So when Bobby had come down with the ear infection the day before Mike and Sarah were supposed to leave to spend a week in California with Sarah’s parents and the doctor told them they couldn’t take him on the airplane, Phyllis hadn’t hesitated. She had urged them to make the trip and leave Bobby with her. “I’d love the chance to spend that much time with him,” she had told her son and daughter-in-law. “That way you can make your trip without having to worry about him.”
“Oh, I’ll worry about him,” Sarah had said, and Phyllis knew exactly what she meant. Worrying was a parent’s permanent job. Mike was a grown man, and not a day went by that Phyllis didn’t spend some of the time wondering where he was and what he was doing and worrying about whether he was all right.
The fact that Mike was a deputy in the Parker County Sheriff’s Department didn’t make things any easier. But Phyllis knew she would have worried about him no matter what he did for a living.
Phyllis realized that she’d been sitting there quietly, musing over the events of the past few days, without saying a word. Sam had been silent, too. Yet she didn’t feel the least bit awkward or uncomfortable because of the silence, and from the looks of him, neither did Sam. It had been a good thing when she’d had a vacancy open up in the house a couple of years earlier, she thought. Her old superintendent, Dolly Williamson, had suggested that she rent the room to Sam, and even though there had been some rough patches at first, caused by having a man in a house full of retired female teachers, it hadn’t taken long for Sam to become a member of the family.
And that was the way she thought of him and Carolyn Wilbarger and Eve Turner, the other retired teachers who lived here with her. They were all family now.
“This tea’s not bad,” Sam said. “Bein’ a good Texan, though, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to drinkin’ any kind of tea without a bunch of ice cubes in it.”
Before Phyllis could say anything to that, a key rattled in the lock of the back door.
She and Sam looked at each other in puzzlement. Who in the world could be coming in at this hour? It was after midnight, and anyway, no one had a key to her house except the people who lived here and Mike. Carolyn and Eve were upstairs asleep, and Mike was in California… .
Phyllis felt a little twinge of apprehension. Maybe someone was actually trying to break in. They could be attempting to pick the lock. But would a burglar do that when the lights in the kitchen were on and someone was obviously in here?
Sam was on his feet, facing the door. He had braved danger to protect Phyllis in the past, and she wasn’t surprised that he would do it again. She wouldn’t let him do that alone, though. She stood up as well and started looking around for some sort of weapon.
The door swung open, and Carolyn said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb anybody.”
Sam, bless his heart, didn’t miss a beat. He crossed his arms, frowned at Carolyn, and said, “Young lady, do you have any idea what time it is?”
Carolyn looked flabbergasted for a second, but then she glared as she closed the door and said, “I don’t need any sass from you, Sam Fletcher. I’m tired.”
“Well, I’d imagine so, what with you out gallivantin’ around until the wee hours of the morning.”
Carolyn looked at Phyllis, who came around the table to get between them. “I thought you were upstairs asleep,” she said to her old friend.
“I would have been if I hadn’t gotten a call from Dana Powell,” Carolyn said as she took off her coat. “Logan was supposed to help her with some decorations for the Harvest Festival, but you know how undependable he is. I’ve been over at Dana’s house all evening, giving her a hand.”
Phyllis shook her head. “I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“She called me on my cell. Anyway, you were busy with Bobby.”
Like seemingly everyone else in the world these days, Phyllis carried a cell phone, but after living for decades before the things were even invented, she sometimes forgot how ubiquitous they were. Occasionally she had to remind herself when she was out that she didn’t have to look for a public phone if she wanted to make a call.
“Like I said, I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Carolyn went on. “So I just slipped out and went on over there.”
Dana Powell was about twenty years younger than Carolyn—and Phyllis and Sam, for that matter—but she and Carolyn had taught together at the same school before Carolyn retired, and they were still friends. Phyllis liked her as well, although she thought sometimes that Dana was a little too skinny and a little too blond for an elementary-school teacher. But there was no denying that Dana was good with the kids and was also heavily involved in the community, including being in charge of some of the plans for the upcoming Harvest Festival.
In recent years, that term had been co-opted in a lot of places for Halloween celebrations, but this year, in Weatherford, the festival was taking place the Saturday before Thanksgiving, which as far as Phyllis was concerned was a more traditional and appropriate time for it, anyway. The festival was being held on the south side of town in a city park that surrounded a small lake known for the flock of ducks that lived there most of the year. The ducks would be gone now, having migrated south for the winter, but the park was still a pleasant, picturesque place with playground equipment for the children, hiking trails, picnic areas, and a couple of old settlers’ cabins that had been moved in from farther west in the county. Phyllis remembered taking some of her history classes to the park on field trips so the students could see the bullet holes in the walls left behind by Indian battles and check out the interiors, which were furnished in pioneer fashion.
A couple of days from now, on Saturday evening, the park would be full of games and rides and craft displays, along with an assortment of food and drink vendors, much like the Peach Festival held in Weatherford every summer. There would also be a cooking contest centered around traditional Thanksgiving foods like pumpkin pies, creative uses of cranberry sauce, unusual stuffings to go with turkey, and things like that.
The cooking contest was especially interesting to Phyllis, who entered nearly every such contest that came along, usually in competition with Carolyn. There wouldn’t be any rivalry this time, however. Carolyn had already agreed to serve as a judge in the contest, instead of entering it. That was fine with Phyllis, although in a way she would miss their friendly competition.
She might miss the contest entirely, she thought, depending on how Bobby was doing. She might not have the time to prepare her entry.
“What were you working on with Dana?” she asked Carolyn now, as she got another cup from the cabinet and poured some tea for her friend without asking. She knew Carolyn loved herbal tea.
“Scarecrow costumes, of all things,” Carolyn said as she took the cup. “Thank you.”
Sam said, “I thought they were tryin’ to get folks to come to this festival, not scarin’ them off.”
“Oh, there are going to be scarecrows and bales of hay scattered around the park as decorations,” Carolyn explained. “Logan was going to pick up the supplies to make the costumes, but then he had some sort of business emergency, so Dana called me and we went to Wal-Mart together to get what she’d need. When I saw how much work she had in front of her, I said I’d stay and help.” Carolyn stifled a yawn. “I didn’t expect to be quite so late, though. But we got to talking while we worked, and well, you know how that goes.”
Phyllis nodded. “Yes, of course. I hope Logan was at least properly apologetic when he got home.”
Carolyn took another sip of tea. “He didn’t get home. At least, he hadn’t when I left.”
“Wasn’t Dana worried? I would have been.”
“I suppose she’s used to it,” Carolyn said with a shake of her head. “She should know by now that her husband is as much married to that real estate business as he is to her.” She looked back and forth between Phyllis and Sam. “Enough about the Powells. What are the two of you doing up at this time of night?”
<
br /> “Bobby’s ear was hurting and he had trouble sleeping,” Phyllis said. “Sam was able to get him to doze off, though.”
“Well, I’m not going to have any trouble falling asleep. I’m exhausted.” Carolyn stood up, drank the rest of her tea, and put the empty cup in the sink. “Good night, both of you. Don’t stay up too late.”
“We won’t,” Sam said, then added, “I’m gonna go look at YouTube some more.”
He started to follow Carolyn out of the kitchen, but Phyllis stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Thank you for helping with Bobby.”
“Anytime,” he said with a smile. “He’s a good little fella. Hate to see him hurtin’. You think he’ll feel good enough to go to the festival on Saturday?”
“I hope so. We could all use some good times.”
“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “Hope it goes well.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, you never know… .”
“Yes, you do,” Phyllis said firmly. “I know. There’s not going to be any trouble at this festival. Nothing unusual is going to happen.”
“That’s right.” Sam leaned over and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Good night.”
She told him good night and watched him go up the stairs, wishing he hadn’t brought up all the things that had happened in the past. He hadn’t meant anything by it, of course.
It was hard to forget, though, that for a while there, murder had seemed to make a habit of following her around.
But more than a year had passed without any sort of trouble, she reminded herself. There was no reason to think it would crop up again now.
With that thought in her head, she turned off the light in the kitchen and went upstairs.
Killer Crab Cakes Page 25