Murder, She Wrote

by Jessica Fletcher

  I might have been able to ferret out the information if I had access to his arrest record or the transcript of his trial, but I didn’t want to upset Mort with such a request. He had enough on his mind and might see my interest in poking through old records as a waste of time and energy. I could imagine his irritation without ever testing my theory. No, there had to be a simpler way.

  Where did Jepson live growing up in Cabot Cove, and with whom? Of course, any relative of his might have moved away. It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s difficult to stay in a small town when someone related to you is convicted of a serious crime. People talk—or worse, stop talking when such a person walks into a room. The mother of a criminal may be shunned, may lose her friends, may even be turned away when she tries to get service in a store. As wonderful and caring as small towns can be when people rally around someone who is ill or suffering, they can be equally cold and unfeeling to anyone connected with a criminal. And who was more criminal than a murderer?

  Brian Kinney would know who Jepson had lived with, but would he tell me? He hadn’t given Mort the names of his friends who were part of the plan to steal food from the mini-mart, and I doubted whether he would simply satisfy my curiosity without asking for a lot more information than I was ready to supply.

  But maybe Brian’s wife, Alice, would.

  Alice must have known who his friends were, even though he had tried to keep her away from them. Brian had lived two different lives as a young man, one as part of a gang of juvenile offenders, the other as the straight-arrow suitor of Alice Pelletier. Like Alice’s father, Brian had wanted to shield her from his more unsavory activities. But men sometimes underestimate the strength and resilience of women. Alice might be able to tell me a lot, if she was willing. I’d have to hope she was.

  First, however, I had a question for my neighbor Tina Treyz. I would call her in the morning.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was good to get to bed, but I can’t say that I slept soundly. My mind kept churning. Maureen’s face appeared in my dreams like an out-of-control slide show. Her exuberance about accompanying me on the fishing trip had been contagious, the way her fearless forays into her kitchen in search of a culinary breakthrough always were. She could be trying at times, but she was aware of it and quick to apologize. I thought about the curt answers that came to mind when she’d made a silly comment or asked a foolish question while we were together at the lake. Fortunately, I’d held my tongue, but I wished I’d been more understanding. It was her first experience fishing, and I’d had to work to keep my impatience from surfacing.

  I was in bed that Monday morning trying to muster the energy to get up when the ringing phone snapped me fully awake. My hand knocked the receiver off its base and I fumbled to retrieve it.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Jessica Fletcher?” a man said.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Special Agent Ian Perle, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m affiliated with the Bangor office.”

  “Yes, Mr. Perle—Agent Perle.” I sat up quickly, my heart rate accelerating.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I need to speak with you about the disappearance of Maureen Metzger.”

  “Has she been found?” I held my breath.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

  “Oh.” I could feel all the adrenaline that had rushed through me drain away.

  “I’m part of the task force that’s been sent here to Cabot Cove to help in finding her.”

  I ran a shaky hand through my hair. “I’m pleased that you’re here.”

  “Hopefully we’ll be able to help. Sheriff Metzger informs me that you were the last person to see his wife before she went missing.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Maureen is a good friend. We were on a fishing trip together when it happened. I’ll be pleased to speak with you. Can you conduct the interview by phone?”

  “Unfortunately not, since I’ll need a signature on your statement.”

  “Where would you like me to come?”

  “No need for you to travel anywhere, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll be happy to come to your home, if that’s acceptable to you.”

  “Of course.”

  I gave him my address, although that obviously wasn’t necessary. We arranged for him to come within the hour.

  Showered and dressed forty-five minutes later, I tidied up the house before Special Agent Perle’s arrival. Not that it would have mattered to him if things were askew, but my pride in my home automatically kicked in. I’d just finished running a dust cloth over some furniture when he rang my bell.

  Special Agent Ian Perle was a handsome man by any standard, tall and lean, and with a face that exuded friendliness. After he showed me his identification and gave me his business card, I invited him in. He declined my offer of coffee or tea, or a slice of crumb cake in the kitchen, and we settled in my living room, a more formal setting. He flipped open a lined notebook and, after asking permission to record, set a small tape recorder on the table in front of my sofa.

  “What can you tell me about Mrs. Metzger?” he asked.

  I wasn’t prepared for such an open-ended question and had to think for a few moments before answering.

  “Maureen is a close friend,” I said, “and her husband and I are friends, too. She’s a sweet, honest person who wears her heart on her sleeve, if you don’t mind that cliché.”

  He smiled. “She sounds like a very nice woman,” he said. “The sheriff tells me that . . . well, he indicates that she can be a little—how shall I put it?—a little flighty at times.”

  It was my turn to smile. He was being careful with his words so as to not unfairly characterize Maureen. At the same time I had a hunch where he was going with the comment. Could Maureen’s “flightiness” have contributed in some way to her sudden disappearance? Could she have simply decided to get lost for a while, maybe because of personal problems she was having that I wouldn’t have been aware of?

  “I don’t know that I would use the word ‘flighty,’” I said. “You know we writers are fussy about the words we choose.”

  “Choose any word you like.”

  “I don’t like the word ‘flighty.’ That makes Maureen sound irresponsible, which I don’t for a minute believe she is. Let me put it this way,” I said. “Maureen Metzger can be somewhat unconventional at times. That’s a better word. She embraces new experiences with enthusiasm, perhaps is a bit naive, but behind that is a bright, grounded woman. If you’re thinking her disappearance is self-imposed, I’d have to strongly disagree. I understand that the possibility has to be probed, but Maureen is too considerate a person to leave me or Mort worrying about her, which I’m sure she knows we are. She walked out of our cabin without leaving me a note, yet she left behind a book I’d lent her in another cabin. That tells me that she was trying to think of a way to communicate and was very much opposed to what was happening to her.”

  He nodded that he understood.

  “Did the sheriff speak with you about the possibility that the escaped convict, Darryl Jepson, might have been involved in her disappearance?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. That’s what we’re focusing on. I sympathize with your sheriff. It’s hard enough spearheading a search for an escaped killer without having your wife missing, too.”

  “And possibly abducted by that same killer,” I added.

  He paused while considering his next question. “What about Sheriff Metzger, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “What about him?”

  “You’ve met your share of law enforcement officers in your career. Do you think Sheriff Metzger is up to the task he’s been handed?”

  My initial reaction was to be offended by the question on Mort’s behalf. But I also realized that as a member of the assembled task force, Special Agent Perle had to cover all the bases. I hadn’t spoken with Mort since
he’d dropped me off at home the previous evening. I could only imagine the agony he was going through.

  “To give you the short answer, Agent Perle, I’m confident that Sheriff Metzger is up to any challenges he faces. Mort Metzger is a cool-headed, dedicated lawman, someone equipped mentally and physically to handle adversity, even when that adversity involves his beloved wife.”

  “I appreciate your point of view, Mrs. Fletcher, but having Sheriff Metzger working the case is a little like having a doctor treat a member of his or her own family. Officially it’s frowned on. There are just too many complications.”

  “Surely you can’t believe Mort had anything to do with his wife’s disappearance?”

  “Most likely not, but as a responsible law enforcement officer, I can’t ignore the possibility. Perhaps you can talk him into taking a step back and assigning one of his deputies to be the point person for the sheriff’s office.”

  “Have you suggested that yourself?”

  “We have.”

  “Is that why you wanted to interview me, to get me to ask Mort to withdraw from the case?”

  “Among other reasons. Just talk with Metzger. He may view us as impinging on his territory; he’s much more likely to listen to your logic.”

  I could feel myself getting hot. “I doubt Mort views you as competition. In fact, I’m fairly certain he’s grateful to have all of you helping to find his wife.”

  “The sheriff is fortunate to have a loyal friend like you.”

  I took a deep breath. The FBI agent was right. It wasn’t appropriate for Mort to spearhead the search for his wife, much as all his instincts told him to do just that. “I’ll see if I can get him to come for dinner. I’m sure that with Maureen gone, and the pressure he’s under, he hasn’t been eating the way he should.”

  “That’s a perfect excuse.”

  “It isn’t an excuse,” I said, tamping down my annoyance. “That’s the way people are here in Cabot Cove. We take care of each other. I can only pray that Maureen will show up safe and sound.”

  “That’s why the FBI is here. Is there anything you can offer about Jepson? We initially received reports that he was somewhere up north, on the Canadian border, and then we heard that he might be here in Cabot Cove.”

  “I just want him apprehended,” I said.

  “You and me both, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “With Maureen’s disappearance and Jepson’s escape from prison, the murder of the attorney Wes Caruthers seems to get lost in the mix.”

  “We haven’t forgotten about him,” Perle said.

  “You do know, of course, that Mr. Caruthers was assigned to defend Jepson.”

  “Jepson doesn’t think he did a very good job of it, from what I hear. His cellmates told prison authorities that Jepson had it out for two men, Caruthers and Metzger. Another reason, perhaps, to see the sheriff step away, and let others manage the case.”

  His comment fed into something that I’d been thinking all along. Had Jepson known Maureen would be up at Moon Lake with me? There had been a small mention in the Cabot Cove Gazette, but would he have seen the paper? Had he been hiding out somewhere in town before Caruthers was killed, before Maureen and I had gone up to Moon Lake, and before Maureen had been abducted?

  After Perle left, I set my mind on what I intended to do that day. I’d already resolved to visit Alice in hopes she could help me identify some of the other members of Jepson’s gang, other than Brian, of course. In the haze of events, it was easy to forget about Brian and his connection with the escaped killer. Agent Perle had mentioned two men Jepson was eager to get revenge on, but could there be more? Was Brian on Jepson’s list of enemies? After all, he had escaped the harshest penalty and been exonerated and released while Darryl Jepson languished in prison. Was Jepson angry about that? Apparently Brian had thought he would be or he wouldn’t have left his wife and child in Alice’s girlhood home with a father who had no love for Brian, much less respect. Yes, I would start with Alice and see where the day took me from there.

  * * *

  John Pelletier owned the car dealership downtown and lived in the white colonial in which he had raised his daughter following the death of his wife. An older woman answered my ring. Her black hair, shot through with white strands, was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore baggy jeans and a blue-and-green-striped button-down shirt over which was a neatly pressed orange apron.

  “Who is it, Helen?” I heard a woman call out.

  “Don’t know yet,” the housekeeper replied.

  “Hello. My name is Jessica Fletcher. I’m a friend of Brian’s. Well, not exactly a friend, but he was my guide for the recent derby up at Moon Lake. I was hoping to speak with Alice. Is she available?”

  “Lady says she knows Brian,” Helen called over her shoulder.

  “Well, invite her in.” Alice said, coming to the door. “Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, how kind of you to stop by. Please come in. Can we offer you a cup of coffee or tea?”

  “Please don’t fuss on my account,” I said, stepping across the threshold.

  “It’s no fuss,” Helen said with little grace. “Water’s already hot.”

  “Then a cup of tea would be lovely,” I said.

  “I’ll have the same, if you don’t mind, Helen.”

  “Already said it’s no fuss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alice led me to a breakfast room off the kitchen. On the way, she picked up a naked fashion doll with half its hair colored blue and tossed it in a toy bin next to the window seat.

  “I’m sorry to barge in unannounced,” I said, “but I just learned yesterday that Brian had been asked to stay home while the search for Darryl Jepson is under way.”

  “Yes. The sheriff said it was for his own protection, but frankly I don’t believe it.” She glanced at Helen, who placed three empty mugs on a tray along with a saucer of tea bags and a sugar bowl and creamer.

  “Brian must have thought something like that might happen when he urged you to stay here with your daughter. How is Emma, by the way?”

  “She’s fine, a handful but a delightful one. I just put her down for her morning nap. Hopefully, she’ll give us twenty minutes or so.”

  I heard Helen grunt. “Won’t listen to nobody, that naughty baby,” she said, but there was fondness in her voice.

  “Have they found Mrs. Metzger yet?” Alice asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t know if you knew about that,” I said.

  “Hard not to know. It’s all over town this morning. I’ve had a call already.”

  I nodded. My phone had been ringing all morning as well. It was what motivated me to get out of the house as soon as Agent Perle had left.

  Helen brought the tea to the table. “You want crackers?” she asked Alice.

  The younger woman shook her head. “Just black tea right now, thanks.” She looked at me. “My stomach is a little queasy these days.”

  “So Brian told me.”

  “It should go away in another month and I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you will, but until then, I brought something for you,” I said, setting my bag in my lap and groping around inside it. I pulled out a plastic box and set it on the table next to Alice. “My neighbor Tina Treyz said she used to rely on these during her pregnancies.”

  Helen peered over the box and pushed it with her index finger as if it contained something alive. “What are they?”

  “They’re acupressure wrist bands,” I replied. “Most people use them for seasickness, but Tina said they were a big help to her.”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never tried them,” Alice said, opening the box and taking out the instructions. She slid one of the elastic bands over her hand and positioned the round bead it held on the inside of her wrist. “It’s a little snug.”

  “Put on the other one,” Hele
n said. “If you’re going to test-drive them, do it right.”

  Alice giggled and did as instructed.

  “Nice of you to bring those,” Helen said to me as she passed around the mugs of hot water and sank into the chair next to Alice.

  “I have to admit it’s not the only reason I came by. I’m hoping you can help me track down who Darryl Jepson lived with when he was a teenager in Cabot Cove.”

  Alice’s eyes opened wide. “Gee, I don’t have the faintest idea. I’d heard his name, of course. Brian used to call him Stinky. I told him that wasn’t very nice, but he said that’s what all the guys called Darryl. But they were a couple of grades ahead of me and I never knew where any of them lived. Brian kept me away from them. Even now, I don’t think he keeps in touch with any of them.”

  “He was afraid one of those bad boys would try to lure you away from him, that’s what it was,” Helen said, chuckling. “He wasn’t taking any chances. My thinking.”

  “Did you know the other boys?” I asked Helen.

  “Only by reputation. Not to talk to. You know Harvey Richardson that runs the local Gas-and-Go? He hired Jepson and one of his pals to help change tires and run errands and the like.”

  “Is that Jed Richardson’s brother?” I asked. Jed was a former commercial airline pilot who now ran a charter operation from our local airport; he’d been my flying instructor when I was earning my pilot’s license.

  “That’s him. That family always was mechanical. Gas station, airport. I think there’s another brother works for the school bus company.”

  “Do you know the names of any of Jepson’s other friends?”