{"product_id":"murder-she-wrote-a-question-of-murder-isbn-9780451218179","title":"Murder, She Wrote: a Question of Murder","description":"Jessica Fletcher is in the Berkshires attending a writers’ conference at a historic mansion where her friends the Savoys are hosting a murder-mystery party. As both a crime solver and a mystery author, Jessica is an old hand at this kind of thing. So she swears to the Savoys that she won’t reveal the secrets of their play and goes about enjoying the weekend with her colleagues.\u003cp\u003eBut when a young actor’s murder scene appears all too real, no one can tell what’s scripted and what isn’t. They say the show must go on, but everyone is wondering: Who really dunit?\u003c\/p\u003eJessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cp\u003eDonald Bain, Jessica Fletcher’s longtime collaborator, is the writer of over eighty books, many of them bestsellers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTable of Contents\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDedication\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Three\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Four\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Five\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Six\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Seven\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Eight\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Nine\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Ten\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Eleven\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twelve\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Thirteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Fourteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Fifteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Sixteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Seventeen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Eighteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Nineteen\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twenty\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twenty-one\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twenty-two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twenty-three\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Twenty-four\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnswers to the questions posed at Mohawk House’s Murder Mystery Weekend, which  ...\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003e. . . AND . . . CURTAIN!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Who’s this?” the actor playing Detective Carboroni asked the character Whittaker.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My daughter’s \u003ci\u003eformer\u003c\/i\u003e suitor,” Whittaker replied, sounding pleased.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That you?” the detective said to Cynthia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe responded by letting out a bloodcurdling wail and running from the stage. Her mother, Victoria, had collapsed on the couch, where she fanned herself with a magazine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCarboroni nudged his toe into Paul’s side. There was no response from the fallen actor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt all sounded like scripted banter, but I sensed something was wrong. From my vantage point, I could tell that Paul hadn’t moved a muscle since stumbling into the scene and falling at Cynthia’s feet. The pool of fake blood had been widening. I saw a stricken look come over Larry Savoy’s face. He motioned to Melinda in the wings, and the curtain began to close. . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eO\u003c\/b\u003eTHER BOOKS IN THE \u003ci\u003eMurder, She Wrote\u003c\/i\u003e SERIES\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eManhattans \u0026amp; Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eRum \u0026amp; Razors\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBrandy \u0026amp; Bullets\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMartinis \u0026amp; Mayhem\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Deadly Judgment\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Palette for Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Highland Fling Murders\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMurder on the\u003c\/i\u003e QE2  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMurder in Moscow\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Little Yuletide Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMurder at the Powderhorn Ranch\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eKnock ’Em Dead\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eGin \u0026amp; Daggers\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eTrick or Treachery\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBlood on the Vine\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMurder in a Minor Key\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eProvence—To Die For\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eYou Bet Your Life\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMajoring in Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDestination Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDying to Retire\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA Vote for Murder\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Maine Mutiny\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMargaritas \u0026amp; Murder\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSIGNET \u003cbr\u003ePublished by New American Library, a division of \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, \u003cbr\u003eNew York, New York 10014, USA \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, \u003cbr\u003eOntario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, \u003cbr\u003eIreland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, \u003cbr\u003eAustralia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, \u003cbr\u003eNew Delhi - 110 017, India \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Group (NZ), cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, \u003cbr\u003eAuckland 1310, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, \u003cbr\u003eRosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: \u003cbr\u003e80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, \u003cbr\u003ea division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst Printing, April 2006 \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright © 2006 Universal Studios Licensing LLLP. Murder, She Wrote is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. All rights reserved.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eREGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWithout limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePUBLISHER’S NOTE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis 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.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeISBN : 978-1-101-01072-3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eFor good friends,\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDenise Lee and Michael Millius\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNOTE: The answers to the questions that appear at the beginning of each chapter can be found at the end of the book.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo peeking!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe girl was young and pretty. The large yellow sunflowers on the mid-calf-length white dress she wore perfectly matched her blond hair and seemingly sunny disposition. Her smile was wide and genuine; there was a sweetness about her that was palpable.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe young man, named Paul, standing next to her was not so sanguine. He was of medium height and wore a brooding expression along with his khaki slacks, two-tone boat shoes, and pale blue button-down shirt. A maroon cardigan tied loosely around his neck and draped down his back completed his preppy wardrobe. He was handsome in a rough sort of way. By that I mean there was a thickness to his facial features that contributed to what seemed like a perpetual frown. He lacked interest in the others in the drawing room—with the single exception, of course, of the young woman, whose name was Cynthia.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith the young couple were an older man wearing  a purple silk smoking jacket, and a patrician woman in knee-high riding boots, wide-hipped tan jodhpurs, and a white silk blouse.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Feel like taking a walk?” Paul asked Cynthia in a voice that carried to the others. Softly he added, “Let’s get out of here.” He ducked his head down, gave her a quick kiss on the neck, and stroked her arm, gliding his hand from her shoulder down to her fingers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCynthia shivered and took a step forward. “What a grand idea,” she said, turning to the older couple. “I certainly could use a walk. I hear there’s a full moon.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You won’t see any moon,” declared the older man, whose name was Monroe Whittaker. “Not with the fog out there off the lake. Besides, there’s still snow on the ground, and more in the forecast.” His tone was that of a board chairman used to making statements that no one would dare challenge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s okay, Daddy,” Cynthia said, plucking at the collar of her dress. “It’s so warm in here with the fire going. I really need some fresh air. I’m sure Paul does, too. Besides, you always say a walk after dinner is good for your digestion. Isn’t that how you put it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis ruddy, full face set in stone, her father said nothing. Victoria Whittaker addressed Paul. “We have a very busy day tomorrow with the attorneys coming. Cynthia will need a clear head. I want to be sure she gets enough rest. Make sure you don’t keep her out late again.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He won’t,” Cynthia said, kissing her mother’s cheek. They put on outdoor jackets, and she wrapped a red and green tartan scarf around her neck. Smiling at Paul, she grabbed his hand and led him through the French doors into the garden, her voice trailing back into the room. “Let’s look for that moon anyway.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I haven’t changed my mind,” Monroe Whittaker said the moment they were gone. “I don’t like him.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s patently obvious,” his wife said, checking her hair in the mirror over the fireplace. “But the least you can do is be civil to him this weekend.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Civil?” Monroe snorted. “How about if I pack his bag and send him away from here? Would that be civil enough?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Monroe,” his wife scolded, “you’re not thinking clearly. Cynthia is like all young women her age. She’s rebelling against us because it’s the thing to do. I share your opinion of Paul. He’s obviously not of Cynthia’s class. I’ll give him credit for trying to dress the part, although anyone can see the poor quality of his clothes.” Her small laugh was dismissive. “Not that I’d expect him to know the difference. His father is a policeman in New York City. Good Lord, you know how crude policemen can be.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A cop? How do you know that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVictoria turned to her husband, her hand still on her hair. “I don’t recall exactly. Does it matter? He must have told me. But the point is that the more we challenge the young man, the more we’ll push Cynthia into the relationship. Trust me, darling, the  best way to see the last of him is to shower him with kindness and expose him to our daughter’s lifestyle and breeding. He’ll become uncomfortable soon enough and seek his own kind.” She turned back to the mirror. “I think I’ll go up. Are you coming?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not yet,” he growled.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWith that, Victoria left her husband alone in the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMonroe went to the doors and peered outside. “Damn fog,” he muttered. He walked to his desk and slumped heavily in the chair, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a harsh slash. Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the desktop. He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bulky envelope that he shoved into the pocket of his smoking jacket, and stormed out the doors into the garden.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he left, a maid carrying a carpet sweeper entered the room through another door. She leaned the sweeper against the wall, pulled a cloth from her apron pocket, and proceeded to dust the furniture, moving from a table to the mantel to the desk. She ran her dustrag across the desk’s broad mahogany top, then paused and bit her lip. Her eyes darted from the French doors back toward the door through which she’d entered the room. Gingerly, so as not to make a sound, she drew open one drawer after another. Each time, she dipped down and twisted her body to see into the back, and rummaged inside with her free hand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVictoria’s voice could be heard from another room. “Monroe, have you seen my handbag?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe maid swiftly closed the drawers, ran to the other end of the room, and resumed her dusting. She was only a minute into her chores when the room’s stillness was assaulted by the sound of a weapon being discharged somewhere outside, followed by a woman’s piercing scream.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCynthia burst through the doors. “Help!” she shouted. “Someone help me!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePaul stumbled into the room behind her, his jacket open, his hand pressed against his chest. Cardinal red blood oozed through his fingers and ran down the front of his blue shirt. The maid gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Then, wailing, she rushed out the door and was replaced by Monroe and Victoria Whittaker coming in from opposite ends of the room. Paul fell to his knees at Cynthia’s feet. With a final, agonizing gasp, he pitched forward, his face coming to rest on her shoe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Daddy!” Cynthia shrieked and collapsed into her father’s arms, sobbing.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVictoria tiptoed toward the prone body and leaned in closer. “Is he dead?” she asked calmly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer husband scowled down at the body on the floor and looked over at his wife. “Yes, I’d say he’s dead. Very dead.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter Two\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eIn what Agatha Christie book did her Belgian\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003edetective, Hercule Poirot, make his first\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eappearance?\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLawrence Savoy clapped his hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Okay, folks, that wasn’t bad. Let’s try it one more time. And Paul, try to avoid Cynthia’s shoe when you land on the floor. Makes it hard for her to fall into her daddy’s arms if her foot is stuck under your head.”\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302230675685,"sku":"NP9780451218179","price":8.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451218179.jpg?v=1767733161","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/murder-she-wrote-a-question-of-murder-isbn-9780451218179","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}