The Fatal Funnel Cake (15 page)

She didn't turn to look at him. Phyllis could tell that Bailey couldn't take her eyes off Charlotte Morgan. The detective stopped in front of her and said, “Bailey Broderick, you're under arrest for the murder of Joye Jameson.”

Chapter 20

T
hat eerie silence hung over the set for several long seconds after Detective Morgan's pronouncement, but then it exploded into a hubbub of sound from the audience and also from some of the crew members. From his position behind the main camera, Hank Squires yelled, “No! That's crazy!”

Hank stepped out from behind the camera and started toward the set. Detective Hunt got in his way. Even though Hank towered over the policeman, he stopped his advance. He kept glowering over Hunt's head at Detective Morgan, though.

Reed Hayes said, “Bailey, don't say a word to these people. Not one word, do you understand? I'll call the show's lawyers right now.”

Phyllis wasn't sure what good it would do to call a firm of show business lawyers in Hollywood when Bailey was being arrested for murder in Dallas, but other than that, she thought Hayes's advice was good. She knew the detectives would try to rattle Bailey and get her to say something incriminating, so not saying anything at all probably was the best course of action for her right now.

Phyllis realized she wouldn't even be thinking such a thing if she weren't convinced that Bailey was innocent. That was a mighty big conclusion to jump to, but her instincts told her that Bailey hadn't killed Joye Jameson. Phyllis had been right there, only a few feet away, and she had seen the genuine shock and sorrow in Bailey's eyes when Joye collapsed and died.

Carolyn leaned over to Phyllis and said, “This is insane! I don't believe that girl had anything to do with it.”

“Neither do I,” Phyllis agreed. “Of course, we don't know her that well—”

“I'll say you don't,” Peggy put in. “You've only talked to her two or three times.”

Eve said, “Phyllis has excellent judgment about these things.”

“Maybe so, but she's out of her bailiwick here.”

That was certainly true, Phyllis thought. This wasn't the familiar, comforting small-town confines of Weatherford. This was cold, impersonal, crowded Dallas. The detectives weren't going to listen to her. Nobody really cared what she thought.

Charlotte Morgan was still talking to Bailey, no doubt reading her her rights. Morgan took out a pair of handcuffs. Looking pale and shaken, Bailey turned around. Morgan cuffed her wrists behind her back and then took hold of her right arm. The detective led Bailey off the set.

“Looks like they're gonna have to show a rerun today after all,” Peggy said.

Phyllis glanced at the clock. It was only a few minutes until the show was supposed to begin. Reed Hayes was probably on the phone to his bosses, letting them know what had happened so they could step in and order that rerun. Phyllis didn't really know how these things worked, but she figured there was a good chance the syndicate always had an old episode ready for any sort of emergency that kept a new episode from going on the air. That seemed like a reasonable precaution to take with a show that was broadcast live.

In the meantime, the audience didn't know what to do. Some of them probably realized there wasn't going to be a show today after all, since the host had been led off in handcuffs, but the others might still expect to be entertained. Everyone stayed in the bleachers, sitting there uncertainly, as more time passed and the hands on the clock moved beyond the top of the hour.

Reed Hayes had disappeared during the commotion. Phyllis wondered if he had gone to the jail to do whatever he could for Bailey. Hank was still there, pacing back and forth angrily and running a hand over his balding head. The director, Charlie Farrar, came in from the truck and joined the rest of the crew around the set, but he looked just as lost as they did.

After a while Hayes emerged from the backstage area, so he hadn't left after all. He conferred with Farrar and then motioned for Chet Murdock to join them. Hayes looked like he was giving orders to the security guard. Chet nodded.

When Hayes was finished talking to him, Chet came over to the bleachers and held up his hands. “Can I have your attention?” he said, raising his voice to be heard. “Everyone? Can I have your attention, please?”

Gradually the members of the audience quieted down. When they had, Chet went on, “The producers of
The Joye of Cooking
regret to inform you that there will be no show today. They hope you will continue to watch the show when new episodes resume in the near future. Thank you.”

Groans and mutters of disappointment came from some in the audience, but most of the people just stood up and started to leave the bleachers in an orderly fashion, including Phyllis and her friends. When they reached the floor, she said to Sam, “I want to talk to Mr. Murdock for a minute before we go.”

“Sure,” he said. “I don't suppose we're in any hurry.”

Phyllis made her way over to the guard. When he saw her, he said, “Hey, Mrs. Newsom. Do you believe that? I never saw anybody arrested in the middle of a TV show before.” Chet shook his head regretfully. “I never saw anybody arrested for murder before, period.”

“I know,” Phyllis said. “It's terrible. I don't think Miss Broderick is guilty, either.”

“You don't?” Chet asked with a surprised frown on his face. “I don't think the cops would have arrested her without some pretty strong evidence against her, do you?”

Carolyn and the others had followed Phyllis. When Carolyn heard what Chet said, she let out a disgusted snort. “That just shows how much you know about the police, young man,” she said. “We've seen them arrest innocent people again and again and charge them with murder.”

“You have?” Chet still looked confused. “Are you ladies like . . . crime buffs or something?”

“Phyllis solves murders,” Carolyn said, pointing at her. Phyllis would have just as soon she hadn't done that, but there was no stopping her.

Chet's eyes widened. “You do?” he asked Phyllis. “You're a detective? Really?”

“I've helped the authorities figure out a few things,” Phyllis admitted. “But I don't think the police here in Dallas would be interested in anything I had to say.”

“You don't know that,” Chet said, getting excited. “You should offer to help them if you think Ms. Broderick isn't guilty.”

“What do you think?” Phyllis asked. “You're around the set here a lot. You might have noticed something that could have a bearing on the case.”

Chet made a face and shook his head. “Well, yeah, I'm here, but . . . to be honest sometimes my mind sort of wanders a little. As long as there's no trouble I don't really pay that much attention. I probably shouldn't admit that, but like I told you, I don't plan on making this my life's work.”

“Of course,” Phyllis said. “But if you think of anything—”

She stopped short. She had been about to give Chet her cell phone number and ask him to call her if he thought of anything that might be connected to Joye Jameson's murder. But then she remembered that she wasn't investigating this case. There wasn't really even a case to investigate anymore, since the police had already made an arrest.

Phyllis finished by saying, “If you think of anything, you should call the police and talk to Detective Morgan or Detective Hunt. I'm sure they'd appreciate any help you could give them.”

“I'm not so sure they would, but I'll keep it in mind,” Chet promised.

Phyllis nodded and said, “It was nice meeting you this week, Mr. Murdock. I hope you get to do what you want in life.”

“Thanks,” the young man said with a smile. “You, too.”

Phyllis returned the smile, thought about her family, her friends, and her teaching career, and said, “I already have.”

•   •   •

Traffic was heavy on the freeways, even though it wasn't officially rush hour yet. Phyllis thought that rush hour in Dallas could almost be considered to exist twenty-four hours a day. However, Sam was a steady, patient driver and got them back to Peggy's house without any problems.

“This week certainly hasn't turned out like I expected it to,” Carolyn commented as they sat in Peggy's living room.

“You mean you didn't think you'd win any of the contests?” Peggy asked.

Carolyn said, “Hmph. Of course I did. I always expect to win when I enter a contest, and I'm never surprised when Phyllis does.” She looked pointedly at Sam and added, “Some results I couldn't have predicted, though.”

Phyllis was about to tell her that that wasn't a very nice thing to say, when Sam chuckled and responded, “You got that right. You didn't really have any evidence to go on, since I never cooked much of anything around you ladies before.”

Well, if he wasn't upset about Carolyn's comment, she wasn't going to leap to his defense, Phyllis decided. Besides, he had a point. Before this whole business about going to the state fair had come up, for all they had known, any food he prepared might have been terrible. Once he started trying out various Spam recipes, it was obvious that Sam really was a decent cook, but the rest of them still didn't know how his skills would stack up against those of the other entrants in the contest.

Peggy turned on the TV, and it wasn't long before an early newscast began. Not surprisingly, the arrest of Bailey Broderick was the lead story.

“Police have made an arrest in the death of television cooking show host Joye Jameson,” a perfectly groomed anchorwoman said. “Bailey Broderick, twenty-seven, has been charged with murder in the death of Jameson. Broderick has been an assistant producer on the program
The Joye of Cooking
for several years. So far, police have released no information about a possible motive in the killing. Ms. Jameson, who passed away yesterday afternoon during the broadcast of her show, was originally thought to have succumbed to a fatal allergic reaction to something in a funnel cake she had just eaten.”

Phyllis hoped the anchorwoman wouldn't mention that
she
had cooked that particular funnel cake.

“We'll have more on that story as it develops,” the woman on the TV screen went on. “In our other top story tonight, a cold front is headed our way, and this weekend it's going to bring us our first really fall-like temperatures of the season. For more on that, let's go over to meteorologist Chip Cavaletti in the weather center.”

The ringing of the doorbell made Peggy pick up the remote control and mute the sound on the TV. “Who in the world can that be?” she muttered as she lifted herself to her feet, obviously reluctant to leave the comfort of her recliner. “I'm not expecting anybody.”

She went up the hall to the front door and opened it. Phyllis looked past Peggy and saw a middle-aged man standing there. As far as she recalled, she had never seen him before.

The stranger was about as average looking as a man could possibly be. Medium height, a little stocky but not really fat, with an open, pleasant face topped by a mostly bald scalp. A fringe of slightly wavy brown hair ran around his ears and the back of his head. The one thing that stood out about him was his gray suit, which Phyllis, while not an expert on such things, thought must have been pretty expensive. It just looked like it cost a lot of money.

“Mrs. Newsom?” the man asked. His voice was friendly and went well with the rest of him.

“Nope,” Peggy said. “But she's here.” She assumed the role of gatekeeper. “What do you want with her?”

Phyllis had gotten to her feet when she heard the man ask for her. She came up behind Peggy with Sam, Carolyn, and Eve following her and said, “That's all right. I'll talk to the gentleman.” She smiled at him. “I'm Phyllis Newsom.”

“David Miller,” he said, introducing himself. His name was as nondescript as the rest of him. “I'm an attorney—”

Peggy said, “You guys are going from door to door now to drum up business? I remember when you weren't even allowed to advertise!”

“So do I, ma'am,” David Miller said, “but that's not why I'm here.” He slid a business card case from his coat pocket, took out a card, and extended it to Phyllis. “My client asked me to come and talk to you, Mrs. Newsom.”

Phyllis took the card, saw that the address on it was a piece of prime real estate in downtown Dallas, and asked, “Who's your client, Mr. Miller, if you're allowed to tell me that?”

“Certainly. I'm representing Ms. Bailey Broderick. It's my job to keep her from being convicted of killing Joye Jameson, and she seems to think that you might be able to help me.”

Chapter 21

I
t was beginning to seem as if the surprises this week held would never come to an end, Phyllis thought as she looked at the bland-faced attorney. After a couple of seconds went by, she said, “I think you should come in, Mr. Miller. Obviously we need to talk.” Remembering that this wasn't her house, she glanced over at Peggy and added, “If that's all right . . . ?”

“Oh, sure,” Peggy said. “You can't send him away after a bombshell like that. Come on in.”

Phyllis and Peggy ushered Miller into the living room. Phyllis asked, “Do we need to speak in private?”

“These are your friends?” Miller said as he looked around at the others.

“That's right.”

“I wouldn't insult you or them by implying that they can't be trusted. However, there are issues of confidentiality . . .”

Peggy said, “The rest of us will go back in the den, and the two of you can stay in here. Don't worry, it's not bugged.”

“The possibility that it might be didn't even cross my mind, I assure you,” Miller said.

“You want something to drink?” Peggy asked. “I've got iced tea and Coke, or I can put on a pot of coffee. I'm not a boozer, though, so I can't offer you a beer.”

“Nor am I,” Miller assured her. “Thank you, but I'm fine.”

Sam said, “You let us know if you need us, Phyllis.”

When the others were gone and Phyllis and Miller were seated in comfortable chairs, she said, “I really don't see how I can be of any assistance to you, Mr. Miller. You made it sound like Bailey sent you here to talk to me. How can that be?”

Instead of answering Phyllis's question, Miller asked one of his own. “You just called my client by her first name. Does that mean the two of you are friends?”

“Well . . . no, not really. We've only spoken a few times, and then not for long. I suppose I just think of her as Bailey because I've seen her on TV so many times. You know, like Regis. That's just the way people think of him, whether they've ever met him or not. I'll bet most people who come up to him on the street say ‘Hello, Regis,' not ‘Hello, Mr. Philbin.'”

Even to herself, Phyllis sounded like she was babbling. She must have come across that way to David Miller, too, because he said in a tolerant tone, as if humoring her, “I'm sure you're right, Mrs. Newsom.”

That annoyed Phyllis. She said bluntly, “What is it you want from me, Mr. Miller?”

“According to my client, you were closer to Joye Jameson than anyone else when she was stricken with her fatal attack.”

“That's right, I suppose. I hope your client isn't trying to say that I deliberately caused that allergic reaction.”

Miller waved away that suggestion. “No, not at all. She thought that you would be able to testify as to how genuinely surprised she was when Ms. Jameson collapsed, and how she made an immediate attempt to save Ms. Jameson's life.”

“She did,” Phyllis replied without hesitation. “Bailey wasn't just surprised. She was completely shocked, and I'd be glad to testify to that opinion.”

“Ah, but there's the problem,” Miller said. “It's only your opinion. It isn't evidence. Perhaps Ms. Broderick was doing a fantastic job of acting.”

Phyllis shook her head. “No, I'm convinced it's the truth. And aren't you supposed to be on her side?”

“Of course. But if you were on the witness stand, don't you think the prosecutor would raise the possibility that Ms. Broderick was acting?”

“Oh,” Phyllis said. “You're right. That's exactly what would happen.” She frowned. “That brings us back around to me not understanding how I can help you.”

“I told you why my client suggested that I talk to you. To be honest, even though you were an eyewitness, I'm not sure your testimony would help our case that much. I probably would have gotten around to talking to you eventually, but I wouldn't have come right over here from the jail if I hadn't thought of something else.”

“I'm sure I don't know what that could be,” Phyllis said.

“Your name struck me as familiar somehow,” Miller said with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “So I did a little quick research. It didn't take long to figure out where I'd heard of you before.”

He took out his phone, touched the display screen a couple of times, and turned it so she could see what he had called up. It was a search engine screen, and her name was in the search box, with a number of results below it.

“You're the crime-solving grandma from Weatherford,” he said.

Phyllis bristled. “I really don't appreciate being referred to that way,” she said.

“I'm sorry, I meant no offense. I was just quoting one of the websites about you.”

“You mean some newspaper story about the cases I've been mixed up in?”

“No, although there are certainly quite a few of those available online, if anybody wants to take the trouble to look. I was talking about one of the fan sites.”

“The what?”

“The Phyllis Newsom fan sites. There are several devoted to your crime-solving activities.”

“Wait a minute,” Phyllis said. “There really are such things?”

Miller looked at her for a second, then said, “Don't tell me you've never set up a Google Alert for your name.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“It's a thing where Google sends you an e-mail with a link every time somebody mentions your name on a website or a blog or anything like that.”

Phyllis shook her head. “I had no idea such things existed.”

For a moment Miller looked like he didn't believe her. Then he chuckled and said, “I didn't think you were serious. But you are, aren't you?”

“Completely,” Phyllis assured him.

“Well, if nothing else, it's a refreshing attitude in this day and age. You're something of a celebrity among true-crime buffs, Mrs. Newsom. More importantly for my purposes, though, you're someone who's obviously quite observant, or you wouldn't have been able to solve those other murders. I want you to take me through everything you remember leading up to the moment when Joye Jameson took a bite of that funnel cake you'd just prepared.”

“Everything? Right here and now?”

“It's never too soon to start putting together a strong defense,” Miller said. “I promise you, at this very moment there are assistant district attorneys already working on the case they'll present to the grand jury when they ask for an indictment against Ms. Broderick. I don't want them to get too much of a jump on me.”

“I can certainly understand that. Do you want to ask questions or . . . ?”

“Just tell me what happened, start to finish, in your own words.” Miller took a pad and pen from his briefcase so he could make notes while Phyllis was talking.

Phyllis led the attorney through the events of the previous afternoon, starting with when she and her friends had arrived at the broadcast set. Miller took copious notes, evidently preferring that method to recording what she told him. He didn't interrupt her to ask any questions, but when she was finished, he said, “The cooking oil you used for the funnel cakes was already there on the set when you arrived?”

“It was,” Phyllis confirmed. “The people on the show had my recipe. Anyone could get it from the state fair, I suppose. Someone—and I assumed it was Bailey—assembled all of the ingredients and had them ready when I got there.”

Miller nodded. “Yes, that agrees with what Ms. Broderick told me. Making preparations like that is part of her job.”

“The bottle of cooking oil was sitting on the counter when we got there,” Phyllis said. “It wasn't a new, unopened bottle, either. I'd say a cup or so of oil had been used from it.”

“You see, right there is a good reason for me to be here,” Miller said. “I might not have even thought of something like that to ask about it, but to you, noticing it is just second nature.”

“Well, to be fair, when you cook a lot you pay attention to such things. You don't want to start something and then realize halfway through that you don't have enough of one of the ingredients. If my friend Carolyn had been making the funnel cakes, she would have been able to tell you the same thing.”

“That may well be,” Miller said, “but I'll bet she wouldn't make the instinctive leap to the next question that information brings to mind.”

“You mean, where was the oil kept before the show?” Phyllis asked.

“Exactly. That's something I'll need to find out from my client. I didn't have a chance to do a lengthy interview with her. I'll do that in the morning, after the bail hearing.” Miller leaned back in his chair. “Right now, I'm trying to get everything straight in my mind, so I have an accurate picture of the events. I really appreciate your help with that, Mrs. Newsom.”

“I'll do whatever I can,” Phyllis said. Something else occurred to her. “There's bound to be security camera footage from the Creative Arts Building. Maybe that would show you if someone was messing around with the ingredients. I'm convinced someone substituted peanut oil for corn oil.”

“From what I've heard about the case, I agree, although I don't have my hands on the autopsy report yet. That's something else I hope to accomplish over the weekend. There's a chance that may have to wait until Monday.”

“There's something else bothering me . . .”

As Phyllis's voice trailed off, Miller urged her, “By all means, go ahead. Given your history, Mrs. Newsom, I'd say your instincts are to be trusted.”

“Why didn't the injector work?”

“The one that Ms. Broderick used in an attempt to counterattack Ms. Jameson's allergic reaction?”

“Yes. The epinephrine should have stopped the reaction, shouldn't it? That's what those pens are made for, and according to Bailey, she used one once before when Joye had a bad reaction.”

Miller nodded slowly and said, “That's true. That's something else the autopsy report might answer.”

“Don't the authorities have to turn copies of all their findings over to you?”

“Yes, they do, but we're a long way from a trial yet,” Miller pointed out with a slight smile. “And the police have been known to drag their feet during the discovery phase. But I'll find out everything that they have; you can count on that. Do you think the autoinjector is important?”

“Someone could have tampered with it, too.”

Miller thought about it and nodded. “That would explain why it didn't work, wouldn't it? Maybe they substituted something else for the epinephrine so it wouldn't counteract the allergic reaction.”

“I saw Bailey take the pen out of her pocket. We need to find out where it was before that and who could have gotten to it.” Phyllis paused. “I'm being presumptuous, aren't I? Telling a high-powered defense attorney how to handle an investigation. Good grief.”

Miller smiled again. “What makes you think I'm high-powered, as you put it?”

“Well, the production company that makes
The Joye of Cooking
hired you—”

Miller stopped her by shaking his head. “No, I'm not working for the production company.”

“You're not? Reed Hayes said he was going to call his bosses in Hollywood. I assumed they found you here in Dallas.”

“No, Mr. Hayes retained my services on behalf of Ms. Broderick. I'm acquainted with some people in California. Executives at the production company may have recommended me to Mr. Hayes, but they're not paying me. I suspect they thought that would be a conflict of interest. Their primary responsibility lies with the late Ms. Jameson, after all. She was their star.”

“Of course,” Phyllis said. “I should have realized that.”

“I'll take that ‘high-powered' business as a compliment, though. Most people find me incredibly dull.”

Phyllis had a hunch that was exactly the way David Miller wanted people to regard him. That might cause them to let down their guard around him. She would have bet that his opponents in court tended to underestimate him, too, at least the first time they faced him. She had seen the keen intelligence in his eyes, though, and trusted him to do a good job of defending Bailey.

Miller closed his notebook and said, “I think I've got everything I need for now. I'm sure I'll be talking to you again later. I can find you here or reach you at your cell phone number?”

“That's right. I—” Phyllis stopped. “How did you know I was staying here with Carolyn's cousin?”

“You gave your cell phone number and this address to Ms. Broderick the other day, when Ms. Jameson asked you to appear on the show. They wanted it for their paperwork, and also in case they needed to contact you. Then Ms. Broderick gave the information to me when she told me she wanted me to talk to you.”

“Yes, I remember now.”