A Little Yuletide Murder Read Online Free PDF

both very kind,” she said.
    We went to the front door, opened it, and stepped out onto the porch. As Patricia was about to close the door behind us, she said wistfully, “Rory is dead. Hard to believe. I expect to see him walking in here any minute.”
    I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed a small smile. I was glad to see some sign that she’d recognized the grim reality of the situation.
    Mort opened the front passenger door of his car for me, but I sensed that Robert was disappointed at being relegated to the rear.
    “Perhaps you’d like to ride up front,” I said.
    My suggestion brought a hint of pleasure to his face.
    Mort started to protest, but I said, “No, I’ll be very comfortable in the back.”
    I was glad I made the decision to give up my front seat to Bob Brent. As we proceeded toward town, he became almost animated, questioning Mort about the array of electronic communications gear wedged between the two front seats. Mort readily answered all the questions, and even demonstrated the use of the radio by calling headquarters. “This is Metzger,” he said into the handheld phone. “On my way back in with Robert Brent. Should be there fifteen, twenty minutes. Over.”
    A voice came through the speaker. “Roger. I read.”
    “Over and out,” Mort said. We both sensed that Robert would have liked to use the mobile phone, too, but Mort was not about to go that far.
    As we pulled into the main part of Cabot Cove, Mort turned and asked, “Straight home, Mrs. F., or drop you some other place?”
    “Home, if you don’t mind.”
    As we approached the street on which I live, I noticed two cars parked in front of my house.
    “Looks like you’ve got company,” Mort said.
    “Appears that way.”
    He turned into my driveway. I got out and came around to where Mort sat behind the wheel. He lowered his window. “Thanks for the ride,” I said. I looked across to where Robert sat and said, “I’m very sorry about your father, Robert. Please tell your mother again to call if I can be of help.”
    His response was a glum nod and to turn away from me.
    Strange young man, I thought as I approached my front door. To my surprise, it opened, and I was greeted by Seth Hazlitt. Seth and I have keys to each other’s houses and don’t hesitate to make ourselves at home in either one.
    “Hello,” I said. “I thought you had a waiting room full of patients this afternoon.”
    “Ayuh, I did, but a couple of ’em canceled last minute.”
    As I stepped inside, I saw Cynthia Curtis, our head librarian and member of the town board, standing in the archway leading to my living room. “Hello, Cynthia. What a pleasant surprise.”
    “Seth insisted I come,” she said. “I just put water up for tea. Hope that’s all right.”
    “Sounds good to me,” I said, hanging my coat up on a row of pegs and leading them into the living room. Seth had made a fire. I stood before it and rubbed my cold hands. “Feels wonderful,” I said. I turned and asked, “What’s up?”
    Seth did the talking.
    “Jessica, Cynthia came to me with a problem having to do with Rory Brent’s murder.”
    I looked at Cynthia, a vivacious, energetic mover-and-shaker in the Cabot Cove community. “A problem concerning you, Cynthia?” I asked.
    She looked to Seth to continue, which he did.
    “It seems that everybody in town has already convicted Jake Walther of killin’ Rory.”
    “That’s terrible,” I said. “How could people come to that conclusion so quickly?”
    Now Cynthia spoke. “I suppose it’s because of Jake’s reputation, Jess. You know how it is. Doctors with a pleasant bedside manner get sued less than the arrogant ones.”
    We both looked at Seth. He smiled and said, “I certainly agree with that. Never been sued in my professional life, and proud of it.”
    “Jake has made so many enemies over the years,” Cynthia said. “You know, he has that mean streak in him that seems to come out at the worse possible