Trick or Treachery by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain

Author:Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain [Fletcher, Jessica & Bain, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780451201522
Publisher: Signet
Published: 1999-12-31T23:00:00+00:00

I stood in front of the Rose Cottage and looked up at the sky. It had a winter look to it, slate gray and cold, unforgiving. I wished I’d dressed more warmly, added another layer. My arms wrapped about myself, I scanned the five-foot-high brick wall against which award-winning roses burst forth in spring and summer. The mulch Artie Sack had laid down was perfectly edged and mounded, which didn’t surprise me. Each time he did work at my house, I was always impressed with how meticulous he was. Nothing was ever out of place, every flower bed edged with a sharp, precise line, my few climbing rose bushes tied neatly to their trellises, the twist ties all secured with the same number of turns and tucked out of sight.

The spray-paint outline of Matilda Swift’s body was still vivid on the ground, and I gave it a wide berth as I walked along the wall and took a look behind the cottage. There was nothing back there except her long black car parked beneath the graceful boughs of a tall elm tree. I peered inside the car and saw it was locked. I also observed that there wasn’t anything in the vehicle that shouldn’t be there, no empty drinking cup or loose change or stray piece of clothing. Neat, like the cottage, except for the drawers and closet in her bedroom.

I came back around to the front of the cottage and looked across the expanse of lawn to a small barn three hundred feet or so from where I stood. I headed for it, walking slowly, looking left and right in search of … in search of nothing specific. To my right and up a rolling hill were the small cemetery and Paul Marshall’s baronial mansion standing staunch and impenetrable in the gray morning light, the scene of such gaiety the previous night, now a somber symbol of murder that had occurred within shouting distance of the party-goers.

As I came closer to the barn, I saw that Artie Sack was in front of it. He was busy with a task, although I couldn’t determine what it was from my vantage point. When I was only a few yards from him, he realized I was there and looked up from the scythe he was sharpening with a whetstone. He jumped and looked around as though he wanted to bolt.

“Hello, Artie,” I said pleasantly.

“Hello Mrs. Fletcher, Hello Mrs. Fletcher.” He averted his eyes and went back to sharpening the long, curved scythe.

“Terrible what happened to Matilda Swift last night. Did you know her well?”

“I work for Mr. Paul. Mr. Paul is good to me, good,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure Paul Marshall appreciates what a fine gardener you are. Did Matilda Swift also appreciate your rose garden?”

Artie shuffled his feet, still holding the huge scythe upright. “She was a nice lady, nice lady. She liked to garden, too.” He looked across the lawn toward the roses, then ducked his head and began drawing the stone across the blade again.

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