The Fatal Funnel Cake

by Livia J. Washburn

  Chapter 5

  Down on the set, Reed Hayes was apparently being lectured by an attractive, well-dressed woman with sleek blond hair. A few feet behind her stood a man carrying a handheld video camera. He wore jeans and an open flannel shirt over a T-shirt, and with his shaggy dark hair and short beard he bore a strong resemblance to Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik character from the old Dobie Gillis TV show, Phyllis thought, only he was stocky while Maynard had been slender. At the moment the camera the young man carried was pointed toward the floor.

  Hayes tried to interrupt the blonde, but she wasn’t having any of it. She kept up her finger-waving tirade. Bailey Broderick stood over to one side, looking like she wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure what to do.

  The spectators in the bleachers had begun to notice the confrontation, and more and more of them fell silent as they tried to see and hear what was going on. Phyllis could hear the blond woman talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Peggy said, “Hey, I know her. That’s Gloria Kimball.”

  Peggy was right, Phyllis thought. She knew the blonde looked familiar, but she hadn’t recognized her until Peggy’s comment. Gloria Kimball, the former host of Gloria’s Kitchen, was now a feature reporter on a local Dallas TV station. It made sense that she would be here for Joye Jameson’s show, thought Phyllis. In the cooking, home, and lifestyle areas, Joye was a star, and her visit to the State Fair of Texas was certainly newsworthy. The fact that Gloria’s formerly nationally syndicated program had been transformed into the even more successful Joye of Cooking just added to the story.

  Carolyn commented, “Gloria doesn’t appear to have aged much.”

  “Celebrities never do,” Sam said. “It’s probably all that plastic surgery.”

  Eve said, “Either that or they have portraits of themselves in the attic.”

  Peggy smiled, clenched her fists, and moved them around a little in front of her. “Maybe Joye Jameson will come out and they’ll have a fistfight.” She nudged Sam with an elbow. “Bet you’d like that.”

  Sam just cleared his throat and didn’t say anything. He was saved from having to respond to Peggy’s gibe by a sudden eruption of applause from the audience. They had spotted a familiar figure coming through a door at the back of the set.

  Joye Jameson wore tan slacks and a bright green blouse and looked beautiful and wholesomely sexy, as always. As she approached the group at the front of the set, the bearded young man with Gloria Kimball started to swing up his camera. Reed Hayes took a quick step to block him and put a hand on the camera, forcing it back down. The young man jerked back and looked like he was about to throw a punch at Hayes, but a large, burly figure loomed up behind him. Phyllis recognized the cameraman called Hank who worked on The Joye of Cooking. Joye often joked with him about various things. One of his hands came down on the shoulder of the younger, smaller cameraman, who appeared to think twice about starting a fight.

  The audience continued to applaud for Joye, who waved and bestowed one of her dazzling smiles on them. “Thank you, thank you, everyone,” she said, her voice carrying clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t wearing a microphone. “My, what a wonderful welcome to Texas!”

  Gloria Kimball said something to her. As Joye turned toward the blonde, she was still smiling. Nothing seemed to shake that. Instead of joining in the argument, Joye put her arms around Gloria and gave her a friendly hug. Gloria was stiff at first, but she seemed to relax after a moment.

  Keeping an arm around Gloria, Joye looked at the audience in the bleachers and said, “Let’s hear it for Gloria Kimball, people! Without her I wouldn’t be here today!”

  More applause welled up, punctuated by occasional cheers. Gloria actually smiled a little. She glanced over and said something to Reed Hayes, who shrugged, nodded, and motioned to the bearded cameraman, who, it was now obvious, had arrived with Gloria and probably worked for Channel 44. He brought his camera to his shoulder and started recording the reunion of the two cooking show stars.

  “Isn’t that sweet?” Peggy said dryly.

  “It looks like Joye put a stop to that argument, whatever it was about,” Carolyn said. “I’m not surprised. Who could stay angry with her?”

  Gloria had been holding a small microphone. She lifted it now and launched into an impromptu interview with Joye that lasted a couple of minutes. Phyllis couldn’t make out any of it except that Joye was glad to be here in Texas and looked forward to getting together with Gloria and trading new recipes and tips. While that was going on, Hayes kept checking his watch, and the producer finally said something to Joye, who nodded. She hugged Gloria again and moved toward the door through which she had come a few minutes earlier. While the camera was still on her, Gloria turned and said a few more words into the microphone, then lowered it at the same time the cameraman lowered his equipment. Phyllis assumed they had been recording a segment for the local channel’s newscast or morning show. Hayes hadn’t wanted to allow it at first, but Joye had overruled him. Now things could get back on schedule.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Peggy said as Gloria and her cameraman left the set and moved off into the crowd. “Even if nobody threw a punch.”

  Carolyn said, “Joye Jameson would never stoop to brawl- ing.”

  Maybe not, Phyllis thought, but only the presence of the burly cameraman, Hank, had stopped a fight from breaking out between Hayes and Gloria’s cameraman.

  She noticed the security guard, Chet Murdock, standing near the set. He had probably been ready to break up any struggle that had started.

  With Gloria Kimball gone, the danger of that was past now. The time for the broadcast to start was rapidly drawing closer. Technicians scurried around the set. Hank and the other cameramen took their positions. Reed Hayes consulted something on his smartphone, swiping a fingertip across the display in swift, curt motions. He put on a headset, probably to allow him to communicate with the director outside in the network’s satellite truck. After talking to someone for a moment, Hayes pointed to Bailey Broderick and nodded.

  Bailey set her clipboard aside, removed her headset, and picked up a wireless microphone. She went to the front of the kitchen set, smiled up at the audience, and said into the microphone, “Hello, everyone!”

  That greeting quieted the crowd. Still smiling, the young woman went on, “Hi, I’m Bailey, Joye’s assistant, and I want to welcome all of you to our first live broadcast from the State Fair of Texas!”

  Whooping and clapping surged from the audience.

  “We’re very glad to be here for the world’s biggest and best state fair!” Bailey continued, and that drew an even more enthusiastic response. Phyllis didn’t know if that “biggest” claim was true, and “best” was certainly a subjective judgment, but clearly the audience was in full agreement on both counts and that was really all that mattered right now.

  “The show will be starting in a few minutes,” Bailey said, “and there are a few things you need to know. We don’t insist on absolute silence, but you’ll need to be quiet while the broadcast is going on, except when the applause signs are lit up.” She pointed to portable signs on both sides of the stage, out of view of the cameras. “I want you to understand, no matter what you might think, the purpose of those signs is not to order you to applaud. They’re just there to let you know that it’s all right to clap, that it won’t interfere with what we’re doing during the broadcast. But Joye wants me to make it clear that these are just general guidelines. If she or one of the guests says something, or if something happens that makes you want to applaud, you go right ahead, whether those signs are lit up or not. You’re the reason we’re all here, and the real purpose of this is for all of you to have fun!”

  She was good at warming up the crowd, Phyllis thought as more applause followed Bailey’s words, even though she had sort of contradicted herself about the applause signs. Phyllis took it to mean that t
he people involved with the show wanted the audience to be spontaneous, but they wanted it to be a controlled spontaneity.

  “Now, if you’ll just sit back, it’ll only be a few more minutes before we get started,” Bailey concluded. “And don’t forget to have a great time!”

  Smiling, she waved to the crowd as she moved back through the set and disappeared through the door at the rear. Reed Hayes followed her. The members of the crew stood around the set waiting, and the feeling of anticipation in the air grew stronger.

  Sam leaned over to her and whispered, “This is where somebody screams because they’ve just found a dead body backstage.”

  “You hush!” Phyllis told him in an emphatic whisper. “Nothing of the sort is going to happen.”

  But she had to admit, that worrisome thought had crossed her mind, prompted by Carolyn’s comment earlier. Sometimes it really did seem like trouble followed her around. And not just run-of-the-mill trouble, either.

  Murder.

  From the Peach Festival to an elementary school carnival to Christmas and Thanksgiving celebrations, over the past few years Phyllis had been involved with enough murder cases to make her wonder if she was an out-and-out jinx. She had seen her friends accused of being killers, and once she had even wound up behind bars herself. It certainly hadn’t been the peaceful life she’d envisioned for herself when she retired. How was it possible that she’d been able to live for almost seven decades with very few encounters with crime, even of the most trivial sort, only to find herself stumbling over bodies and chasing murderers at her advanced age?

  She had no answer for that other than sheer happenstance, but there was no denying that the events of recent years had had an effect on her. She was more alert than ever for potential trouble, and she paid close attention to everything that went on around her. There was no telling when some little thing that someone said or did might turn out to be the last, vital piece of the puzzle that would reveal a killer’s identity to her. She didn’t necessarily want to be that way. It had become a matter of habit.

  Or maybe she was just paranoid, she told herself sternly as she sat with her friends and waited for The Joye of Cooking to get under way. After all, it was crazy to think that something terrible was going to happen right here in the middle of the state fair, in front of hundreds of people . . .

  The door at the rear of the set opened.

  Phyllis held her breath.

  And Joye Jameson came onto the set with a smile on her pretty face and a spring in her step as her recorded theme music welled up. A red light glowed on the camera Hank pointed at her as she said, “Howdy, Texas and the rest of the country! Welcome to the show!”

  Chapter 6

  “Admit it,” Carolyn said later that evening at Peggy’s house. “You expected something to happen, didn’t you?”

  “Where?” Phyllis said, although she had a pretty good idea she knew what her friend meant.

  “At the fair this afternoon, when there was that trouble at Joye Jameson’s show.”

  The two of them were in the kitchen, where Carolyn had a batch of cashew butterscotch shortbreads for the next day’s contest in the oven. She took out the second log of cookie dough and removed the parchment paper. While the first batch was baking, she sliced the second log, putting the chilled cookie slices on the baking sheet. She filled the baking sheet just as the first batch was ready to be taken out of the oven. Carolyn looked around for an oven mitt to pull out the hot cookies. Phyllis commented, “Those sure do smell good.”

  Carolyn found the oven mitt and took out the cookies, putting the second pan in to cook. She set the timer and asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you while these bake?”

  Phyllis was doing some last-minute experimentation with her maple pecan funnel cake recipe. The others were all in the living room.

  “I didn’t see any real trouble,” Phyllis said. “Just a slight misunderstanding. I’ll bet Gloria Kimball showed up to tape a segment for Channel 44 and didn’t clear it ahead of time with Joye’s producer. He tried to stop her, and she gave him an earful.”

  “Yes, but what about the hard feelings between Gloria and Joye?”

  “What hard feelings?” Phyllis asked. “They looked like the best of friends to me when they were hugging each other.”

  Carolyn opened the oven door slightly and bent down to look in and check on the baking cookies. As she straightened, she said, “Hmph. What were they going to do, start pulling hair and trying to claw each other’s eyes out in front of all those people? You know how phony celebrities are. They just pretended to be friends so the crowd wouldn’t know how much they hate each other.”

  “I don’t recall ever reading anything about how they’re supposed to hate each other. Didn’t Joye used to work for Gloria?”

  “See, you’ve proven my point,” Carolyn said. “It’s All About Eve all over again. The ambitious assistant stabs her boss in the back and winds up with the top job.”

  Phyllis shook her head. “I just don’t see it.”

  “But for a second there, you wondered if there might not be a murder backstage.”

  Phyllis didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but she knew that Carolyn was right: For a second, even before Sam had made his none-too-humorous joke, she had expected something bad to happen. When it hadn’t, she had been relieved.

  “I’m just glad there wasn’t any trouble, that’s all,” she said now. “We’ve all had more than our share.”

  “No one’s going to argue with that,” Carolyn said.

  She continued working on the cookies while Phyllis fried funnel cakes. Sam came into the kitchen a while later and said, “You ladies have got this house filled with the most irresistible smells.” His gaze fell on a sheet of cookies that were cooling, and he took a step toward them.

  “Touch one of those cookies and I’ll break your arm,” Carolyn warned. She sounded like she meant it, too.

  Sam held up both hands in surrender and backed away from the counter where the cookies were sitting. “You are makin’ some extra besides the ones you have to enter in the contest, aren’t you?”

  “We’ll see,” Carolyn said. “For now, keep those meat hooks of yours off of them.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sam said with a grin. He looked over at Phyllis, who was smiling, too. “I hope you’re not gonna be as stingy about those funnel cakes.”

  “Help yourself,” Phyllis told him. “Although how you can be hungry after that supper you put away is beyond me.”

  “It’s a gift,” Sam said as he scooped up one of the maple pecan funnel cakes covered in maple syrup and pecans.

  Carolyn said, “We were just talking about what happened at the fair today.”

  “You mean when I almost got sick from eatin’ too much cotton candy?”

  “No, and you know good and well what I mean. Joye Jameson’s show.”

  “Yeah, Phyllis got a little annoyed when I said something about how they were liable to find a body backstage.”

  “It’s nothing to joke about,” Phyllis said. “After all the tragedy we’ve seen, we should all know that murder is no laughing matter.”

  “I agree,” Carolyn said. “It’s not funny. But it is bizarre sometimes, the way you seem to be attracted to it.”

  “Or vice versa,” Sam added.

  Phyllis rolled her eyes, shook her head, and said, “You’re both crazy. Anyway, nothing happened at Joye’s show, and since we’ve already seen an episode, we probably won’t be going back. I don’t particularly want to get in that mob again, and the three of us all have contests to enter the next two days.”

  “That’s true,” Sam said. “I have to decide which Spam recipe I’m gonna use. They’ve all been pretty good so far.”

  Phyllis had to agree with that. Sam had surprised her with his abilities in the kitchen. He had made a breakfast ca
sserole, south-of-the-border Spam cups, enchiladas, tamale pie, and the Texas-style sushi, all with Spam, and Phyllis had enjoyed each and every one of them. If it had been up to her, she would have been leaning toward the tamale pie, but it was Sam’s decision, of course.

  Carolyn said to him, “Actually, I didn’t know you could even cook. I assumed that like most men, even microwaving something was a challenge to you.”

  “Well, I guess I’ve picked up a few pointers from watchin’ you ladies,” he said. “I just needed to practice some.”

  Phyllis smiled and said, “You may regret this, Sam. Now that we know you can cook, we may be expecting you to prepare meals more often.”

  “You mean, never let folks know you’re good at something, because then they’ll figure you can do it again.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Like solvin’ murders.”

  Phyllis narrowed her eyes, and Sam took that as his cue to grab one of the plates with a funnel cake on it and beat a hasty retreat, still grinning as he left the kitchen.

  • • •

  The five of them left earlier the next morning, knowing that the traffic would be bad, and arrived at Fair Park not long after the gates opened. Carolyn had three plastic containers with her, each containing two dozen cookies. She also had the three recipes printed out neatly, and an entry form for each class of cookies in the contest.

  Phyllis could tell that her friend was nervous as they walked toward the Creative Arts Building. Carolyn had competed in dozens of cooking contests over the years, but now she was going up against bakers from all over the state and possibly even out of state. Of course, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she didn’t win or at least finish among the top ranks, but it would be quite an accomplishment if she did.

  “I’m sure you’re going to do fine,” Phyllis said, hoping to reassure Carolyn. “Those are excellent cookies.”