Killer Crab Cakes (26 page)

Nick spoke up. “I heard Leo say that he asked Sheldon to come with him to the bar, but Sheldon didn’t want to. Maybe Sheldon was already worried that Leo knew about him and Jessica.”

“If there’s really anything to know,” Kate said. “I still have a hard time believing that.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll all get sorted out in the end,” Nick said. “I just hope it doesn’t ruin the place’s business.” He grinned. “Not everybody is as tolerant of people dropping dead around them as Kate and I are.”

She shivered. “Speak for yourself, Dracula. I’m seriously creeped out by the whole thing. I’d cut this trip short and just go home if this wasn’t the first real vacation we’ve taken together. Business trips don’t count.”

“The two of you have to travel together on business?” Phyllis asked.

“Not really, but sometimes, since we work for the same company, one of us will have to go somewhere and the other one will tag along . . . usually me,” Kate explained. “Since most of what I do is crunching numbers, I don’t get out in the field that much, but Nick is my dad’s top property scout, so he has to travel quite a bit, locating suitable places for development.”

Nick laughed and held up both hands, saying, “That’s enough business talk. We’re on vacation, remember? Even if it
has
been interrupted a couple of times by murder.”

“At least it wasn’t another poisoning this time. I really would have been afraid to eat anything if somebody else had died that way.”

“Speakin’ of that . . .” Sam said.

Kate looked at him. “You mean poison?”

“No, eatin’. Was there any of that tamale soup left?”

Carolyn said, “Oh, that’s right. You two haven’t eaten.”

Phyllis and Sam exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. By mutual agreement, they would keep their visit to The Dancing Pelican to themselves for now.

“There’s plenty of soup left,” Carolyn went on. “I took the liberty of putting it in the refrigerator after everyone had eaten. The Blaines even ate some of it.”

“And none of us died,” Eve added.

Carolyn gave her a look and went on to Phyllis and Sam, “I can heat some of it up for you, if you’d like.”

“I’m not hungry,” Phyllis said honestly, without going into the reason why she felt that way.

“I could use a bowl, I reckon,” Sam said, “but I’m perfectly capable of heatin’ it up myself.”

Carolyn shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Nick said, “You know, if you’re heating it up anyway, Sam, I might be able to eat a little more, too.”

“Good grief,” Kate said. “You men are bottomless pits, you know that?”

Nick grinned. “Part of our manly charm, eh, Sam?”

“You said it, son, not me,” Sam said as he stood up and headed into the house.

Phyllis went into the house, too, but she headed for Dorothy’s office. When she got there she called the Anselmo house again, as she had earlier in the day. She wasn’t breaking bad news this time, but she wanted to talk to Tom.

He answered, sounding subdued and worried. When Phyllis identified herself, he said, “Oh, hey, Mrs. Newsom, I don’t know how much of the work I’m gonna be able to do around the house for the next few days—”

“For goodness’ sake, Tom, don’t worry about that!” Phyllis broke in on his explanation. “The only thing you need to be concerned with is Consuela’s situation. Sam Fletcher and I went by the police station a while ago, but they wouldn’t let us see her. How’s she holding up?”

“That was nice of you, even if it didn’t work out,” Tom said. “Consuela’s scared, of course. She knows she didn’t hurt nobody, but convincing the cops of that may be hard. Once they make their minds up, you can’t get ’em to change. I know that from experience.” He sighed. “Of course, in my case it was a little different, because I was guilty. But I guess you don’t know about that.”

“Actually, Consuela told me,” Phyllis admitted.

“Oh.” Tom sounded embarrassed, and Phyllis wondered if she should have lied. He went on, “I give you my word, Mrs. Newsom, I been walkin’ the straight and narrow ever since I did time, and your cousin Dorothy, she knew all about it. I wouldn’t ever lie to her.”

“I know that, too,” Phyllis assured him. “And I have a bit of good news to pass along.”

“What’s that?” Tom asked. He sounded desperate for any sort of good news.

“I spent quite a bit of time talking to Abby Clifton this evening, and she assured me that the police are going to conduct a thorough investigation of everyone involved in this case. They’re not going to be wearing blinders when it comes to the evidence. If they find something that points to someone else, or that clears Consuela, they’ll follow up on it.”

“You really think so? You trust her, Abby Clifton, I mean?”

Phyllis thought about it, but only for a moment, before she answered. “Yes, I do.” She went on, “I spoke to Dorothy, too, to let her know what’s going on, and she was as outraged as the rest of us that Consuela was arrested. She said that if you need financial help for the lawyer or anything else, you should just let her know.”

“Dorothy’s a wonderful lady, and I sure do appreciate her and Ben. But they should keep their money,” Tom said. “They’re liable to need it when the bed-and-breakfast goes belly-up.”

“I’m sure that’s not going to happen,” Phyllis protested.

“I dunno. With people dying there, nobody’s gonna want to spend their vacation there.”

“Once the murders are solved, people will forget all about that. You know how they are. People have short attention spans these days.”

“I hope you’re right, Mrs. Newsom.”

“Is there anything
I
can do to help? Are your girls all right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied, and she could hear the weariness in his voice. “They’re like me . . . scared. The sooner their mom’s out of jail, the better.” He laughed humorlessly. “Not gonna be a very festive SeaFair weekend for the Anselmo family this weekend, is it?”

“Who knows?” Phyllis said, trying to make her own voice sound bright and optimistic. “Maybe it’ll all be over by then, and you can enjoy the fair like always.”

Even as she said it, though, the hope sounded hollow.

 

A short time later she went into the kitchen and saw the refrigerator door open. Her first thought was that Sam was rummaging around for something else, and she was about to make some comment about that when she realized that the blue-jean-clad rear end she could see past the door was much too broad to belong to Sam Fletcher.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Can I help you?”

Leo Blaine stood up quickly and swung the refrigerator door closed. “Mrs. Newsom,” he said with a curt nod. “Hope I’m not out of line looking in here. Jessica doesn’t feel very well, and she thought some warm milk might settle her stomach.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Phyllis said. The possibility of another poisoning sprang unbidden into her mind. “Does she need to go to the emergency room?”

“Oh, heck no,” Leo said, and he managed to smile. “Spicy food always gets her that way, and that soup we had for supper was just spicy enough.”

This solicitous, friendly Leo was certainly a change from the angry, blustery Leo he had been for so much of the time Phyllis had known him, which admittedly hadn’t been very long. She supposed that most people, even the generally unpleasant ones, had their good points. Leo’s concern over Jessica’s queasy stomach didn’t seem like the reaction of a man who was upset because he’d found out that his wife was cheating on him.

“I’ll be glad to warm up a cup of milk for her,” Phyllis offered.

“That’s mighty nice of you.” Leo put a hand on the back of a chair at the kitchen table. “Mind if I sit down while I wait?”

“Go ahead,” Phyllis told him. She got a pan out of the cabinet, took a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, poured some of it into the pan, and set it on the stove.

As Phyllis was lighting the burner under the pan, Leo said, “Yeah, mighty nice, especially considering that I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to boot us out of here. After what happened this morning, I mean.”

“I don’t have anything against Mrs. Blaine.” Well, other than the fact that she’d been carrying on an affair in the bed-and-breakfast, Phyllis added to herself.

“Right. I’m the one who screwed up. I admit it. What happened with Bianca, it was out of line. Way, way out of line.”

“We’re in agreement about that,” Phyllis said.

“I’ll be lucky if Jess doesn’t leave me over it,” Leo said, and she thought she could hear genuine pain in his voice. That came as something of a surprise to Phyllis. Could a man genuinely love his wife and still be disgusting enough to do what Leo had done? She supposed anything was possible.

She got a silicone spoon from a drawer and stirred the milk as it heated. At the table, Leo mused, “Man, this has been a really messed-up vacation. First old Ed McKenna drops dead. Then the sh—uh—the stuff hits the fan about me and Bianca, and then poor Sheldon gets killed.” His voice caught a little as he went on. “Him and me, we were pretty good buddies. I know it doesn’t seem like we would be, me being in business and him being, well, a rocket scientist and a little weird to boot, but we had some pretty good times together. Poor old Sheldon.”

Was he going to get maudlin and start crying? Phyllis wondered. Leo Blaine seemed to be a man of extremes, most of them unpleasant. She wondered how he would react if she told him she knew about the affair Sheldon had been having with his wife.

If Leo
didn’t
know about the affair, he would as soon as the police began questioning him in earnest about Sheldon Forrest’s murder, Phyllis thought.

“Yeah, the guy just couldn’t catch a break,” Leo went on. “Having to put up with all that pain would be enough to make anybody a little weird.”

Phyllis frowned and looked around at him. “Pain? What sort of pain?”

Leo looked surprised by the question. “You didn’t know that Sheldon had a really bad back?” He shrugged. “No, I guess you wouldn’t unless you happened to notice the stiff way he sometimes carried himself when it was really hurting. He had a slipped disk or something . . . I couldn’t tell you the medical details, all I know is that he had surgery on it a couple of times and the operations just made it worse. Thank goodness Jess was able to help him when it got really bad.”

“Jess . . . you mean Jessica, your wife?”

“Yeah. She used to be a nurse and a physical therapist. She was able to massage Sheldon’s back and get his spine straightened up so that it didn’t hurt him so much. It wouldn’t last, of course, but he was grateful for any relief he could get. I’ve seen him in so much pain that he couldn’t move, and Jess would work on him for fifteen or twenty minutes and get him up and around again.”

As she muttered, “Oh, my word,” Phyllis realized that she was staring at Leo. She couldn’t help it.

Leo frowned. “Something wrong?”

“I just didn’t realize . . . Was Sheldon having trouble with his back down here, too?”

“Sure. He never goes more than a few days without it going out on him, and then Jess has to straighten him up again. She was working on him yesterday, in fact.”

Phyllis closed her eyes for a second and heard her pulse beating inside her skull. Sheldon had been buttoning up his shirt, and Jessica had been red-faced and out of breath . . .

“Fifteen or twenty minutes, you said?”

“Yeah. Sheldon kept trying to pay her for what she did, like you would with a physical therapist, but of course Jess wouldn’t take any money. Hey, Sheldon and Raquel are our friends. And she says she likes keeping in practice, in case she wants to go back to work at the hospital one of these days, or maybe even open up her own business.”

“She’s still a licensed physical therapist?”

“Sure.”

That would be easy enough for the police to check out, Phyllis thought. And when they did, it would confirm what an utter fool she had been. She had looked at Sheldon and Jessica and seen a couple who had just been making love, not a man with a bad back and a friend trying to ease his pain. Phyllis rubbed her temples.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Newsom?” Leo asked.

“Yes, I suppose so. Why?”

“The, uh, milk is boiling over.”

Phyllis smelled it now. She turned around quickly, snatched the pot off the burner, and exclaimed, “For heaven’s sake!” She had made a real mess of things, and she wasn’t thinking just about the burned milk. “I’ll fix some more for you.”

“Really, I hate to put you out . . .”

“It’s no bother,” Phyllis told him.

Fixing some warm milk was the least she could do, she thought, since she had told the police that Leo Blaine had a motive for murder . . . a motive that apparently existed only in the mind of a suspicious old woman.