Killing in a Koi Pond

by Jessica Fletcher

  I poured some more tea in each of our glasses.

  “Dolores, I don’t want to pry, and under normal circumstances it would be none of my business, but . . .” I hesitated.

  Dolores looked at me expectantly, ready for whatever I might bring up, so I plunged ahead.

  “I believe that you and Willis once had a misunderstanding so egregious that you locked yourself in your room for more than a day. I am sure the sheriff will want to know the cause of the argument and how it was finally resolved. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me about it before you have to tell the sheriff.”

  “Oh, that.” Dolores discarded it with a backward flap of her hand. “It was such a major fight at the time. I think it was twice as difficult because we had been a couple a remarkably long while without having a serious disagreement.”

  Dolores leaned back in her chair. “I know what everyone thinks of Willis—his bluster, his ego, and his need to win, all traits that could turn people off completely. But he needed all that exterior crustiness to feel in control of his life. I think the death of his first wife, Claudia, broke him emotionally. He adored her, and losing her was something he couldn’t control. He spent nearly twenty years focusing on the things he could control, especially money and power. Then his beautiful daughter, Emily, died. Again he was affected by something out of his control.”

  I had not looked at Willis’s persona quite that way. It never occurred to me that there was underlying damage that fed his need to be in charge. But Dolores had, and I supposed she thought her love could help him heal.

  She took a long sip of tea and continued. “As a second wife, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I did have some fear that Willis would either consciously or unconsciously compare me to Claudia and I would fall short. All during our courtship it never happened, and by the time we married I was relaxed, secure that Willis loved me and that I was not competing with a woman I’d never met.”

  Dolores described conquering something that I couldn’t even imagine. I thought her ability to recognize the problem and face it head-on was remarkable, and I said so.

  “One day Willis showed me a hand-tooled leather jewelry box, which I thought he’d bought especially for me until I lifted the lid. You can imagine my shock when I saw the name Claudia inscribed in gold on the inside. Even worse, there was jewelry, lots of expensive jewelry. Willis wrongly thought that he could just transfer the diamonds and emeralds from one wife to another. I practically threw the jewelry box in his face. I asked why he hadn’t given it to Emily.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I would wonder that myself. They were her mother’s jewels.”

  “As I’m sure you could tell, there was no love lost between Willis and Clancy. Willis never trusted him and always hoped Emily would end the marriage. But if that happened the jewels would be part of a divorce settlement, and that would have driven Willis insane. Of course, after Emily’s untimely death . . .”

  I was getting a clear picture. “Willis kept the jewels, and when you married he thought they should become yours.”

  Dolores nodded. “Exactly. He even offered to have the stones reset for me. He’d actually made an appointment for us to visit Morgana’s, the most exclusive jewelers in the state of South Carolina, to see what they could design for me. Can you imagine?”

  Actually, I could imagine. Willis Nickens was nothing if not a take-charge kind of man. Once he got an idea, I am sure it would be hard for him to let it go. I still wasn’t quite sure where the fight came into the story. “Dolores, what led to the huge battle?”

  “Honestly, Jess, haven’t you heard a word I said? It was the jewelry. How could Willis expect me to take those expensive gems and have them put in what he called ‘modern settings’ when he had a perfectly adorable granddaughter who should inherit her grandmother’s jewelry intact? When she is grown she can make her own decisions as to settings and all that. Maybe a grown-up Abby would actually prefer to have her grandmother’s jewelry in the original settings. You know how tastes change from generation to generation and back again.”

  Now I was thoroughly confused. “But the argument? I still don’t see a cause for an argument.”

  “That’s because you didn’t get to know Willis well enough. He had an idea that he thought was brilliant and he wouldn’t let it go. I told him that his mistrust of Clancy was clouding his judgment. He told me I did not know anything about dealing with duplicitous people. I reminded him that I’d had two duplicitous husbands before I met him. And it went on from there.” Dolores laughed. “I locked myself in my room and only Marla Mae was allowed to enter. He cracked in the middle of the second day.”

  Now I was laughing, too. “I suppose you won?”

  “Yes, I did. The whole enchilada, as they say. We agreed that he would hold on to the jewels and present them to Abby on some significant day—perhaps a special birthday, college graduation, engagement—a day to be determined in the future.”

  I thought back to what I had overheard during Willis and Clancy’s heated discussion the night Willis died. It was no wonder Willis had been so confident that Dolores would always put Abby first. She had certainly proved herself.

  “And now?” I hated to bring up Willis’s death, but that had changed everything.

  Dolores’s face clouded. “I would have to check, but I think Willis made arrangements that if anything happened to him, Abby would receive the jewels on her twenty-fifth birthday. I think some bank is the custodian until then. Something like that. Marcus will know.”

  “Yes, I am sure Marcus can answer a lot of our questions. One I have is about a folder I found in Willis’s file cabinet. Have you ever heard of Quartermaster Industries?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Before Dolores could answer we heard a tap on the kitchen door, and then it opened. Elton stuck his head between the door and the jamb, just far enough that I could see his blue and green striped bow tie.

  “Don’t mean to disturb.” His broad smile was infectious. “I just want to let you know that I have set up in the library, and that is where you’ll find me, at your service, whenever needed.”

  I was sure Lucinda had provided a delicious lunch, but, half teasing, I asked, “Did you manage to find something good to eat in the kitchen?”

  “Sure ’nuff. I had a fried catfish sandwich on thick slices of Lucinda’s homemade sourdough bread. Mmm-hmm. Don’t get better than that. Oh, Mrs. Fletcher, Marla Mae said you left your cell phone on the kitchen counter and it pinged a text message just now. You want me to get it for you?”

  I looked at Dolores. “Would you mind excusing me for a few minutes?”

  “Not at all. Go ahead—I’ll just sit here and enjoy my surroundings. I wish Willis and I had done more sitting and less socializing.”

  The text was from Harry McGraw.

  Jess, even if your friend has to split the guy’s estate with a dozen other people she would still be set for life. Call me.

  I thought, for privacy’s sake, my room would be the best place to make the call. I told Marla Mae I was going to slip upstairs for a few minutes, and she promised to keep an eye on Dolores.

  I was slightly drowsy from our relaxing lunch in the warm sunshine of the back porch, so my comfy wing chair looked extra inviting. I was afraid I would fall asleep if I sat down, so I walked back and forth, and while waiting for Harry to answer his phone, I pulled a pen and an old receipt out of my purse in case I needed to jot down a word or two.

  He picked up and, without preliminaries, said, “Jess, you are surrounded by a merry band of criminals. If I was you, I’d get out of Dodge ASAP.”

  That was enough to make me ask him to hold on while I opened the door to my room to make sure no one was listening in the hallway. Of course there wasn’t a soul, and I blamed Harry for activating my Spidey senses.

  “That’s some way to start a conversation, Harry. You ha
ve me looking over my shoulder for spies and scoundrels. What on earth are you talking about? Who are these criminals?”

  “Remember a few years back, here in Boston, we were all surprised to see how many people were connected to the gangster Whitey Bulger and his crew?”

  I had no idea where Harry was going but I tried to follow along. “I’m sure the entire country remembers. It was front-page news for months and followed up on for years.”

  “Well, your Willis Nickens had quite the crew around him. Gotta say, they don’t seem quite as dangerous as Whitey’s gang”—Harry chuckled—“but still, a questionable group.”

  My patience had run out. “Harry, what are you talking about? Who are you talking about?”

  “You got my text about the shoplifter, right?”

  “Marjory Ribault. Yes. Yes, I did. She does seem to have some . . . issues, I guess you would say, regarding money.”

  “Issues? Jessica, she ain’t some old lady stealing a few cans of Fancy Feast to feed her cat. The first time she was grabbed, it was for filching a bracelet worth—get this—seven thousand dollars. Daddy got her off by paying for the bracelet and promising she’d get ‘treatment,’ if ya know what I mean.”

  I knew exactly what he meant and, personally, I thought a bit of therapy would do Marjory a world of good. “What about the second time she shoplifted?”

  Harry cleared his throat. “Mind you, we only know about the first and second time she got caught. What she got away with before and after, we have no idea. Anyway, the second collar was for snatching a pair of high-end sunglasses at the eye doctor’s office. She went in for reading glasses and came out with a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar pair of sunglasses hidden in her coat. The optometrist’s assistant saw her slip the glasses into her pocket and followed her outside, demanding the dame pay up or return the glasses. It turned into a shouting match, with a bit of shoving on your pal Marjory’s part, and at some point someone called the cops. The optometrist is an old family friend, so she got off with a slap on the wrist. That’s all she wrote.”

  I was having a hard time believing that Marjory could murder anyone—she seemed more likely to turn her back, as she had the other night when Willis was looking for a bridge partner—but if she had actually assaulted someone, that did put a whole new spin on her personality. “Oh my, Harry. She certainly is a troubled woman. But I don’t see murder in her persona. I hope I’m not wrong.”

  “Next in our lineup, we have Clancy Travers. Seems like our boy forgets he shouldn’t drive after he’s had a few scotches. He’s got one DUI conviction and one case pending.”

  Now that was something I considered appalling. “And he has full responsibility for his nine-year-old daughter, who should never be in a car if her father is driving while under the influence. No wonder Willis was riding him so hard.”

  “You’re assuming the old man knew. That I couldn’t confirm.”

  “But if Willis did find out he might have tried to get custody of Abby, and wherever Abby goes, so goes her trust fund.”

  “True. You want to know about the next crook?”

  “I can’t wait to hear.” Harry was so full of information, I was having trouble taking down notes. “Wait a sec—let me get another piece of paper.” I opened the desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of pristine stationery meant for elegant thank-you notes, and poised my pen to record more criminal activity. “Go ahead.”

  “This Norman Crayfield—he is something of a playboy. Likes to party. Been locked up a couple of times. Small potatoes. He got nailed once in a sweep of a bordello in Charleston and has a couple of arrests for being on the premises of after-hours booze-and-gambling joints both inside and outside of Columbia. All misdemeanors. None particularly recent.”

  “I can’t say I am surprised. Mr. Crayfield likes to play the role of rapscallion.”

  “Get ready, Jess—here comes the big one. Candace Parker Smith, aka Candace Parker, aka Parker Smith. Served two years in Georgia, at Whitworth, for kiting checks.”

  “Kiting, did you say?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “What does that even mean?”

  “Jess, you write mysteries for a living. In all those books didn’t anyone ever play the check-kite game? You know, deposit a check from account one into account two. Account one doesn’t have the money to cover the check, but for a day or so account two doesn’t know it . . .”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. I once had a character who did what my research called ‘playing the float.’ It’s harder to do now, with all the electronic banking.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, this broad, who you know as Candy Blomquist, was something of an expert until she finally got caught in Georgia about twenty years ago. Far as I can tell, she’s been either clean or careful ever since.”

  “And her husband, Tom Blomquist?”

  “So far, not so much as an outstanding parking ticket, but I’ll keep looking. Oh, and I’m sure it will be a comfort to your friend the widow Nickens to know that her husband had no record whatsoever.”

  “That certainly will be a comfort, but it’s not the information that Dolores needs to know this very second. In your text you said that, well, Dolores will never have money problems again?”

  “Yeah. I’m still working on the money angle, Jess, but it does look like Willis Nickens was loaded with a capital ‘L.’”

  “And Quartermaster Industries? What have you learned about that?”

  “I learned it exists and Willis Nickens owns it. But it’s a privately held company, and the kind of info that public companies make available to potential investors is not easily obtainable with a click or two on the Internet, so I am tracking as much as I can through some of my sources, both the legit ones and the not so legit.”

  That was a bit of a jolt. “But, Harry, you said Willis had no criminal record, so why would you need to check with your less-than-legitimate friends?”

  “Jess, you’re a smart lady. You must know that crooks and con men understand more about high finance than your average bank manager. They need creative ways to hide their money, and most times the straight business guys are all too willing to help. Anyway, there’s no harm in asking around.”

  “I do see your point, although I always worry that you will get yourself into some sort of trouble.”

  “Goes with the territory, Jess, goes with the territory. And what about you? How are things at your end?”

  “More than a little hectic, I’m afraid. I did find a Quartermaster folder in Willis’s file cabinet but haven’t had a chance to go through it. Maybe I’ll get some answers there. My major concern is that, though it took a while, now the sheriff has announced that Willis was murdered—”

  Harry broke in. “I don’t know why he ever doubted you, Jessica Fletcher, Girl Detective. Once you decided it was murder, the sheriff should have just said, ‘Of course it was murder,’ and got on board.”

  I could practically see him grinning right through the phone.

  I said, “If only, Harry. The worst part is that he has named Dolores as a person of interest. The fact that anyone, anyone at all, would think she could ever harm her husband has driven Dolores to deeper and deeper lows. I am having trouble keeping her on track.”

  “Don’t worry, Jess. In a couple more days, we will have this all worked out. I just have to do a little more digging.”

  “Seriously, Harry, I know you are the best in the business but I didn’t expect that you would find out so much so soon.”

  “It’s gonna cost you. You’ll have to spend a weekend in Boston so we can visit the opera and have dinner at Il Cibo. Angelo will never forgive me if I don’t produce you soon.”

  I thought that was a price I’d certainly enjoy paying, and I told Harry so. “Of course, I also want to spend some time at Gilhooley’s. I haven’t seen Cookie in ages. If you run into him, please give him my regards.” />
  “As it happens, I got a guy on the hook for a game of eight ball tonight, and Cookie will be serving the poor sucker the beer he’ll be crying in.”

  “Oh, Harry, are you so sure your challenger will lose?”

  “Jess, he’s playing against me. Obviously he’ll lose.” Harry chuckled and clicked off the phone.

  I left my room to go back to Dolores and met Marla Mae coming up the stairs. “Miss Dolores was wondering where you got to. She sent me to fetch you, tell you she is waiting in Mr. Willis’s office. Something about a lawyer.”

  Francis McGuire. I checked that I had his phone number in my cell and went downstairs.

  Dolores was sitting in the leather chair behind Willis’s desk. “Funny, this chair always seemed so big to me, larger than life, but I guess that was because Willis was sitting in it. Now it’s just a perfectly normal desk chair.”

  I knew exactly what she meant. The significance of so many things, so many places, completely changed after my husband, Frank, died.

  I closed the door and sat down opposite her at the desk. “Before we call Mr. McGuire, is there anything you want to talk over with me, perhaps to get your thoughts straight?”

  Dolores looked pensive for a few moments, and then shook her head. “I can’t imagine anything I would need to tell the lawyer other than that I loved my husband, someone killed him, and no matter what Sheriff Halvorson thinks, it wasn’t me.”

  “Then we are ready.” I reached for the desk phone. “Once I have the lawyer on the line I’ll put the call on speaker.” Remembering how long it took to get through to Marcus Holmes, I cautioned Dolores, “It may take a while for me to get Mr. McGuire on the phone. We may even have to wait for a callback, but either way, we need to be prepared for the next time we hear from the sheriff.”

  The receptionist had a crisp no-nonsense persona. When I told her I was calling Mr. McGuire on behalf of Dolores Nickens, she immediately asked, “Is Ms. Nickens presently being detained by law enforcement?”