Read Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade Online

Authors: Jessica Fletcher,Donald Bain

Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade (14 page)

BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade
3.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
 
 
“An ex-FBI agent?” Garland said, snorting. “Not on your life. I’m out of here.” He stormed from the room.
 
 
“Maybe I shouldn’t have used the guys,” Mort said to Curtis, “but you wanted it done fast.”
 
 
“Don’t worry about it,” Curtis said, slapping the sheriff on the back. “There were plenty of other witnesses besides Mrs. Fletcher. It’s open-and-shut.”
 
 
The others left the building, but I sat with Mort in his office until it was time for Allcott to return. The lineup had taken only fifteen minutes.
 
 
“Sorry it didn’t go better,” I said.
 
 
“Like Frank used to say, it doesn’t matter. Ready for tomorrow?”
 
 
“The Fourth? I suppose so. You?”
 
 
“We’re set to go. The state is supplying extra officers to handle the crowds. The town has really filled up for the weekend, lots of tourists here to catch the rock-and-roll show and the fireworks. I’ll say this for Mr. Lennon—he knows how to throw a party. Looks like it may be bigger than the Lobsterfest, and that was a big deal.”
 
 
Cabot Cove’s annual lobster festival took place in the fall and attracted an enthusiastic crowd despite the fact that it was officially after the peak summer tourist season. The townspeople were very proud of the Lobsterfest, although it would need to go a far way to match the one in Rockland that took place more than a month earlier than ours and was world renowned. I hoped our folks would be equally as proud of this year’s Fourth of July celebration.
 
 
I told Mort about Chester and his anti-Lennon T-shirts.
 
 
“Chester’s going off the deep end,” Mort said, shaking his head sadly. “T-shirts comparing Lennon with the dictator Lenin? That’s really dumb. Had he been drinking?”
 
 
“I don’t know.”
 
 
Another shake of the head. “Best thing for him would be to sleep it off, to go to bed and stay there until the whole thing is over.”
 
 
If only
.
 
 
“What’s on your schedule the rest of the day, Mrs. F?”
 
 
“I’m heading for Seth’s house when I leave here. He’s due back from the hospital. Jim Shevlin is driving him.”
 
 
“Well, give Doc my best. I suppose there’s no sense bringing him in for a lineup after what just happened.”
 
 
I reminded Mort that he wanted a formal statement from me.
 
 
“How about you write one up and drop it off? I’ll formally accept it when you do.”
 
 
“Fair enough.”
 
 
Mort laughed. “Should be a good one, considering that you write for a living.”
 
 
“I’ll do my best.”
 
 
When I walked into the reception area, Allcott was coming through the door. “How’d it go?” he asked.
 
 
As we exited the sheriff’s office I gave him a brief description, and he frowned when I mentioned the deputies in the lineup.
 
 
“Your sheriff should have anticipated the lawyer’s objection.”
 
 
“He was under pressure to set up a lineup quickly.”
 
 
“Where are you off to next?”
 
 
“Seth’s house.”
 
 
“Mind if I tag along?”
 
 
“Of course not, only—”
 
 
He read my mind. “You’d rather be alone with your friend,” he said. “I understand. I’ll drop you off.”
 
 
“Thanks for the ride—and for understanding.”
 
 
As we drove, Allcott said he thought he’d spend the afternoon browsing around the town. “Free for dinner?” he asked as we pulled up in front of Seth’s house.
 
 
“Afraid not,” I replied. “I’m going to a friend’s house. I can call and ask whether—”
 
 
“No, please. I think I’ll make it a quiet night at the inn. Your friends, the owners, are serving up lobster tonight. I’ll enjoy a drink in my rocking chair, a good dinner, and pick up where I left off in a book I’m reading—one of yours, as a matter of fact.”
 
 
“I’m flattered.”
 
 
“Maybe you’ll sign it before I leave?”
 
 
“Happy to.”
 
 
Following my directions, he pulled up in front of Seth’s house and came around the front of the car to open the door for me. “My best to Dr. Hazlitt,” he said. “See you tomorrow? Another round of blueberry pancakes?”
 
 
I laughed. “Not for me. Once a week is all my waistline can tolerate. But I’ll meet you at Mara’s at nine. We can go from there to the parade. It starts at ten.”
 
 
“Great. A classic small-town Fourth of July parade. I love it.”
 
 
I watched him drive away before knocking on Seth’s door and opening it. “Seth?” I called.
 
 
“Back here,” he responded.
 
 
I walked through the main part of the house to the small den, to which my friend often repaired when he wanted a quiet, peaceful place to read and think. He was leaning back in his favorite armchair, newspaper spread across his chest, glasses perched on the end of his nose. He started to rise.
 
 
“Don’t get up,” I said, sitting on a hassock. “Did I wake you?”
 
 
“Might have drifted off a bit. Hospital rooms are so damned noisy; can’t get a wink in all night. Every time I start to doze off, here comes another nurse, poking me, taking my temperature or blood pressure. Amazing anyone gets well in a place like that.”
 
 
“You look fine.”
 
 
“I feel all right,” he said. “Whoever’s blood they gave me must have been an athlete, bright red and full of oxygen. Sure to give me plenty of pep.”
 
 
“That’s good to hear. Have they told you to take it easy for a few days?”
 
 
“Of course they did. They tell that to everyone. But I’ve got a full afternoon of patients.”
 
 
“Maybe you should—”
 
 
“What, Jessica? Call Dr. Warren Boyle and ask him to cover for me?”
 
 
“Where’s Dr. Jenny?”
 
 
“Downstate, visitin’ her folks. She offered to come back up, but I told her no. And I’m not calling Dr. Boyle.”
 
 
“I wasn’t suggesting anything of the kind, and you know it.”
 
 
“I’m not so sure you think it’s a bad idea.”
 
 
“I think it’s a terrible idea. Now, you said you wanted to discuss something with me.”
 
 
“Ayuh. You might recall that I told you I was speaking with someone from Bangor who specializes in selling medical practices.”
 
 
“Yes, I do recall that.”
 
 
“Well, I’ve made up my mind to go ahead and do it.”
 
 
“And just what prompted this decision, if I may ask?” I said, knowing what he was about to say.
 
 
“Time marches on, Jessica, and it’s passed this chicken-soup doctor by.”
 
 
“Seth Hazlitt,” I said, “that is absurd!”
 
 
“Oh, is it, now?”
 
 
“Yes, it is. You’re at the top of your game, Seth. You have the benefit of experience to go with your insights and training. I remember when I attended that medical conference with you in Los Angeles. You received an award for your diagnostic excellence. You’re the best diagnostician there is, and hundreds of people have benefited from it. Half of this town, at least those who go back more than a few years, have you to thank for their health and well-being. You’re constantly attending conferences and seminars to keep up with the latest advances in medicine. You’re not ready to retire, plain and simple.
You are not ready to retire!
”
 
 
A tiny smile crossed his lips. “The heat’s got you all fired up this mornin’, Jessica.”
 
 
“No,
you
have me fired up, Seth. Should I stop writing because I’m on the wrong side of fifty?”
 
 
“Now, that’s not a fair question, not an apt analogy.”
 
 
“Of course it is. I’m at the top of
my
game, too. I have lots of fans out there who are waiting for my next book, just as you have lots of men, women, and children waiting for appointments with you. They
need
you, Seth.”
 
 
He grunted and looked out the window at his garden, which he tended with care.
 
 
“Will you at least give it some more time before taking any action?” I asked, placing my hand on his good arm.
 
 
“Ayuh, Jessica. But not too much time. I suppose you know that Harriet is plannin’ to retire.”
 
 
“Yes, she told me.”
 
 
“Not sure what I’ll do without her.”
 
 
“You’ll find someone else just as capable and caring. That’s what you’ll do.”
 
 
He folded the newspaper, put it aside, and slid forward on the chair.
 
 
“Need a hand?” I asked.
 
 
“I certainly do not, but thank you anyway.”
 
 
He got to his feet and winced against a pain. “Back’s been actin’ up lately,” he said. “Those god-awful hospital beds would cripple anyone.”
 
 
“Want me to make some lunch, or pick something up?” I asked as we walked to the side of the house in which his medical offices were located.
 
 
“Not especially hungry, Jessica. You go on about your business. I’ve got to get ready for the first patient.”
 
 
I said I’d be back in touch later that day. I stepped out into the heat of midday. I was satisfied that my little pep talk had had some impact on him, although I didn’t suffer any delusions. A confluence of events had hit him at once, and his depression was very real. Like all of us (except for the young and foolish), he was well aware of his mortality. On top of that was the arrival in Cabot Cove of an aggressive young doctor who was energetically marketing his services, and by extension siphoning off patients from Seth, and probably from other physicians, too. My encouragement not to sell his practice and retire would have only a momentary impact.
 
 
That truth sat heavily with me all the way home.
 
 
Chapter Eight
 
 
Could it be?
 
 
When I awoke the following morning, the air coming through my window was actually cool. I got up, put on a robe, and stepped out onto my back porch. Sure enough, the oppressive heat wave that had gripped Cabot Cove and much of Maine for days had broken, just in time for our Independence Day celebration. The cooler air brought a smile to my face, and I sat on the porch and reveled in it.
 
 
It’s remarkable how our lives are affected by weather. The heat and humidity had sapped everyone’s energy, judging from the way people moved and spoke. I was no exception. This morning, my spirits had markedly picked up, and I looked forward to riding into town and taking part in the day’s festivities, starting with the library panel.
 
 
I considered calling Seth to see if he felt up to joining Rick Allcott and me at Mara’s, but thought better of it. Chances are he would have agreed, and it was undoubtedly better for him to stay at home and give his wound another day to heal.
BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade
3.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Firsts by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn
The Manolo Matrix by Julie Kenner
A Witch's Path by N. E. Conneely
Tiger Claws by John Speed
Dismantled (Girls on Top #2) by Yara Greathouse
Scorpions' Nest by M. J. Trow
Portobello Notebook by Adrian Kenny