Free Majoring In Murder by Jessica Fletcher

pills in it, and poured a glass of water from a bedside carafe.
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome,” she said. “I see your manners are showing this afternoon. That’s a nice change from this morning.” She picked up her tray. “He can use some cheering. Have a nice visit, ladies.” She was out the door.
    “I guess I’ve been complaining a lot.”
    “You’ve got reason,” Harriet said. “I brought you something from Mrs. Grace in the kitchen.” She dug into her bag and came up with a foil-wrapped parcel.
    “What is it?”
    “A piece of the apple crumb cake she served at breakfast this morning.”
    Adler took the package with a wan smile and placed it on the rolling table next to his bed. “Please thank her for me.” He was silent for a moment. “I heard about Wes,” he said in a low voice.
    Harriet sighed. “You did? I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said. “I thought I’d give you a little more time to recover.”
    “Brad Zelinsky was in this morning with that policeman, Parish. They told me. I was waiting for Wes,” he said, looking from Harriet to me. “That’s why I got caught in the tornado. By the time I decided I should run, the storm was over the house and I was under a beam.”
    “What was the appointment about?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he said, picking at a loose end of his bandage. “He just said it was urgent, that he had things to discuss with me and I shouldn’t leave the office.”
    “Then you don’t have any idea what he wanted to talk about?” Harriet asked.
    “None. Parish asked me the same questions.”
    “Considering your position at the college,” I said, “do you think it would be safe to say Wes Newmark had some question for you having to do with budget or finances?”
    “You can’t be sure. Maybe he knew some student who needed financial aid. Or maybe he wanted to borrow my car. He did that once last year when his old Chevy broke down. How do I know what he wanted? He didn’t say anything except, ‘Stay there; I need to talk to you.’ ”
    “Were you good friends?” I asked.
    “Not really. We had the occasional lunch together in the cafeteria, and I sat in on his regular poker game a couple of times—Brad invited me—but I can’t say we were good friends.”
    “Who were the regulars in that game?”
    “For heaven’s sake, Jessica, what could that possibly have to do with the appointment?”
    “I’m just curious, Harriet. It’s not important.”
    “Why do you think Wes didn’t keep his appointment?” I asked Phil.
    “Who knows? Maybe he couldn’t find whatever he wanted to show me. Or maybe he was running late and the storm overpowered him like it did me. Hard to keep an appointment when you’re lying under a pile of furniture.”
    “It’s really strange,” Harriet said softly. “He never told me he was meeting with you, but whatever he wanted to discuss must have been extremely important to him.”
    “Well, I don’t know what it was,” Phil said, “and I guess we’ll never know.” He leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes. “I think the pills are kicking in,” he said.
    “One last thing, Phil,” I said. “ When did Wes make the appointment with you?”
    “I can’t remember.”
    “We’ll leave you in peace,” Harriet said, pulling on my arm. “Is there anything I can bring you the next time I come?”
    He shook his head, eyes still closed. “If I think of anything, I’ll call,” he said, his speech slightly slurred. “Thanks for stopping by.”
    “I want to check in with the social-work department before we leave,” Harriet said after we’d closed Phil’s door behind us. “He’s going to need assistance when he leaves the hospital. With that cast, he won’t be able to dress himself, much less get around. I want to alert them to the problem.”
    “I thought he was married,” I said. “He wears a ring.”
    “Was. His wife left him last year. I don’t think he’s gotten over it. The