The Pumpkin Muffin Murder (5 page)

“Actually, I would like to hear about it,” Phyllis said. “You’ve never talked much about your childhood, Carolyn. Why, I probably know more about what Sam’s life was like when he was growing up than I do about yours, and I’ve known you a lot longer than him!”

She realized that maybe she was being insensitive. Perhaps Carolyn’s childhood had been so bad that she just wanted to put it behind her and never even think about it again.

But there was a candor that came with age, and Phyllis wanted to believe that there was nothing old friends couldn’t say to each other.

After a moment, Carolyn sighed. “If you really want to hear about it, I need some tea.”

“I just happen to have some brewing in the pot,” Phyllis replied with a smile.

A couple of minutes later, the three women were sitting around the kitchen table, each with a cup of orange spice herbal tea in front of her. Phyllis quickly checked in on Bobby and saw that he was still sound asleep on the sofa in the living room, so she wasn’t worried about him waking up anytime soon.

“Go ahead,” Eve said to Carolyn.

“But you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,” Phyllis added.

Carolyn sipped her tea. “I’m just worried that you’re going to be terribly bored.” She took a deep breath. “I come from a little farming town down close to Waco.”

Phyllis nodded. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

“I never told you, though, that we never really had a home of our own. My father was a mechanic, and when things were going well, my parents were able to rent a house in town, but when they weren’t, he had to take jobs on the big farms around there, and we’d wind up living in one of the little houses that the owners provided for workers. There were seven children, plus my grandfather, my mother’s father, lived with us, so there would be ten people crowded into a house that wasn’t much more than a two-room shack.”

“That’s terrible,” Eve said. “It sounds like . . . like slave quarters.”

Phyllis, who had taught eighth-grade American history for many years, said, “I’m sure it was hardly that bad, but it must have been terrible anyway.”

“Yes, it could have been worse,” Carolyn agreed. “That’s what my mother and father told me all the time, and my grandfather, too. They had all lived through the Great Depression, after all. They knew what real hardship was like.”

Like Carolyn, Phyllis had been born a little too late to have been through the Depression. She’d been alive when Pearl Harbor was attacked but had no memory of it. She could vaguely recall, though, the celebrations sparked off by the surrender of Japan at the end of the war.

“It’s a funny thing,” Carolyn mused as she stared at her cup and saucer on the table in front of her, “but when your belly is empty it hurts just as bad whether it’s 1932 or 1948. And the shame a little girl feels when she has to go to school in a flour-sack dress that’s more patches than dress because three older sisters have already worn it doesn’t really change, either.”

“You poor dear,” Eve murmured.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Carolyn said firmly. “Growing up like that taught me a great deal. I learned the value of hard work, for one thing, and I learned that if you want to get out of a bad situation, you have to actually
do
something about it. Sitting around and complaining won’t accomplish a thing.”

“That’s the truth,” Phyllis said.

“Even with its drawbacks, I liked school better than anything else. That’s why I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I started saving my money for college when I was a sophomore in high school. I got a job at a department store in Waco and hitchhiked into town every day after school to work, then hitchhiked home at night.”

“Dear Lord!” Eve said. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed . . . or worse!”

“I was willing to take that chance,” Carolyn said. “Anyway, the world was a different place then, at least for the most part. It wasn’t as mean.”

Phyllis wasn’t sure about that. Judging by what she knew about some of the things that had gone on in the past, there had always been a lot of meanness in the world. People just hadn’t been as aware of it back then as they were now.

“I was able to save enough money to pay for my first semester at Mary Hardin-Baylor College, as well as a little room in a boardinghouse,” Carolyn went on. “I kept working all through college and was able to get my degree and my teaching certificate. My older brothers and sisters helped a little, too, when they could, just like I helped the younger ones after I graduated and got a teaching position. I tried not to look back . . . but I never really forgot what it was like to be hungry on Thanksgiving. I don’t want any other child to have to experience that, if there’s anything I can do to help it.” She smiled. “There you are. The sad story of Carolyn Mahoney Wilbarger.”

“It
is
a sad story,” Eve insisted. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m sure that neither of you grew up in a bed of roses, either. A lot of people had it tough back then, and even tougher the generation before.”

“Yes, and now people worry about being in an area where their cell phone reception isn’t quite as strong,” Phyllis said. “I guess it’s all just a matter of perspective.”

Before any of them could say anything else, Bobby came wandering down the hall to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “I went to sleep,” he said. “I missed my cartoons.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Phyllis said as he climbed up into her lap and laid his head on her shoulder. She patted him on the back and added, “Life is hard sometimes.”

C
arolyn’s story had touched Phyllis, so later that afternoon when Carolyn was back from putting up the posters and they were both in the kitchen again, she said to her friend, “I’d like to help more with the festival.”

“You should have come with me to help with the posters.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it in time, what with dealing with Bobby.”

“Well, you’re entering the cooking contest, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you’ll be helping to get people to come and donate canned goods,” Carolyn said. “What are you going to make?”

Phyllis felt a moment of instinctive hesitation. She and Carolyn had gone head-to-head in so many of these competitions, often finishing first and second, or at least in the top five, that she was in the habit of being secretive about the recipes she planned to enter. The rivalry between them was so keen that she didn’t want to give Carolyn any unnecessary advantage.

But of course in this case that wasn’t a consideration, since Carolyn wasn’t entering the contest. So Phyllis smiled and said, “Pumpkin cheesecake muffins with a pecan crumble on top.”

“My, that sounds good. People know what wonderful bakers we have here in Weatherford, so I’m sure a lot of them will show up just to sample the contest entries. So you see, you’re doing your part.”

“I’d like to do more,” Phyllis insisted. “I’ll bet that you’re going to be delivering canned goods and turkey dinners to disadvantaged families on Thanksgiving, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I volunteered to do that,” Carolyn said.

“Well, then, I’ll help you.”

Carolyn frowned. “Aren’t you planning to have a big Thanksgiving dinner here?”

“Yes, of course. It’s tradition.” Phyllis had been preparing a veritable feast for Thanksgiving almost every year for so many years that she couldn’t even remember how long it had been anymore.

“So you’ll be busy with that.”

“Oh, goodness, not so busy that I can’t afford to take a few hours to help people who’ve been less fortunate than I have. Thanksgiving isn’t just about counting your own blessings. It’s about sharing them with others.”

“That’s true,” Carolyn admitted. “And we can certainly use all the help we can get.”

“Then it’s settled,” Phyllis declared. “Anyway, I’ll be doing a lot of the cooking the day before, so things will just have to be heated up on Thanksgiving Day. The turkey will take a long time to roast, and Eve can check on it now and then if she needs to.”

Carolyn frowned. “I don’t know if I’d give Eve any responsibility for such an important part of the meal. She’s a fine woman, but I’m reasonably sure that none of her husbands ever married her for her cooking, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Phyllis said with a smile, “but I think Eve can handle it.”

“Let’s just hope you don’t wind up with a burned bird.” Carolyn added, “If you want to help more with the festival itself, you can always come with me tomorrow and help get the park ready.”

“I think that would be fun,” Phyllis said. “But what about Bobby? I’d have to bring him along, and he might get underfoot while we were trying to work.”

Carolyn thought about that for a moment, then suggested, “Let Sam watch him for the afternoon.”

“Sam?” Phyllis repeated, surprised that Carolyn would come up with that idea. Even though Carolyn had been opposed to the idea of Sam moving into the house to start with, the two of them had become friendly, even though they weren’t good friends and probably never would be. Phyllis would have thought that Carolyn believed Sam couldn’t possibly take care of a four-year-old by himself, though.

“Why not?” Carolyn asked with a shrug. “Bobby’s not really very sick now, is he?”

“No, I think he’s almost over the ear infection.”

“And Sam has children, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but they’re grown.”

“They were little once.” Carolyn’s tone took on a slightly caustic edge as she went on. “I’m sure he didn’t take care of them nearly as much as his wife did, but he’s bound to have watched them some. And he has grandchildren of his own.”

“That’s true.”

“So I think he could take care of Bobby for a few hours without fouling up too much. Anyway, you’d only be a cell phone call and a ten-minute drive away.”

“Also true,” Phyllis said. “You’ve convinced me. There’s just one thing you’re forgetting.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll still have to ask Sam if it’s all right with him.”

Carolyn waved a hand and said, “Land’s sake, Phyllis, you know that man will do anything that
you
ask him to. He’s your boyfriend, after all.”

Phyllis felt her face growing warm. “He’s not my—”

She had started to say that Sam wasn’t her boyfriend, but she stopped as she realized that, actually, he probably was. They had certainly enjoyed some romantic moments over the past couple of years, and they liked spending time in each other’s company in general. And neither one of them was seeing anyone else. Eve had even given up her habitual flirting with Sam since it was so obvious that it wasn’t going to get her anywhere. So, yes, maybe they were boyfriend and girlfriend. But after spending so many years around eighth-graders, Phyllis just couldn’t bring herself to think of it that way.

“Why don’t we just say that he’s my gentleman friend?”

“Call it anything you want,” Carolyn said. “You’ve got that man wrapped around your little finger, and you know it. If you ask him to watch Bobby tomorrow, he’ll do it.”

“We’ll see,” Phyllis said.

 

“Shoot, yeah, I’d be glad to watch the little fella.”

“You’re not just saying that because . . .”

Phyllis’s voice trailed off. She and Sam were on the sofa in the living room and had been watching the ten o’clock news on TV. Bobby was settled in his makeshift bed for the night, and Carolyn and Eve were both upstairs, as far as Phyllis knew. During a commercial, Phyllis had taken advantage of the opportunity to mute the sound on the television and ask Sam about the possibility of him taking care of Bobby the next day.

He was looking at her now with one somewhat bushy eyebrow cocked quizzically. “Because of what?” he asked.

“Because it’s me who’s asking you.”

A grin stretched across his rugged face. “You know I’d do dang near anything for you, Phyllis. But to tell you the truth, I’d been thinkin’ that I’d like to spend more time with Bobby. No offense, but I don’t get to do much male bondin’ around here. Probably be good for both of us.”

She had to laugh. “You mean you’re getting tired of being the only rooster in the henhouse?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like
that
. . . .”

“My goodness, Sam Fletcher, you’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I expect so,” he said. “Anyway, Bobby’s been after me to show him how some of those woodworkin’ tools in the garage operate, so this would be a good chance to do that.”

Phyllis leaned back. “Woodworking tools? Good grief, Sam, he’s four years old! He doesn’t need to be working with tools.”

“Didn’t say that I’d let him use ’em. Won’t hurt to let him start gettin’ familiar with ’em, though. I can see to it that he knows how to handle each tool safely before he ever touches any of ’em.”

“You’ll be careful?” she asked.