Skating on Thin Ice (21 page)

Was Marisa simply an overly dramatic adolescent reacting to having been hurt? Or was she being shrewd in coming to me in order to point a finger at someone else? I didn’t like thinking that about her, but I’d learned over the years when dealing with murder that no possibility should be left off the table.

“Why are you telling
me
this, Marisa?”

“I had to tell someone, Mrs. Fletcher, and you seem to be the sort of person who would understand. I know that you’re famous and all that. Everybody says you’ll probably know who killed Alexei before the police do. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you today, but I was ready to explode after Jeremy told me he wouldn’t be my partner anymore.”

“Did he tell you what he
intended
to do, Marisa, or did he say that he’d already
done
it?”

She shrugged. “I guess he said he planned to do it. But that’s as good as doing it, isn’t it? I mean, if he plans to do it, he will.”

“Not necessarily,” I replied. “He might simply have been expressing a desire, but that doesn’t always translate into it becoming a reality. As I said before, it’s not his decision to make alone. Did he say that Christine had agreed to become his partner?”

She shook her head.

“Well then,” I said, “I suggest that you put what he said in perspective. Christine might not want him as a skating partner, and her father will certainly have something to say about it. And I’m not so sure that Mr. Devlin would want to coach Jeremy until he’s at the level Christine has already achieved. I understand why Jeremy’s announcement upset you so, but I suggest that you step back and not assume anything until everyone else has weighed in.”

She picked up another cookie, took a bite, and said, “I suppose you’re right, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s just that I want so much to become a champion skater. You put so much into it and you feel like you’re getting somewhere, and then someone throws a rock in your path. It’s going to take so many years to make it in singles competition, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be as good as the world gold medalists. But I know that I can be great in pairs. Maybe I should try ice dancing.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure out the right thing Marisa. You know how competitive the sport is and the years of dedicated practice and training it takes. I have no doubt that if you apply yourself you’ll achieve your goal, whichever way you decide to go. But in the meantime, I suggest that you put aside what Jeremy has told you and wait to see how things develop.”

The conversation, and the tea and cookies, had done their job. She was considerably calmer than when she’d arrived and actually had a smile on her pretty face when she left the house.

I was glad that she had come to me and that we’d had the conversation. It was evident that if I were to play a productive role in solving Alexei Olshansky’s murder, I was going to have to learn everything I possibly could about the potential suspects, and that included everyone who worked at the arena.

I tried to get back to answering correspondence and paying bills, but my mind was too clogged with other thoughts of murder and potential murderers. I looked at the pad on which I’d written the names of those I was researching. Then I added six more:

I hoped I had included all the possible suspects. Of course, there was always the remote possibility that Alexei had been killed by someone with no connection to him or to the arena, but that was so unlikely that I discarded the notion.

I was pondering this when Seth Hazlitt called.

“I thought you might be at Mort’s for dinner,” he said.

“He invited me, but I declined,” I said. “Too much to catch up on here.”

Seth chuckled. “Sure your decision didn’t have to do with scallops in chocolate sauce?”

I joined in the laughter. “I take it that you were invited, too.”

“Ayuh, I was. Somehow, Maureen’s latest culinary adventure didn’t appeal. So, you’re free for dinner.”

“I suppose I am.”

“I’m cooking roast duck,” he said, “and would be pleased to share it with you.”

I hesitated and looked at the pile of bills that needed to be paid and the stack of correspondence awaiting a response.

“I love duck,” I said, “but only if Mort and Maureen don’t find out that you and I had dinner together. I’d hate to hurt their feelings.”

“It’ll be our little secret, Jessica. Seven?”

“Seven it is.”

I
n addition to being a wonderful physician—especially when it comes to diagnosing difficult cases—Seth Hazlitt has worked to become a very good cook. He’s developed a special knack for things like roast duck, preparing it so that it’s moist on the inside and perfectly crisp on the outside. This night was no exception. The salad he whipped up, which included walnuts and cranberries along with fresh endive, was a perfect match for the rich, succulent taste of the duck with orange sauce, and I left the dinner table thoroughly sated.

“That was splendid,” I said as we settled in his den with after-dinner drinks. “Chef Hazlitt hasn’t lost his touch.”

“Much obliged for the compliment, Jessica. Now, fill me in on what’s going on with that Russian skater’s death.”

“You mean that Russian skater’s
murder
,” I said.

He looked at me quizzically. “And where did you hear that, Jessica?”

I hesitated answering because I didn’t want to reveal that Mort had shared Seth’s autopsy findings with me. I needn’t have been reluctant.

Seth said, “So our outstanding sheriff passed that information along to you, did he?”

“He did mention it, Seth. He knows how much I’ve been involved with the goings-on at the arena and didn’t want to keep me in the dark. He meant well.”

“Sheriff Metzger always means well, Jessica. I would have told you tonight myself, but no harm done. Now that Mr. Olshansky’s death is officially a murder, how does that fit with the conclusions you’ve come to?”

“You don’t sound as though you’re pleased that I’ve come to
any
conclusions, Seth.”

“It’s not my place to second-guess you. I learned long ago that when my dear friend Jessica Fletcher decides to stick her nose into what it is basically police business, it is useless to resist.”

“I’m not sure that I agree with your characterization that I ‘stick my nose’ into police business, but I suppose it’s one way of putting it. You certainly will agree that the circumstances brought me into the picture. I was there when the body was discovered, and I’ve accompanied Mort during some of his interviews. I’ve also taken some steps on my own to try to help him with the investigation.”

“There! See? So what have you uncovered, Detective Fletcher?”

I ignored his sarcasm and gave him the details of my conversation with Peter Valery. “He says Brian Devlin is responsible for his father’s death.”

“Does he have anything to back up that accusation?” Seth asked.

“I don’t know yet, but I’m meeting with him tomorrow. He’s coming to Portland on business and plans to stop here.”

“A little out of his way, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t seem to mind. He did say that Devlin and his father had been in business together.”

“What sort of business?”

“Something to do with real estate. I really don’t know much more than what I’ve told you. I’ll fill you in if I learn anything new. I also spoke with an old friend, a detective now retired from the San Francisco Police Department. I doubt if you’ve heard the rumor that Christine Allen had been the victim of a stalker back in San Francisco. Lyla Fasolino told me it was on the Internet. I’d like to know more about that, and I’m sure Mort would, too.”

“You’re probably right, Jessica. Mort has always been quick to give you credit when you’ve helped him with a case. But it seems to me that—”

He was interrupted by the ringing of his private, unlisted home phone.

“Oh, hello, Evelyn,” he said, wincing for my benefit. “No, you’re not interrupting something important, Evelyn, probably nothing as important as why you’re calling me at home.” The edge in his voice was apparent. “Is that so, Evelyn? What? As a matter of fact, I was just discussing the case with Jessica. I’ll put her on the line with us.” He pointed to an extension, which I picked up.

“Hello, Evelyn,” I said.

“Seth said you were discussing the Olshansky case, Jessica. Anything I should know about? You know I have a lot of connections. I could probably help out with research.”

Seth and I looked at each other and smiled.

“No, Evelyn,” I said, “I have nothing new to tell you.”

“All right. Keep secrets. I always find out in the end.” She turned her attention to Seth. “I need a quote from you, Dr. Hazlitt.”

“A quote about what?”

“About the conclusion you came to after the autopsy, that Olshansky was murdered. The headline I’m running is ‘Russian Skater Murder Victim.’ ”

“Where did you learn about the autopsy findings?” Seth asked.

“A good reporter tracks down the news, Seth. I spoke with Sheriff Metzger, and he—”

“Then I suggest that you get a quote from our sheriff,” Seth said.

“I already have, but I need one from the acting medical examiner, who happens to be you.”

“I think it would be inappropriate for me to comment at this stage, Evelyn. The sheriff’s office is your best source of information.”

She sounded huffy. “I’m disappointed in you, Seth Hazlitt. The murder of the Russian skater is the biggest news we’ve had in Cabot Cove since Walter Motley burned his house down using a blowtorch to take the paint off his dining room wall.”

“I appreciate that you have a job to do, Evelyn,” said Seth, “but I still have no comment, at least not at this moment.”

She gave up trying to wheedle something from Seth and tried me again. “You’ve been involved in this case since the beginning, Jessica, and don’t say that you haven’t. The people of this town have a right to know what’s going on, especially when it involves a murder at a public facility.”

I shrugged at Seth before saying to Evelyn, “You know as well as I do that certain aspects of a murder case are not made public until the investigation has been completed.”

“Will you be at the press conference tomorrow?” she asked.

“What press conference?” Seth and I said in unison.

“At the ice arena. Sheriff Metzger is conducting it. I suppose you don’t consider the
Gazette
to be as important as the other media that will be there to cover it, but—”

“That isn’t true, Evelyn, and you know it,” I said. “The
Gazette
is a fine community paper, and I’ve always been a big supporter of it.”

“No matter,” she said, her pique evident in her voice. “I just think it’s strange that the medical examiner who decided Olshansky was murdered won’t be there to explain his findings to the public.”

“Now, see here,” Seth said. “I’ve already provided a written report of the autopsy’s findings. I don’t need to conduct a class in postmortem examination, do I?”

“Sorry to have bothered you,” Evelyn said stiffly. “Have a good night.”

Seth and I returned the phones to their cradles.

“Sometimes I lose patience with that lady,” Seth said. I started to say something in her defense, but he cut me off. “I know, I know—she is a good reporter and editor, and I’m fond of her personally. But I think she should back off a little.”

Evelyn Phillips might have been a little aggressive, but she was a good and fair journalist. What was more important to me at that moment was the news that Mort Metzger intended to hold a press conference the following morning. Had he come up with new, useful information about the murder that he would announce at the conference? If so, he’d obviously decided to not share it with anyone until making it public. I couldn’t blame him, of course, and I appreciated how much he’d already shared with me. Still, I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t known about it.

“Will you go to the press conference, Seth?”

“Nobody asked me. Besides, I have a full slate of patients in the morning. What about you?”

“I won’t be there, either. I’m meeting with the fellow who’s driving in from Connecticut tomorrow, and waiting for a phone call from my detective friend in San Francisco. Plus, I still haven’t caught up with my correspondence and finances.

Seth drove me home. We sat in my driveway and chatted about a few things, none of which had anything to do with murder. As I was about to get out of the car, he placed his hand on my arm and said, “I know you don’t like me to tell you what to do, Jessica, but keep in mind that there’s a murderer down at the ice arena, someone who won’t take kindly to anyone out to identify him—or her.”

“I appreciate your concern, Seth. I promise not to get myself in too deep.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Pleasant dreams of scallops doing the backstroke in chocolate sauce.”

I
wished Seth’s parting words hadn’t invoked the image of scallops swimming in chocolate sauce. That vision dominated my dreams and became even more unpleasant when the scallops and chocolate sauce were in the ice pit from which Alexei Olshansky’s body had been pulled. Alexei was in the dream. He was covered with chocolate and struggled to keep his head above the murky mix of ice water and chocolate, eventually losing his battle and disappearing beneath the surface.

I woke up in a cold sweat and out of sorts. The sunny weather of the previous day had given way to low-hanging gray clouds, and I could smell more snow in the air. Hopefully, it would hold off until Peter Valery had completed his drive from Connecticut.

He wasn’t due in Cabot Cove until early afternoon, and I reconsidered my decision not to attend Mort Metzger’s press conference at the ice arena. Evelyn Phillips had said that it was scheduled to begin at ten o’clock. Because of the time change between Maine and San Francisco, I didn’t expect to hear from Detective Molito until noon my time, or even later. I’d had good intentions of devoting the morning to catching up on personal matters but decided that putting it off one additional day wouldn’t matter.