The Pumpkin Muffin Murder

by Livia J. Washburn

  She made herself reply in a calm voice, “I delivered my entry for the cooking contest to the dogtrot when I got here to the park with my grandson and my friend Eve Turner.”

  She didn’t mention that her entry was pumpkin muffins. Let Detective Largo find out if there was any connection between those muffins and the unidentified brown substance found in Logan Powell’s mouth.

  “From there, Carolyn—Mrs. Wilbarger—and I walked around the park for a while with Mrs. Powell, who was looking for her husband,” she went on.

  “Wait a minute. That’s the dead man, right?”

  Phyllis nodded. “Logan Powell, yes.”

  “So his wife was looking for him?”

  “That’s right. She said he hadn’t come home last night, and she was worried about him.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “I didn’t have any reason not to,” Phyllis said. “And Mrs. Powell certainly looked and sounded like she was sincere about the way she felt.”

  “But you didn’t find Mr. Powell anywhere else in the park, of course, because all the time he was sitting on that hay bale dressed like a scarecrow.”

  “That’s right,” Phyllis said again, thinking that the situation sounded even more bizarre when summed up in Detective Largo’s flat, emotionless voice.

  “I noticed some other scarecrows sitting on bales of hay when I was walking into the park,” the detective said. “Are they just for decoration?”

  Phyllis nodded. “Yes, volunteers made them this week and then put them out because they fit in with the Harvest Festival theme. In fact, I was one of the people who put them out on display yesterday.”

  “That’s interesting. Who was responsible for placing the one in the dogtrot, there between the two halves of the cabin?”

  “That’s just it,” Phyllis replied with a shake of her head. “There wasn’t supposed to be a scarecrow there. There wasn’t when I left the park yesterday. They were scattered around all over, but not in the dogtrot.”

  “So someone moved that hay bale, dressed Mr. Powell in the scarecrow costume, and propped him up on it?”

  Again, Detective Largo’s description of the event made it sound even more far-fetched. But Phyllis could only nod and say, “Yes, that must be what happened. It’s the only explanation.” Something occurred to her. “Unless . . .”

  A spark of interest flared in the detective’s dark eyes. “Unless what?”

  “Unless Logan moved the hay bale and put the costume on himself,” Phyllis said. “I suppose he could have done that.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  Phyllis had to respond with the answer that was cropping up a lot this morning. “I have no idea.”

  “But if he did, then he sat down there and died.”

  “Maybe he had a heart attack, or something like that.” Phyllis nodded, seeing how the theory fit together. “In fact, I saw his face, and it looked like he was in pain before he died. It could have happened just that way, Detective.”

  “Maybe it could have,” Detective Largo said. “But that doesn’t explain why he moved the hay bale or put on that scarecrow costume.”

  “No,” Phyllis admitted. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Let’s get back to when you found the body. You and Mrs. Powell and Mrs. Wilbarger walked around the park looking for Mr. Powell, and when you didn’t find him, what then?”

  “We went back to the cabin. The judging for the contest was going to be starting soon. Carolyn had to be there because she was one of the judges, and of course I wanted to be on hand because I had an entry in the contest.”

  “And Mrs. Powell came with you?”

  “That’s right. She was still worried and upset, of course, but Carolyn and I had tried to convince her that Logan would turn up sooner or later.”

  “Well, he did, didn’t he?”

  Phyllis caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. She hadn’t thought about it like that, but Detective Largo was right. She sighed and nodded.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Why did you and Mrs. Wilbarger go over to the scarecrow?”

  “I told you, we helped put them out on display yesterday. We knew there wasn’t supposed to be one there in the dogtrot. Carolyn said it had been bothering her all morning, so she suggested that we move it, since there were still a few minutes until the contest judging began.”

  “So it was Mrs. Wilbarger’s idea to move the scarecrow?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I think it’ll be up to the investigation to determine what means something and what doesn’t, Mrs. Newsom.”

  This time Phyllis couldn’t keep a slight edge out of her voice as she said, “If you think Carolyn had anything to do with Logan’s death, you’re wrong, Detective.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Detective Largo replied, smoothly unperturbed. “Go on with your story.”

  “Well, Carolyn said she would move the hay bale, and I could move the scarecrow. They don’t weigh much. But as soon as I took hold of it, I knew something was wrong.”

  “How did you know?”

  “It didn’t feel right. It was too heavy. It felt like there was something solid in it, not just some paper stuffing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I stepped back and said there was something wrong. Carolyn took hold of the scarecrow and started to lift it; then she let go, and it fell back on the bale, and . . . then it fell off onto the ground and made this noise. . . .”

  “A noise like a body landing on concrete?” the detective suggested.

  “Yes,” Phyllis said. “That was exactly what it sounded like.”

  “So you knew then what you’d found.” Detective Largo didn’t bother making it sound like a question this time.

  Phyllis nodded. “I had a pretty good idea. The scarecrow’s hat had come off when it fell, and the burlap bag over the head had slipped some. I could see what looked like skin between the bottom of the bag and the shirt collar.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was about to tell Carolyn to get away from it and not disturb it anymore—”

  “Because you know how evidence is supposed to be handled.”

  “Well, yes. But I was still a little shocked, and before I could say anything, Carolyn reached down and pulled the burlap bag off, and . . . there was Logan.” Phyllis shrugged. “Then there was all sorts of commotion, of course, and two of the officers who were on duty here at the festival showed up, and I expect you know everything after that from talking to Chief Whitmire.”

  Detective Largo flicked off the recorder and smiled politely. “Thank you, Mrs. Newsom.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes. I think you’ve provided all the information you can, based on your own direct knowledge.”

  That was true enough, Phyllis supposed. She opened the car door and stepped out. So did Detective Largo. Without saying anything else, they walked back across the park to the cabin.

  “Mrs. Wilbarger, would you come with me?” Detective Largo asked when they got there.

  Carolyn frowned suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I just want to find out what you can tell me about discovering the body.”

  “You mean you want to see if my story matches what Phyllis told you.”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  Carolyn went with the detective, grudgingly. She would never fully trust the police after that earlier case, Phyllis supposed. She wasn’t sure she could blame her friend for feeling that way, either. The very idea that Carolyn Wilbarger could ever murder anybody was ludicrous.

  Phyllis looked around, curious to know how Dana was doing, but she didn’t see her right away. Then she spotted Dana sitting on one of the folding chairs that the judges would have been using during the contest if it had taken place as scheduled. Someone had taken it from behind the table and brought it out here in front of the cabin so that Dana could sit down, and Phyllis ha
d a pretty good idea who that someone was, since Sam was still standing near Dana as if he were watching over her.

  She went up to him and asked quietly, “You got that chair for Dana, didn’t you?”

  “She’s had a mighty hard time of it,” Sam replied with a shrug. “I didn’t want to have to try to catch her if she fainted.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Hangin’ in there, I reckon. It’s got to be pretty bad for her. She must feel like her whole world’s been yanked right out from under her.”

  Phyllis put a hand on his arm and squeezed for a second. “You’re a nice man, Sam Fletcher,” she said. “Looking out for Dana like this when you barely even know her.”

  He shrugged. “I figure she must be all right if you and Carolyn are her friends.”

  As a matter of fact, though, Phyllis thought, she and Dana weren’t really all that close. They were acquaintances more than friends, the way it was with Phyllis and those other teachers from that little circle at Loving Elementary. Sam didn’t know that, though, so he was doing what he assumed Phyllis would want him to do.

  Phyllis stood there for a moment looking at Dana, who was gazing at the dogtrot and the crowd of police in it with what could only be termed stark horror on her face. She probably couldn’t see Logan’s body from where she was—all the police standing around blocked the sight—but she had to know it was there. If Dana had really had anything to do with Logan’s death, she was one of the best actors in the world, Phyllis told herself. Of course, anything was possible. People had fooled Phyllis before . . . but not for long.

  “That detective get through askin’ all her questions?”

  Phyllis looked over at Sam. “What? Oh, yes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has more later on, though.”

  “Detectives never run out of questions until they have the answers they’re lookin’ for,” Sam said. “I know that from bein’ around you.”

  “Well, I won’t be investigating this case,” she said. “We don’t even know that there’s a case to be investigated. Logan may have died of natural causes. Just because he was found in odd circumstances doesn’t mean he was murdered.”

  A grim chuckle came from Sam. “Maybe so . . . but I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Neither would she, Phyllis thought.

  Neither would she.

  Chapter 14

  A few minutes later, there was a flurry of activity inside the dogtrot. Phyllis thought she knew what would happen next, and she was right. The ambulance crew loaded Logan Powell’s body, now zipped up in a black body bag, onto the gurney and wheeled it out through a passage that the police opened up in the crowd. They took it out of the park and put it into the back of the ambulance.

  Dana had shot to her feet at the first sight of the body bag. Phyllis and Sam both went to her, standing on either side of her as she watched Logan being taken away. The look on her face was so grief stricken that Phyllis’s heart broke for her.

  No woman who looked like that could have had anything to do with her husband’s death, Phyllis thought. She just didn’t believe it was possible.

  “I . . . I suppose I should go,” Dana said in a halting voice. “I have to . . . make arrangements.”

  Phyllis put a hand on her arm. “I think you should sit down and stay here right now,” she said. “Everything else can wait.”

  She didn’t want to put into words the fact that the police wouldn’t let Dana leave the park at this point. Not until they had questioned her, and obviously Detective Largo intended to get all the background in place first, before she talked to Dana.

  In any death without an obvious explanation, the deceased’s spouse was always going to be the first person the police looked at as having some possible involvement. There was a lot about Logan Powell’s death that didn’t have an obvious explanation. Dana wasn’t thinking straight right now, or she would realize that. She would be doing good if the police were through with her before the day was over, Phyllis knew . . . unless, of course, she called a lawyer and forced them to either arrest her or let her go.

  And that was a tactic that wouldn’t look good at all.

  Dana clearly didn’t understand that, however, because she pulled away from Phyllis and said, “No, I have to go. I have to take care of things. Logan will be depending on me.”

  There was a shaky edge in her voice that told Phyllis she was bordering on hysteria. “Wait right here,” Phyllis told her. “I’ll go talk to Chief Whitmire and see if it’s all right for you to leave.”

  “It has to be,” Dana said. “I have things to do.”

  Phyllis knew what was going on. Dana wanted to deal with the mundane aspects of Logan’s death because that gave her something to hang on to, tasks to distract her from the terrible loss she had suffered. It was a way of fooling her brain into not thinking about what had actually happened. Unfortunately, Phyllis had a hunch that the police weren’t going to cooperate in that emotional defense mechanism Dana was trying to set up.

  Chief Whitmire stood talking to several officers from his forensics team. He saw Phyllis coming toward him and turned to face her as the other officers went on about their business of gathering and evaluating evidence.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Newsom?” Whitmire asked. “If Detective Largo has already talked to you, I suppose you’re free to go.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about, Chief,” Phyllis said. “Mrs. Powell wants to leave so she can make arrangements for her husband’s funeral.”

  Whitmire’s forehead creased in a frown. He shook his head. “She can’t do that. We haven’t questioned her yet. Anyway, right now there’s no way of knowing when Powell’s body will be released. The ME hasn’t even looked at it yet.”

  Phyllis nodded. “I understand. There’ll have to be an autopsy. I believe Mrs. Powell just wants to stay busy so she won’t have to think too much about what happened here.”

  Whitmire grunted and said, “Maybe that’s what she wants you to believe. Maybe that’s what she wants all of us to believe.”

  “Chief, you can’t seriously think that that poor woman had anything to do with what happened to her husband. She’s devastated! Anyway, you don’t even know yet how Logan died.”

  “And until we do, everything else can wait,” Whitmire said. “Sorry, but that’s the way it’s gotta be.”

  Phyllis could tell that he wasn’t going to budge. That came as no surprise. She had known she was probably wasting her time before she ever came over here to talk to the chief. She nodded and said, “All right. But this is one time you’re wrong to be suspicious of the spouse.”

  Detective Isabel Largo asked from behind Phyllis, “Is that so, Mrs. Newsom?”

  Phyllis tried not to jump a little. She hadn’t heard the detective come up behind her. As she turned to face her, Detective Largo went on, “Is that why you didn’t tell me about the argument between Mr. Powell and his wife last night, or her belief that he was cheating on her? Because you believe she didn’t have anything to do with his death?”

  There was a sharp undertone of accusation in the younger woman’s voice. Phyllis kept a tight grip on her temper and said, “You didn’t ask me about any of that, Detective. If you had, I would have told you what I know, which is all hearsay, anyway.”

  “That’s all right,” Detective Largo said. “Mrs. Wilbarger told me all about it.”

  Phyllis glanced toward the old well and saw Carolyn standing there with Sam and Dana. She and Detective Largo must have returned from the parking lot while Phyllis was talking to Chief Whitmire.

  The chief said, “So the two of them argued last night, did they, Detective?”

  “That’s right. Mrs. Wilbarger witnessed it, and Mrs. Powell told her about believing that Mr. Powell was cheating.”

  Whitmire looked at Phyllis. “You should have mentioned that when you were talking to Detective Largo, Mrs. Newsom.”

  “With all due respect, Chief, it’s not my responsibility to volunteer infor
mation,” Phyllis said. “It’s your detective’s job to ask the right questions.”

  She saw the way Detective Largo’s jaw tightened and anger glittered in her dark eyes, and she knew she had just made an enemy by pointing out that Largo had dropped the ball. At the moment, she didn’t really care. She was a lot more worried about how the suspicions surrounding Dana were growing stronger.

  “You have a duty as a citizen to cooperate with the police,” Whitmire began, but then he shook his head and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “But we’ll let that go. I’ll ask you straight out: What do you know about the Powells’ marital troubles?”

  “I was there when Dana said she thought Logan had been cheating on her,” Phyllis admitted. “And Carolyn told me that she saw them arguing last night, over there on the bridge over the drainage ditch.”

  She pointed at the wooden bridge, which was visible through the trees.

  “You don’t know anything else about Powell’s affair?”

  “I don’t know that he was having one. Like I told you, Chief, all I know about this subject is hearsay.”

  “Well, we’ll see what the lady herself has to say about it,” Whitmire said heavily. He looked at Detective Largo. “I think you should take Mrs. Powell back to the office to question her, Detective.”

  Largo nodded. “Of course, Chief.”

  Phyllis wanted to try to talk them out of it, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She watched helplessly as Detective Largo turned and strode over to where Dana, Sam, and Carolyn were standing. In a loud, clear voice, the detective said, “Mrs. Powell, I’d like for you to come with me.”

  Dana looked confused. “What? Come with you? Where? I can’t go. I . . . I have to make arrangements. . . .”

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Detective Largo said. She put a hand on Dana’s arm. “Come with me, please.”

  Dana pulled away. “No!”