Death and Honesty by Cynthia Riggs

haven’t informed either Miss Sampson or Reverend True of the drowning, Chief.”
    “What’s the trouble?” Casey asked.
    “It would have been awkward, ma’am.” Darcy didn’t explain. “I’ll see if one of them is available now.”
    Victoria indicated Darcy’s slime-covered trousers that were no longer dripping, but were still slapping wetly against his legs. “You’d better change first.”

    Darcy bowed. “Thank you, Mrs. Trumbull.” He escorted Victoria and Casey into the conservatory and left.
    Victoria avoided the low couch and sat in a wrought-iron garden chair where she could see the pond. The police had circled the area with yellow tape, as if it were a crime scene, not an accident. The body had been zipped into a plastic bag and lifted onto a stretcher. As she watched, four men carried the stretcher up the sloping lawn toward the garage and out of view.
    High heels clicked on the slate floor and Delilah entered the conservatory. “Mrs. Trumbull! What’s going on? What are the police doing here?”
    Casey stood up. “Miss Sampson, I’m Chief O’Neill, West Tisbury Police.”
    Delilah’s hand went to her throat. “What’s happened?”
    “A man’s body was found in your pond, ma’am.”
    “A body?” Delilah flung herself onto the couch.
    “Your chauffeur believes it’s your husband’s pilot.”
    “That can’t be!” Delilah shook her head, and her bright hair swirled.
    “In the case of an unattended death,” said Casey in her official voice, “the police are called. At this time, we have no reason to believe his death is anything other than an unfortunate accident.”
    “Why the pilot?” asked Delilah.
    “I beg your pardon?” said Casey.
    “Nobody knew him.” Delilah closed her eyes.
    “Where is your husband now, Miss Sampson?”
    “In the guesthouse. The pilot was staying in the guesthouse, too.”
    “Have you talked to Reverend True this morning?”
    “Talked to … ?” Delilah glanced from the pond to Casey to Victoria to the orchids, and then to the door.
    Casey started to repeat her question. “Miss Sampson, have you spoken …” when Henry entered the conservatory
    “Good morning, Mother.” He went to Delilah and pecked her on the cheek. “Sleep well?”
    “Henry,” said Delilah faintly. “The police …”
    Casey stood and introduced herself.

    Henry ignored her extended hand. “What’s going on?”
    Casey went through the account of a man found dead in the pond.
    “My pilot, you say, Officer?” Henry dropped into the couch next to Delilah, picked up her beringed hand with his chunky one, and patted it absently.
    “Miss Sampson’s chauffeur claimed he met your pilot yesterday for the first time. I understand he was staying in the guesthouse with you, sir.”
    Henry nodded.
    “Did you hear him leave at any time during the night?”
    Henry smiled. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”
    “You didn’t hear him leave the guesthouse, sir?”
    “I’m afraid not.” He squirmed into a better position. “I don’t know the pilot well. Didn’t know him, that is.”
    As Casey questioned Henry, Victoria glanced from Delilah to her husband.
    “He seemed a nice enough fellow,” said Henry.
    “Would you give me his name, sir.” Casey took out her notebook. “I’ll need to notify next of kin.”
    “Of course. Cappy something.” Henry paused. “I think it’s Jessup. Cappy Jessup.”
    Casey looked up. “Your plane and pilot?”
    “The ministry’s plane. The Eye of God ministry.”
    “How did you happen to engage this particular pilot?”
    “My personal assistant did the scheduling.” Henry got up from the couch and jingled the bell on the table. “Coffee for everyone, my dear,” he said when Lee appeared. “And something to go with it. Rolls or coffee cake.”
    “Yes, sir. Will that be all?”
    He lifted his great white eyebrows at Casey. “Care to ask Lee anything?”
    “Later.”
    “That will be all,” said Henry, and Lee left.
    “I’ll need to