Gregory Mcdonald - Fletchs Fortune

Or the expense account items hes racking up. Or his definition of the word deadline. Or the divorce lawyers who keep showing up at the office. So when multimillionaire Alan Stanwyk offers Fletch the job of a lifetime, which could be worth a fortune, hes intrigued and decides to do a little investigation. What he discovers is that the proposition is anything but what it seems. Crime Fiction/0-375-71354-9 CONFESS, FLETCH The flight from Rome had been pleasant enough, even if the business he was on wasnt exactly.

Fletchs Italian fiances father had been kidnapped and presumably murdered, and Fletch is on the trail of a stolen art collection that is her only patrimony. But when he arrives in his apartment to find a dead body, things start to get complicated. Inspector Flynn found him a little glib for someone who seemed to be the only likely suspect in a homicide case. With the police on his tail, Fletch makes himself at home in Boston, breaking into a private art gallery, entertaining his future mother-in-law, and visiting with the good Inspector Flynn. Crime Fiction/0-375-71348-4 FLETCH WON As a fledgling reporter, Fletch is doing more flailing than anything else. That and floating around from department to department trying to figure out where he fits in.

His editors got him pegged for the society pages, but the kind of society Fletch gets involved with is anything but polite. His first big interview, a millionaire lawyer with a crooked streak and an itch to give away some of his ill-gotten gains, ends up dead in the News-Tribunes parking lot before Fletch can ask question number one. So Fletch ends up going after the murderer instead. At the same time, hes supposed to be covering (or maybe uncovering) a health spa that caters to all its clients needs, and gets hired as a very personal trainer. Crime Fiction/0-375-71352-2 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? If hes alive, how come his widow, Enid, has Toms ashes on the mantel? Fletch may have more questions than answers on his hands, but he knows hes a pretty good reporter, and if hes going to get his reputation back, not to mention his job, hes going to have to get to the bottom of more than one mystery.

Crime Fiction/0-375-71351-4 FLETCH, TOO Fletch is finally getting hitched. Its a small affair, just a few friends, the brides parents, the grooms mother, andjust maybehis father. Except Fletch has never met his father. But somebody delivered a letter from Fletch senior that contained an invitation to visit him in Nairobi for the honeymoon, along with a pair of plane tickets. No sooner does the couple land in Africa than the search for Fletchs father 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 Fletch and the Brazilian widow whos convinced that Fletch is her long-dead husband, Fletch suddenly doesnt have much time to enjoy the present. A thirty-year-old unsolved murder, a more recent suicide, and an inconvenient heart attacksomehow Fletch is connected to all of them, and one of those connections might just shorten his own life.

Crime Fiction/0-375-71347-6 VINTAGE CRIME/BLACK LIZARD Available at your local bookstore, or call toll-free to order: 1-800-793-2665 (credit cards only).

Fletchs bare feet crossed the marble floor to the carpet. Sorry, old chaps. Youve got the wrong bod. Fletch is away for a spell. Letting me use his digs. Fletch held out his hand to the form on the divan.

Always do feel silly introducing myself whilst adorned in swimming gear, but when on the Riviera, do as the sons of habitus doisnt that the motto? The names Arbuthnot, Fletch said. Freddy Arbuthnot. The man on the divan had not shaken his hand. The man in the chair snorted. Arbuthnot its not, said the man in the chair. Not? said Fletch.

Not? Not, said the man. The patterns of their neckties had become visible to Fletch. His nose was in a stream of cigar smoke. There were two cigar butts and a live cigar in the ash tray on the coffee table. Next to the ash tray, on the surface of the table, was a photograph, of Fletch, in United States Marine Corps uniform, smiling. Fletch said, Golly.

Didnt want to disturb you on the beach with your girl friend, said the man in the chair. The two of you looked too cute down there. Frisking on the sand. Adorable, uttered the man on the divan. Both men were dressed in full suits, collars undone, ties pulled loose. Both their faces were wet with perspiration.

Lets see some identification, Fletch said. This time he held his hand out to the man in the chair, palm up. The man looked up at Fletch a moment, into his eyes, as if to gauge the exact degree of Fletchs seriousness, then rolled left on his hams and pulled his wallet from his right rear trouser pocket. On the left flap was the mans photograph. On the right was a card which said: CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY , United States of America, a few dates, a few numbers, and the mans nameEggers, Gordon. You, too.

Fletch held out his hand to the man on the divan. His name was Richard Fabens. Eggers and Fabens. Fletch handed them back their credentials. Would you guys mind if I got out of these wet trunks and took a shower? Not at all, said Eggers, standing up. But lets talk first.