The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer (21 page)

Several more minutes passed before Josh said, “Nothing on Jaycee Fallon, but I've got a Jaycee—spelled the same way—Dobbs in a picture from about fifteen years ago.”

“Let me see,” Phyllis said.

Josh turned the phone. Phyllis looked at the picture of half a dozen high school cheerleaders. Jaycee Dobbs, according to the caption, was the head cheerleader at the high school in one of the communities outside Weatherford that had its own school district.

“Is that the same person?” Josh asked.

Phyllis cast her mind back to the one photo she had seen of Jaycee Fallon. The hair was the same color, although styled differently, and the faces could be the same as well, taking into account that fifteen years had passed.

“I think it is,” she said.

Josh showed the photo to Felicity, who said, “So, she was a cheerleader in high school. That doesn't mean anything.
I
was a cheerleader, in high school and college both, and it didn't turn me into a killer.”

“No, of course not,” Josh said hastily. “That's just the only thing I've been able to find about her so far.”

“Well, go back to Loomis's wife. She's our best suspect. I want to talk to her. Where does she live?”

Phyllis said, “If she's filed for divorce against Loomis, there's a good chance he had to move out of the family home and she's still living there. That's usually the way things work.”

“Yeah, it is,” Josh agreed. “I'll see if I can find Loomis's address.”

That didn't seem to take any time at all. A few minutes later, Josh gave Nick an address, then asked Phyllis, “Do you know where that is?”

“No, I'm afraid I don't recognize that street name.”

“'S okay,” Nick said. “I got a GPS.”

C
lay Loomis's house was located on Lake Weatherford, northeast of town. Years of prolonged drought, plus the exploding population of the area and the resulting increase in demand for water, meant that the lake was not what it used to be. It stayed at a lower level than it was when Phyllis and Kenny would bring Mike out here as a little boy. Now it was primarily a reservoir and not a recreational destination.

But there were still areas where the lake and the hills that surrounded it were quite pretty, and the houses in those areas were large and expensive. Clay Loomis's home was one such house, an oddly cantilevered structure that stuck up out of the trees at eye-catching angles as it sat on a hill overlooking the water.

A black iron fence surrounded the property, and the gate had a speaker and keypad attached to a pole that stuck out by the driveway. Since none of them knew the code to open the gate, Nick had to punch the call button on the keypad.

A minute or so later, a woman's voice asked over the speaker, “Yes?”

Felicity leaned toward the driver's side of the van so the camera mounted on the speaker could see her past Nick. She said, “Hi, I'm Felicity Prosper from the TV show
Inside Beat
—”

That was as far as she got before a squeal of recognition came from the speaker.

“Oooh, I know who you are!” the woman exclaimed. “I watch you all the time!”

Felicity put a dazzling smile on her face as she said, “We'd like to speak to Serita Loomis.”

“That's me! That's me! I'll open the gate. Come on up. Just follow the driveway and I'll meet you in front of the house.”

With a low rumbling sound, the two halves of the gate began to swing back. When they were far enough apart, Nick eased the van through the opening and followed the asphalt driveway as it wound uphill through the trees.

“She didn't even ask you what you wanted to talk to her about,” Phyllis said to Felicity.

“It doesn't matter. It's TV. And she's going to be on it.”

The driveway leveled out and turned into a circle drive in front of the house. Serita Loomis stood just outside the front door, wearing pastel blue sweats. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that dangled far down her back. She was
a petite woman, and even in the casual getup she was very attractive.

She hurried down a short flagstone walk to greet the visitors as they got out of the van.

“I can't believe it,” she said. “Felicity Prosper at
my
house. I've always thought that you should be the lead anchor instead of Spencer, you know.”

“From your mouth to the executive producer's ear,” Felicity said with a smile.

“But what are you
doing
here? Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Actually, it's about your husband—”

Serita's gushing attitude disappeared in an instant. She said, “That lying, cheating, no-good—Wait a minute. Are you here to do an exposé about him? Are you doing a story on corrupt small-town politicians? Because Clay is the poster boy for that, let me tell you!”

“Maybe we could go inside and talk,” Felicity suggested.

“Yeah, sure. I wish I'd known you were coming. I could have fixed the place up. I could have fixed
myself
up!”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary,” Felicity said. “You look gorgeous.”

“Oh, I do
not
! But it's so nice of you to say. Come on in, Ms. Prosper—you and your assistants.”

“Call me Felicity.”

“Can I? That's so . . . I mean, I just can't
believe
it! You're actually here!”

As they followed Serita into the house, Phyllis thought about what Josh had found out about her. This woman had
been in the premed program? She had planned to become a doctor? And now she was prattling on with excitement because a reporter from a tabloid TV show had come to talk to her? Being all . . . What was the term Sam might have used? Being all fan-girl-y over a minor TV personality?

Clearly, years of being married to Clay Loomis had changed Serita.

The house was as eccentric on the inside as it was on the outside. The Loomises had probably hired some trendy decorator who was more concerned about feng shui than about comfort. But the sofa that Phyllis and Josh sat on wasn't too bad. Felicity and Serita perched on angular chairs that looked like they'd be easy to fall off of. Nick stayed on his feet, with the camera in its usual position on his shoulder.

One wall of the room where they sat was mostly glass. In summer, the view down over the lake would probably be spectacular, but right now, with the trees bare because of the season, it was a little bleak.

Phyllis looked around the room for a Christmas tree or other decorations but didn't see any. Either Serita hadn't gotten around to putting them up yet, or else she wasn't much on celebrating the holiday. It seemed like fewer and fewer people really cared about Christmas nowadays.

“All right,” Serita said as she leaned forward eagerly. “What do you want to know about Clay?”

“The two of you are getting a divorce, is that correct?” Felicity asked.

“That's right.” Serita didn't appear to wonder how Felicity had found out about that. “He cheated on me.”

“With a woman who works at his company, isn't that right?”

“Jaycee.” Contempt dripped from Serita's voice as she said the name. Her lip curled in a sneer. “A little blond piece of trailer trash.” Serita shook her head. “But she doesn't work at the company anymore. She quit when she found out what a scumbag Clay really is. And she probably realized that with all the trouble he has going on, he's not going to be able to afford to be the sort of sugar daddy she was looking for.”

Phyllis hadn't heard anybody use the term
sugar daddy
in a long time. She was especially surprised to hear it from someone as young as Serita. Of course, Serita couldn't be as young as she appeared, considering when she and Clay Loomis had been in college. There was a good chance she'd had some work done over the years to preserve her youth.

“Tell me more about that trouble,” Felicity said in a voice that invited Serita to confide in her.

“Well, there's the lawsuit, of course. The one that J.D. and Phil have filed against him. They're his partners in Cross Timbers Transport. I guess something must have happened to make them suspicious of Clay, because they brought in an independent accountant to audit the company's books, and he found that the company doesn't have nearly as much money as it ought to. Clay couldn't really account for that. He tried to sell them some story about how the economy has been bad—”

“The economy
has
been bad,” Felicity put in.

“Well, yeah, sure, but not bad enough to account for all the money that was gone. If you ask me”—Serita lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone—“I think he's got it stashed somewhere in an overseas bank. In the Cayman Islands or
somewhere. He just doesn't want any of the rest of us to get our hands on any of it.”

“That must make you really angry, when you think about all the things your husband has done.”

“Angry?” Serita repeated. “
Angry?
When I found out he was cheating on me, I wanted to kill him!”

Felicity smiled and said, “I'm sure that's just a figure of speech.”

“I don't know,” Serita said slowly. “I guess, yeah, I wouldn't really try to hurt him, but with all the people he's crossed, Clay's lucky nobody's taken a shot at him. You know”—Serita leaned forward and poked holes in the air with an index finger—“when I heard about what happened the other night at the parade, how that poor man got shot, I mean, one of the first things I thought was that I wondered if whoever shot him was aiming at Clay instead!”

“Really?” Felicity murmured.

“Yeah.” Serita laughed. “I was a little surprised the cops didn't come around, asking me where I was that night. Not that I could have done something like that. That poor man was shot with a rifle, wasn't he?”

“I believe he was,” Felicity said.

“Well, I've never shot a rifle in my life. I have a little pistol that I carry in my purse, but that's all. I admit, there were times when I thought about what it would feel like to shoot Clay, after everything he's done, but I'd have to get really close to do that.”

“Because of your aim, you mean?”

“No,” Serita said. “If I were going to do it, I'd want to be
close enough to see the look in his eyes when I pulled the trigger.”

•   •   •

There didn't seem to be much else that Serita could tell them, so when she offered them something to drink, Phyllis caught Felicity's eye and gave a tiny shake of her head. Felicity made their excuses, saying they had to get back to process some footage, whatever that meant. It worked on Serita.

“When will this air?” she asked breathlessly. “I'll want to tell all my friends about it so they can watch.”

“I'll have to get in touch with you so I can let you know,” Felicity said. She took out her phone. “Give me your number.”

She put Serita's number into her phone, then got up and led the way to the door. Serita followed them outside, still gushing, and was standing there with a huge smile on her face when they drove off.

“Good Lord, what a shallow woman,” Felicity said as they reached the bottom of the hill. The gate was open again so they could get out. “But I have to admit, she has good taste.”

Phyllis didn't know if she meant because of the house or because Serita was a fan. Either way, it wasn't important.

Josh said, “Well, we know she can't be the murderer, anyway.”

“How do we know that?” Phyllis and Felicity asked at the same time. Phyllis wasn't sure she liked the idea that her mind worked the same as the reporter's.

Josh frowned and said, “She brought it up herself. I mean, the idea that the killer was really aiming at her husband
instead of Mr. McCrory. She wouldn't just drop that theory on us like that if she had done it, would she?”

“She might if she were clever enough,” Felicity said. “She might be trying to make us think she's some airheaded trophy wife instead of a diabolical killer. Although she can't really be considered a trophy wife—can she?—since it's the first marriage for both of them? Isn't that right, Josh?”

“Uh, yeah, they got married while they were in college. I didn't see any record of either of them being married to anybody else.”

Phyllis said, “I'm not sure she's devious enough to try to divert suspicion that way. I think she was telling us the truth.”

“My instinct says she was, too,” Felicity agreed. “I was just playing devil's advocate. So where does that leave us now?”

“We should probably talk to Gene Coyle and Phil Hedgepeth. We know both of them are marksmen.”

Phyllis's phone rang before she could say anything else. She looked at the display and said, “It's Sam.”

When she answered, he said, “Well, the bail hearin' is over. I wasn't sure the judge was gonna even grant bail, but in the end he did. Half a million bucks.”

Phyllis gasped.

“Was Nate able to arrange that?” she asked.

“Yeah, Jimmy knows a bail bondsman who was willin' to post it.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back at your house for the time bein'. Ally wanted to come by to get her things, and Carolyn convinced 'em to stay for lunch. Where are you?”

Phyllis glanced at her companions and said, “You might
not believe me if I told you. But warn Carolyn that there are going to be three more guests for lunch.”

Felicity looked at her and cocked an eyebrow.

“We'll be there in a little while,” Phyllis went on. “I want to have a talk with Nate and Allyson.”

“Shouldn't be any trouble keepin' them here for that. Both of 'em are pretty down in the dumps, as you'd expect. If there's anything you can tell 'em that might give them some hope . . .”

“I don't know yet,” Phyllis said. “There's something—some connection I'm not quite seeing. But we'll talk about that in a little while, when I get back.”

“I don't suppose you want to give a hint who these three mysterious guests you're bringin' to lunch might be.”

“We'll let it be a surprise,” Phyllis said.

•   •   •

Judging by the expressions on the faces of everyone in the living room, it certainly
was
a surprise when Phyllis walked in with Felicity, Josh, and Nick.

Allyson had been sitting on the sofa with Nate, holding his hand, but she leaped to her feet at the sight of the TV people.

“You!” she said as she glared at Felicity. “What are
you
doing here?” She switched her gaze to Phyllis and asked in disbelief, “Mrs. Newsom, you brought them here?”