Killing in a Koi Pond

by Jessica Fletcher

  “Hmm-mmm. Heavenly. I didn’t realize how peckish I was. This certainly hits the spot.” If we were going to have a serious conversation, I might catch them off guard in this relaxing atmosphere.

  Clancy beamed. “I know exactly how you feel. Next, try a cinnamon apple muffin.”

  “Clancy, please—I still have half of this one left to eat.” It was a tempting offer, but I managed to resist.

  “I was just being helpful,” he replied.

  “Oh yeah, we are nothing if not helpful around here.” Norman chuckled.

  And I had my opening.

  “Well, in fact, there is a way that you both could be quite helpful to me. You could tell me about Willis,” I said.

  They exchanged a look, and then each of them leaned back in his chair as if willing the other to go first.

  To ease their discomfort, I tried again. “You see, Dolores has asked me to write Willis’s obituary and perhaps a eulogy, yet I am the one person here who hardly knew him. We’d only just met. Sorry as I am for everyone’s loss, I do wonder what he was really like. And who better to ask than you two, his business partner and his son-in-law. You can give me a glimpse of the two sides of Willis Nickens, the personal and the professional.”

  That did the trick.

  Norman said, “Of course we’ll help. How fortunate for Dolores to have a writer of your stature among her friends. We’ll tell you the stories and you can arrange the words perfectly. You have to mention that Willis was one dapper dresser. Everything he wore was pressed and polished. I am sure he is up in heaven complaining to the angels that he looks ridiculous wearing a tuxedo with his ratty old brown suede slippers. I’m sure he’s begging Saint Peter for a change of shoes.” Norman chuckled. “Clancy, why don’t you tell Jessica about Grampy Willis?”

  Clancy told a particularly endearing tale about how, after Emily died, Willis often visited Abby to tell her a bedtime story. And the stories always involved a heroine named Emily.

  Norman followed up with a far less endearing narrative involving a ruthless Willis who saw every financial downturn as an opportunity to buy up private mortgages for pennies on the dollar. Then he would demand full payment or foreclose on the property, hold, and sell. It reminded me of Marjory Ribault’s story. Sure enough, Norman mentioned it.

  “In fact, that’s how he was able to buy Manning Hall. Sharp negotiator was our Willis.” Norman appeared to be quite proud of Willis’s ability to profit from other people’s misfortune.

  Clancy picked up the thread. “Oh, he could be a mean ’un, all right. Remember Arabella?”

  “Arabella?” I asked.

  “Arabella is Abby’s godmother and was Emily’s best friend ever since third grade. Willis never liked her. Didn’t like the whole family—some fuss or another from decades ago.”

  I certainly understood those silly perpetual feuds. I knew a couple of families in Cabot Cove who hadn’t spoken for three or four generations. No one even remembered how it all started. They just followed the tradition and snubbed one another mercilessly.

  “Anyway,” Clancy continued, “Emily was the only person who could ever stand up to Willis, and she did so consistently when it came to Arabella. She was maid of honor at our wedding, and a frequent guest at our home. The two remained close until the day Emily died, and it was on that very day, while we were all still at the hospital having said our final good-byes, that Willis told Arabella she was persona non grata, and was no longer welcome to visit Abby.”

  I was aghast. “But surely you could have . . .”

  “I did what I could, which was absolutely nothing. Willis controls the purse strings, and that ensures that Willis gets what Willis wants,” Clancy said sourly.

  “Hey, no more glum stuff.” Norman slapped Clancy on the back. “Jessica needs happy stories for the obituary and funny ones for the eulogy. We have lots of those stories. My personal favorite—remember the time Willis almost broke his shoulder with a golf club because of the fire ants?”

  Clancy nodded, and within seconds Norman had us both in stitches. I had no problem envisioning an enraged Willis Nickens hopping up and down on one foot while trying to brush fire ants from inside the HyperFlex golf shoe on his other foot. The whole time he was yelling, demanding a do-over, claiming the ants had struck just as he swung and missed.

  “He kept screaming, ‘Mulligan! Mulligan!’ I can see it to this day.” Norman was practically doubled over with laughter. “And then in sheer frustration he threw his club in the air and it spun back and landed on his shoulder. He had quite a welt, I can tell you.”

  Clancy chimed in, “He threatened to have the groundskeeper fired. And then he decided to have the golf pro fired, too. The more we laughed, the crazier he got.”

  “That is a brilliant story. From the little bit I saw of Willis the day I arrived, that story, how you say he acted, describes him perfectly but with great humor.”

  Norman went on. “And of course you cannot leave out the great romance, Willis and Dolores. I am sure she told you all those loving details.”

  “Yes, she did. We had several burn-the-midnight-oil phone calls about her new beau, who gradually became her love, and then her beloved husband. Norman, if you had to stand up and say something about the two of them as a couple, what would you say?”

  Norman looked pensive, and then I saw that look on his face, the same look my students used to get when they were sure they had figured out the exact right answer and eagerly raised their hands. “I would say that Willis was a rudderless ship until Dolores came into his life.”

  I was amazed by his eloquence. “Oh my, that is lovely, Norman. Dolores will be so very pleased.”

  Abby came running into the room. “Daddy! Daddy! There are butterflies in the backyard but Miss Lucinda and Miss Marla Mae don’t have time to watch me run after them. Could you . . . could we . . . ?”

  Clancy pretended to be stern. “Where’s your manners, young lady?”

  Abby stopped in midrun. “Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher. Good morning, Mr. Crayfield.”

  As soon as we both responded in kind, she looked at Clancy as if to say, Now can we go?

  Clancy got the message, and he hurried behind Abby as she skipped joyfully away.

  Norman stood and said, “Well, I have places to go and all that. I’ll see you later, Jessica.”

  He strode past Marla Mae as if she were invisible. She began to clear the dishes. “How were those muffins, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “Tell Lucinda I asked how she works such magic with blueberries.”

  “She’ll be glad you enjoyed them.”

  “Tell me, has there been any word from Dolores? Is she still in the library with Sheriff Halvorson?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Early on I did bring in a pot of Irish breakfast tea and a plate of muffins but neither of them talked while I was in the room. Miss Dolores looked a tad upset, but that’s how she’s been since Mr. Willis . . . And the deputy is still by the door. I did manage to give him a muffin but didn’t get any words back other than a thank-you. Tight-lipped, he is.”

  “Don’t I know it? I think I’ll go back to the office and begin to work on some of the files. I suspect that’s how I can be most helpful to Dolores. Please let me know the minute she comes out of the library.”

  I wouldn’t feel comfortable sitting at Willis’s desk, so I sat in a visitor’s chair and opened the Quartermaster file, intending to learn what I could so I’d be ready to compare notes with Harry McGraw when we finally reconnected.

  “Jessica, oh my goodness, there you are.” Dolores dashed into the room and slammed the door shut. Her face was flushed and she was wringing her hands.

  I tossed the folder on the side table and led her to a chair.

  “Sit down and take a few deep breaths. Then you can tell me everything that happened with the sheriff. Do you want me to ge
t you a glass of water?”

  Dolores waved me off. “No. No, thank you. I am really fine, just kind of shocked. He asked me the same stupid questions, but the shock was . . . Oh, Jess, Sheriff Halvorson said that Willis was murdered! Can you imagine? It happened sometime around midnight. Someone hit him with one of those white rocks from the sitting garden. They found the rock in the pool.”

  None of that surprised me. I wondered only why it took so long for the sheriff to tell Dolores, and why he didn’t want me in the room as a support for her when he was bringing such horrible news.

  Dolores’s next sentence made it perfectly clear: “He also said . . . he said coming to the house today was a courtesy on his part but from now on whenever we speak it would have to be at his office because—oh, I can hardly say the words—Sheriff Halvorson is declaring me a person of interest. Me! A person of interest in Willis’s murder.”

  Her voice broke and she erupted into tears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I pulled a couple tissues from my skirt pocket and Dolores took them gratefully.

  “I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to harm Willis, much less kill him? And why on earth would the sheriff think it was me? I loved him. I wanted us to spend the rest of our lives together. And so did Willis.”

  I waited until her tears diminished, then said, “Dolores, I know you realize this is serious. The sheriff told you that you are a person of interest so that you can prepare yourself for what is to come. I suggest you hire the best criminal lawyer you can possibly find.”

  “Marcus Holmes is the only lawyer I know. Do you think he can help me?”

  I shook my head. “From your description he handles civil matters, business affairs and such. However, I’m sure he can recommend a criminal attorney . . .”

  Dolores bolted from her chair. “Only a few days ago my life was picture-perfect; now, on top of my life being in ruins, I’m accused of being a criminal. Jess, I can’t deal. I just can’t.” She began pacing in a circle.

  “Settle down. I will take care of finding a lawyer, and then we’ll go to the kitchen and ask Lucinda for a nice pot of tea and perhaps some sandwiches or snacks. How does that sound?”

  I could tell by the way Dolores shrugged her shoulders that she was humoring me when she said, “I guess.”

  “Now, where would I find Marcus Holmes’s phone number?” I asked.

  “Center desk drawer. Willis has the tidiest address book. You’ll find Marcus easily.”

  I opened the drawer and the black leather book was dead center. I looked under “H.” No luck, but he was the very first entry on the “L” page. I guess Willis believed that Marcus’s profession was more important than his name.

  A young man answered the phone on the second ring. I gave my name and explained I was calling on behalf of Dolores Nickens and wished to speak to Mr. Holmes. He put me on hold; a minute later he picked up the call to say he would be right back, and put me on hold again. I was tapping my toe impatiently as I watched Dolores sink lower into her chair, becoming muddled by the panic that was setting in minute by minute.

  At last I heard the phone line come alive. A young lady asked, “Is that Mrs. Willis Nickens?”

  And before I could say anything more than “Hello,” she put me on hold. But a few seconds later, a man said, “Dolores, I am so sorry about Willis. I meant to call sooner, but the truth is, I didn’t want to intrude.”

  Talk about confusion. “Mr. Holmes?”

  “Why, yes, Mrs. Nickens . . .”

  “I am not Dolores Nickens. My name is Jessica Fletcher and I am calling on Dolores’s behalf.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, what can I do for you, Mrs. Fletcher? I promise you I will render any and all assistance to Mrs. Nickens during this, er, terrible time.”

  “I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Holmes, because your assistance is exactly what she needs. We have only recently learned that Willis Nickens was murdered . . .”

  “What? No! How is that possible? I mean, who? A burglar, something like that?” He was so flustered he was stumbling over his words. “Are you absolutely sure? Of course you are.”

  I wished he would stop talking and let me get to the point.

  At long last he began to wind down. “Who would say something like that if it wasn’t true . . . ? Er, of course you’re sure. How can I help you, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  “Mr. Holmes, I am sorry to tell you that—quite erroneously, I assure you—Sheriff Halvorson has decided that Mrs. Nickens is a person of interest in the inquiry regarding the death of her husband.”

  There—I couldn’t make it any starker. I was hoping to shake him into action. Instead, my words had the exact opposite effect: His bluster began anew.

  “Great Scott! Well, you do realize that I am not a practitioner of criminal law. It would be malpractice for me to even advise . . .”

  I interrupted his rambling. “Mrs. Nickens is merely asking for you to recommend an attorney who does practice criminal law and who could advise her in this situation.”

  I could feel him relax right through the phone. “Of course. Of course, that makes perfect sense. And for everyone’s protection it is probably wisest to delay the reading of the will until this is all sorted out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but right now Dolores had more important things to worry about. “Mr. Holmes, do you have a recommendation? Someone we can call today?”

  “Why, yes. I believe Francis McGuire is the very man. He is bright and confident and will protect Mrs. Nickens fiercely. It was nice to speak to you, Mrs. Fletcher. I only wish it was under better circumstances. Please hold on, and my assistant will provide you with the attorney McGuire’s contact information. And, er, please give Dolores my warmest regards.”

  Click. I was on hold once more.

  The assistant was quick, and I hoped accurate. I wrote down the contact information for Mr. McGuire, and then cajoled Dolores to come with me to the kitchen. She fumbled with the key until she got the door locked. I hoped a snack and a few minutes of quiet time would calm her nerves.

  Lucinda was bent over a cookbook while Marla Mae was folding table linens. Both stopped and stood at attention when they saw Dolores.

  “I was wondering if Dolores and I could sit at that picnic table outside the back door and share some tea and whatever sandwiches might be available.” I looked directly at Lucinda, sure that she would know exactly what would best suit Dolores.

  Lucinda met the challenge. “As a matter of fact, I just put a pitcher of sweet tea in the refrigerator. Miss Dolores, would you prefer a prosciutto and asparagus finger sandwich or a blue cheese and walnut? Shall I make two of each?”

  Dolores nodded and smiled her thanks. We walked through to the backyard and sat at the picnic table.

  Dolores said, “Great idea, Jess. I don’t know why I never come out here. I know Willis considered this to be part of the servants’ quarters, and I guess I went along. But look around. How wonderful it is to watch the birds sail from tree to tree on a sunny day. The world doesn’t look quite so bad from here, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. Just stay resilient, and I’m sure that you will get through this. In fact, I promise.”

  Lucinda brought out a tray of sandwiches and fruit, followed by Marla Mae carrying a pitcher of sweet tea and some glasses filled with ice.

  As they were arranging the table, I asked them to stay for a moment. “Dolores wants you to know that the next few days likely will be filled with commotion, and there will be lots of disruption to the daily schedules. I know you two can handle anything that is thrown your way, but it is important that you prepare yourselves. It is probable that the sheriff’s office will want to interview you at some point. At a time like this it would be usual for guests like Norman and Clancy to go to their respective homes, but for now it’s almost certainly best that everythin
g stay as it was the night Willis . . . died.” I decided not to use the word “murder” just yet.

  Lucinda took a step closer to Dolores. “Miss Dolores, Marla Mae and I have talked about this. Not gossip, mind you. Just sort of planning for the future. We know there might be hard times ahead. We see the sheriff coming back and forth . . . We hear rumors. Well, ma’am, we are on your team. Just tell us what to do, even what to say, and we’ll be happy to do it or say it.”

  I saw the tears begin to form in Dolores’s eyes, and before she could get all weepy again I became businesslike. “That is so nice of you both. Just tell the truth, and all will be fine. In the meantime, Marla Mae, if you could, call Elton and ask him to come over. Tell him that beginning today we would like him to come each morning and stay for the entire day in case we need to go somewhere in a hurry.”

  Dolores started to object, but I cut her off. “You know that you are in no condition to drive.”

  I turned back to Marla Mae. “Tell Elton to bring along his study materials, and he can set up in the library and do his schoolwork when he is not driving. As a bonus I am sure Lucinda will bake a treat or two should he get hungry.”

  Marla Mae grinned. “You are offering Elton the use of a library along with Lucinda’s baked goods. I can tell you that boy will be happy as a hog in a wallow.”

  I smiled uncertainly until Dolores said, “Jess, down here that means he’ll be really, really happy.”

  We sat enjoying our surroundings and sipping sweet tea. I took a bite of a blue cheese and walnut sandwich on what tasted like homemade sourdough bread. I encouraged Dolores to eat something. After she finished half of a prosciutto and asparagus sandwich, I felt that she had settled down enough for us to have a serious conversation.