W
hen she and Sam reached the tent where the competition would take place, she saw that the entries had been brought out from the trailer and were now placed on folding tables in the shade of the awning for people to look at before the actual judging began. Carolyn was there, standing proudly near her pie, and Eve was with her.
Phyllis was surprised to see that Dale and Abby Clifton were there as well. Dale was sitting at a small table with another man and a middle-aged woman. A folded cardboard sign set up on the table in front of them read JUDGES ONLY, and they had a stack of scoring sheets in front of them.
Phyllis went over to Abby, who greeted her with a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Newsom. I was just checking out all the goodies. They look mighty good.”
“I didn’t know your father was going to be one of the judges.”
Abby laughed. “Neither did he until a few minutes ago. One of the regular judges couldn’t make it, so Dad got volunteered to take his place.”
“I wonder who volunteered him.”
“I’ll never tell,” Abby said with another laugh. “Anyway, it’s a good thing we’re here. We’ll be on hand if a riot breaks out. People take their desserts seriously around here.”
Phyllis wanted to dislike Abby and her father because of what Consuela had been put through, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. The Cliftons were just doing their job as they saw fit, whether Phyllis agreed with it or not. They didn’t really bear any ill will toward Consuela. In fact, Phyllis had gotten the distinct impression that they would have preferred not to bring her in for questioning.
Phyllis felt like pointing out to Abby that all the other suspects in the murders were on hand here at the SeaFair, but she wasn’t sure it would do any good. The police had their hands full with the celebration this weekend. The mystery of who had killed Ed McKenna and Sheldon Forrest had been put on the back burner for now, she supposed.
But it wouldn’t hurt to ask, so she said to Abby, “Is there anything new on the murders?”
“Not really. We plan to question Charles Jefferson on Monday, although that lawyer of his is going to try to make it as difficult as possible. We’ve already checked him out, though, and he has a solid alibi for the McKenna killing.”
“What about Sheldon’s murder?”
Abby shook her head. “Sheldon Forrest was Jefferson’s son-in-law. They got along all right, and so did Sheldon and his wife, so Jefferson wouldn’t have had any motive there. I just don’t see it.”
Neither did Phyllis. Several different people had had reason to want Ed McKenna dead, but none of them had been at the bed-and-breakfast when the crab cakes were poisoned. And Sheldon’s murder just made no sense at all. Once Phyllis had discovered that there hadn’t been any affair between Sheldon and Jessica Blaine, the only reasonable motive for anyone to kill him had disappeared as well.
Then there was the matter of the two deaths occurring so close together. Either there were separate murderers, which would be a coincidence almost beyond belief, or there was some connection between Sheldon and Ed McKenna that she just wasn’t seeing . . .
She was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice that the judging had begun. Each of the judges was presented with a sample from each entry. Phyllis sat down on one of the folding chairs that had been set up in several rows and watched as the judges went about their work with serious demeanors. One of the local ladies served as mistress of ceremonies, announcing each of the entries but not the names of the contestants. She kept the large audience laughing with her comments about the cookies, pies, cakes, brownies, and puddings.
Somebody sat down behind Phyllis and leaned forward to put a hand on her shoulder. “Hi, Mrs. Newsom,” Kate Thompson said. “Have they announced any of the winners yet?”
Phyllis turned half around on the metal chair. “No, I guess they’re going to sample the entries in all the categories and then announce all the winners at the same time.” She looked along the row of metal chairs and saw Leo and Jessica sitting a few yards away. Kate seemed to be alone, though. “Where’s Nick?”
She made a face. “The heat got to him. He had to leave. Poor baby gets queasy when he gets too hot. I thought maybe I could catch a ride back to the bed-and-breakfast with you and Mr. Fletcher.”
“Both of our vehicles are here. I’m sure someone can take you home, dear . . . although it’s not really your home, is it?”
“I sort of wish it was,” Kate said with a wistful expression on her face. “I really like it down here. I was sort of hoping that if the deal went through, we could move to this area.”
Phyllis frowned. “Deal? What deal?”
“Your cousin didn’t tell you about it?”
“All right,” the mistress of ceremonies said into the microphone attached to the portable public address system she was using, “we’re ready to announce the winners, including the grand prize winner!”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Kate said. “Right now we want to see who won.”
But Phyllis didn’t care anymore. Her hand shot out and grasped Sam’s arm. “Take me back to Oak Knoll,” she said.
“Right now?” he asked with a frown. “But they’re about to tell who won—”
“I have to go now, Sam!”
His eyebrows shot up as he realized what was going on. “Son of a gun! Come on!”
They got to their feet and hurried out from under the shade of the tent. Phyllis heard Kate calling after them in confusion but didn’t stop. There was no time to explain.
“Who is it?” Sam asked when they were in the pickup and he was turning the key in the ignition.
“Nick,” Phyllis said.
“Nick Thompson? That kid? Shoot, Phyllis, he’s harmless!”
She shook her head as he pulled out onto the highway and gunned the truck toward Fulton Beach Road. “When I was looking through the files on Dorothy’s computer, I saw all the registration information on the guests, including the scans of their driver’s licenses. The name on Kate’s license is Katherine Garrett Thompson. Her father owns Garrett Development, the company that Nick works for. The company that bought Darcy Maxwell’s house next door for what she called a very generous offer. I’ll bet Garrett owns the empty house on the other side, as well. But the company needs Oak Knoll, too, in order to tear all those old places down and put up a new multimillion-dollar resort.”
Sam sent the pickup veering onto the beach road. “You don’t know that.”
“Kate mentioned some sort of deal in this area that didn’t work out. What else could it have been? Nick probably scouted out the location and recommended it to his father-in-law, but then Dorothy and Ben refused to sell because this is their home and has been for so long. That ruined everything . . . and you heard what Nick said about his father-in-law. He said that Garrett would even fire Kate if she fouled up. He must be afraid for his job.”
Phyllis had been talking rapidly, fitting the pieces of the theory together in her mind at the same time she was putting it into words. She paused, and Sam said, “So he starts murderin’ folks?”
“We said it over and over . . . murder would ruin the bed-and-breakfast business for Dorothy and Ben. They’d have to sell out to Garrett, but probably for a lot lower price now. Nick would come out all right after all.”
“How in the world did you put this together?”
“Because there’s no connection between the murders except for the fact that Ed McKenna and Sheldon Forrest
were both staying at Oak Knoll.
The murders weren’t directed at them, but rather at the bed-and-breakfast.”
Sam shook his head. “Darned if it doesn’t fit together,” he admitted, “but would somebody really kill a couple of strangers over a real estate deal?”
“Every killer has a reason that makes sense to him or her, whether it does to anybody else or not.”
“So why are we rushin’ back there now?” Sam asked as the pickup slewed around a curve in the road next to the water.
“Because Nick left the SeaFair claiming that he didn’t feel well. Raquel’s alone at Oak Knoll.”
“Good Lord,” Sam muttered. “He’s gonna kill her, too.”
“And then pretend to discover her body, just like he would have pretended to discover McKenna’s body on the pier if we hadn’t come along. Remember, he and Kate were heading in that direction.”
Sam glanced over at her. “You reckon Kate knows what he’s been doin’? Is she part of it?”
“I don’t think so. If she was, she wouldn’t have mentioned that failed deal to me just now. That’s what made it all click for me. That’s when I remembered seeing her maiden name in those computer files.”
They were in sight of Oak Knoll now. Everything looked all right at the bed-and-breakfast . . . but that didn’t mean that it was.
“Stop in front,” Phyllis said. “I want to get inside as quickly as possible.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Sam said as he steered the pickup toward the side of the road in front of the house. “You’re not goin’ in. I am.”
“Sam, this is my responsibility. I’m looking after the place for Dorothy—”
“And I’m lookin’ out for you, whether you like it or not.” He brought the pickup to a stop and killed the engine. “Stay here.”
With that he had the door open and was out of the pickup, his long legs taking him up the steps to the porch and inside in several bounds. Phyllis wanted to call after him to be careful, but she didn’t want to warn Nick that someone was coming. She thought Sam could overpower the younger man if he took him by surprise.
But there was no way she could just sit there and wait in the pickup, she realized. Since the driver’s door was still open, she slid across the seat and stepped out.
Sam had left the wooden door open when he went inside. Phyllis eased the screen door back and stepped into the foyer, listening intently. She didn’t hear anything . . . then suddenly there was a heavy thump from upstairs, like something had fallen on the floor.
Something . . . or someone.
She wanted to call Sam’s name, but instead she kept her mouth shut and moved to the stairs. She had just started up them when Nick Thompson appeared at the second-floor landing.
“Oh, hell,” he said with what sounded like genuine regret. “Not you, too, Mrs. Newsom.” He sighed. “I guess that all three of you will have to die in the fire that burns this place to the ground. I didn’t really want to do that, but you’re not leaving me much choice.”
Phyllis stared at him in horror. She knew that Sam was hurt or even dead, and she wanted to go to him, but on the chance that he was still alive, she couldn’t help him if she allowed Nick to kill her, too.
She spun around and lunged for the front door.
She reached it while Nick was still only halfway down the stairs, cursing as he came after her. Flinging the screen door open, she raced toward the pickup, but as she slapped her hands against it to stop herself, she glanced in and saw that the ignition was empty. Out of habit, Sam had pulled the key and taken it with him when he got out. The houses on either side of Oak Knoll were empty, and there were gaps of several vacant lots in either direction before there were more houses.
And Fulton Beach Road was empty at the moment.
Everybody was at the SeaFair.
“Come on, Mrs. Newsom,” Nick said as he came down the walk toward her. “Let’s don’t make this any worse than it has to be.”
“Why, Nick?” she said, trying not to gasp from fear. “For a real estate deal?”
His affable look disappeared as his face twisted in a grimace. “You don’t know what it’s like to work for that bastard. He never thought I was good enough to marry Kate in the first place. If I don’t deliver this place to him, he’s gonna make my life a living hell. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any choice.”
“Everybody . . . everybody always has choices . . .”
He shook his head. “Not me. And not you, anymore.”
He was right about that. The only thing Phyllis could do was turn and run.
She headed straight across the street toward the pier, and a second later her shoes slapped the planks as she ran out onto it. Someone would come along Fulton Beach Road and see him chasing her, she told herself. Someone would stop and help.
But as she glanced desperately in both directions, she saw that the road was still empty.
She backed away as he came on inexorably. “Maybe this will work out,” he said. “You walked out onto the pier by yourself, slipped and fell in, and drowned. A real tragedy. But it probably happened when you saw that the house was on fire and tried to run back in. I’ll still have to burn it down to take care of Sam and Mrs. Forrest and make it look like an accident, too.”
“Three accidental deaths in one day, less than a week after two murders?” Phyllis shook her head as she continued backing toward the end of the pier. “The police will never believe it.”
“Maybe not, but there’s nothing to tie me to any of it. I don’t have any motive.”
“You can’t get away with this in broad daylight!”
Nick shook his head. “Oh, you’d be surprised what you can get away with. The people on the other side didn’t want to sell, either, but their heirs were willing to after they were killed by a hit-and-run driver. Another damned shame.”
A cold chill went through Phyllis as she realized that Ed McKenna wasn’t the first person Nick had murdered. He was a serial killer, all right, but he wasn’t doing it for the thrills.
He was doing it to impress his father-in-law.
“I still say this doesn’t have to be hard . . .”
“Yes,” Phyllis said. “It does. The police are here.”
Nick looked like he was about to say something about not falling for that old trick, when the squeal of tires coming to a skidding stop at the end of the pier made him stiffen. He turned his head and stared as Abby Clifton lunged out of the cruiser and ran out onto the pier, gun in hand. “Get down, Mrs. Newsom!” she called.
Phyllis dropped to the wet, clammy planks just in case Abby had to fire. Nick wasn’t going to put up a fight, though. His shoulders drooped in defeat. He turned and Abby took him down with expert ease, pulling his wrists behind him one-handed and fastening them together with a plastic restraint without ever holstering her gun. Then she stepped back, hauled Nick to his feet, and prodded him toward shore while Phyllis was climbing to her feet again. Abby glanced back and asked, “Are you all right?”