Gregory Mcdonald - Fletch Won

FLETCH AND THE WIDOW BRADLEY

When Fletch calls in to the News-Tribune, he discovers that he might just be out of a job. If Tom Bradley, the chairman of Wagnall-Phipps and one of Fletchs principal sourcesand not incidentally, the source of his papers embarrassmentis dead, whos been signing his name to company documents, and why doesnt the company treasurer seem to know? But if Toms alive, how come his widow, Enid, has his ashes on the mantel?

Crime Fiction/0-375-71351-4

FLETCH, TOO

Fletch is finally getting hitched, and somebody delivered a letter from his fatherwhom Fletch has never metwith an invitation for the couple to visit him in Nairobi for the honeymoon. But as soon as they land, the chaos begins. Theres a murder at the airport, reports of the old mans incarceration, and the hospitality (and evasiveness) offered by Pops best friend, who flies them across the continent, just a step or two behindor maybe ahead ofthe old rascal.

Crime Fiction/0-375-71353-0

CARIOCA FLETCH

Fletchs trip to Brazil wasnt exactly planned. But he has plenty of money, thanks to a little arrangement made stateside. And it took him no time to hook up with the luscious Laura Soares. Fletch is beginning to relax, just a little. But between the American widow who seems to be following him and the Brazilian widow whos convinced that hes her long-dead husband, Fletch suddenly doesnt have much time to enjoy the present.

Crime Fiction/0-375-71347-6

ALSO AVAILABLE:

Fletch, 0-375-71354-9
Confess, Fletch, 0-375-71348-4
Fletchs Fortune, 0-375-71355-7

VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD
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The author of twenty-five books, including nine Fletch novels and three Flynn mysteries. He has twice won the Mystery Writers of Americas prestigious Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Mystery Novel, and was the first author to win for both a novel and its sequel. He lives in Tennessee.

Did I ask to see you?

No, Frank, I

I want to see you anyway. Frank Jaffe, The Editor, refolded the competing newspaper, the Chronicle-Gazette, and put it under his elbow on the desk. I have some tough things to say to you.

Little ol me?

How would you like lifting a shovel eight hours a day, every day, five days a week, maybe half-days Saturdays?

Fletch looked at his sneakers on the rug of Franks office. Through the top of his left sneaker he saw the knuckles of three toes. Only the smallest toe showed through the top of his right sneaker. Its not what I see for myself in the parade of life, Frank.

Thats what I see for you. In the parade of life, what do you see yourself suited for?

Journalism.

And whats journalism, young Fletcher?

Developing the skill of ending sentences with prepositions? Especially questions?

Did I just do that? Behind his thick lenses, Franks watery eyes moved across the top of his messy desk. I just did that.

Frank, what I wanted to see you about

Frank opened a folder on his desk. Ive dug out your personnel file. The folder was not thick. Youre suited for journalism, or pick-and-shovel work. I wonder which it will be?

Why are you looking at my personnel file? You hired me months ago.

Three months ago. Do you remember why? I dont.

Because I can be really good, Frank. I

I think I had the idea this newspaper needed a breath of fresh air, young maverick who would shake things up a bit, see things differently, maybe, jerk people out of their ruts.

How can I do that, Frank, if you wont give me a job?

Ive given you a job. Lots of jobs.

Not a real job.

First, I put you on the copy desk.

Writing headlines is for poets, Frank.

And kept you there, over the growing protests of your co-workers, I might add

I spilled orange soda on somebodys terminal keyboard.

Thats not all you did.

I made it up to him. I bought him a pair of surgical gloves.

until you wrote the headline G OVERNOR J OKES ON P URPOSE .

I thought that was news.

And somehow the headline appeared in two editions before being killed.

Sheer poetry, Frank. Not long-lived poetry, I admit, not deathless poetry, but

So then I assigned you to writing obituaries.

You know I want to write sports, Frank. Thats why I came in to see you this morning.

Not the toughest job in the world, writing obituaries. You answer the phone, listen politely, sometimes you have to check a few facts.

Im very good at checking facts.

Frank held up a piece of paper. His hand quivered and his eyes shook as he read the first paragraph from it. Ruth Mulholland died peacefully today, having accomplished nothing in her fifty-six years. Did you write that?

It was a fact, Frank. I checked.

Fletcher, one of the points in your writing obituaries is in our being able to print them.

I kept asking her sister, What did she ever do? The sister kept talking. But I was listening, you see. This person, Ruth Mulholland, never graduated from anywhere, never got married, never had a baby, never held a job, never even supported herself. I mean, in fifty-six years she never accomplished a damned thing. Finally, I asked the sister, Did she ever make anybody a sweater? Cook a pan of brownies for anybody? Or even for herself? The sister kept saying, No, no, in fact Ruthie never did a damned thing in her life. I said, Well, is that what I should print? And the sister said, Well, yes, I guess thats the truth about Ruthie. I checked the facts, Frank. Ruthie never applied for Social Security, or a drivers license; she didnt even support her local beauty shop!

Fletcher

What, theres not supposed to be any truth in obituaries? When someone has won the Nobel Prize we print that in an obituary. When someone accomplishes exactly nothing in life, why dont we print that? Doing absolutely nothing is a statement, Frank, a response to life. Its news, its interesting.

Ruthie didnt get her obituary printed, either. Frank held up another shaking piece of paper. So you were assigned to writing wedding announcements. Thats just a job of taking dictation. You dont even have to be responsible for the main fact, the wedding, because it hasnt taken place yet. Your very first announcement read, Sarah and Roland Jameson, first cousins, are to be married Wednesday in a ceremony restricted to family.

Crisp.

Crisp, Frank agreed.

Concise.

Concise.

To the point.

Absolutely to the point.

And, Fletch said, factual.

Took talent, to dig that story out.