Murder, She Wrote: Killer in the Kitchen - Softcover

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Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Donald Bain, her longtime collaborator, is the writer of more than one hundred books, many of them bestsellers.

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Part One

CABOT COVE INCIDENT REPORT

CABOT COVE SHERIFF’S OFFICE

TOWN OF CABOT COVE, STATE OF MAINE

On April 18 an officer from the Cabot Cove Sheriff’s Office was dispatched to the area of the new waterfront restaurant at 23 Old Wharf Road on a 911 assault complaint. Responding officer found a white male lying faceup, apparently dead of wounds from a kitchen knife protruding from his torso. A pool of blood was under the body’s left side. The victim was identified as the restaurant’s chef and owner. Officer notified Sheriff Metzger, who arrived on the scene at 3:24 a.m.

The medical examiner pronounced the death at 3:43 a.m. The knife was turned over to the state regional crime laboratory and a receipt taken for same. Crime-scene technicians observed a half-empty wine bottle on the counter and two glasses, one with red-colored residue. Four cigarette butts were collected from outside the rear entrance to the kitchen.

A statement was taken from the man who found the body and put in the call. Witness had been taking inventory in the basement after the staff had been dismissed for the night. He said he was not aware of any visitors at that late hour, did not hear any arguments. When he returned upstairs, he found the chef as described. He said the back door was propped open, but no one else was in the kitchen. He admitted that it was not unusual for the back door to the kitchen to be left open to facilitate airing out cooking smells. He said he did not know if the victim had been drinking prior to the incident. He said the victim was not a smoker. He said he could not recall any altercations that might have led to the incident. He provided a list (attached) of kitchen and waitstaff who had been dismissed earlier in the evening.

Deputies were dispatched to notify next of kin.

Sheriff Metzger interviewed the witness who made the 911 call, and released him. State investigators have been assigned to offer mutual aid.

Chapter One

Maureen Metzger, the wife of our sheriff, Mort Metzger, had hosted Thanksgiving dinner and invited a dozen people, including Isabel Fowler. Isabel was a widow who lived alone on the eastern fringe of Cabot Cove. I’d met her when she worked as a dispatcher in the sheriff’s office, and we became fast friends. A lifetime Cabot Cove resident, Isabel was a delightful person to be around, always with something good to say about others. She was a volunteer for numerous town charities, some of which I worked for as well, and had a reputation as a superb cook. Every potluck fund-raiser, every holiday celebration at the senior center, every pancake breakfast at the fire station, every annual PTA kickoff dinner, featured dishes provided by Isabel Fowler. And there wasn’t a hostess in town who hadn’t implored her to share a favorite recipe, requests to which she always complied.

“I was hoping to see Brad and Marcie here today,” I said as Isabel and I sat in a corner of the Metzger home, sipping coffee and wondering how many pounds we’d put on at Maureen’s dinner table.

Isabel’s only child, Bradley, was a handsome thirty-year-old fellow who had spent most of his post–high school years working on the many lobster boats that call the Cabot Cove port home. Lobstering is hard work, and only the hardy manage to make a go of it. I knew that Brad had taken a year off from working the boats to attend a community college with a curriculum designed to prepare students for jobs in the restaurant business, but he had gone back to hauling lobster traps from the deep after earning his certificate. His wife, Marcie, worked as a secretary in the Cabot Cove school superintendent’s office and also as a part-time waitress after school.

“They went off to spend the long weekend in Portland with their young friends,” Isabel said. “I was invited but didn’t want to be the only person at dinner on the wrong side of fifty. When Maureen called, I decided to enjoy this Thanksgiving right here in Cabot Cove with old friends—well, maybe not ‘old,’ but friends my age.”

“I’m delighted that you decided to stay, Isabel,” I said. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up since last summer’s Lobsterfest, when Brad supervised the Down East shore-dinner lobster bake. You know, I always wondered why he never did anything more with the culinary classes he took in college. He’s a very good cook. Of course, he had an excellent teacher at home.”

A sly smile crossed Isabel’s lips. “Promise to keep a secret?” she asked in almost a whisper.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, “but I promise nothing.”

She held her index finger and thumb an inch from each other and continued to speak in the same conspiratorial tone. “Brad and Marcie are this close to getting the funding to open their own restaurant.”

“That is exciting news,” I said. “I didn’t know they had those plans.”

“It’s always been Brad’s dream, but it seemed beyond their ability to come up with enough money to turn it into reality. They’re such hard workers and live frugally, saving every penny they can. Marcie has always worked a second job, and Brad is constantly taking on extra shifts with the lobster boats. Still, what they managed to put away wasn’t enough to open a place, so I decided to help. I’ve refinanced my house, and Steven Wagner at the Savings-and-Loan has granted them a sizable loan. They now have enough to go forward.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, keeping another thought unsaid. It was admirable that Isabel would risk her home—the mortgage for which, I was certain, must have been paid off years ago—to help her son and daughter-in-law. I wasn’t sure it was the most prudent of decisions. I knew from my previous research that owning and operating a restaurant was not only an all-consuming, challenging job, but the failure rate was high.

I had to assume they knew the risks. Certainly, it wasn’t my place to throw a wet towel on the idea. Isabel glowed with pride at what Brad was about to undertake. Her being able to help him and his wife go forward with their plan was obviously satisfying to her. I was happy for her.

“Have they decided where their restaurant will be located?” I asked.

“The old Wharf Seafood Shop, on the dock,” Isabel replied. “It’s an ideal location, with all the summer tourists we attract. Of course, it will take a lot of construction to turn it into the sort of fine-dining spot Brad and Marcie envision, but a lot of restaurant equipment, like ranges and refrigerators, tables and chairs, even napkins and silverware, can be gotten on credit from suppliers.”

“That should be helpful,” I said.

“Brad is going to feature some of my favorite recipes,” Isabel said proudly, “and name them after me on the menu.”

Her pleasure was palpable and contagious, and I squeezed her hand and laughed along with her. “I can’t wait to be one of their first customers,” I said.

We were joined by Seth Hazlitt, the town’s beloved physician and my treasured friend.

“Hope I’m not interrupting something important,” he said as he lowered himself into a chair next to Isabel. “Has she been filling your ears about the restaurant her son and daughter-in-law are about to open?”

So much for keeping a secret. I looked at Isabel in surprise.

“I guess I have told a few people,” she said...