Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade (28 page)

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Authors: Jessica Fletcher,Donald Bain

BOOK: Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade
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The scene I’d witnessed in the lobby of Lennon-Diversified sprang immediately to mind. Lennon had been more than hard on Paul. To my thinking he’d been cruel. “Why do you suppose that was?” I asked.
 
 
“Paul is not as assertive as his father was. But I think that with a bit more seasoning to build his confidence, he’ll be fine. I’ll train him.” She opened the pill bottle and shook one out into her hand. “Warren gave me these to calm my nerves. Do you know Dr. Boyle?”
 
 
“We’ve met, yes.”
 
 
“Joseph liked taking people under his wing and bringing them along, but he had high expectations. Unfortunately, he had a lot less patience with his own children. Josie has no interest in the business, so that was never a question, and Paul—well, he’ll have to learn it now, won’t he?” She swallowed the pill with a sip of water. “I don’t imagine these things work if you don’t believe in them. But I’d rather take an herb than a tranquilizer. In Zimbabwe, we have a great deal of respect for medicinal herbs. We even have pictures of them on our postage stamps.”
 
 
She seemed to be drifting from one topic to another, and I tried to bring her back to a topic I was interested in. “Was Dr. Boyle one of those Mr. Lennon took under his wing?” I asked.
 
 
“I beg your pardon. Dr. Boyle? Yes, he was one of Joseph’s protégés. He didn’t have the money to set up a successful practice, so Joseph agreed to help him out, provided Warren helped Joseph market his supplements. It was my idea. When you offer mineral supplements in the same office that houses state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment, patients tend to have more confidence in the pills. And I think it has worked well for him.”
 
 
“Have you made this arrangement with other doctors as well?”
 
 
“No. Warren is the first. He’s our test case, so to speak. Cynthia was the one who brought him to our attention. He had a little office in Massachusetts, and when we moved here, we set him up. The sales aren’t much—he’s only one doctor, after all. But the program has the potential to grow. Joseph and I talked about expanding the program to other medical offices, perhaps even others here in Cabot Cove.”
 
 
I knew that Seth would never entertain the idea of promoting pills in exchange for receiving expensive medical equipment, no matter how advanced, and I hoped our other local doctors would feel the same. But you can never be sure of such things. Greed has a way of finding excuses.
 
 
I heard the doorbell ring just as Paul reentered the room and placed the tray back on the table in front of his mother. She picked up a porcelain cup and saucer, poured tea from the china pot, and handed the cup to me. “Help yourself to sugar and cream,” she said, as she poured for Paul and herself.
 
 
“Thank you,” I said, sitting back with the cup and wondering if it was Ms. Welch at the door. My curiosity was satisfied a moment later when Cynthia strode into the room, Dante at her heels.
 
 
“Hello, Denise. I’ve brought the contracts I told you about.” She crossed the room and Dante pulled over a chair for her. He stood behind it. “Joe and I agreed this was to go forward,” she said, laying a sheaf of papers on the tray so they covered Mrs. Lennon’s cup. Ms. Welch looked pointedly at me. Even though we’d met several times before, she said, “I’m sorry to interrupt your morning tea time, Mrs.—?”
 
 
“Fletcher,” Dante supplied.
 
 
“Mrs. Fletcher. But Mrs. Lennon and I have some business to discuss. You don’t mind, do you? You can come back another time.”
 
 
“Mrs. Fletcher is my guest, and she isn’t leaving, Cynthia. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of her.”
 
 
“Really, Denise. This is company business. I’m sure Mrs. Fletcher has no interest in our business.”
 
 
Denise pulled her cup from underneath the contracts. “Do you mind staying while we finish with these?” she asked me. “It won’t take long.”
 
 
“Not at all,” I said. “I’m at your disposal.”
 
 
Cynthia looked down at her lap, nostrils flaring, and I could see she was trying to get her temper under control. Dante glared at me. Paul, on the hassock next to his mother, smiled into his teacup.
 
 
Cynthia straightened her shoulders and twisted her body in the chair, so she faced Mrs. Lennon, her back to me. Like Denise, she wore her dark hair in a chignon. I studied the hairdo. One of these women had been talking with Dr. Boyle in his office. I thought I knew which one, but couldn’t be certain yet.
 
 
“This is the contract renewal for the new medication,” Cynthia said. “We have four countries signed up so far. And I’ve spoken with representatives of that charity group to unload the last of the old formula.”
 
 
“I know about the contracts,” Denise said. “I have been in touch with the health department in Harare. There were some problems with a previous shipment, I was told.”
 
 
Cynthia cleared her throat. “There weren’t any problems. We investigated the complaints, and they were unfounded. The medicine works only on certain bacterial infections. Everyone knows that. We can’t be responsible if someone has contracted a form of the disease resistant to the medication. I’m arranging to send the last shipment to the refugee camps. And the new orders will go out in a month. We just need your signature to proceed.”
 
 
“Paul, have you read through these contracts?” his mother asked.
 
 
Paul shook his head.
 
 
“Why don’t you leave these with us,” Denise said to Cynthia. “That will give Paul a chance to familiarize himself with the responsibilities he is about to undertake.”
 
 
“I think we both know who Joe wanted to succeed him,” Cynthia said between clenched teeth. The back of her neck was flushed a bright red, and I was certain that her face was the same. She seemed to have forgotten I was there, or else she thought to embarrass Denise in my presence to get even for allowing me to stay through this highly charged discussion.
 
 
“I am well aware that Joseph was very
fond
of you,” Denise said, placing the emphasis on “fond” and leaving questions hanging in the air.
 
 
“It was more than fondness. He trusted my judgment. I have fifteen years of experience with this company. In the time I’ve been with Lennon-Diversified, company profits have doubled. I take great pride in that.”
 
 
“So I have heard.”
 
 
“Paul, you’ll pardon my saying this, but you have only six months’ experience, and only in the least important areas.” She switched her gaze to his mother. “Frankly, Paul isn’t capable of running a company this size. It will fail without me.”
 
 
“Then I’m sure he will be able to count on you to help guide him in his new post. Isn’t that so?”
 
 
Cynthia’s hands were fisted in her lap, the knuckles white. “I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to go over your head, Denise. I don’t believe your decision is final. Several members of the board have indicated that they would welcome my taking over, that they would back me in a vote,” Cynthia said, allowing a note of satisfaction to creep into her voice.
 
 
Paul looked up sharply. Denise put her hand on her son’s shoulder to keep him from speaking, and the thought crossed my mind that Cynthia had underestimated Joseph Lennon’s wife. Denise kept her voice soft, but her eyes were hard on the younger woman. “Just who on the board has made such promises?”
 
 
“Obviously, I’d rather not say at this time. But I assure you I will do my best to make sure Lennon-Diversified is positioned to do well in the future. And, of course, Paul will always have a place in the company as long as I’m in charge.”
 
 
“How kind of you. But I am afraid you have counted your chickens a bit early. Perhaps if Joseph had lived, you might have been able to convince him to side with you, and together with a few board members, you may have outvoted me and gotten your wish. But now that he’s dead, you see, Joseph’s share in the company has been left to me. Together with my original votes, I currently have the controlling interest in the company. The board cannot overrule me.” Mrs. Lennon let the news sink in before adding, “I will consider keeping you on, provided you sign an agreement promising to ensure that Paul learns everything he needs to know to take over. If this is too difficult for you, I will understand, of course.” She stopped there.
 
 
Cynthia rose abruptly from her chair, her chest heaving. “I will . . . I will think about it and let you know.”
 
 
Dante returned the chair to its original position.
 
 
“By tomorrow,” Mrs. Lennon said. “And, Cynthia?” Her voice stopped Ms. Welch as she was about to walk out. “I’ve instructed Roger to let all the employees have the rest of the day off today and told him to lock up. Lennon-Diversified will be closed tomorrow in tribute to Joseph Lennon.”
 
 
“But I’ve got deadlines to meet, shipments to get out.”
 
 
“They can wait a day, while we honor our founder, and while you decide if you’ll remain with the company.”
 
 
Chapter Sixteen
 
 
Rick Allcott was sitting up in his hospital bed when I stopped in to see him. Tethered to several IV bags hanging from a pole, he looked drawn, but gave me a big smile. “Jessica, what a nice surprise. I hear I owe my recovering health to you and Dr. Hazlitt.”
 
 
“You certainly may credit Seth,” I said. “All I did was to bring in your insurance card.”
 
 
“I’ll bet it wasn’t easy to find, either,” he said. “And I’m especially grateful you thought to bring my toiletry kit. Can’t tell you how wonderful it was to wash up this morning and use my own toothbrush. Thank you.”
 
 
“You’re welcome,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
 
 
“A little weak, but I’ll pull through.”
 
 
"“Malaria is a disease that takes quite a toll on the body, I understand.”
 
 
“So you know about my diagnosis.”
 
 
“An exotic disease in Cabot Cove is always news. It was all over the hospital in no time, and it was even mentioned in this morning’s
Gazette
—without your name, of course.”
 
 
“Too bad they didn’t use my name,” he said. “I haven’t had my fifteen minutes of fame yet.”
 
 
“It wasn’t a front-page headline,” I said. “It was a small item, reassuring the community that malaria is not contagious. I imagine Mrs. Thomas at Blueberry Hill was particularly relieved.”
 
 
“She’s a nice lady. I’m sorry if I scared her. Please, Jessica, pull up a chair. I feel rude being in bed while you’re standing. I know you have some questions for me. I can see it in your face.”
 
 
I wondered what it was about my face these days that caused people to assume they knew what I was thinking and feeling—first Dr. Boyle’s nurse, Mandy, and now Rick Allcott. But there was no use fretting over whether my facial expressions were revealing my inner thoughts. I did have questions for Rick, and he was inviting me to ask them.
 
 
“I do have a few things I’d like to talk about with you,” I said, taking the hospital-issue vinyl chair that was next to his bed.
 
 
“Fire away.”
 
 
“I have a feeling you came to Cabot Cove under false pretenses. Care to comment?”
 
 
“It’s your fault I’m here,” he said with a smile. “Your portrayal of Cabot Cove was so appealing, I knew I’d have to see the town for myself. And it is indeed the perfect vision of small-town Americana, especially the parade that you so colorfully described to me at the conference.”
 
 
“It took two years before the appeal of my hometown’s description sank in and you decided to check it out in person?”
 
 
“I told you, I just retired and now I have the time to travel. Why would you doubt me?”

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