together,” I said.
“No apologies necessary, Jessica. You certainly aren’t responsible for a murder having taken place, and as for your friends joining us tonight for dinner, I understand perfectly. But I must admit that spending so little time together is extremely frustrating. I realize that we live an ocean apart, and that we both lead busy professional lives. That’s good, of course, and I wouldn’t suggest that it be any other way. I’ve been content for all the years we’ve known each other to, as we say in Scotland, Let the tow gang wi’ the bucket .”
I laughed. “I love your Scottish expressions, George, only I never know what they mean unless you tell me. It’s a foreign language.”
“Then I shall translate. What I said means simply that I have allowed things to run their course.”
I sighed and extended my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t think it’s any mystery that I am very fond of you, George Sutherland.”
“And I’m sure that you are aware that the feeling is entirely mutual.”
I nodded.
“Your Frank was quite a man from what you’ve told me.”
“Yes, he was. He was—Well, in many ways he was very much like you, George.”
“I’m flattered, of course.”
“As Frank got older, he often said that he’d become more liberal, not in a political sense, but in his acceptance of human frailties.” I laughed. “That was one of many things I loved about him, his willingness to change his outlook on life.”
“One of the few benefits of aging,” George said, “is the wisdom that comes with it. I share your departed husband’s philosophy. The more years I live, the more able I am to understand, even celebrate, man’s foibles. Lord knows, we have enough of them.”
“It must be especially difficult for someone like you, George, to practice that viewpoint.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you do for a living. Coming into contact every day with man’s baser instincts.”
“It was more difficult earlier in my career, but you learn rather quickly to compartmentalize such things. Despite the evil in the world, there is so much more good to focus on. A prime example is having met you, Jessica. Little did I dream when we first met here in London all those years ago that our friendship would sustain itself the way it has.” He lifted his snifter. “To my dear friend from across the pond.”
I touched the rim of his glass with mine. “And to you, Inspector George Sutherland. As the song lyric says, you light up my life.”
“Which brings up something I’ve been meaning to say to you for some time now, Jessica.”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. “Sutherland here. . . . I see. . . . Yes, of course . . . I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”
He clicked his phone closed and replaced it in his jacket pocket.
“I take it we’re leaving,” I said.
“Immediately.”
He motioned for the barman, who brought us our check. George laid cash on the table. “The cognac was excellent,” he said as we left the bar, went outside, and climbed into the next available taxi.
“The Savoy Hotel,” he told the driver.
“What’s happened there?” I asked.
“The flight attendant Ms. Molnari has evidently attempted suicide.”
Chapter Ten
A n ambulance and two London patrol cars were at the front entrance to the Savoy when we pulled up.
“The hotel didn’t know what it bargained for when it booked our party,” I commented as we left the taxi and went inside where Mort Metzger stood talking with Cabot Cove’s mayor, Jim Shevlin.
“We just heard about the flight attendant,” I said.
“Where is she?” George asked.
“In her room,” Mort said. “No, strike that. It’s the pilot’s room.”
“Captain Caine,” I said.
“Right,” said Mort. “Seth is up there with her. There’s a British doc, too.”
“I’d best join them,” George said.
He looked at me and knew what I was thinking. A nod from him said it was all right to
“No apologies necessary, Jessica. You certainly aren’t responsible for a murder having taken place, and as for your friends joining us tonight for dinner, I understand perfectly. But I must admit that spending so little time together is extremely frustrating. I realize that we live an ocean apart, and that we both lead busy professional lives. That’s good, of course, and I wouldn’t suggest that it be any other way. I’ve been content for all the years we’ve known each other to, as we say in Scotland, Let the tow gang wi’ the bucket .”
I laughed. “I love your Scottish expressions, George, only I never know what they mean unless you tell me. It’s a foreign language.”
“Then I shall translate. What I said means simply that I have allowed things to run their course.”
I sighed and extended my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t think it’s any mystery that I am very fond of you, George Sutherland.”
“And I’m sure that you are aware that the feeling is entirely mutual.”
I nodded.
“Your Frank was quite a man from what you’ve told me.”
“Yes, he was. He was—Well, in many ways he was very much like you, George.”
“I’m flattered, of course.”
“As Frank got older, he often said that he’d become more liberal, not in a political sense, but in his acceptance of human frailties.” I laughed. “That was one of many things I loved about him, his willingness to change his outlook on life.”
“One of the few benefits of aging,” George said, “is the wisdom that comes with it. I share your departed husband’s philosophy. The more years I live, the more able I am to understand, even celebrate, man’s foibles. Lord knows, we have enough of them.”
“It must be especially difficult for someone like you, George, to practice that viewpoint.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you do for a living. Coming into contact every day with man’s baser instincts.”
“It was more difficult earlier in my career, but you learn rather quickly to compartmentalize such things. Despite the evil in the world, there is so much more good to focus on. A prime example is having met you, Jessica. Little did I dream when we first met here in London all those years ago that our friendship would sustain itself the way it has.” He lifted his snifter. “To my dear friend from across the pond.”
I touched the rim of his glass with mine. “And to you, Inspector George Sutherland. As the song lyric says, you light up my life.”
“Which brings up something I’ve been meaning to say to you for some time now, Jessica.”
“Yes?”
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. “Sutherland here. . . . I see. . . . Yes, of course . . . I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”
He clicked his phone closed and replaced it in his jacket pocket.
“I take it we’re leaving,” I said.
“Immediately.”
He motioned for the barman, who brought us our check. George laid cash on the table. “The cognac was excellent,” he said as we left the bar, went outside, and climbed into the next available taxi.
“The Savoy Hotel,” he told the driver.
“What’s happened there?” I asked.
“The flight attendant Ms. Molnari has evidently attempted suicide.”
Chapter Ten
A n ambulance and two London patrol cars were at the front entrance to the Savoy when we pulled up.
“The hotel didn’t know what it bargained for when it booked our party,” I commented as we left the taxi and went inside where Mort Metzger stood talking with Cabot Cove’s mayor, Jim Shevlin.
“We just heard about the flight attendant,” I said.
“Where is she?” George asked.
“In her room,” Mort said. “No, strike that. It’s the pilot’s room.”
“Captain Caine,” I said.
“Right,” said Mort. “Seth is up there with her. There’s a British doc, too.”
“I’d best join them,” George said.
He looked at me and knew what I was thinking. A nod from him said it was all right to
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