The Fatal Funnel Cake

by Livia J. Washburn

  “That’s right. We know he was there at the broadcast.”

  “Yeah, he made a big enough scene everybody in the place knew he was there. But how could that tie in with what happened to Joye Jameson? He was mad at you, not her.”

  “Yes, but if something was wrong with my funnel cakes, it would bolster his claim that he should have won the contest instead of me,” Phyllis said. “Tampering with them would be a way of making that happen.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed in anger. “He better not have. That’d be a mighty sorry thing to do. I wouldn’t think that substitutin’ peanut oil instead of corn oil would make enough of a difference to ruin your funnel cakes, though.”

  “No, it wouldn’t have. But we don’t know that’s what he did . . . if, in fact, he did anything.”

  “But it was peanut oil that caused Joye’s allergic reaction,” Sam said.

  “We’ve been assuming that because it seems to make sense given Joye’s medical history, but we don’t know if it’s true. Maybe Silva tampered with the ingredients some other way to make the funnel cakes taste bad, and whatever he did triggered the allergic reaction in Joye just like peanuts would have. We don’t know the actual cause of death. It’ll take an autopsy to determine that.”

  “And I doubt if those detectives are gonna be anxious to share the results with you.”

  Phyllis sighed. “I know. It’s easier to figure these things out when Mike is involved.”

  “Maybe he knows somebody in the Dallas PD who wouldn’t mind givin’ us a heads-up.”

  “I can’t ask him to do that,” Phyllis said with a shake of her head. “He’s already gotten in trouble with Sheriff Haney and the district attorney for passing along too much information to me in those other cases.”

  “Shoot,” Sam said, “that DA just holds a grudge against you because he’s arrested folks and then had to let ’em go when you proved they were innocent by catchin’ the real killers. He’s mad because he thinks you made him look bad.”

  “That was never my intention.”

  “Of course not. You just wanted to get to the truth.”

  Phyllis nodded. “That’s right. But this case is really none of my business. I can’t stop myself from speculating, but I have to stay out of it. I’m sure Detective Morgan and Detective Hunt will find out what happened.” She paused. “At this point, we don’t even know for sure if it was murder or just an accident.”

  “As long as nobody tries to blame you for it, that’s all I care about,” Sam said. “Although I don’t like that some folks are gonna just assume your funnel cake killed her, no matter what really happened.”

  “Well, you can’t control what the public thinks, so there’s no point in trying.”

  “What do you think?” Sam asked. “I don’t mean as an intellectual exercise. I mean, what does your gut say about what happened?”

  For a long moment, Phyllis didn’t answer. Then she looked at him and said, “It’s not a very elegant way to put it . . . but my gut tells me that Joye Jameson was murdered.”

  Chapter 18

  Joye Jameson’s death was front-page news in the paper the next morning, plus there were features about it on all the morning news shows, including apparently heartfelt tributes from a number of friends, coworkers, and business associates in Hollywood. The hosts of other popular cooking shows were interviewed, and all of them sang Joye’s praises.

  “Of course, what would you expect them to say?” Peggy commented as the five of them watched TV before it was time to head for the fair. “In Hollywood they’re always nice when somebody dies, even if they were trying to stab the person in the back the week before.”

  “They’re all performers,” Carolyn said. “They’re always putting on an act.”

  Phyllis didn’t feel quite that cynical about the entertainment industry, but she suspected that a lot of the glowing words they heard on TV were insincere.

  Several of the networks interviewed Gloria Kimball, which was understandable since she was the original host of the show that had brought Joye Jameson so much fame and fortune. In one of the interviews, a solemn Gloria said, “I knew the first time I met Joye that she would be a huge success. She was so smart and had so much drive, so much passion for what she was doing. She was an absolute pleasure to work with, and we became fast friends.”

  The interviewer asked, “So there was never any resentment on your part over the fact that Joye took over the show you’d been hosting?”

  Gloria looked offended. “Of course not! And that’s not exactly the way it happened. Joye only stepped in because of my medical issues at the time. I asked her to help out, and no one was more pleased by her success when she did than I was.”

  Peggy said, “Oh, now, that’s hogwash. I’m surprised those two didn’t wind up in a catfight sometime.”

  “For all we know they did,” Carolyn said. “In Hollywood, they cover up things like that.”

  “They used to,” Sam said, “but I reckon that’s a lot harder nowadays when everybody’s got a phone in his pocket that’s a high-def video recorder, too. Even a few years ago when Joye took over the show, most folks already had phones that would shoot video.”

  “And there are all those show business gossip websites,” Phyllis added. “I’m sure that if Joye and Gloria had ever come to blows, rumors of it would have been reported.”

  Carolyn looked at her and said, “Since when do you know about show business gossip websites?”

  Phyllis didn’t want to tell the others that she had been unable to stop herself from doing some theorizing about Joye’s death, which had led her to investigate the backgrounds of the people involved in the show. She shrugged and answered vaguely, “How can you not hear about them if you ever watch TV?”

  “That’s true,” Sam said. Phyllis suspected he was stepping in to help her out, and she was grateful to him for it.

  On the big screen, the interviewer was saying to Gloria Kimball, “You were the first one to break the news of Joye Jameson’s death, weren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Gloria said. “But it’s a story I wish I’d never had to report.”

  Peggy said, “That’s quite a coup for a local news outfit like Channel 44, breaking the story of a national celebrity’s death. Especially when it’s got a reputation for lightweight tabloid stuff like The 44 News.”

  “Yes, it was lucky for Gloria Kimball that she happened to be on hand, wasn’t it?” Carolyn said. She looked at Phyllis. “Unless it wasn’t just luck. What do you think, Phyllis? Maybe Gloria wanted to have a major news story break while she was close by.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Phyllis said, although she couldn’t help but think that the speculation added another layer to a possible motive for Gloria to tamper with those funnel cake ingredients. Since she and Joye had worked together for several years, it wasn’t far-fetched at all to think that Gloria had probably known about the younger woman’s peanut allergy.

  Sam put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up from the armchair where he was sitting. “Guess I’d better start gettin’ ready for the contest,” he said. “I’ve got the rice steamer and all the nonperishable ingredients gathered up. I’ll put the rest of the stuff in a small ice chest to keep it cool.”

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Phyllis said as she stood up. She didn’t want to talk about Joye Jameson’s death anymore. She had decided she was just going to stay out of this case, and that would be a lot easier to do if she wasn’t thinking about it all the time.

  When they were ready to go, they got in Phyllis’s car and Sam took the wheel for the drive to Fair Park. Phyllis looked over at him and said, “You’re still not the least bit nervous, are you?”

  “Nope. Why should I be? I’d like to win, sure, but whether I win or lose, my life will go on pretty much the same.”

  From the backseat, Car
olyn said, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Anyone who wins a cooking contest achieves a certain level of fame.”

  “Well, maybe. But I don’t think anybody’s gonna be beatin’ down my door just because I happen to cook some Spam better than a few other fellas.”

  “You might be surprised,” Phyllis said. “I think there’s a good chance you’ll wind up being interviewed on TV if you win.”

  “On The 44 News,” Peggy added.

  “You think so?” Sam said with a little frown. “I didn’t really think about that.”

  Eve said, “Leave the poor dear alone. You’ll just make him nervous when he wasn’t to start with. He has the right attitude, you know. In the long run, it doesn’t really make any difference who wins or loses.”

  “Eve’s right,” Phyllis said as she reached over to pat Sam on the shoulder. “You just keep on feeling the way you do, Sam. We should all be as easygoing as you.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sam said, but he seemed a little distracted now, as if he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that winning the contest would make him at least a little celebrated, if only for a short time. The proverbial fifteen minutes of fame . . .

  They arrived at the Creative Arts Building well ahead of the time when the contest would begin, but that would give Sam the opportunity to take care of any necessary preparations. Everything appeared to be back to business as usual at the fair. Thousands of people strolled around on the roads and pathways, the various exhibits were thronged with crowds, and a number of different contests were going on.

  As they entered the building, Phyllis glanced toward the area where the broadcast set was located. As Reed Hayes had said, the show’s contract called for a new episode today, so Phyllis wasn’t surprised to see quite a few people moving around the set. She was able to pick out Hank Squires from the crowd since he was taller than anyone else on the crew. She looked to see if Bailey was anywhere near the big cameraman, but she didn’t spot the young woman.

  She wasn’t supposed to even be thinking about the case, Phyllis reminded herself. Sam needed her support right now, so she focused her attention on him instead.

  “Is there anything I can to do help?” she asked as he carried his ice chest and a bag containing the other ingredients toward the contest site.

  “Nah, this is my chore to take care of,” he replied, “but I appreciate you askin’. You and the other ladies can go on and do whatever you want to. I got this.”

  Eve asked, “Can we wish you good luck?”

  “You bet,” Sam said. “I’ll take all of it I can get.”

  Eve came up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, then,” she said.

  Carolyn gave him an awkward, grudging hug, and Peggy punched him lightly on the arm. “Good luck, High Pockets,” she said. “Knock ’em dead.” She frowned. “Well, not literally. That wasn’t a very good choice of words, was it?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Sam told her. “I reckon I know what you mean.”

  Phyllis kissed him on the cheek, too, and said, “We’ll be here in the building somewhere if you need us. And we’ll certainly be back for the results of the judging.”

  “I’d appreciate that, too,” he said. “I’ll probably need the moral support.”

  Carrying the makings for his Texas-style Spam sushi, he went to join the other contestants. Phyllis and her companions began walking around the rest of the hall, looking at some of the other foods that had already won competitions.

  Their path eventually took them near the broadcast set. Phyllis saw a familiar face. The friendly security guard, Chet Murdock, stood beside the set, arms crossed as he looked around the big room. He smiled as Phyllis came up to him.

  “Hey, Mrs. Newsom,” he said. “How are you today?”

  “I suppose I’m all right, Chet,” she said. “Still upset about what happened yesterday, of course.”

  Chet’s smile went away and was replaced by a solemn expression. “Yeah,” he said, “I think we all are. That was just such a terrible thing. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I felt like there was something I ought to do to help Ms. Jameson, but there wasn’t anything. We get a little first aid training and they give us lessons in CPR, but we’re not equipped to handle a real medical emergency like that.”

  “The fair has actual medical personnel standing by, though, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. But it all happened so fast they wouldn’t have had a chance to get here, even if they’d been close by. Ms. Jameson’s only chance was that pen thingy Ms. Broderick had, and when that didn’t work . . .” He shrugged. “After that, it was too late.”

  “Yes, it was,” Phyllis agreed.

  “I’ve gotta say, I’m a little surprised to see you back here today. After what happened, I thought you might be done with the fair, at least for this year.”

  “My friend Mr. Fletcher is in the Spam cook-off today,” Phyllis explained. “I wanted to be here for that.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, that makes sense.”

  Phyllis gave in to temptation and asked, “You haven’t heard anything about the official cause of death, have you?”

  Chet made a face and shook his head. “Eh, the cops don’t share stuff like that with us lowly security guards, I’m afraid.”

  “I meant no offense—”

  “Oh, no, none taken. Anyway, it’s not like being a guard is my career or anything, so you can say whatever you want. I’m going to be a chef, or maybe even have my own cooking show one of these days. Being around the set is inspiring.” His expression fell. “Or at least it was, you know, until . . .”

  “Yes, I know,” Phyllis said, nodding. She let a few seconds of shared solemnity go by, then asked, “What are you doing here right now, Chet? It looks like you’re protecting the set.”

  “That’s exactly what I am doing,” he said. “It’s my job to make sure nobody wanders up and starts messing with anything. Only people who work for the show are allowed on the set or in the backstage area. There’s a guard back there, too.”

  “Were you doing that yesterday before the show?”

  “Yep. We keep the place secure. That’s the job.”

  “So the only ones who had access to the set were people who work for the show? No one else was around it yesterday?”

  He frowned slightly. “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

  “I was just curious,” Phyllis said.

  Chet smiled again. “For a second there, you sounded like those cops. They asked me the same thing.” He chuckled. “You don’t moonlight as a homicide detective when you’re not making funnel cakes, do you?”

  “Oh, no,” Phyllis answered. If Chet didn’t know about her history, she certainly wasn’t going to get into it.

  What he had told her was interesting, though. If he was right, that eliminated Ramón Silva and Gloria Kimball as suspects, since they couldn’t have gotten near the funnel cake ingredients to tamper with them. Unless, of course, one of them had managed somehow to slip past Chet. Phyllis couldn’t rule out that possibility. She didn’t know how good Chet Murdock was at his job, although from what she had seen of him so far, he seemed at least competent.

  It also meant that if the ingredients had been tampered with, the person who had done it was most likely a member of the show’s crew. That brought her thoughts back to Hank Squires. Although as a cameraman he wouldn’t have any legitimate reason to be fooling around with any of the food on the set, everyone was probably so accustomed to seeing him around that they wouldn’t even notice him, despite his size. People often didn’t really pay attention to the things they were used to seeing.

  But the same would be true for everyone else involved in the show. No one would have thought twice about Bailey Broderick doing something with the funnel cake ingredients. She handled food on the show all the time. Even Reed Hayes probably wouldn’t
have aroused any suspicion. Because he was the show’s producer, it was his job to make sure all aspects of it were running smoothly, including the cooking demonstrations.

  “There you are,” Carolyn said from behind Phyllis. “We wondered where you had gotten off to.”

  “I was just talking to Mr. Murdock here,” Phyllis explained.

  The guard smiled and nodded to the others. “Ladies. Good to see you again.”

  “Sam’s contest is about to get under way,” Eve said. “I know he told us we only had to be there for the results, but I’d like to watch the whole thing.”

  “So would I,” Carolyn added.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Phyllis said. “Let’s go watch Sam cook some Spam.”

  “We’re right with you, Dr. Seuss,” Peggy said.

  Chapter 19

  The Spam cook-off was popular. A large crowd had gathered to watch as the contestants began preparing their dishes. As Sam had mentioned, there were quite a few male competitors in this contest, but a number of women had entered it as well.

  The spectators had to stay back a short distance, but the judges were allowed to circulate among the contestants and talk to them, asking them questions about their recipes. Phyllis watched and listened with great interest. She wanted to know some of the other possible uses for Spam that these competitors had come up with.

  She saw Spam enchiladas like Sam originally thought about making, Spam pizza, Spam kebabs, Spam sliders, Spam stuffed in jalapeños and wrapped with bacon, Spam with noodles, and Spam stir-fry. Competitors were wearing Spam shirts, and some even wore Spam hats.

  “Sam’s really concentrating, isn’t he?” Carolyn commented. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him looking so serious.”

  “Yes, he’s usually pretty happy-go-lucky,” Eve agreed. “Right now he almost looks like he’s performing brain surgery.”

  Phyllis wasn’t sure she would have gone quite that far, but Sam was taking the contest seriously, no doubt about that. He wore an intense frown on his face as he prepared each of the ingredients for his recipe, then began putting them all together to form his Texas-style Spam sushi. He used his homemade form, layering the sticky rice, Spam, and other ingredients, and ending with some more sticky rice. When he pulled off the form and wrapped the assembled entry with the seaweed to finish, he looked like a pro. Watching him made Phyllis’s heart beat a little faster. She had never realized how alluring it was to watch a man cook.