I put my phone on the charger and crawled into bed. If Harry didn’t come up with something to clear Dolores within the next twenty-four hours, I was going to have to figure out a way to do so myself.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The first thing I did when I awoke was to check my cell phone, but apart from a text my editor had sent requesting an appointment to talk about my next book, there was nothing of interest. All I could do was wait for Harry to dig a little deeper while I snooped a bit more on my own. Maybe we would get lucky.
I did my stretches and put on my jogging clothes. After I stopped in the kitchen to let Lucinda and Marla Mae know that I wouldn’t be gone long, I went out the back door. The morning fog was dense but seemed to be lifting, so I walked to the rear of the house to take a closer look at the thick stand of moss-covered cypress trees that Dolores had mentioned yesterday. The Spanish moss and the heavy fog mixed so tightly together that I half expected the Headless Horseman to come clomping through the trees with a fiery pumpkin in his hand. Or did that happen only in Sleepy Hollow?
I walked along the edge of the tidy boundary between the trees and the neatly manicured lawn, but no matter how I tried I couldn’t see so much as a suggestion of the path that once led to the stables. I turned in to the sitting garden and began to walk more briskly. At the koi pond, I came to a dead stop.
In that instant I realized I’d forgotten to tell Dolores that the koi were coming home today. “Oh dear,” I said to myself.
I was disconcerted when a voice behind me said, “It is a sad sight, isn’t it? Without the fish?”
Norman Crayfield had a cigar in one hand and his cell phone in the other. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I often come out here in the early morning to make calls to Europe. I just finished a call to a company we do business with in London. Of course the hardest part of these calls now is passing along the news that Willis is . . . gone. I take comfort in the fact that I can at least spare Dolores that unpleasantness.”
That struck me as odd. All these days after Willis’s murder, why was Norman still telephoning the information to business associates in such a piecemeal fashion? A large company should be more organized. I said, “I would think the news of the death of someone of Willis Nickens’s stature would have spread through the business community like wildfire.”
“You’re right, of course. Here in South Carolina and in a number of other states people knew within hours of Willis’s demise. Outside that small sphere . . . Well, to be perfectly honest, Willis and I ran our businesses like a mom-and-pop candy store in so many ways—you know, homey, down-to-earth. And I’m sure Dolores will want to continue the same way.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me for confirmation.
“Oh, I have absolutely no head for business.” I was not about to give him hope. “I’d be the last person on the planet whom Dolores would confide in about her future plans for Willis’s business ventures. She’d be much more likely to tell Vivian LaPort, who was a year ahead of us at Harrison and majored in economics. Of course, I lost touch with Vivian decades ago. I wonder if Dolores has her number.”
As I prattled along I watched Norman deflate before my very eyes. He was beginning to realize that if there was an easy conduit through which to maneuver Dolores to trust him with her business interests, I wasn’t it. He’d have to search for another access point.
After a quick shower, I changed into my gray pantsuit and a green and pink striped blouse. Once again I opted for flats, as I expected it to be a long and busy day, possibly quite hard on my feet.
Before I went down to breakfast, I sent a text to Harry. Will be with D most of the day. Text if you have any info and I will call ASAP. I knew I was pressuring him, but I couldn’t shake the dream that woke me around two a.m. Dolores was standing at Willis’s graveside with a detective’s raincoat haphazardly thrown over her hands because they were neatly cuffed together. I chalked the image up to some old gumshoe movie I’d seen on Turner Classic Movies but couldn’t quite remember which one. I tried to shake off the image. I was not about to let that happen to Dolores.
Clancy and Abby were in the dining room. Abby’s cheerful “Good morning, Miss Jessica” erased any gloom and foreboding that might otherwise spoil my breakfast.
I poured a cup of coffee and put a slice of sourdough bread in the toaster. While I was waiting for it to pop, Clancy began hurrying Abby along, scolding that she would be late for school if they didn’t leave in the next two minutes. Dolores met them in the doorway and gave Abby a grandmotherly good-morning kiss. Her greeting to Clancy was remarkably cheerful.
When she turned toward the buffet table I raised the coffeepot, more as a question than as a greeting, and she said, “Thank you, Jess. I am going to need all the caffeine I can handle today.”
I put two cups of coffee on the table, then went back for my toast and put some scrambled eggs on a plate. “Dolores, what will you have for breakfast? There’s plenty to choose from. Come take a look.”
I spread
