Murder, She Wrote: A Vote For Murder
Donald Bain, Jessica Fletcher

Excerpt

“Do you have any idea what this is about,” I asked him in a low voice.

“About last night, Mrs. Fletcher.”

“What about last night?”

He checked to make sure no one was listening, leaned over and whispered in my ear, “The senator is really under the gun, Mrs. Fletcher. I know he asked you for a favor last night to help Mrs. Nebel through the ordeal of this week, and what happened at the house with Nikki Farlow.”

Teller accompanied me to the front entrance of the Dirksen building at First and C Streets where a black town car was waiting, its engine running. Teller opened the back door for me. When I was settled with my seatbelt on, he leaned in and said, “I assure you the senator is deeply grateful for this, Mrs. Fletcher. Deeply grateful.”

With that, he shut the door, and the driver, a large man with a shaved head who hadn’t yet acknowledged my presence, pulled away from the curb.

The air in the car was frigid. I shivered and rubbed my arms to warm them up. But I wasn’t sure if the chill that ran through me was from the cold, or from the eerie feeling I had that I was unwittingly being thrown into a potentially risky situation.