The Fatal Funnel Cake (21 page)

Chapter 31

“A
re we goin' back to the Creative Arts Building?” Sam asked as they entered Fair Park.

“That's right. I hope we can find the person we need to.”

“Scene of our previous triumphs,” Sam mused. “You, me, and Carolyn all brought home ribbons from there. Reckon anything like that will ever happen again?”

“It's not likely,” Phyllis admitted. “But you never know. Anyway, I'm not sure I should be that proud of my funnel cakes. They played a part in getting a woman killed.”

“Maybe, but you weren't to blame for that by any stretch of the imagination. And it doesn't make the funnel cakes any less delicious, either.”

“I'm sure I'll be able to look at it like that . . . someday,” Phyllis said.

They were walking past the Embarcadero Building and approaching the Creative Arts Building when Sam said, “Hold on. Isn't that Hayes over yonder?”

Phyllis stopped and looked where Sam nodded. Sure enough, Reed Hayes was walking toward the building from a different direction. He strode along rapidly, seemingly distracted by something.

He had every reason to be distracted, Phyllis thought, if it was his scheme that had wound up contributing to Joye Jameson's murder.

Hayes wasn't going into the building, Phyllis realized a moment later. He veered off the path he'd been following and went toward the the big RV that was still parked on the side of the road, the satellite dish on its roof pointed toward the heavens. When the producer reached it, he climbed the steps, unlocked the door, and went inside.

“We gonna go talk to him?” Sam asked.

“Wait,” Phyllis said, her voice tense. “Maybe he's meeting the person who's blackmailing him.”

“Charlie Farrar, right? He had a reason for wantin' to get rid of Joye, what with all the trouble she'd given him about his directin'. And the blackmail money he'd get from Hayes would help tide him over until he got one of those other jobs he was talkin' about when we were here earlier.”

“How do you figure it has to be Farrar?” Phyllis asked. She was genuinely interested. She wanted to know Sam's reasoning so she could compare it with her own.

“Well, the killer's got to be somebody who was around the show a lot, or else he wouldn't have had the opportunity to see Hayes switchin' the cooking oil. And he had to know
why
Hayes was makin' that switch. He had to know that the peanut oil would cause Joye to have a bad allergic reaction. Otherwise there wouldn't have been any point to the whole thing.”

“That's right,” Phyllis agreed.

“What I don't know,” Sam went on, “is just how common the knowledge of Joye's allergy really was. I don't recall hearin' anything about it before all this trouble came up, but then, I didn't even know who Joye Jameson was until not that long ago.”

“It wasn't common knowledge,” Phyllis told him. “That's one thing that helped me narrow it down. Remember, I did a lot of Internet research on Joye, and not one time did I read anything about her being allergic to peanuts, not on any of the websites. I think Hayes and everyone else involved in the show kept that covered up, probably at Joye's insistence. She probably thought it wouldn't look good for a cooking guru like her to have any sort of food allergy.”

“I don't reckon any of her viewers would have held that against her,” Sam said with a frown.

“Probably not. But image is everything in show business, and Joye didn't want to do anything to risk damaging hers. We already know that she was something of a control freak. That would fit right in with her making sure the allergy remained a secret.”

“Yep, I suppose you're right. Which brings us right back around to the fact that the killer has to be somebody involved with the show, or else he wouldn't have known about it.” Sam's frown deepened. “I don't guess it'd have to be Farrar, would it? There are more than a dozen other people who came here from California for these remote broadcasts. Could be any one of 'em. So unless we catch the fella tryin' to blackmail Hayes . . .”

“That's why we're here,” Phyllis said. “Earlier, Hayes looked like he gave in to whoever he was talking to. He's going to meet with the killer again to finalize the deal.”

“How do you know that?”

Phyllis nodded toward the Creative Arts Building. “Because here he comes now.”

“The killer?” Sam's eyes widened as he searched the crowd. Quite a few people were moving along the walks. “Are you sure? I don't see any members of the crew. But there's that guard fella. Maybe we'd better go get him so he can help us corral the killer.”

“That won't work,” Phyllis said, “because Chet Murdock
is
the killer.”

Sam stared at her in disbelief.

“Watch where he goes,” Phyllis went on.

Chet walked straight to the RV, paused at the bottom of the steps, looked around as if to see whether the coast was clear, climbed them, and knocked on the door. A couple of seconds later, it opened. Phyllis caught a glimpse of Reed Hayes. He moved back so the security guard could come in. Hayes closed the door.

“Man, I feel like slappin' my forehead and sayin' ‘D'oh!' right about now,” Sam said. “I forgot all about how Murdock told us about that mysterious redheaded woman Hayes was talkin' to. There wasn't any redheaded woman, was there?”

Phyllis shook her head. “That was just Chet's way of muddying up the waters. He was the one who approached Hayes with his demands, and he didn't want anybody finding out about that, so he tried to send us off on a false trail. When you stop and think about it, he was around the broadcast all the time this past week, just like the people who work for the show. There's more to it than that, though. Earlier today he mentioned the incident in New Orleans when Joye had an allergic reaction. That means he had to have been there, because that episode never aired. He couldn't have seen it on TV. There was nothing about it on any of the websites, either.”

“So he was in the audience that day?”

“According to what Bailey told us, it wasn't even taped, because Joye's reaction happened backstage, just before they were ready to start. The audience wouldn't have known about it.”

“So how did Murdock find out about it?”

“He had to be backstage. My hunch is that he was working as a security guard there, too.”

Sam's eyes narrowed. “Sounds to me like the boy's a stalker.”

“Or a really big fan.”

“That's the same thing, sometimes, isn't it?”

Phyllis nodded. “It can be. There's more to it than that, though. If Chet was that big a fan of Joye, would he have killed her? I think he was obsessed with her, all right, but he was
jealous
of her. Of her success. You remember he told us—”

“He wants his own cookin' show. And if this one is canceled, the production company will likely replace it with a new one. If Hayes is the producer, then he could get Murdock a shot at bein' the new host.”

“If Hayes believes that he's responsible for Joye's death and Chet is blackmailing him over that, he'll do everything in his power to make sure Chet gets the job. With Hayes's track record at producing successful shows, the executives will probably let him do whatever he wants.”

Sam shook his head as if he couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. “All that, just to get on a dang TV show?”

“The lure of fame is strong. That's all some people really want in this world. They devote their lives to achieving it.” Phyllis's voice hardened. “Most of them stop short of murder to get what they want, though.”

“What do we do now?” Sam asked. “I'm convinced you're right about everything, Phyllis, but how do we prove it?”

“We have to confront Reed Hayes and make him understand that he's not responsible for Joye's death. He can come forward and confess to what he did without risking a murder charge.”

“Yeah, but he'd still get in trouble for switchin' that cooking oil,” Sam pointed out.

“I'm sure he could make a deal with the district attorney to avoid prosecution if he testified that Chet was blackmailing him. And that would open the door for the police to investigate Chet. I'm sure they'd find that he was in New Orleans at the time of that earlier incident and was in fact working as a guard during those broadcasts. That would create enough doubt to weaken the case against Bailey, and without a sure conviction there, I think Detective Morgan and Detective Hunt would do a more conscientious job of looking into the case. If they could prove somehow that Chet had gotten his hands on some injectors like the one that killed Joye, that might be enough to convince the detectives they arrested the wrong person.”

“So we wait for Murdock to leave and then talk to Hayes?”

“I don't see what else we can do,” Phyllis said.

They stood there tensely in front of the Embarcadero, watching the RV. Public restrooms were nearby, and the steady stream of people going in and out of the facilities would make it difficult for Chet or Hayes to spot them, Phyllis hoped.

She felt a little sick inside at the thought of Chet Murdock being a killer. The apparently guileless young man had been friendly to her right from the start. But behind that pleasant exterior lurked a murderer. Phyllis was sure of that. It was the only explanation that answered all the questions and fit all the details of the case.

Another five minutes had gone by when the door of the RV opened. Chet came out first, followed by Hayes. The producer still looked upset and angry, but with a visible effort he controlled his emotions. After Hayes locked the door, the two men started to walk away together.

“Dang it,” Sam said. “We need to get Hayes alone. We'll have to follow 'em.”

Phyllis recognized someone else in the crowd moving along the path. Without pausing too long to think about what she was doing, she hurried forward, ignoring Sam's surprised exclamation behind her.

“Mr. Hayes,” she said as she came toward the two men from the side. “Mr. Hayes, I need to talk to you.”

Hayes stopped short, as did Chet Murdock. Alarm leaped into the guard's eyes as he turned to look at her, and Phyllis knew she was right about him. Hayes looked surprised, too, but more confused than worried.

“Mrs. Newsom,” he said. “What can I do for you?” He had an undercurrent of impatience in his voice.

“It's a matter of what I can do for you,” Phyllis said. “You can stop worrying about killing Joye Jameson. What you did wasn't responsible for her death.” She leveled a finger at Chet. “Mr. Murdock here is really the one who murdered her and the one who's going to let Bailey Broderick be convicted for the crime.”

Chapter 32

“W
hat!”

The angry bellow came from Hank Squires, whom Phyllis had spotted a moment earlier coming toward them. The sight of Hank had prompted her to go ahead and confront Chet and Hayes now instead of waiting. Hank was only a few yards away, bulling his way through the crowd toward them.

Hayes looked as scared now as Chet did. He said, “I don't know what you're talking—”

“I know you substituted peanut oil for the corn oil,” Phyllis rushed on, getting the words out as fast as she could. “But that's not what killed Joye. Chet tampered with the injectors and replaced the epinephrine with more peanut oil. That's what killed her. But you didn't know that, so he was able to blackmail you.”

Chet forced a laugh. “I think you've gone crazy, Mrs. Newsom. I wouldn't do a thing like that. I loved Joye's show.”

“You loved it so much you were working as a guard while the show was in New Orleans a couple of years ago when Joye had another allergic reaction. No one knew about that except the people who were there that day, and yet you mentioned it to me just a little while ago.”

Chet was still trying to smile, but now the expression was more of a stricken look. He said, “I . . . I . . .”

Hayes turned to look at him. The producer's face darkened with fury. “I knew you looked a little familiar the first time I saw you here in Dallas,” he said. “And now I know why!”

Hank had reached them by now. He prodded a blunt finger against Hayes's chest hard enough to make the man take a step backward. “You tried to poison Joye?” he demanded.

“It wasn't poison,” Hayes said. “It was just peanut oil. Anyway, he's the one responsible for her death, not me! You just heard Mrs. Newsom say so.”

“You just stood by and let Bailey be arrested!” Hank's loud, angry voice was making the fairgoers veer around him now, giving him a wide berth as he confronted Hayes and Chet.

“Well, why wouldn't I?” Hayes said. “She was going to dump me anyway, the cheating bitch.”

Hank roared furiously again and started to swing a punch at Hayes's head. Chet acted before the blow could land. He grabbed Hayes's arm and swung the producer against Hank, using him as a club. The two men's legs tangled together, and they fell to the sidewalk.

Chet turned and ran.

Sam pounded past Phyllis, giving chase. Phyllis cried, “Sam, no!” Sam could handle himself in a fight, but he would be no match for the burly security guard.

Sam didn't slow down. People along the sidewalk yelled and scrambled out of Chet's way as he fled. Sam's long legs carried him swiftly after the killer. Phyllis hurried along behind them, unsure of what she would do if she caught up but unwilling to let Sam face this danger alone.

As it turned out, neither of them had to. Hank Squires had regained his feet and rumbled past Phyllis like a runaway freight train. He passed Sam as they rounded the corner into International Boulevard and the pursuit led toward Big Tex. Phyllis saw Chet throw a frantic glance over his shoulder and speed up, but Hank continued to bear down on him. When the gap had closed enough, the cameraman left his feet in a diving tackle that smashed into Chet's back and drove him off his feet.

Both men crashed to the ground in front of Big Tex, scattering the tourists who had been taking pictures and admiring the towering figure. “Howdy!” the mechanical voice boomed out as Hank and Chet struggled desperately. “Howdy!”

By the time Phyllis and Sam reached them, Hank had gotten the upper hand. He had Chet pinned on the ground facedown with a knee in the small of his back. Hank had pulled both of Chet's arms behind his back and held them so tightly that if Chet struggled too much he ran the risk of dislocating a shoulder.

“Hang on to him,” Phyllis said. “I'll call the police.”

More of the fair's security personnel came running up to find out what the commotion was, and seeing one of their own pinned on the ground, they started to grab Hank and haul him off.

“Stop!” Sam shouted. “He's a murderer!”

“They're crazy!” Chet cried. “They're all crazy! Help me, guys!”

Phyllis knew that if the other guards freed Chet, he might be able to slip off in the confusion. She said, “Hank, hang on to him, whatever you do.”

Hank might not have had a chance to do that against such heavy odds, if a commanding voice hadn't ordered, “Everybody stay right where you are!” Phyllis looked over and saw Detectives Morgan and Hunt hurrying toward them. The officers had their guns drawn. The security guards backed off.

Phyllis was surprised to see Morgan and Hunt but very grateful for their timely arrival, which was explained a moment later when a breathless Reed Hayes came up. “I called them,” he said. “I told them I wanted to confess. I just didn't say what I was confessing to.”

“Somebody better do some fast explaining,” Charlotte Morgan snapped.

Hayes pointed at Chet Murdock and said, “There's your killer right there. He tried to blackmail me, too. I'll tell you everything; just don't let Murdock get away.”

Morgan winced. “This is going to be complicated, isn't it? I hate complicated cases.” She glanced at Phyllis. “And you! Didn't I tell you to stay out of this?”

“It's a good thing for you that Phyllis is too stubborn to listen,” Sam said with a grin. “Otherwise you might've sent an innocent woman to prison.”

“I wouldn't have let that happen,” Hayes said. “I would have spoken up before it came to that.”

Phyllis would have liked to believe that. He was paying for Bailey's defense, after all. Maybe there was still some humanity in him, even if he was a Hollywood producer.

Al Hunt said, “Let's go somewhere quieter and sort this all out.” He put away his gun and cuffed Chet Murdock's hands behind his back. Hank lifted Chet to his feet. The two detectives started herding everyone away.

“Howdy, folks!” Big Tex said behind them.

•   •   •

“We should have gone with you,” Carolyn said.

“Yeah, the five of us could've rounded up those bad guys,” Peggy added. “We would've been your posse, Phyllis.”

Eve said, “Those two police detectives showed up awfully quickly, didn't they?”

The five of them were back in the living room of Peggy's house later that day. Phyllis had explained everything to her friends. Now she answered Eve's question by saying, “Actually, they were already there at Fair Park, inside the Creative Arts Building. They knew everyone from the TV show would be heading back to California tomorrow, so they came out to take one last look around, just to make sure they hadn't overlooked any evidence. I must say, I'm a little surprised they went to that much trouble . . . but I'm glad they did. Chet might have gotten away if they hadn't.”

“I'll bet he's lawyered up and not saying a word,” Peggy said.

Phyllis shook her head. “Actually, he admitted to everything. He's not really a hardened criminal, just someone who let his ambition get the best of him.”

“Sounds like a borderline sociopath to me,” Carolyn said. “He wanted to be a star, so whatever he had to do to achieve that goal was all right in his mind.”

“You're right about that,” Phyllis said.

“So chalk up another murder case solved,” Peggy said. “Carolyn invited me to come visit you folks in Weatherford, but I'm not sure I want to, the way people wind up getting killed around you.”

Carolyn made a disgusted sound and shook her head. “I think I can promise you, Peggy, that there won't be any murders if you come to see us.”

“Can you? Can you really?”

Carolyn frowned and didn't say anything.

Her silence spoke volumes.

•   •   •

That evening, Phyllis was in the bedroom she was using, taking care of some last-minute packing, when Sam paused in the open doorway and leaned his shoulder against the jamb.

“It'll be good to get home again, won't it?” he said.

Phyllis nodded. “It certainly will. I've had enough of Dallas to last me for a while. A long time, in fact.”

“Until next year's state fair, maybe?”

“I'm not sure I'm coming back to the fair.”

“You're not gonna defend your funnel cake title? If you don't, that little jackwagon Silva's liable to win it.”

“He's welcome to it,” Phyllis said. “I just want to stay close to home from now on.”

“Speakin' of home . . .” Sam's face grew more solemn. “When we get back, there's somethin' I want to ask you.”

Phyllis felt a tingle of apprehension and swallowed hard. “Something important?”

“Well, yeah, I think it's pretty important.”

She remembered some of the comments he had made recently that made her think he was contemplating a change in their relationship. She didn't want to face that, didn't want to deal with that sort of upheaval. The way she kept running into murder cases made her life unsettled enough without adding any other sort of emotional turmoil.

And yet she knew she couldn't ignore Sam's feelings. She cared about him too much for that. He had meant too much to her over the past few years, had brought a happiness and contentment back into her life that she had thought she would never feel again.

She took a deep breath and said, “Since you already brought it up, I think we should go ahead and discuss it now.”

“It can wait—”

“You said you had a question for me. I might need some time to think about the answer, you know.”

He nodded slowly and said, “I guess that's true. It wouldn't be fair for me to just spring it on you and expect you to say yes or no right away. You're right. You deserve a chance to think about it.”

He came into the room. Phyllis faced him squarely, lifting her head slightly so that she could look into his eyes. He rested his hands on her shoulders, and as she felt the warmth and strength of his touch, she wondered what she was going to tell him.

Sam breathed in, let it back out, and said, “Phyllis, there's been something missin' for a while, and I think it's time to do somethin' about it. What I'd like to do . . . if it's all right with you . . . what I'd like to do is get a dog.”