Majoring In Murder by Jessica Fletcher

she said. “As I mentioned, we didn’t correspond much, only at the holidays. So I was pretty surprised to receive it.”
    “What does it say?” Harriet asked.
    “Would you like to read it?” Lorraine replied, handing it to Harriet.
    Harriet frowned over the paper for a few minutes before tossing it back on the table. “It’s totally ludicrous,” she said. “He was a big mystery fan, you know. This is just his imagination working overtime. You should tear this up. It’ll just end up being embarrassing for you.”
    “May I?” I asked.
    Lorraine passed it to me.
    Harriet tapped her foot impatiently while I read Wes’s letter.
    Dear Rainey,
    I’m writing to you because I’ve had an argument with—Well, let’s just say a colleague here, and it put some things in perspective for me. I think my life may be in danger. I’m not telling you this to upset you. It may come to nothing in the end. But you know as well as I that a man who has power, who holds the reins over others’ professional lives, can make enemies along the way. This is not a case of the usual jealousies and misunderstandings. When I looked into those eyes, I saw more than resentment, more than anger. I saw virulent hatred. It rattled me, I admit.
    I’ve done some things in my life I’m not proud of, stepped over the line here or there, but always for a good reason. Now my motives are being called into question and threats are being made. It makes me angry, but it also makes me determined.
    All of this is by way of saying that should I die soon of some supposedly natural cause, don’t believe it. Investigate it. Like we used to do together. Just in case, I thought you’d like to have the enclosed. When you open my safe, don’t be surprised at what’s in there. You’ve been a good sister, and I’ve provided for you.
    Your loving brother, Wes
    “Well, that certainly is distressing, isn’t it?” I said, folding the letter and returning it to Lorraine. “You’re going to look into this, I assume.”
    “What are you talking about, Jessica?” Harriet said, her voice rising in anger.
    “I have to confess that I had some questions myself about Wes’s death,” I said to her, “but the autopsy hasn’t been done yet. I thought I’d wait to see the report.”
    “Questions? What questions? You never mentioned anything to me. Why all of a sudden do you have questions?”
    “I know I didn’t say anything, Harriet,” I said, “and I regret it. But you were so overwhelmed with responsibilities that I didn’t want to add to your worries.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Harriet said. “I can’t believe you’re taking that letter seriously. It’s nothing but paranoia talking. I knew Wes was acting strange lately, but I didn’t realize he’d gone off the deep end. How can you give this any credence? He’s a college professor, for heaven’s sake, not a titan of industry. Power over people’s professional lives, my foot. The department head doesn’t hold a lot of power. It’s an administrative position. That’s all. This is a tempest in a teapot.”
    “He was afraid for his life,” Lorraine said resolutely, waving the folded letter at Harriet. “And then he died. I can’t ignore that.”
    “Well, go ahead and make a fuss. All you’ll end up doing is tarnishing the good name of the college—a college, by the way, that gave your brother an excellent opportunity to move up in his career. And not only will you make Schoolman look bad; you’ll be making your brother look like a lunatic. No one with any sense is going to believe this. It’s not reality. Don’t you see? This is fantasy. This is mental illness.”
    “If he was mentally ill, why did you let him run the English department? You didn’t think he was too ill for that—”
    “Lorraine,” I interrupted, “why don’t you wait for the autopsy report before taking this to the police?”
    “Police! I can’t believe you’re thinking of involving the police.”