The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer

by Livia J. Washburn

  “Oh, you are,” Eve assured her. “You certainly are.” She looked out the front window and added, “That TV reporter is back.”

  Phyllis looked, too, and saw Felicity getting out of the van. Josh followed her as she came up the walk toward the house. Nick stayed in the van. He is probably going to try to catch a nap, Phyllis thought.

  She had the front door open before Felicity could ring the bell. It was hard to tell from the reporter’s face what she had found out from District Attorney Sullivan, if anything. It was possible that Sullivan had refused to talk to her, although Phyllis still thought that was unlikely.

  “Come in,” she said. “Were you able to talk to the district attorney?”

  “Oh, I talked to him, all right,” Felicity replied. “I just wish what I’d found out was better news.”

  After that statement, what Felicity had to report was pretty much a foregone conclusion. As she and Josh sat down in the living room, along with Phyllis and Sam, Felicity told them, “The test bullet from Nate’s rifle matches the one they took out of Barney McCrory’s body. There’s no chance that it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  “Sullivan came right out and admitted that?” Phyllis asked.

  “Not at first. I had to flatter him for a while. That man’s really full of himself, isn’t he? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anybody that vain.”

  Josh glanced away as Felicity said that, Phyllis noted. She suspected it was because Josh thought Felicity ran a pretty close race with Sullivan in the vanity department. Though that didn’t seem to stop Josh from having a crush on her. For a young man, Felicity’s drop-dead-gorgeous looks would make up for a lot of shortcomings in her personality.

  “Anyway, once I convinced him I thought he was the greatest district attorney on the face of the earth, he was more than happy to let me in on the details of his latest legal triumph,” Felicity went on. “He’s got all the evidence he needs to convict Nate Hollingsworth, he said, including the murder weapon. I asked him if he meant Nate’s rifle, and he said yes, that the ballistics evidence was conclusive. He made me promise not to broadcast that until he gives me the go-ahead, of course. Said that for now everything he told me was off the record.” She snorted contemptuously. “Sure, I won’t broadcast anything. I won’t broadcast anything until we can blow his case right out of the water!”

  “I hope you’re right,” Phyllis said. “Sam and I went back out to Loomis’s trucking company to look around some more, but we didn’t find out anything useful. In fact, I think we may have eliminated Jaycee Fallon as a suspect.”

  She went over what they had learned from Martha, and then told Felicity and Josh about how Jaycee had barged into the office, looking for Loomis.

  “She’s pregnant by him?” Felicity said. “And he claimed he wasn’t the baby daddy. That made her so mad she dumped him, but now she wants him to pay up. Yeah, that just about rules her out as a suspect. Loomis wouldn’t be any good to her if he were dead!”

  “If he’s as broke as the woman running his office claims, he won’t be any good to her alive, either,” Phyllis said. “In fact, with people coming after him from all directions, it sounds like his troubles are just going to multiply if he doesn’t come up with some cash flow.”

  Felicity frowned and said, “Being in a corner like that is enough to make anybody a little desperate. Desperate enough to kill somebody, maybe.”

  “That’s what I thought. But it’s physically impossible for Loomis to have killed Barney McCrory.”

  “He could have paid somebody to do it,” Josh said. The other three looked at him. “I mean, if he had a reason to.”

  “That’s the other problem,” Phyllis said. “McCrory’s death doesn’t benefit Loomis in any way that I can see. The only connection between them is that they were both on that carriage for the Christmas parade.”

  Felicity blew out an exasperated-sounding breath and said, “We just go around and around with this, and all the evidence still points to Nate. Maybe we’re wrong about him.”

  “We’re not,” Sam declared. “That boy is no murderer. Somebody got his rifle, used it to kill Barney, and put it back in that camper to frame him.”

  “That’s a neat little theory, but it’s not worth a thing if there’s no evidence to back it up. It’s just wishful thinking.”

  The same possibility had nagged at Phyllis, but every instinct she possessed told her that Nate was innocent. She had to decide if she trusted and believed in those instincts.

  Maybe I’m just too stubborn for my own good, she thought. But the idea of giving up didn’t sit well with her. It wouldn’t hurt to keep looking into this case. Christmas was coming, and, as always, celebrating the holiday properly would take some time, but it was still more than two weeks away. There would be plenty of chances to put up the Christmas tree and the other decorations.

  “Let’s keep digging,” she said. “According to Mr. D’Angelo, the grand-jury hearing won’t be until after the first of the year. Surely we can turn up something to clear Nate before then.”

  “I can’t wait that long!” Felicity said. “My producers sent me here to get a story—a story about a guy who shot his father-in-law during a Christmas parade. I can only stall them for so long with vague talk about something even better.” She sighed. “I may wind up having to go with what I’ve got, and that’s a whole pile of evidence pointing right at Nate Hollingsworth.”

  “You can’t do that,” Sam said. “That’ll just make things worse for him and Ally. A lot of folks are probably convinced already that he’s guilty, and if you broadcast what you know about the rifle, then everybody will think he killed Barney.”

  “Hey, maybe that’ll be a good thing,” Felicity said with a shrug. “D’Angelo can get a change of venue that way, because the jury pool will be contaminated. It won’t be possible for Nate to get a fair trial here. That might be the only thing we can do for him.”

  Phyllis leaned forward and said, “Is there any chance you can wait a little longer? Just a few days. You’ve helped a lot so far, Ms. Prosper. Give us a chance to investigate a little more.”

  “Do you really think you’re going to find anything?” Felicity asked skeptically.

  “Of course I do,” Phyllis said. “The answer is out there. I know it is. There’s something we haven’t found yet, one piece that will finish filling in the picture so it makes sense.”

  “That missing connection you were talking about?”

  “That’s right. The one piece that connects everything and makes it work.”

  “Well, if you can find it, more power to you.” Felicity stood up. Josh got hurriedly to his feet as well, following her lead as usual. “I can put off the producers for another day or two and make them think I’m about to break an explosive story. But not for any longer than that. Bring me something really good between now and then.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Phyllis promised.

  “And remember, whatever it is, it’s got to be explosive. Make sure it blows up real good.”

  Chapter 24

  Felicity and Josh left with Nick, heading back to the motel where they were staying while they were in town. By now it was fairly late in the afternoon, so Phyllis didn’t want to set off on any new investigations—even if she could think of some angle she hadn’t explored yet, which she couldn’t.

  Sometimes things occurred to her when she had her mind on another subject entirely, so she retrieved her e-mail and looked at the corrected file Eve had sent back to her for the magazine article. Eve was right, of course; the commas she had moved were now in their proper places. Phyllis read over the whole piece carefully, changed another few words, and then attached the finished file to an e-mail addressed to the magazine’s editor.

  She took a deep breath as she sat there with her hand on the mouse and the cursor hovering over SEND. This was taking a big step. She had sub
mitted many, many recipes she had written to various contests, including some to this very magazine. Writing a column was different. People would be judging her not just on the recipe, but on the quality of the writing as well. It was a scary feeling. As a person grew older, it became a little easier not to worry about the opinions of other people, but that desire for approval never went away completely, she supposed.

  But she had never been one to say that she couldn’t do something without giving it a try. If she had been, she never would have solved any murders and some innocent people would be sitting in prison instead, including some of her friends.

  She clicked SEND.

  Like it had wings, the column was off to her editor.

  Phyllis sat back and sighed, but it was, at least for the moment, a contented sigh. She had done the best she could, and now she would wait to see what happened.

  A knock on the front door made her sit up straighter. Most people used the doorbell, but Mike sometimes knocked. She turned and glanced through the window, saw a cruiser from the sheriff’s department parked outside, and knew it was him.

  “Come on in,” she said as she opened the door. “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “Can’t a guy come by to see his mom without something being wrong?” Mike asked as he stepped into the house.

  “Of course, and I’m always glad to see you.”

  From the hallway, Carolyn said, “Mike, are you staying for supper?”

  “No, but I wish I were,” he told her with a shake of his head. “Thanks, anyway.” He turned back to Phyllis. “My shift’s starting soon, but I wanted to stop by and let you know about something. Sarah and Bobby and I won’t be here for Christmas.”

  “You won’t?” Phyllis tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but she wasn’t sure if she succeeded very well.

  “No, Bud and Katherine invited us out there, and Sarah wants to go.”

  “Well, of course she does.”

  Sarah’s father, Bud, had been battling cancer for several years. More than once the doctors had warned him that his time was just about up, but he had hung on stubbornly. Sarah flew out to California to see him several times a year, and Phyllis couldn’t blame Sarah’s parents for wanting her to bring the whole family with her.

  “How is Bud doing?” Phyllis went on.

  “About as well as can be expected, I guess. But with something like that . . . Well, you never know.”

  “No, you don’t.” She patted Mike’s arm. “We’ll miss the three of you, of course, but you’re doing the right thing.”

  Mike smiled and said, “I’m glad you feel that way. I was worried that you’d be upset.”

  “Nonsense. You’re a part of their family, just like Sarah is part of ours. When are you leaving?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t made the reservations yet.”

  “Well, when you find out, let me know. We’ll have a big dinner and holiday celebration here before you go.”

  Mike’s smile widened into a grin. He said, “I was hoping you’d say that.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Gotta go. You’re the best, Mom.”

  “The best mom you have, that’s for sure,” she told him.

  He chuckled and waved as he went out and started along the walk toward his car.

  “Did I hear right?” Carolyn asked from behind Phyllis. “Mike’s not going to be here for Christmas?”

  “No,” Phyllis said, turning around. “I don’t blame him, though.”

  “I suppose I could be here Christmas day instead of going to Sandra’s.”

  “That’s not necessary. Spend the day with your daughter like you usually do.”

  “All right. But if you change your mind . . .”

  “I won’t. It’s fine, really.”

  Life always holds changes, she thought. No year was exactly like the one before it. Someone was always gone, sometimes for good, leaving a hole that would never be filled. For Allyson, this would be the first Christmas without her father. And by next Christmas, Nate wouldn’t be with her, either, if he was convicted of murder and sent to prison.

  Once again, Phyllis was convinced she was right to be stubborn. She wasn’t going to let that happen if there was anything in her power she could do to prevent it.

  • • •

  Supper was a subdued affair. The chicken and spinach salad Carolyn had made was excellent, and Phyllis enjoyed it, but her mind was on the McCrory case, and on the news that Mike had brought as well. The past few days had been busy ones, and weariness was catching up to her.

  She tried to distract herself by telling Eve, “Thanks again for helping me with the column. I sent it to the editor.”

  “I’m sure he’ll love it, dear,” Eve said. “And it won’t be long before we’ll have a famous author in the house.”

  “Oh, I doubt that!”

  “You never know. Famous writers have to come from somewhere, after all.”

  Phyllis couldn’t argue with that, but she thought Eve was being too optimistic. A few columns in a food magazine weren’t going to make anyone famous.

  Sam brought her back to reality by asking, “What’s our next step in the investigation?”

  “We need to get together with Nate again and go over that list of companies we got out of the secretary. Maybe one of them will ring a bell for him.”

  “Still lookin’ for that missing piece, eh?”

  “It’s all we’ve got left,” Phyllis said with a shrug.

  Her sleep that night was restless. She had never been one to be haunted by nightmares, but when she woke up the next morning she thought she’d had some, even though she couldn’t really remember them. But the disturbing sensation lingered.

  Carolyn had coffee waiting and muffins in the oven when Phyllis came into the kitchen. Phyllis took a deep breath and said, “That’s a wonderful smell.”

  “I hope you like the muffins,” Carolyn said. “They’re gluten-free. I’ve been reading about how gluten can cause arthritis flare-ups, and I thought maybe at our age we could stand to do with a little less pain.”

  Phyllis thought about it, nodded, and said, “I’m willing to give it a try.”

  By the time the muffins had come out of the oven and cooled, Sam and Eve were in the kitchen, too, sitting at the table, drinking coffee. Carolyn set out muffins on saucers for everyone. Sam took a bite of his and said, “Mmm. Mighty good. A little different, but still good.”

  “They’re gluten-free,” Carolyn said.

  “Ah. That explains it.” Sam grinned. “I’ve always been fully glutened. But, hey, I’m willin’ to try new things, and this is good.”

  “Carolyn says it’s supposed to be good for arthritis to not eat gluten,” Phyllis put in.

  “Well, I’m all for that.” Sam took another bite and seemed to enjoy it.

  After breakfast, Phyllis called the number she had for Nate and Allyson’s house. Allyson answered, hope sounding momentarily in her voice when she realized it was Phyllis calling.

  “Is there something new in the case?” she asked.

  Phyllis hated to disappoint her, but she said, “No, I’m afraid not. I have some more questions for Nate, though. Is he there?”

  “No, he was going to the office for a while and then out to my dad’s ranch this morning. He said he wanted to carry on like normal as much as possible, and things on the ranch need to be checked on. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  Phyllis had handy the list Martha had written. She looked at it and asked, “Do any of these names mean anything to you?”

  She read through the company names, pausing slightly after each one to give Allyson time to respond, but she got all the way to the end before the young woman said, “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve heard of any of them. Am I supposed to recognize them?”

  “No, not ne
cessarily. But that’s what I want to ask Nate.”

  “You can call him. You have his cell phone number, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Phyllis said. “Thanks.”

  “I’m the one who’s grateful to you for not giving up on us.”

  “I’m not going to do that,” Phyllis declared.

  She broke the connection with Allyson and tried Nate’s number. The call went straight to voicemail, which meant Nate was either in an area where there was no service or had turned off his phone. Maybe he just didn’t want to be disturbed for some reason.

  But Allyson had said he was going to his office in the Cranmoor Building, and that was close by, so Phyllis decided she might go by there and talk to him. Most of the time, she preferred talking to people face-to-face rather than over the phone, anyway.

  She went to look for Sam, thinking he would go with her. When she found him on the back porch, sitting in one of the rocking chairs while Buck sniffed around in the yard, he was talking on his phone.

  He told whoever he was talking to, “Hold on a second,” and moved the phone away from his mouth. “You need me for something?” he asked Phyllis.

  She looked at the phone and raised her eyebrows quizzically.

  “My daughter,” he said.

  “Oh. Well, you go right ahead and talk to her. I’m just going to run an errand. I’ll see you later.”

  Sam nodded, and Phyllis went back in the house. She didn’t want to disturb Sam while he was talking to his daughter, Vanessa. She was the only child he and his late wife, Victoria, had had, but she and Sam weren’t particularly close. There were no problems between them as far as Phyllis knew, but Vanessa had married and moved out of state to some place up in the Northeast, and she and Sam just didn’t see each other or even talk very often. Phyllis certainly didn’t want to intrude on one of their rare conversations.

  There was no reason she couldn’t run over to Nate’s office by herself.

  After telling Carolyn where she was going, she put on a jacket and went out to her car. The day was overcast again, and it just looked chilly outside. That proved to be the case, but the air was crisp, not unpleasantly cold.