A female deputy, with wide blond streaks in her pixie hairdo, looked across the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. My name is Jessica Fletcher. I met with Sheriff Halvorson earlier today and I would like to continue our discussion.”
The deputy, whose name tag said remington, tapped her keyboard, glanced at her computer screen, and looked puzzled. “You say you were at a meeting with the sheriff? Earlier today? The schedule doesn’t indicate . . .”
“It wasn’t a formal meeting. I discovered a body, and the sheriff arrived . . .”
I must say she had excellent control of her facial muscles; her mouth barely twitched and her brow stayed steady, but I could see she was thinking, possible cuckoo.
“Mrs., uh, Fletcher, we haven’t met before, so maybe you could explain a little more. Do you often discover dead bodies and have conversations with the sheriff?” she asked just loudly enough to get the attention of the other two deputies working nearby.
“Actually it has happened before, although not in this jurisdiction, and certainly not with Sheriff Halvorson, at least not until today.” I thought that would clear things up, but instead one of the other deputies stood and walked over to the counter.
“Sheriff Halvorson is not available today. If you would like to leave your name and phone number, perhaps someone else can help you at a more convenient time.” The deputy slid a pad and pen across the faux-marble countertop.
Frustration mounted on both sides of the counter.
“Really, I must insist. If you tell Sheriff Halvorson that I am here, I am sure he will want to speak with me.”
“Listen, Mrs.—”
“Mrs. Fletcher! What on earth are you doing here?” Sheriff Halvorson was loud enough to grab the attention of everyone in the room.
I twirled around and he was right behind me, along with two uniformed deputies and a man dressed in a blue seersucker suit. Then, as if we were at a community social, Sheriff Halvorson introduced me.
“Gentlemen, this is J. B. Fletcher, world-famous mystery author, probably come to give me a few lessons in crime solving.” His laugh was tinged with sarcasm.
Sheriff Halvorson’s fanfare was intended as blatant ridicule. The deputies smiled uneasily, but the man in the suit stepped forward, hand extended. “How do you do, Ms. Fletcher? I am Arnold Bailey, president of the local merchants’ association. Sheriff Zeke here should of told me we have a celebrity in town. I would of asked you to join our weekly meeting. Maybe next week? Our membership would be interested to hear what you have to say. You could give them pointers about how to prevent shoplifting, or the best anti-burglary measures for a shop owner to follow. Something like that.”
“Oh, gracious no, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much help. I write mystery fiction, not true crime. My work is based on imagination and lots of research.”
Sheriff Halvorson gloated as he stepped in to close the conversation. “Exactly right, Mrs. Fletcher. Law enforcement is best left to the professionals. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I promised to show Arnold the patrol area maps.”
“Just a minute, Sheriff. I’ve come to discuss Willis Nickens. Surely you have a moment. After all, the man is dead. Doesn’t that deserve some attention?”
All eyes were on him now. Even his deputies waited for his reply. In response to the stricken look on the sheriff’s face, I had to force myself not to shout, Check and mate.
He tapped a deputy on the shoulder. “Billy, please take Arnold to the map room. I’ll be right with you, but first I need a moment with Mrs. Fletcher.” He turned on his heel and walked quickly, as if daring me to keep up, which I certainly did. We went down a long hallway, and when he opened a door I expected that it would be to his office, but I was mistaken. One barred window sat high on the wall opposite the door, and a camera was mounted near the ceiling. An interview room. A table and three chairs occupied the center of the room, but he did not invite me to sit down.
“Okay, Mrs. Fletcher, what is so urgent?” The sheriff crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly.
“Well, Dolores—that is, Mrs. Nickens—is anxious to arrange for her husband’s funeral, and she hasn’t even seen his remains yet.”
“Anxious, is she? We’re awaiting the coroner’s report, and may provide more information to her when we receive it.”
I was surprised that he’d said “may provide” instead of “will provide.” Didn’t Dolores have a right to know what happened to her husband?
“As to viewing,” he continued, “we thought we would spare her the chore of identifying the body since you, as a family friend, were able to do so.”
“But, Sheriff, Dolores wants to see Willis. I thought perhaps she and I could go to wherever he is being kept and—”
“Okay, okay, I will arrange for you to visit this afternoon.”
Remembering that Dolores likely was still locked in her room with a bottle of sherry, I suggested tomorrow morning might be a better choice and was relieved when Sheriff Halvorson said he was sure it could be arranged.
“Deputy Lascomb will be in touch. If there is nothing else, Mrs. Fletcher . . .”
“Well, I know it’s a long shot, given that it was in the pond for hours, but I did wonder if your technicians found any traces of DNA or other matter on the white river rock that inexplicably appeared in the pond near Willis’s body.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, rocks don’t ‘inexplicably’ appear or disappear. This isn’t one of your novels. This is my investigation of a suspicious death.”
As soon as he said “suspicious” I was sure he wanted to bite his tongue.
I pressed for the advantage. “So you agree that it’s likely Willis was murdered.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. Any death, unless certified by a physician, is technically suspicious until I have a coroner’s report that tells me otherwise. Now, I’ve given you more time than I can spare.” He opened the door, led me back to the lobby, and said a curt “Good-bye.”
Elton was leaning on the bumper of the Escalade when I walked out the front door.
“You must be a mind reader. I hadn’t even taken my cell out of my purse to call you, yet here you are,” I said as he opened the passenger-side door and helped me get seated.
He waited to answer until he’d rounded the front of the car and slid into his seat. “I thought you were in there a longish time, so I decided to come and wait here in case you came out a-runnin’ and we needed to make a quick getaway!” He chortled at his own joke.
I laughed along, which helped release the tension from my brief conversation with Sheriff Halvorson. Our ride home was uneventful until we reached the koi pond. I asked Elton to stop the car so I could look closely at the scene, something I supposed I should have done earlier. An oval was chalked on the ground where I’d last seen the cigar butt. Good. The forensic team will examine it. The koi were gone. Not one brightly colored fish remained in the pond. Had they been removed for their own safety, out of fear of contamination? Or could they contain evidence? I wondered if the forensic team had a fish expert on staff. There was so much I didn’t know.
I got back into the car and invited Elton to come to the house for a cup of tea.
“That’s very kind of you, ma’am. Do you happen to know what Miss Lucinda is baking today?”
“No, I don’t, but so far I’ve eaten her blueberry scones, benne wafers, and sweet potato pie, and all were scrumptious. Do you think there is more in her repertoire?”
“Lots more. Her pralines are delish, and you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted her cola cake.” Elton licked his lips.
“I have heard that cola cake is popular in the South but I have never actually tried some.”
“Soon as Lucinda finds that out, she’ll have a cola cake in the oven in no time. You are in for a treat, Mrs. Fletcher.”
The house was silent
as a tomb. I wanted to check on Dolores but thought it best to head for the kitchen to see if Lucinda or Marla Mae could give me an update.
Marla Mae stopped polishing silver and wiped her hands on a dish towel when she saw us come into the kitchen. “Hey, Mrs. Fletcher, did Li’l Bro treat you right?”
“Elton is a courteous and safety-conscious driver. Who could ask for more? He and I would both love a cup of tea.”
“Did Miss Lucinda bake anything special today?” Elton was hopeful.
“If you stop drooling, Elton”—Marla Mae laughed—“I will get you a healthy slice of Lucinda’s cherry banana bread.”
Elton fell into the nearest chair and clutched his chest. “Be still my heart. I suppose you have some cream cheese in the fridge?”
Marla Mae winked at me. “Elton never met a fruit bread he didn’t want to smother with cream cheese. Waste of good fruit bread, if you ask me.”
She put on the kettle, then took cups and plates from a cabinet and set the table for four. “Lucinda went to check on Miss Dolores. I expect she’ll be joining us shortly.”
That answered one question; Dolores was still in her room. “And what about Mr. Crayfield and Mr. Travers? How are they spending their day?”
“Mr. Clancy took Abby down to the Riverbanks. It’s a zoo and a garden in town. Lots of distractions for the child. As to Mr. Crayfield, he could be anywhere. I saw him in the sitting garden early on, and then he was doodling around that putting green that Mr. Willis liked to keep to himself. No harm now, I suppose.” She poured boiling water into a pink-rose porcelain teapot. “I’ll let that steep for a few minutes while I cut the cherry banana bread. Oh, now what?”
The harsh noise of a buzzer cut through the kitchen, while elegant chimes sounded in the distance.
I followed Marla Mae. She pulled the front door wide open and there was Tom Blomquist holding an oversized basket of fruit. Candy stood slightly behind him with a bouquet of pink lilies and white roses tucked in the crook of her arm.
“Ah, we thought we’d come to express our condolences to Dolores,” Tom said. “Terrible thing to happen. Just terrible.”
Marla Mae looked at me uncertainly. We both knew that Dolores was surely indisposed. I decided to play hostess, and perhaps have a few questions answered in the process.
“How kind of you both. Please do come in. Dolores is resting, but I hope you will stay for tea. Marla Mae will be happy to put those gorgeous flowers in a vase.”
Marla Mae took the fruit basket and the flowers. I led the Blomquists to the library.
Once we were seated, Tom Blomquist was first to speak. “I was horrified to learn about Willis’s accident. Ah, such an energetic man. A mover and a shaker.”
“Yes. It’s very sad. Tell me, how did you hear about it?”
“Marjory Ribault called me. She even offered to let us in the gate when I said we would definitely make a condolence call,” Candy answered for them both. “Marjory told me she’d seen a lot of fuss and flutter around the koi pond. Later, when she went out for her walk, she met you and you said that Willis fell into the pond.”
“Yes, it’s quite true—I did meet Marjory on the lawn this morning and I did confirm that Willis was dead. She didn’t seem at all upset. In fact, quite the contrary—she seemed almost gleeful.”
“Ah, but you don’t know the whole story,” Tom said. “Marjory’s father succumbed to particularly hard times and had no choice but to sell this house and the land that had been in his family since before the war. You know, the Civil War. Marjory is the last of a long line. Her father wanted to see she was provided for and not wind up house rich and money poor, like so many others we know.”
“Still, I think she’d rather have the house than the money,” Candy said, “while I’d opt for the money every time.”
Tom glared at her. “Candy, please don’t be so crass.”
Lucinda came in carrying a tea tray, followed by Marla Mae, who’d made a pleasing arrangement of lilies and roses in a tall crystal vase that reminded me of several Waterford pieces I’d seen on my last visit to Ireland.
“Thank you, ladies.” I looked directly at Lucinda. “I told the Blomquists that Dolores is confined to her room and offered them some of your delicious cherry banana bread.”
Lucinda replied, “Miss Dolores is getting the rest she sorely needs.”
Good. Then I needn’t fear Dolores, after imbibing too much sherry, would come down the stairs wondering loudly where everybody was.
Lucinda poured tea and set out a plate covered with slices of cherry banana bread. I hoped Elton had gotten a piece or two before these slices left the kitchen. Which reminded me, I’d done enough traveling for one day. As the ladies were leaving the room I said, “Marla Mae, please tell Elton he won’t be needed again today. We’ll give him ample notice of a start time tomorrow.”
Candy broke a slice of cherry banana bread in half, while Tom opted for a whole slice. I took the opportunity of the interruption to change the subject.
“I understand that you are the proprietors of a charming hotel that is the pride of the neighborhood.”
Tom preened. “Jessamine House is a jewel. The main structure survived the Civil War intact, and over the past one hundred and fifty years various owners added rooms, balconies, and fireplaces, and when French doors became popular, one owner added quite a few.”
Candy said, “You must come and see it.”
“Thank you. I would enjoy that. I suppose an older home that gets the wear and tear of so many travelers is hard to maintain. Not to mention expensive.”
Tom and Candy exchanged a fleeting look. “Actually,” Tom said, “for a while we had some difficulty finding business partners to help us modernize, but I’m confident that problem is resolved and the investment is forthcoming shortly.”
The Blomquists talked enthusiastically about their hotel for a while longer, before they again asked me to express their condolences to Dolores and took their leave.
I thought it was interesting how quick Candy was to say that Marjory had let them through the gate this afternoon. Since everyone knew Willis was still alive after the Blomquists left the dinner party, Candy seemed to be confirming that they did not have access to the gate. I didn’t think that was quite enough to eliminate them from the suspect pool. Could one of them have driven their car out through the gate while the other hid on the grounds to try to get Willis alone? I thought Tom was too timid for such an exploit, but Candy—now, she was a bit of an enigma. Quiet and shy but, based on her comments about Marjory’s situation, definitely interested in money. And, as frequent visitors, could they have gotten their hands on a gate clicker, since spares seemed so readily available?
I found Lucinda in the kitchen relaxing with a glass of merlot, and I gladly accepted the glass she offered me. We agreed it was for the best that Dolores had fallen asleep early. She would need her rest. Tomorrow was bound to be another stressful day for us all.
Chapter Nine
I was briefly aware of the birds chirping before I opened my eyes, and I looked at the clock on my nightstand. After seven. I must have been exhausted to sleep so late. Then I remembered all that had happened yesterday and decided it was a miracle I hadn’t slept ’til noon.
I had finished my stretches and was about to jump into the shower when I heard a gentle tap on my door. I hoped it was Marla Mae with a carafe of coffee, but I found Dolores standing at my doorsill. I reached out and gave her a welcoming hug, hoping it would cure yesterday’s rift.
“Jess, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean any of the things I said yesterday. It was . . . Oh, I don’t know. My heart is broken and my head is jumbled all at the same time.”
“Believe me, I understand what it is to have your life turned upside down in a single moment.” I guided Dolores to the comfy wing chair, and I sat on the edge of the bed.
“I know you do. I well remember when Frank . . .” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s only that I don’t know how to survive this.”
“No one does in the beginning. Somehow, over time, we each find our way. Now, I do have some good news. I went to see Sheriff Halvorson yesterday . . .”
Dolores went totally wide-eyed. “How on earth did you manage that?”
“Never mind. The important thing is that he is arranging for you to go to the Coroner’s Office sometime this morning to see Willis. I am expecting a call from Deputy Lascomb to confirm the details.”
“How can I ever thank you? It’s so important to me to see Willis one last time before he is embalmed and covered with pancake makeup. I’d almost rather a closed coffin. How did you manage . . . Never mind; you’re right—it doesn’t matter,” Dolores said.
“Plenty of time to talk in the car. Right now we have to shower, get dressed, and find a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll meet you in the dining room.” She opened the door, and turned back to me. “Thank you for all your help. I hope we can just forget yesterday.”
I swept my hand back and forth in an arc as if there was a blackboard in front of me and I had a huge eraser. “Already done.”
* * *
* * *
Norman Crayfield had a newspaper spread out on the table. The remnants of scrambled eggs were congealed on a plate that he had pushed to the side. He barely nodded when I said, “Good morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, put a bran muffin on a plate, and left plenty of space between us when I sat at the table.
I was halfway finished with my muffin when Norman folded his newspaper and said, “I suppose you’ll be leaving soon.”
“Leaving?” Did he mean leaving the dining room, or leaving the house? Had Dolores told him of our plans for the day?
“Sure, going up north. Home. No point in staying around this gloomy place. I’m sure it will only get gloomier in the days to come.”
Killing in a Koi Pond Page 7