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