The Pumpkin Muffin Murder (2 page)

“It’s the middle of the night,” she told Sam. “You should be sleeping. I’ll be all right.”

A smile spread across Sam’s rugged face. “Shoot, I wasn’t asleep anyway. Seems like the older I get, the less easy it is for me to sleep. I was on the computer lookin’ at YouTube. You know they got clips on there from all the TV shows I used to watch back in the fifties? I hadn’t seen George Burns and Gracie Allen in a long time.”

Phyllis couldn’t help but smile back at him. They were roughly the same age, in their late sixties, and it wasn’t unusual for either of them to discover something new and wonderful on the Internet that most younger people had probably known about for years.

“I’ll have to check that out sometime,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t mind . . . ?”

Sam motioned with his fingers to indicate that she should give Bobby to him.

“Well, all right.” She handed the whimpering youngster over.

Bobby immediately threw his arms around Sam’s neck and buried his face against the man’s shoulder. His sobs began to subside.

“I think I’m jealous,” Phyllis said with a laugh. “He appears to like you more than he does me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He just senses that we’re kindred spirits.”

Phyllis raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Normally, I sleep like a baby, too. I kick and fret all night.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Phyllis said as she arched an eyebrow.

Sam chuckled as he started walking slowly back and forth across the living room. Bobby quieted even more. Within a few minutes, he appeared to be sound asleep.

Sam looked at the boy, then grinned at Phyllis. “Say good night, Gracie,” he whispered.

“Good night, Gracie,” she responded. She held her arms out. “I’ll put him in bed.”

“No, I got him. We start passin’ him around like a football, he’s liable to wake up again.”

Sam left the living room and started carefully up the stairs. A couple of days earlier, when Bobby had come to stay with Phyllis, Sam and Mike had climbed up into the attic of the old house and brought down the crib Mike had slept in twenty-some-odd years earlier. Bobby had complained that he wasn’t a baby and shouldn’t have to sleep in a crib, but that was really the only place Phyllis had for him to sleep. They had compromised by leaving the sides down when they put the crib in Phyllis’s bedroom.

She was in the kitchen brewing some herbal tea when Sam came back downstairs. “Figured I’d find you in here,” he said.

“Did he keep on sleeping?”

“Like a rock. I reckon that medicine finally caught up with him and made him conk out.”

“You want some tea?”

“Is it made from flowers and stuff?”

“Well, I’m not going to drink regular tea at this time of night. I never would get to sleep.”

“All right, sure. I guess I don’t need anything else keepin’ me awake, either.”

Phyllis poured the tea when it was ready, and they sat down on opposite sides of the kitchen table. She sipped from her cup, then said, “I wish Bobby had been able to go to California with Mike and Sarah. This may well be Bud’s last Thanksgiving.”

“That’s Sarah’s dad?”

“Yes.”

“At least she’s gettin’ to spend this time with him.”

“Yes, and that’s a blessing.”

Phyllis thought about her daughter-in-law. She knew from experience how terrible it was to have to face the impending end of a loved one’s life. She had lost her husband, Kenny, a number of years earlier. And Sam had gone through the same thing when cancer claimed his wife. But Phyllis also knew that the last days spent together could be some of the most precious of all, easing the passing of the one who had to leave and creating memories that those left behind would carry with them for the rest of
their
days.

So when Bobby had come down with the ear infection the day before Mike and Sarah were supposed to leave to spend a couple of weeks in California with Sarah’s parents, and the doctor told them they couldn’t take him on the airplane, Phyllis hadn’t hesitated. She had urged them to make the trip and leave Bobby with her. “I’d love the chance to spend that much time with him,” she had told her son and daughter-in-law. “That way you can make your trip without having to worry about him.”

“Oh, I’ll worry about him,” Sarah had said, and Phyllis knew exactly what she meant. Worrying was a parent’s permanent job. Mike was a grown man, and not a day went by that Phyllis didn’t spend some of the time wondering where he was and what he was doing and worrying about whether he was all right.

The fact that Mike was a deputy in the Parker County Sheriff’s Department didn’t make things any easier. But Phyllis knew she would have worried about him no matter what he did for a living.

Phyllis realized that she’d been sitting there quietly, musing over the events of the past few days, without saying a word. Sam had been silent, too. Yet she didn’t feel the least bit awkward or uncomfortable because of the silence, and from the looks of him, neither did Sam. It had been a good thing when she’d had a vacancy open up in the house a couple of years earlier, she thought. Her old superintendent, Dolly Williamson, had suggested that she rent the room to Sam, and even though there had been some rough patches at first, caused by having a man in a house full of retired female teachers, it hadn’t taken long for Sam to become a member of the family.

And that was the way she thought of him and Carolyn Wilbarger and Eve Turner, the other retired teachers who lived with her. They were all family now.

“This tea’s not bad,” Sam said. “Bein’ a good Texan, though, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to drinkin’ any kind of tea without a bunch of ice cubes in it.”

Before Phyllis could respond, a key rattled in the lock of the back door.

She and Sam looked at each other in puzzlement. Who in the world could be coming in at that hour? It was after midnight and, anyway, no one had a key to her house except the people who lived there and Mike. Carolyn and Eve were upstairs asleep, and Mike was in California. . . .

Phyllis felt a little twinge of apprehension. Maybe someone was actually trying to break in. They could be attempting to pick the lock. But would a burglar do that when the lights in the kitchen were on and someone was obviously in here?

Sam was on his feet, facing the door. He had braved danger to protect her in the past, and she wasn’t surprised that he would do it again. She wouldn’t let him do it alone, though. She stood up as well and started looking around for some sort of weapon.

The door swung open, and Carolyn said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb anybody.”

Sam, bless his heart, didn’t miss a beat. He crossed his arms, frowned at Carolyn, and said, “Young lady, do you have any idea what time it is?”

Carolyn looked flabbergasted for a second, but then she glared as she closed the door and said, “I don’t need any sass from you, Sam Fletcher. I’m tired.”

“Well, I’d imagine so, what with you out gallivantin’ around until the wee hours of the morning.”

Carolyn looked at Phyllis, who came around the table and got between them. “I thought you were upstairs asleep,” Phyllis said to her old friend.

“I would have been if I hadn’t gotten a call from Dana Powell,” Carolyn said as she took off her coat. “Logan was supposed to help her with some decorations for the Harvest Festival, but you know how undependable
he
is. I’ve been over at Dana’s house all evening, giving her a hand.”

Phyllis shook her head. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.”

“She called me on my cell. Anyway, you were busy with Bobby.”

Like seemingly everyone else in the world these days, Phyllis carried a cell phone, but having lived for decades before the things were even invented, she sometimes forgot how ever present they were. Occasionally she had to remind herself when she was out that she didn’t have to look for a public phone if she wanted to make a call.

“Like I said, I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Carolyn went on. “So I just slipped out and went on over there.”

Dana Powell was about twenty years younger than Carolyn—and Phyllis and Sam, for that matter—but she and Carolyn had taught together at the same school before Carolyn retired, and they were still friends. Phyllis liked her as well, although she thought sometimes that Dana was a little too skinny and a little too blond for an elementary school teacher. But there was no denying that Dana was good with the kids and was also heavily involved in the community, including being in charge of some of the plans for the upcoming “Harvest Festival.”

In recent, more politically correct years, that term had been adopted in a lot of places for Halloween celebrations, but this year, in Weatherford, Texas, the festival was taking place the Saturday before Thanksgiving, which as far as Phyllis was concerned was a more traditional and appropriate time for it, anyway. The festival was being held in a city park on the south side of town that surrounded a small lake known for the flock of ducks that lived there most of the year. The ducks would be gone now, having migrated south for the winter, but the park was still a pleasant, picturesque place with playground equipment for the children, hiking trails, picnic areas, and a couple of old settlers’ cabins that had been moved in from farther west in the county. Phyllis remembered taking some of her history classes to the park on field trips so the students could see the bullet holes left behind in the walls by Indian battles, and check out the interiors, which were furnished in pioneer fashion.

A couple of days from now, on Saturday evening, the park would be full of games and rides and craft displays, along with an assortment of food and drink vendors, much like the Peach Festival that was held in Weatherford every summer. There would also be a cooking contest centered on traditional Thanksgiving foods such as pumpkin pies, creative uses of cranberry, unusual stuffings to go with turkey, and things like that.

The cooking contest was especially interesting to Phyllis, who entered nearly every such contest that came along, and she was usually in competition with Carolyn. There wouldn’t be any rivalry this time, however. Carolyn had already agreed to serve as a judge in the contest instead of entering it. That was fine with Phyllis, although in a way she would miss their friendly competition.

She might miss the contest entirely, she thought, depending on how Bobby was doing. She might not have the time to prepare her entry.

“What were you working on with Dana?” she asked Carolyn as she got another cup from the cabinet and poured some tea for her friend. Phyllis hadn’t asked whether Carolyn wanted one, but knew she loved herbal tea.

“Scarecrow costumes, of all things,” Carolyn said as she took the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam said, “I thought they were tryin’ to get folks to
come
to this festival, not scare them off.”

“Oh, there are going to be scarecrows and bales of hay scattered around the park as decorations,” Carolyn explained. “Logan was going to pick up the supplies to make the costumes, but then he had some sort of business emergency, so Dana called me and we went to Wal-Mart and Dollar Tree together to get what she’d need. When I saw how much work she had in front of her, I said I’d stay and help.” Carolyn stifled a yawn. “I didn’t expect to be quite so late getting back, though. But we got to talking while we worked, and, well, you know how that goes.”

Phyllis nodded. “Yes, of course. I hope Logan was at least properly apologetic when he got home.”

Carolyn took another sip of tea. “He didn’t get home. At least, he hadn’t when I left.”

“Wasn’t Dana worried? I would have been.”

“I suppose she’s used to it,” Carolyn said with a shake of her head. “She should know by now that her husband is as much married to that real estate business as he is to her.” She looked back and forth between Phyllis and Sam. “Enough about the Powells. What are the two of you doing up at this time of night?”

“Bobby’s ear was hurting and he had trouble sleeping,” Phyllis said. “Sam was able to get him to doze off, though.”

“Well, I’m not going to have any trouble falling asleep. I’m exhausted.” Carolyn stood up, quickly downed the rest of her tea, rinsed the cup out in the sink, and put the empty cup in the dishwasher. “Good night, both of you. Don’t stay up too late.”

“We won’t,” Sam said, then added, “I’m gonna go look at YouTube some more.”

He started to follow Carolyn out of the kitchen, but Phyllis stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for helping with Bobby.”

“Anytime,” he said with a smile. “He’s a good little fella. Hate to see him hurtin’. You think he’ll feel good enough to go to the festival on Saturday?”

“I hope so. We could all use some good times.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Hope it goes well.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, you never know. . . .”

“Yes, you do,” Phyllis said firmly. “
I
know. There’s not going to be any trouble at this festival. Nothing unusual is going to happen.”

“That’s right.” Sam leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Good night.”

She told him good night and watched him go up the stairs, wishing he hadn’t brought up all the things that had happened in the past. He hadn’t meant anything by it, of course.

It was hard to forget, though, that for a while there, murder had seemed to make a habit of following her around.

But more than a year had passed without any sort of trouble, she reminded herself. There was no reason to think it would crop up again now.

With that thought in her head, she turned off the light in the kitchen and went upstairs.