Murder Most Trivial (Murder, She Wrote, 63, Band 63) - Hardcover

Buch 63 von 63: Murder She Wrote

Fletcher, Jessica; Early, Barbara

 
9780593952900: Murder Most Trivial (Murder, She Wrote, 63, Band 63)
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0593952901 ISBN 13: 9780593952900
Verlag: Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S., 2026

Inhaltsangabe

The newest delightful entry in the USA Today bestselling Murder, She Wrote series, featuring mystery novelist Jessica Fletcher.

Jessica Fletcher and friends Seth Hazlitt and Maureen and Mort Metzger team up for pub trivia and crush the competition, then are stunned to learn that the prize is a chance to appear in a five-day trivia tournament filming in LA.

No one expects life-or-death stakes! But on day one of the tournament, a crew member is murdered. Who would benefit from derailing the show? Jessica has to come up with the ultimate answer.

In a metafictional twist, the investigation takes Jessica and the gang to the filming locations of their favorite mystery shows, where they discuss how Columbo, Monk, or Jim Rockford might go about solving the case.

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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. Barbara Early coauthors this volume.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

Seth Hazlitt opened the door of Riley's for me, and I'll admit I hesitated to look around the room. The promise of a "genuine" Irish pub experience here in Cabot Cove, Maine, was one I found intriguing yet, I feared, was doomed to disappoint (not for lack of advertising).

My friend Dan Andrews, the editor of our local paper and a principal investor, had been crowing about nothing else for months. His partners, Pierce and Riley Collymore, couldn't be more excited. That Riley hailed from the Emerald Isle herself and would be active in managing the establishment was slightly encouraging. I loved to hear Pierce, who was also Cabot Cove's fire chief, enthuse about how his aging father, who had tended bar for many years in Vermont, seemed reanimated at the prospect of getting his hands on the taps again.

But as much as I respected the owners and wished them success, my travels had taken me to visit the real McCoys, so to speak, as well as the real Raffertys, O'Flanagans, and multiple Paddys, and I found myself sadly dubious that this new venture, however well intended, could live up to those treasured experiences.

"There's Mort and Maureen," Seth said. I kept my gaze down, even as my good friend took my arm and directed me through the bustling opening-night crowd. Strains of flute and fiddle from a live ensemble somewhere in the corner permeated the congenial hubbub. Rustic wood floors appeared authentic enough, but I found it a bit sad to think that the age and distress they showed was the result of the tireless work of creative designers and contractors, and not the trudging of generations of brogues and hobnailed boots.

It wasn't until after I greeted Mort, hugged Maureen, and then slid into a green (faux?) leather booth that I allowed myself to take in my surroundings. No, it wasn't a genuine Irish pub, at least not as I recalled them. For one, the ceilings, although a dark tin that seemed to set the correct mood, were far too high. There would be no ducking through ancient doorways here. Still, the lighting was suitably dim, and the walls above the dark wood wainscoting were painted with darker hues and covered with Irish artwork, signage, and memorabilia, probably a mixture of reproductions and a few imported from across the pond.

"Isn't this great?" Maureen said, and I spared a moment to survey the rest of the room before answering.

The ubiquitous neon Guinness sign was prominent over the mahogany bar, the back wall of which was stocked to the ceiling with an ambitious collection of whiskey, a few bottles of which I recognized as imports. Pierce's father was all smiles as he drew a foamy pint and set it before a customer. A group of raucous fishermen trash-talked over a dart game nearby. The collective odors of alcohol, fried cod, and malt vinegar were present, but without that faint hint of old pipe tobacco left behind by generations gone. Not that I was ever a smoker, but my late husband, Frank, favored an occasional pipe, which was probably why I missed it. Present, however, were a convivial atmosphere and laughter.

"They've done a remarkable job," I finally acknowledged.

"I'm so glad you could come, Jessica!" Riley Collymore stood at the side of our table and shouted to be heard above the din. Her natural brogue, which had begun to fade from years of living in the United States, had returned in full force for the occasion. Her auburn hair hung in loose curls, and her simple but stylish green dress pulled out the color in her eyes. "So, what do you all think?"

"It's gorgeous," Maureen piped up first. We'd discussed my apprehensions, and I suspected she was trying to spare me an awkward moment.

"It truly is," I said.

"Is it always so loud?" Seth asked.

Riley shrugged. "I have no way to answer that, since it's only opening night, but I certainly hope so!"

Seth scowled and tugged on his ear.

"Lighten up, Doc," Mort said.

Riley laughed and took our drink orders.

When she was out of earshot, Mort leaned forward against the table. "So, how does our resident expert on Irish pubs think this one rates?"

I sent Maureen a sidelong glance for giving me up. "I must say, it comes pretty close."

"Look again." Seth gestured to all the people enjoying the busy bar. "I visited a few of those watering holes myself on that last trip to Ireland, and I honestly don't see how they could have done a finer job."

"Not without violating any health or building codes," I joked.

Riley came with a tray and set our drinks in front of us. "Know what you'd care to eat yet?"

"Not yet." Mort handed us each a menu. "Seems I've been hogging the menus." He turned back to Riley. "What appetizers are most popular tonight?"

"Most folks have been ordering the potato skins, perhaps because they're familiar, or the Scotch eggs, if they want to try something new. But for this group . . . may I recommend our Reuben rolls?"

"That sounds great." Mort rubbed his hands together. "Bring us an order of those to share. And the Scotch eggs. I'm also in the mood to try something new."

Seth cleared his throat. "Hardly seems right to go to an Irish pub and not get some kind of potato."

"And the potato skins for those of us who'd like something familiar," Mort said, then took a sip of his beer.

"With that many appetizers, how will we find room for the entrées?" I asked.

"We'll make a way," Mort said. "After all, we have a lot to celebrate tonight. The opening of this great new addition to Cabot Cove, and Jessica, I gather by your presence here that your next book made its way to your publisher?"

"Just in the nick of time," I said.

"And I," Mort continued, "have got the best reason of all: a whole weekend off duty! That is, barring any new homicides." He cast me a warning look.

I held up my hands. "I certainly don't have any planned."

Mort laughed and raised his beer. "Then, cheers!"

"Sláinte." I clinked his glass with my mineral water. Seth and Maureen joined in the toast.

I split portions of each appetizer with Maureen, hoping to spare room for my entrée. I'd skimmed over the lighter fare of the menu, debating a salad, then scrutinized the grilled seafood options before remembering Seth's words that it didn't seem right not to order something with potato-or at least something more typically Irish-and opted for the shepherd's pie. Everything proved delicious, and by the time Riley had come to clear our plates and bring the dessert menu, I couldn't imagine taking another bite.

"But you can't skip out on dessert," Riley urged, slipping back into a heavier brogue. "Our Irish apple cake is me own nana's recipe, and our Baileys cheesecake is nothing to sneeze over. Besides, Dan is comping it for the whole table tonight!"

Mort put a hand on his bulging stomach and exhaled. "How about we take a break, then, and play some darts?" He pointed to the board where another group was just leaving. "Maybe work up an appetite. Me and Maureen against Mrs. F. and Doc?"

"Fine by me," Seth declared, not being one to give up on the offer of a free dessert.

"I haven't played in years," I said. "I don't think I'd be any good."

"That's what I'm counting on." Mort slid out of the booth and offered a hand to his wife.

Mort had reason to gloat, although Seth wasn't nearly as rusty as I was, and we made a near comeback at the end. When we finally settled back into our booth, Dan Andrews stopped by.

"You've done an amazing job here," I told him. "Might be the closest I've seen to an Irish pub in the States."

"That's high praise coming from her," Seth said. "I'd take it."

"And yet I hear you haven't availed yourself of my offer of dessert yet," Dan teased.

"Maybe coffee for me," I said. "I'm...

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Verlag
Berkley Publishing Corporation,U.S.
Erscheinungsdatum
2026
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593952901
ISBN 13 
9780593952900
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
320
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