Brandy and Bullets Read Online Free Page B

no-win situation,” she was widely quoted as saying whenever the subject came up. Which, of course, it was. We continued to be friendly, although I did discern a certain coolness on her part. Maybe the gala black-tie party to be held that night at the mansion, to which we both were invited, would serve to lessen any tensions. Nothing like champagne and caviar to heal wounds.
    I’d just returned from my walk and, over a cup of tea, was debating whether to rake what leaves had already fallen, when the phone rang. “Hello, Seth,” I said. “Change your mind?”
    “Ayuh. Wouldn’t have, except I don’t want to see you without an escort tonight.”
    It seemed that virtually every citizen of Cabot Cove had been invited to the party, at least those with high visibility. But Seth hadn’t received an invitation, and I’d asked him to be my “date.” My invitation had been addressed to Mrs. Jessica Fletcher and Guest.
    At first, Seth had declined my offer. “Who wants to go to all the bother of renting a tuxedo?” he’d said. “Doesn’t make any sense anyway that it’s a black-tie party. You think those writers and artists who’ve already shown up will be wearin’ tuxedos? More like blue jeans and T-shirts.”
    I agreed with him, although it didn’t seem to me to be an especially important issue. What others wore was irrelevant.
    But then he said something that gave me better insight into his reluctance. “Should be pretty funny seein’ Mort in a tuxedo.” His chuckle was forced. “Never seen him out of his uniform.” Another laugh. “Probably just stand in a corner like a statue.”
    Our sheriff, Morton Metzger, had been invited to the party, and accepted. I certainly understood why the institute’s directors would want our sheriff on their side. But Seth was Cabot Cove’s leading physician. Not inviting him was a slight, in my opinion, or, at best, an oversight. The result? Seth was hurt.
    “That’s wonderful news,” I said. “Have you rented a tux?”
    “Ayuh. Harry had one fits me like a glove. Didn’t have to change a thing.”
    “Great. I’m so glad you changed your mind.”
    “Like I said, Jessica, I didn’t want to see you without a proper escort. Mort wouldn’t be much of one.”
    I contained a laugh, simply said, “I’m really looking forward to being on your arm this evening, Doctor. And wear comfortable shoes. I understand there’ll be dancing.”
     
    The circular drive leading up to the imposing Worrell Mansion was lined with illuminair lights—candles in paper bags with cutout designs. The effect was elegant. A near-full moon, a heavenly floodlight, washed the large stone mansion with white light. A dozen valet parking attendants scurried from car to car. The line was long. We waited our turn behind the stream of cars inching toward the entrance.
    “I feel like I’m in Hollywood, not Cabot Cove,” said Seth as he put his Toyota Corolla in park. “It’ll be a half hour ‘fore we get to the door. Never seen so many cars in one place in Cabot Cove before. Looks like the whole damn town was invited, ’cept—”
    I smiled and touched his arm. He was still stinging from not having been invited. “Probably a lot of out-of-towners,” I said. “From Boston. Maybe New York. From what I hear, the invitation list in Cabot Cove was very small.”
    “It was?” he said, shifting into gear and covering another few feet of driveway.
    “Yes. It was.” I hoped that made him feel better.
    We finally reached a parking attendant, a young man who I recognized from town. “‘Evening, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said as he opened the door for me and helped me maneuver my floor-length black skirt out of the car. “Hello,” I said. “Dr. Hazlitt,” he said. “Hello, Billy,” said Seth. “Sticks in gear at times. Don’t strip ’em.”
    “No, sir.”
    “Name, sir?” Seth was asked the question by an Olympic-sized young man positioned just outside the front door.
    “Hazlitt. Dr. Seth