“Willis, ma’am?”
“Yes. The deceased. Willis Nickens, owner of Manning Hall, where I am a houseguest. I am a friend of Mrs. Nickens.”
“I see. Well, we have a deputy en route. He’ll be there in a quick minute. In the meantime please don’t touch anything.”
“Oh, there is an electronic gate. Your deputy will need a clicker to open it,” I said. “There may be a clicker in the glove compartment of Mrs. Nickens’s car. Shall I try to find it?”
“Don’t worry your head at all. We can override that gate lickety-split. The property owner has the gate registered in our emergency system. Are you feeling okay, ma’am? Must be quite a shock, finding a body and all. Is there a place you can sit down?”
I looked around, but the chairs and benches in the sitting garden were too far away. I certainly didn’t want to leave Willis alone. “I can manage waiting for the deputy.”
There was genuine concern in her voice. “I can stay on the phone for as long as you need me.”
“That won’t be necessary. I am perfectly fine.” While we were talking I was trying to examine the general area, but the dispatcher was a total distraction. I was getting impatient for her to cut me loose.
“Okay, then, ma’am, just give us a call back if I can help in any way.” And at last she was gone.
I bent down to take a closer look at the body but was careful not to touch it. Willis was in a fetal position on his right side. His head was turned into the pond and partly underwater. One of those white river rocks that lined the sitting garden was lying in the water inches from his face. I wondered how it had wound up in the pond.
I stood up to examine the surrounding area. That’s odd, I thought: Willis was still dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn last night, but instead of his fancy patent leather shoes, he was now wearing slippers. I also spotted the remains of a cigar tucked against the border of the koi pond. It had a long ash, as if it had been half smoked, then dropped, and had burned itself out on the ground.
A dark sedan came up the driveway. As it turned toward me, I saw the words deputy sheriff and richland county printed across the side and a six-point sheriff’s star on the front door. In case I had any doubt, the driver flashed red and blue roof lights quickly but silently. He parked several yards away and got out of the car, talking into what I supposed was a radio on his shoulder. I heard him say, “Copy that.”
Each sleeve of his navy blue uniform sported a large yellow patch declaring him to be a member of the Richland County Sheriff’s Department. He put on a baseball cap, adjusting the fit as he ambled toward me. “You Jessica Fletcher?”
“I am. And this”—I pointed to the body—“is Willis Nickens, the owner of this property.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Sorry about the circumstances. Deputy Sheriff Luther Lascomb’s my name. I’ll be handling things until Sheriff Halvorson shows up.” He hitched his equipment belt, causing his handcuffs to rattle. Was he trying to show me he was prepared for any trouble I might cause? “Now, would you mind moving over there and standing under that big ole bald cypress for a few minutes? Let me take a look at Mr., um, Nickens.”
I did as I was asked but I watched him very closely. Deputy Lascomb leaned over much the way I did when I first saw Willis lying there. He didn’t touch anything but didn’t seem to be looking for much either. After a while he walked back to me and took out a notepad.
“Hmmm, could have fallen, I guess. We’ll see what the coroner says. Now, tell me what you are doing here, Miz Fletcher. How you come to be on Mr. Nickens’s property.”
I explained I was a houseguest out for a morning run.
He scribbled on his pad, then raised one eyebrow suggestively. “Would you mind telling me exactly how it is you’re sleeping here?”
I wasn’t going to let that insinuation float for so much as a second. “I barely know Mr. Nickens. I’m here because I went to school with his wife, Dolores.”
“Oh. There’s a Miz Nickens. And where might she be this morning?”
“Up at the house, I suppose. Possibly still sleeping.” I was losing patience with these questions, when it was obvious, at least to me, that Willis Nickens had been murdered. “Deputy Lascomb, did you happen to notice the large white rock in the pond? It belongs in the sitting garden, and I can tell you that it certainly was not in the pond yesterday.”
“You sure about that? Folks use these rocks as decorations all over the place. Time was, you hardly saw them at all. Now they are around every fishing hole, lily pond, and even some swimming pools I’ve seen. So tell me, besides you and Miz Nickens, who else might be around and about.”
I was exasperated that he so pointedly ignored my suggestion but decided it was best to answer his questions until I could try again. “Well, I know there is some household help that sleeps in, but I am not sure how many. Mr. Nickens’s son-in-law—they call him Clancy, though I can’t recall his last name—and his daughter, who is only nine, are also guests.”
“Do you know where Mr. Nickens’s daughter is? This Clancy fella’s wife.”
“Tragically she passed away from a brain tumor some time ago.”
“Unlucky kid. Lost her mama and now her granddaddy.” Lascomb shook his head. “Some families do get hit hard. So, is that the list or is there anyone else?”
“Oh yes. I nearly forgot Norman Crayfield is a houseguest as well. He’s Mr. Nickens’s business partner.”
“Really? That’s interesting. Would you happen to know what kind of business the two were in?”
I searched my mind. “Sorry, no. I don’t believe it
