Murder, She Wrote: The Ghost and Mrs. Fletcher

by Jessica Fletcher Donald Bain

  He left the room and returned a minute later wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants. “Okay?” he asked as he handed me the scrubs, a puzzled expression still on his face.

  “Yes. Thank you.” I heaved a sigh and looked around for a plastic bag to put them in.

  “Can’t you tell me why you need these specific scrubs?”

  I hesitated before saying anything. I really didn’t want to go into detail. For one thing, I could be completely wrong; this uniform could have had nothing to do with Cliff Cooper’s death. But leaving the scrubs in the drawer, or letting Elliot wear them as pajamas, wasn’t an option, even though I didn’t know how useful they might be. Any evidence left on the fabric was likely to be contaminated. At least four people had handled them: whoever put them in the drawer, Mort, Elliot, and now me. But I couldn’t afford to leave them behind. “I think that Dr. Hazlitt might want to examine these,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I really can’t go into it right now, Elliot. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I trust you,” he said, shaking his head, “but I know I’ll never get back to sleep, wondering what the heck you’re up to.”

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed your rest. I’ll leave now. If you find you can’t sleep, why don’t you go downstairs and wash the clothing you’ve brought with you?”

  • • •

  I’d been spending a lot of time at the Spencer Percy House, wading through Cliff Cooper’s chaotic book collection, not to mention his convoluted family history, and had let chores pile up at home. I was glad to abandon the book sale/fund-raising project for a time and return to the relative orderliness of my home and the promise of a much-needed cup of tea. On my arrival, I immediately went to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. I had found a box of green garbage bags in Cliff’s kitchen, and one of them now held the scrubs, protected from further contamination.

  The flashing light on my telephone answering machine indicated that I’d received a half-dozen calls while I was out. I made notes as I listened to the messages, deciding which ones to answer first. Seth Hazlitt was at the top of the list. Other calls were from Evelyn Phillips, editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette, who sounded her usual breathless self; Sheriff Mort Metzger, who asked that I call him at the office; and a few others who could wait.

  “Where were you off to so early this morning, Jessica?” Seth asked when he picked up.

  “I’ve already been to the Spencer Percy House and back,” I replied.

  “Anyone giving you a hand with the project?”

  “Not really. Eve Simpson was there briefly with Cecil. Arianna Olynski, the medium, and Boris, the cameraman, who’s really her nephew, Davy. And oh, yes, Elliot Cooper. Did you know that Elliot is finally back in Cabot Cove for his grandfather’s funeral?”

  “And about time, too. Of course I know. Every patient I’ve seen had something to tell me, including that the young man rode here on his motorcycle from Alaska. Darn fool! They ought to ban those machines. And another thing—”

  “Seth,” I said, hoping to stave off a rant on the dangers of motorcycles, “I have something I want to give you.”

  “Why? It isn’t my birthday.”

  “It’s not a gift. It’s a set of green hospital scrubs.”

  “And why would I need hospital scrubs, Jessica?”

  “They were in a dresser drawer in the Spencer Percy House. Mort saw them when he was there, but we didn’t think anything about them at the time. But now that your autopsy indicated that Cliff Cooper had the remnants of green fibers in his throat, I thought you’d like to have them for analysis.”

  “You sound like you’re writing a scene in one of your mystery novels.”

  “Far from it,” I said. “If you’re not interested in having them, I can—”

  “Seems to me, if they have any value at all, they ought to go to our esteemed sheriff.”

  He was right, of course.

  “I’ll see that Mort gets them as soon as possible.”

  Seth grunted.

  “Is there anything wrong?”

  “No, just that the autopsy results that you, me, the medical examiner, and Mort were supposed to keep secret are apparently common knowledge all over town. Every patient I saw today made a point about Elliot having returned and his grandfather not having died of natural causes.”

  “It’s the Cabot Cove rumor mill run amok,” I said.

  “My question is, which one of our little quartet spilled the beans?”

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’ve been a model of discretion. Oh, but it could have been Fred Kramer, the attorney. Mort must have told him. I know Fred told Elliot, and he may have told someone else, too. Or maybe Elliot unintentionally spread the news. He didn’t hesitate to mention it to me.”

  “Cooper’s grandson knows that his grandpa was murdered?”

  “Yes. He said that he wormed the information out of Fred. So Mort must have taken Fred into his confidence to prepare Elliot for some upsetting news.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t matter who let the cat out of the bag. The whole town knows the truth now.”

  “Is Mort aware that your autopsy results are no longer secret?” I asked.

  “Can’t imagine that it hasn’t gotten back to him. I haven’t spoken with him.”

  “He left a message on my answering machine. I’ll call him next. I hope he doesn’t think I’m the guilty party.”

  “You’ll probably get a call from Evelyn Phillips at the Gazette, too.”

  “She’s on the list of calls I have to return.”

  “She left a message with my nurse, but I don’t intend to call back and get into a hassle with her. I have enough to worry about without dealing with the press.”

  I didn’t necessarily agree with Seth but knew better than to debate the issue with him. We chatted for a few more minutes before ending the conversation, leaving me free to return Mort Metzger’s call, which I did with some trepidation.

  “Thanks for getting back to me, Mrs. F. I suppose you’ve heard that Cliff Cooper’s murder is now public knowledge.”

  “I just got off the phone with Seth. He told me.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What’s your take on the murder?”

  “The murder? I’m sorry to say I haven’t given it a lot of thought.”

  “Now, Mrs. F., that’s not like you. My deputies and I have been running our tails off interviewing people. I thought for sure that you’d have something to contribute.”

  “I do have something for you,” I said, realizing that a murder was hard to keep secret when the police had launched an investigation. “Remember when Seth said the autopsy turned up green fibers in Cliff Cooper’s throat and airways?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “And do you remember finding green hospital scrubs in a dresser drawer at the Spencer Percy House?”

  “Of course, and don’t think that I forgot them. I sent one of my deputies to the house this afternoon to pick up those scrubs. He just called me from there. They’re gone. Disappeared into thin air.”

  “That’s because I have them here at my house, Mort.”

  “You? Why do you have them? They’re potential evidence in a murder investigation, Mrs. F.”

  I kept the pique out of my voice as I said, “I’m well aware of that, Mort,” and I went on to explain how Elliot had put them on and that I’d convinced him to change into something else. “What’s important,” I added, “is that I have them here in a clean plastic bag. Can you send a deputy to my house to pick them up?”

  “Sure. I’ll have him there in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “But what about my question?”

  “What question?”

  “About your take on it. You
’ve been spending a lot of time at Cliff Cooper’s home, if you can call that mausoleum a home. You’re usually pretty good at picking up leads, you know, scraps of information, with the way you use them in your books.”

  “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, Mort, but the only thing I’ve picked up were the scrubs. If I’d found out anything else, you’d be the first to know.”

  “Well, maybe you can give me a hand with something else, then.”

  “Whatever I can do to help, I will. You know that, Mort.”

  “I want to interview those old ladies who live across the street.”

  “The Conrad twins?”

  “Yes. A couple of people told me Cliff was sweet on one of them. I spoke on the phone with the other sister a little while ago, and she nearly bit my ear off. But she agreed I could stop by tomorrow. I thought maybe if you were to go there with me, they’d be more likely to open up and not take offense at my questions.”

  “You want me to accompany you when you interview them?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. I think it would be helpful.”

  I looked around my kitchen and thought of the chores I’d put aside. Then I thought about the book sale and all that remained to do before it took place.

  “All right,” I said.

  “You’re the best, Mrs. F. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Love to Maureen.”

  My tea had gotten cold, and I brewed a fresh cup and savored a few sips before picking up the phone again. I had just begun to dial when the front doorbell rang. I hung up the phone and hurried to answer it. When I looked through the peephole, I saw Evelyn Phillips staring back. “Evelyn, I just picked up the phone to call you,” I said when I opened the door.

  “Thought I’d save you a dime. Or whatever it costs these days. May I come in?”

  “Please do.”

  “You know, of course,” Evelyn said, stepping into my living room.

  “Know what?”

  “That Cliff Cooper was murdered.”

  “Yes, I just heard.”

  “Who told you?” Before I could respond, she said, “Or maybe it’s more accurate to assume that you’ve known all along.”

  “You’re entitled to assume anything you want, Evelyn,” I said coldly.

  “Sorry if I offended you.”

  “Would you like some tea? I just made myself another cup.”

  “Do you have chamomile? I don’t like to have caffeine after lunch.”

  “I think I can rustle up some chamomile tea.”

  Evelyn followed me into the kitchen, where I rummaged in my cupboard and pulled out a box of mixed herbal teas. “You’re in luck. This is my last chamomile tea bag.”

  “I didn’t mean to accuse you of lying, you know, Jessica. I just meant that you have this close relationship with Seth Hazlitt and our sheriff, and you probably knew about Cliff Cooper the minute they did.”

  “Let’s just say that I learned about it through normal channels, Evelyn. Is that why you called earlier?”

  “Yes. But I’m having trouble getting people to call me back. So I decided to do what I did as a journalism student and put feet on the ground, as we used to say. Seth Hazlitt’s nurse refused to interrupt his office hours for me, but I’ll try him again later. I left my photographer in his waiting room. I told him to call me when Seth is available. I’m hoping he can also get me a good shot for the front page.”

  Seth wasn’t going to be happy being ambushed in his own waiting room.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be home,” Evelyn continued. “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time up at the Spencer Percy House, and I was prepared to track you down there if necessary.”

  “I’m spending a lot of time there because I’m trying to get Cliff’s books in order for a book sale to benefit the library. It’s going to take place on Halloween.”

  I slid a cup of hot water in front of Evelyn along with a saucer holding the tea bag. “Do you take milk or sugar?”

  “This is fine as it is,” she said, dunking the tea bag in her cup. She had already removed a reporter’s pad and pen from her pocket and had them lined up on my kitchen table.

  I settled in the seat across from her, resigned to talk about Cliff, but hoping to distract her as much as possible. “Cliff was a book collector extraordinaire,” I said. “I don’t think he ever got rid of a book after he’d read it. There were thousands of books in his library.”

  “I thought of him more as a hoarder than a collector, if you don’t mind my calling a spade a spade. Eve took me through that house, and if I were she, I’d have junked everything.”

  “The contents of the house don’t belong to her, Evelyn. Cliff’s grandson, Elliot, is his heir. I imagine he’ll need to tell Eve what he wants to keep and what she can ‘junk,’ as you say. Elliott already gave permission for us to hold the book sale. Do you think you can find some space in the Gazette to give us a little promotion?”

  She picked up her pen. “You’re holding it on Halloween. Isn’t that kind of a busy day?”

  “It was the only weekend date we could agree on that didn’t conflict with activities by the library and the Friends of the Library.”

  “The library has its Halloween Parade that day, you know.”

  “I’m hoping the library director, Doris Ann, will agree to have the parade on the grounds of the Spencer Percy House. That way it would get lots of parents of young children to the sale. Charlene Sassi has offered to hold a cookie sale to benefit the library, too. It promises to be a fun event.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll put something in the paper after I run the story on the medium.”

  “The medium?”

  “Yeah. Arianna Olynski. She invited me to watch the filming of her show. She says she’s a good friend of yours.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “It looks like the Gazette is going to be camped out at the Spencer Percy House all month, what with the medium, your book sale, and my lead story, of course.”

  “Your lead story?”

  “The murder of Cliff Cooper. What do you know about it?” she asked.

  “Nothing. You probably know a lot more than I.”

  “I find that hard to believe, considering your reputation for knowing, well—for knowing everything that goes on in town.”

  “That’s flattering,” I said, “but hardly true.”

  The sound of a rock ballad emanated from Evelyn’s pocket. A man’s voice sang, “You know it hit me like a hammer.” She pulled out her cell phone. “That’s Huey Lewis and the News,” she said, indicating her call music. “It was the only news reference I could find.” She pressed a button, and the music stopped. “Evelyn Phillips here. Okay, stay with him. I’ll be right there.” She gathered up her pen and pad. “Seth has emerged from hiding. I have to run. Thanks for the tea, Jessica. I’ll call you later.”

  Saved by rock music, I thought as I closed the front door behind Evelyn. Poor Seth. But at least I didn’t have to duck her questions. I took my teacup into my office and sat at my computer. The rest of my phone messages could wait. The problem was that while sitting in my quiet home office was satisfying, I couldn’t get my brain to cooperate.

  I’d found Eve Simpson’s behavior toward Elliot unnecessarily harsh, although I understood her need to clear out the house, including a new occupant, as a precursor to showing it to prospective buyers. Even so, she was days away, maybe longer, from having the house in shape, and she could have allowed Elliot a bit of slack until after the funeral for his grandfather. Selling the Spencer Percy House was going to be a challenge no matter what, considering its overall condition, as well as its reputation for being haunted.

  That latter stumbling block was silly, of course—unless you happened to believe in ghosts. I’d found
it surprising how many people in town had actually come to accept that a spirit occupied the house. I suppose it’s a testimony to our ability to become immersed in a rumor and have our imagination override our intellect. While I don’t personally believe in ghosts any more than I believe in extraterrestrial aliens, I’m not so closed-minded as to definitively rule out the possibility that they exist.

  To my surprise, I dozed off in my chair, until the arrival of Mort’s deputy woke me.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said when I handed him the plastic bag containing the green scrubs. “What do you think of Mr. Cooper’s murder?”

  “Very sad.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it has folks buzzing around town. We sure get a lot of murders in Cabot Cove, don’t we? Well, I’d better get back before the sheriff starts looking for me.”

  We have had more than our share, I thought. Even one murder was one too many as far as I was concerned. I hoped this one would be solved quickly and things would calm down.

  That turned out to be wishful thinking.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I really appreciate you doing this, Mrs. F.,” Mort said as he held open the door of the patrol car parked in front of my house.

  “Happy to help, Mort, only I don’t think it’s really necessary to have me accompany you to interview the Conrad twins. They’re nice people.”

  “I’m sure they are, but since you know them pretty well, I figured having you along would put them at ease.” He laughed. “People tend to get uptight being questioned by law enforcement, especially when it’s a murder that’s being investigated. It’s not like they’re suspects or anything, but I’m told they were close to Mr. Cooper and might have some insight into why he was killed.”

  Mort had called Lettie and Lucy to arrange to meet that morning. While I thought my presence was more likely to put our sheriff at ease than to reassure the Conrad sisters, I had to admit, to myself at least, that I was curious to hear what they would say about Cliff Cooper and their relationship with him. We had talked a lot about Cliff’s relationship with his son and daughter-in-law, and to a certain extent with his grandson, Elliot, but how Cliff’s neighbors fit into his life was more a matter of speculation on my part. They hadn’t divulged any intimacies in their relationship to me.