Free Gin and Daggers by Jessica Fletcher Page B

her bluntness, she’d succeeded. My heart tripped, and I looked away from her.
    “Mrs. Fletcher.”
    “Yes?”
    “What I say is the truth.”
    “I’m not debating whether you’re being truthful for now, although I don’t know what the truth actually is. A much larger question at the moment, Ms. Giacona, is why are you telling me? Do you expect me to do something?”
    The softness in her eyes and face returned. Was it deliberate, a good actress changing emotions on cue? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was that her face was an expressive instrument, and I was responding to its shifts in mood.
    “I want you to speak on Jason’s behalf.”
    “To whom?”
    “To the world.”
    “The world ?”
    “Those in publishing, critics, the press.”
    “Ms. Giacona, I could never do that.”
    She sighed and looked at the ground.
    “Let’s say what you’ve told me is true and, I repeat, I don’t know what the truth is. But, let’s say I did know for certain that Jason wrote Gin and Daggers. Marjorie Ainsworth was a dear friend. I would never do anything to sully her reputation.”
    “What about Jason’s reputation, Mrs. Fletcher? Is it fair that his talent goes unrecognized, unrewarded?”
    “I suppose not, but... was he paid to write the book?”
    “A pittance.”
    “Does he share in its success, monetarily, I mean?”
    “No.”
    “He was a writer for hire, then.”
    She looked at me quizzically.
    “It’s a term used in publishing. It means that he performed work, was paid for it, and has no further claim on that work.”
    “In terms of money, yes. In terms of fairness, no. He’s not looking for more money, Mrs. Fletcher. I know he wouldn’t take money if it were offered, and he would be very angry if he even knew I was speaking to you about this. Jason is ... he’s very shy and unsure of his talent. He would be content to have the world never know that he’s written this wonderful book that the critics have acclaimed. I am different. I love Jason very much and am determined that the world know what a fine writer he is.”
    “That’s admirable, Ms. Giacona. Tell me, was there a written agreement between Jason and Marjorie?”
    She shook her head. “I told him he should demand such an agreement, but he didn’t want to upset her.”
    “I don’t think she would have been upset. She was a very fair person.”
    It was more a snort from her than a laugh. “It is good to feel that way about a dead friend. Others do not feel that way about Marjorie Ainsworth.”
    I debated asking how much of Gin and Daggers Jason had actually written, how Jane Portelaine fit into the picture, whether Marjorie’s publishers and agents knew of the arrangement. I decided to, but didn’t have the chance. Maria stood and looked down at me with angry eyes. “I have always heard about Jessica Fletcher being a good person, as well as a talented writer. I know you are a good writer, but as for the other attribute, I—”
    I stood, too, and said, “Ms. Giacona, I think you have now gone a little too far. You expect me to stand up and proclaim that Jason Harris wrote Gin and Daggers when, in fact, I have no idea whether he did or not.”
    “If I prove it to you?”
    “Proof? You said there was no written agreement.”
    “There is another way. Jason saw to that.”
    “I thought he didn’t care.”
    “He doesn’t. What he did was not deliberate but can be used now that she’s dead.”
    I took it that she was glad Marjorie Ainsworth had died. I asked her to explain further.
    “Jason used many things from his own life in Gin and Daggers, such as names of old friends and deceased family members. He gave some characters traits that come directly from himself. No one except Jason would have known those things, certainly not Marjorie Ainsworth.”
    “That’s very interesting. I’ve read Gin and Daggers. Could you point out those things to me?”
    “Not at this moment.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I do not know what they