Killing in a Koi Pond

by Jessica Fletcher

  Dolores looked at me blankly; then a smile lit up her face. “Jessica Fletcher, you are a sly one. Clancy’s drunk-driving record gives me . . . leverage.”

  “That’s exactly how I see it. For now keep it up your sleeve, until it will be advantageous to bring it into the light.”

  Dolores clapped her hands. “With everything happening so fast, my major worry has been about losing Abby, and now, thanks to you and your PI friend, I have—leverage!”

  “Dolores, I know that’s what you continue to be most upset about, but I assure you that a sheriff who thinks you are, quite possibly, a murderer is a more compelling problem.” I couldn’t put it more bluntly. Dolores was running out of time. “Deputies with an arrest warrant could knock at the door any moment. We need to be prepared.”

  Dolores dropped her chin and hunched her shoulders. “But isn’t that why I hired Mr. McGuire? To straighten this all out?”

  “As your attorney, Mr. McGuire will protect you from hurting yourself in interviews with the sheriff or the government attorney. He also will be sure that no one on the law enforcement side crosses legal boundaries, so to speak. Our job is to be ready.”

  Originally I’d hoped to get Dolores energized enough to take an active part in her own defense; now I was asking her to go a step further.

  “Ready? Ready for what?” She seemed thoroughly confused, and I couldn’t blame her.

  “In a perfect world, with enough time we might be able to figure out who killed Willis, but for now I will settle for finding possible motives for someone else, anyone else, to have killed Willis. In fact, the more suspects we can find, the better off you will be. Sheriff Halvorson is content to focus on you. We need to change his focus.”

  Dolores frowned. “My life is beginning to sound like the plot of one of your novels. So, tell me, how do we do that? How can we create ‘suspects’? If there was evidence of a stranger being on the property that night I’m sure the sheriff would have found it.” Her brown eyes grew wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O. “No. You can’t mean we have to look at the family and friends who were here with us that evening.”

  I nodded. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what I mean.”

  Dolores sighed. “But it isn’t possible. None of them would ever, could ever . . .”

  I stopped her right there. “We don’t know what any of them may or may not have done, but we do know the sheriff thinks you killed Willis, and we certainly know you are completely innocent.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jess. I suppose you’re right. What do you need me to do?”

  I picked up the thinner of the two manila folders on the side table. “First off, tell me everything you know about Quartermaster Industries.”

  Dolores was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Are you quite sure? Willis never mentioned it, even just in passing?”

  “No. Never. The name means nothing to me. Why do you ask?”

  “According to Harry, Quartermaster Industries is a company that Willis owned. It is quite valuable, and Harry tells me it’s been difficult for him to uncover information because it is privately held. But we have this.” I held up the folder, pointing to the name on the tab. quartermaster industries. “Shall we take a look?”

  Dolores said, “That folder seems kind of skimpy. Must be a very small company.”

  I glanced at the first page and gasped. “Dolores, Willis never told you anything about the company? Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Why would he?”

  “Because, according to this document, Willis owned fifty-one percent of Quartermaster, Norman Crayfield owns ten percent, and you own thirty-nine percent.”

  “What? That’s not possible. Let me see that.” Dolores grabbed the paper from my hand.

  I pointed. “There’s your signature, and Willis’s. Your signatures were witnessed. Don’t you recall any of this?”

  “Honestly, I don’t. Let me see the date. Yes. This does make some sense, I guess. You know Willis had arranged for us to go on an extended honeymoon. We visited Australia and New Zealand, and then spent a luxurious week at the Ko Olina lagoons on Oahu.”

  “I remember you sent me pictures, but . . .”

  Dolores waved at me to be silent. “Because we were going to be gone for so long, Willis wanted everything to be in order legally. He mentioned health care, the ownership of the house. You know, married-people stuff. So, two days after the wedding, on the day before we left for a monthlong honeymoon, we went to Marcus Holmes’s office and signed scads of paperwork.”

  “And you didn’t look at any of it? You just signed whatever was put in front of you?”

  Dolores raised her eyebrows and gave me a look. “When you put it that way, I sound like a dolt.”

  I backtracked immediately. “Not at all. I am just beginning to understand that Willis wanted you protected with regard to all his assets as soon as possible after the wedding. So he had the lawyer set up everything for you both to sign. It came across as though it was routine housekeeping. Am I correct?”

  “Exactly right. What else is in the folder?”

  I held up a sheaf of white papers edged in blue. “Receipts for a storage facility. Do you know anything about a storage locker in a place called Seven/Twenty-four Storage?”

  Dolores shook her head. “Never heard of it. I guess Willis rented space there.”

  “Correction: You and Willis rented space there. Your name is on the most recent receipt.”

  “Honestly, Jess, how many secrets did this man have?”

  “If Willis was truly keeping secrets, your name wouldn’t be on anything. I am sure over time you will know all there is to know.”

  “I guess so, but didn’t he realize that he was going to leave me in a mess?”

  “Now, now, Willis didn’t plan it this way. I’m sure that given more time he would have told you”—I gestured toward the file cabinets—“about everything that he kept here.”

  “I know, but still . . .” Dolores stood up and stretched. “Anyway, what do you think he kept in storage?”

  “There is only one way to find out.”

  “Please don’t tell me to ask Norman—you know I can’t abide his slobbering all over me now that Willis . . .” Dolores said.

  “Good heavens, that’s the last thing I would suggest. Just because he has a ten percent interest doesn’t mean Willis confided in him.”

  “All along I thought Willis and Norman were full partners, fifty-fifty in everything. I wonder if this is their only joint business interest. If so, perhaps I could buy Norman out and be rid of him.”

  I didn’t think it would be nearly that simple. I cautioned, “Let’s not make any decisions. I was thinking more along the lines of visiting the storage facility to see what’s in it. We may find answers to any questions you have.”

  Dolores stretched again. “Let’s put that on the agenda for tomorrow. Right now I need a nap before dinner.”

  “Of course. You must be exhausted. There’s no rush. We can visit the storage locker whenever you are ready. Do you mind if I hold on to these folders?”

  “Help yourself. I am going to lock this office up tighter than a drum, so anything you want, get it now.”

  Dolores went upstairs, and since I knew exactly how I wanted to use my free time, I headed to the library to ask Elton to be ready to leave for Jessamine House in about twenty minutes. When I got to my room I looked around for a place to conceal the files. For the first time I wished I had a key to lock my door. After failing to find a good hiding spot in the bedroom, I put the files side by side on the bathroom floor and placed the fluffy bath mat on top of them.

  True to his word, Elton had the directions to Jessamine House down pat. When we turned into the driveway I could see instantly why Tom was so proud of the house. It was a two-story white clapboard bui
lding. Two curved staircases led from the left and right sides of the driveway to a wider set of stairs that ended on a wraparound porch with rocking chairs and garden swings scattered about.

  I told Elton I would be no more than half an hour. In response he held up one of his schoolbooks. “Take your time, Mrs. Fletcher. I have plenty to do.”

  As I reached the top of the steps Tom Blomquist opened the wide double doors.

  “Ah, J. B. Fletcher. We are honored. Welcome to Jessamine House.”

  Tom ushered me into the lobby, where several guests were sitting under ceiling fans, their broad leaf blades circling languidly. Candy was moving among them with a teapot in one hand and a pitcher in the other, offering refills.

  “Ah, you’re just in time for a mint julep. Or would you prefer tea? Candy,” he called to his wife, “look who is honoring us with her presence, our dear friend the famous author J. B. Fletcher.”

  He got precisely the reaction he was looking for. The hotel guests reacted to the word “famous,” skipping entirely over the word “author.” Heads turned as they looked around for whatever movie star or country singer they hoped to see—all except one woman, who nudged the man sitting next to her on a wicker settee. “Harvey,” she said in a stage whisper, “it’s her. The lady who wrote that racing book you loved so much. You know, with the crown in the title.”

  She looked at me and raised her voice. “You must remember. You wrote it, didn’t you?”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked to identify one of my books for an avid reader. I said, “Are you referring to The Triple Crown Murders?”

  “That’s it.” Harvey jumped from his chair and began pumping my hand furiously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, a country-fried pleasure.” Then he dropped my hand and went back to huddle with his wife in excited murmurs.

  Satisfied that was all the reaction to be had, Tom escorted me to a quiet nook and we sat in catty-corner chairs.

  Candy came over with a dainty porcelain teacup and saucer in hand. “It’s good to see you, Jessica. Here. I didn’t think you were the mint julep type, but if I am wrong . . .”

  “No, this is absolutely fine. I have to say, Jessamine House is even lovelier than you described it. The outside staircase alone . . .”

  “Yes,” Tom said. “The staircase and the large porch are two of our major selling points. Anyone can make rooms look like they’re from the 1800s, but the outside character of a house . . . Well, Jessamine House carries the indelible mark of two-hundred-year-old architecture.”

  “Oh yes, it gives exactly that impression.” I took a sip of tea, hoping he would take the conversational lead.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to stop and say a proper hello the other day when I dropped off Norman. But we had new guests expected to register. After I drove off, I thought to myself, where are your manners, honking like a high schooler? Shame on me.”

  “Don’t be silly. I did wonder, though, how you were going to get through the gate.”

  “Easy peasy.” Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. Hanging from one link was a clicker exactly like the others I’d seen for Manning Hall’s gate.

  When I appeared not to recognize it, he explained, “Old Willis had a lot of clickers made for the gate. So many people need them: the staff, the gardener, and naturally his houseguests.”

  “Naturally.” I nodded but managed to keep a befuddled look on my face.

  “It’s Norman. He and I often play snooker of an afternoon. Norman likes to have a bourbon or two, and I am the designated driver.” He tapped lightly on his stomach. “Ulcers, you know. So when Norman stays at Manning Hall, he often gives me a guest clicker so we can come and go to Tiny’s Billiard Parlor, or wherever else, totally under the radar.”

  “I understand. No one likes to have to clock in and out when they are a houseguest. That can be so tedious.”

  Candy came to our corner of the room. “Jessica, don’t let Tom talk your ear off. He promised to help our one permanent resident, Mrs. Coyle, package some of her ‘collectibles’ and then take her to the post office to mail them to her niece in Ohio.”

  “Ah, I had forgotten all about that. I’d better run. Nice to see you again, Jessica.” And Tom rushed off.

  “My official duties as tea pourer and bartender are over for the day, so why don’t I show you around?” Candy waved me out of my chair.

  I stood and hooked my arm in the crook of her elbow. “Lead on.”

  “Shall we start in the gardens? They are so pleasant this time of day. Are you ready?”

  I was more than ready. “Sounds lovely. While we’re there you can tell me if the name Parker Smith rings a bell.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Candy pushed me away and spun around until she had completed a full circle. She was in absolute shock. Her eyes darted around the room as if she was afraid someone was coming for her with handcuffs. Her words were nearly inaudible: “Shush. To the garden. Now.”

  She nudged me toward a set of French doors that led to the porch. We walked down a side staircase into a delightful section of the garden where trellises of climbing roses and clematis were surrounded by patches of fragrant lavender. Under normal circumstances it would have been a lovely spot for a private conversation, but our talk was going to be far from normal.

  Candy walked all around the edge of the garden, peering over bushes and behind trees to be sure there was no one within hearing distance. When she came back to where she’d left me standing, she said, “I think it’s best if you tell me how you found out.”

  Determined to keep her off guard, I said casually, “I have friends, and my friends have friends. Word gets around.”

  “Let’s take a seat.” Candy indicated a white wrought iron bench far from the porch. Her hands were shaking so badly that she clasped them together, fighting for control.

  Once we settled in, she looked me straight in the eye and, her voice full of conviction, said, “Parker Smith is dead and buried. I can tell you that for certain.”

  “I am curious about one thing. Did Tom ever have the opportunity to meet her?” I asked.

  “No. Of course not. Parker Smith and her alter egos existed decades ago. After a few devastating scrapes with the law I learned my lesson and changed my life. Then I met Tom. Everything else is ancient history. As if it never existed.” She looked at me, her eyes filled with worry. “You didn’t tell Tom, did you?”

  “Good heavens, no. It’s not my place to tell him, but after all these years, don’t you think you should? In my experience, keeping secrets in a marriage is never a good idea. It often leads to upheaval or tragedy. Think how hurt Tom would be if he found out about your past from someone else.”

  “Believe me, Jessica, that is my most constant worry. By the time he and I met I had concealed the fact that I used to be a swindler for such a long time that it seemed natural to just ignore it. Then as I grew to love Tom and wanted to share my life with him, a man who is so decent and kind, I was terribly afraid that if I told him about my past he would leave me. It has always been the elephant in the room, but an elephant I sincerely hoped Tom would never see.”

  I found that to be an extremely interesting statement, so I asked, “And when you found out Willis had died in rather odd circumstances, were you at all afraid that the sheriff would want to interview and investigate everyone who was at Manning Hall on the night Willis died?”

  “If you are asking if I was afraid the world would find out about Parker Smith, yes. Yes, I was. And I was most afraid that Tom would find out and hate me for the liar I am, maybe even leave me.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments, and then Candy asked, “Did Willis know? I was always afraid that he would discover my secret and use it as a weapon in one of his torment sessions. In fact, when he wouldn’t give us the loan for this place I was afraid he’d
found out and didn’t trust us. Didn’t trust me. With my history, who would lend me a dollar, never mind thousands of them? It seemed that Tom would not be able to fulfill his dream, and I was afraid it would be completely my fault.”

  “Candy, are you saying that you knew Willis was going to deny the loan?”

  “Oh yes. Tom and I both knew. Since they’re friends, Norman told Tom in the strictest confidence.”

  “But when we were playing bridge after dinner, Willis bullied Tom so deliberately that I was puzzled Tom allowed it. At first I assumed he was just being a gracious guest, but once I learned about your asking Willis for financial help of some sort, I determined Tom didn’t want to jeopardize your chances.”

  “It was a tricky situation. Willis kept telling Norman that he was going to deny the loan, but Willis never told Tom and me. Jessica, we’d approached every possible source and been turned down. A private loan from Willis was our last chance. So when Norman told us, completely off the record, that the loan was a no go, we decided it was best to keep sucking up to Willis on the off chance he would change his mind. Then he died. So now it’s a completely new ball game.”

  I said, “It certainly is. You and Tom went from the certainty that Willis was going to deny your loan to the real possibility that when the dust settles, Dolores will grant it.”

  “When we heard about Willis— I mean, it was a great shock, as you can imagine, but for us there was a silver lining. We were sure Dolores would be much easier to work with and we’d be able to get a nice loan at a decent rate. But now that the sheriff is looking at her for Willis’s murder . . .” Candy clasped her hand over her mouth.