The interior was black leather trimmed with silver. As I clicked my seat belt shut, I complimented Elton on how immaculate the car was.
“Yes, ma’am. We have a top-notch cleaning crew. Still, I make it my business to get to work early for my shift, and soon as I get my assigned car, I give it a good once-over. You never know. One time the cleaning crew missed an empty chips bag stuffed in the glove compartment.”
We started down the driveway. When we passed the koi pond, the only remnants I could see from the morning’s tragedy were yellow police tape and black smudges along the pool’s edge. I assumed the smudges were fingerprint powder.
Elton said, “Sorry to hear about the mister. Accidents like that cause all kinds of grief. Marla Mae did say he was a handful, but I know she never wished him harm.”
We stopped at the gate and Elton reached into his pocket, and out came a clicker just like the one Dolores had me use when I arrived.
“I was wondering how you got through the gate. I didn’t realize you had a remote control.”
“Not mine to have. Marla Mae has a clicker, and she walked down to the gate to let me in. There are always extras on hand for houseguests, so Marla Mae will just use one of those until I return hers. I expect Mr. or Mrs. Nickens would have given you one of your own had you come by car.”
I mulled that over for a mile or two, then asked, “You mentioned that your sister found Willis Nickens to be quite a handful. In what way, exactly?”
Elton made a left from one main road to another. “Oh, you know. There’s bosses, and then there’s bosses. Some are pleasant and treat you good. Some . . . don’t.”
Remembering the various principals who supervised me when I was a teacher, I knew exactly what he meant. “And I suppose Willis fell on the ‘don’t’ side of the equation.”
“That he did, Mrs. Fletcher. That he did. Marla Mae said he made her so nervous that she would tiptoe around to see where he was before she started her chores. If it was dusting day and he was in the living room, she’d make it her business to start in the dining room. Lucinda took to giving Marla Mae a cup of chamomile tea before she served dinner, just to steady her nerves.”
“What was it about him? Can you pinpoint that for me?”
“I guess you could say he was bad-tempered, always loud and bullying. Not just to the staff, even to guests and friends. Just last week Marla Mae walked in on him throwing a manila folder across the room while shouting up a storm. And that time he was all alone. Crazy, huh?”
“Crazy,” I agreed, although I did wonder what could have been in the folder to get Willis so riled.
“Sure ’nuff got Marla Mae’s nerves atwitter, that I can tell you.”
“Oh, I imagine it did.” Even as I spoke I realized that Marla Mae had been so intimidated by Willis that it would have been impossible for her to stand up to him, much less hit him with a rock. She might be relieved that he was gone but she would never have had the wherewithal to make him go.
Elton turned into the driveway of the Sheriff’s Department headquarters, a neat redbrick building surrounded by a well-manicured lawn and a fine selection of shade trees. He pulled to the curbside near the entrance. “Would you like me to park the car and accompany you, ma’am?”
“You’re very kind, but I can manage.”
Elton handed me a business card. “I will be in visitor parking. Call me when you are coming out and I’ll meet you right here. You do have a cell with you?”
I put the card in my purse. “Oh yes, I’ve learned to keep my phone handy.”
As I opened the car door, Elton gave me a snappy salute. “Good luck.”
I would need all the luck I could get. Even if his technicians had found something to support my suspicion that Willis Nickens was murdered, would the sheriff loosen up enough to tell me?
Chapter Eight
The lobby of the Sheriff’s Department was bright and cheery, not at all dingy and dour like the hoosegows in the cowboy movies of my childhood. An older couple sat side by side on blue visitors’ chairs in front of a row of wide windows partly covered by venetian blinds. Several deputies were busy tapping on computers and shuffling paperwork behind a sleek counter with a beige faux-marble top.
A female deputy, with wide blond streaks in her pixie hairdo, looked across the counter. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. My name is Jessica Fletcher. I met with Sheriff Halvorson earlier today and I would like to continue our discussion.”
The deputy, whose name tag said remington, tapped her keyboard, glanced at her computer screen, and looked puzzled. “You say you were at a meeting with the sheriff? Earlier today? The schedule doesn’t indicate . . .”
“It wasn’t a formal meeting. I discovered a body, and the sheriff arrived . . .”
I must say she had excellent control of her facial muscles; her mouth barely twitched and her brow stayed steady, but I could see she was thinking, possible cuckoo.
“Mrs., uh, Fletcher, we haven’t met before, so maybe you could explain a little more. Do you often discover dead bodies and have conversations with the sheriff?” she asked just loudly enough to get the attention of the other two deputies working nearby.
“Actually it has happened before, although not in this jurisdiction, and certainly not with Sheriff Halvorson, at least not until today.” I thought that would clear things up, but instead one of the other deputies stood and walked over to the counter.
“Sheriff Halvorson is not available today. If you would like to leave your name and phone number, perhaps someone else can help you
