Free Brandy and Bullets by Jessica Fletcher

up. “You two chat,” he said. ‘Time for a cigarette anyway.” I watched him carry his drink to the empty bar, order another from the owner, Mick, and light up. Mort took Norman’s chair.
    “How did you know I’d be here?” I asked.
    “Joyce, down at the post office, said you’d been in, and were heading for Charles’s Department Store to buy Christmas wrapping paper. David, there, said you told him you were goin’ to Sassi’s. Charlene told me—”
    “I get the picture,” I said. “The Cabot Cove grapevine in full gear.”
    Morton leaned close. “Jess, Worrell is starting to look more like Jonestown every day.”
    “Jonestown? Oh, where all those unfortunate people followed that crazed preacher and killed themselves. Why do you say that?” I’d already surmised the answer.
    “Another young woman was taken to the hospital in the middle of the night. Attempted suicide, they’re saying.”
    “Attempted suicide. She’s alive?”
    “Barely. In ICU. Seth was there when they brought her in. Been with her ever since.”
    “That’s why I couldn’t reach him this morning. Know anything about her?”
    “A poet, they say.”
    “A gunshot wound?”
    “No. Some sort of pills. They pumped her stomach over to the hospital, sent the contents out for analysis. Poor girl was evidently unconscious for quite a spell before anybody found her. Seth says her brain was without oxygen a long time. If she lives, might not be much more than a vegetable.”
    “Horrible.”
    I looked to where Norman drank, smoked, and talked with Mick. He was at Worrell last night? Didn’t he know about this latest incident? If he did, why hadn’t he mentioned it to me?
    I said to Mort, “My friend over there, Norman Huffaker, checked into Worrell a few days ago. He was there last night. You’d think that—”
    “Most people probably don’t even know it happened. The young woman lived in one of the cottages on the estate. Pretty far removed from the main house.”
    “How was she found?” I asked.
    “A friend stopped in to see her. Found her comatose in bed.”
    “Have you examined the room?”
    “Nope. Police weren’t called, at least by anybody at Worrell. Got the call from Seth at the hospital. I called Ms. Portledge and woke her up. She confirmed what happened. Overdose of pills, she told me.
    “Any idea why she tried to kill herself?”
    “I asked Ms. Portledge that. She says this gal was close with Maureen Beaumont. Pretty upset over what happened to her friend.”
    I again looked to where Norm sat at the bar. I was content to continue my conversation with Mort, but was afraid that if it went on too long, Norman would become falling-down drunk.
    “Keep this between us, Jess,” Mort said.
    “Why? It’ll be all over town by the end of the day.”
    “I know that. Didn’t realize your friend was at Worrell. I seem to remember him now. Real pretty wife. He was a writer.”
    “Still is. Hollywood. Motion pictures.”
    “One of them, huh?”
    I didn’t challenge his snap appraisal of Norman.
    “You’re right, Jess. Everybody’ll know. But what you and me can keep between us is that from this day forward, the Worrell Institute for Craziness is under investigation by this sheriff and his office. Too much of a damn coincidence havin’ two people try to kill themselves up there. I don’t want anybody up there—O’Neill, Portledge, any of the shrinks—to know I’ll be keeping close tabs on them from now on.”
    “Your secret is safe with me, Mort.”
    “If I didn’t think it was, Jess, I wouldn’t have told you. Got to go. Thanks for lettin’ me barge in like this. Say goodbye to your friend.”
    Norm returned to the table, a fresh drink in his hand. I didn’t know how many drinks he’d had, but they didn’t seem to have had much of an effect on him. “Trouble?” he asked.
    “No. Hungry?”
    “Yes.”
    “They make a wonderful beef stew,” I said.
    “Sounds good.”
    I gave Clara the order. “Norm,