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Murder, She Wrote: Blood on the Vine

Murder, She Wrote

Jessica Fletcher - Author

Donald Bain - Author

Paperback: Mass Market | $7.99 | add to cart | view cart
ISBN 9780451202758 | 272 pages | 01 Apr 2001 | Signet | 4.25 x 6.81in | 18 - AND UP
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Summary of Murder, She Wrote: Blood on the Vine Summary of Murder, She Wrote: Blood on the Vine Reviews for Murder, She Wrote: Blood on the Vine An Excerpt from Murder, She Wrote: Blood on the Vine
Victim in the Vineyard

Jessica Fletcher is visiting the Napa Valley wine country while doing research for her next book, and invites her old friend, Scotland Yard detective George Sutherland to join her at a cozy Bed and Breakfast. No sooner do they arrive than they find the valley abuzz over the murder of a waiter at the restaurant owned by infamous ex-Hollywood heavyweight Bill Ladington. Ladington’s blatant womanizing and involvement in a bitter vineyard land dispute have already marked him as a dubious character—and a possible suspect.

But when Ladington turns up dead himself from a supposed “suicide,” Jessica knows that a murderer is on the loose—and with a little help from George, she must try and bottle up a motive for murder from an extensive list of less-than-vintage suspects…

In the hot seat

The temperature of the mud bath continued to rise, and I realized it was reaching a dangerous point. My flesh was on fire, and my head pounded.

“Could you make the mud cooler?” I asked.

“That’s not possible,” she said. Her bitter, angry expression said she had no intention of doing that, and it occurred to me that she was the one who had turned up the temperature.

“I have to get out now,” I said, attempting to sit up, but the mud blanket was too heavy. Mary Jane placed her hands--strong hands--through the mud on my shoulders, holding me down. “Let me up!” I snapped. “I’ve had enough.”

“What do you know about Louis’ death?” she hissed, continuing the pressure on my shoulders.”

“Nothing, just that he was murdered.” I now yelled, “Let me out, damn it!”

If she pushed down any more, I would drown in the boiling mud, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it…


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