The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer (24 page)

“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.”

F
elicity 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 submitted 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 necessarily. 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.

The parking spaces around the square were mostly full. With the approach of Christmas, more people were out shopping. She hated to think what the traffic would be like for the next few weeks on the south side of town, where Main Street crossed the interstate. That was the main shopping area now, with dozens of stores big and small on both sides of the freeway, and the congestion was so bad that whenever Phyllis ventured down there, she felt like she was in Fort Worth or even Dallas. And it would only get worse between now and Christmas.

Maybe for once she would give some thought to doing the shopping she had left online. That still seemed a bit unnatural to her, but it might be better than trying to navigate through those crowds.

With that on her mind, she almost missed seeing a good
parking place. She spotted it in time to maneuver the Lincoln into it, though, and then got out to walk toward the Cranmoor Building, which was less than a block away.

A few people were going in and out of the building as she entered the lobby. She climbed the stairs with their ornate banister, and turned toward Nate's office when she reached the second-floor landing. The door was closed, and a man was coming along the hall toward her.

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door behind him and said, “If you're looking for Nate, he's not there.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I came by to talk to him, but the door's locked.”

Phyllis was disappointed. She had hoped to catch him here so she could ask him about those companies Clay Loomis did business with. The list was folded up and in her jacket pocket.

The man who had stopped her smiled and said, “I'm Frank Holbrook, by the way.” He held out his hand.

The name rang some sort of bell for Phyllis, but she couldn't place it. She shook hands with Holbrook and introduced herself.

“You must be a friend of the family,” he said. He was in his forties, a pleasant-looking man with thinning brown hair. He wore a brown leather jacket over a flannel shirt and khaki trousers.

“That's right,” Phyllis said. It was easier than trying to explain her connection to Nate and what she was doing here. She gave in to her natural curiosity and asked, “What about you?”