Death on the Cape by Mary Higgins Clark

Author:Mary Higgins Clark
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Mary Higgins Clark
Published: 2010-04-27T15:05:07.589000+00:00

There was a pause. 'I am thinking,' Min announced. 'You're right. She came another week with someone and they spent the weekend in the cottage. They even had their meals served there. It was that hotshot producer she was trying to snare. Carleton Rumson. You remember him, Alvirah. You met him another time when he was here alone.' At noon when Carleton Rumson returned the reporters swarmed around him and besieged him with questions. 'Yes, Miss Winters appeared in several of my productions. No, I had no idea she was visiting in this building. If you'll excuse me now, I must...' He managed to shoulder his way through the crowd. Had he touched anything in that apartment yesterday, he wondered. Had he left fingerprints? The thought sent cold chills through his body. Alvirah went into the living room and out on to the terrace. Willy gets so nervous if I even step out here, she thought, and that's crazy. The only thing to be careful about is leaning on the railing. The humidity was near saturation point. Not a leaf in the park stirred. Even so Alvirah sighed with pleasure. How can anyone who was born in New York stay away from it for long, she wondered. Willy brought in the newspapers with the groceries. One headline screeched 'Murder on Central Park South'; another, 'Lottery Winner Finds Body'. Alvirah carefully read the lurid accounts. 'I didn't scream and faint,' she scoffed. 'Where'd they get that idea?' 'According to the Post, you were hanging up the fabulous new wardrobe you bought in London,' Willy told her. 'Fabulous new wardrobe! The only expensive thing I bought was that orange and pink plaid suit - and I know Min is going to make me give it away.' There were columns of background material on Fiona Winters: the break with her socialite family when she went into acting; her uneven career; she'd won a Tony but was notoriously difficult to work with, which had cost her a number of plum roles; her break with playwright Brian McCormack when she abruptly walked out of his play Falling Bridges, forcing it to close. 'Motive,' Alvirah said flatly. 'By tomorrow they'll be trying this case in the papers and Brian will be found guilty.' At twelve-thirty p.m. Brian returned. Alvirah took one look at his ashen face and ordered him to sit down. 'I'll make a pot of tea and fix you a hamburger,' she said. 'You look like you're going to keel over.' '1 think a shot of Scotch would do a lot more good than tea,' Willy observed. Brian managed a wan smile. 'I think you're right, Uncle Willy.' Over hamburgers and French fries he told them what had happened. 'I swear I didn't think they'd let me go. They're sure I killed her.' 'Is it okay if I turn on my microphone?' Alvirah asked. She fiddled with the sunburst pin, touching the microphone switch. 'Now, tell us exactly what you told them.' Brian frowned. 'A lot about my personal relationship with Fiona.

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