A Palette for Murder
“James’s gallery, where a young couple in Bermuda shorts, and with an infant in a stroller, took in the works of Joshua Leopold. A girl still in her teens cleaned glass on the paintings with Windex and paper towels. She looked at me, said nothing, and continued to wipe.
I approached her. “Is Mr. St. James in?” I asked.
Without missing a beat with her chore, she replied, “He’s in the back.”
“Would you please get him for me?”
My interference into her routine was obviously the source of great annoy...ance. She sighed, pouted, placed the roll of paper towels on a table, and disappeared through the door.
“He wants to know who wants to see him,” she said when she returned.
“Mrs. Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher.”
She disappeared again. A moment later St. James emerged, a broad smile on his face. “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, I knew I’d see you today. What a pleasure.”
“I received your message and thought I’d stop in.”
“Delighted. Delighted.”
He took my elbow and guided me to a far corner, stopping to wish the departing young couple a pleasant vacation.MoreLess
I approached her. “Is Mr. St. James in?” I asked.
Without missing a beat with her chore, she replied, “He’s in the back.”
“Would you please get him for me?”
My interference into her routine was obviously the source of great annoy...ance. She sighed, pouted, placed the roll of paper towels on a table, and disappeared through the door.
“He wants to know who wants to see him,” she said when she returned.
“Mrs. Fletcher. Jessica Fletcher.”
She disappeared again. A moment later St. James emerged, a broad smile on his face. “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher, I knew I’d see you today. What a pleasure.”
“I received your message and thought I’d stop in.”
“Delighted. Delighted.”
He took my elbow and guided me to a far corner, stopping to wish the departing young couple a pleasant vacation.MoreLess
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