The Gingerbread Bump-Off (10 page)

“Georgia is fairly tall,” Phyllis pointed out. “But a man who was six feet tall would be big enough to strike her that way.”

“Doesn’t rule out very many people, does it?” Latimer asked. He took another drink of his coffee.

“No, but it helps. You can eliminate men who are shorter than, say, five-eight.”

“And women shorter than that.”

Phyllis frowned. “Do you really think a woman would be strong enough to lift that gingerbread man? I’ve been going under the assumption that the attacker had to be a man.”

“That’s more likely, sure, but there are plenty of women who are pretty strong. Stronger than some guys.”

Phyllis couldn’t deny that. It still seemed far-fetched to her, though, that a woman would carry out such a vicious attack.

But as she had seen demonstrated on numerous occasions, you never actually knew what people were capable of until they were pushed into a corner . . .

“These are really good cookies,” Latimer went on.

“Take some of them with you if you’d like,” Phyllis offered out of habit.

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

“Would you let me know if you find out anything else, Detective ?”

Latimer shook his head. “No. Sorry. If there are any new developments, you’ll hear about them when we announce them to the press.”

For a second, Phyllis thought about taking back the cookie offer. But instead she said, “Will you at least notify me if there’s any change in Georgia’s condition?”

“I can’t do that, either. You’re not a family member. There are privacy laws, you know. I shouldn’t have told you as much as I did before.”

“Fine.”

“Can I still have the cookies?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. He must have read her mind. “Of course,” she told him.

“Thanks again,” Latimer said as he got to his feet with a couple of cookies in his hand. “You’re not going anywhere for the holidays, are you? Just in case we need to get in touch with you again, I mean.”

“No, I’ll be right here,” Phyllis said. “We all will.”

“That’s good.” Latimer gave her a polite nod and went to the front door. “I’ll see myself out.”

The door closed behind him. Phyllis sighed and shook her head.

What was the world coming to when you couldn’t get confidential information out of a police detective by bribing him with lime snowflake cookies?

Chapter 9

O
ver the next few nights, Phyllis’s prediction turned out to be true. Traffic picked up considerably on the street, and most of the cars slowed down to a crawl as they passed in front of the house. Sometimes more than a dozen vehicles would be lined up as people took advantage of the opportunity to see the magnificent display of lights and decorations.

At least, that was how Phyllis preferred to think of it. Carolyn, as usual, was more cynical about the situation, insisting that at least some of the onlookers were there to gawk in morbid fascination at the house where a woman had been attacked.

One afternoon when Eve came in after being out with Roy all day, Phyllis could tell immediately that her old friend was upset, even angry. Since it was unusual to see Eve ever get mad about anything, when Phyllis met her at the bottom of the stairs and saw the tight lines in which Eve’s face was set, she put a hand on Eve’s arm and said, “Oh, dear. What is it?”

Eve had taken off her coat when she came inside. The weather had turned chilly and blustery, which wasn’t at all unusual for December. Phyllis hoped it was the cold wind that had put so much color in Eve’s cheeks, but she was afraid that wasn’t the case.

“It’s nothing,” Eve said. “I’m fine.”

“I can tell that you’re not. Would you like to talk about it?”

Eve opened her mouth, and Phyllis could tell that she was about to repeat her claim that everything was fine. But then Eve changed her mind, closed her mouth, and sighed.

“That man is just so
infuriating
sometimes,” she said.

“You’re talking about Roy?”

“Well, I’m certainly not talking about Sam. You don’t know how lucky you are to have had somebody reasonable like Sam fall for you, instead of a . . . a pigheaded old codger like Roy!”

Phyllis didn’t know whether she was more shocked to hear Eve describe her fiancé as a pigheaded old codger or to hear her characterize the friendship she shared with Sam in that manner. After a moment she said, “I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that Sam fell for me—”

“Oh, please. I’ve seen the two of you smooching when you think that nobody’s around. Lord knows what
else
goes on. But you shouldn’t think it’s some sort of big secret that you have a boyfriend.”

Phyllis didn’t know whether to be angry, scandalized, or amused, but she was leaning toward angry. Keeping her voice cool and calm, she said, “You’re starting to sound like those eighth graders I used to teach history to, Eve.”

Eve started to say something, then stopped herself again. “You’re right,” she told Phyllis. “I’m just upset. It’s none of my business whether you and Sam are friends, or just how friendly you are. Roy’s just got me so . . . so flustered.”

“No one’s in the living room right now,” Phyllis said. “Why don’t we go talk about it?”

Eve considered the suggestion for a moment before nodding. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need,” she said.

She draped her coat over one of the newel posts at the bottom of the stairs and went into the living room with Phyllis. They both sat on the sofa. Eve started to say something, stopped, then started again.

“You know Roy and I have been looking for a house.”

Phyllis nodded. “Of course.”

“And we haven’t found anything.”

“I know.”

“We can afford whatever we want, you understand . . . well, within reason, anyway . . . so that’s not the issue. We’re just having trouble finding something we both like. Or maybe I should say, something that Roy likes. Some of the houses we’ve looked at would probably work out all right, but he always finds enough wrong with them that he says it wouldn’t be a good idea to buy them.”

“It sounds like he’s just trying to find the best possible place for the two of you to be happy,” Phyllis said. She was going to opt for giving Roy the benefit of the doubt here. When a couple was fighting, the worst thing you could do was agree with one of them that the other was totally wrong, morally deficient, and an absolute jerk. That sort of thing
always
came back to haunt a friendship.

“That’s what he tells me, but I don’t know . . . I just don’t know.” Eve looked at Phyllis with pain in her eyes and said, “I’m starting to wonder if he really wants to marry me after all. Maybe this is just his way of getting out of it.”

Phyllis shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. I’ve seen the way Roy looks at you. He’s devoted to you.”

“I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anyway, this doesn’t have to be an issue. We’ve talked about this. If you don’t find just the right house before the wedding, the two of you can stay here after you get back from your honeymoon. It’s obvious that we have plenty of room here, and anyway, Sam would probably enjoy having another man around for a while, after being stuck in this henhouse for the past three years.”

“That’s another thing,” Eve said. “Roy doesn’t want to stay here. He’s stuck on the idea of us getting an apartment if we don’t find a house in time. I’ve lived in apartments, Phyllis. I don’t like them very much. They never really feel like home. I like being in a
house
. I suppose we could rent one, but it would still feel like someone else’s place.”

Phyllis patted her arm. “Maybe if I talked to Roy about the two of you staying here—”

Eve shook her head and said, “That wouldn’t do any good. He’d be nice about it, but he’s awfully stubborn. Mule headed, in fact.”

“Well, then, what about Sam?” Phyllis knew that Sam might not appreciate being volunteered for the job of talking some sense into Roy Porter’s head, but he would understand.

“I don’t know . . .”

“You should let him give it a try, anyway. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“You think so?”

“Didn’t I just say I was sure of it?” Phyllis squeezed Eve’s arm. “You’ve just got a lot on your mind right now. There’s too much for any sane person to keep up with, what with all these shower and wedding preparations.”

“You’re doing most of it,” Eve pointed out. “You and Carolyn. I don’t know what I’d do without the two of you.”

“You won’t ever have to find out. Just leave Roy to Sam and me. We’ll make him understand how important it is that you be around your friends.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively, Eve put her arms around Phyllis and gave her a hug. “I just hope you’re right.”

“I know I am.”

After Eve had gone upstairs, though, Phyllis sat there and thought that she wasn’t nearly as confident as she had sounded. She didn’t have any right to interfere in what went on between Eve and Roy. If they were going to be married, they needed to be working out their own problems.

On the other hand, Eve was her friend and had been for years, and she told herself that she had every right to do what she could to help Eve be happy. Phyllis didn’t know how long Roy had been a widower. Maybe he had forgotten how important it was to be able to compromise in a marriage. Goodness knows she and Kenny hadn’t agreed on everything, but they had been able to work things out so that neither of them ever had to draw a line in the sand or issue ultimatums. That was no way for a marriage to be.

Besides, Phyllis found something vaguely troubling about this whole situation. She had seen enough to know that men with abusive personalities tried to isolate their wives and keep them away from their friends. She was sure that wasn’t what Roy was trying to do here by insisting that he and Eve live in an apartment instead of staying here, but it was still worrisome.

Of course, if the two of them had bought a house and moved into it after the wedding, she never would have thought anything about it, Phyllis reminded herself. Maybe she was creating problems where none really existed.

Those thoughts were going through her mind when Sam spoke up from the door into the hall. “You look like you’re a million miles away, Phyllis,” he said as he lounged there with a shoulder propped against the doorjamb. He straightened abruptly as a thought obviously occurred to him. “Son of a gun,” he said. “You’ve solved the case. You know who busted that gingerbread man over Miz Hallerbee’s head.”

“What?” Phyllis blinked and shook her head. “Oh. No. I don’t have any idea. That’s not what I was thinking about at all.”

“Sorry. It’s just that when you get that faraway look on your face, you’re usually thinkin’ about the solution to some crime.”

“Not this time,” Phyllis said as she got to her feet without offering any explanation about what she had been pondering. She would talk to Sam about Eve’s dilemma with Roy later. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Sam Fletcher.”

Boyfriend, indeed!

 

 

 

The usual parade of cars crept by in the street that night. Phyllis ignored them for the most part. She was glad that people seemed to be enjoying the lights and decorations, but that was as far as it went.

But it was hard to ignore the car that pulled into her driveway and parked while she was looking out the picture window at the long line of headlights. This was a new wrinkle. Maybe whoever was inside wanted to get a close-up look at the decorations.

The man who got out of the car and walked toward the front porch didn’t seem to care about the decorations, though. Distractedly, he stepped around the ones that were in his way and came up the steps to the porch. Phyllis was already on her way to the door when the bell rang.

Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the door. She couldn’t help but remember in vivid detail what had happened several nights earlier. Even though she knew it was crazy, she halfway expected to hear another crash from outside and jerk the door open to find a body crumpled on her porch.

Of course, there was no crash, and when she opened the door, she found a tall, well-built man in his late forties standing there. He had close-cropped, graying brown hair and a slightly angular jaw. He wore a business suit, but the tie around his neck was loosened and he looked tired and upset about something. Phyllis also thought he looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked through the storm door without opening it. The latch was fastened, so he couldn’t open it without going to some effort.

“Mrs. Newsom? Do you remember me? I’m Carl Winthrop.”

The name came back to her right away. Claudia Fisk had mentioned it during her ill-fated visit a few days earlier. Carl Winthrop was one of the volunteer organizers of the Jingle Bell Tour, as well. And now that she had seen him, Phyllis knew him for another reason. One of his daughters had been in Phyllis’s history class, about ten years earlier. The girl’s name was . . . Donna—that was it. Donna Winthrop.

“Of course,” Phyllis said as she reached down and unfastened the latch so she could open the storm door. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Winthrop? How are you?”

“All right, I guess,” he said, still clearly distracted as he stepped into the foyer. “I hate to bother you, especially this late and at this time of year . . .”

“It’s no bother,” Phyllis assured him. She gestured toward the throng of cars in the street. “Things won’t get peaceful around here until much later in the evening.”

“Yeah, people like to look at lights,” he agreed. “I used to take my kids, when they were little.”

“How’s Donna these days?”

“You remember her?”

“Of course. I remember all my students.”

That wasn’t actually true. Phyllis recalled a lot of her students, particularly the very good ones and the very bad ones—Donna Winthrop had been a good one—but she did not remember all of them by any means. But remembering every student was an illusion teachers liked to maintain.