Killer Crab Cakes

by Livia J. Washburn

  “I’m not signing any statement until my lawyer’s looked it over,” Leo insisted.

  “Of course, that’s entirely up to you,” Abby told him.

  There was no veiled threat in her voice that Phyllis could hear, but Leo seemed to take it that way. “Hey, I don’t sign anything until my lawyer’s checked it out,” he said. “Ask anybody who’s done business with me. I’m careful that way.”

  “We can do that,” Abby said without hesitation, which made Leo’s frown deepen. Jessica touched his arm, as if she sensed that he was digging himself into a hole with his attitude, but he ignored her.

  “If you’re not gonna question us, then what’s this meeting all about?” he demanded.

  “I just came by to make sure that all of you were still here and hadn’t tried to leave town.”

  “We would have moved to different accommodations,” Sheldon said, “if any had been available. But we weren’t going to leave town.”

  “Yes, it gets pretty crowded around here during the week leading up to the SeaFair,” Abby said, “and, of course, the weekend itself will be really hectic. It would probably simplify matters for everybody if you folks could just stay here.”

  Leo grunted. “Bed-and-breakfast, and no extra charge for murder. Well, if you don’t mind, we’re gonna be eating our meals somewhere else for the duration.”

  Consuela looked daggers at him for that, Phyllis noted, but also as usual with him, Leo was oblivious to the effect his rude comments had on other people.

  “We plan on wrapping up the investigation as quickly as possible,” Abby said, “so with any luck you won’t have to stay here for very long unless you just want to. But I can tell you, Oak Knoll is one of the best bed-and-breakfasts in the area.”

  “We always thought so,” Jessica said somewhat forlornly. “Until this terrible business with Mr. McKenna happened, that is.”

  “My wife and I will be around anytime you need to talk to us,” Nick told Abby. “We’re willing to do anything we can to help.” Kate nodded in agreement with what he’d said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Citizen cooperation always makes our job easier.”

  Abby wasn’t looking at Leo as she said that, but he reacted anyway. “Hey, I got a right to a lawyer.”

  “No one said you didn’t, Mr. Blaine.” Abby started toward the door, saying, “I’ll let you people go on about your business now. Thank you for your patience.”

  Leo wasn’t ready to let it go. He pointed at Consuela and said, “You didn’t tell her not to leave town.”

  “I don’t think Consuela’s going anywhere,” Abby said. “She and her family have lived here for a long time.”

  “That’s right,” Consuela said. “And we got nothing to hide, either. Me and my girls will talk to you anytime.”

  “Thanks.” Abby gave them all a nod as she left the parlor. “Good evening, everyone.”

  As soon as the front door had closed behind her, Leo said, “Of all the blasted … I’m gonna call Roger right now!” He reached in the pocket of his trousers to dig out his cell phone.

  Phyllis supposed that Roger was his lawyer.

  Jessica said to her husband, “He’s probably left the office by now—”

  “I’ll call him at home! I’m not gonna put up with harassment like this!”

  Phyllis thought that Abby Clifton had gone out of her way not to say or do anything that smacked of harassment, but obviously Leo saw things differently. What was that old line … ? Oh, yes.

  What color is the sky in your world?

  Evidently in Leo Blaine’s world, the sky was, say, a deep, angry purple, Phyllis thought.

  “I thought we were going to eat supper,” Sheldon said.

  “Yes,” Jessica said as she tugged at Leo’s sleeve. “Let’s go have a nice, peaceful supper. This has been a stressful day, and I just want to relax for a little while.”

  Leo had his cell phone open in his hand now. “I want to call Roger—”

  Jessica reached out and closed the phone, surprising Phyllis by standing up to Leo that way. “You can call him later,” she said. “After we eat.”

  “All right, all right,” Leo grumbled as he slipped the phone back in his pocket. “But if that lady cop thinks she can railroad me, she’s got another think comin’!”

  The four of them filed out of the parlor and left the house. After they were gone, Nick Thompson looked at Consuela and said, “You’ve worked here for a while. Is he always like that?”

  Consuela shrugged and said, “Mr. Blaine has always been loud. And he likes to complain. But this business with Mr. McKenna has made him worse. I think he’s scared but just doesn’t want to admit it.”

  Sam spoke up, saying, “That’s what I figure, too. All that bellerin’ is just to cover up how nervous he is.”

  “We’re all nervous,” Carolyn pointed out. “That doesn’t give anybody an excuse to be obnoxious.”

  Nick leaned toward his wife and whispered something in her ear. He had to stretch up a little to do so, since she was taller than him. She looked at him, shrugged, and nodded.

  Nick turned back toward Consuela and smiled. “We’ve decided that we’re going to eat here tonight after all. That is, if there’s enough food for everyone.”

  “Plenty to go around,” Consuela assured him. “And you won’t be sorry, Mr. Thompson. My seafood quesadillas are the best you’ve ever had.”

  Nick chuckled. “Well, I don’t think we’ve ever had seafood quesadillas before, so I’m sure they will be.”

  “But they would be even if we ate them all the time,” Kate added.

  The talk of food reminded Phyllis that she still had to decide what she was going to make for the Just Desserts competition. Despite Ed McKenna being murdered, the SeaFair would go on as scheduled, and so would the dessert contest. Life for the rest of the world didn’t grind to a halt just because one cantankerous old man had been poisoned.

  People wanted their pies and cakes and cookies, no matter who was dead!

  Chapter 9

  The seafood quesadillas were every bit as good as Consuela claimed they would be. Stuffed with cheese, shrimp, crabmeat, and other things that Phyllis couldn’t identify, they were delicious, she thought. It was a perfect blend of flavors and it went nicely with the tossed salad and sliced cantaloupe Consuela served.

  But even so, she had to admit deep down, doubt nagged at her mind every time she took a bite. Consuela would have to be a lunatic to think that she could poison everyone at the bed-and-breakfast and get away with it, but such things happened sometimes. That was why the insanity defense existed. Some people just didn’t know they were doing anything wrong, no matter how heinous their crime.

  Not Consuela, though, Phyllis told herself. The woman was a hard worker, a loving mother to her daughters, a good wife to her husband. She couldn’t be a killer.

  The forced smiles on the faces of the others at the dinner table, as well as the slightly hollow sound of their conversation, told Phyllis that they were all trying to convince themselves of the same thing.

  They all made a valiant effort to behave normally, though. Everyone avoided the subject of Ed McKenna’s death and the very real possibility that he had been murdered. Instead they talked about the upcoming SeaFair and the other things going on in the Rockport/Fulton area.

  “Me, I’m lookin’ forward to the gumbo cook-off,” Sam said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had real good gumbo. Used to get some down in Louisiana.”

  “When were you in Louisiana?” Phyllis asked.

  “Did my army basic trainin’ there at Fort Polk, back in the sixties.”

  “I never knew you were in the army,” Eve said.

  Sam grinned. “Well, it wasn’t exactly my idea, if you get my drift.”

  “You were drafted,” Carolyn said.

  “Yep. Tramped around the Louisiana swamps for six weeks, then spent the next eighteen months trampin’ around the swamps of Vietnam.”

 
“How terrible!”

  “It was no picnic,” Sam acknowledged. “But I made it through with a whole skin and made some friendships that lasted a long time. I reckon it was what you call a valuable experience. One I’d just as soon not have had, though.”

  Phyllis was surprised by what he’d said. All this time she had known him, and she had no idea until now that he had been in Vietnam.

  That brought back memories of how she and Kenny had worried that he would be drafted, back in the days when they were first married. Fortunately, his student deferment had kept him out of the service. They had both been finishing up their college education at the time, getting ready to go out into the world and become teachers. Molders of young minds. They had both been so young, so filled with visions of being part of a noble calling.

  And teaching was a noble profession, at its core. She still believed that. It was just accompanied by a lot of truly hard work that beginners never knew about until they were actually doing it. If people really knew …

  She pushed those thoughts out of her head and put her attention back on the conversation going on around the dinner table. Nick was asking, “How in the world do you get a crab to race?”

  “Same way people get jumping frogs to race, I guess,” Sam said. “Put it down on the course and holler as loud as you can and hope it goes the right way.”

  Phyllis knew they were talking about the crab race, another SeaFair attraction … although watching a bunch of crabs scuttle around didn’t sound all that interesting to her.

  “I’m looking forward to the arts and crafts exhibitions, myself,” Eve said. “I’ve heard that artists from all over the state come here to show their work.”

  Nick nodded. “It’s an artsy area, all right. You can tell that from all the galleries downtown. That artistic atmosphere is just one more reason people want to live here. The place is already booming, and the market here is just going to get stronger.”

  “The market?” Phyllis asked.

  “The real estate market.” Nick waved a hand. “Sorry. I guess you didn’t know I’m a real estate consultant in the real world. Something I don’t want to have anything to do with while I’m on vacation, thank you very much.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Phyllis admitted, “I don’t know what any of the guests do for a living.”

  Maybe that was something she ought to look into, she thought. It was possible there was some sort of business connection between one of them and Ed McKenna that had led to McKenna’s death. She wondered if the information would be in Dorothy’s files. She wasn’t sure she had any right to go poking around in there, but she didn’t think Dorothy would mind, given the fact that she wanted to help the police solve the murder so that the good name of the bed-and-breakfast could be cleared.

  There. She had finally admitted it to herself in so many words. She wanted to solve the murder. That was the only thing she could do to help Dorothy and Ben, who had more than enough trouble already on their plate with their grandchild’s medical problems.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, though. Figuring out the identity of a killer never was, and this would be even more difficult than in the past because here she didn’t have Mike to help her. Her deputy sheriff son had often provided her with vital information that wasn’t available to the general public. She knew he risked getting in trouble every time he did that, but he always insisted that she shouldn’t worry about him.

  She supposed she had gotten used to having that advantage, because she thought about how helpful it would be if Abby Clifton were to drop by and bring her up to date on the progress of the investigation. That wasn’t going to happen, though, no matter how much Abby and her father talked about being open to any suggestions from Phyllis. That was just talk. She knew they considered her a suspect in Ed McKenna’s death just like everyone else in the house. Not an overly serious suspect, perhaps … but she would have bet that they hadn’t ruled her out.

  “I don’t know about the Blaines and the Forrests,” Nick was saying, “but Kate here is a financial whiz. She’s a vice president in a real estate development company. That’s how she and I met.”

  Kate pushed her hair back from her face and smiled. “Don’t make it sound more impressive than it is, honey. You didn’t mention that my father owns the company. I’m a living, breathing case of nepotism.”

  “Are you kidding? Your father would fire you in a minute if you weren’t doing the job to suit him.”

  “Anyway, I know what Sheldon Forrest does,” Kate said. “His wife told me one day while we were talking. He’s an aerospace engineer. He has something to do with NASA there in Houston where they live.”

  “That’s interesting,” Phyllis said. “Leo Blaine doesn’t strike me as an engineer. Of course, maybe he’s not. He and Sheldon may not be friends from work.”

  “Maybe they go to the same church,” Sam suggested.

  Phyllis doubted that. If the sort of hanky-panky she suspected was going on among the Blaines and the Forrests was really taking place, then they weren’t the churchgoing type, either.

  “Anyway, about the SeaFair,” Nick went on, “what do they have besides a gumbo cook-off and crab races and arts and crafts?”

  “A dessert competition,” Phyllis and Carolyn said simultaneously.

  Nick looked back and forth between them for a second before a sly smile broke out on his face. “Ah, ladies! Do I sense a bit of rivalry?”

  “Don’t get them started,” Eve advised with a laugh. “They’ve been trying to outdo each other at cooking contests for years now.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Carolyn said. “It’s not that bad. We just enjoy baking, isn’t that right, Phyllis?”

  “Of course,” Phyllis said. And Carolyn enjoyed winning all the contests she had won, too. Of course, Phyllis reminded herself, she would be less than honest if she didn’t admit that she relished her occasional victories, too.

  “So you’re both entering the dessert contest at the SeaFair?” Kate asked.

  “I suppose so,” Phyllis said. “That’s one reason we came down here.”

  “What are your recipes going to be?”

  Phyllis and Carolyn looked at each other, but neither said a word.

  Nick hooted with laughter. “I think you hit a sore spot there, sweetheart. There’s a little culinary intrigue going on, maybe.”

  “I prefer to keep my recipe to myself until the actual contest,” Carolyn said rather stiffly. She unbent a little as she went on, “But you can read it later, because I think they publish the winning entries in the newspaper after the contest. That’s the way these competitions usually operate.”

  “Well, I’ll, uh, have to keep an eye out for that,” Kate said as she glanced at Phyllis. She knew as well as everyone else around the table that Carolyn had just staked her claim on having the winning entry.

  Phyllis didn’t rise to the bait. For one thing, there were different divisions within the contest, and as long as each of them kept her recipe secret, they wouldn’t know which division the other was entering. It might turn out that they weren’t even competing directly against each other.

  So Carolyn’s implied boast didn’t bother Phyllis. She had known her old friend for way too many years to let such a thing get under her skin. She just said, “I’m sure all the recipes will be good ones. There are bound to be a lot of fine cooks around here.”

  “But I reckon the best ones still come from Weatherford,” Sam said.

  Nick laughed and picked up his glass of iced tea. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. “A gallant sentiment, Sam.”

  “Like Walter Brennan used to say, ‘No brag, just fact.’ ”

  “Who?” Kate asked.

  At least the discussion about the SeaFair and its assorted attractions had gotten everyone’s mind off poison for a while, Phyllis thought later as she settled herself in front of the computer in Dorothy’s small office nestled behind the kitchen. She didn’t even mind the slight awkwardness that had
come up concerning her long-running rivalry with Carolyn. That was a small price to pay for making the situation more comfortable for everyone else.

  Now, though, everyone had scattered throughout the house. Nick and Kate were in their room. The Blaines and the Forrests had returned from supper and gone to their rooms, too, and Lord knew what they were doing up there, Phyllis thought. The Lord could know, but she certainly didn’t want to. Consuela had finished cleaning up after supper and had gone home. Sam was in the parlor watching TV; Phyllis could hear it through the office door, which was open a couple of inches. Eve and Carolyn were around somewhere, although she didn’t know exactly where.

  And she was at the computer, about to go poking around in things that technically were none of her business.

  Dorothy had told her enough about the software program the bed-and-breakfast used to keep track of its guests so that Phyllis was able to open it without any trouble. She wasn’t the most naturally computer-savvy person in the world, but she had learned enough to navigate her way around most common programs. She didn’t have any trouble locating the files that contained information about Leo and Jessica Blaine and Sheldon and Raquel Forrest.

  It was pretty basic stuff, she saw as she scanned through the pages. Names, addresses, phone numbers, credit card numbers and expiration dates, scans of everyone’s driver’s license. There was a space for employment information, and Phyllis saw that Sheldon listed his employer as the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, just as Kate had said. Leo’s employer was listed as the Jefferson-Bartell Group, whatever that was.

  That was all she found in Dorothy’s files, so Phyllis began surfing the Internet. She did a search for Sheldon’s name first and found that he was the author of a number of articles about mass propulsion and overcoming inertial drag, all of which had been published in various technical and physics journals. Some of them were available online, and Phyllis called up one to look at it.

  She had done reasonably well in all the science courses when she was in school herself, including physics, but Sheldon’s article was just so much gobbledygook to her. It might as well have been written in a foreign language. From the looks of the comments accompanying the article, though, Sheldon seemed to be a well-respected member of his profession.