Killer Crab Cakes (30 page)

“Oh. For some reason I thought you’d sold it to some other family, that Dorothy and Ben would be getting new neighbors.”

“Could be,” Darcy said with a shrug. “Garrett may have bought the place as an investment with an eye toward reselling it. Flipping it, you know.”

Phyllis nodded. She had heard the term before.

With barely a pause for breath, Darcy went on, “Isn’t it terrible about Consuela? I never would have dreamed she would do such a thing! I’m glad now that I wasn’t able to hire her away from Dorothy. It’s sure going to be a blow to the bed-and-breakfast when word gets around that the cook killed at least one of the guests.”

“Consuela didn’t kill anybody,” Phyllis said, her voice stiff with anger now. She wanted to be polite because Darcy Maxwell had been her cousin’s neighbor for a lot of years and because, well, it was her nature to be so. But she was irritated enough to add, “I don’t see how anyone could ever believe that Consuela is a murderer.”

Darcy shrugged. “Well, the police arrested her, didn’t they? And the wild stories I’ve heard about those daughters of hers and the way they carry on with the male guests . . . Dorothy should have sold out when she had the chance.”

Phyllis resisted the impulse to give the woman a piece of her mind. Instead she just nodded and said as briefly as possible, “Well, have a nice trip.”

“Sure. Say good-bye to Dorothy and Ben for us, will you?”

“Of course,” Phyllis said. What she wanted to say to Darcy Maxwell was good riddance. The woman really did have a wagging tongue, as Consuela had said.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked when Phyllis walked back over to the pickup. “You look a mite annoyed.”

“Some people just get on my nerves, and that woman is one of them,” Phyllis said. She took the cookies back from Sam. “Let’s go.”

What Chief Clifton had said about the traffic was right. The cars on the highway slowed to a crawl as they approached Rockport Harbor. The SeaFair was held in a large grassy, parklike area adjacent to the water. Cars filled the parking areas around the harbor and the Maritime Museum, and they lined the shoulders of all the surrounding roads as well. Huge awnings with brightly colored stripes on them were arranged to form tents that were laid out in a rough rectangle around the outside of the fair area, with smaller tents in the center of the open area. And everywhere there were people, also as Chief Clifton had predicted.

Even though it was relatively early, Sam had to park far enough away so that they had a good walk to reach the fair. There was a nice breeze off the water, though, so it wasn’t unpleasant. Phyllis enjoyed seeing all the families with young children. The kids all looked so happy and excited. They would remember these good times for the rest of their lives, she thought.

Music from one of the center tents filled the air, along with the hubbub of the crowd. Local bands would be playing there all day and on into the evening.

Phyllis, Sam, and Eve paid their admission fees at a ticket booth and were given plastic wristbands that were good for the rest of the weekend. Eve frowned at hers and said, “They could have made these more colorful and stylish, couldn’t they?”

“Maybe you should suggest that to someone,” Phyllis said. She looked around for one of the volunteers, located a lady with a SEAFAIR STAFF tag on her shirt, and asked where the entries for the Just Desserts competition were being taken. The woman pointed her toward the front part of the group of tents.

Phyllis had filled out an entry form on the Internet and had been given a number, which she had taped to the side of the container of cookies. “Judging will be in the yellow-striped tent at the front of the fair area at one o’clock,” the woman told her.

She glanced at Phyllis’s entry form, which included her address, and continued, “My goodness, you didn’t come all the way down here just to enter our little contest, did you?”

“No, my friends and I were down here anyway,” Phyllis explained without going into detail. She didn’t want to have to tell the woman that they were temporarily running the bed-and-breakfast where all the murders were taking place.

“Well, good luck, dear,” the woman said with a smile. “These cookies certainly look good, and presentation is part of the judging.”

“Got that taken care of ?” Sam asked a few minutes later, when Phyllis emerged from the yellow-striped tent, where she had left the cookies with the other entries, watched over by several volunteers.

“Yes, all we have to do now is wait for one o’clock.” She looked around. “Where’s Eve?”

Sam waved toward the center tents, where arts and crafts and various sorts of merchandise were displayed. “She headed off over yonder to have a look around. Said she’d catch up to us later.”

“That’s fine,” Phyllis said with a nod. There was no reason they all had to stay together. “What would you like to look at first?”

“I’m game for anything you want to do,” Sam said. “Or we can start at one end and just look at everything until we get to the other end.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Phyllis said as she slipped her hand in his.

They spent the morning wandering along the wide, grassy aisles formed by the tents, with Tejano, country, and rock music from the groups playing in the big center tent providing a sound track. The areas underneath the tent awnings were divided up into booths selling all sorts of merchandise from T-shirts to sculptures made of seashells to driftwood carvings. Nautical motifs dominated, along with fish, pelicans, seagulls, palm trees, and anything else you could think of connected with life along the coast.

Phyllis enjoyed herself, but the unsolved murders continued to nag at her brain, even in these festive surroundings. More than ever, she felt like the answer to all the questions she had was within reach, if only she could grasp it.

“Mrs. Newsom!” a familiar voice called from behind her and Sam. They turned to see Leo and Jessica coming toward them. The Blaines were actually holding hands, which was something of a surprise to Phyllis. She wouldn’t have thought that Jessica was willing to go that far toward forgiving Leo just yet. But in the middle of a celebration like this, she supposed it was hard to stay mad, especially when Leo seemed to be making an effort to earn Jessica’s trust again.

“What do you think?” he asked with a grin as he and Jessica walked up. “Quite a shindig, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Phyllis said. “Are the two of you enjoying yourselves?”

“It’s been fun so far,” Jessica admitted. “I feel sort of bad about saying that when we have to drive back to Houston tomorrow and go to poor Sheldon’s funeral on Monday, but . . .”

“Life goes on,” Leo finished for her. “I don’t mean that in a callous way, but it’s true. Nothing we can do will bring Sheldon back.” He gestured toward one of the tents with the soft drink that he held in his hand and went on, “Sign over there says they’re gonna be starting the gumbo cook-off in a few minutes. I’ve got to check that out.”

“Me, too,” Sam said.

“Why don’t you go on with Leo and Jessica?” Phyllis suggested to him. “I see a display of homemade quilts over there I want to look at.”

“All right,” he said with a nod. “Where’ll we meet up again?”

“I’ll come to the center tent in a little while. That’s where you’ll be anyway.”

“It’s a deal,” Sam said. He set off with the Blaines for the gumbo cook-off.

Phyllis looked over the quilts, which were all elaborately stitched and beautiful. They reminded her poignantly of her late friend Mattie Harris, who had been an expert quilter.

She was standing in front of the display when a voice said behind her, “Well, hello, Mrs. Newsom. We seem to run into you wherever we go.”

Phyllis turned and saw Charles Jefferson and Roger Fadiman standing there. The business mogul and the lawyer both wore expensive suits and looked totally out of place in the middle of this casual, fun-loving crowd.

“No offense, but what are you two doing here?” she asked. “This doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d attend.”

“They’re here to meet me,” Oliver McKenna said as he stepped up. “We’re going to settle this deal between us . . . and I didn’t exactly feel comfortable about meeting these two unless it was in a public place.” He gestured at the crowded surroundings. “You can’t get much more public than this.”

“You’re paranoid, Oliver,” Jefferson said. “Why would Roger and I wish you any harm?”

“I haven’t forgotten what happened to my father,” Oliver replied with a darkly ominous frown.

“I had absolutely no reason to want to hurt your father,” Jefferson pointed out.

“Other than the fact that he might have killed the deal we worked out, if somebody hadn’t killed him.” An oily smile appeared on Oliver’s face. “I’ve done some more research. The Jefferson-Bartell Group isn’t quite as secure as it seems on the surface. You need this acquisition.”

“And so do you,” Jefferson snapped. “You can’t keep McKenna Electronics afloat without an influx of new capital, which I’m willing to provide. It’s the proverbial win-win, so let’s get it done.”

“Fine by me.” Oliver gave Phyllis a curt nod. “Mrs. Newsom.”

The three of them walked off into the crowd without Jefferson or Fadiman giving Phyllis even a perfunctory good-bye. Just as well, she thought. She didn’t like any of them. They could do their business and go away, as far as she was concerned.

But she was interested, a moment later, to spot Oscar McKenna and Frances Heaton moving through the crowd as well. From the looks of it, they were following Oliver, Jefferson, and Fadiman. The other two siblings clearly didn’t trust Oliver and wanted to know what he was up to. Phyllis was glad that she didn’t have to be in the middle of that mess.

She was making her way toward the center tent to look for Sam when she saw several more familiar figures walking through the fair. “Consuela!” she called. All four of the Anselmos were together again.

Impulsively, Phyllis threw her arms around Consuela and gave her a hug. “Thank goodness they let you go!”

Consuela’s answering smile was tinged with worry. “Yes, but it may not last. Our lawyer warned me that they may take me into custody again first thing Monday morning.”

“Surely not,” Phyllis said. “Dale and Abby Clifton aren’t fools. They have to know that you couldn’t possibly be a killer.”

Tom said, “Of course she couldn’t. That’s why I insisted that we come to the SeaFair. Everything’s going to get back to normal now.”

He didn’t look or sound like he was totally convinced of that, however. Neither did his wife or daughters. Worry still lurked on all their faces.

“You’ll stop at the dessert competition and try my cookies, won’t you?” Phyllis asked.

“Sure,” Tom said. “We’ll be there.”

They lifted hands in farewell and moved on. Phyllis went into the big center tent and found that the gumbo cook-off was over, with winners in several different categories having been declared. But now cups of all the entries were available to be purchased, and she found Sam doing his best to try each and every one.

“Want some gumbo?” he asked with a grin.

“That sounds all right. Something that’s not too spicy, though. Can you recommend one of the varieties you’ve already tried?”

“Sure.” He threw away the cup he had just emptied and took her arm. “Let’s try that table right over there.”

The gumbo was excellent, just spicy enough without being too hot for Phyllis’s taste. It was good enough that she had a couple of cups of it, in fact, washed down with swigs from a canned Dr Pepper that came out of a barrel of ice. When she was finished eating, she and Sam sat at one of the tables and listened to the music for a while. While they were sitting there, she told him about running into the Anselmos, along with Jefferson, Fadiman, and Oliver McKenna, as well as seeing the other two McKenna siblings.

“Sounds like the whole gang’s here,” Sam commented. “The whole gang of suspects, I reckon I ought to say.”

“That’s true,” Phyllis said. “The only person involved with the case who isn’t here is Raquel.”

Sam frowned. “You don’t reckon that means something, do you?”

“I don’t know what it could be, if it does. Her husband hasn’t even been dead for forty-eight hours. No one could expect her to attend a big celebration like this.”

But if Raquel was innocent—which she didn’t know for a fact, Phyllis reminded herself—that meant the killer, or killers, likely
were
in attendance. Whoever had poisoned Ed McKenna and stabbed Sheldon Forrest could be in this very tent. Once again she began going over in her mind everything she had seen and heard over the past few days, and the music filling the air and the hustle and bustle of the crowd around her seemed to fade away. She didn’t really know how much time had passed when she finally gave a little shake of her head.

“You looked like you were thinkin’ mighty hard,” Sam said. “I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I kept my mouth shut.” He leaned toward her with an excited look on his face. “You know who killed those two, don’t you? You’ve solved the case.”

“I don’t have any earthly idea,” Phyllis said honestly as she looked at her watch. “Come on. We have to get to the dessert contest.”