I put my arm around her and said softly, “Dolores, it’s probably not the best idea for you to see Willis just now. Perhaps later . . .”
I handed her a fresh napkin.
She brushed the tear tracks from her cheeks and whimpered. “If you think so. Maybe it would be best to wait until I . . . adjust to the idea. I’d better go fix my face and then find Clancy. It’s time we went to see Abby.”
“Not quite yet, Mrs. Nickens.” Sheriff Halvorson put up his hand like a traffic cop. “We still need to talk.”
Dolores was half standing. She wavered for a second or two, and then, completely deflated, sat back down and asked petulantly, “My husband is dead. What on earth could be so pressing?”
The sheriff gave me a pointed look, and when I didn’t move he ordered, “J. B. Fletcher, mystery writer, it is time for you to leave Mrs. Nickens and me alone for a bit.”
Dolores started to object, but then heaved a prolonged sigh. “I’ll be fine, Jess. Why don’t you find Clancy and tell him I will be with him shortly?”
I walked out of the room, purposely leaving the door ajar, but Sheriff Halvorson called after me, “The door, please, Mrs. Fletcher.”
Deputy Lascomb was standing near the front door like a sentry. I gave him my broadest smile. “Would you like a cup of coffee, Deputy? There’s plenty in the dining room.”
“No, thank you. I have to watch the door. No one in or out. How you holding up, ma’am? Stressful day all around.”
“Yes, it certainly is. Here I thought Dolores—Mrs. Nickens, that is—and I could have a nice visit, talk about old times, catch up on the present, and now this.” I shook my head. “Tell me, is there any news? Have your technical people arrived? What have they found?”
A “should I or shouldn’t I?” look flitted across his face, and apparently “shouldn’t” won. He gave me an apologetic smile. “Lots of busyness out there at that pond. Forensics, deputy coroner, all sorts of folks, but as to what they find or don’t find, that is way above my pay grade. They’ll report to the sheriff, not to me.”
“I understand. It’s just that Dolores will have to make some arrangements. Do you know how soon Willis might be returned to her?” I hoped the question sounded innocent enough; past experiences told me that death by foul play meant the body would have an extended stay with the local authorities.
“Sorry, ma’am, but anything you want to know has to come from the sheriff.” Lascomb nodded toward the library door. “Maybe he is telling your friend some details right now.”
Although I was sure that was not the case, I nodded in agreement. “That’s probably so. Well, I am going to find some breakfast.”
I headed to the dining room interested more in what tidbits of information I could glean from Clancy and Norman than in whatever delicious food was on the breakfront. As I passed the library door, I walked as close as I could without arousing the deputy’s suspicion. Unfortunately, not a sound penetrated the solid oak.
It’s a good thing Deputy Lascomb declined my offer of coffee, because when I entered the dining room I was surprised to see there was not a person in sight, and the detritus of breakfast had been completely removed. The room was spotless. I thought about sitting and waiting until I heard the library door open, but opted to explore the first floor instead. Perhaps it would have been a good time for me to look for the kitchen, now that it was daylight. I passed Willis’s office on my right and the staircase on my left. Just behind the staircase was an alcove, its only furniture a serving table covered with neatly piled table linens and a tray of cutlery. I was sure the unobtrusive spot saved Marla Mae many a trip back to the kitchen for an errant fork or dropped napkin. The alcove led to a hallway, and I heard faint voices from farther along.
Should Dolores need me I didn’t want to be too far away, but I decided to follow the voices. I reached a double doorway, both doors wide open, just as a woman, whose voice I didn’t recognize, said, “I’m not understanding any of this. How could Mr. Willis fall into the koi pond?”
I said, “If you’ll pardon my intrusion, I don’t think he fell.”
Chapter Six
The two women sitting at the kitchen table sharing scones and coffee stood so quickly that their chairs bobbled and rocked behind them. I recognized Marla Mae, but it was the older woman, with silver hair piled neatly on top of her head, and wearing a light blue bib apron, who spoke.
“Good morning. You must be Mrs. Fletcher. I am Lucinda Green, the housekeeper. I hope you don’t think we were gossiping . . .” She trailed off, and then, as if she saw her way out of an awkward situation, said, “Is there something we can do for you, ma’am?”
I glanced at the table and saw my opportunity to talk to the ladies without appearing to pry. “Those scones look delicious. Blueberry?”
Lucinda got my message. “Blueberry. Made fresh this morning. We’d be pleased if you would sit for a bit. Can I offer you a cup of coffee, or perhaps some Irish breakfast tea?”
“Coffee, please. I definitely need caffeine.” I absentmindedly ran a hand through my hair. “What a day it’s been, and it’s still early morning.”
As I sat down, Marla Mae put a mug of coffee at my elbow and Lucinda passed me a plate with two large blueberry scones covered in a light glaze.
“Would you care for some butter?”
I took a bite. “These are so moist, no butter needed, but thank you.”
In spite of the stress of the morning, Lucinda radiated delight. The ladies sipped their coffee and gave me ample time to finish an entire scone
