Murder Among Friends

Autumn looks like death, sometimes, with the bloodred leaves fading to burgundy and finally to rust and brown. Maggie Weston thought about such death as she stared steadfastly out the window at the swirl of leaves, despite the rumble of a male voice that sounded behind her. "Maggie." Go away.Maggie crossed her arms tightly as she continued to focus on the bright colors of the New Hampshire fall landscape. The back wall of the A-frame lodge house was almost entirely glass, spreading the scene before her in a cheery panorama. The trees were brilliantly dappled in the rich sunlight, but all Maggie could see was death. Death in the trees. In her heart. On her back steps.Help us, Lord,she prayed silently.Helpme. "Maggie." The voice tugged at her. It's over and done with,she thought, anger and grief curling into a tight knot in her stomach.Just go away and leave us alone. The staccato clicks of feminine heels tapped into the room. "I'm very grateful you've decided to stay, Fletcher," said a quivering voice. Without turning, Maggie knew that newly widowed Korie Taylor Jackson would be touching the tall man's arm, stroking it and preening in a slight flirt, as if she couldn't stop herself. Yeah, right.Maggie's thoughts were cold.Just wait until he starts askingyouquestions. "Thank you, Korie." The man's voice was deep and as mellow as the darkest mahogany, and Maggie's throat tightened as he spoke. "But I really don't think I should be doing this." "Nonsense!" Korie interrupted him. "You were Aaron's friend. What better way to start your new business than with solving Aaron Jackson's." She stopped and cleared her throat. Maggie heard the tears being forced back into Korie's voice as it dropped to a whisper. "Solving your best friend's murder. Everyone in the world knows what a good detective you are." Maggie couldn't quite believe Korie saw her husband's death as a marketing opportunity. An involuntary growl escaped her throat. Korie snapped. "Maggie! If you have something to add, just say it!" Maggie turned and looked slowly over the couple before her. Even in her widowhood of one day, Korie couldn't resist the affectations of her flowing, oversize skirts and bohemian blouses, which swooped as her slender arms darted through a conversation, making her look like a colorful, earth-bound parrot. Korie had probably beenbornan incorrigible coquette. At twenty-four, Korie had had two successful shows of her art in New York City and had snagged Aaron Jackson, reveling in his popularity as a bestselling novelist. Part of the reason for Aaron's success stood next to Korie. Fletcher MacAllister, who until two months ago had been a detective with New York's finest, was the model for Aaron's series hero, Judson MacLean. The charming and meticulous Judson, who had carried his author to the top of theNew York Timesfiction list on a regular basis, had paid for most of Aaron's worst habits, including his booze, his cigars and his wife of three years. Of course, the books had also paid for all of them to be here, in this writers' colony that Aaron had so modestly called Jackson's Retreat. His dream. His life. His death. Maggie took a deep breath to steady her voice. Aaron's character, Judson, with his Nordic looks and his tastes for lovely women, fine cooking and expensive suits, looked nothing like the man in front of her. Fletcher's features and dark hair reflected more of his Thai mother than his Scottish father, and he had obviously slept in his suit, probably more than once. His eyes, a rich brown instead of Judson's piercing blue, were almond shaped and questioning, waiting for her to respond. She took a deep breath and ran her hands through her tangled curls, all too aware that her fingers were trembling. "He's right, Korie. Don't you think New Hampshire is more than a bit out of his territory,Richards, Ramona is the author of 'Murder Among Friends ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373442324 and ISBN 0373442327.