Killer Crab Cakes (29 page)

“Darn it, so did I. But at least you had Mrs. Wilbarger out there in the kitchen backing you up.”

“That’s true. I assume you’ll be around for a while, questioning the others who are staying here?”

“That’s the plan,” Clifton said.

“Stop by the kitchen before you leave. I think I can spare one or two cookies.”

A grin spread across his face. “I’ll sure take you up on that offer.”

My business is murder
, Phyllis thought as she headed back to the kitchen. It sounded like the title of some silly old tough-guy paperback. How ridiculous.

 

While Phyllis was talking to Chief Clifton, Carolyn had taken the first batch of cookies out of the oven, put in the second batch, taken
them
out, and put in a third batch, which used up more than half of the dough Phyllis had prepared. That third batch was now baking. When Phyllis checked the cookies that had already come out of the oven, she saw that they were perfectly done.

Carolyn was putting spoonfuls of cookie dough on the pan when she stepped aside to let Phyllis take over.

“I feel like this should be a team entry now,” she told Carolyn.

“Nonsense. I didn’t do anything. All the credit for them goes to you.”

“I’d be glad to help with your pie,” Phyllis offered.

“I appreciate it, but that won’t be necessary. I’m not going to bake it until tomorrow morning, so that it’ll be nice and fresh for the contest.”

“You’re not going to the SeaFair before then?”

“Wander around in a crowd of people swilling beer and smelling of insect repellent and sunblock? No, thank you. I don’t plan to get there until right before the contest, although I’ll probably check out some of the arts and crafts exhibits afterward. Let’s face it, though, Phyllis, this is the same sort of thing as the Peach Festival, and we already go to that every year.”

Carolyn had a point, but the SeaFair certainly wasn’t exactly the same as the Peach Festival. For one thing, you couldn’t stand in the town square in Weatherford and see the surf rolling in on the beach or smell the salt air or hear seagulls calling to each other. As much as she loved her hometown, it was good to get away and see some different things sometimes, too.

Like the Fulton Mansion, which she planned to join the others in touring later that afternoon. She had read a little about it and knew that the waterfront mansion was well over a hundred years old. Like many of the other historic old buildings in Rockport and Fulton, it had survived for so long because the occasional hurricanes vented most of their fury on the barrier islands offshore, rather than roaring in with full force.

While Phyllis was getting the last batch of cookies out of the oven, Chief Clifton stuck his head in the kitchen door. “Looks like I’m just in time for those cookies you promised me,” he said with a smile.

“These are too hot,” Phyllis said, “but you can have a couple off that plate over there on the counter.”

“Much obliged,” the chief said as he moved over to the counter. He picked up two cookies from the pile on the plate and took a bite out of one. Making a face of pure pleasure, he said, “Oh, now, that’s really good. I always try all the entries, and I think you’re going to be one of the favorites in the contest tomorrow.”

“We’ll see,” Phyllis said with a shrug. “You’ll have to try Carolyn’s pie, too.”

“Oh, I will, you can count on that. But I want to be sure and get the recipe for these cookies for Boaz. Of course, he’ll come up with something crazy to put in them and ruin ’em, but he’ll have fun with it.”

When the chief was gone, Phyllis and Carolyn started getting ready for lunch. Without looking at Phyllis, Carolyn commented, “I’m not very fond of the police, you know, ever since they tried to arrest
me
for murder, but I have to admit, Chief Clifton is a rather handsome man.”

“Really?” Phyllis replied, smiling to herself. “I hadn’t noticed.” She couldn’t remember the last time Carolyn had commented on a man’s looks.

“In a weather-beaten sort of way, of course.”

“Of course.”

Carolyn didn’t say anything else, but still, Phyllis thought, it was progress of a sort. Maybe one of these days Carolyn would find someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. If she did, that was fine. If she didn’t . . . well, she would always have her friends. Thank goodness for that, Phyllis thought, because she knew that the same thing applied to her.

 

Tours began every hour at the Fulton Mansion, Sam had found out from looking at the mansion’s Web site. At two o’clock that afternoon, he and Phyllis were waiting in front of the massive three-story house, which sat facing the water over a long, narrow lawn dominated by four towering palm trees and several of the picturesque bent oaks. Eve was with them, along with Nick and Kate Thompson and Leo and Jessica Blaine. Jessica seemed to have warmed up a little to Leo, although it would probably be a long time before she forgave him for what had happened with Bianca. Phyllis knew that Jessica had to be wondering what other unsavory activities her husband had gotten up to over the years.

A historical monument and marker along the walk that led to the house had explained that it was built between 1874 and 1877 by George W. Fulton, an early-day settler and cattle baron for whom the town was named. It was constructed in the mansard style, and the latest technological advances of the time had been installed in it, including running water, central heating, and gaslights. What would now be considered the bare necessities of life had been the height of luxury back in 1877 when the Fulton family moved in, Phyllis thought.

But it was that way with everything, she mused. People got used to having certain things, and they didn’t want them taken away.

There were other visitors to Oakhurst, as the mansion was named, besides the group from Oak Knoll. When one of the volunteers who conducted the tours opened the front door at two o’clock, everyone trooped up the rather steep set of stairs to the porch and filed inside. Phyllis was struck immediately by how ornate the furnishings were. The rooms were crowded with overstuffed furniture, thick rugs on the floors, and crystal lighting fixtures. The guide pointed out not only the obvious luxuries, but also things like the pipes that conducted heat from room to room. She also talked about the life of George Fulton, who had fought in the Texas Revolution as a young man, long before becoming a successful rancher and financier.

For someone interested in history, it was a fascinating forty-five minutes, Phyllis thought. She and Sam both took it in avidly. Eve didn’t care much about the historical aspects, but she was impressed by the furnishings and the elaborate garden behind the house. So was Jessica Blaine. Leo looked bored at times, Phyllis thought, but he made an effort not to, especially when Jessica was looking at him. Maybe he really did want to clean up his act and earn his wife’s forgiveness. Phyllis hoped that was the case.

When she and Sam finally wandered back out onto the mansion’s front porch, they found Nick and Kate standing there looking across the long front lawn to the bay. Nick’s hands were thrust in the pockets of his cargo shorts, and he sighed as he said, “You know, if you knocked down those palm trees and those funny-looking oaks, you could put up condos in that space, or some sort of club.”

“That’s terrible!” Kate said. “It’s a perfectly beautiful view, and you want to spoil it?”

Nick laughed. “Hey, just force of habit. You know me, can’t let go of the ol’ work mentality.” He took his hands out of his pockets and slipped an arm around Kate’s waist. “But you’re right, it
is
a beautiful view. Romantic, even.”

“Yeah,” she agreed as she rested her head on his shoulder, stooping a little to do so. She put an arm around Nick.

They stood there like that, taking in the view, seemingly oblivious to Phyllis and Sam, until finally Nick turned his head and gave Kate a kiss. It was a little more than a peck but didn’t turn too passionate, for which Phyllis was grateful. She had never quite gotten used to the way young people sometimes demonstrated their affection for each other in public. Some things needed to be reserved for more private moments.

Still, Sam had a certain wistful look in his eyes, too, as he gazed out over the lawn and the trees, she noted, and she couldn’t help but ask, “What are you thinking about, Sam?”

“Well . . . if those trees weren’t there, like Nick said . . . that yard’s just about the right size and shape to play football on.”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then took hold of his hand and squeezed it. “Once a coach, always a coach, I guess,” she said with a laugh.

“See?” Nick said to Kate. “It’s hard to break old habits.”

A
ll day long, the thought that there might be another murder had nagged at Phyllis, even when she was busy with other things. But it was actually a rather pleasant day, what with Chief Clifton talking to her more like a fellow detective rather than a suspect, and the cookie-baking, which always made Phyllis feel better, and the visit to the Fulton Mansion, where she could forget about murder for a while and just be a tourist again.

And of course, most important, no one died.

But when she got up Saturday morning, even though Phyllis’s thoughts were full of the SeaFair and the Just Desserts competition that would be coming up in a matter of only hours now, she still couldn’t forget that Ed McKenna and Sheldon Forrest weren’t here to enjoy the festivities. And as far as she knew, the police were no closer to finding out who had killed them, despite the fact that Consuela remained in custody.

Phyllis had talked to Tom Anselmo the night before. “Our lawyer says they’ll have to release Consuela tomorrow. It’ll be the weekend, so they won’t be able to arraign her, and they can’t keep her until Monday without charging her.” The relief had been evident in her voice as he went on, “So she’ll be coming home.”

Phyllis was glad of that, but she knew that the police could take Consuela back into custody on Monday and charge her with murder if they wanted to. The physical evidence against her was only circumstantial, though, so she thought that the district attorney might decide not to press the case.

That would be a foregone conclusion if only Phyllis could figure out who was really responsible for the murders, but that didn’t seem likely to happen. That brick wall was still as solid as ever.

Meanwhile, she boxed up the cookies in a plastic container after breakfast and went to find Sam. “I’m going to ride to the SeaFair with you, if that’s all right,” she told him. “Carolyn wants to come later, and I told her she could borrow my car.”

“Sure, that’s fine,” Sam agreed, as Phyllis had known that he would. “Were you wantin’ to go on now? Those young people have already left, and I think the Blaines are about to.”

Raquel wouldn’t be going to the celebration, of course. The local funeral parlor was shipping Sheldon’s body back to Houston today, and his funeral would take place on Monday. Raquel had made the arrangements the previous afternoon. Chief Clifton was allowing her to return to Houston for the funeral, as well as Leo and Jessica, but he had asked all of them to stay where he could get in touch with them after that.

“I’m almost ready to go,” Phyllis told Sam. “Let me get some sunblock and my hat.”

She had a straw hat with a wide brim that would shield her face, and she rubbed sunblock on her arms since the day was warm and she was wearing a short-sleeved blouse over capri-length jeans. It would be a long day, a lot of it spent in the sun, and she was dressing for comfort, not style. However, she thought she looked pretty good, too, as she glanced at the mirror over the dressing table in her bedroom.

She went down to the kitchen and got the cookies, then found Sam and Eve waiting for her just outside the back door. Eve wore jeans, too, although as usual hers were considerably tighter than the ones Phyllis wore.

Sam nodded toward the house next door, where a large moving van was backed up. “Looks like the neighbors are movin’ out,” he said.

“I knew they were going to,” Phyllis said. She saw Darcy Maxwell standing beside the moving van, supervising as the movers loaded furniture into it. “I suppose I should go over there and say good-bye on behalf of Dorothy and Ben, since they were neighbors for a long time.” She handed the container of cookies to Sam, who took them without complaint. “I’ll be right back.”

Darcy saw her coming and smiled. “Good morning,” she said. “On your way to the SeaFair?”

“That’s right. I’m surprised you’re not going.”

“No, we’re done with Rockport. We’re going inland, where the humidity isn’t as bad. My husband’s arthritis can’t take it anymore. Thank goodness for Garrett Development.”

“What’s that?” Phyllis asked with a puzzled frown.

“The company that bought our place,” Darcy explained. “They made us a very generous offer, too.”