The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer (22 page)

“Miss Prosper and I have come to an agreement,” Phyllis said, keeping her voice calm and level. “She and her friends are trying to help me find the real killer and clear Nate's name.”

“It's going to take more than a TV show to do that,” Nate said dispiritedly. “The cops think they've got the goods on me.
And, to tell you the truth, if I didn't know better, I might think they were right.”

“Don't say that, Nate,” Allyson said.

“With all the evidence they have, a person'd have to be crazy to think I'm innocent.”

“I suppose I'm crazy, then,” Phyllis said, “because I don't believe that you killed your father-in-law. I don't think poor Mr. McCrory was even the target.”

Carolyn came in from the dining room and said, “Crime solving will have to wait. I have lunch on the table.”

They all filed into the dining room, Nate and Allyson with obvious reluctance. After the past twenty-four hours, it was understandable that neither of them had much of an appetite. Carolyn was determined that everyone should eat, though, and the food certainly looked good. She had made spaghetti and meatballs and served it with hot garlic bread.

Josh seemed to enjoy the meal more than any of the other guests. After washing down a bite of garlic bread with a long swallow of iced tea, he said, “This reminds me of being at my grandparents' house.”

“We seem to provoke that reaction,” Phyllis said dryly. “Where did you grow up, Josh?”

“In Fort Worth, but my grandparents lived in Brownwood. We went down there a lot when I was a kid. They've both passed away now, but I sure remember all those times.”

“Everybody needs a couple of good sets of grandparents growin' up,” Sam said. “That gives people a sense of bein' connected to history. All four of my grandparents, for example, were born in the 1870s.”

“Wait a minute,” Felicity said. “That's nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. Frontier days. How is that even possible?”

“I was born durin' World War II. That probably seems pretty prehistoric to you, young lady.”

Felicity just made a scoffing sound.

“I taught history,” Phyllis said. “Most people don't really grasp just how close we are to the events of the past. While Sam and Carolyn and Eve and I were young, there were a number of Civil War veterans still living as well. I remember some of the old-timers who came into town for First Monday when I was a child. It's entirely possible that some of them could have fought at Bull Run or Gettysburg.”

Josh looked interested, but Felicity's eyes were starting to glaze over with boredom. All of Nick's attention was focused on the plate of food in front of him.

“Why don't we get back to the subject of murder?” Felicity suggested.

“Over lunch?” Carolyn sounded horrified.

Felicity nodded toward Nate and said, “Hey, the sooner this guy gets rid of that cloud hanging over him, the better, right?”

Allyson said, “I still can't believe you're trying to help us. Why would you want to?”

“Because of the story, of course. A guy murders his father-in-law—it's a good story.” Felicity held up a hand to forestall Allyson's angry protest and went on. “A guy is accused of murdering his father-in-law but he really didn't—that's an even better story. Especially when you throw politics and corruption and adultery into the mix. Nothing appeals to the public more than sin in high places. Not that a county
commissioner in Texas is all that high, you understand, but, hey, it's a place to start. And we've got the notorious crime-busting granny, too.”

She gave Phyllis a sweet smile.

Phyllis sighed and said, “Let's just finish lunch. Then, and I know you two are tired of this”—she looked at Nate and Allyson—“we're going into the living room and starting from scratch. Something's missing, and I need to figure out what it is.”

T
he living room was full with Phyllis, Sam, Nate, Allyson, Felicity, and Josh all sitting on the sofa and in various armchairs. Nick, surprisingly, had volunteered to help Carolyn and Eve with cleaning up after lunch. Phyllis thought all the talk of solving murders bored the cameraman.

“Should Mr. D'Angelo be here for this?” Allyson asked with a suspicious glance toward Felicity and Josh. “Can we trust these people?”

“We're not here to cause trouble for you, sweetie,” Felicity said. “Mrs. Newsom convinced me to focus on the bigger picture. Pestering you with ‘How does it feel to be married to a murderer?' questions gets me a few minutes on the air. Exposing a killer and freeing an innocent man gets me the job of hosting my own special edition of the show.”

“So you're just trying to help because it's in your own self-interest.”

“If it keeps your husband out of prison and finds out who really killed your father, what does that matter?”

Allyson sighed and nodded. She said, “You're right, of course.” She looked at Phyllis. “What did you want to ask us?”

Phyllis leaned forward in her chair and said, “Nate, tell me about that rifle. Did you ever have it in the travel trailer parked next to your house?”

Nate shook his head.

“No, I wouldn't have any reason to put it out there. We didn't take the rifle with us when we used the trailer for vacations. I kept the rifle, unloaded, in the closet in the guest bedroom. The shells for it were in a drawer in our bedroom.”

“You used it for hunting?”

“A few times,” Nate said with a shrug. “Barney and I went deer hunting now and then.” He swallowed hard, evidently affected by the memories of those times. “And I took it with me out to the ranch to help him chase off some coyotes a while back.”

“You didn't ever leave it at the ranch?”

“Not that I recall. I'm pretty sure I didn't.”

In a matter of life and death,
pretty sure
might not be good enough, but Phyllis understood what he meant. The rifle hadn't been a focus of his thoughts. He'd had no idea that it would one day become a piece of evidence against him in a murder case.

“Allyson said you took it to a gunsmith to have something done on it recently.”

“Well, not that recently. It was a month ago. I could give you the guy's name. I'm sure he'd have a record of it, and that would have the date on it.”

“We may need that later, but for now let's concentrate on how you got the gun to him. Did you take it directly from your house to his shop?”

“No, I put it in my SUV and dropped it off at his place after work one day.”

“And when you picked it up from him?”

“I took it straight home and put it in the closet, as usual,” Nate said.

“Do you know a man named J. D. Ridgely?”

The abrupt switch in subject made Nate frown. He thought for a moment and then shook his head.

“I don't think I've ever heard of him.”

“How about Phil Hedgepeth?”

Again Nate thought about it, then said, “Doesn't ring any bells. I don't think I know him.”

Allyson asked, “Who are these people, Mrs. Newsom?”

“We'll get to that,” Phyllis said. “What about Gene Coyle?”

Nate said, “No, I . . . Wait a minute. That name
is
vaguely familiar for some reason. But I'm pretty sure I've never met the guy, whoever he is.”

Phyllis thought that answer made sense. Nate would have seen Coyle's name on campaign signs during election season earlier that fall. The memory was fresh enough that he recognized the name but not the context.

“You know who Clay Loomis is, of course.”

“Yeah. Couldn't very well miss hearing about him the past few days,” Nate said with a little edge of bitterness in his voice.

“What about his wife, Serita?”

“Never met her.” Nate looked at Allyson, who shook her head to indicate that she didn't know Serita, either.

“How about a woman named Jaycee Fallon?”

“Nope.”

Allyson said again, “Who are these people? I don't understand this at all, Mrs. Newsom.”

“They're people who had a reason to shoot Clay Loomis,” Phyllis said.

“Loomis?” Nate repeated, his eyes widening. “I don't understand. It wasn't Loomis who . . .” His eyes got even bigger as what Phyllis was getting at dawned on him. “Oh! You think the killer was really aiming at Loomis instead of Barney, like you talked about before.”

“Given what we know, that's the only thing that makes any sense,” Phyllis said. “No one else had any reason to kill Mr. McCrory, at least that we've been able to figure out so far, and those people I asked you about all have possible motives for wanting Clay Loomis dead. Some of them are excellent marksmen, too.”

“But the police are acting like they have proof my rifle fired the fatal shot,” Nate said. “How is that possible?”

Felicity said, “Someone could have broken into your house and stolen it, right? Then put it back in the travel trailer and tipped off the cops that's where it was? They're trying to frame you!”

Nate gave her a dubious frown and said, “I suppose that's possible. We talked about a burglar getting in there and stealing just the gun, so that we didn't notice the house had been broken into, but that's just really far-fetched.”

“Unless he broke in specifically to steal the rifle, knowing that he was going to use it to shoot Mr. Loomis,” Phyllis said. “Then he would have been careful not to disturb anything else
so that you
wouldn't
notice. So you'd think the rifle was still in the closet.”

“Which is exactly what I did think,” Nate said as he rubbed his chin and frowned in thought.

“But that still doesn't make any sense,” Allyson said. “How would any of those people even know that Nate owns a rifle?”

Phyllis sighed and said, “That's why I wanted to talk to the two of you. I thought there might be a connection I'm not seeing, but it's just not there. If you're not acquainted with any of the suspects, none of them would have known about the rifle, and so they couldn't have used it to try to frame you.”

Josh said, “Wait a minute. Why not see if we can expand the circle of suspects? Nate, do you know anybody else who might have known about the rifle
and
had a reason to shoot Clay Loomis?”

Felicity looked at him in surprise and said, “That's a pretty good question, intern.” She turned to the others and went on. “From what I saw of this Loomis guy, he might have dozens of enemies who'd want him dead. Hey, we only spent fifteen minutes with him, and
I
felt like shooting him!”

Nate just shook his head and looked like he was baffled. He said, “I'm not sure I could tell you who knew I owned a rifle. I haven't been hunting all that much, but I've gone with at least half a dozen guys. Plus I've had the gun out at the ranch, so the hands who work there could have known about it.”

Sam asked, “What about those hands? Any of them have a grudge against Barney? Any of 'em been fired recently?”

“No, and I'd know if they'd had, since I handle the payroll. Look, I'm not out there all the time, so I don't know everything that goes on, but Barney was pretty good about telling me if there was any trouble, and there hasn't been. My impression has always been that the men who worked for him were very loyal to him. Sure, he could be loud and get after somebody if they fouled up, but they all respected him.”

Allyson nodded and said, “I agree. I'd go so far as to say that most of the hands loved Dad.”

Of course, Allyson is prejudiced in favor of her father, Phyllis thought. She would feel that way whether there was any basis in reality for it or not.

Something else occurred to Phyllis, and she said, “You know, all of our thinking about this has hinged on the theory that your rifle was the murder weapon, Nate. But we're not absolutely certain of that. I think we need to find out.”

“How do we do that?” Felicity asked.

“Mr. D'Angelo might be able to get the information. The district attorney has to reveal his evidence to defense counsel before the grand-jury hearing.” Phyllis paused. “Or perhaps you might be able to find out, Ms. Prosper.”

“Me?”

Phyllis smiled slightly and said, “District Attorney Sullivan might respond to a question if you asked it.”

“You mean he might like seeing himself on TV?”

“I think he's the sort of man who might appreciate that, yes.”

In fact, District Attorney Timothy Sullivan
is
an arrogant,
self-satisfied, pompous windbag who once ordered me thrown in jail, Phyllis thought. But she didn't say that. If a stunning female reporter shoved a microphone in his face and asked him a question, he would answer it, all right. And he would try to make himself look as good as possible while he was doing it, too.

Felicity got to her feet and said, “Sounds like a good idea. Want to come with me?”

“No. If Sullivan sees me with you, he won't cooperate. We have some history.”

“You mean he doesn't like it that you've made him look like a fool in the past, when he's prosecuted the wrong person,” Felicity said with a smile.

“That sums it up pretty well,” Phyllis admitted.

“Well, I know how to handle guys like that. Josh, go find Nick.”

Josh scrambled to his feet and said, “Yes, ma'am.”

“By the time I'm done with him,” Felicity purred, “we'll know everything that District Attorney Sullivan does.”

•   •   •

Felicity, Josh, and Nick headed over to the courthouse and the district attorney's office. Before they left, however, Phyllis brought out the baklava macarons that had been chilling overnight and passed them around. Everyone exclaimed over how good they were, and Phyllis was quite pleased with them herself.

Allyson gathered the things she had brought with her so she and Nate could go home. While she was doing that, Nate said, “I appreciate everything you've been trying to do for me,
Mrs. Newsom, and you, too, Coach. It's starting to look like the deck is just too stacked against me, though.”

“I don't believe that,” Phyllis said.

“Naw, the case against you is just a house of cards, if you want to throw card playin' in there,” Sam added. “We've just got to find the right one and pull it out, and the whole thing'll come tumblin' down.”

“I hope you're right,” Nate said with a faint smile. Clearly he didn't believe that was going to happen, though.

Once the two of them were gone as well, Phyllis headed upstairs to put the finishing touches on her first draft of the column for
A Taste of Texas
. With everything else that had been going on, it would have been easy to forget about that, so she wanted to seize this opportunity. When she was done, she e-mailed the file to Eve so the former English teacher could proofread it.

Then she gave in to curiosity and checked the true-crime websites that posted things about her and the cases in which she was involved. The furor over Barney McCrory's murder had faded somewhat, she discovered. There were still a few recent comments on the blogs, but Nate's arrest seemed to have diminished the interest. A few people who commented even expressed disappointment that Phyllis hadn't solved this murder.

They are giving up too soon, she thought, but at the same time, she understood the feeling.

As Nate had said, the deck was stacked.

But the antidote to frustration is action, she told herself. Instead of just sitting around waiting to hear from Felicity, maybe there was something else she could do. She went
downstairs and found Sam at his workbench in the garage, sanding a piece of wood. She couldn't tell if he meant to build something with it or if he was just passing the time, like she had been.

“Let's go take a look at Loomis's trucking company again,” she said.

“What for?” he asked.

“Just a hunch.” Really, she needed to be doing something instead of sitting here, spinning her wheels. “He leases trucks to various companies, right?”

“Yeah, that's the way I understand it,” Sam said, nodding slowly.

“Maybe we can find out what some of those companies are. That might give us more leads to someone who'd have a grudge against him, and if we could connect that person back to Nate . . .”

A grin spread across Sam's face as he said, “That might be the connection you said was missin'.”

“Exactly.”

Her restlessness, her need to be out and moving around, had actually led her to come up with an idea that might hold some promise. They already had an abundance of suspects, just not the right ones.

So, the only answer was to keep looking.

Phyllis told Carolyn where they were going; then she and Sam left in his pickup, heading north out of town toward the headquarters of Clay Loomis's company.