Murder, She Wrote: Death on the Emerald Isle - Softcover

Buch 56 von 63: Murder She Wrote

Fletcher, Jessica; Moran, Terrie Farley

 
9780593333709: Murder, She Wrote: Death on the Emerald Isle
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593333705 ISBN 13: 9780593333709
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

A trip to Northern Ireland becomes unexpectedly grim for Jessica Fletcher in this new entry in the USA Today bestselling Murder, She Wrote series.

Jessica Fletcher is quick to accept an invitation to replace a speaker who couldn’t attend a book festival in Belfast, Ireland. When her Cabot Cove neighbor Maeve O'Bannon hears about the trip, she asks Jessica to deliver some paintings to her family in the village of Bushmills. Happy to extend her travels and see more of the Irish countryside, Jessica agrees. 

The festival goes off without a hitch, and it seems like Jessica is in for a relaxing vacation. But then Maeve’s cousin Michael is discovered dead under suspicious circumstances. Jessica finds herself once again in the midst of a murder investigation, and she’ll have to dig into the O'Bannon family’s secrets to unmask the killer.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Award-winning writer Terrie Farley Moran coauthors this bestselling series.

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Chapter One

Seth Hazlitt, my longtime friend and Cabot Cove's favorite doctor, was sitting at my kitchen table sipping coffee while I was trying to cross as many items off my to-do list as possible.

"Okay, so, now Susan Shevlin checked in with Jed Richardson and has booked all my connecting flights. We're so lucky to have a world-class travel agent as a friend and neighbor. You are going to look after my house. Oh, and I need to ask Maeve O'Bannon if she will keep an eye on my garden, especially those seedlings I planted two weeks ago."

Seth tugged at his eyeglasses, peered across the table at my seemingly unending roster of chores, and said, "Jessica, I don't understand why whenever anyone imposes on your time, you rearrange your entire life to help them out. Doesn't seem fair to me. Would anyone do the same for you? And I sure could use some pastry to go with this coffee."

"Well, then, you should have stopped at Charlene Sassi's bakery before you came by. Since I'm leaving in two days, I need to empty out my refrigerator, not fill it with snacks, although, as you can see, my fruit bowl isn't quite empty."

A thought popped into my head and I jotted, "Temporarily cancel delivery of the Cabot Cove Gazette," on my notepaper before I continued. "I don't see why you are making such a big fuss over a little trip. I am simply doing a favor for a friend. Believe me, if the situation were reversed, Lorna Winters would do the same for me."

Seth guffawed. "A little trip? Is that what you're calling it? Let me tell you, driving an hour or two up the coast to Belfast, Maine, might be something I would consider a little trip. Traveling from here to Belfast, Northern Ireland, that is what I call a l-o-n-g trip. Wasn't it only last Tuesday that you claimed to be too busy to go fishing on Moon Lake for a few short hours with me along with Mort and Maureen Metzger? But today, at the drop of a hat . . ."

I counted to ten and then replied, hoping my exasperation didn't show, "Seth, Lorna Winters didn't drop a hat. Since you are a physician, I would think you'd appreciate the consequences of breaking her leg in several places. The leg is now in what Lorna described as a 'torturous cast' from ankle to hip and she is confined to a wheelchair. Her doctor insists that she stay home in Minnesota so that he can look after her. You know how finicky doctors can be, so there is no way she can go to the Belfast Book Festival and accept the American Author Guest of Honor Award without violating her doctor's orders."

"It is only common sense to follow doctor's orders," Seth said. "But it seems to me some committee member could pack up her award in a tidy box and drop it in the mail, and your friend would have her trophy, or whatever, in no time."

"There is far more to Lorna's participation than accepting a plaque. She is scheduled for interviews and panels specifically geared to American mysteries. So many things will have to be rearranged if there wasn't an American author to take her place."

A firm rat-a-tat-tat on my kitchen door punctuated my last few words and I turned to see my neighbor Maeve O'Bannon through the glass pane on the top half of the door. Her curly gray hair was escaping from a bun fashioned carelessly atop her head, a sure sign she'd been either baking or gardening, which were her two favorite passions.

When I signaled her to come in, she raised both hands, which were holding a dish covered by a white linen cloth. One glance and it took Seth less than a second to push back his chair and pull the door open.

"Maeve O'Bannon to the rescue," he said. "A man could starve in this house."

Maeve sent a meaningful glance to the fruit bowl on my table, which held two apples and an orange. "I guess that would depend on what the man wanted to eat."

"My nose has me hoping that you're holding some freshly baked scones. And that you've come to share," Seth said.

"Half a point to you. Tell me what kind of scones and you'll earn a full point, and a scone besides." Maeve always enjoyed bantering with Seth about her baked goods.

Seth leaned closer to her and inhaled deeply. "Ah, citrus. Orange. Tell me, Maeve, have you a plateful of your mouthwatering cranberry-orange scones?"

"I have indeed." Maeve took off the cloth and placed a lovely crystal platter piled high with lightly iced scones on the table.

I took some dessert plates from the cabinet, set out napkins, and reached gratefully for a scone. "Maeve, I didn't even know I was hungry, but after one look at your scones . . . Can I offer you tea or coffee?"

"I would welcome a cup of tea if it's not too much trouble," Maeve said as she settled into the chair between mine and Seth's.

I served Maeve a cup of tea and sat down to enjoy my scone, which was as delicious as it was fragrant. I was swallowing my final bite and was about to praise her baking skills to the sky when Maeve interrupted my train of thought.

"Jessica, I ran into Alicia Richardson in the Fruit and Veg first thing this morning and she mentioned that Jed would be flying you off on the first leg of a trip to Belfast."

I automatically reached for my to-do list, hoping to check off "plants and seedlings," but Maeve distracted me by saying, "I was hoping I could impose on you by asking for a slight favor."

Seth interjected, "Maeve, you do know that Jessica isn't merely hopping up the coast to our Belfast. She is flying across the ocean to the original Belfast, the one in Northern Ireland."

Maeve nodded. "I do indeed know that and I can tell you that Belfast is so very near my father's ancestral home in the village of Bushmills. That is why I've come to ask a favor."

Although I wasn't at all familiar with the geography of Northern Ireland, I had a momentary fear of traveling hours and hours out of my way so I could snap a picture or two of some ancient ruins of a thatched-roof cottage, the straw and reeds of which had long since given way. Still, Maeve was a good neighbor and I'd always considered her a friend, so I thought it best to hear her out.

"My father was born and raised on a tenant farm just outside Bushmills, but he always had a love of the sea, and with jobs at home being scarce at the time, he left at the age of seventeen to become a seafaring man. Oh, he traveled the world several times over. And many an evening when I was a child, he'd sit with his pipe in his hand and me on his knee and tell about all the places he'd been and the wondrous things he'd seen." Maeve's blue eyes began to glow with the memories.

"How did a sailor from Northern Ireland wind up here in Cabot Cove?" Seth wondered aloud.

"Ah, now, there's my favorite part of the story. It seems he was a deckhand on a ship bound for Nova Scotia. When it arrived in the Bay of Fundy, it had some serious troubles and needed to be dry-docked for repairs for a length of time that was far too long for my da. At this part of the story, he would look me in the eye and say, 'Not being a landlubber, it wasn't my way to sit around and wait,' and we would both shake our heads really fast." Maeve laughed. "So when a nearby ship was looking for a hand for a short journey to Portland, Maine, my da jumped at the chance to fill the days until his ship would be ready to be off again."

I was intrigued, wondering what Maeve's father had seen in Portland that enticed him to stay in Maine. I should have known.

"At this point in the story, my da would look across the room at my mam, who was in her rocker, often knitting, sometimes sewing, and he would smile and say, 'When we docked at Portland, as I was helping to lower the gangplank, I saw the most beautiful girl, with hints of copper flowing through her light brown curls and eyes bluer than the sky, standing in line ready to...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593333705
ISBN 13 
9780593333709
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
preigu
mail@preigu.de

Lengericher Landstr. 19
Osnabrück
49078
Deutschland

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