“I understand—believe me, I do—but,” I cautioned, “it is critical for you to be at your best, your most attentive, when you meet with the sheriff. Take your cue from Mr. McGuire and answer all questions with a minimum amount of information.”
“I guess it pays to be a mystery writer. You seem to know exactly how this is done,” Dolores said.
“I suspect that in real life it is far more difficult than what I put on paper. Why don’t you have a cup of coffee and a scone? We have plenty of time.”
Dolores started to fidget. “Actually, no. I’d rather get out of here, even if we ride around for a while and are early for my meeting with McGuire. I don’t want to run into Clancy or Norman. I couldn’t bear to make small talk today.”
“Oh my, of course. That makes perfect sense. Why don’t you get your purse and whatever else you need, and I’ll find out if Elton is here and ready to go? I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“We are spending an awful lot of time in the kitchen lately. I hope Lucinda doesn’t think we’re in the way. I wouldn’t want to lose her and Marla Mae,” Dolores fretted. “Lucinda was with Willis for years. She might not like the change.”
I smiled, thinking of my recent conversation with Lucinda. “Trust me, Dolores. I don’t think you have to worry about anything on that score.”
Holding an oversized umbrella above our heads, Elton ushered us to the car. He said, “The cooler is packed and ready. Lucinda piled on the snacks and drinks in case the day goes extra long.”
Dolores said, “We have time before my meeting at the Grits and Gravy. Elton, would you mind taking us on a short ride through downtown? The least I can do is show Jessica the outside of all the touristy places I thought we’d visit while she’s here.”
“Don’t bother about me. I am glad that I’m here for you now. This is the time you need a friend around.”
“That’s very true, and I am grateful.” Dolores gave a wan smile. “But you have to promise me that a year or so from now, when this is all over, you’ll come back and we can have the girlfriend visit I planned for us.”
“All you have to do is invite me,” I said.
“Consider it done. Now look out the window. To our right is the Columbia Museum of Art. I had hoped I’d get to show it off. The collection is eclectic and organized by themes. One room has ultramodern pieces, and you walk to another room and find a portrait of George Washington by Charles Willson Peale. Small as the building appears from the outside, I could roam inside for hours.”
Elton made a left turn and I saw a bright red marquee with gold letters: S. H. KRESS & CO.
“That can’t be right. It must be the only Kress five-and-ten left in the entire United States.”
Dolores laughed. “That sign fools every tourist. When the building owners took it over, they decided to leave it up. They claimed it is a tribute to a once-great company, but most people think they just want to make sure the site is noticed. The real entrance is around the corner. It’s now a terrific Brazilian steak house. Excellent food, with even better service.”
“Miss Dolores, sorry to interrupt, but it might be time for us to start heading to your meeting,” Elton said.
Dolores agreed, and it wasn’t long before we were sitting in a quiet corner booth in the rear of the Grits and Gravy Café with Francis McGuire. I needn’t have been concerned by his informal clothes and offhand demeanor when he came to the house. Today he was all business, from his slim-cut chambray suit to his Cartier wristwatch, easily identifiable by its Roman numerals.
Our short ride through downtown had relaxed Dolores completely, and she treated McGuire as if he were a guest she needed to entertain, telling him anecdotes about how Willis courted her. Then she began to tell the story of building the koi pond. That was when he stopped her.
“Mrs. Nickens, we only have a few minutes. We have to get to work. You are a grieving widow under suspicion for her husband’s murder, not a socialite out with friends. This will be a weighty interview, not a polite conversation. You must treat it as such.”
I thought that was extremely harsh, but Dolores nodded meekly. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”
McGuire handed me a piece of paper. “Mrs. Fletcher, if you wouldn’t mind asking Mrs. Nickens these questions, she and I will answer in the same way we’ll do at the interview.”
He looked at Dolores. “No matter what is said, you will not speak until I have spoken. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Dolores said. “I understand.”
I had to laugh as I read the first question. “Mrs. Nickens, how old are you?”
I thought for sure Dolores was going to say, You know darn well how old I am. Our birthdays are only a few months apart. But she was obediently silent and looked at McGuire for direction.
Mr. McGuire said, “That question is irrelevant to your investigation. Mrs. Nickens declines to answer.”
He pointed to the paper in my hand, so I moved to question two.
“Mrs. Nickens, what is your favorite television show?”
McGuire waited to see what Dolores would do. When she remained silent, he said, “My client will answer the question. Mrs. Nickens.”
Dolores said, “It’s hard to choose. I love pretty much everything that comes up on Masterpiece on the public television station. You know, like Victoria, and Sanditon, and—”
McGuire said, “Please stop, Mrs. Nickens.” He looked as though he wanted to cover her mouth with his hand.
“But you said I could answer.”
“I did, but this is key. Answer as economically as possible. The less you say, the less they can throw back at us later. Now try that answer again.”
Dolores thought for a moment, then
