Jonah nodded. “My, you have given funeral plans a lot of thought in a very short period of time.”
I detected a slight tone of suspicion in his voice, so I chimed in, “Actually, we discussed these arrangements in the car on our way here. I am a widow myself, so I was able to help Dolores decide what she needed to do.”
If, as I suspected, Willis was a victim of foul play, I was sure the sheriff already had his eye firmly on Dolores. My intention was to distract the funeral director from any such thoughts.
Oblivious to the accusatory current swirling around her, Dolores said, “I am glad you mentioned the Community Hospital fund. Willis did work very hard on that committee. I think the fund should be one of the charities we suggest.”
Jonah Harrold stood. “That’s a grand idea. Now if there is nothing else that comes to mind, shall we take a look at the facility? Rest assured we’ll meet your wishes when the Coroner’s Office allows us to receive Mr. Nickens.”
Chapter Eleven
Jessica Fletcher. Long time, no hear.” Harry McGraw sounded as feisty as ever when he answered my call on the first ring.
When we had arrived home from Harrold Brothers, Dolores could scarcely drag herself into the house. Pleading exhaustion, she went directly to her room for a nap, which gave me time to call my favorite Boston private investigator. I was delighted to reach him so quickly. If he was working undercover or was otherwise embroiled, it would often take a few days for him to return a call.
“Hello, Harry. You’re right. I have been remiss, but, well, I was on deadline with my last book; then I went to a mystery conference in Bethesda—such a great time—and for the past few days I have been staying with a friend in South Carolina.”
“Jessica, South Carolina? Really? Isn’t it like ninety degrees there every hour of the day and night? We New Englanders don’t like hot weather.”
“Actually it’s not nearly that hot, and the scenery is quite lovely.” I looked out my window. “There’s a gorgeous tree that grows down here called a crepe myrtle, and they are in full flower all around my friend Dolores’s house, not to mention along the highways and byways.”
“Better not let Doc Hazlitt or Sheriff Mort hear you praising trees unless you are talking about solid New England red maples. You know they both think you spend too much time on the road as it is.”
Harry certainly had that right.
“And speaking of the road, when are you coming to Boston? I stopped by Il Cibo the other night for some gnocchi Bolognese and Angelo was asking for you. He claims you class up the joint, while I bring it down a peg or two.”
I laughed. “Oh, Harry, Angelo is far too agreeable to say something like that.”
“Which part, you being classy or me being the down peg? Anyway, I have a great invitation for you. The Boston Symphony has scheduled a very upper-crusty kind of concert with some major European opera singers—I didn’t pay attention to the names, but you probably know them. I thought you might want to show up.”
“A concert? With opera singers? Harry, that doesn’t sound like anything you would enjoy.”
“It’s not, but it does sound right up your alley, Jessica. A friend of mine got the security gig and asked me to help out, so I can get you in for free. And we can visit Angelo for dinner. You know he’ll make something extra special, like that chicken saltimbocca from his mother’s old recipe, if his favorite Cabot Cove lady is in town.”
“Well, that is an attractive offer, very hard to resist. I’ll call you when I get home and see what we can do, but in the meantime . . .”
“In the meantime you need me to take a look-see at something or somebody. Am I right?” His drawn-out sigh gave the impression that my asking was a terrible imposition.
“Harry, are you ever wrong?” I could almost see his grimace morph into a grin.
I gave him a brief rundown of my visit with Dolores at Manning Hall and ended by telling him about Willis’s untimely death.
“Untimely death, my eye. Just say it, Jess. The guy was murdered and you are on the case. Murder follows you like a gambler follows the ponies.”
“Harry, I do suspect Willis was murdered. Neither the sheriff nor the Coroner’s Office will confirm cause of death, at least not to me, not even to his widow. But Dolores is one of my oldest, dearest friends and I want to be prepared in case the sheriff comes knocking.”
“Gotcha. So, how can I help? First tell me the dead guy’s name and particulars so I can scratch it on a pad. That way I won’t have to call you back a hundred times with questions like ‘How do you spell the last name?’ or ‘Where did you say he lived?’”
“His name is Willis Nickens. His wife’s name is Dolores.”
Harry kept asking questions until he was satisfied that he knew as much as I did about Willis and Dolores.
“One thing I don’t get, Jess. If this guy is such a big-deal businesswise, how is it that you don’t know exactly what kind of business he’s in? How does a guy have no money worries but even his wife doesn’t know exactly what he does? Sounds shady to me.”
In truth the phrase “shady business” had crossed my mind when it came to Willis’s finances.
“Well, the word ‘investments’ came up a time or two, and there was the mention of at least one real estate deal.” I was as exasperated with my lack of knowledge as Harry was. Then I remembered. “Oh, wait. The Rotary. I recently heard that Willis was a member of the local Rotary Club,
