Free A Question of Murder by Jessica Fletcher Page B

some of the guests upset. No, that’s an understatement. A few are already clamoring for their money back.”
    “I’m sure they’ll understand that it isn’t management’s decision. It’s a police matter.”
    “You’re being rational, Jessica. Interesting, though, how some who suspect a real murder has taken place want very much to stay and help solve the crime. They considerate it some sort of a bonus for the weekend, an added value.” He shook his head. “I’ve been toying with the idea of moving the author panel to tomorrow morning, maybe even later tonight. Seeing how calmly you and the other writers are taking the situation might rub off.”
    “That’s not a bad idea, Mark, but I should mention that I’ve suggested to the Savoys that we proceed with the entire weekend as planned.”
    “All of it? The show, too?”
    “Yes.”
    I explained my thinking and he listened attentively. When I was finished, he said, “I buy it, Jessica. I don’t know if others in management will, but I’ll try to convince them.”
    “Good. Larry Savoy was going to speak to his cast members to see if they’re willing, considering the tragedy that’s taken place.”
    “And I’ll talk to my bosses. I may ask you to weigh in with them.”
    “I’ll be happy to do anything I can. The biggest hurdle might be Detective Ladd. If he feels it will get in the way of his investigation, he’ll veto the idea.”
    “Hopefully, he’ll listen to you.”
    I left the library and found the detective in the main lobby conferring with other officers. Dozens of guests milled about, many obviously wanting to speak with him, but most, including me, had the good sense to give him a wide berth.
    Ladd eventually became aware of my presence and came over to me, ignoring others trying to capture his attention. “You said you had something to talk to me about,” he said. “An idea you have?”
    “Yes, Detective. I appreciate your taking the time.”
    We went along the hallway to a relatively secluded alcove.
    “So,” he said, “what’s this idea? You’ll have to make it quick.”
    I outlined my reasons for allowing the theatrical production to continue as planned. If I judged his reaction by the sour look on his thin face, my idea didn’t have a chance of being accepted. But to my surprise, he said, “Makes sense to me, Mrs. Fletcher. But the minute it gets in the way of my investigation, it’s over.”
    “Understandable,” I said. “I’ll make sure the Savoys, the show’s producers, keep everyone out of your hair.”
    A small smile crossed his lips as he touched the thinning reddish hair on top of his head. “Not a lot of hair for people to get into,” he said. “We’ll question the cast first to free them up to do their show. Anything else?”
    “Not at the moment.”
    “Okay. By the way, where were you when he was shot?”
    “Me? I was sitting in the audience along with everyone else.”
    “Did you know the deceased?”
    “No. I’d never met him before arriving here for the weekend. Actually, we were never really introduced. I saw him in the play during rehearsal and bumped into him earlier this evening.”
    “Where was that?”
    “Just inside the rear door downstairs. It seems to be a place where smokers go to have a cigarette.”
    “Show it to me?”
    “Certainly.”
    I led him to the area, where cigarette butts still littered the floor. A uniformed officer was posted to ensure that no one left the premises.
    “I came through this door after taking a walk,” I said, “and Paul—the deceased—was standing here smoking a cigarette.”
    “You talk to him?”
    “Just barely. I was startled to see him here, and said so. He snuffed out his cigarette and left”—I pointed—“up those stairs. The next time I saw him was during the first act this evening. He left the stage with the young actress. There was the shot. She raced into the room screaming, as she was supposed to do according to the script, and he