Death Bakes a Pecan Pie

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Death Bakes a Pecan Pie Page 9

by Livia J. Washburn


  Detective Largo stopped short, though, as she glanced toward the table where Phyllis and the others were sitting. Then she changed course and came in their direction instead.

  “Uh-oh,” Sam said. “I think the detective looks a mite unhappy.”

  “Mrs. Newsom,” Largo said sharply as she came up to the table. “What are you doing here?”

  Phyllis stood up and said, “We were invited. Mr. Sammons, the producer, asked us to come and watch the filming today as his guests.”

  “That’s the only reason?” Largo asked with a frown.

  “Why else would we be here?”

  “You’ve got to admit, you do seem to turn up at a lot of murder scenes.”

  Carolyn said, “Then there was a murder. I knew it. Who’s the victim?”

  Largo didn’t answer that question. She said, “All of you stay here. I’ll be back to talk to you later.”

  “We won’t go anywhere,” Phyllis promised.

  The detective turned and walked toward the log cabin again. Ronnie watched her go and said, “She acts like she’s suspicious of you.”

  “Most of the police resent Phyllis because she’s solved all those murders they couldn’t,” Carolyn said. “She’s kept a lot of innocent people from going to jail.” She looked at Eve. “We know that from experience, don’t we?”

  “We certainly do,” Eve said.

  “And Phyllis has been behind bars herself,” Sam added. “Of course, that didn’t work out too well for the district attorney when she made a fool out of him later on.”

  Phyllis started to say, “I didn’t make a fool out of—” when Ronnie interrupted her.

  “You’ve been in jail?” the girl asked, wide-eyed. “Wow. I didn’t know you were such a bad—”

  “Wait a minute,” Sam broke in. “All those folks down there are lookin’ at us.”

  Phyllis turned toward the log cabin and saw that the people gathered near the dogtrot were indeed staring up the little hill toward the picnic table. Standing in the middle of the group were Isabel Largo and Melissa Keller, and the actress had her arm raised with her finger pointing right at Phyllis, who heard her say distinctly, “There she is. That’s who you want to talk to—Phyllis Newsom!”

  Chapter 12

  “Wait just a doggone minute,” Sam said. “Is she tryin’ to say that you had somethin’ to do with whatever happened, Phyllis?”

  “I don’t know,” Phyllis replied. “I don’t see how that would be possible. We were all the way up here and haven’t even been close to the cabin and the dogtrot all day.”

  Carolyn said, “But with so many people in the park and all the confusion going on constantly, how would we ever prove that?” The others all looked at her in surprise, prompting her to add, “What? I’m just playing the devil’s advocate and saying what the police are bound to be thinking.”

  “We alibi each other,” Eve pointed out. “We know where we’ve been the whole time.”

  Alibis provided by long-time friends and housemates might not be regarded as reliable evidence, though, and Phyllis knew that. Still, without even being sure exactly what had happened, such speculation was a waste of time.

  Detective Largo spoke to one of the uniformed officers, who hurried across the park to the picnic table. “The detective would like for you and your friends to come down to the log cabin, ma’am,” he said to Phyllis.

  “All right.” She followed the officer and the others trailed behind her.

  When they reached the area near the log cabin, Phyllis said to Largo, “I thought you were going to question us later, Detective.”

  “Yes, well, that was the plan, but Ms. Keller here insisted that we talk to you now,” Largo answered. “She doesn’t want to answer questions until you’re on hand.”

  “That’s right,” Melissa said. “I’d rather just tell the story once, so I want you to hear it, too, Phyllis. If anybody’s going to solve this, it’s going to be you.”

  “Now wait just a minute—” Phyllis began.

  “Civilians aren’t allowed to interfere with police investigations,” Largo said.

  Melissa gave her a tolerant look. “Really? I did my research for this part, Detective. I know how it works around here. You may investigate the crime, but it’s Phyllis who solves it.”

  She was just making things worse, Phyllis thought. She wished Melissa would just answer Detective Largo’s questions, whatever they were. Melissa was still shaken up, though, with red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy face from crying, and if Phyllis could make her feel better by being here, she was willing to do that.

  With a visible effort at controlling her irritation and impatience, Isabel Largo said, “Why don’t we step over here, and you can tell me what happened from the beginning. All right, Ms. Keller?”

  “Of course,” Melissa said. “I want to help.”

  Largo inclined her head to Phyllis and said, “You come along, too.”

  Julie and Thorpe would have followed as Largo led Melissa and Phyllis along the side of the cabin toward its end, but a couple of officers moved in front of them, one saying, “If you folks would just wait here, please.”

  Phyllis motioned for Sam and the others to stay where they were, too. She knew that Detective Largo didn’t want a crowd around while she was questioning Melissa, and she wanted the actress away from her friends, too. Everyone would be questioned separately.

  The fact that Phyllis was being included now meant that Largo actually didn’t regard her as a suspect of any sort. Phyllis was pleased by that, anyway. She had been under clouds of suspicion enough times in her life.

  “All right,” Largo said to Melissa once the three of them were alone at the end of the cabin, next to an old, non-working well. “Start at the first.”

  “Of this scene, you mean?”

  “When you walked up to the dogtrot where the hay bales and the scarecrow are.”

  “Well, Julie and I walked up to the cabin and into the dogtrot after Earl said ‘action’—”

  “Earl?”

  “Earl Thorpe, the director. Assistant director, actually, but he was in charge of this scene because . . .”

  Melissa’s voice trailed off and a shudder ran through her.

  “Go on,” Largo said.

  “Do you know the plot of this movie?”

  “I’ve read Ms. Turner’s book,” the detective said, which surprised Phyllis a little. Largo added, “It was okay. So I know the two of you are playing Mrs. Newsom and Mrs. Wilbarger, and you were supposed to find a body in the dogtrot dressed up like a scarecrow.”

  If Eve had been here, she probably would have corrected Largo and pointed out that Melissa and Julie were playing Peggy Nelson and Catherine Whittington, respectively, but that wasn’t really relevant and it was likely a good thing Eve wasn’t part of the conversation right now, Phyllis decided.

  “That’s right,” Melissa said. “I was supposed to adjust the way the scarecrow is sitting, and then it topples over and we realize it’s a body. Only . . .” She had to stop and take a deep breath. “Only as soon as I touched it, I could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t a prop, like it was supposed to be. In fact it was . . . warm. So I looked closer . . .”

  This time when she couldn’t go on, it took several deep breaths before she could speak again.

  “I looked closer, and I realized that it was really Lawrence Fremont.”

  “The director of the movie?”

  “Yes. He had make-up on and straw under the hat and around his face to make him look like a scarecrow, but it was him. And his face was so . . . so twisted up that I knew right away something was wrong. I could tell . . . he was dead.” Melissa shook her head and sniffled. “And after that, I know I started screaming and I fell down somehow, but really, the details are pretty fuzzy. I didn’t start thinking clearly again until Earl was holding me and patting me on the back and telling me that everything was going to be all right.”

  “You knew Fremont was dead,” Detectiv
e Largo repeated. “How did you know that? Did you see any blood? Were there any wounds?”

  Melissa shook her head. “No, nothing like that that I could see. It was more a matter of . . . I’m sure you’ve been to funerals, Detective. You can tell somebody is dead by looking at their face.”

  Largo grunted and said, “Not always. But I’ll give you that, Ms. Keller. After all that happened, did you see anything else? Anything that might give you an idea of how Fremont died?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Do you know why he was dressed as a scarecrow and sitting there on the hay bales in the dogtrot? You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

  “Good Lord, no! Lawrence was supposed to be directing that scene, not appearing in it. He’s not like Alfred Hitchcock, you know.”

  Largo frowned, and Phyllis could tell she was puzzled by the comment.

  Melissa must have picked up on that, too, because she added, “Lawrence doesn’t make cameos in his pictures, the way Hitchcock did.”

  “Oh.” Largo shrugged. “Before my time. Do you know anybody who would have a reason to want Fremont dead?”

  Phyllis was curious to hear what Melissa was going to say. Right offhand, she could think of several people who had had trouble with Lawrence Fremont. Were any of those problems big enough to drive someone to murder? They didn’t seem so to Phyllis, but she knew from experience, it was impossible to tell from outside just how big a person’s problems seemed to them . . . or what lengths they would go to in order to end them.

  “No, I can’t think of anyone,” Melissa said. “Lawrence didn’t always get along with everybody, you’ll find that out pretty quickly if you question the people involved with making this movie, but there are always backstage squabbles on any picture. He could be an ass, but he didn’t deserve to die for it.”

  “So he was an ass,” Largo mused. She went on in a brisk tone, “If you think of anything else, call me.” She handed Melissa a business card. “Oh, and don’t leave town.”

  “You’ll have to talk to Alan about that. He’s the producer.”

  “And I’m the detective investigating this case,” Largo snapped. “You can go back and join your friends, but don’t discuss the case with them.”

  Melissa nodded and went around the cabin. Largo turned to Phyllis and said, “As long as you’re here, I might as well go ahead and ask you what you saw.”

  “Nothing that Ms. Keller hasn’t already told you,” Phyllis said. “We were sitting up there at that picnic table, where you saw us when you got here, and from there all I could tell was that something had frightened her. I saw her trip and fall and heard her screaming, but that’s all I know.”

  The detective’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Could you see that scarecrow from where you were?”

  “Only the top of its head.”

  “How did it get there?”

  Phyllis had to shake her head. “I don’t know. It wasn’t there earlier, and then it was. We were eating lunch, so I wasn’t really paying attention. I assumed it was a prop and that someone from the prop department put it there on the hay bales. That’s what would normally happen, I guess.”

  “It wouldn’t be easy handling an actual body dressed like a scarecrow and getting it in place . . . but it happened before, didn’t it?”

  “No one was around when that happened,” Phyllis reminded her. “Today there were dozens of people all over the place.”

  “Yeah, but who would have been paying attention to somebody dragging a prop around? You know how it is in any crowd. If you’re carrying a clipboard, or if you just act like you’re supposed to be doing whatever it is you’re doing, most people don’t pay any attention to you. You might as well be invisible.”

  For the moment, it seemed that Detective Largo had gotten over her resentment of Phyllis being involved in this case. She was talking to Phyllis more like they were fellow investigators. Phyllis didn’t expect that to last, but for now she was glad not to be the object of the woman’s hostility.

  “Just out of curiosity, were all five of you up there at that picnic table where I saw you earlier?”

  “You mean when Melissa discovered the body? No, Carolyn, Eve, and I were, but Ronnie and Sam were down by the old wagon.” Phyllis pointed out the antique vehicle. “They were just as far away and had an even worse view than we did, so I don’t imagine there’s anything they could tell you.”

  “Ronnie?”

  “Sam’s granddaughter. She came to live with us this past summer.”

  Largo nodded. “They had a different angle on things. That means they might have seen something you didn’t. Somebody will talk to them.” She nodded briskly. “That’s all for now. Don’t leave the park until you’ve all been interviewed.”

  “I didn’t intend to,” Phyllis said.

  Largo narrowed her eyes at that, but she didn’t say anything. Phyllis walked back around the cabin to rejoin the others.

  She wasn’t the only one. Melissa was standing there with them as well. The streaks on her face had faded even more. She was starting to look more like herself, now that she had gotten over the shock of finding Lawrence Fremont’s body.

  “Have you solved the case yet?” Melissa asked as Phyllis walked up.

  “What? No. I have no idea what happened to Mr. Fremont. We don’t even know at this point if he was murdered.”

  Carolyn said, “Who dresses a corpse that died of natural causes in a scarecrow outfit and props them up like that? It was murder, Phyllis, and you know it.”

  “What I’m wondering about is how he was killed,” Melissa said. “Like I told that detective, I didn’t see a mark on him.”

  “Poison,” Carolyn said with an emphatic nod. “I’ll bet it was poison. It has been before, you know.”

  Melissa also nodded and said, “It has, hasn’t it?”

  Phyllis felt a little as if she had plunged down a rabbit hole. She said, “Why did you want me there while the detective questioned you?”

  “Because like I told her, you’re going to be the one to solve this,” Melissa answered as if that were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “No killer can get away with something like this while you’re around.”

  “I think you’ve got an inflated opinion of my capabilities.”

  “Not at all,” Melissa insisted. “I studied you for weeks, Phyllis, before we started shooting. I know what you can do. I feel like I know you about as well as I know myself. In fact . . .” Her eyes lit up as an idea occurred to her. “I’m going to help you. Phyllis Newsom and Peggy Nelson are going to team up to solve this murder!”

  Chapter 13

  Phyllis stared at her for a long moment before she was able to say, “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!” She was so surprised she didn’t even preface that with a comment about not intending to give any offense.

  “No, it’s not,” Melissa said. “I know your methods, Phyllis. I think I’ve even got a pretty good idea how your mind works. When you’re playing somebody based on a real person, that’s what you have to do, you know. You have to burrow right into them and learn what makes them tick.”

  Phyllis didn’t like the idea of being burrowed into, and she thought Melissa was getting carried away. It might be a good idea to deflect this now, while she still could.

  “There’s really no point in thinking about it,” she said as she shook her head. “Detective Largo won’t like it if I try to interfere in her case. I’m sure I won’t have anything to do with the investigation.”

  “That never stopped you before, did it? The cops got their noses out of joint every time you started poking around in some murder, but you did it anyway.”

  Carolyn said, “Phyllis always had a good reason for doing that. I was accused of killing someone, or Eve was, or someone else we knew. And every time, Phyllis was convinced the person was innocent and knew the police would railroad them into a conviction.”

  “I don’t think the police would railroad
anyone—” Phyllis began.

  “The district attorney would,” Carolyn responded with a contemptuous snort. “We’ve seen plenty of evidence of that over the years.”

  Phyllis couldn’t deny anything her friend was saying. On numerous occasions, she’d felt like she had to get involved in a case in order to prevent a miscarriage of justice. She had no such motivation here, though.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” she told the others. “Detective Largo may find a witness who can clear up the whole thing. There may be enough physical evidence to solve the case. Let’s just wait and see.”

  Ronnie said, “Here come the CSI guys.”

  She was right. A crew of crime scene techs had arrived at the park and were soon set up, scouring the dogtrot and the area around the cabin for evidence . . . including the corpse. The medical examiner arrived shortly thereafter, although he wouldn’t be able to get started on his grim task until the technicians were finished with theirs.

  Meanwhile, Detective Largo was questioning Julie Cordell. Phyllis and her friends sat down at one of the tables and watched as the police detective talked one by one with Julie, Heidi Lancaster, Robert Harkness, Alan Sammons, and Earl Thorpe.

  “I don’t see those writers anywhere,” Carolyn commented. “Isn’t she going to interview them, too?”

  “Writers always get talked to last, and usually by some flunky,” Eve said. “I’m sure Detective Largo will have another officer talk to Jason and Deanne.”

  Eve was probably right, but Phyllis still wondered where the screenwriters were. She saw Becca Peterson standing with some other members of the supporting cast. Should she have mentioned to Detective Largo what she had heard about Becca and Fremont? Largo hadn’t actually asked her if she knew of anyone with a reason to want the director dead, only Melissa, and Phyllis hadn’t volunteered the information. Maybe she would, depending on how things played out with the case, but for now, Becca seemed more like a victim to her, and she didn’t want to cause unnecessary trouble for the young woman.

 

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