![]() ![]() ![]() With the police on his tail and a few other things to do beside prove his own innocence, Fletch makes himself at home in Boston, renting a van, painting it black, and breaking into a private art gallery. ![]() And Flynn wasn’t entirely convinced that the nineteenth-century Western artist Edgar Arthur Tharp really occupied most of Fletch’s thoughts. He wasn’t exactly uncooperative, but it wasn’t like he was entirely forthcoming either. Inspector Flynn found him a little glib for someone who seemed to be the only likely suspect in a pretty clear case of homicide. But when he arrives in his apartment to find a dead body, things start to get complicated. His Italian fiancée’s father had been kidnapped and presumably murdered, and Fletch is on the trail of a stolen art collection that is her only patrimony. The flight from Rome had been pleasant enough, even if the business he was on wasn’t exactly. ![]()
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