“Take a few more deep breaths,” I urged. One thing was certain: I’d already had all the calamities that I could handle in one day.
“Not to worry—I’ll be fine. I am going home for a lie-down, but before I do, I have to know, and as a complete outsider you are the only one here I trust to tell me the truth: Is that miserable wretch Willis Nickens really dead?”
I was shocked. “Marjory, really! How can you speak that way? After all, he was a human being, and his body is barely cold. His poor wife is upstairs, distraught with grief.”
“Pshaw. If you only knew the torture he’s put people through, sometimes for money, more often for his own amusement. I’m telling you, I can’t wait to dance on his grave. And I’m not the only one.” Marjory turned, and there was a real spring in her step as she sauntered back the way she’d come. I heard her begin to hum a tune, and it was far from a dirge.
Much of the activity at the koi pond had concluded. There was no sign of the Sheriff’s Department. An unmarked SUV was parked where Deputy Lascomb’s car had been. Two technicians, dressed in white plastic suits and headgear, were studiously examining the site. One was pushing a digital measuring wheel and recording the results on a clipboard. The other tech was taking water samples from the pond.
Nothing to learn here, I thought, and turned back toward the house. I was surprised to see Marla Mae walking down the driveway to meet me.
“Miss Jessica, Lucinda wants to know what’s your pleasure about meals. People are sure to be hungry, but we don’t want to bother Miss Dolores,” she explained.
I looked at my watch. Somehow time had jumped from six thirty in the morning to well past one o’clock in the afternoon. I thought for a moment. “Why don’t you set out a tray of sandwiches and pitchers of iced tea and water in the dining room, along with a bowl of fruit and perhaps a salad? If there are any left, a few of Lucinda’s delicious scones are sure to be a hit. And please let everyone know when the food is available. Except Mrs. Nickens. I want to check on her, so I will stop in her room myself,” I said.
Marla Mae scampered to the kitchen while I headed up to my room to make a quick phone call.
A few more buds had opened on the crepe myrtles outside my window. In spite of all that was going on, their graceful beauty made me smile. I sat in the comfy blue wing chair, pulled out my cell, and hit speed dial for my friend Seth Hazlitt, who I hoped would not have to miss my call because he had a patient sitting in front of him.
He answered on the second ring and started talking before I could say so much as “Hello.”
“Ayuh, Jessica, I have been wondering how your conference went. And I suppose you are down south visiting your friend about now.”
Wherever I was, no matter how far I traveled, Seth’s Yankee dialect always made me long for a decent-sized bowl of clam chowder and home. “Malice Domestic, as always, was an outstanding conference—lots of friends, lots of fun. As I’ve often told you, there is nothing more revitalizing for a writer than to spend a few days with other writers, and especially with our most enthusiastic readers. I enjoy their company so much, and it really gets my writerly juices flowing.”
“I, for one, am glad you are done with that conference. You know I don’t like going to big cities, or having you visiting one either,” Seth groused.
“Really, Seth. Malice Domestic is held in Bethesda, Maryland, hardly a booming metropolis. Bethesda is a charming little town. Lots of trees and lovely homes. Nothing big city about it.”
“But I seem to remember that to get there, you took the train to Washington, DC. Now there’s a place bound to be trouble—filled with politicians and tourists. I always feel better when you are in smaller places and away from crowds. Less likely to trip over a dead body.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer, and when I hesitated, Seth shouted, “Good grief, tell me you didn’t . . .”
“Now, Seth, don’t get your blood pressure up. And no, I didn’t trip, or I might have wound up soaking wet.” I tried to sound lighthearted but the situation was too somber for me to pull it off, so I decided to give him the straight truth. “Unfortunately, my friend Dolores’s husband did pass away sometime late last night or in the early-morning hours.”
“Pass away? Be honest, Jess: Did he die of natural causes, or is this another one of those murders you happen to find everywhere you go?”
“I don’t know the answer to that just yet. That’s why I’m calling you,” I said.
“Calling me? Do you expect me to diagnose cause of death over the telephone? Woman, have you lost your senses?” Seth’s voice went up several decibels.
While I hadn’t lost my senses, I was definitely losing my patience. “Seth, please, just let me speak. My friend’s husband did die under what I consider to be suspicious circumstances. We won’t know for certain until there’s a coroner’s report, or until the tight-lipped sheriff gives us some indication of what he believes happened. And if he does believe Willis was murdered, I am afraid that Dolores will be his prime suspect.”
Seth’s tone softened. “I am sorry to hear all this. I know you were looking forward to a nice, friendly visit, a little ‘remember when’ talking with a whole lot of shopping thrown in. How can I help?”
“Well, I couldn’t possibly leave Dolores alone with all this going on. So of
