Murder in a Minor Key by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

Author:Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain [Fletcher, Jessica & Bain, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780786253579
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2001-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

Several reporters called out questions, until Dr. Caplan called on one of them. “How often are people bitten by rattlesnakes?”

“Rattlesnakes are responsible for two-thirds of all reptile bites in the United States, and there were more than seven thousand such bites reported last year.”

“Were they all fatal?”

“Not at all,” Dr. Caplan responded. “You’re more likely to die from a dog bite or getting hit by lightning. Only six or seven people die from rattlesnake bites each year.”

“Sir, I’ve always heard you should use a tourniquet. Why do you recommend against it?”

“Stopping blood circulation above the wound simply increases the blood pressure to the limb with the venom, forcing the poison through the blood vessels and increasing the chances of losing that limb.”

Another reporter shouted from the back of the room, “Dr. Caplan, why nothing to drink or eat?”

“Eating and drinking increase the heart rate. The key is to keep the victim’s blood pressure and pulse as low as possible so as not to allow the venom to spread quickly. The last thing you want a snakebite victim to do is get up and start running.”

As the herpetologist answered questions, the camera pulled back, revealing the lone figure of Dr. Caplan at the podium. The mayor, his assistant, and the police superintendent were gone. The camera slowly panned around the room, across the rows of reporters, most of whom were furiously taking notes, and along the bank of cameras and technicians. Leaning negligently against one wall, watching the proceedings with a bored look, was the familiar face of Julian Broadbent.

I picked up the telephone and punched in the number for Doris’s room. There was no answer. Then I remembered that when Wayne had been apologizing for not including her in the dinner invitation at Clarice’s, she’d said she had previous plans for Sunday.

I pulled open the drawer of the nightstand looking for a New Orleans telephone directory, but found only my own book, the one I’d given Wayne. I had stored it in the drawer when I’d emptied my bag last night. Placing it on the nightstand, I went to the closet. Thankfully, a telephone book was on the shelf, but I was disappointed to find no Broadbents listed in New Orleans. Of course, he could make his home in one of the city’s suburbs, but Julian had struck me as a man who’d live in the center of activity. I dialed Information for New Orleans: “We’re sorry. The telephone number you requested is unpublished,” a recorded voice informed me. I hung up, returned the directory to the closet, and noticed that commercials had replaced the press conference on the television. I pushed a button on the remote and the TV screen went black.

Murder in a Minor Key. The lamp on the nightstand illuminated my latest work. I stared at the cover illustration, admiring the way the artist had taken a colorful picture of New Orleans and added drops of blood, as if the victim in my story had bled onto the photograph.

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