Destination Murder Read Free

as impressive as her husband in stature and bearing. Tall, with an exquisite figure sheathed in an aqua silk pants suit, she had what’s generally called classic features: chiseled cheekbones, a nose of appropriate size and shape, and thin lips made to appear slightly larger with lipstick. Her hair was silver-blond and meticulously arranged. A power couple to be certain, commanding attention whenever entering a room, as they had with us.
    “Hank sued Alvin,” Deedee Crocker said of her husband.
    Reggie quickly said, “I don’t think Jessica is interested in the club’s dirty laundry, Deedee.” To me: “Are you, Jess?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Ah imagine Mrs. Fletcher is always interested in people’s dirty laundry,” said Maeve, “bein’ a mystery writer and all.”
    “Please, it’s Jessica.”
    Hank Crocker said, “I sued him because he was misusing the club’s money.”
    “Oh?”
    “Here they come.”
    The Blevins approached the table, their small plates of chocolate delicacies carried by a uniformed waiter.
    “How’s everyone doing?” Blevin asked as they paused tableside. His voice was deep and well modulated, no surprise, his light blue eyes piercing. He had a cleft in his chin, and a jaw that jutted forward determinedly.
    “Just fine, Al,” Reggie said, standing. “Say hello to my friend Jessica Fletcher.”
    “The famous murder mystery writer,” Blevin said, taking my hand. “I heard you were joining us. Delighted, I’m sure. This is my wife, Theodora.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” I said.
    She gave forth with what she considered a smile, I suppose.
    “Death by chocolate,” Blevin said, his grin exposing a staunch set of teeth, their whiteness rendered more so against the tan of his handsome, rugged face. “Enjoy. See everyone on the train in the morning.”
    When they were gone, Junior Pinckney said, “He’s too damn slick for my taste.”
    “He’s a thief,” Hank muttered, focusing on the plate in front of him.
    “I still say she must have murdered her first husband, that dear man, Elliott,” Maeve said softly. “And Alvin, taken in by her.” She shook her head. “I thought he was more discerning than that.”
    I ate my chocolate treats, thankful when the conversation about the Blevins ended.
    Later, I joined Reggie for a drink in the hotel’s Gerard Lounge, an English club-style room that I was told was Vancouver’s favorite celebrity-spotting venue. He seemed distressed.
    “You look as though you need that drink, Reggie,” I said, referring to a large perfect Manhattan in front of him. I opted for a club soda with lime.
    “Everything would be so simple if it weren’t for people,” he said glumly.
    I laughed. “Someone giving you a hard time?”
    “Seems like everyone is. Hank Crocker is just waiting to make a scene. I dread it.”
    “Mr. Crocker said something about having sued Mr. Blevin. What was that all about?”
    “He wasn’t entirely in the wrong—understand?—but Hank doesn’t know how to handle anything with subtlety, much less diplomacy. He just rams ahead like a bull.”
    “What happened?”
    Reggie sighed. “Blevin decided to build himself the world’s biggest and best model railroad layout.”
    “That doesn’t sound unreasonable,” I said.
    “It would have been fine if he hadn’t done it with club funds. Crocker voted against it, but Blevin sold the rest of the board on allowing him to do it, and he went ahead.”
    “So he had the board’s approval.”
    Reggie raised a finger. “He was supposed to create the layout in modules so that it could be transported around the country for display by different regional chapters.”
    “He didn’t do that?”
    “Unfortunately not, Jess, although whether it was on purpose or not, I won’t venture to guess. Blevin owns a big office building here in Vancouver. He donated one of the floors as club headquarters; it’s huge, plenty of space for meetings, even has a plush conference room for the board