OTHER BOOKS IN THE Murder, She Wrote SERIES
Manhattans & Murder
Rum & Razors
Brandy & Bullets
Martinis & Mayhem
A Deadly Judgment
A Palette for Murder
The Highland Fling Murders
Murder on the QE2
Murder in Moscow
A Little Yuletide Murder
Murder at the Powderhorn Ranch
Knock ’Em Dead
Gin & Daggers
Trick or Treachery
Blood on the Vine
Murder in a Minor Key
Provence—To Die For
You Bet Your Life
Majoring in Murder
Destination Murder
Dying to Retire
A Vote for Murder
The Maine Mutiny
Margaritas & Murder
A Question of Murder
Coffee, Tea, or Murder?
Three Strikes and You’re Dead
Panning for Murder
Murder on Parade
A Slaying in Savannah
Madison Avenue Shoot
A Fatal Feast
Nashville Noir
The Queen’s Jewels
Skating on Thin Ice
The Fine Art of Murder
Trouble at High Tide
Domestic Malice
Prescription for Murder
A Murder, She Wrote Mystery
A Novel by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain
Based on the Universal Television series created by Peter S. Fischer, Richard Levinson & William Link
AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY
OBSIDIAN
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
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For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com.
First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
Copyright © 2013 Universal City Studios Productions LLLP. Murder, She Wrote is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Licensed by NBCUniversal Television Consumer Products Group 2013.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Fletcher, Jessica.
Prescription for murder: a Murder, she wrote mystery: a novel/by Jessica Fletcher & Donald Bain; based on the Universal Television series created by Peter S. Fischer, Richard Levinson & William Link.
p. cm.
“An Obsidian mystery.”
ISBN 978-1-101-61512-6
1. Fletcher, Jessica (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 3. Mystery fiction. I. Bain, Donald, 1935– II. Title.
PS3552.A376P74 2013
813'.54—dc23 2012036848
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
For dear friends James and Jeannette Vann, with whom we share a love of all things jazz, and who took us by the hand and showed us Tampa, Florida, their adopted city. Jimmy Vann is a superb neocubist artist who was named Tampa Artist of the Year in 2011, and two of his works proudly adorn the walls of our home. His murals celebrating life in Tampa, and particularly the contribution made to the city by its first black patrolmen, are must-sees when visiting Cigar City. Thank you, Jimmy and Jeannette, and happy fifty-fourth anniversary. (You can enjoy Jimmy’s art and fanciful art-inspired items at www.jamesvannart.com.)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks, of course, to our dedicatees, Jeannette and Jimmy Vann, who introduced us not only to Tampa, Florida, but also to most of the people mentioned below. We are grateful to the following, all of whom shared their time and love of Tampa, as well as a good deal of information, not all of which made it onto these pages: Charlie Miranda from District 6, chairman of the Tampa City Council; Major Gerald Honeywell, District 3 commander, Tampa Police Department; Captain Diane Hobley-Burney, Sector E commander, Tampa Police Department; Ronna J. Metcalf, executive director of the Life Enrichment Center; and Kathy Steele of the Tampa Tribune.
Thanks, too, to those we encountered along the way and who generously let us take advantage of their knowledge: neurologist Dr. Greg Scott; cigar fanciers Marilyn and Ed Dunn of Thonotosassa; and David Couzens of the Sandpearl Resort in Clearwater Beach.
We thank them all and remind readers that any errors are ours.
CONTENTS
Also in the Murder, She Wrote Series
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter One
Vaughan Buckley’s voice was full of enthusiasm. “Our marketing folks have set up an ambitious publicity blitz in Florida for your new book,” my publisher told me. “Naturally, you’re the centerpiece of it. We’ve got TV and newspaper interviews arranged, and a series of speaking and signing appearances. It kicks off on December first.”
“Oh, my,” I said.
“A problem?”
“I just prefer not to be traveling with the holidays coming up. There’s always so much to do, and—”
“I understand,” Vaughan said, “but the pub date is November fifteenth, perfect timing for people buying holiday gifts, and it’s vitally important that we take advantage of every possible publicity opportunity. The fact that you’ve set the novel in Florida means that we’ll be focusing our first marketing efforts there. I hate to pull you away from the Christmas season in Cabot Cove—I know how much it means to you—but I’ll see to it that you’re only gone a week.”
The novel to which he was referring featured a recurring character I’d introduced in a previous book—a police sergeant from Boston who’d settled into what he assumed would be a relaxing retirement in the Sunshine State but soon fo
und himself knee-deep in murder at his retirement resort. As much as I love my publisher and appreciate everything he’s done for my career, I was poised to decline. But because I consider myself a professional, I decided on the spot that I had an obligation to help sell my new book. As the writer, I was part of the publishing team, and that meant doing what was expected of me.
“Back in a week?” I said lightly. “That’s a promise?”
“My hand is over my heart as I say it,” Vaughan replied with a chuckle.
“Okay,” I said. “You’ll send me the itinerary?”
“I’ll e-mail it first thing in the morning.”
The itinerary arrived as promised. The promotional tour was scheduled to kick off in the Miami area, move up the coast to Fort Lauderdale and Palm Beach, and end in Tampa.
As I reviewed it, I made a call to my dear friend and Cabot Cove’s favorite physician, Seth Hazlitt, whose recent travels had frequently found him in Florida. “Looks like I’m headed to Tampa first week in December,” I said, and explained the nature of the trip and the schedule.
“Is that so?” he said.
“Just thought you’d want to know, since Tampa seems to have become your home away from home recently.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Seth said, “but as it happens, your call is very timely.”
“Why?”
“I just got off the phone with Susan Shevlin, booked a flight and hotel the second week of December in Tampa.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “You really know your way around that city by now. Maybe if our paths cross there you can show me the sights.”
“And introduce you to Al.”
“Dr. Vasquez?”
“Ayuh. I’ve told him a lot about you already, Jessica. He’ll be delighted to meet a real-live bestselling author.”
“Even if she writes about murder?”
“Especially because she writes about murder. We’ll coordinate our trips.”
Dr. Alvaro Vasquez had been one of Cuba’s leading medical researchers studying Alzheimer’s disease. Seth had met him on a trip to the island nation, having traveled to Havana with a group of U.S. physicians under a new policy established by the current administration in Washington to open up travel to Cuba for select groups, including medical practitioners, artists, religious organizations, and journalists. I was surprised when he’d announced his decision to join the physician group and make the trip. He certainly was no fan of Castro’s regime, and I’d heard him speak fondly of the day when the Cuban people would be free. Seth was also critical of what he considered the United States’ ironfisted embargo against Cuba: “All this pigheaded embargo of Cuba accomplishes is to give Mr. Castro an excuse for why Cuba is in such desperate straits. He blames us and the embargo, and nobody challenges him, at least publicly.”
But Cuba had proven a siren song for my old friend, and he’d visited there again and again, returning each time to wax poetic about his new friend Dr. Vasquez.
Then, about a year ago, newspapers and TV newscasts announced that Dr. Alvaro Vasquez, one of Cuba’s leading medical researchers, had defected. His stature within its medical community had become world famous, and to have someone of his importance elect to leave was obviously a blow to Castro and his regime. According to the news reports, Dr. Vasquez and his wife had attended a medical conference in Bern, Switzerland. Rather than returning home, they’d flown to Washington and asked for asylum. Their application was under review, but no one doubted that someone of Vasquez’s stature would be approved.
Naturally, Seth was excited about the news and was especially pleased when Vasquez called him a few weeks after arriving in the States. “Al is anxious to get together with me,” he proudly told me after the call.
“You two have really bonded,” I said.
“Ayuh, that we have. We get along because he appreciates straight talk from me. Lots of people he works with fawn all over him, tell him what he wants to hear. That’s not me.”
“No, it certainly isn’t,” I agreed lightly. “Have you made plans to visit him?”
“No, but I will. He and Ivelisse have decided to live in Tampa, Florida. I’ll wait until they’re settled in before setting up a visit.” Seth had since made several visits south to see his friend, and now the opportunity had arrived when we were both going to be in the city at the same time.
Seth gave me his itinerary and said, “Mind a suggestion, Jessica?”
“Of course not.”
“You’ll be coming off your book tour and needin’ some rest and relaxation, R and R, as they say in the military. I think you should plan to rest up in Tampa while I’m there, enjoy some downtime. The long-term forecast for early December here in Cabot Cove is for snow and more snow and subzero temperatures. Be nice to bask in some sunshine and enjoy fancy drinks with little umbrellas in ’em.”
“Sounds appealing,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that. If you decide to stay in Tampa, call Susan. She’ll book you into the same hotel I’m staying at. Should give the tongues of the rumormongers here something to wag about. Got to run. Let me know what you decide.”
I thought about what he’d suggested for the next couple of days before making the decision to extend my Florida trip for a week. It meant cutting into my pre-Christmas activities, but the contemplation of some rest in a more favorable climate became overwhelmingly appealing. I’d also become increasingly interested in Seth’s friend and was eager to meet Dr. Alvaro Vasquez. I’d Googled him a bit and was impressed with his expertise and standing among his fellow physicians.
According to what I’d read, his quest for a cure for Alzheimer’s disease was admired by his peers, although there seemed to be some sort of mystery surrounding his work, a sense that there were those in the medical research community who questioned his methods. He was known to be extremely secretive about his work, something that other Alzheimer’s researchers found arrogant. One even went as far as to brand Vasquez a “grandstander” more eager for fame and fortune than in contributing to science.
Seth had dismissed the harsh views when I’d pointed them out to him. “Medical research is a highly competitive field, Jessica. I’d bet my last nickel this came from a jealous colleague.”
“But, Seth, isn’t it important for researchers to share important developments in their work so faster progress can be made toward effective treatments?”
He shrugged. “In a perfect world, perhaps. But medical research is every bit as big a business as any other,” he said. “If Al gave away his findings, his company might lose the edge they have. Then funding could be compromised and the research delayed, or worse. No, Jessica, I think Al has it just right. Once he’s found the results he thinks will be effective, and has them patented or protected in some other way, that’s the time to lay his cards on the table, but not yet.”
The idea of a medical company patenting its results didn’t sit well with me—although I understood that the efforts to come up with treatments or even a cure for any disease deserved to be rewarded—but perhaps I’m naïve when it comes to my expectations for medical research. I didn’t argue with Seth, reserving my judgment until I’d met this paragon of Alzheimer’s research he was so thrilled with.
I dragged out some of my warm-weather clothing and packed for the trip, although I read that portions of Florida were experiencing record-breaking cold temperatures. Jed Richardson, who owned a small fleet of Cessnas based in Cabot Cove’s airfield, flew me to Hartford, Connecticut, where I caught a plane to Miami. Two members of Vaughan Buckley’s publicity staff met my flight, and we set off on a whirlwind tour that occupied every minute of the day, and evenings, too.
Coral Gables was gloriously sunny, if a bit cool, and the line of book buyers snaked around the corner from the stop we made at Books & Books. Even though I love staying home surrounded by my friends and t
he familiar routines of my daily life in Cabot Cove—and leave reluctantly when travel is planned at particularly busy times—I always find myself energized when I’m on the road. Staying in new places or even ones I’ve visited before is stimulating. There are new sights to see, new foods to taste, and, best of all, new people to meet.
In Miami, I was delighted by the obvious contributions to the city made by its Latin American community and was able to steal some time from the book tour to spend an afternoon in a section called Little Havana, with its colorful art galleries, theaters, restaurants, and cigar stores. I even picked up a set of Cuban dominoes as a souvenir.
Everywhere we went we met crowds of enthusiastic readers, whether they bought their books in a store, borrowed them from the library, or downloaded e-books. I especially enjoy meeting readers. Hearing about their reactions to my novels, what they liked and, occasionally, what they didn’t, is helpful to this writer, when so much of my time is spent alone at the computer. All writers need to get out in the world to see what’s going on. After all, it’s our experiences away from the keyboard that make up the foundation of our stories.
We ended up in Tampa, as scheduled, where the weather was indeed chilly, and I was glad that I’d included a couple of sweaters and a fleece jacket in my suitcase. As we’d seen at each of my stops, fans came out to meet me, and I gave a talk and signed books for several hundred buyers at a large Barnes & Noble. A reporter, Kathy Steele, interviewed me for the Tampa Tribune, resulting in a lengthy front-page article accompanied by photographs, and I did two TV interviews and a radio call-in program. My final appearance was at the Tampa Life Enrichment Center, where I spent an hour with men and women taking a class in creative writing, an enriching experience for me, and I hoped for them.
“You’re a real trouper, Jessica,” Vaughan Buckley’s publicist said in the hotel lobby as he and his colleague prepared to head for the airport for a flight back to New York. “Vaughan said to thank you for accommodating his marketing plan.”
“It was wonderful,” I said, “but I admit I’m ready for some downtime here in Tampa.”
Murder, She Wrote: Prescription For Murder Page 1