Murder, She Wrote: Domestic Malice by Fletcher Jessica & Bain Donald

Author:Fletcher, Jessica & Bain, Donald [Fletcher, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2012-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

Harry and I drove into the town hall parking lot that evening and pulled into a parking space adjacent to the one occupied by Richard Mauser’s black Cadillac. On the rear was a bumper sticker that read “I’d Rather Be Hunting.” Mauser waved as he climbed out of his car, but when he realized who I was, his smile turned into a scowl and without a word he headed for the building.

“That’s Richard Mauser,” I told Harry as we exited the car.

“Big guy,” Harry commented.

“A heavy in several senses of the word,” I said. “You’ll get a better look once we’re inside.”

I expected a fairly sparse crowd that night because of the last-minute nature of the meeting, but I was wrong. People filed in one after another, and I wondered whether they were there out of a sincere interest in the fate of the women’s shelter or because the shelter, however tangentially, involved Josh Wolcott’s murder. No matter why, they kept arriving, and soon all the spectator seats were filled. Harry and I sat with Seth Hazlitt and Edwina Wilkerson. I saw Mort and Maureen Metzger on the opposite side of the room. That Mort was there surprised me. He seldom attended council meetings unless the sheriff’s department was on the agenda.

“Mauser’s the one on the left,” I told McGraw, nodding toward the florid-faced, heavyset man in a suit and tie at the council members’ table.

“Looks like a pet pig one of my ex-wives used to have.”

“Be nice, Harry,” I murmured.

“I am being nice. I loved that pig.”

There was a buzz in the room. I heard a woman behind us say, “She admitted she shot him. At least that’s what they’re saying.”

“I heard that Wolcott was a con man,” her companion, presumably her husband, replied.

“So what?” the woman said. “She killed him. She said she did.”

“Maybe she had a good reason.”

“There’s never a good reason to shoot someone.”

Their debate was interrupted by Mayor Shevlin, who tapped his gavel to start the proceedings, as other members of the council joined Mauser at the table.

“I’ve called this special meeting,” Shevlin said, donning his reading glasses, “because one of our members, Dick Mauser, is invoking a clause in our charter that allows for special meetings to be called when”—he read from the charter—“‘when a financial issue demanding immediate attention and that threatens to impact the city’s financial stability is brought to the council’s attention by a member.’” The mayor put down his papers and removed his glasses. “Dick has made the point that our funding for the women’s shelter falls under this clause. Now, I admit that although the amount we allocate to the shelter each year is only a small part of our overall budget, Dick has the right to bring it up again at this special meeting. Since we’re here because of him, he has the floor.”

Mauser got to his feet, ran his index finger beneath his restrictive shirt collar, and looked around the room with a satisfied smile. “First I want to thank you all for coming here tonight.

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