Killing in a Koi Pond

by Jessica Fletcher

  “No, she is not. I hope it won’t come to that.”

  “In that case, may I ask your relationship to Ms. Nickens and the purpose of your call to Mr. McGuire? Is Ms. Nickens incapacitated in some way?”

  I was beginning to understand her screening process. “My name is Jessica Fletcher. My dear friend Dolores Nickens is sitting here with me and is available to speak with Mr. McGuire. I merely placed the call.”

  “Thank you. Please hold.” Before I could finish whispering to Dolores that Mr. McGuire’s office seemed very professional, the phone line opened again.

  “Francis McGuire here, Mrs. Fletcher. How is Mrs. Nickens doing this afternoon?”

  “Mr. McGuire, I am going to put the phone on speaker so Dolores can tell you herself.”

  I pressed the button and nodded at Dolores, who said, “Good afternoon. This is Dolores Nickens.”

  “Mrs. Nickens, Marcus Holmes told me to expect your call and explained your current circumstances. I am so very sorry for your loss.” He sounded remarkably sincere for someone who didn’t know either Dolores or Willis.

  Although I was afraid his kind words would have Dolores crying again, she held it together, thanked him, and said, “Sheriff Halvorson has named me a person of interest in the investigation of my husband’s death. I did not kill him.”

  McGuire’s response was lawyerly to the nth degree. “We can have that conversation at a later time. For now I need you to know that, as of this moment, I am your counsel of record. You are not to speak to anyone from the sheriff’s office about this case without me present. If they approach in any way with what appears to be even the most inconsequential questions, you demand that I be present. Is that clear?”

  When Dolores assured him that it was, he went on. “I’ll be at your house first thing tomorrow morning and we will map our strategy going forward. Get a good night’s sleep, Mrs. Nickens. Tomorrow the hard work begins.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I had a number of things I wanted to do, so I was relieved when Dolores decided she would go to her room for a rest. I was sure she felt that the world was crashing in on top of her. And in many ways it was.

  I went to the library, where Elton had his nose buried in a book. Always a gentleman, he stood when I entered the room. “Are we on the move, ma’am?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to check in. I have a few things to do, but later on I may want to go to Jessamine House. It’s actually a hotel. Do you know it?”

  “Doesn’t pop right to mind but I can find it and be ready to drive there whenever you want.”

  “Elton, you are the best.”

  I headed back to Willis’s office to read the Quartermaster file, but of course Dolores had locked the door. When she came downstairs later I would have her unlock it so I could get the two folders of interest and put them in my room. I was sure there was information inside each of them that would help resolve my curiosity about exactly how Willis ran his businesses and who, besides Dolores and Abby, might benefit from his death.

  Stymied by my research material’s being temporarily unavailable, I decided that going for a short jog to clear my head was my best option. I realized that if I could manage to run into Marjory Ribault, so much the better.

  I changed into my jogging suit and headed outdoors. I didn’t realize how much the stress of recent events was tying my body in knots until I stood on the veranda and took several long, deep breaths. I once had a yoga instructor who swore by the mantra “Inhale fresh air. Exhale stress.”

  I did a slow jog around the side of the house toward the putting green, and sped up when I veered off through the pines toward the kitchen garden. Then I slowed to a casual walk when I followed the rocky path to Marjory’s cottage.

  I knocked on the door twice, harder the second time. When she finally opened it, Marjory had a butcher’s apron wrapped around her body and a smudge of chocolate on her cheek.

  If she was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it.

  “Jessica, how nice of you to stop by. I don’t get many visitors. You are just in time to try one of my mocha cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Can you do with a cup of tea?”

  She was so cordial that knowing my mission would make her uncomfortable gave me a fleeting sense of guilt. Still, my decision had been made, so I panted as if I was seriously out of breath and replied, “I may have overdone my afternoon jog. And who could turn down homemade cupcakes?”

  From the moment I walked through the door of the cottage I could smell that homey scent of fresh baked goods that always permeated Lucinda’s kitchen. It seemed the two ladies had more in common than vegetables.

  Marjory set two cups with saucers on the table and motioned me to sit. She put a plate of cupcakes within easy reach and followed it with a pot of tea. “I hope you enjoy oolong. It’s my go-to cuppa in the afternoon, a little bolder than green, which is my favorite for evenings,” she said as she filled my cup.

  “I never met a cup of tea that I didn’t savor. This smells wonderful.”

  Marjory offered milk and lemon and was pleased when I opted for lemon. “I personally believe that milk is only appropriate with black tea, and I’m amazed that so many people pour it in all types of tea. Why, I have even seen people add milk to a cup of white tea, which is far too delicate for any kind of additives. Well, at least that’s my opinion.”

  I nodded. “I completely agree. White tea is so mild, a splash of milk could kill it.”

  Marjory smiled politely. “Milk kill tea? That is an odd way of putting it. I guess you mystery writers always think in terms of murder and mayhem.”

  Flustered, I took a bite of my cupcake, which was delicious. When I said so, Marjory confided that her secret ingredient was the slightest dash of turmeric, sifted twice through the flour. She claimed it strengthened the coffee flavor so it wasn’t overpowered by the chocolate.

  “Well, it certainly works. This is delicious. And I was so in need of a pick-me-up. I am glad that when I saw the cottage I thought to knock.”

  “Tense day?” Marjory’s tone was offhand, but she peered at me carefully, as if she was looking for an answer rather than lending support.

  I pretended to hesitate, as if I was not sure whether I should speak. And when Marjory inclined an ear closer, I said, “I am so worried about Dolores. I suppose you heard . . .”

  “Heard? Heard what?” Marjory’s face expressed a mixture of curiosity and alarm. “Is she all right?”

  “Physically, yes. She is perfectly fine, but emotionally . . .” I looked down at the table and shook my head ever so slightly. “You didn’t hear this from me, but I’m sure that the word has already spread around some quarters, so I may as well tell you . . .”

  Marjory was leaning so low across the table that her chin threatened to knock the lid right off the teapot.

  I lowered my voice as if afraid of being overheard, even though we were completely alone. “It’s Sheriff Halvorson. He’s declared Dolores a person of interest in Willis’s murder.”

  Marjory’s head snapped up and she stared at me, wide-eyed. “Willis was murdered?” It was a convincing expression of innocence. But it could be meaningless. She might have rehearsed it, waiting for this moment.

  “According to both the coroner and the sheriff, yes, Willis was definitely murdered.”

  “And they think Dolores . . . Why, that’s . . . that’s ludicrous. Willis Nickens was an evil, brutal man but Dolores loved him. I never understood how she could, but I am sure she did. Anyway, she’s such a sweet lady. I don’t think she could swat a fly, much less hurt a person, especially one she cared about.”

  “I agree completely. We all have to hope and pray that the real killer is caught and that Dolores comes through this crisis unscathed.” I held out my cup. “May I have a bit more tea?”

  I stayed long enough to finish a cupcake and promise to try the
turmeric trick the next time I was making anything mocha.

  When enough time had passed, I stood up. “Thank you so much for letting me unburden myself. I feel so much better.”

  “Please, Jessica, stop by anytime. That’s what friends are for, and this tragedy has certainly made our friendship warm up faster than it otherwise might have.”

  I was sure what she really meant was: Come over anytime you have more news about the goings-on at Manning Hall.

  When I got to the pine trees I turned, and Marjory was still standing in the doorway. We both waved good-bye, and after she shut the door, I began a mental countdown. Ten, nine, eight . . . , and I wondered what number I reached before she picked up the telephone. I didn’t have to wonder who she would call. I already knew.

  I jogged to the back door of Manning Hall, and when I let myself in, the kitchen was all abuzz.

  Abby was at the table sharing milk and cookies with Elton, who was regaling her with a story about Martians and moon men that had her giggling between bites of chocolate chip.

  Marla Mae said, “Good to see someone is up and about.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Miss Dolores is still upstairs. Mr. Clancy went home for a few changes of clothes, although he knows full well that we have a perfectly good washer and dryer here. As for Mr. Crayfield, he did mumble something about business and the office.”

  “Willis’s office? The one here in the house?” I was rattled. Did Norman have a key? If he found the folders I wanted to read, I might never see them again.

  “No, ma’am. Some other office.”

  That was a relief. It was imperative that I get those folders out of the office and hidden in my room the minute Dolores came downstairs.

  “Mr. Crayfield is always talking about going to the office or coming from the office. Sort of like Uncle Jasper.” Marla Mae snickered.

  “Uncle Jasper?” I had no idea who he was, but expected I was about to find out.

  “When we was children, old Uncle Jasper and a few of his cronies used to spend a large part of their days sitting on the side porch of Turner’s Feed Store playing checkers and taking the occasional sip of hooch. They claimed to be spending their time talking smart and solving all the world’s problems. Called that rickety porch their office. You reckon Mr. Crayfield has a porch somewhere?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Now, that wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

  Dolores walked into the kitchen, looking tranquil and refreshed. “Sounds like there’s too much fun in this kitchen.” She bent down and kissed the top of Abby’s head. “Is that true, princess? Is there too much fun?”

  “Oh, Granny Dolores, didn’t you tell me lots of times we can never have too much fun? Mr. Elton is telling me about moon men and Miss Marla Mae is talking about funny offices. Miss Lucinda is chopping potatoes—I was counting the times the knife hit the wooden board. Thirty-seven.”

  Every adult in the room looked at the child in amazement.

  Dolores said, to no one in particular, “What is that old saying about little pitchers?”

  “They have big ears,” Abby shouted gleefully.

  We adults couldn’t contain our laughter. Dolores sat down and tugged on one of Abby’s ears. “Yes, they do. Now tell me, are you willing to share a cookie with me?”

  Abby passed the plate of cookies and pointed to a cookie in the center. “Take that one, Granny Dolores. I think it’s the biggest. Daddy went to our house to get some clothes. I wanted to go with him so I could get Marilyn, my glitter monkey. I want to introduce her to Fluffy.” She pulled the wooden rabbit out of her pocket. “Daddy said I should stay here and he would bring Marilyn back for me. I hope he doesn’t forget.”

  Dolores and I exchanged a look. We both wondered why Clancy wouldn’t want to take Abby with him if he was only going home to pick up a few things and coming right back. There were so many odd mysteries in this small group of people.

  Lucinda invited Abby to go with her to the kitchen garden. “We need some nice ripe tomatoes and a few carrots for tonight’s salad, and I think you are the right woman for the job.”

  Abby raised her arms muscleman-style. “Yes, I am. And don’t forget that we have Fluffy. Rabbits are excellent at eating carrots, so they must be excellent at pulling them, don’t you think?”

  As soon as Lucinda, Abby, and Fluffy went out the back door, Elton excused himself to head for the library, but not before reminding us he was ready to drive at a moment’s notice.

  Marla Mae was cleaning dishes off the table when Dolores spontaneously grabbed her wrist. “I hope that Willis, wherever he is, knows that he has left me in good hands. You and Lucinda have done so much to help make this horrible time bearable. I hope you will consider staying on after . . . after everything is settled.”

  Marla Mae flushed with pleasure. “Yes, Miss Dolores, I will indeed.”

  Dolores turned to me. “And you. Jessica, how can I ever repay your many kindnesses? This was supposed to be a get-together with lots of gossip, reminiscing, and shopping. Glad as I am that you are here, I know this isn’t what you expected.”

  This was the first time since I’d given her the terrible news that Dolores seemed to be aware of what was going on around her. I took that as a sure sign she would be able to cope with the coming days.

  “I am glad to be here, especially under the circumstances. Having friends and family around me when Frank died was a great comfort.” I changed direction. “Now, I need a small favor from you.”

  “Anything, Jess.”

  “Could you unlock the office? I left a couple of things in there and I’d like to get them.”

  “That’s an easy one.” Dolores slapped her pocket. “The key is right here.”

  As we walked from the kitchen, she lowered her voice. “So, what do you think Clancy is really up to? Picking up some clothes. Ha.”

  “Now that you mention Clancy, there is something I have been wondering about.” I nodded my head toward the office door. This was a discussion that needed privacy.

  Dolores unlocked the door, and I made sure it was firmly closed behind us. Rather than chance my getting lost in our conversation and missing out on reading the files, I went directly to the first file drawer and pulled out the two folders. It was a major relief to see they were right where I had left them. Dolores watched me put them on a side table and take a seat in a guest chair.

  “What is so special about those file folders?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly. They seem to have something to do with Willis’s businesses and I thought there might be some information that would help the sheriff.”

  “I have more important problems.” Dolores crossed her arms and started to pace. “I’m afraid Clancy is going to cut me off from seeing Abby. That would be just like him. And it would break my heart.”

  “Oh good heavens, no. I doubt he will do that, at least not until all of Willis’s financial affairs are settled. Clancy is shrewd enough to want to know where he stands before he does anything rash. I do have some questions about Clancy but they have nothing to do with your relationship with Abby. I am curious about . . . well, about his drinking.”

  Dolores glanced around the room as if she expected someone, perhaps Clancy himself, to have sneaked in while we were talking. She took a step toward Willis’s desk chair but then opted for the visitor’s chair next to mine. She looked perplexed. “His drinking?”

  “Dolores, please, it may be nothing. But I did notice that at dinner the night I arrived he seemed to imbibe rather heavily.”

  “Well, he may have had a bit too much to drink but he was staying over, so what would it matter?”

  “There’s more. In fact, if Willis knew he may have told you and I am starting a big fuss for nothing.” I took a deep breath. “Clancy has been arrested twice . . .”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arres
ted? Dear Lord. Will he have to go to jail?”

  “I don’t know. Both arrests were for drunk driving. He was convicted once and is awaiting adjudication for the second arrest.”

  “Drunk driving! How could he possibly drive under the influence? He drives Abby everywhere. School. Playdates. Dance class. How can he put her in that kind of danger?”

  “We don’t know any details yet. It is quite possible that he drinks when he is out socially at places where Abby isn’t with him, or wherever.” That sounded lame even as I said it.

  “Even so, he could kill himself and leave Abby an orphan. I don’t even know what guardianship arrangement Clancy has made for her. Now that Willis is gone and Clancy has no family to speak of, I should step forward. I’ll do that right now, as soon as he comes back.”

  Dolores was ready for action much sooner than I had anticipated. I should have realized that if she thought Clancy’s drinking would affect Abby, she would move with lightning speed.

  “Dolores, please, slow down. There’s a lot to consider before you run off and talk to Clancy. For one thing, he is going to wonder how you know.”

  “How do I know? You told me, not five minutes ago. That’s how I know.” She pondered for a couple of beats, and then asked the obvious question. “How did you find out?” She looked at the file drawers. “Did Willis have copies of the arrest records squirreled away?”

  “Not that I know of. I haven’t finished looking through the file drawers, but so far I haven’t seen anything about Clancy’s drinking.” I was a little embarrassed to admit how I’d found out. “I have a friend. His name is Harry McGraw and he’s a private investigator. I asked him to look into, er, certain things for me and he stumbled across Clancy’s arrest records.”

  “Whoa. That was some stumble. Is your friend local? Can we meet with him?”

  “No, Harry works out of Boston, but he is exceptionally good at what he does.” Harry would appreciate that description. I took a deep breath, and laid out my idea about how this should be handled. “Obviously I had to pass the information on to you as soon as I learned of it, but, now that you know, I wouldn’t advise you to go charging after Clancy about his arrest records. Personally, I think you should hang on to that information. It may be quite useful when you and he are trying to come to terms with how much contact he will allow you to have with Abby now that Willis is . . . gone.”