Murder, She Wrote Domestic Malice Read Online Free PDF Page A

can put you into some of these sterling investment opportunities, Jessica, but we’d have to move fast. They come along only so often, and—”
    “I don’t think so, Josh,” I said. “It was nice of you to drop by, but as I told you, I’m very satisfied with my current financial adviser. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do, but your services aren’t for me.”
    He said that he understood, but his face testified to something different. He shuffled his papers back into his briefcase, stood, and thrust out his hand. I shook it.
    “This may not be the right time for you,” he said heartily, “but I’ll check back in six months. I’ll let you know how these opportunities have panned out. I think you’ll be surprised how well they did and be sorry that you missed out on them. Thanks for your time, Jessica,” he said.
    “Please give my best to your family. I’ve watched your son play baseball. He’s very good.”
    * * *
     
    I was glad he was gone, although I was sorry about his obvious disappointment. He seemed like a nice enough young man who was only doing what he did for a living, trying to sell someone something. Nothing wrong with that. But aside from my not being interested in changing financial advisers, I was taken aback by his promise of inflated profits through some unnamed sources in the financial community. It made me uncomfortable. It smacked of a possible pyramid scheme, at least to this relatively inexperienced investor. I hoped that wasn’t the case, for his sake and for anyone who might fall for such a pitch.

Chapter Four
     
    B een crying all day—can’t help it—have to stop—he hates it when I cry. I hear him in the driveway—hope his day at the office was okay—hope he isn’t angry—got to get supper going—he gets mad when it’s not ready on time. Thanks for listening, all of you—helps to vent with someone, whoever you are. —MW in Maine
    MW in Maine—Listen to me. Your husband is dangerous. Kill him before he kills you! Make it look like an accident. He’ll kill you if you don’t. —Anonymous
    * * *
     
    I’d forgotten about my meeting with Josh Wolcott until Myriam’s arrival at the shelter the previous night. I saw him around town, of course, and we’d had a few short but pleasant chats. Josh is a member of the Rotary and Lions Clubs and we exchanged pleasantries when I spoke at those civic association luncheons. He seemed to be popular with his colleagues and never brought up our conversation about my finances again; nor did I raise the subject.
    But seeing Myriam’s bruised face and hearing her story cast Josh Wolcott in an entirely different light. It’s true that he had come off as a bit of a hustler that morning he paid me a visit, perhaps involved in shady financial schemes, but I was shocked to learn that he was a wife batterer. You just never know about people who can hide who they really are.
    These thoughts occupied me as I cleaned out a utility closet, a project I’d been promising myself to get to. I’d started right after breakfast and was halfway finished when the phone rang. It was Evelyn Phillips, the publisher and editor of the Cabot Cove Gazette , and a friend.
    “Hope I’m not taking you from something important,” she said.
    “If finding three different-sized mop heads is important, then you are.”
    “Huh?”
    “Just kidding, Evelyn. I’m cleaning out a closet. Happy for the break. What’s new in town?”
    “Not a lot. The reason I’m calling is that Sheriff Metzger has sent me a press release. Seems that festivals and fairs around the state have seen an increase in pickpocketing incidents, and he’s come up with a list of things we can do to keep our possessions safe when in a crowd.”
    “Good public service.”
    “That it is. I wanted to spice up the piece a little and wondered whether you’ve ever used a pickpocket as a character in any of your books. You know, add a little color to the article.”
    “I can’t say