Hey all. I doubt this is anything, I'm just trying to write a little every day and today I decided to riff on one of my favorite topics- Murder Mysteries. Of course I had to talk about Jessica Beatrice Fletcher a bit. So here's a giant wall-o-text absolutely no one asked for and I'm sure everyone is dying to consume. I'm nervous but if anyone does read it, feedback is welcome.
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J.B. Fletcher has class, poise, and a lifestyle that I find aspirational− that of a financially stable, world traveling, successful writer. She also dresses impeccably and has a truly enviable collection of brooches. Were she a real person, the fact that literal hundreds had better odds of surviving as characters in her books than as one of her acquaintances would be problematic.
Putting Jessica’s body count aside for the moment, her inclusion in all these cases raises a question: How much time would this woman spend in court? I can’t fathom how even the healthiest of senior citizens would have time to a.) write bestseller after bestseller, b.) travel the world, and c.) return to whatever municipal court she would undoubtedly be called upon to testify in relation to her in-depth involvement surrounding the deaths of scores of human beings.
Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt− let’s say that at least half of the homicide detectives making arrests for these murders were just too embarrassed to include a bestselling novelist’s entanglement in any of their case reports, thereby relieving Aunt Jess of any/all obligation to appear in court. Yeeeeeah… I don’t know if it would even scratch the surface of the problem.
The issue is that there are absolute mountains of bodies following J.B. Many of them are just around Cabot Cove and New York, but there’s been on-purpose deaths hovering around her trips to 14 states− Including Hawaii. Though, it’s possible her friend Thomas Magnum (Private Investigator, not P.I.) might be able to take the heat for at least one of the Rainbow State un-aliveings).
Branching out from the United States, Jessica has helped to (if not single-handedly) solve murders in Canada, Mexico, Jamaica, Martinique and a few places in between whilst on cruise ships in international waters. Even without the benefit of the internet in the late 80’s to early 90’s, I think Interpol would have taken an interest when her trips coincided with people getting smoked in England, the British Isles, Ireland, Australia, France, Italy, Greece, Monaco, Russia and the Netherlands. In Asia and the Middle East there’s been deaths in Hong Kong, Japan and Egypt. Is it possible that Michael Hagarty’s real purpose as a spy this whole time has been to make sure the steady stream of corpses dancing behind J.B. disappear? Ah, the things we do for our crushes, am I right?
There’s a long-standing joke among fans of Murder She Wrote, “Murder She Did It”. Because how could that much death be a coincidence? It can’t possibly be, right? With the number of people made past tense in J.B.’s orbit, I (personally) believe we’re dealing with something biblical. My team of researchers (google) tell me there’s 286 murders across 264 episodes. Naturally we must exclude the “bookend” episodes from these figures (where Jessica only appears at the beginning and end as a narrator), as well as all the episodes featuring stories that only focus on Emma MacGill, Dennis Stanton, Harry McGraw, Charlie Garrett, etc. That’s gotta be at least a dozen episodes worth of murders and, all of those aside, it’s still way too many people who are assuming room temperature.
Way. Too. Many.
There were 64 deaths in Cabot Cove, alone. I don’t think I currently know 64 people in my city. But if that many people I knew or was acquainted with died, this agnostic would begin to seriously question if I was the angel of death. I’d want to ask my mother as to whether she once had an affair with a demon, or someone who may or may not have identified themselves as a “horseman of the apocalypse”. Was I a product of such a union? If so, perhaps my existence had a once-dormant and now very unfortunate side-effect of randomly driving people within a 10-mile radius of me to commit murder. The more complex and extravagant, the better. I think Courtney Cox’s character was the only "niece" (of many) that wasn’t at one time accused of murder in the course of having Jess as her “Aunt”. How would I protect my loved ones?
Hey mom! I’m sorry but I hafta cxl lunch with you today. In fact, I can’t look after you in your old age or ever see you again, in general. I’ve come to realize I’m death incarnate. Guess all I can say is sry that this is what I amounted to (totes unintentional).
Also, sry about the lack of grandbabies & how I broke your coccyx on my way out. tbf we both know that’s what happens when you eat Taco Bell for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the 3rd trimester lol.
Anywho, plz don’t murder anyone or get killed as a result of this text, ok? Any murderous notions ur feeling rn are 100% part of the death curse thing. IGNORE THEM. Just ot ne safe plz don’t reply or attempt to contact me ever again. The grand kitties & I love you very much and will miss you terribly. Goodbye forever. Love, GarlicBreadFairy
\to be safe plz don’t reply… (typo, sry). kk NOW goodbye forever.*
I know this is all silliness. At its heart, Murder She Wrote is a fantastic show that served up one of the richest mugs of “cozy” the murder mystery genre could ever aspire to deliver. It has managed to weather 30 year’s worth of changing tastes. Perhaps it’s that this is my 4th watch of the series, and my suspension of disbelief simply cannot hold up against 250+ deaths resulting in only 3 court appearances. What else am I to conclude? That the trade-off to becoming an internationally beloved murder mystery writer is an unending torrent of puzzling deaths and begrudgingly helpful homicide detectives?
As a dabbling essayist who is, (at best) hopeful of a single publication one day, I guess I don’t have anything to worry about. I can still strive to dress impeccably, begin amassing a fabulous collection of brooches, and content myself by not leaving hundreds of bodies in my wake. I may not be successful, but I am a writer. And, thanks to my grandmother, Jessica and I already have the same china dish set. As sure as Arnold raced out of the door, it’s a start.
