Nelson Alexander was putting the wrong interpretation on her “bird watching.” Forsythia Brown decided. She was a writer, and peeking into the window of The Garret, the tiny but popular new night spot across the court from her Greenwich Village apartment, came under the heading of “research.” And she was fascinated by the masculine traffic in blonde singer Estelle Kane's dressing room -- Vic Dantino, darkly handsome owner of the club; Joe Sanderson, pianist whose way-out Jazz was The Garret's real drawing card; and the bearded young man Forsythia could not identify.
Forsythia had met Tubby (Nelson) Alexander last summer at the Poconos, where they had become innocently involved in murder. Romance had blossomed, and had stayed in bloom. But when after cautioning her about her “bird watching” (“You may see murder through those binoculars!”), Tubby began twitting her about jazzman Joe Sanderson, Forsythia saw red. As many times as she had been to The Garret to hear him play, she had never spoken with the tall, lanky pianist.
That very night Forsythia was surprised -- and more than a bit delighted -- when Joe Sanderson did speak to her: object, a future date. But that same night, Tubby's dire prophecy came true, binoculars in hand, Forsythia watched helplessly as, across the court, two hands grasped Estelle Kane, and thrust her from her dressing room window, to her death four stories down!
Horrified, pretty Forsythia Brown realized that once again she was involved in violence, in this exciting sequel to Forsythia Finds Murder.
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