The Pumpkin Muffin Murder (19 page)

“You got the results of the chemical analysis that fast?” Phyllis asked with a surprised frown.

Detective Largo smiled. “I called in some favors over in Tarrant County and got their forensics lab to run the tests right away. Chief Whitmire regards this case as high priority.”

Phyllis wasn’t surprised by that, considering both the victim and the circumstances. Logan’s status in the community and the bizarre nature of the case made it prime fodder for the media. It had been featured on the newcasts of the Fort Worth and Dallas television stations the night before, and there was a big story on the front page of the Fort Worth newspaper that morning.

“Were they able to get any fingerprints off that stake?”

Detective Largo shook her head. “Not off that rough wood.”

“What about the other forensics tests?”

“We recovered a number of hairs, but that doesn’t really mean anything. Several different women worked on those scarecrows and handled the costumes. It’s possible some of the hairs we found belong to you, Mrs. Newsom.”

A shiver went through Phyllis at that thought.

The detective went on. “None of the evidence clears Mrs. Powell, and since she’s the only one who had both the knowledge and the opportunity to kill her husband in this particular manner . . .” Her shrug was eloquent.

“Have you arrested Dana yet?”

“Mrs. Powell was taken into custody a short time ago. Just before I came over here, in fact. The chief wanted me to let you know about that, too.”

Phyllis looked intently at Detective Largo and said, “You’re wrong, you know. Dana didn’t kill him.”

“Means, motive, and opportunity, Mrs. Newsom. I know it’s a cliché, but Mrs. Powell had all three of them.”

“You’ve tied her to the sugar-free peppermints?”

Largo shrugged. “Not yet. I’ll admit, we may not be able to. But you can buy them in any grocery store. It’s not like she didn’t have access to them.”

“So did everyone else in town.”

“Everyone else in town didn’t have a reason to kill Logan Powell, nor the opportunity to switch the peppermints without him knowing about it.”

Unfortunately, that was true, Phyllis thought. She still didn’t believe that Dana was guilty.

“What about the affairs? All you know for sure is that Dana suspected Logan was cheating on her. You don’t have any proof that he really was.”

“We don’t need it,” Largo said. “Mrs. Powell’s suspicions alone are enough to constitute motive. It doesn’t matter whether Powell was actually having an affair as long as she
believed
that he was.” The detective paused. “But you can be sure that we’ll be investigating Mr. Powell’s background thoroughly. If he was involved with anyone else, chances are that we’ll find out about it.”

Phyllis sat there, unsure what to say next. The way Detective Largo summed up the case, it certainly sounded damning to Dana.

Phyllis didn’t have to say anything, because at that moment, Carolyn stepped into the living room and snapped at Detective Largo, “You’re insane. Dana Powell never killed anyone.”

Anger flashed in the detective’s eyes. “You’ve been eavesdropping, Mrs. Wilbarger?”

“I have a right to be in this house,” Carolyn declared. “More of a right than you do. I overheard what you were saying about Dana. It’s not true. Not any of it.”

“That’ll be up to the legal system to determine, starting with the district attorney. He’ll have to decide whether to prosecute Mrs. Powell.”

“Don’t you mean persecute?”

Detective Largo stood up. “We’re done here,” she said. “Mrs. Wilbarger, I’ll tell you what I told Mrs. Newsom. You’re not to discuss this case with anyone. The only reason I came here today was because Chief Whitmire asked me to. I think it was a mistake to let a civilian in on police department business, no matter how much help she may have been in the past.”

“I won’t say anything,” Phyllis told the detective, “and neither will Carolyn.”

“Speak for yourself,” Carolyn said.

“I’m warning you, you’ll be facing obstruction of justice charges if you disregard what I just told you,” Largo said. “Do you understand that, Mrs. Wilbarger?”

“I understand that you’re going to try to railroad poor Dana Powell. That’s what I understand.”

Largo sighed and shook her head. She turned toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Good-bye, Mrs. Newsom. Be smart. Stay out of this from now on.”

When the door had closed behind the detective, Carolyn said, “That . . . that . . .” She obviously couldn’t find the words to describe Detective Largo, not any that she was willing to use, anyway. She turned to Phyllis and went on, “You don’t think she’s right about Dana, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Phyllis said. “But from the sound of it, they have a pretty strong case against her. How much of it did you hear?”

“Enough to know that she thinks Dana killed Logan.”

“It’s worse than that,” Phyllis told her friend. “They’ve already arrested her.”

“My God,” Carolyn murmured. “We have to go down there and make sure she has a lawyer.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Where’s Bobby?”

“He went out into the garage with Sam. I think he was going to watch Sam work on those bookshelves he’s making.”

Phyllis started toward the kitchen. “I’ll make sure it’s all right with Sam if he keeps an eye on Bobby for a while. Then we’ll go see what we can do to help Dana.”

P
hyllis had Juliette Yorke’s cell phone number, so she called the attorney from the car as she and Carolyn headed toward police headquarters. She didn’t know whether Dana was being held there or had already been transferred to the county jail, although it seemed unlikely that she would have been moved this soon.

Juliette Yorke didn’t answer, so Phyllis left a message on her voice mail, asking that the lawyer call her right away. Juliette returned the call just as Phyllis was pulling into the parking lot in front of the police building.

As Phyllis parked, she quickly explained the situation. Juliette listened, then said, “I know you’re worried about your friend, Mrs. Newsom, but I can’t just come down there and offer to represent Mrs. Powell. It wouldn’t be ethical. She’s going to have to call me, or at least ask you to retain me on her behalf. But there’s really nothing I can do to help her today.”

“Why not?” Phyllis asked. “Because it’s Sunday?”

“That’s right. There won’t be any bail hearings until tomorrow morning.”

“Will they even let Dana out on bail, since she’s being charged with murder?”

“That’s hard to say, but it’s possible. Of course, just because she’s been arrested doesn’t necessarily mean that she’ll be formally charged. The district attorney could decide not to go forward with the case. That would be the best outcome, because then Mrs. Powell would be freed without her having to raise bail, and there wouldn’t be any charges hanging over her head. Of course, that wouldn’t stop the police from arresting her again later on and charging her then, if they thought they had new evidence to make their case stronger.”

Phyllis sighed. Carolyn was watching her intently from the passenger seat, clearly frustrated by being able to hear only Phyllis’s side of the conversation.

“Right now, try to talk to Mrs. Powell,” Juliette went on, “although they may not let you see her. If they do, find out if she wants me to represent her. If she does, let me know and I’ll do what I can to make sure she gets a bail hearing tomorrow. They may want to postpone that until the arraignment, though, if they’ve decided to move quickly on that.”

It was all a labyrinth of rules and procedures to Phyllis, and she hoped that Dana would be able to hire Juliette Yorke or someone equally competent to help guide her through it. She said, “I’ll be in touch,” and closed the cell phone.

“Is she going to be able to help us?” Carolyn asked.

“I don’t know yet. The first thing we have to do is see if they’ll let us talk to Dana.”

“They have to, don’t they? They can’t just hold her prisoner and not allow anyone to see her or talk to her.”

“Actually, they can hold her for a while without charging her,” Phyllis said. “I don’t really know how much time they’re allowed to do that.”

“What about her one phone call?” Carolyn demanded indignantly.

“Maybe she’s already called a lawyer. We don’t know. But we’ll try to find out.”

The two women went into the building, and as they did so, Phyllis thought that even though the weather was every bit as beautiful as it had been earlier, the day seemed to have a pall hanging over it now.

When they told the tall, burly officer at the desk what they wanted, he said, “You’ll have to talk to Detective Largo. That’s her case.”

“We just spoke with Detective Largo a short time ago,” Phyllis explained.

“And what did she tell you?”

To stay out of the case
, Phyllis thought, but she didn’t say that to the officer because she knew he would take it to mean that they couldn’t talk to Dana Powell.

“She said that Chief Whitmire specifically told her to bring us up to date on what’s happening in the Powell case,” Phyllis said instead. That was true enough, and it made her and Carolyn sound like insiders who might be allowed a few special privileges.

“Well, I’m sorry,” the officer said with a shake of his head, “but I can’t help you without specific authorization. You’ll have to talk to Detective Largo.” He reached for the phone. “I can see if she’s in her office and has time to see you.”

Phyllis shook her head, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good to talk to Largo again. She had started to turn away, hoping that she wouldn’t have to drag Carolyn out of there, when the officer went on, “Say, Mike Newsom’s your son, isn’t he?”

Phyllis nodded. “That’s right. Do you know him?”

“We were in some of the same criminal justice classes. He’s a really good guy. How’s he doing over there in the sheriff’s department?”

“He’s doing fine,” Phyllis said.

“Next time you see him, tell him that Warren Schofield says hello.”

Phyllis smiled and said, “I’ll do that, Officer Schofield.”

“You know . . .” Schofield leaned back in his chair. “Detective Largo didn’t actually order me not to let anybody see the prisoner. And it’s not like you ladies are reporters or anything like that. You’re more like friends of the family, right?”

“That’s exactly what we are,” Carolyn said. “Old friends.”

“Hang on a minute. Let me call back there and see what I can do.”

Still smiling, Phyllis said, “We’d really appreciate that.”

A few minutes later, after Officer Warren Schofield had navigated through a small sea of red tape for them, Phyllis found herself in a tiny room, sitting in an uncomfortable wooden chair on one side of a table divided by a screen and glass barrier. An officer brought Dana Powell in through a door on the other side of the room and motioned for her to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. There was no telephone like on the TV shows. Phyllis and Dana could talk through the square of wire mesh in the center of the glass wall.

Dana wore the same clothes she’d been wearing at the park the day before. That was probably all she had with her when she was arrested at the hospital. She wouldn’t be issued coveralls until she was transferred to the county jail.

Her hair was tangled and her face was haggard. She looked twenty years older than she had a couple of days earlier when Phyllis and Carolyn had gone to the school to pick up those scarecrows. Mostly, though, she just looked scared and confused.

She leaned toward the mesh and said, “Phyllis, what are you doing here?” Her voice sounded dull and stunned.

“Carolyn and I came to see if we can help you,” Phyllis said. “She’s here, too, just outside. They’d only let one of us come in, and she said I should do it.”

You’re the one who’s going to figure out who really killed Logan and clear Dana’s name
, Carolyn had said when they’d reached the door of this room, accompanied by Officer Schofield.
You should talk to her.

“You can’t help me,” Dana said. “Nobody can help me. My husband is dead, and . . . and they . . . they think I killed him.”

Phyllis could tell that Dana’s grip on her emotions was fragile at best. She might collapse into sobs at any moment. So Phyllis said quickly, “Listen to me, Dana. Have you called a lawyer?”

“What? A lawyer? No, I . . . I don’t really know any lawyers. . . .”

“Well, I do. I know a good one named Juliette Yorke. Is it all right if I call her and ask her to defend you?”

“I suppose so. I’ll need a lawyer, won’t I? They think I killed Logan. They really do. It’s the craziest thing. It’s just . . . crazy. . . .”

With that, tears began to roll down Dana’s cheeks, and she put her head on her arms where they lay on the table in front of her. Her shoulders shook from her sobs. Phyllis looked up, unsure what to do, but the door on the other side of the room was already opening. The officer who had brought Dana here came in. He must have been watching through the small window in the door and seen Dana break down, Phyllis thought.