This was written for Helen who suggested a story based on Programmed for Murder. Unfortunately, this is what came about but I blame the rain. Yep, it's still raining.
Seth Hazlitt knew he was a good physician. He wasn't in it for accolades or money. That much was pretty obvious. He could make lots more money in a city or town larger than Cabot Cove. Truth be told, he only wanted to work enough to keep his desire to help patients and desire to learn more about medicine while continuing his well established work-life balance.
After his wife, Ruth, died he figured out what was important in his life, his daughter and his work. He was very thorough, never rushed or impatient while working although he was extremely impatient and grouchy outside of work. He had no time for fools and he felt there were many residing in town.
Once the acute stabbing of grief was tempered and his daughter grown and out of the house, Seth knew he needed to fill the void so he began fishing in his free time. Being outside, away from people, was soothing at first. He felt as though he were truly healing from the pains of the world.
Eventually he knew most of the people in town. Some from earlier, when he was growing up but most from becoming patients or family members of patients he treated. He was much loved in town. Not because he had a jovial bedside manner or because he didn't hound patients for payment. It was because it wasn't unusual for him to research a case thoroughly until an answer was found or he referred them to a specialist.
He received so many graduation, wedding, and even military announcements and invitations. He rarely missed the occasion. He felt his patients' successes were partly his too.
As he neared retirement, he couldn't help reflecting on his career and his future. He wasn't going to be wealthy but his needs were simple. He would be able to golf and fish when he wished. He was going to work on improving his recipes, perhaps even writing them down and creating a book. He knew he wanted them photographed. His daughter, Margie, wasn't interested in cooking but perhaps one of his grandchildren would have an interest.
He also knew he wanted Jessica Fletcher in his life in whatever capacity she wished. They have been friends for a long time and he was devoted to her. She knew, of course, how much he loved her. How could she not? She was charting her own course. The grief she carried for her late husband had subsided into a dull ache most of the time. She found her career fulfilling and wanted to see where it would take her. She was fiercely independent and determined to navigate her own path in her own way. She did keep him close which gave him hope that one day she might want more from their friendship.
He escorted her to the events in town, when she was in town, and generally didn't attend any functions when she was away. He didn't want to encourage any widows, divorcees or other women that he was available. He liked that the women gossiped that he was besotted by Jessica and uninterested in any other woman. It kept the women at bay, especially those that wanted to marry a doctor.
Cabot Cove was changing and growing and not always in a positive direction in his opinion. Crime had risen, strangers moved in and out, factories were closing so jobs were harder to find, and the fishermen were bringing in less so prices were higher.
There was now a need for a shelter for abused women and children. There was such a growth of what he termed weekenders that empty houses dotted the town throughout the week only to become overcrowded obstacles every weekend. Loud parties and drunk neighbors on the weekend was the norm throughout summer months.
But there was the positive, enough to give him hope for the town, that kept him going. Tim Dougan was accepted into Harvard with his recommendation. Jamie Spatterfield married Terrie Patrick and they met in his office as children suffering from chickenpox. Now they were expecting twins and they wanted him to deliver them. Phillip Turner became a multimillionaire and remembered his hometown by making timely donations.
He sighed as he thought of another success story that turned to abject failure. Harriet Wooster. She had been his patient and he treated her for years. He had her medical history memorized. When she first became ill, her treatment plan was simple but as things progressed it turned bad, very bad. He always second guessed his diagnoses. Research was important to him. It allowed him the chance to make very sure that he was doing the best by his patients. That she died, not due to his treatment, but due to being transfused with the wrong blood type was a very bitter pill to swallow.
No, it wasn't his fault, no one was blaming him for her death, anymore, but he was chastising himself. He sat in his car overlooking the bluff and staring into the water every afternoon after work. He never sat more than a couple of hours. No point in sitting alone in the dark but it ate at him. Any senseless death was troublesome but no matter how hard he tried to console himself, he couldn't. He lost a patient because it never occurred to him to check the blood she was receiving and her blood type for himself.
Mort Metzger watched Doc Hazlitt drive away and worried. The doctor had been coming to the cliffs for about six weeks now. He stayed an hour or two but all he could see was the doctor staring out over the water. No one was with him, he didn't hear the radio, and the doctor never even seemed to notice when he walked by. He knew Harriett Wooster's death had been a blow to the Doc but wondered if that was the only problem plaguing the doctor.
Unfortunately, Mrs. F had gone out of town a week after the case was solved and wasn't due back until tomorrow. Hopefully she would be able to lift him out of the mood the Doc was in.
Jessica was always intuitive. She had an instinctive way of filtering out extraneous clutter and getting to the heart of the matter. She had a mind for puzzling out mysteries and for writing them. She had enjoyed teaching and there were times she missed it but teaching was painful now that Frank was gone. When he was alive, she enjoyed discussing her classes with him, complaining about administrators that didn't remember the purpose of schools, and then listening to Frank's day.
When he died, she didn't have anyone to share her day with and couldn't listen to his day anymore. It opened a gulf of loneliness she never wanted to experience again. Writing became a salve and once she was published she didn't share the experience and it was okay because it was new territory, without Frank, so it wasn't as painful.
She discussed hiccups in her work with Seth, and only Seth, because you could count on his confidentiality. She knew she only had to say the word and their relationship would become romantic but that wasn't her intent at this stage in her life. For a while, after Frank's death, she wasn't certain she could make it on her own. His life insurance had lessened her financial woes. The house was paid off and her needs were few. Grady was out of school and on his own, more or less.
She knew she was going to be okay now but she still had fears that she might become dependent again. She equated dependence with being unprepared even if that wasn't fair. She was denying herself a part of her life that kept it from being wholly true to herself. She was a passionate woman. She tempered it with exercise, mental and physical, and she filled time with travel, special projects, and visiting friends and family but there was a hole in her life that Seth couldn't completely fill, not just as a close friend.
She enjoyed her time in New York, teaching, getting to know the students, but she still went home to silence. When her year of teaching was over, she still kept commuting to New York off and on. The vitality of the city called out to her every few months. She enjoyed the museums, the restaurants, and the shopping.
She hung up the phone after speaking with Mort. She had spoken to Seth last week and he hadn't said anything about his trip to the cliffs each day. He hadn't mentioned Harriet Wooster or said much of anything as she prattled on about her trip and when she was returning home. He agreed to pick her up in Portland but that was all.
She knew Seth had been struggling when the new doctor came to town and some of his patients were leaving Seth's practice but she thought they had worked things out. The new doctor took over some of Seth's hospital duties but his practice was still busy. He just had most weekends off now.
Jessica watched as Seth drove up to the curbside pickup area at the airport. She gave a good hard look at Seth and didn't like what she saw. To most people he probably looked the same but she could see the sadness in his eyes. His shoulders drooped a bit and his hair was long enough that she could see he had run his fingers through it.
Seth got out of the car and opened his trunk. He put both of her suitcases and overnight bag inside before giving her a kiss on the cheek in greeting. She never pretended with Seth. She stopped him before he could open her door for her.
"What's wrong, Seth?" Her look of concern touched him even as he denied there was anything wrong. She didn't press him. She got into the car and buckled up.
He asked about her flight, her week, and her plans. Jessica knew he was only talking to keep her from asking questions so she obliged him and answered in detail. She knew when Seth's stubbornness took hold he was going to be an immovable object.
He dropped her off and tried to hurry away, claiming work he needed to do but she was able to confirm dinner the following night.
Seth knew as soon as he entered Jessica's house the following evening that she was going to find out what was going on with him. She wasn't known for waiting for information. She would seek it out if it didn't come to her willingly.
She let him cook in peace. She stayed in the kitchen, puttering around, chatting about people they knew but she kept the pressure on him by not discussing what she wanted to know.
"What is this chicken called again?" She looked dubiously at her plate. Seth seldom failed her but he loved exotic fare.
"Chicken Pacifico*, I thought I'd give it a try since I know you like artichoke."
Jessica picked up her fork and picked through the dish. Yes, there were artichoke hearts, bell peppers, onions, and was that pineapple? She took a bite of chicken and nodded her head in approval.
"This is good, Seth. Well done." She smiled at him and he almost ducked his head at the compliment. "Since you cooked, I'll clean up." It became silent as they ate their meal.
She stood and ran a sink of soapy water while she poured Seth a cup of coffee. She pulled an apple pie out of the warmer and cut him a slice. He smiled in appreciation.
"How about a chess match, Jess?"
I was hoping you would take me on a drive." Jessica folded up the dishcloth and placed it on the counter. "It's such a lovely night and I've been away too long."
"Ayuh," he agreed, but he knew her well. She wanted more than a drive.
"Don't you need a sweater?" he asked, pausing to take one off the hanging hook.
"There's heat in your car, Seth. I'll be fine, thank you."
Once in the car he headed toward town but she wasn't interested in seeing who might be out and about. The only places open were eating establishments and bars and that held no interest for them.
"I want to see the water," declared Jessica. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He had stiffened but he turned the car east. He parked where he usually parked the car and turned off the motor.
"It's pretty dark. You can't see much of the water."
"I love the smell of the salty air and I know it's there."
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jessica knew he wouldn't last very long. She could wait him out.
"Well, out with it woman. We don't have all night," grumbled Seth.
"But we do have all night, Seth. Tomorrow is Saturday."
He huffed but remained silent.
"Mort tells me you come out here everyday and sit staring at the water. You didn't mention that to me on the phone."
"I shower and shave every morning too and I didn't mention it to you," countered Seth.
Jessica almost smiled. Seth wanted to dance, did he? She could outdance him too.
"You don't appear to be in a talkative mood."
"I should just call you Sherlock."
"If you don't want to talk, just say so. We can do other things."
"I don't want to talk and what other things?"
"There's a beautiful moon in the sky, we're parked in a car, alone, and I haven't necked in ages," she smiled pertly. "Not to mention I told Mort we were coming here, in case you needed to shout and rail against the gods, so he won't be patrolling nearby." She waggled her eyebrows at him.
Seth sputtered. She was having him on just because he didn't want to talk. He'd fool her. He'd talk her ears off.
"If I had double checked her blood type, I might have noticed something was amiss. It didn't even cross my mind. I'm slipping. I've gotten old and someone else might be hurt because of it." He stared straight out the window. He didn't mind admitting his mistakes but it didn't make it less painful. He began rambling about other doctors moving in and taking his remaining patients.
Jessica let him talk until he ran out of steam.
"Do you hear yourself, Seth?" She placed her hand on his cheek and turned him to face her. "Are you going to start running a medical lab now?"
"But Jess…"
"It wasn't a mistake, Seth. It was a planned murder."
Seth didn't like becoming emotional at the best of times and he only tended to do it around Jessica. He felt moisture gathering in his eyes and squeezed them tight. He felt a tear leak out his left eye and hoped she didn't notice.
Her hand came up and wiped the tear away. He should have known. She probably had x-ray vision. He barked a laugh before falling silent.
"Alright Jess. You ready to go?"
"No."
He looked at her in confusion. They talked about what was wrong. What more did she want?
"I want you to share your feelings with me," she stated simply.
That produced a loud guffaw out of Seth. "Now don't you go selling that new age namby-pamby nonsense my way. My emotional health is sound and I'm not discussing my feelings!" He glared at her but stopped when he saw the twinkle in her eye. She was having him on.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
"You can't be here all the time, Jess."
"I can be here when you need me."
He patted her hand. He was touched but he figured he could bluster his way through it. "Can we go now?"
"Not yet."
He turned to ask her why not when she leaned over and kissed his lips. His mouth opened in surprise and she continued kissing him a few seconds longer. She pulled away and sat back in her seat.
"I didn't want to waste the moonlight."
*When I first married, I lived on the West Coast and all our budget could afford was chicken as it was the cheapest meat at the time. Or the cheapest meat I would eat. It was hard coming up with chicken recipes and after a while I just called every dish Chicken Pacifico regardless of the ingredients. I no longer care for chicken much.