Phyllis drew in a sharp breath. She hadn’t expected to get the plate back quite this soon . . . and she certainly didn’t believe that Detective Largo had driven all the way over here just to give it back to her. That meant the plate was important for some other reason, and Phyllis could think of only one thing that could be.
She remained calm, though, as she said, “Is there a piece of masking tape stuck to the bottom of it?”
Largo turned the bag so Phyllis could see the tape through it. “Yes. Looks like there was some writing on it at one time, but it seems to have worn off.”
“That’s because I put the tape on there and wrote my name on it a couple of months ago when I took a pie to a potluck dinner at church,” Phyllis explained. “I hadn’t gotten around to pulling the tape off since then.” She made a face. “It always leaves a little sticky stuff, and you have to use special cleaner to get it off . . . But you don’t care about that, do you, Detective?”
“What kind of pie was in it?”
Instead of answering directly, Phyllis said, “Please, come on in. We might as well have this conversation in the living room, instead of you having to stand out there on the porch.”
Largo hesitated for a moment, then said, “Sure, why not?” She walked into the house and Phyllis closed the door behind her.
Sam, Carolyn, and Eve appeared at the far end of the hall. Sam said, “We figured we’d better come see what was goin’ on. Hello, Detective. Want a cup of coffee?”
“No, I—” Largo stopped short, then went on, “Actually, that sounds good. Thank you.”
“I’ll bring it,” Sam said. “And yours, too, Phyllis.”
“We were just sitting and talking in the kitchen,” Phyllis explained to the detective.
“About Lawrence Fremont’s murder, I’m sure.”
“Then you’ve determined that his death was a homicide?” Eve asked.
“Phyllis, is that your pie plate?” Carolyn said.
“Let’s all go in the living room and sit down,” Phyllis suggested. “Then Detective Largo can tell us why she’s here.”
It wasn’t going to be anything good, though, Phyllis was already sure of that.
Sam came back from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee for Largo, as well as Phyllis’s cup, and when he handed it to her he said, “I topped it off for you.”
“Thank you. Please, Detective, have a seat.”
They all sat down, with Largo taking one of the straight-backed chairs and sitting forward on it as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to relax. She placed the evidence bag containing Phyllis’s pie plate on a small round table beside her. Phyllis couldn’t help but be aware that a piece of evidence in a murder case was sitting on an old-fashioned lace doily that her own mother had made many decades earlier.
Detective Largo sipped the coffee, then said, “I really shouldn’t be here.”
“You came to ask me to identify that pie place,” Phyllis said. “That falls within your duty, doesn’t it?”
“Sure, but getting you to ID the plate doesn’t mean I ought to come in and sit down and drink coffee like a friend.”
Phyllis smiled. “I don’t think we’re enemies.”
“No,” Largo said, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t think so, either. By the way, I also have the plastic container this plate was in bagged up out in the car. It’ll be evidence, too.”
“Evidence of what?” Carolyn asked.
“Murder, Mrs. Wilbarger, just as you thought.” The detective looked around at them. “Lawrence Fremont was poisoned. Cyanide. The medical examiner found it in his stomach.”
“The autopsy is already done?” Phyllis asked, surprised. “That was fast.”
“It’s not every day an award-winning Hollywood director is killed in Weatherford. The medical examiner’s putting a rush on it. The autopsy’s still going on, but the ME stopped and called me as soon as he determined for sure that Fremont was poisoned. He found something else in the stomach, too.”
Phyllis took a deep breath and said, “Let me guess. Pecan pie.”
“That’s right.” Largo looked at the plate on the table beside her. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, the only pecan pie anywhere in the park today was the one that you brought with you, Mrs. Newsom.”
“That’s insane!” Carolyn burst out. “You can’t honestly believe Phyllis poisoned that man. None of us had even met him until last night. Why in the world would she do such a thing?”
“I never said that she did,” Largo responded coolly. “For what it’s worth, Mrs. Newsom, the idea that you killed Fremont never crossed my mind.”
“It is worth something,” Phyllis said, “and it’s always good to hear.” Her brain was working quickly. “Was there anything else in Mr. Fremont’s stomach?”
Largo shook her head. “Not according to the ME. And since it’s unlikely Fremont ate cyanide by itself, it’s pretty certain it was in the pie. The sweet taste could have concealed it nicely. What I have to find out is how it got there, because I know good and well it wasn’t an accident.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been.”
Carolyn said, “It wasn’t there when the pie left the house this morning.”
“So, just for the record, how did the pie get to the park?” Largo asked. “You put it in that container and carried it there yourself, Mrs. Newsom?”
“Yes, it was in the back seat of my car, and then when we got there I took it into the park. We ran into Mr. Sammons, and he took it and gave it to—”
“Gave it to who?” Largo asked. “Why did you stop that way?”
“I just don’t want to seem like I’m pointing the finger at anyone,” Phyllis said. With Largo’s intent gaze boring in on her, she knew she had to answer. “Mr. Sammons gave the pie to a production assistant, a young woman he called Teddy. He told her to take it and put it on one of the craft services tables. He said she should put a note on it telling everyone to keep their hands off for the time being. He knew that Mr. Fremont liked the pie he had here last night and would be upset if this one was finished off before he got a chance at it.”
“Teddy Demming,” Largo said. “I questioned her, but I don’t recall her saying anything about the pie.”
“But you wouldn’t have known to ask her about it at that point, and she was so busy, running errands all over the park all day, that she’d probably forgotten about it by then.”
“I don’t think she would have forgotten about it if she doctored it up with cyanide. Do you know of any reason she would have a grudge against Fremont?”
Phyllis shook her head. “I never saw her until today and still haven’t actually met her. So I have no idea.”
Largo looked around at the others, who all shook their heads.
Phyllis recalled the harsh way Fremont had spoken to Teddy that morning, but as it turned out, the director had been angry at Jason and Deanne Wilkes, not at Teddy herself. That wouldn’t rise to the level of a murder motive.
But then she thought about the solicitous way Teddy had spoken to Jason and touched his arm. Maybe there was nothing between them . . . maybe Teddy had just been commiserating with the screenwriter . . . but if they were involved, could Fremont’s treatment of Jason have angered Teddy enough to strike back?
“Just because Teddy put the pie on the table doesn’t mean she did anything to it,” Phyllis said. “With the crowd and all the confusion, there’s no telling what someone might have done.”
“The container had a hands-off sign on it.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped anyone from opening it for a moment and then closing it up again.”
“That’s true,” Largo admitted. “In a madhouse like that, nobody’s got a concrete alibi.” She frowned. “How could the killer be sure Fremont would get the poison and not somebody else?”
Sam said, “Nobody else has dropped dead, have they?”
“Not that I’ve heard about. And I think that under the circumstances, I would have he
ard. So the whole pie wasn’t poisoned . . . just the part that Lawrence Fremont ate.”
Phyllis nodded and said, “That’s the way it seems to me.”
“None of this explains why he was dressed like a scarecrow,” Eve said. “Or how he got there on those hay bales in the dogtrot.”
Largo grimaced and said, “Yeah, poison’s one thing, but all that other crazy stuff . . .” She shook her head. “We’ll figure it out, though.” She drank more of the coffee and then stood up, reaching for the pie plate in the evidence bag. “I’ll have to take this with me, but I’ll try to see to it that you do get it back, sooner or later.”
“I’m not worried about that,” Phyllis assured her. “It’s more important to find out who killed Mr. Fremont.”
Detective Largo looked at her and asked, “Did you like the guy, Mrs. Newsom?”
“No,” Phyllis answered honestly. “I don’t believe any of us did.”
“Not particularly,” Carolyn agreed.
“But whether we did or not, his killer shouldn’t get away with it.”
“Yeah, we’re on the same page about that. Thanks for the coffee, and for letting me chew this over some.”
“Anything we can do to help, Detective, just let us know.”
Largo nodded, smiled faintly, and let herself out the front door. Phyllis followed her and closed it behind her.
“Hey,” Ronnie said from halfway down the stairs where she had come to a stop, “was that that lady cop?”
“Detective Largo,” Phyllis said. “Yes, it was.”
“Did she ask you to help her solve the case?”
“No, of course not.” Phyllis debated how much to tell the teenager about the case, but she knew Ronnie would get all of the information out of Sam, anyway. “It appears that Mr. Fremont was poisoned . . . and that someone put the poison in that pecan pie I took to the park today.”
Ronnie’s eyes got huge. “You mean you provided the murder weapon?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it like . . .” Phyllis made a face. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
Ronnie turned around. “I’ve got to post—”
“Hold on there, young lady,” Sam said. He had come up beside Phyllis in time to hear the exchange. “That information is part of the police investigation. You go postin’ it on-line, you’re liable to get Detective Largo in all sorts of trouble, and probably Phyllis, too. You need to keep it to yourself for now, even though I know you kids like to share everything.”
“But this is a great story, Granddad—”
“I want your word,” Sam said flatly.
Ronnie sighed. “Okay. I won’t post any more than I already have. I give you my word.”
“I’m obliged to you for that.”
Before Ronnie could say anything else, the doorbell rang again. As Phyllis turned toward the door, she didn’t expect it to be anything good waiting for her.
When she opened the door, though, her son Mike was standing there on the porch.
Chapter 15
“I heard about what happened at the park, Mom,” Mike said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Phyllis stepped back. “Come on in.”
Mike wore his sheriff’s department uniform and had his hat in one hand. As he stepped into the foyer and Phyllis closed the door, he said, “I just finished my shift. I wanted to come over here earlier, but I couldn’t until now. As soon as I heard that somebody had been murdered at the park, and that the body was dressed like a scarecrow, I knew that you . . .”
He looked a little sheepish as his voice trailed off. Phyllis said, “You knew I’d be right in the middle of the case, isn’t that what you were about to say?”
“Well, yeah. I mean . . . you’ve got to admit, something that bizarre happening in Weatherford . . .”
Carolyn said, “It’s just like that other time, right down to the fact that the victim was poisoned.”
Mike’s eyebrows rose. “He was? I hadn’t heard that part of it yet.”
“Detective Largo was just here,” Phyllis said.
“Isabel? She gave you details on an active investigation? I’m a little surprised she’d do that. She’s usually pretty by-the-book.”
Phyllis knew that Mike and Isabel Largo were friends. She had wondered occasionally if they were a little too friendly, since Mike was married to a wonderful woman and he and his wife Sarah had a beautiful little boy, Phyllis’s grandson Bobby.
Every time that thought crossed her mind, though, she scolded herself for such an old-fashioned, judgmental attitude. It was entirely possible for a man and a woman to be good friends without anything else going on. Such things just hadn’t been as common when she was younger.
Phyllis put a hand on Mike’s arm and said, “Come on in and sit down. I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Want some coffee, Mike?” Sam asked.
“Sure. That’d be great.”
Phyllis hoped that Detective Largo wouldn’t mind her sharing what she had learned with Mike. He had provided her with inside information and helped her solve several cases in the past, and she knew that he could be trusted absolutely. Once they were all settled in the living room, Phyllis spent a few minutes filling him in on everything that had happened today.
Once she had finished, Mike said with a grim note in his voice, “I’m glad you weren’t the one to find the body this time. That’s happened too often already.”
“I certainly can’t argue with that. We were pretty close by, though. Still, I didn’t have to look right into that man’s face, like poor Melissa did. That was a terrible shock to her.”
Mike sat back in an armchair and cocked his right ankle on his left knee. “From the sound of it, somebody could have gotten a piece of that pie, doped it with the poison, and given it to this guy Fremont. Would he have just gobbled it down without noticing something was wrong with it?”
“Cyanide isn’t completely tasteless,” Phyllis said, “but it blends in well with something sweet and might not be noticeable right away. He really liked the piece he had here last night. The recipe was the same, so I think it’s feasible that he might have done that. I’ve been thinking about it, and that’s the only sequence of events that explains how someone would be able to poison Mr. Fremont without taking the risk of killing other people, too.”
“So where was he when this happened?”
Phyllis shook her head. “Right now, there’s no way of knowing. He dropped out of sight for a while around the middle of the day. He may have been in the motor home he was using.”
“The crime scene boys were goin’ over it,” Sam added. “We don’t know what they might’ve found.”
“I might be able to find out later.” Mike looked at Phyllis. “But do I need to? I mean, you’re not investigating this murder, right? You don’t have any reason to get any more involved than you already are?”
“Not that I can think of.” Phyllis paused, then went on, “Although Melissa Keller seems to think that she and I should work together to solve it.”
Mike’s eyebrows rose. “The actress who’s playing you?”
“Peggy Nelson,” Eve said. “The character’s not actually Phyllis.”
Ignoring that, Phyllis went on, “I didn’t agree to do that, though. Melissa’s nice, but because she’s studied the things I’ve done to help her play the part, she has this crazy idea about playing detective instead—”
“She might be able to help. She knows all the people involved.”
Mike’s comment surprised Phyllis. In the past, except on rare occasions, he had always warned her not to get involved in murder cases and had tried to discourage her investigations. Now he almost seemed to be saying that he thought it would be a good thing if she and Melissa tried to find the killer.
“I’m hoping that Detective Largo clears the case quickly,” she said. “Then Melissa can go back to making movies and I can go on with my life . . . which is just fine without any murders, I might add.”
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“Well, sure, that would be best.” Mike drank the last of his coffee and stood up. “I’d better be getting on home. I called Sarah and told her I was stopping by here, but I don’t want her to worry. Now that I know you’re okay . . .” He looked around the room at the others. “And that nobody here is in any danger of being arrested—”
“It’s not like we make a habit of being murder suspects,” Carolyn said with a sniff.
Mike laughed. “No, but you’ve got to admit, it has come up from time to time. I’m just glad you’re all on the sidelines of this one. Maybe it’ll stay that way.” He came over to the sofa where Phyllis was sitting with Sam, bent to give her a quick hug, and said, “See you later.”
They all stayed where they were as Mike let himself out. When he was gone, Carolyn said, “I’m going to call the other members on the board of the food pantry and find out if they’ve heard anything about whether the festival will go on as planned tomorrow.”
She left the room to do that. Sam frowned in thought for a moment and said to Phyllis, “If they do have the festival, are you still gonna enter that pie contest? I mean . . .”
“After my pie was used as a weapon to help murder someone?” Phyllis shuddered. “My goodness, I hadn’t even thought about that! I don’t think I could bake another pecan pie, I’m sure of that much, anyway.”
“Well, it’s a good thing there are lots of different kinds of pies in the world, then.”
“I suppose so.” Despite everything that had happened, Sam’s question made the wheels of Phyllis’s brain start to turn over as she considered what sort of pie might be a viable option for the contest. Old habits were hard to break, she supposed, especially competitive ones, and after a minute or so, she said, “You know, I do have a recipe for a spicy caramel apple pie that I’ve been thinking about trying.”
“Sounds mighty good,” Sam said. He managed not to lick his lips, but Phyllis could tell he was thinking about it.
◄♦►
It was that evening before a decision was reached between the food pantry’s board of directors, the police department, and the city manager on whether the festival could continue as planned. Chief Ralph Whitmire had the final word, according to what Carolyn told the others. When he agreed that it wasn’t necessary to keep the park and everything in it cordoned off as a crime scene, the decision was fairly easy.
Death Bakes a Pecan Pie Page 11