Free A Little Yuletide Murder by Jessica Fletcher Page B

Maine certainly has its share of authors and journalists.
    Since the conference, Dean Roark and I kept in touch, which led to his asking me to teach the course in mystery writing.
    His office seemed to have boundless energy, too, if inanimate objects could generate that. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were crammed with books. Dozens of elaborately carved ducks, which he collected as a hobby, filled every space not occupied by a book. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt, red-and-white suspenders, and a floppy yellow bowtie.
    “Jessica, how wonderful of you to come. Right on time, I see, but that’s no surprise. I’ve always suspected that mystery writers have to be punctual and organized.”
    I laughed. “Why would you assume that?”
    “Because in order to write a good murder mystery, the writer has to have an organized mind to stay on plot, or else the reader is cheated. Don’t you agree?”
    “Well,” I said, taking off my coat and tossing it on a chair piled with books, “I do tend to be a relatively neat and organized person, although I’m not sure that extends to my writing. At any rate, it’s good to see you, too.”
    He realized I didn’t have any place to sit and quickly emptied another chair of its books and file folders. “Tea?”
    “That would be lovely, if it’s no bother.”
    “No bother at all. Back in a jiffy.”
    He returned with two steaming mugs, handed me one, and settled behind his desk. “So, Jessica Fletcher, who killed Rory Brent?”
    The bluntness of his question surprised me, and I didn’t have a ready answer. I did say, “My guess is as good as yours, Bob, or anyone else’s for that matter. A shocking event.”
    “Certainly was. I didn’t know Mr. Brent, although I think I met him once or twice in passing. Seemed like a nice fellow. Played Santa Claus every year, didn’t he?”
    “Yes, and was wonderful at it. A shame you didn’t know him better. He was a delightful man, not a mean bone in his body.”
    “A shame bad things always seem to happen to nice people.”
    I nodded.
    “Lots of speculation in Cabot Cove about who killed him,” he said.
    There was no escaping it. Here I was for the purpose of discussing a class I would teach, and the conversation immediately went to Rory Brent’s murder, and rumors floating around town about who did it.
    “Do you know this Jake Walther fellow?”
    “Yes, but not well. No one knew Jake very well because he preferred it that way. I know his wife a lot better.”
    “From what I hear, it’s an open-and-shut case.”
    I looked at him skeptically. “I hardly think that, Bob. The man was questioned, but not arrested. He has an alibi.”
    “He does?”
    “Yes. His wife’s brother, who lives on the property with them.”
    “I hadn’t heard that. Good for him. I mean, lucky for him to have an alibi.”
    I thought back to what Tony Colarusso had said about Dennis Solten not being a terribly reliable alibi, and wondered what conclusion Mort had reached after speaking with him.
    “I was thinking just before you arrived, Jessica, about the potency of rumor, especially where murder is concerned. Have you ever dealt with that in one of your books?”
    I shook my head. “I’ve written so many I have trouble remembering specifics about some of the earlier ones. Yes, as a matter of fact I did deal with rumors in a small town. The rumor became so pervasive that an innocent man was charged with murder.”
    I hadn’t thought about that book in connection with Rory Brent’s murder. But now that I had, the entire plot, and many scenes dealing with it, came back to me.
    “Ah ha,” Bob said, sipping his tea. “You could have a situation here where fact follows fiction.”
    “I don’t think one has anything to do with the other, except as a coincidence.” I then decided I might as well ask, “What’s the latest rumor you’ve heard?”
    “Obviously, I’m not as up to speed as you are. I had no idea Mr. Walther had an alibi. What I heard