to talk to him,” Jessica said.
“I
figured that you might,” he said as he got up from the grass.
“Coach
Ferguson, could we have a minute of your time?” Jessica asked as they
approached the man in question.
William
Ferguson was a tall man, at least six foot two inches, with broad
shoulders. Jessica judged him to be in
his late twenties and he was in considerably good physical condition. He had a head full of thick, blonde,
windblown hair. If it had not been for
his recently broken nose, he may have been considered by some to be quite
handsome.
“Sure,
what do you want?” he said somewhat rudely.
“My
name is Jessica Fletcher and this is my friend Chief Inspector George
Sutherland of Scotland Yard. I was a
friend of Samantha Ross.”
“I’m
busy,” he said as he began to step past Jessica.
“Please,
it will only take a second,” she countered politely.
“Fine,
what would you like to know about the lovely Samantha Ross,” he said without
trying to hide his sarcasm.
“I
was just wondering if you saw her the day that she died.”
“I
had no reason to see that stuck up little bitch,” he said with an intense look
of anger. She noticed his right hand
clench into a fist.
“Are
you sure that you didn’t even see her running on campus that night?”
“Look,
lady, if you think that I had anything to do with her getting killed, you’re
way off base. After practice, I drove to
“I
think you owe the lady an apology,” he said, glaring at
The
man attempted to push George aside, but George was too quick and in an instant
he had the younger man prone with an arm cranked behind his back. “I said, I think you owe the lady an
apology,” George repeated.
“Fine,
fine, I apologize. Now get off me,” he
said as he struggled to free himself.
George
let the man up. Jessica smiled as she
heard him say, “And one other thing, Mr. Ferguson, don’t ever touch her
again. Do I make myself clear?”
“
“Jessica,
are you all right?” George asked as
“Yes,
I’m perfectly fine. Thank you.”
“Did
you figure out where you know him from?”
“Yes,
I think he was one of the doctoral students who was working in the museum. They were working on a display of Viking
tools and weapons from the Iron Age.”
She paused and thought for a moment.
“George, do you have your cell phone?”
“Sure,
whom are you calling?” he said as he removed the phone from his jacket pocket
and handed it to her.
“Detective
Rellik. I think I know where the knife
that stabbed Samantha might be hidden.”
After
calling Detective Rellik, Jessica and George continued walking toward the Kappa
Delta house until they found themselves standing on
“Jessica,
do you remember the other night, I mentioned that I wanted your opinion about
something,” George said as he removed his pipe from his pocket and readied to
light it.
“Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” she
said as she watched the repair stub fall from George’s pocket to the
ground. She bent down, picked it up and
examined it.
“Sorry,
George, but can we discuss this later. I
think I know who killed Samantha Ross.”
“William
Ferguson?”
“No.”
Jessica
hurried to the path located just above the stone embankment where Samantha’s
body had been found. Down on hands and
knees, she combed through the grass carefully.
“What
are you looking for, Jessica?”
“Found
it,” she exclaimed before getting back up to her feet.
**********
“Do
you really think this is going to work?” George asked as he held the shop door
open for Jessica to enter.
“I
hope so,” she answered.
Jessica
and George had returned to Hartman’s Jewelry Store, where they browsed the
numerous display cases, which showcased a wide variety of jewelry and precious
stones.
“Is
there something that I can help you with?” a saleswoman asked with a smile and
a glint in her eye.
“No,
thank you, we’re just brows…” Jessica started.
“Actually,
we’d like to see that piece, right there,” George said, pointing into the case
in front of them.
“George,
what are you doing?”
“Just
getting into character, love. Try it on,”
he suggested.
“It
is very beautiful,” Jessica observed.
Just
then the small bell above the door jingled and Teresa Castleman entered.
“May
I help you, ma’am?” another salesperson asked her.
“Yes,
the manager called and said that there was a problem repairing my ring. Could I speak with him?”
“One
moment please.”
“Miss
Castleman?” the manager said as he approached her.
“Yes,
that’s right. There’s a problem with my
ring?”
“Actually,
yes. If you have your ticket stub, I’ll
get it and show you the problem. Teresa
emptied her purse onto the counter, retrieved the ticket stub and handed it to
Detective Jeff Rellik, temporary manager of Hartman’s Jewelry Store.
“Miss
Castleman, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Samantha Ross,” he said
as he stepped from behind the counter.
“You’re
crazy. I had nothing to do with Samantha
Ross’s murder,” she said defiantly.
“You
have the right to remain silent. You
have the right to an attorney…,” Rellik continued citing her Miranda rights.
“Greg,
please take Miss Castleman to the car,” he said to his younger brother, who had
been posing as a customer, once the woman had been handcuffed.
“Thanks
again for the tip, Mrs. Fletcher. You
were right. We found the knife in the
museum. It was labeled as a Viking
woman’s knife. The blade looks like a
pretty good match. We’ve got several
good fingerprints for comparison and the blood matches Sam’s. They also found plenty of epithelials and
some white fibers on the damaged prong of Miss Castleman’s ring. It looks like it got snagged on Sam’s vest
when she drug her over the edge of the embankment. It was probably also responsible for the
scratches on her neck. DNA should be
back sometime tomorrow. But tell me
something, how did you know it was her?
After you called about the knife, I had my money on
“The
way I see it, Ms. Castleman was the only person who had access to the museum
and the knife and who may have overheard Samantha’s conversation with Dr.
Osman. I also remembered that when I was
in her office, she kept fidgeting with her ring finger as though she was used
to having a ring on it. When she emptied
her purse to find the key to the museum, I noticed a ticket stub from the
jewelry store, but it wasn’t until I found the missing pearl and you confirmed
that she had brought a ring in to be repaired the day after the murder and to
have a pearl replaced that I knew for sure.”
“The
ring links her to Osman or Brickman, whatever his name is. We’re lucky that you were able to find that
pearl. It looks like the ring was part
of some famous collection called the Mary Queen of Scots Pearls. I don’t know anything about jewelry, but
apparently most of the original collection is still in
“It
would have made for an interesting book,” Jessica commented after the detective
had left.
“Yes,
it would have,” George agreed.
**********
Jessica
had just finished her hair and make-up after taking a quick shower and dressing
for dinner and was putting in her earrings when she heard a soft knock on the
door.
“Come
in,” she answered.
“Are
you sure?” George asked as he poked his head inside.”
“Of
course. I am almost ready. I just need to put on my necklace.”
“Need
some help?” he asked.
“I
think I can get it.”
“No,
I’ll get for you,” he said as he crossed the room.
“Thank
you so much, George. I always have a
terrible time with this clasp,” she said as she handed him the necklace.
“Did
you get it?”
“Almost,”
he answered as he worked at the clasp.
“There,
how did I do?” he asked once he was finished.
Jessica hadn’t noticed him place her necklace back onto the table.
“I’m
sure you did just fine.”
“You’d
better check, just in case.”
She
turned back around to face the mirror and caught a glimpse of his sparkling
eyes, from where he was crouched behind her.
“Oh,
George, it’s beautiful! But you
shouldn’t have, it was so expensive.”
“Let
me worry about that. Happy Birthday,
Jessie,” he said before kissing her softly on the lips. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of
course not. But my birthday isn’t until
Wednesday.”
“I
know that, but I’m afraid that I won’t be here to help you celebrate. I have to go back to
“Tomorrow
morning?”
“Afraid
so. I have to escort Brickman back. I don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“No,
I suppose not,” she conceded. “I thought
we were going to talk before you left,” she asked.
“I
know and we will.”
“When?”
she pressed.
“The
next time we see each other.”
“George,
I don’t come to
“Are
you two ready?” Margaret said as she stuck her head in the door.
“Aye,
let’s go,” he said as he took Jessica by the elbow and guided her into the
kitchen.
“Do
you mind if we make a quick stop at the house before we go to dinner?” Margaret
asked. “I really would like to have your
opinion on a couple of things.”
“George,
do you mind?” Jessica said.
“Not
at all. I’d love to see this house that
you two have been going on about.”
The
drive to the
“It
is even larger than I remember,” Jessica commented as Margaret gave them the
grand tour of the main floor.
“4500
square feet,” Margaret answered.
“Wasn’t
this house originally willed to the college with the intent that it would be
used as a museum?” Jessica asked.
“You’re
right, Jessica, but the college is still working out the specifics. This floor will house the museum initially,
but that is still a couple of years away.
The bathroom in the master suite is too modern right now and will need
to be redone if it is ever going to be a museum. Actually, the school might use it as a rental
for temporary faculty on one-year contracts until they are ready to turn it
into a museum. The rent would help pay
for maintenance and repairs while I continue to research and get things in
order for the museum. I am afraid that
it is going to be a long process.”
“Oh,
Margaret, this must be so fun for you.
The woodwork and design are absolutely beautiful,” Jessica observed.
“Yes
it is, but I need to finish the kitchen and dining room on this floor and add a
few finishing touches to two of the bedrooms on the second floor by mid-August
and like I said, there is quite a bit of research involved in getting the
details just right.”
They
continued to explore the rooms on the main level of the house.
“This
is the ladies parlor, my personal favorite.
Don’t you love it, Jessica? It
would make a wonderful retreat for reading or writing,” Margaret commented.
“I
was just thinking the same thing,” Jessica agreed.
Margaret
guided them through the small kitchen and into a very ornate dining room.
“George,
were you ever planning on telling me about your job offer here at the college?”
Jessica asked quietly once Margaret was out of earshot.
George
looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Margaret
told me,” she explained. “Well? Were you planning on telling me about
it?”
“Aye.”
“When?”
“Later.”
“Through
here are the den and the gentleman’s parlor,” Margaret continued. George and Jessica followed.
“Upstairs
is where I really need your help, Jess,” Margaret said as she returned to the
room and motioned for them to follow her up the first flight of stairs.
Jessica
lingered behind; obviously not ready to terminate her conversation with George.
“Shall
we?” George said and he motioned for Jessica to lead the way.
“George,
you’ve leaving tomorrow,” Jessica said in a loud whisper as she passed him at
the foot of the stairs.
“I
realize that.”
“This
is the largest of the guest rooms. What
do you think, George?” Margaret asked after they had all reached to top of the
stairs and readied to enter the first of four bedrooms.
“Nicely done, Margaret. Perhaps a little masculine for you ladies, but I think most men would find it comfortable,” George answered.
“Good,
that was my goal.”
“Jess,
what do you think?”
“It
is very handsome. The colors are
wonderful, deep and rich. But I will
have to disagree with George. I don’t
think it is too masculine.”
“I’m glad you approve. Now, the next two rooms are bedrooms also, but I haven’t started on them yet. There is still so much research to do. Go ahead and look around. The woodwork is magnificent. I’ll be right back, I forgot to turn the light off in the last room.”
“Don’t
misunderstand me, George. You certainly
don’t have any obligation to discuss such things with me. It’s just that I thought that we agreed to
try to create more opportunities to see each other so I just can’t help but
wonder why you haven’t mention it,” Jessica said, in hushed tones, as she once
again tried to resume their conversation.
“I
did, twice,” he responded in a whisper as he continued to admire the intricate
crown molding.
“When?”
“On
the bridge. We were interrupted.”
“Were
you planning on mentioning it again?”
“We’ll
discuss it another time. Margaret is
waiting.” George cocked his head toward
the door clearly indicating that he was ready to move on.
“Jess,
this is the room that I really need your opinion about,” Margaret said as they
entered the master suite. The room was
magnificent. It overlooked a small
formal garden in the back yard. It was
very spacious and had a fireplace and a king-size, four-poster bed. The bathroom was modern and included a large
Jacuzzi-style bath, which was situated in a corner, and a separate shower. The sitting room was tastefully decorated in
cream, accented with a dusty rose color.
The furniture was tasteful and looked very comfortable.
“I
wouldn’t change a thing,” Jessica said.
“It’s breathtaking.”
“Sit
on the bed, Jess. It’s pure heaven.”
“I
shouldn’t,” Jessica declined.
“Our
secret,” Margaret replied with a wink.
A jacquard
comforter covered the large bed.
Beautiful diamond patchwork blended with an array of soft pastels in
ivory, sage, winter rose and champagne.
Lace and pearl embellishments added a quality of elegance. Accent pillows of matching jacquard, soutache
trim and lace completed the ensemble.
Three antique floral panels accented with gold wrought iron cartouches
adorned the wall above the head of the bed.
“You’re
right, it is heaven,” Jessica said after sitting down.
“Hello,
this is Margaret. Yes…Tuesday at ten
o’clock? No, I’m afraid that won’t
work. I will check my appointment
calendar for next week and call you back in five minutes.” Margaret closed her cellular phone and put it
back into her purse.
“I’m
sorry, Jess, but I need to run out to the car for a few minutes to check my
appointment calendar and then call the upholstery shop back before he
closes. It shouldn’t take me more than
ten minutes. Take your time and enjoy
the house. Explore a bit. It’s a great old house. I’ll be back in a little bit and then we can
go to dinner. Sorry about this.”
“That’s
no problem. I’m sure we can entertain
ourselves until you get back.
“Thank
you so much, Jessica. I’ll be right
back. Maybe you two can find the secret
passageway while I am gone. It is
supposed to lead from one of the bedroom closets to a hidden staircase, but I
haven’t been able to find it yet.”
“Take
your time, Marg. We’ll be fine.”
Jessica
slowly admired the room from her seat on the edge of the bed, soaking in the beauty
around her. She relaxed and leaned
backward, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The bed was soft and luxurious.
“She
might not be able to get me to leave,” Jessica commented.
“George?
Are you still here?” Jessica sat up and
looked around the room to see George looking down into the small garden below.
“Aye.”
“What
are you looking at?”
“Nothing,
just enjoying the view,” he answered without turning to look at her.
“George,
do you remember when you said you wanted to ask my opinion about something.”
“Aye,
I remember,” he answered, still looking out the window.
“Was
it about the job offer?”
“Aye.”
“Are
you even considering accepting it?”
“I
haven’t declined it, yet.”
“But
you haven’t accepted it yet either?”
“No,
I haven’t,” he said, turning to face her.
“Are
you planning on telling me why?”
“As
you know, it’s very complicated, Jessica?”
“Is
there any chance that you are going to explain it to me any time soon?”
“You’re
a dour woman, Jessica Fletcher.
Come over here and sit down,” he said, indicating that he wanted her to
join him on the love seat.
They
seated themselves on the small loveseat in the sitting room.
“Jessica, I trust that you know that I still care very deeply for you and I do want to have every opportunity for us to continue to develop our relationship, but I also know that your life in Cabot Cove is “idyllic,” as you once described it to me, and I have no wish to disrupt that for you and I am very concerned that that is exactly what would happen if I were here in Green Falls.”
“George,
you wouldn’t disrupt my life,” Jessica said, placing her hand gently on his.
“I’m
far from being convinced of that,” he replied, looking her straight in the
eyes.
“Well,
I am,” she replied emphatically.
“As
I said, it’s complicated.” He looked
briefly away from her gaze.
“And?”
she prodded.
“Jessica,
it’s only a temporary position, nine months, and the college needs an answer
before I leave. Right now that answer is
no and I don’t see that changing in the next sixteen hours.”
“Why?”
“Jessica,
I cannot and will not burden you with making that decision, not after what
happened earlier this week.”
“George,
I’m fine and I’m certainly capable of rendering my own opinion on the matter.”
“Jessica,
you are the most intelligent, logical and reasonable person that I know, but I
don’t think that you have thought this through.
I have a very strong feeling that you would be basing your opinion
almost purely on emotions brought on by stress and that’s not like you.”
“And
I disagree with your assessment.”
“Okay,
Jessica. Tell me this. How many boards and committees do you serve
on?”
“Two
or three.”
“I
would say five or six, at least,” he countered.
“I
don’t see what that has to do with it?”
“You
and Seth still cook dinner together and play chess on Friday nights, right?”
“Yes,
but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we didn’t do it every Friday night and you
could certainly join us.”
George
shook his head. She certainly could be
frustratingly stubborn at times.
“The
point is that we would either not see each other, in which case I might as well
be in
“No,
you wouldn’t,” she said adamantly. “And
we certainly would see each other.”
“Jessica,
now I’m certain that you haven’t thought this through. Where will you be this fall?” he asked.
“I
have a book tour,” she said matter of factly.
“And
where will this book tour take you?”
“I
will be in
“Actually,
I would be here, but that is beside the point,” he reminded her.
“We
would be together here for the holidays,” she said hopefully.
“You know that I would love to spend the holidays with you, but in all likelihood I would need to go back to Wick to get caught up on business.”
Jessica
thought silently for quite some time.
“You’re
absolutely right, George, I didn’t think it through very well. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fight with you.”
“You
didn’t. You’re just stubborn sometimes,
but that happens to be one of the things that I love about you,” he said as he
brushed a small lock of hair away from her eyes. Neither one of them spoke for a moment.
“Pleasant
idea, though, wasn’t it?” he said with a small smile.
“Yes,
it was,” she agreed, with a pleasant smile.
“Jessie,
I do love you, very much,” he said as he hugged her.
“And
I lo…”
“Shhhh,
please, not until you’re really ready.”
He released her slightly so that he could look her in the eyes.
“I
have absolutely no problem telling you that I love you, but I don’t expect to
hear it from you nor do I want to unless there is absolutely no doubt in your
mind about it. Understand?”
Jessica
nodded her head slightly.
“In
the mean time, there is one other thing that I would like to do while we are
still alone.”
“Find
the secret passageway?” Jessica asked.
“Not
even close, love,” he said with a slight smile and shake of his head, before
bending down and kissing her gently on the lips.
“Jess? George?
Are you two still up there?” They heard Margaret’s voice call from
downstairs.
George
slowly got up from the love seat, helped Jessica to her feet and pulled her
close into his arms.
“Thank
you, George, for being you,” she said as she embraced him tighter. “We should go.”
“In
a minute,” he said as he held her for a moment longer.
“Are
you two ready to go?” Margaret asked as she poked her head through the opening
in the doorway.
“Be
right there,” George said, sounding less than enthusiastic about the idea.
“Did
you find it?” Margaret asked when they finally joined her in the hallway.
“Second bedroom on the third floor. It’s on the south wall of the closet.” George answered.
“George,
we didn’t even look,” Jessica whispered.
“I
found it a few days ago,” he whispered back, with a mischievous glint in his
eye.
“You’ve
been in this house before?” Jessica asked as they followed Margaret down the
stairs.
“I
never said that I hadn’t given serious thought to moving closer to you,
Jessica,” he said as he wrapped one arm around her and gave her shoulder a
gentle squeeze as they descended the stairs.
“You
know, George, I do love that room but I don’t think that I could have stayed
here,” she said, stopping and turning to face him.
“Only
if you had wanted to, Jess.”
“I’ve
stayed with you before, in Wick. That’s
not the problem.”
“Afraid
you’ve lost me again, Jess,” he said as he held the door open for her to exit
the house.
“George, this house is haunted.”
“Really?”
“That’s
what they say.”
“Another
haunted house. That reminds me. I’m afraid that I probably won’t be able to
take you to Wick when you come to
“You
won’t?” Jessica was clearly
disappointed.
“Afraid
there’s no room in the inn. With the
exception of my own room, which only has one bed, it’s completely booked during
the time that we were supposed to visit and I don’t think I can cancel that
many reservations.”
“Of
course not. I would never expect you to.”
“I
do have an alternative plan, if you would like to hear it?”
“Sure.”
“How
does
“I’ve
always wanted to go to
“I
think you’ve mentioned that before and I would like to be the one to take you
there, if that is acceptable to you.”
“Well,
I was really looking forward to going back to Wick, but if you insist, I guess
“I
insist.”
“Then