A second car pulled up and the word “deputy” was nowhere to be seen, although sheriff was prominently displayed. A tall man with broad shoulders and intense gray eyes stepped out of the driver’s seat. He wore a brown corduroy jacket over a denim shirt, along with jeans and brown leather boots. He had a tan cowboy hat in one hand and stood by his car waiting for his deputy to report. While they conferred I could tell when Lascomb mentioned me, because while he listened the sheriff gave me an appraising look that read either “suspect” or “nuisance”—it was hard to tell which.
I was hopeful he would pay more attention than Deputy Lascomb to my theory about the white river rock. But that hope faded when he stood in front of me and said, “I am Sheriff Zeke Halvorson. Thank you for being so cooperative with my deputy, Mrs. Fletcher. If we need you, we’ll be sure and look for you at the house. For now you might want to go and get some breakfast.”
He might as well have said, Dismissed!
“But, Sheriff . . .”
He had started to walk away but he stopped and swiveled his head toward me. “Mrs. Fletcher, would you like Deputy Lascomb to escort you to the house?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said more sharply than I’d intended. “What I would like is a moment of your time.”
His face became a mask of frustration, his Southern manners wrestling with his desire to get rid of me. Then he sighed. “Okay, you have two minutes.”
“Well, I didn’t want to touch anything, but it is possible that when you remove Willis’s head from the water you will find a wound that may have been caused by the white rock that is in the pond but obviously doesn’t belong there.”
“Mrs. Fletcher, why don’t you leave the detective work to us? You are looking for a crime that probably never happened. We have techs and a deputy coroner on the way. You just toddle along. We got work to do.”
“But don’t you think you should talk to Mrs. Nickens? Shouldn’t someone tell her . . . ?”
“Now, there is a job you can do. Luther here tells me you are a friend of the wife, er, widow. Perhaps you could tell her the sad news.”
He didn’t finish his sentence with and stay out of our way, but the look he gave me said it loud and clear.
To say I found him exasperating would have been putting it mildly. I jogged away before I said something I might regret, and then began to walk slowly back to the house. Poor Dolores. Just yesterday she had been happier than I had seen her in years. And now . . . this.
I dreaded the role the sheriff had assigned to me; still, I supposed that it was better to hear bad news from a friend than from a stranger. Perhaps I could offer some comfort.
I climbed the few steps to the veranda and was surprised to find Willis’s son-in-law standing behind a pillar.
“Good morning, Jessica. It looks like you and I are the only two early birds in the house.”
“I came out for a brief jog. May I ask what brings you outdoors so early?”
“My reason is far more devious than yours. Willis had a putting green installed on the far side of the house.” Clancy held up a putter. “Of course, he doesn’t allow anyone to use it without his explicit permission. Since I am an early riser and he is not . . .”
I understood completely. “You get your practice in and no one is the wiser.”
“Exactly. Now I have a question for you. I’ve been watching the hubbub down at the koi pond. What happened? Did someone poison the fish? Dolores must be completely distraught.”
I paused, not quite sure how to tell him the truth. I had a sense that Dolores should be told first. Yet I couldn’t brush Clancy off. He needed only to walk to the pond himself, and I was sure Deputy Lascomb would chase him away, citing a dead body as the reason.
“There’s been an accident.” Even though I was certain there had not been. “Willis is dead. He died near the pond. I found the body and called nine-one-one.”
Was that a mix of joy and relief I saw in Clancy’s eyes before he morphed into the grief-stricken son-in-law and said, “Willis? Dead? How awful! How is Dolores holding up?”
I noticed he didn’t ask how Willis had died, and I deliberately answered only the question he did ask. “Dolores doesn’t yet know. I am about to find her and tell her the terrible news. Perhaps you would be willing to join me?”
Clancy’s indecision was palpable until he came up with an answer that he was sure I would find satisfactory but would still get him out of the position of bearer of bad news. “Abby! I can’t have her find out from someone else. She will be completely devastated. But”—here he put on his brave face—“she should hear about Willis from me. I am her father.”
Yes, you are, I thought, and by a stroke of luck or something much worse, you will remain her trustee as well.
Clancy barged into the house and left the front door ajar. I could hear him banging up the stairs. Before he awakened the entire house, I thought I’d better find Dolores. I checked the living room and the dining room but there was no sign that anyone had been there. I looked at my phone. Seven fifteen a.m. Nearly time for breakfast. Definitely time to talk to Dolores. I decided to look for her upstairs.
I was at the top of the stairs in the hallway of the second floor when I realized that I had no idea which of the many doors led to the master bedroom. I walked along the hallway, hoping that Dolores was
