Imagine the urb~/~(e-John Putnam Thatcher, senior vice president of
Sloan Guaranty Trust, striding down
the Appalachian Trail in boots and
breeches, loaded with backpack and
dehydrated rations, accompanied by
an old Down East crony, Henry Mor-
land. Imagine the odds of their find-
ing, along that 2,000-mile trail, one
Steven Lester laid to rest (albeit with
a hammer) in a picturesque housing
development with the wildly inappro-
priate name of Fiord Haven. Consider
the improbability of Thatcher and
Morland-both men of great marital
experience-tangling with Steven
Lester s two wives, Amanda and Eu-
nice, either of whom had reason to
profit as a widow and both of whom .
intend to. In the midst of the hectic
milieu of high-pressure salesmanship
and murder, their cat fights add a spe-
cial poignancy to the general discord
and bolster the notion that either of
them could have done in Steven Lester.
It is soon discovered that Lester
had chanced upon something fishy
about this development scheme. Ralph
Valenti and Eddie Quinlan, the pro-
moters, hotly
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