Murder, She Wrote: Killing in a Koi Pond - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Jessica Fletcher is a bestselling mystery writer who has a knack for stumbling upon real-life mysteries in her various travels. Award-winning writer Terrie Farley Moran coauthors this bestselling series.

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Chapter One

As I carefully made my way down the steps from the business class car at the rear of the Amtrak train, Dolores Nickens stood on the station platform waving both arms, her gold bracelets flashing in the bright South Carolina sun. The instant I stepped onto the platform she grabbed me in a crushing hug. I'm sure she pressed out a few of the wrinkles my tan linen suit had collected on the long ride south from Washington, DC.

"Jessica Fletcher! It's been far too long." She held me at arm's length and eyed me critically from the top of my head to the soles of my beige pumps. "My goodness, you never age!"

When Dolores started to lean in again, I took two quick steps backward to save myself from another colossal squeeze and said, "I can't tell you how sorry I am to have missed your wedding. By the time I received my invitation, my nephew Grady had already asked me to babysit while he and Donna went on an anniversary cruise, although their son, Frank, objects strenuously to the term 'babysitting.' He claims to be quite grown up."

"Ah, the young ones-if only they knew how fast the years go." Dolores tucked her hand into the crook of my arm.

"He's like the proverbial weed, already as tall as my shoulder. Anyway, no matter what his parents call it, he and I have agreed that my official title is 'the adult in the house' whenever Grady and Donna are away."

Dolores laughed. "That's so like you. Always quick with a diplomatic solution. Do you remember sophomore year when I roomed with Lila Huggins, that redhead who always just knew she would be a famous artist one day? When she announced she'd decided to paint a jungle mural complete with lush green trees and assorted wild animals on every wall in our tiny room, you, my dear Jess, saved the day and probably prevented me from lifelong recurring nightmares of cheetahs and panthers and what all."

"I merely told her that since she was going to be so famous in a few short years, she surely didn't want to waste her time and effort painting murals since they aren't portable. How could she leave her masterpieces behind once we graduated? I suggested that she paint her vision of the jungle on those superlarge canvases that were stored in the basement of the arts building. When fame hit she could have them shipped to galleries anywhere in the world."

"And three months later she changed her major from fine arts to psychology. Today she is a well-known Hollywood shrink, appearing on television talk shows all the time. Who knew?" Dolores chuckled.

A porter carried my luggage off the train and, without missing a beat in her nonstop reminiscences, Dolores led us to the parking lot.

She stopped in front of a snazzy red convertible and swept her arm across the hood. "Voilˆ! A Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet. What do you think?"

I hadn't seen many like it. "Very fancy."

"A gift from Willis. I can't wait for you to meet my new husband. Do you remember all the bad boys I dated in college, not to mention the two charming but wicked men I ultimately married?" Dolores raised her eyes skyward and sighed at memories of the past. "Willis is so different. He may seem a little gruff at first, but once you get to know him he is a sweetie pie. It may have taken me longer than most, but I have found the perfect husband."

She popped the trunk, which, surprisingly, was in the front of the car. It barely held my carry-on, so the porter loaded the rest of my luggage in the backseat. I slipped a few bills into his hand and he tipped his cap jauntily. "Enjoy your visit, ladies."

"Elegant, isn't it?" Dolores said as she unlocked the car doors.

"Oh my, it certainly is." I burrowed into the passenger seat. "And so comfortable. Sometimes these fancy cars look a lot better than they feel."

"Willis constantly says there is nothing too good for his doll. That's me. I'm his doll. Seat belt on?"

I gave my seat belt a reassuring tug. "On and secure."

Dolores glided the car out of the parking space and headed toward the exit. "I always say there is nothing like a decent man and a flashy car to keep a lady smiling. So, what do you think, Jess?"

"I think you seem bubbly, energized. Happier than I have seen you in years. You are a totally different woman than you were at our last reunion. When was that, four years ago?"

"Just about. Right after husband number two emptied our bank accounts and ran off with mistress number ninety-eight or ninety-nine, whichever she was. Not a problem I will ever face again. Like any man, Willis has his quirks, but philandering isn't one of them. I can work around the silly quirks he does have. . . . Most of the time he treats me like a queen."

Most of the time? I didn't like the sound of that. I wondered what went on in the spaces in between.

Dolores chattered along. "Instead of taking Main Street to Route 321, I am going to wander off our path just a smidge and drive along Taylor Street. I can't wait to show you all the marvelous things Columbia has to offer. The art museum is exceptionally noteworthy-the children's room is really a treat. Then there's the Mills House and Gardens. And of course we must tour the State House. So much history. It wouldn't hurt us a bit to do some shopping in the lovely boutiques that are popping up all over downtown."

I was already tired from my long train ride, and Dolores's enthusiasm began to drain what little energy I had left.

"We can do all our girl talk and catching up while we wander around the city," she continued, "but all that is for another day. Here is our first and only stop. Look."

Look? Oh my, I couldn't miss it. Looming ahead of us: a gleaming silver fire hydrant standing taller than most of the surrounding buildings.

I gaped. "What on earth?"

"Welcome to Busted Plug Plaza," Dolores crowed. "I bet this is a first even for the well-traveled mystery writer J. B. Fletcher."

"It certainly is. I'm at a loss for words."

Dolores turned off the engine. "Dazzling, isn't it? Local artist and sculptor Blue Sky designed it. Jump out and I'll take a quick snap of you in front of the world's tallest fire hydrant. A picture will be all the evidence you need to prove to those Mainers in Cabot Cove that we Carolinians have a thing or two they can't match."

The size of the hydrant was hard to take in and I stopped a few feet in front of it. Dolores waved her hand, signaling me to move backward. "You have plenty of room. Plenty. I promise, even if you stand right underneath the lowest outlet cap with the thick chains hanging down, it would still be way above your head."

Dolores held her cell phone high. "Oh, too much sun. I'm going to move left. Can you turn to your right? Great. Stay there. Don't move."

For the moment I felt awkward, as I always do when asked to pose for a picture, but then I relaxed and smiled gamely. In a minute Dolores pronounced us done and hustled me back into the Porsche.

"Now, no more touring for you, young lady. I'll hit Main Street, which will lead us right onto Route 321 and out into the countryside."

"I must say, the last thing I expected was a gigantic hydrant. Who did you say designed it?" I asked.

"Blue Sky. Oh, he has another name, but around here he is Blue Sky, famous local artist. And the hydrant is forty feet high and weighs over six hundred thousand pounds. Can you imagine the work that went into designing and building it?"

I admitted I couldn't fathom it.

Dolores continued. "But now the treasure I want to show off is my home. Wait until you see Manning Hall. Built in the...