A Palette for Murder by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

Author:Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain [Fletcher, Jessica & Bain, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 0451188209
Publisher: Signet Book
Published: 1996-09-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Reporters were waiting for me outside. I wasn’t sure what to do next, aside from getting away from them. I looked across the street and saw there was a tiny white building with a sign that read TAXI. I quickly crossed and entered the building, where a little old man, wearing a baseball cap and a yellow cable-knit sweater that had seen better days, sat behind a desk reading a magazine.

“Good morning,” I said.

He looked up. “Good morning. Something I can do for you?”

“Yes. I need a taxi.”

“No problem.” He tossed the magazine on the desk and stood. “Where to?”

“Many places. I need a taxi for about a week.”

He looked at me quizzically.

“I need a car and a driver for a week,” I said. “I’m here on vacation.”

“Happy to oblige, lady, but you’d do better—be cheaper to rent a car.”

“I don’t drive.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I suppose we can work something out.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Fifteen minutes later I was in the backseat of an older blue sedan, with Mr. Fred Mayer, owner of Fred’s Taxi Service, at the wheel. He’d called a friend to take over the day-to-day operation of his taxi business, and committed himself to me for the duration. I liked Fred Mayer. He had a wry sense of humor, not unlike some of my friends back home, and would surely prove to be a valuable source of insider gossip about the Hamptons and its summer residents.

I looked back; the press stood on the sidewalk. I felt better.

I gave Mr. Mayer the address of the sprawling old waterfront house in which Miki Dorsey had lived before her death. We pulled into the driveway and stopped. Mayer turned. “Here we are, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Fine. You’ll wait, of course.”

He smiled. “I’m yours for the day. For the next seven days. That’s the deal.”

I knocked on the front door. When no one replied, I tentatively opened it. “Hello?”

“Hello” came a male voice from somewhere in the house.

I stepped inside, closed the door, and headed down the hall I knew led to the large living room. Chris Turi, whom I’d met on the jitney, and who was said to have been Miki Dorsey’s love interest, was seated on a window seat by a window overlooking the ocean.

“Hello, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said.

“Hello, Chris. Hope you don’t mind my barging in unannounced like this.”

“No. How are you?”

Since he didn’t get up, I went to him. “I’m not very good, to be honest. You heard, I assume, about the reporter, Jo Ann Forbes.”

At least I’d gotten his attention. He sat up and said, “No. What about her?”

“Did you know her?”

“No. Well, maybe I met her at a party or something.”

“She was murdered this morning.”

“Huh?”

“She was murdered early this morning. Not far from here, as a matter of fact.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of the news. Chris, do you think I could see Miki’s room?”

He frowned. “I suppose so. But why?”

“Just curious. I feel a certain kinship with her. I suppose it’s because I was there when she died.

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