Wedding Cake Killer: A Fresh-Baked Mystery

by Livia J. Washburn

  Sullivan didn’t speak to Phyllis, but she saw his eyes flick toward her for a second and knew that he knew who she was. She hadn’t set out to make an enemy of this man . . . but there wasn’t an iota of friendliness in his gaze.

  Sullivan and his associates went on into the courtroom. Juliette nodded toward the doors and said, “Let’s go.”

  Phyllis, Sam, and Carolyn slipped onto one of the half dozen benches set up for spectators while Juliette went through a gate in a wooden railing and set her briefcase on the defense table at the front of the room. She sat down, opened the case, and began taking papers out of it.

  “I don’t care much for bein’ in court,” Sam said quietly. “I never would’ve made a good lawyer.”

  “Neither would I,” Carolyn said. “I’m too outspoken. I tell the truth as I see it, not the way some judge wants to hear it.”

  Sam smiled and said, “I was thinkin’ more of the fact that I don’t like wearin’ a tie.”

  By now it was five minutes after nine o’clock, but the judge hadn’t come into the courtroom yet. That wasn’t unusual, Phyllis thought. Like any other bureaucracy, the legal system worked on its own schedule, and everyone else had to accommodate that. She would have liked to see all the judges and attorneys in the world try to function in a school environment, where you had to be in your seat and ready to get down to work as soon as the bell rang. She was willing to bet that things would be a lot more efficient that way.

  A few more maddeningly slow minutes went by, and then a uniformed bailiff came into the courtroom through a side door, followed by the court clerk. The bailiff called, “All rise.”

  Phyllis didn’t know the judge who came in and went behind the bench. He was a stocky, mostly bald man in his fifties or sixties, with thick glasses and a fringe of gray hair. When he sat down, he told the others in the room, “You may be seated,” in a rather high-pitched voice.

  The bailiff announced that court was in session, the Honorable Phillip J. Hemmerson presiding. The court clerk read a docket number and said that this was a hearing to determine bail, and then a uniformed female deputy brought Eve into the courtroom through a different door. Phyllis was glad to see that Eve was wearing her own clothes, even though those clothes were getting wrinkled by now. She was sure Eve wouldn’t have liked wearing one of those orange jumpsuits prisoners usually had to wear.

  Eve saw the three of them sitting there and managed to smile, but she was pale and haggard, as if she hadn’t slept a bit the night before. Phyllis wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. Eve sat down at the defense table next to Juliette, who leaned over and spoke quietly to her.

  The judge was looking through some papers on the bench in front of him. Phyllis had no doubt that he already knew the particulars of the case, but judges always did that anyway. Then he looked up and asked, “Do you have a recommendation for bail in this case, Mr. Sullivan?”

  The district attorney stood up and said, “Yes, Your Honor, we do. The state recommends that bail be set in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars.”

  Phyllis drew in a deep breath. Half a million dollars sounded like a tremendous amount, but she remembered that a bail bondsman usually only asked that the client put up ten percent of the bail amount. Her house was worth more than three times what that ten percent would be even in the current market, and she was more than willing to let Eve use it as surety for the bond.

  Juliette wasn’t going to let Sullivan’s demand go unchallenged, though. When Judge Hemmerson turned to her and said, “Ms. Yorke?” she stood up and said, “Your Honor, half a million dollars is the sort of bail you set on a professional criminal who represents a flight risk. My client is a retired schoolteacher who has led a quiet, decent life and never been in trouble with the law. We ask that you release her on her own recognizance.”

  Well, this was normal so far, Phyllis thought. Both sides had established their starting positions, and now they could negotiate toward something in the middle.

  “Your Honor,” Sullivan responded instantly, “Ms. Yorke clearly doesn’t know everything there is to know about her client; otherwise, she wouldn’t describe Eve Porter as simply a retired schoolteacher.”

  Phyllis stiffened. She didn’t like the smug tone of Sullivan’s voice or the self-satisfied smile on his face. Neither did Juliette, who turned sharply toward the district attorney and demanded, “What are you talking about?”

  Instead of answering her directly, Sullivan addressed the judge again as he said, “Your Honor, Mrs. Porter has been questioned by the police regarding more than one suspicious death in the past.”

  It would have been hard to say who looked more shocked: Phyllis, Sam, and Carolyn in the spectators’ section, Juliette at the defense table, or Judge Hemmerson on the bench, who peered at Sullivan over the glasses that had slipped down on his nose and said in a tone of disbelief, “Her?”

  The only one who didn’t seem surprised was Eve, who sat there looking straight ahead with her shoulders slumped in an air of resignation. Phyllis would have expected her friend to display indignation at such an outrageous accusation.

  Unless, of course, what Sullivan had just said was true . . .

  Still looking smug, the district attorney said, “Yes, Your Honor, Mrs. Porter was questioned by the police in Wichita Falls and Abilene about the deaths of two previous husbands.”

  The emphasis Sullivan put on the word made the implication clear. He had practically accused Eve of murdering not only Roy, but also two of the men to whom she had been married previously.

  Phyllis’s head was spinning. She knew that Eve had been married several times, of course. Eve had made no secret of that fact. But Phyllis had always assumed that those marriages had ended in divorce. Eve had never done anything to correct that assumption.

  Juliette was quick on her feet. She said, “Was my client ever charged with any crime?”

  “No,” Sullivan replied with a shrug, as if that was just a formality.

  “Were the deaths of those men ruled to be homicides?”

  Now Sullivan didn’t look quite so satisfied with himself. “There wasn’t enough evidence for an official finding of homicide,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Your Honor, I move for a dismissal of the charges against my client,” Juliette cut in. “The district attorney has irreparably and irretrievably prejudiced any future proceedings involving Mrs. Porter with these outrageous, unsubstantiated, and irrelevant claims.”

  Hemmerson shook his head. “Nice try, Counselor, but this is a bail hearing, not a trial. Save it for the grand jury.” He turned his attention to the district attorney. “And Mr. Sullivan, I don’t appreciate theatrics so early in the morning, especially if you don’t have anything concrete to back them up.”

  “My apologies, Your Honor,” Sullivan said. “I was just trying to demonstrate a pattern of behavior on the part of the defendant that would indicate the need for the bail we’ve requested.”

  “Well, you didn’t. On the other hand, I’m not inclined to release someone who’s been charged with murder on her own recognizance, either.” The judge picked up his gavel. “Bail is set in the amount of two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Eve slumped even more in her chair as Hemmerson rapped his gavel on the bench, but Phyllis thought it was with relief this time. Eve had to know they could manage that amount and that she would be out of jail soon.

  Timothy Sullivan didn’t look happy as he gathered up his papers and spoke to his associates. Had he really wanted to keep Eve in jail, Phyllis wondered? Surely that wouldn’t look good to the voters, forcing an elderly retired schoolteacher to remain behind bars.

  Unless Sullivan truly believed that Eve was guilty of several murders and that the public would see that eventually. That high level of confidence in the district attorney didn’t bode well for Eve’s chances.

  Juliette sat down beside Eve and spoke to her in a low voice. Eve nodded several times. The uniformed officer
who had brought her into the courtroom came over and motioned for her to stand up. Eve did so, turning to look at Phyllis, Sam, and Carolyn. She smiled at them, but Phyllis could tell that the expression was forced. This bail hearing could have gone a lot worse, Phyllis knew, but its outcome didn’t change the fact that Eve was still in deep, deep trouble.

  After Eve had been taken out of the room, Juliette closed her briefcase and stood up. She came through the gate in the railing and told them, “Eve has enough cash in the bank to cover her share of the bond. I’ll call the bondsman and start making arrangements.”

  “How long before she’ll be out?” Carolyn asked.

  “An hour, hour and a half, maybe,” Juliette said. “Assuming everything goes smoothly, and there’s no reason to think that it won’t.”

  “Then what?” Phyllis said.

  “Then she’ll be arraigned, probably next week, and the case will go to the grand jury next month. They’ll determine whether there’s enough evidence to warrant an indictment.”

  “Maybe it won’t get that far. Maybe before then, they’ll find out who really killed Roy, and the charge against Eve will be dropped.”

  “They never should have arrested her in the first place,” Carolyn added.

  “Given the evidence, they didn’t have much choice,” Juliette said.

  Carolyn frowned. “You’re supposed to be on her side.”

  “I am. But we have to be practical about this.” Juliette sighed. “And Eve’s got to start telling me the truth—all of the truth—if she’s going to have any chance at all.”

  Chapter 13

  Juliette told the three of them to go home. There was nothing more they could do at the courthouse. As soon as Eve was released, she would bring her to Phyllis’s house, Juliette promised.

  They didn’t say much during the short ride back to the house, but as soon as they were inside hanging up their coats, Carolyn burst out, “I swear, I wanted to wring that district attorney’s scrawny little neck!”

  “Then they would have locked you up, too,” Phyllis pointed out. “I think Juliette already has her hands full with just one of us for a client.”

  “Maybe so,” Sam said, “but I know how Carolyn feels. A fella actin’ so snide like that always puts my teeth on edge. I was about ready to go to fist city with him when he started goin’ on with all that junk about Eve.”

  “How do we know it was junk?” Phyllis asked.

  The other two stared at her for several seconds before Carolyn demanded, “What are you talking about? You can’t possibly believe all that crazy stuff he was spouting about her!”

  “I don’t like Mr. Sullivan, either,” Phyllis said, “but he doesn’t strike me as an idiot. I don’t think he would have brought up Eve’s past unless he knew what he was talking about.”

  Sam shook his head. “I don’t believe she ever killed anybody, let alone Roy and two husbands before him.”

  “Neither do I. I don’t believe it for a second. But something happened, something Eve’s never told us about.”

  “That’s her right,” Carolyn said. “There are things about my life I’ve never shared with any of you. I’m sure we could all say the same thing. Everyone has . . . well, not secrets, exactly, but things we like to keep to ourselves.”

  That was true, Phyllis thought, and she certainly believed that Eve had the right to be as discreet as she wanted to be about her past. Unfortunately, when murder was involved, discretion often flew right out the window.

  Phyllis didn’t want to waste time arguing with Carolyn, though, especially when they really wanted the same thing, which was for Eve to be able to put this horrible business behind her. The legal mess threatened to overshadow the fact that Eve was now a widow. The man she had married only weeks earlier was dead, and she ought to be able to mourn.

  “I’m going to get some fresh coffee brewing,” Phyllis said. “I’m sure Eve will need some when she and Juliette get here.”

  Carolyn started for the stairs, saying, “I’ll go up and make sure her room is ready for her.”

  From the front window in the living room, Sam said, “Better hold on a minute, both of you. Looks like we’ve got company.”

  “Eve and Juliette are here already?” Phyllis asked.

  Sam shook his head. “Nope. But a sheriff’s department car just pulled up out front. And it’s not Mike gettin’ out.”

  Phyllis went to the window and stood beside him to look out. Two men wearing Western-cut suits and gray felt Stetsons were coming toward the house. They had badges on their belts. Phyllis didn’t recognize either of them.

  She didn’t wait for them to ring the bell. Instead she met them at the door, figuring that whatever this was about, it would be better to get it over with before Eve and Juliette got there.

  “Mrs. Newsom?” one of the men asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Deputy Ward Burton. This is Deputy Richard Conley. We’re the lead investigators on the Roy Porter case.”

  “What can I do for you?” Phyllis asked.

  Burton took a paper from his pocket. “We’re here to execute a search warrant for the room occupied by Mrs. Eve Porter.”

  “You’re going to paw through Eve’s things?” Carolyn asked from behind Phyllis. “Hasn’t she suffered enough indignities already?”

  “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am,” Burton said.

  Phyllis knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. She stepped aside to let the deputies into the house. “Will there be a forensics team, too?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. Well, probably not. Depends on what we find, I guess.”

  Both deputies were middle-aged, rawboned men who looked like cowboys. They probably took part in the annual Sheriff’s Posse Rodeo. But despite their appearance, Phyllis had no doubt that they were experienced, competent investigators. Ross Haney was a good sheriff who hired skilled people for his department.

  “I’ll show you where Eve’s room is,” she said as she took the search warrant from Burton.

  Carolyn frowned. “You’re just going to cooperate with them?”

  “Wouldn’t be any point in doin’ otherwise,” Sam said. “And it wouldn’t do Eve any good for the three of us to get locked up, would it?”

  “I suppose not,” Carolyn said, but she didn’t hide her disapproval as Phyllis led the two deputies to the stairs.

  When she had opened the door of Eve’s room, Burton said, “We’d like for you to stay, Mrs. Newsom. This is your house, after all.”

  “Yes, of course.” Phyllis didn’t honestly think the deputies would try to plant any evidence or do anything else underhanded . . . but if they found anything unusual, she wanted to know about it.

  The deputies’ experience showed in the swift, efficient, and completely thorough way they searched Eve’s room. They checked all her clothes, everything in the desk, and every drawer. Watching them, Phyllis felt bad for Eve and was glad that she wasn’t here to witness this invasion of her privacy.

  Because that’s what it amounted to, no matter how polite and professional Burton and Conley were about it. They were poking around in Eve’s life, and it made Phyllis both embarrassed and uncomfortable to be part of it. She looked at the search warrant. Everything on it seemed to be in proper legal order, but maybe it would have been better to wait until Juliette was here to look it over, she thought.

  But that would have meant exposing Eve to even more stress, and Phyllis didn’t think that was a good idea, either.

  After half an hour, the deputies were finished. Ward Burton held up two photo albums, each of which had been slipped into a clear plastic evidence bag of its own.

  “We’ll be taking these with us,” he told Phyllis. “That’s all.”

  “Why do you need Eve’s photo albums?” she asked.

  Burton smiled and said, “I’m afraid we can’t discuss that, ma’am.”

  She could make a pretty good guess anyway, she thought. Those albums probably had
pictures in them of Eve’s former husbands. The ones who had died. The ones Timothy Sullivan had all but accused her of murdering. Phyllis could picture the district attorney in her mind’s eye, standing in a courtroom in front of a jury, pointing to huge, blown-up photographs of those men and shouting about how Eve was some sort of black widow serial killer . . .

  “Will she get them back?” Phyllis asked.

  “I couldn’t really say, ma’am,” Burton replied. He held out a hand toward the stairs. “After you.”

  She led the way back downstairs. Sam was sitting in the living room. Phyllis didn’t see Carolyn, but she smelled coffee brewing and figured that Carolyn was in the kitchen. Probably didn’t trust herself to be around the deputies without saying or doing something that might get her in trouble.

  After the lawmen were gone, Sam stepped out into the hall and said, “Carolyn went to put on that coffee. I told her I thought it might be a good idea.”

  “And I’m sure it was,” Phyllis agreed.

  “I saw they had somethin’ with ’em. What’d they find?”

  “Photo albums,” Phyllis said.

  “Ah. The ex-husbands.”

  “Late husbands, to hear the district attorney tell it.”

  “Did you know they died?” Sam asked.

  Phyllis shook her head. “No, today is the first I’ve heard about that. Eve always talked more like she was divorced from them.”

  “But she didn’t come right out and say that?”

  Phyllis thought back on the conversations she’d had with Eve over the years. She couldn’t possibly remember all of them, of course, but as far as she could recall . . .

  “No, I don’t believe she ever did.”

  “Then she didn’t exactly lie to you. She just let you think what you wanted to think.”

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  Phyllis knew that Sam was right, but she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt anyway that Eve hadn’t trusted her and Carolyn. Of course, Eve’s past was none of their business. She had to keep things in perspective here.