Chapter 2

"Lovers and Other Killers is a bit of a departure for you, isn't it, Mrs. Fletcher?"

Jessica smiled at the interviewer, a well regarded Arts and Leisure columnist for the Boston Globe. She reminded herself that this was good publicity—isn't it all? she could hear her darling husband say—and a feather in her literary cap to be interviewed for a culture piece in a national newspaper. JB Fletcher was coming up in the world. At least that's what her publisher, Vaughn, had crowed, before handing her off to Susan to be prepared groomed for this prestigious interview. Jessica recrossed her legs and smoothed her skirt before answering. "How do you mean?"

The interviewer smiled at Jessica. Tit for tat, she seemed to be saying. "I mean that your previous novels fell into the category of cozy mysteries. This book is anything but cozy. Take your murderer, for instance—"

"He's not my murderer," interjected Jessica hastily. The woman arched an elegant eyebrow. Flustered, Jessica continued. "I only mean to say that the character is a sort of distillation, you might say, of certain types of personalities."

Intrigued, the columnist leaned forward. "So you're saying that this character is drawn from life?"

"All fictional characters have some basis in reality, Ms. James. But no, Ambrose Pierce is definitely a work of fiction. I only object to the notion of his being mine."

"But why? I thought most authors regarded their characters possessively, even jealously?"

"Not this particular character, Ms. James. He is a type."

"A type you brought to life rather chillingly, Mrs. Fletcher." The younger woman considered Jess appraisingly. "Yet you seem not to want to take any credit. Curious. All the writers I've met have been eager to accept praise…to expect it…for their hard work."

"I agree that writing is hard work. And I certainly appreciate your generous review. It's always very encouraging to discover that others, particularly one so well read as you, enjoy my work."

"Then why try to distance yourself? Don't misunderstand, Mrs. Fletcher. I've enjoyed all of your books thus far, but this book is a definite elevation in style and subject matter. It's much more sophisticated, much more nuanced and knowing than your previous books. And let's not forget the more frank inclusion of sex."

Jessica flushed, and, noting that Ms. James noticed, flushed an even deeper shade of red. "I had no intention of being salacious—"

Ms. James held up an elegantly manicured hand. "Again, Mrs. Fletcher, you misunderstand me. I'm not attempting to paint you with a Hollywood Wives brush." She laughed quietly as Jessica's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "I'm merely pointing out that this book, this character, well…it wouldn't be the book that it is without the frank discussion of his appeal to women of a certain age and wealth, shall we say?" Jessica nodded her assent. "The delicate tension you maintain throughout the book, until its rather surprising conclusion, is remarkable. I simply couldn't put it down. The portrait you drew of Ambrose is…very compelling. And very realistic." She looked at Jessica shrewdly. "One might wonder…" she trailed off, noting the slightly panicked look in Jessica's eyes. She glanced at her notes. "I think I have everything I need for the article, Mrs. Fletcher."

"Do you?" Jessica was surprised. This had been a very brief interview.

"Yes, I think so. Although..would you be kind enough to have your publicist send me your itinerary? You are going out on tour, aren't you?"

Jessica nodded. "I'll be at Harvard Book Store tonight. I have a reading and a signing at 6."

"I'll be there, Mrs. Fletcher." She smiled graciously. "I didn't mean to alarm you earlier. Your secret's safe with me."

"What secret?"

"Why, Mrs. Fletcher, that you're Christine Knowles, wealthy widow, and that Ambrose Pierce is…well, someone you know." She looked at Jessica carefully. "Someone you know quite well, I'd say."

"I must disagree, Ms. James," said Jessica softly. "I feel I hardly knew him at all."

Jessica's publicist, Susan, was more than pleasantly surprised by the turnout. Jessica scanned the crowd discreetly, placed as she was behind a large bookshelf a few feet from the podium. Today's interview had unsettled her, and she had the strangest premonition that David would be here tonight. Ridiculous, she knew. She took a few slow, deep breaths, trying to forget that her Irish grandmother always claimed to have the sight, and often remarked that little Jessie had it, too.

"Ready, JB?"

It was a struggle not to roll her eyes. Susan often made her feel like a prizefighter about to enter the ring. She drew one final deep breath, then turned and patted Susan on the arm. "I'm ready, dear."

"Your talk went very well, Mrs. Fletcher. Very well."

"Thank you, Ms. James!"

The columnist looked around the room. "Very well attended." She looked back at Jessica. "And I do wish you'd call me Marty."

"Marty?" inquired Jessica politely.

"It's a nickname for Marta. I'm named for my Italian grandmother."

Jessica nodded. "I did wonder where you inherited that marvelous coloring."

Marty smiled, a genuine smile this time. "I believe this book will outsell all of your others, Mrs. Fletcher."

"It's Jessica, dear, and don't jinx me! What if I'm unable to top this one?"

Marta studied Jessica carefully for a moment. "I don't think that will be the case for you, Jessica. You are one of the most ordinary writers I've met, and I mean that as a compliment. You're very balanced. And disciplined, I'd wager." She smiled. "The only thing that might lure you away from your typewriter is a relationship." She smiled as Jessica colored. "Unless you're in a relationship now?"

"No. Oh, no. No, I'm just a widow woman from Cabot Cove, Maine."

Marty raised her glass to Jessica. "That might have been true a few years ago, Mrs. Fletcher, but it isn't any longer. You're no longer just anything." She sipped her wine. "As it happens, I'm not in a relationship, either, at the moment. I believe I'll have a wander. There are a number of handsome, possibly eligible men wandering about. Very unusual for a book signing." She gave Jessica one final glance. "There's something about you, Jessica." She winked and lifted her glass once more in appreciation.

Jessica watched as Marty drifted through the crowd. She was right; there were a number of men at this event. That was unusual, but Boston was a college town…dare she say an educated town? She smiled, lost in thought. It was home, after all. She felt a cold prickle on the back of her neck. She turned, but she didn't see anything unusual. David, she thought, then shook herself, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. Come now, Jess, she could hear Seth's attempt to console her. You said the poor boy was actually poor! He certainly couldn't afford to follow you all the way across the country! "And you'd be right, Seth," she whispered.

"What was that, JB?"

Jessica, startled from her thoughts, had to steady her hand before she sloshed wine out of her glass. Red, too, which would have been nearly impossible to get out. And she did love this dress. "Nothing, dear. Just away with the fairies."

"Tonight was a rousing success! Are you ready to leave?"

"I'm glad to hear it, and yes, I'm ready to go back to the hotel. I am a little tired."

"Say no more! We'll just make our goodbyes to the owners and I'll take you back directly."

"Thank you dear," said Jessica as she set her glass of wine on an empty table.

"Mrs. Fletcher?"

"Yes, Jerry?"

The desk clerk held out an envelope. "A letter for you."

"For me?" Jessica frowned. "From whom?"

Jerry looked at the envelope. "It doesn't say. It's written on hotel stationery and it's addressed to Mrs. Jessica Fletcher, Cabot Cove, Maine."

Jessica reached for the envelope, studied it, then looked at the young man. "And you're certain no one saw the person who delivered it?"

"Not that I know of, Mrs. Fletcher. I can ask around," Jerry said helpfully.

Jessica shook her head. "No, no. That won't be necessary. Good night."

"Good night, Mrs. Fletcher. Don't hesitate to phone down if you need anything."

"That's awfully kind, Jerry. Thank you." She smiled, then turned to make her way to the elevator, careful not to crumple the letter in her hand. She had an awful feeling who it was from.

She slit the envelope as carefully as if it were evidence in a criminal case, then perused the contents, written in a neat, tight script.

Dear Mrs. Fletcher,

Congratulations on your latest. I've read it through twice now, and I'm debating whether to be annoyed or relieved that I don't make an appearance. I'm certain you think I do. Perhaps one day we'll meet again and you can test your assertions against my actual character. When that day comes, I hope I may be allowed to call you Jessica? Perhaps even Jess?

Fondly,

David

She looked at the clock. It wasn't terribly late. Seth would be up, but she resisted the urge to call him. He would only worry, and there was no cause for that. Not yet, at least. But how did he find out where you were staying, woman? She could hear Seth's sharp tone now. She turned to bolt the door, but stopped herself. Instead, she checked her suite, including the balcony, thoroughly. When she was satisfied, she locked the door and threw the bolt.

She woke the next morning, bleary-eyed and heavy. She wished she had called Seth, if only to hear a familiar voice. Though he often blustered, he seldom overreacted. Over the years, she'd benefited greatly from his wise counsel. She was confident he would know what to do. Or at least, confident in what he would want her to to do, which would be to go to the police. She could only imagine how a conversation like that might go.

I have no evidence, Seth.

You have the letter, AND the fact that he had no idea where you were staying. At least not from you. I thought they kept the locations of your hotels fairly private?

They do. Susan does.

Hmph. Not a very good job!

Susan interrupted her reverie. "Was Grady able to reach you last night?"

"Grady?" Jessica was surprised.

"Yes, he called the office to see if he could coordinate your schedules. He wanted to find a time to meet."

"Did you tell him where I was staying?"

"Oh, yes! I told him what hotel you were in and all about your book signing." Susan paused. "He's a very thoughtful nephew, isn't he?"

"Yes, perhaps a little too thoughtful." At Susan's curious look, Jessica added. "He's so busy dear. If he calls in again, just take a message and I'll call him back. Don't give him any details."

"I thought you loved Grady!"

"Of course I do! I just want him to stay employed. I'm sure he hasn't much time off, and he's not been with the company for a year yet. You understand."

"Yes," said Susan reluctantly. "I was just hoping to meet him, that's all. He was so charming over the phone."

Jessica blanched. "Yes, well. Just refer him to me next time he calls."

"Of course, JB," and Susan left.

"Not that I have the foggiest idea what to do about him," said Jessica to the empty room.

"Hello?"

"Seth?"

"Jessica! It's good to hear from you. Where are you?"

"I'm in Philadelphia."

"Have you rung the Liberty Bell?"

"No, as I've had no liberty to speak of, as you well know."

"I do know, woman. If you'd had any, you'd have called me before now. So how's the tour?"

"Fine," said Jess.

"That sounds like you just had a colonoscopy! What's going on, Jess? Really?"

"Nothing, Seth. Nothing that I can quite put my finger on." Seth remained quiet; a trick he learned as a resident. Most people can't abide silence. Of course, Jessica wasn't most people, but even she, if given the space, would finally relent. She sighed, and he waited expectantly. "You'll think me foolish." She laughed when Seth wouldn't answer. "You're right, you know. Most people, including me, can't abide silence. It's only…well, I received a letter from David while I was in Boston."

Seth sat up. "This wouldn't be young David Tolliver from Seattle, now would it?"

"Yes," said Jessica reluctantly.

"What kind of letter?"

"Just a short note he'd left at the front desk of my hotel."

Seth exploded. "He was at your hotel? How did he find out where you were staying?"

"He called my publisher's office and pretended to be Grady. Now, Seth," Jessica began as she heard him draw a breath. "I need your expertise, not your bluster."

That sobered him, and he sighed. "Alright, Jess. You know I'll help in any way I can."

"Good. Didn't you mention doing a rotation in a psychiatric ward during your residency?"

"That's quite a memory you have, Jess! I did do a brief stint. A doctor I admired asked me to spend some time on that floor. He knew I wanted to be a GP in a small town…that was the plan at the time. He thought it would be useful, and boy was he right. But then I met Ruthie." Jessica could hear the smile in Seth's voice. "She wanted to stay in Portland, and I wanted to stay with her."

"And you never regretted it," finished Jessica stoutly.

"No ma'am. We had a wonderful life. A wonderful life." They were quiet for a moment, then Seth cleared his throat. "I'll see if Jane's got a copy of the DSM."

"The DSM?" Jessica repeated.

"Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Jess. It's essentially a catalog of mental health disorders. That's the first thing I'd check if David were my patient."

"I see. What do you need from me?"

"If you could send me a sort of character reference for him, that would be helpful. Just a list of his traits, any impressions he's made on you, snippets of conversations if you can remember them. Just any details would be helpful."

"I can do that, Seth. I'll get started tonight. And Seth?"

"Yes, woman?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said gruffly. "Just…just be careful," he said softly.

"Aren't I always?"

"Not always, Jess. But I wouldn't have you any other way."

"Good night."

"Good night, Jess."

Jessica hung up the phone. The situation with David had been bothering her, and it felt good to confide in Seth. Was that because he was such a good friend, or was there more to it, as the girls in the beauty shop sometimes hinted? Whatever it was, she didn't want to sully her friendship with Seth by including David in it, anymore than he already was. She sighed. What a tangle. Jessica liked things to be neat and orderly, and this was proving to be anything but.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter. Happy Labor Day!