“Tell me more about that trouble,” Felicity said in a voice that invited Serita to confide in her.
“Well, there’s the lawsuit, of course. The one that J.D. and Phil have filed against him. They’re his partners in Cross Timbers Transport. I guess something must have happened to make them suspicious of Clay, because they brought in an independent accountant to audit the company’s books, and he found that the company doesn’t have nearly as much money as it ought to. Clay couldn’t really account for that. He tried to sell them some story about how the economy has been bad—”
“The economy has been bad,” Felicity put in.
“Well, yeah, sure, but not bad enough to account for all the money that was gone. If you ask me”—Serita lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone—“I think he’s got it stashed somewhere in an overseas bank. In the Cayman Islands or somewhere. He just doesn’t want any of the rest of us to get our hands on any of it.”
“That must make you really angry, when you think about all the things your husband has done.”
“Angry?” Serita repeated. “Angry? When I found out he was cheating on me, I wanted to kill him!”
Felicity smiled and said, “I’m sure that’s just a figure of speech.”
“I don’t know,” Serita said slowly. “I guess, yeah, I wouldn’t really try to hurt him, but with all the people he’s crossed, Clay’s lucky nobody’s taken a shot at him. You know”—Serita leaned forward and poked holes in the air with an index finger—“when I heard about what happened the other night at the parade, how that poor man got shot, I mean, one of the first things I thought was that I wondered if whoever shot him was aiming at Clay instead!”
“Really?” Felicity murmured.
“Yeah.” Serita laughed. “I was a little surprised the cops didn’t come around, asking me where I was that night. Not that I could have done something like that. That poor man was shot with a rifle, wasn’t he?”
“I believe he was,” Felicity said.
“Well, I’ve never shot a rifle in my life. I have a little pistol that I carry in my purse, but that’s all. I admit, there were times when I thought about what it would feel like to shoot Clay, after everything he’s done, but I’d have to get really close to do that.”
“Because of your aim, you mean?”
“No,” Serita said. “If I were going to do it, I’d want to be close enough to see the look in his eyes when I pulled the trigger.”
• • •
There didn’t seem to be much else that Serita could tell them, so when she offered them something to drink, Phyllis caught Felicity’s eye and gave a tiny shake of her head. Felicity made their excuses, saying they had to get back to process some footage, whatever that meant. It worked on Serita.
“When will this air?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ll want to tell all my friends about it so they can watch.”
“I’ll have to get in touch with you so I can let you know,” Felicity said. She took out her phone. “Give me your number.”
She put Serita’s number into her phone, then got up and led the way to the door. Serita followed them outside, still gushing, and was standing there with a huge smile on her face when they drove off.
“Good Lord, what a shallow woman,” Felicity said as they reached the bottom of the hill. The gate was open again so they could get out. “But I have to admit, she has good taste.”
Phyllis didn’t know if she meant because of the house or because Serita was a fan. Either way, it wasn’t important.
Josh said, “Well, we know she can’t be the murderer, anyway.”
“How do we know that?” Phyllis and Felicity asked at the same time. Phyllis wasn’t sure she liked the idea that her mind worked the same as the reporter’s.
Josh frowned and said, “She brought it up herself. I mean, the idea that the killer was really aiming at her husband instead of Mr. McCrory. She wouldn’t just drop that theory on us like that if she had done it, would she?”
“She might if she were clever enough,” Felicity said. “She might be trying to make us think she’s some airheaded trophy wife instead of a diabolical killer. Although she can’t really be considered a trophy wife—can she?—since it’s the first marriage for both of them? Isn’t that right, Josh?”
“Uh, yeah, they got married while they were in college. I didn’t see any record of either of them being married to anybody else.”
Phyllis said, “I’m not sure she’s devious enough to try to divert suspicion that way. I think she was telling us the truth.”
“My instinct says she was, too,” Felicity agreed. “I was just playing devil’s advocate. So where does that leave us now?”
“We should probably talk to Gene Coyle and Phil Hedgepeth. We know both of them are marksmen.”
Phyllis’s phone rang before she could say anything else. She looked at the display and said, “It’s Sam.”
When she answered, he said, “Well, the bail hearin’ is over. I wasn’t sure the judge was gonna even grant bail, but in the end he did. Half a million bucks.”
Phyllis gasped.
“Was Nate able to arrange that?” she asked.
“Yeah, Jimmy knows a bail bondsman who was willin’ to post it.”
“Where are they now?”
“Back at your house for the time bein’. Ally wanted to come by to get her things, and Carolyn convinced ’em to stay for lunch. Where are you?”
Phyllis glanced at her companions and said, “You might not believe me if I told you. But warn Carolyn that there are going to be three more guests for lunch.”
Felicity looked at her and cocked an eyebrow.
“We’ll be there in a little while,” Phyllis went on. “I want to have a talk with Nate and Allyson.”
“Shouldn’t be any trouble keepin’ them here for that. Both of ’em are pretty down in the dumps, as you’d expect. If there’s anything you can tell ’em that might give them some hope . . .”
“I don’t know yet,” Phyllis said. “There’s something—some connection I’m not quite seeing. But we’ll talk about that in a little while, when I get back.”
“I don’t suppose you want to give a hint who these three mysterious guests you’re bringin’ to lunch might be.”
“We’ll let it be a surprise,” Phyllis said.
• • •
Judging by the expressions on the faces of everyone in the living room, it certainly was a surprise when Phyllis walked in with Felicity, Josh, and Nick.
Allyson had been sitting on the sofa with Nate, holding his hand, but she leaped to her feet at the sight of the TV people.
“You!” she said as she glared at Felicity. “What are you doing here?” She switched her gaze to Phyllis and asked in disbelief, “Mrs. Newsom, you brought them here?”
“Miss Prosper and I have come to an agreement,” Phyllis said, keeping her voice calm and level. “She and her friends are trying to help me find the real killer and clear Nate’s name.”
“It’s going to take more than a TV show to do that,” Nate said dispiritedly. “The cops think they’ve got the goods on me. And, to tell you the truth, if I didn’t know better, I might think they were right.”
“Don’t say that, Nate,” Allyson said.
“With all the evidence they have, a person’d have to be crazy to think I’m innocent.”
“I suppose I’m crazy, then,” Phyllis said, “because I don’t believe that you killed your father-in-law. I don’t think poor Mr. McCrory was even the target.”
Carolyn came in from the dining room and said, “Crime solving will have to wait. I have lunch on the table.”
They all filed into the dining room, Nate and Allyson with obvious reluctance. After the past twenty-four hours, it was understandable that neither of them had much of an appetite. Carolyn was determined that every
one should eat, though, and the food certainly looked good. She had made spaghetti and meatballs and served it with hot garlic bread.
Josh seemed to enjoy the meal more than any of the other guests. After washing down a bite of garlic bread with a long swallow of iced tea, he said, “This reminds me of being at my grandparents’ house.”
“We seem to provoke that reaction,” Phyllis said dryly. “Where did you grow up, Josh?”
“In Fort Worth, but my grandparents lived in Brownwood. We went down there a lot when I was a kid. They’ve both passed away now, but I sure remember all those times.”
“Everybody needs a couple of good sets of grandparents growin’ up,” Sam said. “That gives people a sense of bein’ connected to history. All four of my grandparents, for example, were born in the 1870s.”
“Wait a minute,” Felicity said. “That’s nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. Frontier days. How is that even possible?”
“I was born durin’ World War II. That probably seems pretty prehistoric to you, young lady.”
Felicity just made a scoffing sound.
“I taught history,” Phyllis said. “Most people don’t really grasp just how close we are to the events of the past. While Sam and Carolyn and Eve and I were young, there were a number of Civil War veterans still living as well. I remember some of the old-timers who came into town for First Monday when I was a child. It’s entirely possible that some of them could have fought at Bull Run or Gettysburg.”
Josh looked interested, but Felicity’s eyes were starting to glaze over with boredom. All of Nick’s attention was focused on the plate of food in front of him.
“Why don’t we get back to the subject of murder?” Felicity suggested.
“Over lunch?” Carolyn sounded horrified.
Felicity nodded toward Nate and said, “Hey, the sooner this guy gets rid of that cloud hanging over him, the better, right?”
Allyson said, “I still can’t believe you’re trying to help us. Why would you want to?”
“Because of the story, of course. A guy murders his father-in-law—it’s a good story.” Felicity held up a hand to forestall Allyson’s angry protest and went on. “A guy is accused of murdering his father-in-law but he really didn’t—that’s an even better story. Especially when you throw politics and corruption and adultery into the mix. Nothing appeals to the public more than sin in high places. Not that a county commissioner in Texas is all that high, you understand, but, hey, it’s a place to start. And we’ve got the notorious crime-busting granny, too.”
She gave Phyllis a sweet smile.
Phyllis sighed and said, “Let’s just finish lunch. Then, and I know you two are tired of this”—she looked at Nate and Allyson—“we’re going into the living room and starting from scratch. Something’s missing, and I need to figure out what it is.”
Chapter 22
The living room was full with Phyllis, Sam, Nate, Allyson, Felicity, and Josh all sitting on the sofa and in various armchairs. Nick, surprisingly, had volunteered to help Carolyn and Eve with cleaning up after lunch. Phyllis thought all the talk of solving murders bored the cameraman.
“Should Mr. D’Angelo be here for this?” Allyson asked with a suspicious glance toward Felicity and Josh. “Can we trust these people?”
“We’re not here to cause trouble for you, sweetie,” Felicity said. “Mrs. Newsom convinced me to focus on the bigger picture. Pestering you with ‘How does it feel to be married to a murderer?’ questions gets me a few minutes on the air. Exposing a killer and freeing an innocent man gets me the job of hosting my own special edition of the show.”
“So you’re just trying to help because it’s in your own self-interest.”
“If it keeps your husband out of prison and finds out who really killed your father, what does that matter?”
Allyson sighed and nodded. She said, “You’re right, of course.” She looked at Phyllis. “What did you want to ask us?”
Phyllis leaned forward in her chair and said, “Nate, tell me about that rifle. Did you ever have it in the travel trailer parked next to your house?”
Nate shook his head.
“No, I wouldn’t have any reason to put it out there. We didn’t take the rifle with us when we used the trailer for vacations. I kept the rifle, unloaded, in the closet in the guest bedroom. The shells for it were in a drawer in our bedroom.”
“You used it for hunting?”
“A few times,” Nate said with a shrug. “Barney and I went deer hunting now and then.” He swallowed hard, evidently affected by the memories of those times. “And I took it with me out to the ranch to help him chase off some coyotes a while back.”
“You didn’t ever leave it at the ranch?”
“Not that I recall. I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
In a matter of life and death, pretty sure might not be good enough, but Phyllis understood what he meant. The rifle hadn’t been a focus of his thoughts. He’d had no idea that it would one day become a piece of evidence against him in a murder case.
“Allyson said you took it to a gunsmith to have something done on it recently.”
“Well, not that recently. It was a month ago. I could give you the guy’s name. I’m sure he’d have a record of it, and that would have the date on it.”
“We may need that later, but for now let’s concentrate on how you got the gun to him. Did you take it directly from your house to his shop?”
“No, I put it in my SUV and dropped it off at his place after work one day.”
“And when you picked it up from him?”
“I took it straight home and put it in the closet, as usual,” Nate said.
“Do you know a man named J. D. Ridgely?”
The abrupt switch in subject made Nate frown. He thought for a moment and then shook his head.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”
“How about Phil Hedgepeth?”
Again Nate thought about it, then said, “Doesn’t ring any bells. I don’t think I know him.”
Allyson asked, “Who are these people, Mrs. Newsom?”
“We’ll get to that,” Phyllis said. “What about Gene Coyle?”
Nate said, “No, I . . . Wait a minute. That name is vaguely familiar for some reason. But I’m pretty sure I’ve never met the guy, whoever he is.”
Phyllis thought that answer made sense. Nate would have seen Coyle’s name on campaign signs during election season earlier that fall. The memory was fresh enough that he recognized the name but not the context.
“You know who Clay Loomis is, of course.”
“Yeah. Couldn’t very well miss hearing about him the past few days,” Nate said with a little edge of bitterness in his voice.
“What about his wife, Serita?”
“Never met her.” Nate looked at Allyson, who shook her head to indicate that she didn’t know Serita, either.
“How about a woman named Jaycee Fallon?”
“Nope.”
Allyson said again, “Who are these people? I don’t understand this at all, Mrs. Newsom.”
“They’re people who had a reason to shoot Clay Loomis,” Phyllis said.
“Loomis?” Nate repeated, his eyes widening. “I don’t understand. It wasn’t Loomis who . . .” His eyes got even bigger as what Phyllis was getting at dawned on him. “Oh! You think the killer was really aiming at Loomis instead of Barney, like you talked about before.”
“Given what we know, that’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Phyllis said. “No one else had any reason to kill Mr. McCrory, at least that we’ve been able to figure out so far, and those people I asked you about all have possible motives for wanting Clay Loomis dead. Some of them are excellent marksmen, too.”
“But the police are acting like they have proof my rifle fired the fatal shot,” Nat
e said. “How is that possible?”
Felicity said, “Someone could have broken into your house and stolen it, right? Then put it back in the travel trailer and tipped off the cops that’s where it was? They’re trying to frame you!”
Nate gave her a dubious frown and said, “I suppose that’s possible. We talked about a burglar getting in there and stealing just the gun, so that we didn’t notice the house had been broken into, but that’s just really far-fetched.”
“Unless he broke in specifically to steal the rifle, knowing that he was going to use it to shoot Mr. Loomis,” Phyllis said. “Then he would have been careful not to disturb anything else so that you wouldn’t notice. So you’d think the rifle was still in the closet.”
“Which is exactly what I did think,” Nate said as he rubbed his chin and frowned in thought.
“But that still doesn’t make any sense,” Allyson said. “How would any of those people even know that Nate owns a rifle?”
Phyllis sighed and said, “That’s why I wanted to talk to the two of you. I thought there might be a connection I’m not seeing, but it’s just not there. If you’re not acquainted with any of the suspects, none of them would have known about the rifle, and so they couldn’t have used it to try to frame you.”
Josh said, “Wait a minute. Why not see if we can expand the circle of suspects? Nate, do you know anybody else who might have known about the rifle and had a reason to shoot Clay Loomis?”
Felicity looked at him in surprise and said, “That’s a pretty good question, intern.” She turned to the others and went on. “From what I saw of this Loomis guy, he might have dozens of enemies who’d want him dead. Hey, we only spent fifteen minutes with him, and I felt like shooting him!”
Nate just shook his head and looked like he was baffled. He said, “I’m not sure I could tell you who knew I owned a rifle. I haven’t been hunting all that much, but I’ve gone with at least half a dozen guys. Plus I’ve had the gun out at the ranch, so the hands who work there could have known about it.”
The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer Page 18
