“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
“What!”
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 o
ff.
“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.”
Recipes
Golden Buttermilk Pie
1 deep-dish pie shell
½ cup (1 stick) butter
1 cup granulated sugar
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
Pinch of salt
1 cup buttermilk
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Bake the empty deep-dish pie shell for 5 minutes. To keep the pie crust from bubbling, put a piece of parchment paper or aluminum foil large enough to cover the whole pie and add pie weights, or dried beans, or even clean coins can be used as pie weights. Allow the crust to cool.
Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition; then add the vanilla.
Sift the flour and salt together and add to the batter, alternating with the buttermilk; beat until smooth.
Pour the buttermilk filling into the lightly baked pie shell and sprinkle the grated nutmeg on top. Nutmeg can be grated on top of the pie if you can judge how much ½ a teaspoon is. Loosely cover the crust with strips of aluminum foil to keep it from burning. Bake for 10 minutes, reduce the heat to 350°F, and bake for 50–60 additional minutes.
The pie should turn a nice golden brown and a knife inserted should come out clean.
Let the pie cool to room temperature before cutting. Hot pies tend to crumble more.
Serves 6–8.
Maple Pecan Funnel Cake
3 eggs
¼ cup granulated sugar
2 cups milk
31/3 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup finely chopped pecans
1 teaspoon maple extract
Vegetable oil for frying (Phyllis likes corn oil)
Maple syrup
Instructions
Beat the eggs and sugar together in a large bowl. Add the milk slowly, continuing to beat until incorporated. Add the flour, salt, and baking powder and beat until the batter is creamy. Stir in ½ cup of the pecans and the maple extract.
Pour 2 inches of oil into a large cast-iron pot. Heat to medium hot. Place a funnel cake metal ring in the middle of the pan; you’ll use the ring to keep the batter from spreading out all the way to the edges of the pan.
Pour the batter into a funnel, using your finger to plug the hole. Make sure the funnel has a hole wide enough for the batter to go through without clogging. Test the funnel by letting the batter flow back into the bowl to see if it flows. If necessary, you can always use a cup with a spout, or even a plastic bag with a corner cut off.
When the oil is hot, put the filled funnel over the oil and remove your finger so the batter can come out. Move the funnel around to make designs.
Brown the batter until it’s a golden color. Use tongs to remove the metal ring and turn the funnel cake. When the cake is brown on both sides, remove and drain well. Let the finished cake sit on a paper towel for a minute to remove even more of the oil, and then transfer it to a plate.
Top with a drizzle of maple syrup and the remaining ½ cup chopped pecans.
Note: The pecans need to be chopped fine enough to get through the funnel easily. If you want a coarser nut to top the funnel cake, chop them separately.
Makes 6–8 funnel cakes.
Butterscotch Sandies
The Fatal Funnel Cake Page 22
