Trick or Treachery by Jessica Fletcher Page A

think that must be why I counted them—the moose, you know—when we were down at the cottage. There were so many of them around. I kept seeing them everywhere I looked.”
    “Do you have any idea what time that was? The moose in the cemetery?” Mort tapped his pencil on his pad.
    “I’d say sometime right after dinner was served. Isn’t that right, Ed?”
    Her husband shrugged. “I don’t remember that,” he said, yawning.
    “That must have been when you were talking about camera lenses with the photographer,” she said.
    “That I remember. Nice guy. I invited him to our party next month,” Ed Lerner said.
    “I’m glad you told me,” Joan said. “I want to start working on the guest list tomorrow.”
    “I also invited the Deckers and the Walters. Okay with you?”
    Mort cleared his throat.
    “Sorry, Sheriff,” Ed said, grinning. “I didn’t mean to get us off the topic, but you see, we’re having a Veteran’s Day party next month.”
    “And we certainly hope you and Maureen can make it,” Joan added.
    Mort looked confused. “Sure, thanks.”
    “Joan, are you sure you didn’t see a pair of moose?” I asked from my perch, pulling them back to the matter at hand. I remembered the moose couple in the moonlight. “And could it have been before dinner?”
    Joan stared at me, but her eyes were focused inward as she tried to recall the sequence of events. “Nooo,” she said, drawing the word out softly. “I’m sure it was later, Jessica. We’d gotten our plates from the buffet, then stopped to admire Miss Havisham’s table. Wasn’t that a wonderful literary reference, Ed?”
    She sensed Mort’s growing impatience. “Sorry,” she said, “I seem to be losing my place.”
    “It’s late, Mrs. Lerner,” Mort said. “Go on.”
    “Well, we couldn’t find an empty place at any of the tables inside, so we went out onto the patio. It was very warm inside anyway with the crush of the crowd. The photographer was out there and a few others, and the only seats available were along the stone wall that overlooks the grounds. I remember seeing a moose walking, striding really, across the lawn. Then I sat down, so my back was to him, and I didn’t see anything else.”
    “You said ‘him,’ ” Mort pointed out. “Are you sure it was a man?”
    “Actually, with those huge heads on, it was impossible to tell. And we were too far away to gauge height, so I don’t really know if it was a man. I suppose it could have been a woman.”
    Harold knocked and pushed open the door. Behind him in the hall was a state patrolman. Mort thanked the Lerners for their cooperation and handed them a card with his office phone number. “Please give me a call if you think of anything else. Sometimes folks remember things when they’re more relaxed and have a chance to sleep on it. And I’d appreciate your not discussing this investigation with anyone else.”
    The Lerners agreed and left the room.
    “Okay, Harold, bring in the Deckers and the Walters,” Mort said.
    “What about Tremaine?” I asked. “He’s the only uninvited guest.”
    “I’m saving Mr. Tremaine for last.”
    Harold disappeared into the hall. A moment later, the door to the library slammed back against the wall and Robert Wandowski stalked into the room, his face a mask of fury. Harold, a hand on his right shoulder, was right behind him. “Couldn’t help this, Sheriff,” the deputy said. “He pushed right past me.”
    The hulking Wandowski came directly to the desk, then put large hands on it and leaned over Mort. “I gotta get home. You know how late it is? You ignored me.”
    Mort asked Harold, “You okay?”
    “Yeah,” Harold said, rubbing his shoulder.
    Mort stood and faced Wandowski. “You sit down, sir, and don’t get up till I tell you to or I’ll have you taken in for impeding an investigation and assaulting a peace officer.” He turned to Harold: “You keep an eye on him. If he moves, cuff him.”
    Wandowski’s jaw