By Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher
Jessica Fletcher is within the Berkshires attending a writers’ convention at a ancient mansion the place her acquaintances the Savoys are internet hosting a murder-mystery get together. As either against the law solver and a secret writer, Jessica is an previous hand at this type of factor. So she swears to the Savoys that she won’t exhibit the secrets and techniques in their play and is going approximately having fun with the weekend together with her colleagues.
But whilst a tender actor’s homicide scene looks all too genuine, not anyone can inform what’s scripted and what isn’t. they are saying the express needs to pass on, yet everyone seems to be thinking about: Who rather dunit?
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Additional info for A Question of Murder (Murder, She Wrote, Book 25)
Turley’s face pinched and he squinched one eye, scratching his furry, Chia Pet head. ” “I don’t know, Turley. ” “Good point, Charlie,” Turley said with a laugh. ” I said. ” Turley turned sideways, pointing to a line of skinny, bare birches at the back end of a blue brick building that was tagged with graffiti and cordoned off with yellow police tape. “Waitress went out for a smoke, found the body in the wastewater runoff. Ligature marks—that means he was strangled—face bashed in pretty good. ” Even Charlie seemed taken aback by my question.
They were calling for an even bigger storm to roll in next week, a real Nor’easter. Trace flurries drifted down, floating aimlessly, catching the glint of the sun’s rays. I watched my breath crystalize in front of me. I pulled around the front of Hank’s to fill up. Would run me close to sixty-five dollars, thing sucked so much gas. The floor of my cab was littered with crinkled receipts and stiff papers, empty coffee cups and crushed cigarette packs, Gatorade bottles, fast food bags; the inside of my ride looked like a refugee camp.
I switched over to the other line. It was dead. CHAPTER SIX Three squad cars, about half of Ashton’s entire fleet, were parked helterskelter beside an ambulance with its rear doors flung open at the far end of the Travel Center lot where the semis regularly lined up and rested for the night. Currently, there were half a dozen tractor-trailers stacked up there, nose to bumper, drivers either still asleep in their cabs or else stocking up inside before heading back out on the trail. The sprawling facility had every accessory and accommodation for a trucker’s needs.