I looked around, but the chairs and benches in the sitting garden were too far away. I certainly didn’t want to leave Willis alone. “I can manage waiting for the deputy.”
There was genuine concern in her voice. “I can stay on the phone for as long as you need me.”
“That won’t be necessary. I am perfectly fine.” While we were talking I was trying to examine the general area, but the dispatcher was a total distraction. I was getting impatient for her to cut me loose.
“Okay, then, ma’am, just give us a call back if I can help in any way.” And at last she was gone.
I bent down to take a closer look at the body but was careful not to touch it. Willis was in a fetal position on his right side. His head was turned into the pond and partly underwater. One of those white river rocks that lined the sitting garden was lying in the water inches from his face. I wondered how it had wound up in the pond.
I stood up to examine the surrounding area. That’s odd, I thought: Willis was still dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn last night, but instead of his fancy patent leather shoes, he was now wearing slippers. I also spotted the remains of a cigar tucked against the border of the koi pond. It had a long ash, as if it had been half smoked, then dropped, and had burned itself out on the ground.
A dark sedan came up the driveway. As it turned toward me, I saw the words deputy sheriff and richland county printed across the side and a six-point sheriff’s star on the front door. In case I had any doubt, the driver flashed red and blue roof lights quickly but silently. He parked several yards away and got out of the car, talking into what I supposed was a radio on his shoulder. I heard him say, “Copy that.”
Each sleeve of his navy blue uniform sported a large yellow patch declaring him to be a member of the Richland County Sheriff’s Department. He put on a baseball cap, adjusting the fit as he ambled toward me. “You Jessica Fletcher?”
“I am. And this”—I pointed to the body—“is Willis Nickens, the owner of this property.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Sorry about the circumstances. Deputy Sheriff Luther Lascomb’s my name. I’ll be handling things until Sheriff Halvorson shows up.” He hitched his equipment belt, causing his handcuffs to rattle. Was he trying to show me he was prepared for any trouble I might cause? “Now, would you mind moving over there and standing under that big ole bald cypress for a few minutes? Let me take a look at Mr., um, Nickens.”
I did as I was asked but I watched him very closely. Deputy Lascomb leaned over much the way I did when I first saw Willis lying there. He didn’t touch anything but didn’t seem to be looking for much either. After a while he walked back to me and took out a notepad.
“Hmmm, could have fallen, I guess. We’ll see what the coroner says. Now, tell me what you are doing here, Miz Fletcher. How you come to be on Mr. Nickens’s property.”
I explained I was a houseguest out for a morning run.
He scribbled on his pad, then raised one eyebrow suggestively. “Would you mind telling me exactly how it is you’re sleeping here?”
I wasn’t going to let that insinuation float for so much as a second. “I barely know Mr. Nickens. I’m here because I went to school with his wife, Dolores.”
“Oh. There’s a Miz Nickens. And where might she be this morning?”
“Up at the house, I suppose. Possibly still sleeping.” I was losing patience with these questions, when it was obvious, at least to me, that Willis Nickens had been murdered. “Deputy Lascomb, did you happen to notice the large white rock in the pond? It belongs in the sitting garden, and I can tell you that it certainly was not in the pond yesterday.”
“You sure about that? Folks use these rocks as decorations all over the place. Time was, you hardly saw them at all. Now they are around every fishing hole, lily pond, and even some swimming pools I’ve seen. So tell me, besides you and Miz Nickens, who else might be around and about.”
I was exasperated that he so pointedly ignored my suggestion but decided it was best to answer his questions until I could try again. “Well, I know there is some household help that sleeps in, but I am not sure how many. Mr. Nickens’s son-in-law—they call him Clancy, though I can’t recall his last name—and his daughter, who is only nine, are also guests.”
“Do you know where Mr. Nickens’s daughter is? This Clancy fella’s wife.”
“Tragically she passed away from a brain tumor some time ago.”
“Unlucky kid. Lost her mama and now her granddaddy.” Lascomb shook his head. “Some families do get hit hard. So, is that the list or is there anyone else?”
“Oh yes. I nearly forgot Norman Crayfield is a houseguest as well. He’s Mr. Nickens’s business partner.”
“Really? That’s interesting. Would you happen to know what kind of business the two were in?”
I searched my mind. “Sorry, no. I don’t believe it ever came up in conversation. Dolores—that is, Mrs. Nickens—introduced Mr. Crayfield as her husband’s business partner and Willis—Mr. Nickens—mentioned their partnership once or twice during the evening.”
A second car pulled up and the word “deputy” was nowhere to be seen, although sheriff was prominently displayed. A tall man with broad shoulders and intense gray eyes stepped out of the driver’s seat. He wore a brown corduroy jacket over a denim shirt, along with jeans and brown leather boots. He had a tan cowboy hat in one hand and stood by his car waiting for his deputy to report. While they conferred I could tell when Lascomb mentioned me, because while he listened the sheriff gave me an appraising look that read either “suspect” or “nuisance”—it was hard to tell which.
I was hopeful he would pay more attention than Deputy Lascomb to my theory about the white river rock. But that hope faded when he stood in front of me and said, “I am Sheriff Zeke Halvorson. Thank you for being so cooperative with my deputy, Mrs. Fletcher. If we need you, we’ll be sure and look for you at the house. For now you might want to go and get some breakfast.”
He might as well have said, Dismissed!
“But, Sheriff . . .”
He had started to walk away but he stopped and swiveled his head toward me. “Mrs. Fletcher, would you like Deputy Lascomb to escort you to the house?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said more sharply than I’d intended. “What I would like is a moment of your time.”
His face became a mask of frustration, his Southern manners wrestling with his desire to get rid of me. Then he sighed. “Okay, you have two minutes.”
“Well, I didn’t want to touch anything, but it is possible that when you remove Willis’s head from the water you will find a wound that may have been caused by the white rock that is in the pond but obviously doesn’t belong there.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, why don’t you leave the detective work to us? You are looking for a crime that probably never happened. We have techs and a deputy coroner on the way. You just toddle along. We got work to do.”
“But don’t you think you should talk to Mrs. Nickens? Shouldn’t someone tell her . . . ?”
“Now, there is a job you can do. Luther here tells me you are a friend of the wife, er, widow. Perhaps you could tell her the sad news.”
He didn’t finish his sentence with and stay out of our way, but the look he gave me said it loud and clear.
To say I found him exasperating would have been putting it mildly. I jogged away before I said something I might regret, and then began to walk slowly back to the house. Poor Dolores. Just yesterday she had been happier than I had seen her in years. And now . . . this.
I dreaded the role the sheriff had assigned to me; still, I supposed that it was better to hear bad news from a friend than from a stranger. Perhaps I could offer some comfort.
I climbed the few steps to the veranda and was surprised to find Willis’s son-in-law standing behind a pillar.
“Good morning, Jessica. It
looks like you and I are the only two early birds in the house.”
“I came out for a brief jog. May I ask what brings you outdoors so early?”
“My reason is far more devious than yours. Willis had a putting green installed on the far side of the house.” Clancy held up a putter. “Of course, he doesn’t allow anyone to use it without his explicit permission. Since I am an early riser and he is not . . .”
I understood completely. “You get your practice in and no one is the wiser.”
“Exactly. Now I have a question for you. I’ve been watching the hubbub down at the koi pond. What happened? Did someone poison the fish? Dolores must be completely distraught.”
I paused, not quite sure how to tell him the truth. I had a sense that Dolores should be told first. Yet I couldn’t brush Clancy off. He needed only to walk to the pond himself, and I was sure Deputy Lascomb would chase him away, citing a dead body as the reason.
“There’s been an accident.” Even though I was certain there had not been. “Willis is dead. He died near the pond. I found the body and called nine-one-one.”
Was that a mix of joy and relief I saw in Clancy’s eyes before he morphed into the grief-stricken son-in-law and said, “Willis? Dead? How awful! How is Dolores holding up?”
I noticed he didn’t ask how Willis had died, and I deliberately answered only the question he did ask. “Dolores doesn’t yet know. I am about to find her and tell her the terrible news. Perhaps you would be willing to join me?”
Clancy’s indecision was palpable until he came up with an answer that he was sure I would find satisfactory but would still get him out of the position of bearer of bad news. “Abby! I can’t have her find out from someone else. She will be completely devastated. But”—here he put on his brave face—“she should hear about Willis from me. I am her father.”
Yes, you are, I thought, and by a stroke of luck or something much worse, you will remain her trustee as well.
Clancy barged into the house and left the front door ajar. I could hear him banging up the stairs. Before he awakened the entire house, I thought I’d better find Dolores. I checked the living room and the dining room but there was no sign that anyone had been there. I looked at my phone. Seven fifteen a.m. Nearly time for breakfast. Definitely time to talk to Dolores. I decided to look for her upstairs.
I was at the top of the stairs in the hallway of the second floor when I realized that I had no idea which of the many doors led to the master bedroom. I walked along the hallway, hoping that Dolores was awake and I would hear her bustling around her room. A door creaked open and Norman Crayfield, wearing jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt that read crafty old buzzard, stepped into the hall.
“Good morning. You are up early. Have you been out? From my window it looks like a glorious day. I thought I’d take a quick stroll through the gardens before breakfast. Sharpen the appetite, as it were.” He noted that I didn’t react. “Jessica, is something wrong?”
I nodded. “Yes. Something has happened. It’s Willis. I need to find Dolores. Do you happen to know where her bedroom is?”
“Yes, of course.” He took me by the elbow, led me down the hall, and stopped. “This is Dolores’s door. Her room is right next to Willis’s. I believe the rooms are adjoining, although I have never been inside. Oh, listen to me babbling on and on. I’m so sorry. I get nervous when there is trouble, and from the look of you, there is trouble. I guess I should ask, can I help in any way?”
“No, thank you, but I do appreciate the offer.”
“In that case, I will leave you to it.” As Norman headed to the staircase, I realized he’d neglected to ask me what had happened to Willis. First Clancy, then Norman. It seemed no one cared about Willis at all. Well, that’s not true. There was one person, and I was about to give her the terrible news.
Dreading the conversation we were about to have, I stood outside Dolores’s bedroom door, lifted my hand, and knocked.
Chapter Five
There wasn’t a sound from the other side of the door. I waited a few seconds and knocked again, slightly harder. This time I heard something, a slight rustling of fabric. “Dolores, may I come in?”
“Oh, Jess, of course. The door isn’t locked. Come on in.”
Dolores was sitting up in bed, leaning on a pile of pillows. I couldn’t quite make out what she had in her hands but whatever it was, it had her annoyed. “Look at this mess. When I heard the knock, I thought it was Willis. He is so polite. Even though we have adjoining rooms, he never barges in. And I’m happy that he never sees me wearing a hairnet and eye mask, which I call my ‘old lady’ look. After all, there are some secrets a woman should keep.”
She held up a pink satin eye mask with a set of eyelashes embroidered on each eye patch and a jumbled blob hanging from the back strap.
“When I heard the knock, I woke, ripped off the hairnet and mask, and somehow managed to get the hairnet caught on the mask’s Velcro strap. Looks like I’ll have to tear the hairnet and toss it.”
I moved closer and stood by the side of her king-sized bed and waited for her to finish. I was in no hurry to break the news.
She tossed the mask toward the foot of the bed and looked at me. “Sweats and sneakers. You aren’t going to ask me to join you for a run, are you? You know my rule about exercise. I don’t like it, so I don’t do it.”
When I didn’t scoff at her oft-repeated exercise denial, Dolores sensed that I was bothered and she looked at me keenly. “Jess, what is it?”
I sighed, leaned down, and took her hands in mine. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. It’s about Willis.”
Dolores widened her eyes and grasped my hands tightly, as if preparing herself. “Okay. I am ready.”
I spoke as gently as I could. “While I was out jogging this morning I found Willis on the driveway by the koi pond. He had been . . . there for a long while.”
“Is he hurt?” The hope in Dolores’s eyes was agonizing to see.
“I am afraid it is worse. Much worse.”
“No.” Dolores lurched backward, pulling her hands from mine, and her eyes welled with tears. “That’s not possible. We’re still practically newlyweds.”
I picked up a box of tissues from her night table and set it on the bed beside her. “I’m so sorry. I wish it wasn’t true but, unfortunately . . . he’s gone.”
Dolores began sobbing uncontrollably. I sat down on the edge of the bed and she flung herself at me. I hugged her while she wailed. “Why Willis? Why now? I was finally happy. We were happy.”
She pulled her head back and began mopping her face with some tissues. “Oh, Jess, what am I going to do without him?”
I hated to see Dolores’s pain, and remembering how desperately bereft I had felt when my husband, Frank, died, I knew it would continue for many years to come.
Dolores struggled to hold back her tears and began sniffling. “I am ready to hear more. How did it happen? Did he fall and hit his head? Was it a heart attack?”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. The sheriff—”
“Sheriff? Why the sheriff? Shouldn’t there be a doctor? An ambulance?” She threw back the covers and leaped out of bed, and for a second I was afraid she was going to run to the koi pond in her rose-colored nightgown, but her mind had made a quick turnabout.
“Abby. Willis was the only true connection she had to her mother, and now he’s gone, too. I have to go to her.” Dolores grabbed a robe from her chaise longue and crouched down to peer under the bed. “Where are my slippers?”
“Dolores, please. Clancy was outside this morning, so he knows about Willis. He went directly upstairs, and I am sure he will take care of talking to Abby.”
“Clancy is an inconsiderate, indifferent lout. I can’t trust him to tell Abby with the least bit of sensitivity. Don’t even get me started on all the things Willis told me about his b
ehavior while poor Emily was sick.” Dolores looked even more stricken, if that was possible. “Oh, Jess, what will I do if Clancy decides to take Abby away from me? I can’t bear to lose her, too.”
“Before you upset yourself any further, I suggest that you get dressed and we can go downstairs and find out exactly what is happening.”
Dolores blew her nose rather noisily. “Yes. Of course. Downstairs. I want to see Willis before they take him . . . wherever they take people. And I can talk to Clancy about Abby. I’m glad you’re here. I so need a trusted friend right now.”
A few minutes later Dolores emerged from her dressing room in a white tee and black slacks, with a black and white cardigan thrown over her shoulders. “This is the closest I could come to widow’s weeds.”
“You look fine,” I assured her.
Dolores pulled a wad of tissues from the box. “Okay, I am ready to face whatever comes”—she took my hand—“with a good friend at my side.”
We walked downstairs and checked the dining room, which was so quiet we were surprised to find both Clancy and Norman sitting at the table, plates piled high with food from a delicious-looking buffet set out on the breakfront.
Clancy got up immediately and rushed to Dolores. “I am very sorry about . . . Willis. I know how it feels to lose a spouse. The loneliness, the emptiness.”
He sounded a little too melodramatic to me, and Dolores might have felt the same. She stiffened for a moment but then accepted the hug he offered. I considered that a good first step if the new relationship they would have to forge around Abby was going to have a chance.
Norman Crayfield stayed in his chair, sipping coffee. Then, as if it had dawned on him that he was going to have to work with Dolores, at least in the near term, regarding whatever business interests he had shared with Willis, he got up and went to her side.
“Dolores”—he put a hand on her shoulder—“I am so sorry for your loss, but I can guarantee you that I will take care of our business ventures as diligently as I did when Willis was . . . here. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about financially. Now why don’t you sit down? Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
Killing in a Koi Pond Page 4