She waited patiently at the baggage carousel, lost in thought as she waited for her luggage. She had spent the majority of her flight engrossed in her latest manuscript. Something about the ending was unsatisfying to her, and she ran over the problem in her mind. Obviously, the banker had killed his secretary to keep her from revealing their love affair to his wife, but he didn't quite seem the type to use poison to do it...
"Aunt Jessica!" The familiar voice cut through her thoughts, and she turned with a smile.
"Ah, Kirsten! It's so good to see you again!"
Jessica wasn't really Kirsten's aunt, of course. Rather, she was godmother to one of Kirsten's cousins in Boston. The two women had met when Kirsten was sixteen and visiting New England, and had maintained a casual contact ever since. Kirsten, Jessica supposed, was still grateful to her for having settled the mystery surrounding the death of Kirsten's cousin's fiancee, particularly since the police had at first believed Kirsten responsible! The idea was ludicrous of course, since Kirsten had barely known the woman. But the real killer had entered the house through Kirsten's room and left the murder weapon in her closet. It had been obvious to Jessica that Kirsten couldn't possibly be responsible, and she had simply pointed out to the police that it was clearly the fiancee's stepfather, who stood to lose control of her trust fund if she married before turning twenty-one.
Jessica examined the girl. "You haven't changed a bit!" she exclaimed, and it was true. Kirsten still had a youthful glow about her, despite the passage of nearly two decades since they had seen each other last. Nonetheless, there was a certain tension about the eyes, and the set of her shoulders, which spoke of recent stressful times.
"And neither have you! How are things in Cabot Cove?" Kirsten asked as they hugged.
"Oh, very quiet for a change. I must say, thank you ever so much for inviting me to join you in your Christmukkuh celebration. My old bones are getting to be a bit too soft for Maine winters!" Jessica joked, shivering as if at a cold wind.
Kirsten smiled. "Jess, you know you've been welcome to visit any time these last twenty years. When I heard you were coming to California to talk to the studio about that television series you write for -- well, I couldn't let you spend your holidays in a hotel." She grinned at the older woman. "If you're getting tired of New England, perhaps I could show you some properties out here while you're visiting."
Jessica smiled back at the young woman, knowing very well that, even as a best-selling author and screenwriter, she probably couldn't afford even a carriage house in Newport. She looked over at the conveyor belt, which had just begun to discharge bags from her flight. "Oh, look! We're in luck. Here are my bags already." She took it as a sign, that this would be a quiet, relaxing holiday season.
The next morning, as Jessica walked through the living room toward the Cohens' kitchen, she heard her name spoken within, and paused. She hated to snoop, of course, but had often found that one learned the most interesting things when pausing at doors. Often one could only understand a person's overt behavior by what they said when they thought they were unobserved. The voice speaking, she decided after a moment, must be Kirsten's boy, Seth. Undoubtedly the other person in the room was their adoptee, Ryan. She turned her head, tilting her ear toward the door to listen.
"You mean you've never heard of Jessica Fletcher?" Seth was saying excitedly. She couldn't hear any response from Ryan. "She's, like, totally famous. She's an author; she writes these really convoluted mystery novels -- they've been New York Times bestsellers and everything. I had no idea my parents knew her! This is so awesome."
"That's cool, I guess," she heard Ryan reply. "Maybe she can help you with your 'great American novel' thing."
"Yeah... she must be full of good advice. She's been writing forever. She even wrote for a television series once -- and get this -- some of her stories are true!"
"True? You mean, actual murders?" Ryan sounded surprised and a bit intrigued.
"Totally. She's solved dozens of real crimes, maybe hundreds. More than any other living amateur detective, I think." There was a pause, then a horrified gasp. "Oh my god. Someone's going to die."
"What are you talking about?"
"Someone's going to die," Seth said earnestly. "Everywhere she goes, people drop like flies. No... don't look at me that way! I'm serious. She's, like, some kind of... death magnet. I've read all about her. Every time she goes to visit a relative or goes on a book signing tour or something, someone gets killed in a clever, overly contrived way. Dude, you need to lock the poolhouse doors at night until she's gone. Put boards over the windows or something. Just hide."
Ryan levelly said, "Seth. You're doing that thing again."
"Thing?"
"The thing where you flip out over nothing."
"I'm dead serious." Jessica heard a smacking noise, probably Seth's hand against his forehead. "Oooh, bad word choice. Anyway, you'll see. You mock me now, but you won't be laughing when we're neck deep in corpses."
There was silence for a moment, then a soft, wet-sounding moan. Then Seth spoke again. Throatily, he drawled, "Actually, can I sleep out there tonight? I don't want to be in the same house with her; someone might stab me with a knitting needle or something." His voice was low and teasing.
Jessica frowned, offended at such calumny. It was hardly her fault that she'd encountered the baser side of human nature so often in her life. But since chance or fate or karma had put her in those situations, she could hardly stand aside and let the criminals get away with their crimes, or let the innocent take the fall. Death-magnet indeed!
Having heard quite enough, Jessica stepped into the room. Seth's head shot up at the click of her heels on the linoleum, and he stepped back quickly from where he had been standing, in front of Ryan. Seth flushed, turning a bright red; Ryan merely looked evenly at her, head cocked to the side, considering her with an intense gaze.
"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Can I offer you a bagel? Not East Coast quality, or so my father would say, but nonetheless the breakfast of champions. Jewish champions, anyway," Seth said nervously, picking up his glass of orange juice and moving it further away from where she stood. Protecting it from poison, she thought wryly.
"Well, thank you, dear. I don't mind if I do," Jessica said with false cheerfulness.
The Christmas party was being held at Kirsten's father's house. As their car pulled into the drive, Jessica took in the sight. The home was massive, palatial. Oddly though, for Newport, the home was gaudily decorated with flashing colored lights, and a cheap plastic snowman sat squarely on the exquisitely-manicured front lawn. Kirsten's lips pursed as they stepped out of the vehicle and gave the keys to the valet. "I see that Julie and dad are fighting again," she remarked to Jessica.
"Oh?" Jessica prompted.
"The decorations. Julie knows dad hates colored lights. He thinks they're tacky -- they remind him of carnies."
Jessica laughed. "Well, I think it's delightful," she said. "It iis/i a holiday tradition after all... oh. My." She paused in the foyer of the Nichol home, eyes immediately drawn to a squat Christmas tree that was emitting an eerie, almost radioactive glow. "Is that one of those fiber-optic trees? How... lovely." As she watched, the colors slowly shifted in hue. It was hypnotic.
It was godawful.
"Kiki! Sandy! Welcome!" A tall white-haired man broke away from a group of businessmen and came to greet them by the door.
"Dad." Kirsten said with a tight smile. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Merry Christmas," she said coolly.
"Merry Christmas, and Happy Hannukah. And who is this lovely woman?" he asked, his faltering smile rallying as he turned to Jessica.
"Dad, this is Jessica Fletcher, from Cabot Cove, Maine."
Caleb's smile widened. "I understand that I owe you a great debt of gratitude for taking care of my Kiki all those years ago. Welcome to my home."
Jessica laughed. "It is I who should be thanking you, Mr. Nichol. I understand that I owe it to you that the studio ever produced the pilot of my television series."
Caleb shrugged off her thanks. "I believe in the repayment of debts," he said, clasping her hand in a firm shake. "Well, I hope you all enjoy the party." He then turned to greet other new arrivals.
Jessica wandered around the party, making small talk now and again, but mostly left to her own devices. She felt a little out of place among the elegantly-dressed glitterati of Newport, in her floral blouse and pink pant-suit from Ann Taylor. Mostly she was ignored as being too declasse, which left her free to watch and listen to what was going on around her.
"I can't believe he is even still hosting this party," one botox-ed woman uttered in a low voice to a similarly plastic friend.
"Whatever do you mean?" the other asked.
"Well, everyone knows that he's going to end up in jail soon. He can only draw out the trial for so long, you know."
"Oh, he'll get out of it somehow. He always does. See all those suits over there? That's only about a third of his legal team. Besides, he always throws an amazing party," the second woman observed, and the first nodded agreement.
A middle-aged redhead with full lips (no doubt collagen-infused, Jessica thought) and entirely too much make-up approached Jessica then. "Mrs. Fletcher? I'm Julie Nichol, Caleb's wife. I've heard so much about you!" she said with obviously false enthusiasm.
Jessica returned Julie's smile in the spirit in which it was given. "It's a pleasure to meet you. You have a lovely home."
Julie's smile at that remark was strained. "Yes, well. I suppose I should get as much enjoyment as possible from it while I still can." Spotting someone across the room, Julie strode off to greet another guest.
"Jess!" Kirsten called out as she approached with a scruffily-bearded man in tow. The man wore a lime-green T-shirt and white sportcoat that reminded Jessica of something out of Miami Vice. "I'd like you to meet my old friend and former neighbor, Jimmy Cooper."
Jimmy shook Jessica's hand, smiling warmly. "I've heard so much about you, Mrs. Fletcher. I loved your last book... Murder, She Wrote? Is it true that it was based on a true story?"
Jessica shook her head in the negative. "Well, to an extent, everything that I write is based on reality. While I admit that some of the characters were based loosely on people I've met in my travels, the story itself is all fictional."
"Well, if you're looking for characters for your next novel, you've come to the right place. People in this town have more secrets than the F.B.I."
"Really?" Jessica laughed. "And what secrets do you have?"
"Everyone knows all of my scandals by now. I'm surprised you haven't heard, if you've been in Newport for more than a day." He turned his head in the direction of Caleb Nichol, who was on the other side of the room, conversing intently with Sandy Cohen. Jimmy's face flashed with anger, or irritation, for just a moment, then smoothed again. "I guess the gossip mill has moved on. Caleb certainly gave them something to talk about." He smiled slightly, as if pleased at the other man's recent misfortunes. He drained his champagne glass in a single long swallow, then replaced it with another from the tray of a passing waiter.
"Mushroom leek crescent? Crab and brie phyllo?"
Jessica waved the waiter away; she could get better crab in Maine. It wasn't even in season now. She bit into a juicy strawberry instead. They weren't in season either, but she supposed that the Newport elite had greenhouses for that sort of thing.
At one point during the party, Jessica found herself near Seth and Ryan, who were conversing in low voices near the bar. She made her way closer to them. "Hello, boys. What a lovely party this is!"
Ryan's eyes flickered quickly over to Seth, and then he looked at her full on. His gaze was discomfortingly intense -- revealing, she thought, the intelligent mind behind those eyes. "It's going pretty smoothly, for Newport," he remarked.
"There's hours of schmoozing left yet, Ryan," Seth said, looking nervously at her. "Plenty of time for someone to di..." Ryan elbowed him quickly in the side. "Duel. Fistfight. Lots of fights at these parties. I'll just be over there," he babbled, gesturing vaguely across the room. "Excuse me." He slid quickly away, looking warily over his shoulder at Jessica, and nearly bumping into a waiter in the process.
"Interesting boy," Jessica commented to Ryan.
Ryan's eyes followed his friend across the room. "Yeah, you could say that." He quickly focused on her then, and grinned sheepishly, seeming to relax a bit. "He's got it into his head that something bad will happen, just because there's a famous detective here."
Jessica looked down into her wineglass. "Well, it's true... there are those who call me a Jonah. But I'm sure nothing untoward will happen. It's the holidays, after all."
A thin -- nearly emaciated -- young woman came up to them. Her strapless dress did nothing to hide the collarbones protruding from her skin. "Ryan? Can I talk to you?"
Ryan's face went expressionless; his shoulders tensed up. "Marissa."
"Please?"
"We're talking."
"I meant, alone," she said softly, eyes shifting nervously over to Jessica. Her fingers twitched convulsively around the stem of her wineglass. Jessica noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. Was it possible that she was drunk?
"No, Marissa. It's over between us. I've moved on," Ryan replied firmly.
"Ryan, please... I... I need your help..."
Ryan turned his back and strode away, leaving the girl to stare dumbfounded at his wake.
Whatever set off the fist-fight, Jessica didn't know. All she knew was that one minute she was sipping at her wine, and the next a furious voice called out over the noise of the party. "Jimmy! Cal! Stop it! Stop it now!"
Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd like waves in a pool. The partygoers all made their way to the foyer to investigate the disruption.
Jessica, short as she was, could see little through the press of the crowd. Sandy, with Kirsten close at his heels, shoved his way to the front of the crowd; Jessica took advantage of the break made by their passage to join them in the front of the queue. As she broke out into the clear space at the center of the crowd, she was surprised to see Jimmy Cooper and Caleb Nichol grappling on the floor, both with bloodied lips. Sandy moved quickly to pull Jimmy away from Caleb while Kirsten and Julie moved to block Caleb. Both men had red spots on their faces, which would undoubtedly turn to terrific bruises in the morning.
Once the men were separated, Julie fussed over Caleb. She passed him a glass of champagne. "Oh, Cal, honey. Drink this, you'll feel better," she cooed. She turned to the others and straightened her spine. "Get him out of here," she ordered Sandy, with sudden steel in her tone. "He wasn't invited anyway."
Another body broke from the crowd -- the girl, Marissa. "Dad!" she sobbed, moving to Jimmy's side and pulling him into an embrace.
Kirsten, looking mortified, turned away from her father to the crowd, which had begun to break up anyway now that the fight was over. "Please, everyone, return to the party. Everything is under control here."
Jessica moved to Kirsten's side. "Is there anything I can do?"
Kirsten bit her lip. "He could use some ice. He's going to have quite a shiner in the morning. So much for the Christmas photos."
"I'll go get that ice," Jessica replied, quickly making her way to the kitchen. Rifling through the drawers hurriedly, she found a linen napkin and filled it with ice from the freezer.
After the fight, the party dispersed rather quickly. "Most of these people probably didn't even want to be here, you know," Sandy confided to Jessica as they made their way out. "If it had been anyone else, with all the legal trouble Cal's going through, they wouldn't have set foot in this house. But Caleb Nichol still owns half of Newport, and it's too early to say how the case will be decided. So everyone comes, and smiles, and gossips about him while drinking his wine and eating his hors d'oeuvres."
"Is he guilty of the things that they're charging him with?" Jessica inquired.
"Absolutely. I never thought I'd feel sorry for the bastard, but I almost do. Kirsten's not taking it very well, either."
"This must be terrible for his poor wife."
"Julie?" Sandy said, surprised. "Couldn't have happened to a nastier person."
Jessica awoke in the night. She glanced at the alarm clock next to her, squinting to make out the numbers on the LED without her glasses. 2:12 AM, she noted; only an hour since the house had retired to bed for the night. What could possibly have awoken her?
There was a soft creak of the floorboards in a room down the hall. In the otherwise quiet Cohen home, the noise of someone moving around must have woken her. She was a habitually light sleeper; when one dealt so often in murders and mysteries, it was something of a survival advantage to sleep lightly.
A hinge creaked. She lay in bed, breathing lightly, straining to identify the direction of the sounds. Soft footsteps (clearly someone with bare feet, she decided) made their way down the hall and past the guest bedroom in which she slept. The noises had seemed to come from the direction of Seth's room. Now, where would the boy be going, barefoot, at two in the morning?
She debated getting up to investigate, but decided it was none of her concern. He probably was going to the kitchen for a glass of water or something. Not everything had a sinister motive, she supposed. She was tired, worn out from jet lag and all the drama of earlier that evening. She lay in the bed, listening, but did not hear Seth return to his room. She glanced again at the clock. 2:45. Interesting.
Finally, she fell back into a doze around quarter after three. Seth still had not returned to his room.
When Jessica came downstairs around eleven the next morning, Ryan was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. "Oh, my. That looks like quite a spread you're making, dear," she said. "It smells heavenly." There really was nothing quite so appetizing as the sizzling crackle of fresh bacon on the frying pan. She saw eggs, pancakes, and toast all in various stages of preparation. "Can I help with anything?"
Ryan smiled blearily at her. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all, though he had shaved and his hair was still damp from a shower. "No, thank you, Mrs. Fletcher. Everything is nearly ready, and the Cohens will probably be down in a minute."
"Please, call me Jess," she said, smiling as she watched him work. "Do you always cook like this?"
Ryan shrugged as he flipped a pancake with the spatula. "On most weekends and when school's out, I make brunch. I like to feel useful. The Cohens have been really good to me."
Jess nodded sympathetically. Sandy had explained Ryan's situation to her in more detail at the party the night before. "Sandy and Kirsten are good people," she said simply, and Ryan half-smiled and nodded in agreement.
Just then, Kirsten walked in, her husband close behind. "Good morning," Kirsten said with a smile. "Do you need any help, Ryan?"
"He looks like he's got things under control, Kirsten," Sandy quickly interjected. Ryan turned to hide a grin, as if at an old joke. "How did you sleep, Jessica?"
"Very well, thank you."
"Now, if Seth would just get out of bed, we could have some brunch," Sandy said, flashing an apologetic smile to Jessica at the delay. "Seth!" he called loudly, leaning toward the stairs.
Seth slouched into the room, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He wore a thin robe, untied at the waist to reveal boxer shorts and a white T-shirt underneath; the other Cohens were all fully dressed. "Seth, are you okay?" Kirsten asked, stepping over to him and feeling his forehead for signs of fever. "You weren't drinking last night, were you?" she added sharply.
Seth grimaced at the light in the kitchen, looking for all the world like he was hungover or had pulled an all-nighter. "No... I just had the one glass of champagne," he mumbled. "I didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."
Kirsten looked doubtfully at him, but Sandy interrupted. "Well, let's eat! We don't want all this good food to get cold!"
As Jessica sat with the family at the dinner table, the telephone rang. Kirsten grimaced. "It never fails, does it?" she said, returning to the kitchen to answer the phone. The boys began filling their plates with food, so Jessica spooned some eggs onto her plate.
In the kitchen, Kirsten gasped and set the phone down, hands trembling. Sandy looked up, and quickly got up from the table when he saw her expression. His wife was breathing erratically, and tears streamed down her face. "Kirsten? Honey, what's wrong?" Sandy said, concerned.
"It's... it's dad. He's been... murdered." She collapsed into her husband's arms, body wracked with sobs.
Jessica was impressed at the way the Cohen family quickly rallied together in light of their loss. While Sandy took care of his wife, Ryan took a shocked Seth into a gentle hug. Jessica fetched a handkerchief for Kirsten, and helped Sandy get her back to her bedroom to lie down.
Jessica knocked lightly on Seth's door. "Come in," she heard, so she turned the knob and stepped into the room. Seth was lying on his bed on top of his comforter, staring up at the ceiling with his iPod's headphones inserted in his ears. He looked pale, and she noted that his eyes were slightly puffy from recent tears.
"Hello, Seth," she said softly. "May I speak with you for a moment about last night?"
Seth tilted his head to look at her, his eyes filled with pain. "Uhm. Sure."
She closed the door behind her as she entered the room, then moved to sit lightly on the edge of the bed beside the young man. "I'm terribly sorry about your loss," she said with sympathy.
Seth sighed. "He wasn't a very good man, but he was my grandfather, you know?"
Jessica nodded. "Did your grandfather have many enemies, then?"
Seth looked at the ceiling. "Only all of Newport. Even my dad didn't like him, and dad likes everyone." A brief look of panic flashed on Seth's face. "My dad didn't do it, though. He would never kill anyone, not even grandfather."
Jessica smiled reassuringly. "Now, Seth, I am absolutely certain that your father had nothing to do with this. I've known both of your parents for a very long time, and I know they could never harm a soul."
Seth seemed to relax a bit at that. "I'm sorry. I talk too much sometimes. I didn't want you to get the wrong idea. It's just, everyone in Newport really did hate grandfather. He's been in business here for so long, I'm sure he's pissed off just about everyone in town by now." Seth paused, then looked her straight in the eye. "You're going to solve this, aren't you? You're going to find out who killed him?"
Jessica reached out and took his hand gently. "I shall do my very best," she promised gravely.
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Jessica delicately asked the next question, the real reason she had come to talk to Seth.
"Seth? Could you tell me... where did you go shortly after two this morning?" She tilted her head, examining his face carefully for a reaction.
Seth froze, and paled. His hand twitched in hers. "It's... it's not important. It has nothing to do with grandfather."
Jessica watched the boy. He looked like he was telling the truth, but he was clearly frightened of something.
"Please, Seth. You must understand, I heard you leave your room around the same time that your grandfather was killed. I don't think you have anything to do with the situation, but any little detail could be important."
Seth blushed furiously. He hunched his shoulders together, seeming to fold in on himself. Softly, he whispered, "You... you have to promise not to tell anyone. Please," he begged, looking at her pleadingly.
Jessica nodded slowly, eyes not leaving Seth's face. "I promise."
Seth swallowed. "I... I went down to the poolhouse. To see Ryan."
Jessica nodded slightly as several things fell into place. "I thought as much. You two are... together... I take it?"
Seth nodded, mutely.
"Well. I'm glad that your movements last night have an innocent explanation. Do not worry, I will not repeat what you have just told me. Tell me, how long were you together?"
"Since I got back from Portland... oh, you mean last night? I stayed there until about seven. He was there the whole time, if that's what you mean."
"You are quite sure he couldn't have left while you slept?"
Seth turned bright red. "We... didn't sleep much."
Much later that afternoon, Sandy and Jessica went to the police station. Kirsten was home, asleep; in the end, she'd needed to take a sleeping pill to calm down from the shock of her father's unexpected death.
Chief Hutchinson was waiting for them in his office, and waved them toward the chairs across from his desk. "Please, take a seat, Sandy, Mrs. Fletcher. First of all, let me tell you that I'm terribly sorry to hear about your loss. I assure you, we'll do everything in our power to determine who murdered Mr. Nichol."
"You're certain that it was murder, then?" Sandy asked.
The police chief nodded. "He was stabbed multiple times in the chest while in bed. There's no doubt at all that it was a homicide. Now, I asked you both in to answer some questions about the events of last night." He raised his hand. "Don't worry, neither of you are suspects. I'd prefer to do this one at a time, of course. Which of you would like to go first?"
After a brief discussion, Sandy let Jessica answer the first round of questions, and went to wait in the lobby.
"Mrs. Fletcher, I understand that you are a visitor to Newport, is that right?"
"Yes, I am. I'm from Cabot Cove, in Maine. I'm only visiting with the Cohens for a few weeks, while I take care of some business in Los Angeles."
"I've heard a great deal about you, Mrs. Fletcher. The chief of police of San Francisco spoke highly of you at a California police convention I attended a few years back."
Jessica smiled, remembering a few cases she'd helped solve in San Francisco, and a police detective there who had gradually thawed to her "interference."
Hutchinson continued, "We are pretty sure we have our man. But," he paused. "Something seems a little off about it all. We've got motive and opportunity, and it seems quite open-and-shut... but the timing seems off. I think that our man would've done it a long time ago, if he was going to do it at all."
"I would imagine that this type of case is quite unusual for Newport, isn't it?"
Chief Hutchinson snorted. "Homicide isn't particularly common anywhere, but you'd be surprised at the things these wealthy socialites get themselves into. I assure you, we've got experience in this type of case. Nevertheless, if you'd keep your eyes open, I'd appreciate it. I can't help but think I'm missing something, and I'm told you have an uncanny knack of sorting these things out. Now, if you don't mind, could you tell me a little bit about the party last night?"
Jessica frowned. "Well, I don't know how much help I can be. I really didn't know anyone there, save for the Cohens. I only spoke with Mr. Nichol for a few moments."
"I understand there was some sort of disturbance."
"Yes, yes. Mr. Nichol and Mr. Cooper had an argument that ended in blows. I only saw the end of it, of course. Mr. Nichol's wife was screaming at them to stop, and I went over to see what the matter was, along with everyone else at the party."
"Before the fight, did you notice anything unusual about Mr. Nichol? Who he spoke to, whether or not he was agitated, that sort of thing?"
Jessica shook her head. "I really didn't pay much attention. I saw him speaking with Sandy at one point, but he seemed quite calm and natural then."
"Did you speak with Mr. Cooper?"
"Oh, yes. Kirsten introduced us."
"When was this?"
"Oh, perhaps an hour before the fight."
"What did you talk about?"
Jessica shifted her weight and spoke delicately. "Well, he alluded to some sort of scandal in which he'd been involved, and seemed relieved that it was no longer the main topic of discussion at this sort of gathering."
"Yes," Hutchinson agreed, flipping through the files in front of him. "Jimmy Cooper was caught embezzling funds from his clients' portfolios a year ago; he managed to avoid going to jail over it, but only barely. Did you discuss Caleb with him at all?"
Jessica shook her head. "Only in passing. He mentioned something about Caleb being in an even worse situation than he had been?"
Hutchinson nodded. "Yes. The district attorney's office indicted him on charges of bribery of city officials a few months ago. The trial was scheduled to begin right after the holidays."
"I take it from your questions that you think that Jimmy Cooper was responsible for the murder. But what possible reason could he have had to kill Caleb Nichol?"
Hutchinson raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you know? Julie Nichol was Jimmy's ex-wife. And we found one of his cufflinks at the scene of the crime. Like I said, it looks like an open-and-shut case."
After they were finished at the police station, Jessica asked Sandy to stop by the Nichols' home. By the time they arrived, the police had left the scene.
The door was answered by Marissa, who looked frail and tragic, like a modern Ophelia. "Mr. Cohen. Mrs. Fletcher. Uhm, please, come in."
"Marissa. I'm so sorry you have to deal with all this, after all you've been through this past year," Sandy said sympathetically. Marissa seemed to shrink in on herself at the attention. She brushed back her hair nervously.
"Is your mother home, dear?" Jessica asked gently.
Marissa shook her head. "She said she couldn't stand being in the same place where... that... happened. She went to stay with one of her friends, I think."
"And she left you alone here?" Sandy asked, affronted. "That's criminal."
Marissa looked at the floor. "I'm not sure how clearly she was thinking. She was pretty upset. She woke up next to him, and found him... dead..." she said softly.
"You should come and stay with us for a few days," Sandy said, while Jessica puzzled over what the girl had just said.
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Cohen," Marissa nearly sobbed with relief. "Let me just get a few things." She dashed upstairs to her room.
While she was gone, Jessica turned to Sandy. "Julie slept through her husband's murder, in the same bed? That's quite incredible."
Sandy shook his head. "Hutchinson said that she'd been drugged... sleeping pills mixed into something they'd both eaten or drank. Julie said that she and Caleb finished off a container of frozen yogurt right before they went to bed; she thought it might have been spiked by someone during the party. But the trash was collected this morning, so they can't analyze the container for traces. They took blood samples from her, though, and sent them in for analysis."
Jessica shook her head. "How could the murderer know that they would eat it last night after the party?"
Sandy shrugged. "It was part of Julie's health routine to eat some yogurt before bed. All of her friends knew that. Even I knew it -- Cal complained it was making him fat -- although it does make it look particularly bad for Jimmy. He's the one who was married to her, after all, and knows her routines better than anyone."
"Do you think he did it?"
"Jimmy? Never. He'd take a swing at Cal given half a chance, but I don't think he'd ever actually murder him."
Marissa came back downstairs, holding a small suitcase. "Just let me set the alarm," she said, as the three made their way to the door.
Jessica perked up at this. "Alarm? Was it set last night?"
Marissa frowned, hesitating with her fingers hovering over the keypad. "Yes... Well, I think so. I always arm it right before I go to bed. But it wasn't armed when we woke up this morning. I must have forgotten to set it last night. I'd... well... I'd had a drink or two." Her eyes were downcast. Jessica thought she had had rather more than two drinks that night.
"Who has the code?" she asked.
"Just me, mom, Caleb... and some of the hired help."
"Your father didn't know the code?"
Marissa shook her head firmly. "No. Besides, once it's armed with people inside, it goes off right away if the door is opened from the outside; you don't get any time-delay to punch in the code. The police said the murderer might have been at the party, and hid somewhere in the house until after everyone left... but they thought I probably just hadn't remembered to set the alarm. But I'm sure I did," she said, looking confused.
"Well, I'm sure that the security company has logs that they can check for that kind of thing. It's interesting, though. We all saw your father leave the party, after all."
Sandy interjected, "He might have had time to double back before the party ended."
Jessica shook her head. "It makes no sense. He -- or anyone else for that matter -- could have hid in the house until the family went to bed. But then he would have still had to wait until morning when the alarm was deactivated before he could leave, unless he knew the alarm code. Sandy, do you think you could use your contacts in the police office to get a copy of the alarm logs?"
Sandy shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."
When they got back to the Cohen house, Marissa practically flew into Ryan's arms, sobbing. He stroked her hair awkwardly while Seth watched with ill-concealed jealousy.
A few minutes later, Sandy pulled Jessica's aside. "I talked to the chief on the phone. The alarm logs confirm Marissa's story. It was armed at about one A.M., right after the last of the caterers had left. It was deactivated again at about three in the morning. That's consistent with the coroner's estimate of time of death. The coroner also found pieces of strawberry in Cal's stomach, and high concentrations of an over-the-counter sedative in his bloodstream, which seems to corroborate Julie's statement about the doped yogurt."
Jessica was surprised. "The coroner's report is complete already?"
Sandy smiled ruefully. "They're trying to expedite the case, close it before the holiday. Besides, Caleb Nichol's death is big news. It's getting national media coverage."
Jessica thought the situation through. "So, whoever killed him was in the house already when the party ended, but knew the alarm code to get out after killing him." Jessica shook her head. There was no way to know who might have observed one of the family members entering the alarm code in the past; that line of reasoning could lead nowhere. Unless someone in the household had done it and then disarmed the alarm, to divert suspicion.
"Maybe he watched while Marissa set the alarm?" Sandy suggested.
Jessica thought back, remembering the spacious foyer of the home. "No, there really wasn't any cover -- no place to hide unobserved and still get a good angle of sight on the keypanel. And that would be a huge risk for the murderer to take. Tell me, who benefits from Caleb's death?"
Sandy shrugged. "A chunk of his estate will go to Julie, but I think they signed a prenup, so she won't get everything. Most of his assets, and the business, will go to Kirsten and Hailey."
Jessica looked over at Marissa, still in Ryan's arms. Could that frail girl have slipped a sedative to her mother and stepfather, and stabbed him in his sleep? She looked too weak to murder by stabbing, but rage was a powerful emotion. Did she resent her new stepfather so much, then? "We should go talk to Jimmy. I feel like I'm missing something, something important."
She had Seth drive her to the police station. Sandy might have been a better choice, but Seth's jealousy of Ryan's attention toward the girl was really rather obvious. For his sake, she wanted to get him out of that situation.
"Ryan and Marissa have a history, don't they?" she asked gently.
Seth sighed ruefully. "Oh, yeah. They've broken up more times than I can count."
"You're worried they might get back together."
Seth shrugged, uncharacteristically terse. "I don't know. They broke up for good -- I thought -- when she started sleeping with the yard boy last summer. But now, with her all emotionally needy again -- well, he's a sucker for the damsel in distress thing."
"Perhaps you should talk to him... let him know that you need him too."
"Yeah, I guess."
They pulled into the parking lot of the police station. Jessica strode into the lobby, Seth following. At the reception desk, Jessica said to the clerk, "I'd like to speak with Chief Hutchinson, please." After a moment, someone came to lead her to the chief's office. She turned to Seth, "This won't take long," she said.
"Mrs. Fletcher!" the chief greeted her.
"Good morning, Chief Hutchinson. I was wondering if it might be possible to speak with Jimmy Cooper. I understand you arrested him this afternoon?"
The chief frowned. "Yes, we did. With his cufflink in the bedroom, and his motive, he seems like the most likely suspect."
"I thought you said the timing was off for his motives."
"Well, we thought it was. But... well... I'll let him tell you."
"Mrs. Fletcher," Jimmy said, standing up from the bench in his cell and moving over to the bars to speak with her. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to hear your side of things for myself. I just don't see how you could have gotten back into the house after the party, or what possible reason you might have for killing Caleb."
Jimmy smiled bitterly. "So you haven't heard then? Julie and Caleb were planning to send Marissa to San Diego, to a mental hospital. Julie told me last night."
"Can they do that without your permission?"
"If they can prove to a psychiatrist that she's a danger to herself or others, yes. Julie says she's been drunk almost constantly since this summer. She's been getting violent, too; throwing things, screaming at them both."
"And you objected to sending her away. Is that why you and Caleb fought?" Things were falling into place. This very likely explained why Marissa had seemed so upset at the party, and why she came to Ryan for help. At his refusal, had she decided to take things into her own hands? But the sedatives spoke of premeditation...
"Yes. Marissa can get treated here in Newport, where her friends and family are. I just wanted to get her away from that woman... she's never been happy with her mother, not for a long time, but Julie can be very controlling. She even had Calebblackmail Marissa to live with them in the first place... he said he wouldn't go through with a business deal with me and Sandy unless she moved in with them. So, there you go... reason enough to hate him, right?"
Jessica frowned. "Motive for hating them, perhaps, but I still don't see why you would kill Caleb over that."
"I didn't!" Jimmy said, pacing the length of his cell. "The police said they have evidence against me, though."
Jessica frowned. "Yes. They found one of your cufflinks at the scene of the crime. It had your initials, J.C. Julie positively identified it as one of yours."
Jimmy stopped pacing. "I wasn't wearing a button-down shirt last night."
Jessica gasped. Of course. "You're right. You were wearing a solid colored T-shirt under the jacket." She thought furiously. "Oh dear. I've been very foolish. Perhaps my powers of observation are waning as I get older... I missed seeing it, and the pieces were right there in front of me the entire time."
She reached through the bars to squeeze Jimmy's shoulder. "I need to go speak to Chief Hutchinson. We'll have you out of here in no time."
Jessica accepted the cup of tea from Julie Nichol with a smile of thanks. "Thank you, dear. It was so kind of you to see me, so shortly after your loss."
"I confess, I was curious. You said on the phone that you knew something about the murder?"
Jessica held the teacup in her hands, warming them, as she gathered her thoughts. She would have to proceed carefully. "It's interesting, really. Your ex-husband must be a very clever man. He knew your habits well enough to mix a sedative into your nightly dessert, so that you wouldn't be awoken when he came in to murder your husband for having Marissa sent away."
Julie pursed her lips. "Well, he couldn't have been too clever. He's been a criminal twice now, and he got caught both times."
Jessica nodded. "Yes. You're very lucky, you know, that he didn't kill you as well."
Julie shivered and said, wide-eyed, "I know. It terrifies me to think that I was lying there, helpless, and he could have done anything to me. Anything at all."
"He must have loved you a great deal."
Julie scoffed. "He only married me because I was pregnant out of wedlock, Mrs. Fletcher. He believed -- back then -- in doing the right thing. That didn't last, obviously."
"You know, though... the one thing that puzzles me is how he got out of the house, past the alarms."
Julie shrugged that objection off. "Marissa must have told him the code. He's always here, visiting her, even though I have told her over and over that I don't want him in this house."
"She says she didn't."
Julie scowled angrily. "She's lying, then, to protect him."
Jessica nodded in agreement. "Yes, I suppose that is possible, of course. Still... there's one other little thing that I don't quite understand..."
"What's that?" Julie asked casually.
"Well... after the fight, I went to the freezer to get Caleb some ice. And I couldn't help but notice that it was empty."
"What are you saying?" Julie asked, suddenly keeping very still.
"Well, there was no frozen yogurt, or ice cream, or anything. The freezer was empty -- except for the ice."
Julie's eyes narrowed. "You're mistaken."
"I don't think I am. The strawberries the coroner found in Caleb's stomach didn't come from any yogurt -- they came from the hors d'oeuvres at the party. I think whatreally happened is that you drugged him -- perhaps in the champagne you gave him after the fight with Jimmy? -- and later, when he was asleep, you stabbed him yourself. You planted one of Jimmy Cooper's old cufflinks in the room to implicate him, and disarmed the security alarm to make it look like someone had gone out after the murder. Then you dosed yourself with a high amount of the same sleeping drug to give yourself an alibi."
"You're insane," Julie said breathily, eyes wide with fear.
"I don't think so. And you know, with the toxicology report on the blood sample you gave, they should be able to calculate approximately at what time you took the sleeping pills, if the police know what to look for."
Julie was trembling ever so slightly. "Are you trying to blackmail me?" she said with disbelief.
"All I'm saying," Jessica said carefully, "is that if someone tells them to look closely at the data, they should be able to prove that you and Caleb didn't receive the same amount of that drug, or at the same time... of course, they probably won't measure the levels of the drug that carefully unless someone points out that it might be relevant..."
Julie's eyes narrowed, flashing with rage. "He was going to be arrested," she spat out, "and sent to jail for a long, long time. I would have lost everything. This house. My social standing. Everything. I divorced Jimmy, and found myself in the same situation all over again. I couldn't let it happen again. I will not let myself or my girls end up as paupers." In a low voice, she continued, "And if I killed once, what makes you think I'd hesitate to do it again?"
Julie was focused intently on Jessica, and stepped slowly toward her, arms reaching out for Jessica's neck.
"Chief Hutchinson!" Jessica called out, and the police rushed into the room from where they'd been listening.
"I can't believe that Julie would actually murder him," Kirsten said, face blotchy from recent tears.
"And then go to sleep next to his body. That's just... cold," Seth said, face blank with shock.
No one had anything to add to that.
"Thank you so much for clearing my father," Marissa said to Jessica, stepping over to pull the older woman into a light hug.
"Of course, dear. I'm terribly sorry that you had to go through all of this," she said, patting the girl gently on the back. Over Marissa's shoulder, she saw Ryan move over to the still-stunned Seth and put a hand gently on his shoulder. Sandy and Kirsten didn't see, lost as they were in their own thoughts.
"Why did you go to confront her directly?" Jimmy asked. "You put yourself in danger for someone you barely know. Wouldn't the toxicology report have confirmed your theory anyway?"
Jessica shook her head, chuckling ruefully. "No, it wouldn't have. You see, everyone metabolizes chemicals and drugs at different rates, depending on individual body chemistry. It would have been extremely difficult for the police to have actually proved that Julie drugged herself at a different time than she did Caleb, in the time frame of a few hours' difference, without some sort of confession. Or at least, to have proved it in a way that would stand up in court. My evidence about the lack of frozen yogurt in their freezer would not have been enough, either. It was my word against hers."
"Jessica, thank you so much for everything," Kirsten said sadly. "We can never repay you for what you've done for this family."
Seth cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry for calling you a death magnet, before."
Jessica sighed regretfully. "Well, there may be some truth to that theory."
Sandy shook his head. "No, you have nothing to do with Julie being a psychotic murderess."
"I think we should keep you around," Kirsten said. "I own Newport now... pick a house, and it's yours."
Jessica shook her head. "Oh, no. I think I'll do better back in Cabot Cove! I couldn't stand all the excitement here!"