Death Bakes a Pecan Pie

by Livia J. Washburn

  The Harvest Festival would proceed.

  “The chief is going to have extra officers on duty there during the day, though,” Carolyn said, “because he expects an even larger crowd than usual. I feel a little bad about saying it, because I know it means some people will come because of the murder, but I hope he’s right.”

  “The more folks show up, the more canned food will be collected,” Sam said.

  “That’s right. So some good will come out of a terrible situation. It’s all right to be pleased with that, isn’t it?”

  “I think so,” Phyllis said.

  Supper had been a quick affair. Carolyn chopped up some of the leftover brisket, added some barbeque sauce, and put it on baked potatoes. After they cleaned up the kitchen, the four of them had moved to the living room. Ronnie was upstairs in her room, probably posting something on her computer or phone. She went out casually with some of the boys she attended school with, but she didn’t have a date tonight.

  In a way, Phyllis was glad of that. She didn’t think Weatherford was any more of a dangerous place than normal tonight because of Lawrence Fremont’s murder. She was convinced that was an isolated incident. But it was still good to have everyone home and safe under one roof.

  “Anybody feel like watchin’ a movie?” Sam asked. “Would it be too creepy to stream one of Lawrence Fremont’s films?”

  “Yes,” Carolyn answered without hesitation. “It would.”

  Phyllis said, “I don’t even know what other movies he made. Do you mind if I look them up, Sam?”

  “Shoot, no, go right ahead.”

  Carolyn got to her feet. “I think I’m going up to my room. This has been a very tiring day.”

  Phyllis couldn’t argue with that, but at the same time, she felt oddly energized, as if she wasn’t going to be able to relax for a while. She knew that was a result of her brain engaging with the mystery of Fremont’s death, whether she wanted that to happen or not.

  “I believe I’ll say good night, too,” Eve said. “I want to check my email . . . and I might do a little writing.”

  “A new book?” Carolyn said.

  “Just some ideas.”

  “That Wilkes woman got you thinking, didn’t she?”

  “Maybe . . .”

  They continued talking as they left the living room and headed upstairs. Phyllis went to the desk in the corner with the computer and monitor sitting on it and started searching for information on Lawrence Fremont. She had taken a cursory look at his film career when she found out that he was directing the movie based on Eve’s book, but now she began digging deeper.

  Lawrence Fremont, she discovered, actually came from a theater background. He had done some acting in New York as a young man, mostly in off-Broadway plays, but he had made it to Broadway a few times in supporting roles. Somewhere along the way he had gotten involved in directing and had started to carve out a reputation for himself, again mostly in off-Broadway productions.

  Then he had landed a job directing a few episodes of a police procedural television series that was shot in New York and had parlayed that into more TV work, moving on to Los Angeles for that. He had been quite busy with TV in the second half of the Eighties, before directing his first film in 1990. That had been a low-budget independent picture, but it had gotten good reviews and had decent box office returns, for what it was. By the end of the Nineties, Fremont had been a well-respected director who had worked steadily.

  Those were just the bare bones of his career, though. Phyllis looked for more about his personal life. It was possible someone could have had some purely mercenary reason for poisoning Fremont, but it seemed to her that anyone who used a murder method such as poison wanted the victim to suffer. That much hatred required a personal motive.

  She went back to the early days of his career in New York, and after several minutes of searching that turned up innocuous stories on various theater websites, she found a mention of Fremont in a newspaper story about the suicide of a young actress who had leaped off a skyscraper to her death. Phyllis’s eyes widened at that. The young woman had been a member of the cast of a play Fremont had directed. She had been engaged to an actor in the cast, but they had broken up recently and that was considered to be the reason she had taken her own life.

  Had she ended her engagement because of Lawrence Fremont? Nothing in the story indicated that, but Phyllis had to ask herself the question.

  She looked up the actress who had committed suicide, just in case there was a connection between her and the people involved in this movie. As far as Phyllis could tell, no such link existed. But she filed the facts away in her memory anyway.

  There was nothing as dramatic as that in any of the other stories she could find about Fremont’s theater career. He had been married to an actress in New York, but only for fourteen months before they divorced. Phyllis couldn’t find anything suspicious about the woman. Apparently, she had retired from acting, married someone else, and now lived in New Jersey and worked as a real estate agent. A dead end, Phyllis decided.

  Over the years, Fremont had been linked romantically with a number of other women, both in show business and out of it, but he never married again. Archived pages from gossip websites, newspapers, and tabloids hinted at various improprieties but wrote openly about Fremont’s temper and the difficulties he had with different actors, crew members, and studio executives. He had gotten mixed up in several physical altercations when the victims of his wrath or his cruel practical jokes took violent exception to them. Most recently he had traded punches with . . .

  Phyllis sat back and stared at the screen. Three movies back, Lawrence Fremont had gotten into a fight with an actor from Australia who was making his first American movie.

  Robert Harkness.

  Eagerly now, she read on. Harkness was taller and heavier than Fremont, but from the sound of it, the director knew how to handle himself in a fight. Both men had wound up bloody and battered. Harkness had finished the movie, though. Phyllis wondered if he and Fremont had patched up their differences. Harkness had been cast in this film, so it seemed that they must have. But maybe not. Maybe Harkness had been seething inside, just waiting for his chance to settle the old score . . .

  Harkness didn’t strike Phyllis as a poisoner, though. He would have been more likely to go after Fremont with his fists again. But that was just her impression, Phyllis reminded herself. She didn’t know the man well enough to say anything for sure about him.

  That discovery made her think that maybe she ought to check the casts of all of Fremont’s pictures, just to see who else he might have worked with before.

  She was about to do that when the doorbell rang.

  “This is a busy place tonight,” Sam said from the sofa. He had picked up the Western paperback he was reading from an end table and had been absorbed in it while Phyllis worked on the computer. “You want me to get that?”

  “No, I will,” Phyllis said. “I don’t like to sit there at the desk for too long at one time. I need to get up and move around.”

  She went into the foyer, wondering who this visitor might be. It was a little late now for someone to be calling.

  She opened the door and found Melissa Keller standing there alone, with none of the other movie people accompanying her. As soon as she saw the strained lines of Melissa’s face, Phyllis knew something else bad had happened.

  “I’m sorry to bother you this late,” Melissa began.

  “No, that’s fine,” Phyllis said. “Come in.”

  As Phyllis closed the door behind her, Melissa said, “You know how you were talking earlier about having a personal stake in those other cases you investigated?”

  “That’s right, I nearly always did.”

  “Well, now I’ve got a personal stake. I need to find out who killed Lawrence Fremont, because the police have just arrested my best friend and charged her with murder.”

  “You mean—”

  “That’s right,” Melissa said
. “They claim that it was Julie who killed him.”

  Chapter 16

  “Come in,” Phyllis said as she overcame her surprise and stepped back.

  Melissa came into the foyer and said, “I started to call you, but then I decided it would be better to talk to you in person.”

  “I’m glad you came over. I want to hear everything you know.”

  Melissa still wore the same clothes she’d had on for the scenes they were shooting today. Phyllis took her jacket and hung it up, then ushered her into the living room where Sam was already on his feet, having heard the voices in the foyer.

  “Miz Keller,” he greeted Melissa. “I didn’t expect to see you again tonight.”

  “I didn’t expect to be here. And please, Sam, call me Melissa. I think we’re all friends here, especially after what happened today. I feel like Phyllis and I are . . . sisters in arms, I guess you’d say. We’ve both done something that most people haven’t.”

  “Discovered a dead body, you mean,” Phyllis said.

  “And it’s something I’d just as soon never do again!”

  “I certainly agree with that. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

  Melissa shook her head as she sat on the same chair where Detective Largo had been earlier. “I had room service sent up when we got back to the hotel. I think just about everybody planned to do that. Nobody felt like going out. Julie asked if she could join me, so we ate together in my room. We were just finishing up when that detective got there.”

  “Detective Largo?”

  “Yes. She had several uniformed officers with her. She asked Julie to step out of the room. I don’t think she wanted me involved. But I wasn’t going to let Julie face whatever it was alone, so I insisted that she go ahead and say whatever it was she had to say.” Melissa shook her head slowly. “I almost wish I hadn’t done that, although it wouldn’t have changed a thing. The detective said . . .” She had to stop for a couple of seconds before she could go on. “She told Julie that she was under the arrest for the murder of Lawrence Fremont and advised her of her rights.”

  “How did Julie react to that?”

  “How do you think she reacted to that?” Melissa asked. “She was shocked and horrified, just like me. Neither of us could believe it. One of the officers handcuffed her—Detective Largo said it was mandatory with an arrest like that—and they led her out, put her in a police car, and took her away. Lord knows what’s happening to her now!”

  “She’ll be all right,” Phyllis said, trying to reassure Melissa. “Chief Whitmire’s department is very professional. She won’t be mistreated, I can promise you that. Have you gotten in touch with a lawyer?”

  “Who? All the lawyers I know are in Los Angeles!”

  Phyllis nodded. “All right, I can help with that.” She looked over at Sam. “Can you call Jimmy?”

  “Sure. That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

  As Sam pulled his cell phone from his pocket and left the living room to make the call, Melissa slapped herself lightly on the forehead and said, “Of course. Jimmy D’Angelo. I read about him while I was studying up on your career as a crime-solver. He’s the lawyer that you and Sam work for as private eyes, right?”

  “Investigators,” Phyllis said, “although Sam really does love thinking of himself as a private eye. But yes, Jimmy is a defense attorney, and a very good one. I’m sure he’ll do everything he can for Julie and see about getting bail arranged. She probably won’t be released until in the morning, though, no matter what Jimmy does.”

  Melissa slumped back in the chair and shook her head. “Thank you. I just haven’t been thinking straight since they took Julie away. We all have rental cars, and as soon as I got my head together, I climbed in mine and came over here. I almost got lost a couple of times, but I found the place. Why in the world would they do such a thing? Have the police in this town lost their minds?”

  “I’m sure they think they have a good reason. Detective Largo wouldn’t have been able to get an arrest warrant otherwise.”

  Phyllis thought about telling Melissa that Largo had been over here at the house earlier, but then she decided against it. Largo had gone out on a limb sharing as much information about the case as she had, and Phyllis didn’t want to cause trouble for her. Her newfound friendship with Melissa made her want to ease the actress’s mind as much as she could, though. She was sort of in the middle here, Phyllis told herself . . . and it wasn’t a particularly comfortable position.

  Sam came back into the living room, trailed by Carolyn, Eve, and Ronnie. Phyllis supposed they had come downstairs to see who had been at the door. From the worried looks on their faces, Phyllis thought they must have heard what Sam was saying to Jimmy D’Angelo and so had an idea of what was going on.

  “Jimmy’s on his way to the jail,” Sam reported. “He’ll let us know what he finds out and whether he’s able to do any good for Miz Cordell.”

  “Thank you, Sam.” Phyllis turned back to Melissa. “Do the other members of the movie company know that Julie’s been arrested?”

  “I doubt it, unless they happened to be around when the cops took her out of the hotel. I think if that were the case, they would have come looking for me. But I don’t actually know.” Melissa stood up, apparently too nervous to stay sitting down. “Lord, I’ve got to tell Alan! He’ll probably want to call the studio’s lawyers.”

  “I don’t know what they can to do help Julie that Jimmy can’t,” Phyllis said.

  Melissa shook her head and said, “Alan’s not going to be worried about Julie. He’ll want to make sure the studio and the production companies are protected from liability in any lawsuits that come out of this whole mess. They’ll leave Julie twisting in the wind as long as their butts are covered!”

  “That’s just not right,” Carolyn said.

  “No, it’s not, but friendship doesn’t mean much when it’s stacked up against money.” Melissa stood up straighter. “At least it doesn’t to most people in this business. But it does to me. I’m not going to turn my back on Julie. Which brings me right back to what I said to you earlier, Phyllis. I know that Julie is innocent, and I’ll stand a lot better chance of proving that and finding the real killer if you help me, or let me help you, I should say. How about it? Do we solve this case?”

  Phyllis had been expecting that question ever since Melissa told her that Julie had been arrested and charged with Lawrence Fremont’s murder. She didn’t have to think about her answer, either. The insistent prodding of her own desire to learn the truth had already made up her mind.

  “We’re going to give it our very best effort,” she said.

  ◄♦►

  Given the fact that it was fairly late on a Friday evening and Julie’s arrest had already taken place, there wasn’t really anything that could be done right away, other than getting Jimmy D’Angelo involved in the case. Phyllis persuaded Melissa to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest.

  “All right,” Melissa said dubiously, “but I don’t know how I’m going to sleep after this day. I can’t believe how much has happened.”

  “These things tend to snowball sometimes,” Phyllis said.

  “There’s a saying about bad luck coming in threes. Lawrence’s murder, Julie’s arrest . . . I can’t help but wonder what’s going to come next.”

  “Maybe nothing this time. That is just a saying, not a rule.”

  Melissa managed to smile. “I hope you’re right. Still, any time a celebrity dies, the rest of us start looking over our shoulders and don’t relax until two more have dropped dead.”

  ◄♦►

  After Melissa was gone, Carolyn said, “That’s just what we need . . . a murder spree sweeping through that whole bunch of movie people.” She looked at Eve. “Although that would give you plenty of fodder for that next book.”

  “Perish the thought,” Eve said. “Next time I’m going to come up with my own plot, not use something from real life. I was a first time
author with the other book, you know.”

  Sam said, “And they always tell you to write what you know.”

  “Let’s just all try to get some sleep and see what the situation is in the morning,” Phyllis suggested. “I know Melissa doesn’t want to accept the idea, but it’s possible Julie actually is guilty and will have confessed by then.”

  Carolyn frowned. “Wait a minute. That’s like saying I might be a murderer, since she’s playing me.”

  “Not at all,” Phyllis said quickly before Eve could correct Carolyn about the character of Catherine Whittington not being the same as her.

  Carolyn just shook her head and said, “This whole thing is just too much déjà vu for me. But let me know if I can help.”

  She and Eve went back upstairs, leaving Phyllis, Sam, and Ronnie in the living room. Ronnie asked, “Can I help you investigate, too?”

  “I think Phyllis will have all the help she needs,” Sam said. “You just worry about school.”

  “I don’t know . . . Maybe if acting doesn’t work out, I could become a detective. That Detective Largo seems pretty cool.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a cop.”

  “Other than the fact that your mother would be worried about you all the time,” Phyllis added.

  “You’re talking about Mike, aren’t you?” Ronnie said. “You really worry about him all the time?”

  “Every day,” Phyllis said. “But that’s what he wanted to do with his life. He’s happy, and he’s helping people, so I can’t really object too much, can I?”

  “Your ol’ grandpa would worry about you, too,” Sam told Ronnie. “But you’re a long way from havin’ to make up your mind about things like that.”

  “Not that long,” she said. “I’m a senior. Almost grown.”

  Sam sighed. “Don’t remind me.”

  Ronnie went on upstairs a few minutes later. Sam went back to his book, but he seemed distracted. Phyllis returned to the computer and tried to resume her research into Lawrence Fremont’s life and career, but she had trouble concentrating, too. The day’s events kept playing out in her mind. Often she felt as if she had seen or heard something that was the key to solving a case, but that impression was missing this time. She was utterly baffled, and it wasn’t a good feeling. She sighed.