The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer (16 page)

“I don't.” Allyson smiled slightly. “I was always able to talk to Coach. All of us who played for him were.”

“And that's the way I wanted it,” Sam said. “My office door was always open to you kids—even though I might've wanted to shut it on your folks every now and then.”

“My dad could be pretty hot tempered, couldn't he?”

“To tell you the truth,” Sam said, “I thought he was gonna take a swing at me a time or two.”

“I guess he could have gotten mad enough to take a swing at Nate, too. I hate to say that, but it's true. But Nate never would have hit him back. And he certainly wouldn't . . . never would have . . .”

Her voice trailed off with the unsaid words hanging in the air.

Never would have shot him.

Phyllis sensed that Allyson was a dead end as far as the long-standing disagreement between Nate and McCrory over the gas lease. Nate had probably kept his own counsel about the matter, and by her own admission, Allyson had tried not to meddle in her father's business affairs. All she would know was what Nate told her, and it was unlikely he would have come home and revealed that her father had tried to punch him.

It might be better to change tacks, Phyllis thought. She asked, “What about Nate's rifle, Allyson?”

“I don't know anything about it. I thought it was still in the guest-bedroom closet until the police came to look for it and didn't find it. That's where Nate always kept it.”

“Did you tell them that before they started looking?”

“Noooo . . .” Allyson looked a little scared now. “You understand, I knew why they were looking for it. I didn't want
to
help
them. But there was nothing I could do to stop them. They had a search warrant.”

Sam said, “You did the right thing by cooperatin'. Wouldn't have done Nate a bit of good for you to get in trouble, too.”

“When they didn't find the rifle, did you tell them where it was supposed to be?” Phyllis asked.

“I did. I said someone must have broken in and stolen it without us ever noticing. But that's not very likely, is it?”

Phyllis shook her head and said, “I'm afraid it's not.”

“Did Nate go huntin' a lot?” Sam asked.

“No, not really. Sometimes he took the rifle out to the ranch and helped my dad chase off the coyotes. And they went deer hunting a time or two, but Nate didn't really care for it.” She paused. “He didn't like to kill anything, you see.”

“But he was a good shot?” Phyllis said.

“He was on the ROTC rifle team in college.”

Phyllis and Sam exchanged a glance. This was looking more damning for Nate as time passed.

“Do you remember the last time he took the rifle out of the house?” Phyllis asked.

Allyson frowned in thought, then said, “It was about a month ago, I think. He took it to the gunsmith to have some work done on it. I don't know enough about it to tell you what it was. But he brought it back, and it was there in the closet ever since. I'm sure of it.”

Which brings us back around to the mysterious “burglary,” Phyllis thought. It just wasn't believable that someone would break into the Hollingsworths' home so skillfully that the intrusion wasn't even noticed and then steal only a single rifle. As D'Angelo had said, no jury was going to believe that.

It appeared that the answers they were looking for just weren't there.

The door of the conference room opened, and Jimmy D'Angelo came in. He rested his hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table and said, “I'm sorry, Allyson. I've been making some calls to see if there's any way to speed up Nate's bail hearing and get him out of jail today, but it's not going to happen. He'll have to stay there overnight. But I give you my word that I'll have him out of there first thing in the morning.”

Allyson nodded and said, “Thank you. Will . . . will he be all right?”

“I'm sure he will be. They have him in a cell by himself. No one will bother him.”

“Well, that's good, anyway.”

“Why don't you go on home and try to get some rest? I know that won't be easy, but it's the best thing you can do right now.”

“I don't think I'll ever sleep again,” Allyson said. “I'm afraid if I close my eyes, all I'll see is Nate and my father . . . And I'm just so scared.”

She put her hands over her face and started to cry again.

D'Angelo looked distinctly uncomfortable. He said, “Uh . . . I'm not sure she should be alone right now. Do you know if there are any relatives or friends she could stay with?”

“Nate's folks moved down to South Texas, I think,” Sam said. “I don't know about anybody else.”

Phyllis didn't hesitate. She said, “Allyson can come stay with us tonight. There's an extra room, and it won't be any trouble.”

Allyson looked at her and asked between sobs, “Are . . . are you sure?”

“I'm certain,” Phyllis said. She reached over to put her hand on Allyson's shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze.

They all stood up and moved toward the conference-room door. D'Angelo said, “I think this is a good idea.” He gave Phyllis a look behind Allyson's back, and Phyllis understood what it meant.

Pump her for all the information you can get.

That hadn't been the motivation for Phyllis to extend the invitation, but she supposed it wouldn't hurt to find out as much as they could while Allyson was at the house. Without making her feel like she was being interrogated constantly, of course.

The group stepped into the hall and then into the firm's lobby, with D'Angelo leading the way. He stopped short and said, “What the—”

The receptionist stood behind her desk, stiff and angry. She said, “I'm sorry, Mr. D'Angelo—these people refused to leave. Do you want me to call the police?”

Phyllis looked past the beefy lawyer and saw Felicity Prosper standing there, along with her two partners in journalistic crime.

H
olding a cordless microphone, Felicity started toward them. She said, “Mrs. Hollingsworth, could I get a comment? How does it feel knowing that your husband has been arrested for murdering your father?”

“Hey, now—,” D'Angelo started to say.

“He didn't do it!” Allyson cried. “Nate didn't hurt anybody!”

Felicity smirked and said, “I don't think the police would have taken him into custody if they didn't have some pretty solid evidence. Do you think he'll be convicted? Do you think he'll get the death penalty? The viewers of
Inside Beat
want to know—”

Nick was crowding up with his video camera, trying to get a close-up of Allyson's tear-streaked face. Sam got between them, and at the same time D'Angelo interposed his considerable bulk between Allyson and Felicity.

“My client has no comment,” he snapped. “The three of
you are trespassing. Leave immediately, or I'll call the police and file charges against you.”

“I'm sure, as a lawyer, you've heard of freedom of the press, Mr. D'Angelo,” Felicity said. “You have no right to suppress the truth. You can't kick us out—”

“This is private property, and I
can
kick you out,” D'Angelo said. “But I'll call the cops and have them do it for me.”

Nick tried to sidle around Sam with the camera. Sam said, “Watch it, buddy. You're treadin' on thin ice.”

“Are you threatening my cameraman, Mr. Fletcher?” Felicity demanded. “Be advised that we have a video record of it.”

Phyllis took Allyson's arm and began edging backward, toward the still-open door to the hallway.

“Maybe we'd better go back inside,” she suggested.

“Mrs. Hollingsworth!” Felicity called. “Tell us how it feels being married to a killer!”

Sam and D'Angelo were backing up, too, trying to shield Allyson and Phyllis from the tabloid-TV vultures. D'Angelo told the receptionist, “Helen, call the cops! Tell them we have trespassers here who refuse to leave.”

They all backed into the corridor, and D'Angelo slammed the door in Felicity's face.

“I'm sure that's not the first time somebody's done
that
,” he muttered.

Phyllis put her arms around the sobbing Allyson. She was furious with Felicity Prosper. Allyson had barely calmed down from being questioned earlier, and now Felicity had upset her again.

“Why don't you take Allyson back into the conference
room?” D'Angelo suggested. “I'll make sure those jerks get what's coming to them.”

Sam ushered Phyllis and Allyson out of the hallway and into the conference room. Phyllis got the young woman to sit down at the table. Allyson wasn't sobbing anymore, but she sat there shaking her head with a look of despair.

D'Angelo came into the room a few minutes later and said, “They'd already taken off by the time I got back out there. Guess they didn't want to wait for the cops. But I'm going to file harassment charges against them, anyway.”

“Will that do any good?” Phyllis asked.

“Probably not. Chances are the charges will be tossed. But I need to do it, because it'll help establish a precedent for requesting a restraining order against those three. I don't want them coming anywhere near Allyson—or Nate, either, once he's out.”

“She thinks he's guilty,” Allyson said in a shaky voice. “She called him a murderer. Everybody else is bound to feel the same way.”

Sam said, “Nobody who really knows Nate will believe that. Your friends'll stick by you, Allyson. Wait and see.”

“I hope you're right, Coach. But I don't think so. Even if he's not convicted, everybody's always going to believe that Nate killed my dad.”

Not if we find the real killer, Phyllis thought.

When Allyson had calmed down again and said that she was ready to go, Sam said, “I'll take a look outside first and make sure that woman and her friends aren't hangin' around anywhere watchin' for us.”

“Maybe you could get the pickup and pull up right outside the building,” Phyllis suggested.

“Good idea. I'll do that.”

He hurried out, and Phyllis followed with Allyson. D'Angelo went outside to stand on the sidewalk and keep an eye out. When he saw Sam's pickup coming, he looked through the glass door and beckoned to Phyllis and Allyson.

The curb was a no-parking zone, but Sam stopped there only long enough for D'Angelo to open the door so Allyson and Phyllis could climb in. The pickup had a bench seat. Allyson slid in first, to sit between Phyllis and Sam. He waved at D'Angelo and pulled away.

“You didn't see them anywhere?” Phyllis asked, as Sam circled the courthouse to head out on South Main.

“Nope. Of course, that doesn't mean they won't be staked out at the house, waitin' for us when we get there.”

“They had better not be,” Phyllis said grimly. “I'm getting tired of this.”

Thankfully, the van wasn't parked in front of the house when they got there, nor did Phyllis see it anywhere else along the block.

However, that didn't make her think that Felicity Prosper had given up being a troublemaker. She wasn't sure the reporter even had that ability.

Carolyn and Eve were both in the living room when Phyllis, Sam, and Allyson came in. So was Buck, who lifted his head and wagged his tail at the sight of Sam.

Allyson smiled and said, “What a cute dog.” Phyllis was glad to see something put a smile back on the young woman's face, even if it probably wouldn't last long.

“His name's Buck,” Sam said. The Dalmatian came over to him and stood there happily while Sam bent and scratched behind his ears. “Named after Buck Jones, the cowboy actor, who I expect you've never heard of.”

“Of course I've heard of him,” Allyson said. “My dad watched every Western movie ever made, I think, including the really old ones from the fifties and sixties.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes, but Allyson had bent over to pet Buck, too, and didn't see her. Phyllis thought her friend could have shown a little more restraint with that reaction, but she understood it. Sometimes it seemed to her that the current generation considered everything from before their own lifetimes to be incredibly ancient.

“Allyson's going to be staying here tonight,” Phyllis explained to Carolyn and Eve.

Allyson straightened and said, “Mr. D'Angelo can't get Nate out of jail until tomorrow morning. I hope I'm not going to be too much of an imposition.”

“You won't be an imposition at all, dear,” Carolyn said.

“Not at all,” Eve added. “To tell you the truth, it'll be nice to have someone young in the house for a change.”

“The best any of us can do is bein' young at heart,” Sam said.

Phyllis was glad to see that Allyson seemed to be coping better with the situation now. The human spirit was resilient, especially in the young.

Allyson said, “I'll need some things from my house, though. I wish I'd thought of that sooner.”

“I'll take you out there,” Sam said. “Won't be a problem.”

“Why don't the two of you do that?” Phyllis said. “And by
the time you get back, we'll have some supper ready. We'll all feel better once we've had a good meal.”

Sam nodded and said, “Sounds like a plan. Is that all right with you, Allyson?”

“Yes. I'm just sorry to be so much trouble.”

“Stop apologizin',” Sam told her. “It's no trouble at all. You ready to go?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“We'll be back,” Sam said to Phyllis. “So long, Buck.”

The Dalmatian wagged his tail and followed Sam and Allyson to the door. Allyson smiled down at him and said, “He looks like he wants to come with us.”

“He likes ridin' in the pickup, all right. You mind him comin' with us?”

“Not at all. You're the one doing me the favor, Coach. Anything you want is fine with me.”

“Come on, then, Buck,” Sam said as he got a leash and harness from a shelf in the coat closet. Seeing them, Buck ran around in circles in his excitement. Once Sam had the harness on him and clipped the leash to it, the three of them left.

Phyllis turned toward the kitchen, running possibilities through her mind for supper now that they had company.

•   •   •

Buck sat in the middle of the front seat this time. Allyson looped her left arm around him and held him close to her.
Buck didn't seem to mind, Sam noted. He didn't take to strangers that well, but since Allyson had come into the house with Sam and Phyllis, Buck had obviously accepted that she was all right.

“You'll have to tell me where we're goin',” Sam said. “I know you live somewhere north of town, but that's all.”

“The house is in one of the developments off Peaster Highway,” Allyson said. “It's not hard to find.” She paused, then asked, “Do you keep in touch with any of the other players from your old teams, Coach?”

“Oh, not really. I run into some of 'em in town from time to time and always enjoy catchin' up on what they're doin' now, but that time of my life is sort of in the past. You know what I mean?”

“I was sorry to hear about your wife.”

“Thanks. It was a rough time. You figure when you get to be my age, you're gonna have lost a lot of folks from your life. But, even so, it's never easy.” He glanced over at her. “I don't reckon anybody's immune from losin' the ones they love, no matter what age they are.”

“No,” she said softly as she shook her head. “No, they're not.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes; then Allyson said, “You and Mrs. Newsom seem to be really good friends.”

That made Sam grin.

“You wouldn't be pryin' a little bit, would you?” he asked.

“I just think you deserve to be happy, Coach.”

“I am,” Sam said. “Happier than I've been for a good long while. Reckon I got that way by not questionin' how I wound up where I am and just acceptin' it for what it is. There's all
kinds of good things and bad things in life, Ally. The secret is to be grateful for the good ones and not sit around broodin' over the bad ones. I know people who can't do that, and I always feel a little sorry for 'em.”

“It's hard not to brood sometimes.”

“Well, you've got sort of special circumstances to deal with right now. Times like this, you do what you have to in order to get through 'em, and hope that things will get better.”

“I think with you and Mrs. Newsom on our side, there's at least a chance of that.”

“I hope there is,” Sam said. “I surely do.”

Allyson gave him directions to the house, which was easy to find, as she'd said. It was on a paved side road in an area that was half-country, half–housing developments, but there were no curbs—just bar ditches with culverts at the driveways.

The sight of that reminded Sam of the yarn he'd spun for Gene Coyle that morning. This was just the sort of housing development he had talked about with Coyle, although these lots were bigger than the imaginary ones he'd mentioned, probably close to two acres each. That gave people enough room to keep a horse or maybe some goats.

The houses weren't the McMansions found in so many suburbs, either. They were nice-looking brick structures but had some age on them, having been built probably thirty years earlier. The size of the trees around them, mostly cottonwoods and fruitless mulberries and live oaks, agreed with that estimate, Sam thought. The trees had had some time to grow since they'd been planted.

A number of the houses along the street had aboveground
pools in the backyards, covered at this time of year. Others had chain-link fence around the backyards, with wood and sheet-metal sheds in them for those horses or goats Sam had thought about as he started along the road. He had to swallow hard, because this was exactly the sort of neighborhood where he and his late wife had lived for more than twenty years.

“What's wrong, Coach?” Allyson asked.

“Nothin',” Sam said. “It's just been, uh, kind of a long day, and I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“See, I told you I was being too much trouble.”

“Nope, not at all. I'm fine. Which house is yours?”

“Up there on the left. The one with the camper parked beside the garage.” Now it was Allyson's turn to have her voice catch a little. “Nate and I used to take it on vacation trips sometimes.”

“And you will again,” Sam assured her. “You'll see—everything's gonna be fine.”

He wished he could guarantee that. He had complete faith in Phyllis, and in his own efforts, too, but he knew what a close thing it had been in some of the other cases on which they'd worked. If things had gone a little differently, an innocent person easily might have been convicted of murder in those cases.