“I, for one, am glad you are done with that conference. You know I don’t like going to big cities, or having you visiting one either,” Seth groused.
“Really, Seth. Malice Domestic is held in Bethesda, Maryland, hardly a booming metropolis. Bethesda is a charming little town. Lots of trees and lovely homes. Nothing big city about it.”
“But I seem to remember that to get there, you took the train to Washington, DC. Now there’s a place bound to be trouble—filled with politicians and tourists. I always feel better when you are in smaller places and away from crowds. Less likely to trip over a dead body.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer, and when I hesitated, Seth shouted, “Good grief, tell me you didn’t . . .”
“Now, Seth, don’t get your blood pressure up. And no, I didn’t trip, or I might have wound up soaking wet.” I tried to sound lighthearted but the situation was too somber for me to pull it off, so I decided to give him the straight truth. “Unfortunately, my friend Dolores’s husband did pass away sometime late last night or in the early-morning hours.”
“Pass away? Be honest, Jess: Did he die of natural causes, or is this another one of those murders you happen to find everywhere you go?”
“I don’t know the answer to that just yet. That’s why I’m calling you,” I said.
“Calling me? Do you expect me to diagnose cause of death over the telephone? Woman, have you lost your senses?” Seth’s voice went up several decibels.
While I hadn’t lost my senses, I was definitely losing my patience. “Seth, please, just let me speak. My friend’s husband did die under what I consider to be suspicious circumstances. We won’t know for certain until there’s a coroner’s report, or until the tight-lipped sheriff gives us some indication of what he believes happened. And if he does believe Willis was murdered, I am afraid that Dolores will be his prime suspect.”
Seth’s tone softened. “I am sorry to hear all this. I know you were looking forward to a nice, friendly visit, a little ‘remember when’ talking with a whole lot of shopping thrown in. How can I help?”
“Well, I couldn’t possibly leave Dolores alone with all this going on. So of course I need you to keep an eye on my house for a few days longer, if you wouldn’t mind. Also, could you call Doris Ann over at the library and let her know that I won’t be able to attend the Friends of the Library meeting but I will, as promised, serve on the committee to select the new tables and chairs for the reading room?”
“I’ll call Doris Ann first thing, if you promise to tell the other committee members that we library patrons want thick cushions on the chairs in the reading room. It takes me a while to get through the daily Boston Globe, not to mention the monthly issue of Salt Water Sportsman. And those hard wood chairs can be murder on the, uh, posterior.”
“Oh, Seth, surely you can afford a subscription to the paper and the magazine so you can read them in the comfort of your home.” I raised my eyebrows so high they nearly met my hairline.
“I already pay for them every year in my homeowner’s taxes. You know, the tax that’s marked ‘library.’ I’m certainly not going to pay twice.”
No, you’re not, I thought.
He went on. “You stay safe down there, Jess, and be sure to let me know when you are coming home. We can have a welcome breakfast at Mara’s Luncheonette.”
“I’ll give you plenty of notice. Good-bye, Seth.” I tapped the off button. I was always amazed how that man could squeeze a penny ’til it squealed, as the saying goes.
I shook the Cabot Cove cobwebs out of my head. Now it was time to check on Dolores.
Chapter Seven
I tapped lightly on Dolores’s door, half hoping she was asleep, but she was wide-awake and exceptionally jittery.
Dolores paced back and forth, not quite bouncing off walls, while her words tumbled out at warp speed. “Clancy kept his promise. We brought up a breakfast tray to the playroom, and when Abby woke up, Clancy and I had tea and scones while Abby ate her cereal and fruit.
“For a while we played with that toy rabbit she found yesterday. Clancy actually deferred to me and said, ‘Granny Dolores has something to tell you, sweetheart.’”
Dolores might have seen it as Clancy letting her take the lead, but I thought it was pure cowardice on his part.
She went on. “Abby climbed into my lap, expecting a story, I suppose, and I told her as gently as I could that Grampy had gone to heaven to be with her mother. Abby said if she knew he was going today, she would have given him Fluffy—that’s the wooden bunny—to take as a present for Mommy. Isn’t she the sweetest little girl?”
Then Dolores’s anxiety got the best of her. “Oh, Jess, just because Clancy kept this one promise doesn’t mean he will let me stay in Abby’s life. I told her I would always be her granny but . . .”
I understood her fear. If anyone had ever tried to take our nephew Grady away from Frank and me after Frank’s brother and his wife died all those years ago, we would have moved heaven and earth to stay in Grady’s life. I knew Dolores felt the same about Abby, and I thought her fear was quite rational, given what I had seen of Clancy so far. Of course, I had no idea how Willis had bequeathed his assets. I knew only that he had threatened to remove Clancy as Abby’s trustee. Was that just an example of what Marjory meant when she talked about Willis’s tormenting people for his own amusement, or was it something Willis actually planned to do?
I distracted Dolores from one problem by bringing up another. “I am so sorry that Sheriff Halvorson didn’t allow me to stay with you in the library. How was your conversation with him?”
Dolores shrugged. “He has no idea what happened to Willis. No matter how many times I asked him, he couldn’t tell me a thing. I mean, he’s the sheriff—shouldn’t he know what happened?”
I nodded. “I quite understand your concern, Dolores, but what worries me is not his lack of answers to your questions. We need to think about what he asked you.”
Dolores folded her arms across her chest. “Nonsense. That’s what he asked me—a whole bunch of nonsense. Even went so far as to question our sleeping arrangements. Can you imagine? He wanted to know why we had separate bedrooms and if there was a connecting door and all sorts of other silliness.
“And when he wasn’t snooping in our private lives, he was asking about our financial lives. How much money did I bring to the marriage? What kind of arrangements had Willis made for me should anything happen to him? He went on and on. I kept begging him to tell me what happened to Willis and he kept not answering. Let me tell you, it was maddening.”
“I’m sure it was, but you must realize, you and Sheriff Halvorson were on different paths.” I knew I had to tread carefully, but I needed to make a point to Dolores, a point she wouldn’t want to hear. “You want to know what happened to your husband. The sheriff wants to know what happened, how it happened, and perhaps who made it happen.”
Dolores stopped pacing and stared at me. “‘Made it happen’? The sheriff thinks someone killed Willis?”
“Calm down, Dolores. We don’t know that yet, but the sheriff does have to examine every possibility, explore every avenue. Wouldn’t you want him to do that for Willis?”
Dolores began walking back and forth again, but her steps were slower, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, I guess I would, but really, Jess, who would harm Willis? Everyone loved him.”
I’d met Willis only twenty-four hours earlier, and I could have drawn up a list of people who didn’t even like him. Love him? Doubtful. Dolores must still have been looking through newlywed eyes. “That’s true, I am sure, but in my experience, law enforcement always takes a good, hard look at family members and close friends.”
“Surely not in this case . . . Oh, wait—are you trying to tell me that I am a suspect? That the sheriff thinks I killed Willis? Are you insane? Is Sheriff Halvorson insane? No, Jess. Just . . . No.”
I tried again. “We don’t know anything for certain as yet. I want you to be prepared, because I am sure the sheriff will want to interview you again.”
“Enough. That’s enough.” In all these years, I’d never heard such a sharp edge to Dolores’s voice. “Please keep your mystery-writer ideas to yourself. Find Lucinda, if you would, and ask her to send up a bottle of sherry and a bucket of ice. I am going to need a nap.”
Dolores turned her back toward me and stood looking out her bedroom window and across the sitting garden. For the second time today I was being dismissed.
* * *
* * *
The walk-in pantry just off the kitchen was lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves trimmed with old-fashioned flowered shelf paper with scalloped edges. Inside, Lucinda looked up from her task of marking items on a clipboard.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Fletcher? I’m afraid we’re all out of blueberry scones,” she said with a grin.
“That’s fine.” I patted my stomach. “I had more than my share, although I do hope you’ll make them again before I head north. Dolores sent me down to ask for a bottle of sherry and a bucket of ice.”
Lucinda’s face clouded over. “Should have been expecting that, I guess. Still, the first and only time she looked for the sherry bottle was after that one big quarrel she and Mr. Willis had. Not sure what it was about, but she stayed in her room for thirty-six hours straight, with both doors locked, if you get my meaning. Only time I ever saw Mr. Willis eat humble pie. I swear, he would have danced naked down Main Street to get back on her good side. I’d still love to know what that fight was about.”
“And you never got as much as a hint?”
“No, ma’am. And nothing like that ever happened before or since. ’Course Miss Dolores got a good reason to be drinkin’ now. I’ll see right to getting her fixed up with a bottle of Tomás García. Maybe some crackers and cheese, too.”
I wandered around the house at loose ends. If I could bump into Norman or Clancy and start a conversation I might be able to wheedle some useful information from them. But useful in what way? Given the white river rock I had seen in the koi pond and the half-smoked cigar right where he would have dropped it if he’d been struck from behind, I was sure Willis had been murdered, and not by Dolores. I still didn’t know where Sheriff Halvorson stood on all this. If he was convinced Willis was murdered, I was sure he’d be counting Dolores as his number one suspect. And if he thought Willis died accidentally, well, in either scenario a killer would get away with murder unless . . .
* * *
* * *
Marla Mae was emptying the dishwasher when I barged into the kitchen, sounding more demanding than I’d meant to. “Is there a competent local car service, or do you know if Uber or Lyft has drivers in this community?”
“Got you covered, Mrs. Fletcher. My brother, Elton, drives for Success City Cars, a twenty-four-hour car service, bonded and insured. Says so right there on his business card. Papa teases him with no mercy about that card sounding highfalutin.”
“Excellent. Can you call your brother and ask him to drive me to the Sheriff’s Department this afternoon? I am going upstairs to change, and will be ready when he gets here.”
As I flew out of the kitchen, I heard Marla Mae say, “Sure thing, Mrs. Fletcher.”
I ran a comb through my hair and dabbed on some lipstick. My cropped gray and white bouclé jacket over a flattering gray A-line skirt was perfect for the look I was going for—successful mystery writer with lots of high-flying connections. If the sheriff had no regard for a woman out for a jog in sweats and sneakers, we’d see how he would react to a woman in a Brooks Brothers suit. I fastened the clasp on my double strand of pearls and went downstairs.
In the foyer Marla Mae and Lucinda were talking to a tall young man with wire-rimmed eyeglasses whose red and black plaid bow tie jazzed up his white short-sleeved shirt and black slacks. He moved quickly to greet me at the bottom of the staircase, reaching out a hand in a courtly manner to assist me down the final few steps.
“Good day, Mrs. Fletcher. Elton Anderson at your service.” His Southern accent enhanced his strong baritone voice. “I want to thank you for allowing me and Success City Cars to take care of your travel needs today.”
I made a snap decision. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Elton. I am planning to be here at Manning Hall for the next few days, perhaps even longer. Would it be possible for you to be available to me each day? I’ll gladly pay the going daily rate.”
“That would be my pleasure, ma’am. And I will be sure you get the multiday discount. Now, may I show you to your car?”
A metallic blue Cadillac Escalade was parked in front of the house. “Oh my, Elton, that is quite a car.”
“Not too big for you, is it? I was coming back from an airport run—husband, wife, two kids, and lots of luggage—when Marla Mae called. I can bring a sedan tomorrow if you’d be more comfortable.” Elton opened the rear door and once again extended an assisting hand.
“No, this car will be fine. I would, though, prefer to sit in the front seat so we can get to know each other, but only if Success City Cars allows passengers to do so.”
“Sure ’nuff.” Elton opened the front door on the passenger side. “And I am one of those drivers who like to talk.”
The interior was black leather trimmed with silver. As I clicked my seat belt shut, I complimented Elton on how immaculate the car was.
“Yes, ma’am. We have a top-notch cleaning crew. Still, I make it my business to get to work early for my shift, and soon as I get my assigned car, I give it a good once-over. You never know. One time the cleaning crew missed an empty chips bag stuffed in the glove compartment.”
We started down the driveway. When we passed the koi pond, the only remnants I could see from the morning’s tragedy were yellow police tape and black smudges along the pool’s edge. I assumed the smudges were fingerprint powder.
Elton said, “Sorry to hear about the mister. Accidents like that cause all kinds of grief. Marla Mae did say he was a handful, but I know she never wished him harm.”
We stopped at the gate and Elton reached into his pocket, and out came a clicker just like the one Dolores had me use when I arrived.
“I was wondering how you got through the gate. I didn’t realize you had a remote control.”
“Not mine to have. Marla Mae has a clicker, and she walked down to the gate to let me in. There are always extras on hand for houseguests, so Marla Mae will just use one of those until I return hers. I expect Mr. or Mrs. Nickens would have given you one of your own had you come by car.”
I mulled that over for a mile or two, then asked, “You mentioned that your sister found Willis Nickens to be quite a handful. In what way, exactly?”
Elton made a left from one main road to another. “Oh, you know. There’s bosses, and then there’s bosses. Some are pleasant and treat you good. Some . . . don’t.”
Remembering the various principals who supervised me when I was a teacher, I knew exactly what he meant. “And I suppose Willis fell on the ‘don’t’ side of the equation.”
“That he did, Mrs. Fletcher. That he did. Marla Mae said he made her so nervous that she would tiptoe around to see where he was before she started her chores. If it was dusting day and he was in the living room, she’d make it her business to start in the dining room. Lucinda took to giving Marla Mae a cup of chamomile tea before she served dinner, just to steady her nerves.”
“What was it about him? Can you pinpoint that for me?”
“I guess you could say he was bad-tempered, always loud and bullying. Not just to the staff, even to guests and friends. Just last week Marla Mae walked in on him throwing a manila folder across the room while shouting up a storm. And that time he was all alone. Crazy, huh?”
“Crazy,” I agreed, although I did wonder what could have bee
n in the folder to get Willis so riled.
“Sure ’nuff got Marla Mae’s nerves atwitter, that I can tell you.”
“Oh, I imagine it did.” Even as I spoke I realized that Marla Mae had been so intimidated by Willis that it would have been impossible for her to stand up to him, much less hit him with a rock. She might be relieved that he was gone but she would never have had the wherewithal to make him go.
Elton turned into the driveway of the Sheriff’s Department headquarters, a neat redbrick building surrounded by a well-manicured lawn and a fine selection of shade trees. He pulled to the curbside near the entrance. “Would you like me to park the car and accompany you, ma’am?”
“You’re very kind, but I can manage.”
Elton handed me a business card. “I will be in visitor parking. Call me when you are coming out and I’ll meet you right here. You do have a cell with you?”
I put the card in my purse. “Oh yes, I’ve learned to keep my phone handy.”
As I opened the car door, Elton gave me a snappy salute. “Good luck.”
I would need all the luck I could get. Even if his technicians had found something to support my suspicion that Willis Nickens was murdered, would the sheriff loosen up enough to tell me?
Chapter Eight
The lobby of the Sheriff’s Department was bright and cheery, not at all dingy and dour like the hoosegows in the cowboy movies of my childhood. An older couple sat side by side on blue visitors’ chairs in front of a row of wide windows partly covered by venetian blinds. Several deputies were busy tapping on computers and shuffling paperwork behind a sleek counter with a beige faux-marble top.
Killing in a Koi Pond Page 6