Killer Crab Cakes (22 page)

“And she was here when you and Mr. Fletcher got back a little while ago.”

“That’s right,” Phyllis admitted. “She was preparing supper. Tamale soup.” Knowing that it was irrelevant but unable to stop herself, she added, “It’s one of her specialties, and it smelled delicious.”

“All right,” Abby said with a nod. “Did you see her husband or either of their daughters?”

“No. Tom was doing yard work earlier, but I didn’t see him when we came in this time. And I suppose the girls were finished with their work for the day and had gone home.”

“My dad told me about all the uproar during the search this morning. It’s fair to say that Consuela was very upset with Leo Blaine, isn’t it?”

“She was upset with Leo,” Phyllis admitted, knowing there was no point in denying that. “But as far as I know she hadn’t had any trouble at all with Sheldon. He never bothered anyone.”

Unless Leo hadn’t known that Sheldon was fooling around with his wife.
That
might have bothered him, Phyllis realized. She had assumed that the carrying-on had been mutual with both couples, but maybe it hadn’t. And if it hadn’t, and Raquel had found out—or Leo—then either of them might have been angry enough to plunge a knife into Sheldon’s chest . . .

Yet another complication, Phyllis thought, and a whole new motive for murder that might not have anything to do with Ed McKenna’s death.

“I suppose that’s all I need right now,” Abby was saying. “You and Mr. Fletcher won’t be leaving town anytime soon, will you?”

“We plan to stay until my cousin and her husband can come back down here to take over the business again,” Phyllis said. That reminded her that she would have to call Dorothy and break the bad news of yet another murder. She hoped that at least the grandchild’s medical condition was improving.

“You may have to stay longer than that,” Abby warned, “depending on how the investigation goes. Right now, though, you’re free to go on about whatever you need to do, as long as you don’t leave town.”

“Thank you,” Phyllis said, and she couldn’t completely eliminate the tone of stiff reserve from her voice. She didn’t like what was going on, didn’t like being on the outside of the investigation looking in.

Phyllis and Sam went out to the kitchen and found Nick and Kate Thompson there along with Consuela. “Is it true?” Nick asked. “Is Sheldon Forrest really dead?”

“How did you know it was Sheldon?” Phyllis asked.

Nick shrugged. “We saw Raquel on her knees out in the hall, screaming her head off and waving her bloody hands around. It seemed like a logical conclusion.”

Phyllis nodded and said, “Yes, Sheldon is dead.”

“Murdered?”

“Stabbed in the chest. I suppose that technically it
could
be suicide . . .”

“Did his wife do it?” Kate asked.

“I have no idea,” Phyllis answered honestly. “If you saw Raquel, then you know as much as we do.”

Consuela shook her head. “He could be an annoying man, but he really wasn’t that bad. Not like his friend Mr. Blaine.”

“Did either of you see or hear anything unusual this afternoon?” Phyllis asked Nick and Kate.

“Not until Mrs. Forrest started screaming,” Nick said.

“Of course, we were asleep part of the time,” Kate said.

“There must be something in the air down here. I swear, I could take five naps a day. Couldn’t you, Nick?”

“At least,” he said. “It started as soon as we got here, too. Like Kate says, something in the air, I guess.”

“Do you know where the Blaines are?”

“No clue,” Nick said. “I know Mrs. Wilbarger and Mrs. Turner went shopping earlier, though. Are they back yet?”

“I haven’t seen them,” Phyllis said. Inside, she heaved a sigh of relief. She hoped Carolyn and Eve were still poking around shell shops and art galleries. The police wouldn’t have any reason to suspect them of being involved in Sheldon Forrest’s murder, but it would be even better if they weren’t anywhere around when he was killed.

Turning to Consuela, Phyllis went on, “Did Tom finally stop mowing the grass and go home?”

Consuela nodded. “That’s right. He left when I did, when I finished cleaning up after lunch.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Wait a minute. You don’t think Tom had anything to do with Mr. Forrest’s death, do you, Mrs. Newsom?”

“Of course not. But the police are going to want to know where everyone was.”

“Hey, Kate and I were here,” Nick said with a worried frown, “and we don’t have any alibi except each other.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kate said. “We never even met any of these people until we came down here on vacation.” Despite that, however, she looked a little worried, too. That was a natural reaction, Phyllis thought. Nobody liked being mixed up with murder, even as an innocent bystander.

“What about your girls?” Phyllis asked Consuela.

A stony expression came over the woman’s face. “I’m not sure I want to say anything more to you, Mrs. Newsom,” she said. “You act like
you
think we’re all suspects, that it’s not just the cops who feel that way.”

“Not at all,” Phyllis insisted. “I’ve never believed that any of you had anything to do with Ed McKenna’s death, and I certainly don’t think you had any reason to hurt Sheldon Forrest. I’m just trying to get everything straightened out in my own mind.”

That seemed to mollify Consuela a little. She said, “Theresa and Bianca have gone home. Bianca’s grounded indefinitely, and I asked Theresa to stay there, too, and make sure that her sister didn’t go out before I get home this evening.”

“What about Tom?”

Consuela shrugged. “I suppose he’s there, too. He wasn’t planning to go anywhere, as far as I know.”

But what it came down to, Phyllis thought, was that Consuela couldn’t positively account for the whereabouts of any of her family over the past couple of hours. None of them could have come in through the kitchen while Consuela was here cooking, but any of them could have slipped in the front, gone upstairs, and stabbed Sheldon Forrest, although for the life of her, Phyllis couldn’t see any reason why Tom or Theresa or Bianca would have done so.

Unless there was something going on between Bianca and Sheldon, as there had been between her and Leo Blaine? On the surface, that idea seemed ridiculous to Phyllis. For goodness’ sake, Sheldon should have had his hands full with the earthy, voluptuous Raquel, not to mention whatever he had been doing with Jessica Blaine.

Phyllis’s previous investigations had taught her that almost nothing was too far-fetched to be impossible, though, when it came to murder.

Before she could ask Consuela about anything else, she heard the front door open; then Carolyn’s loud, distinctive voice said, “Oh, dear Lord. Not another one?”

Phyllis and Sam hurried out of the kitchen and along the hall to the foyer, where they found Carolyn and Eve standing with their hands full of bags from a couple of souvenir and shell shops. Abby Clifton had emerged from the parlor and stood there, too.

“What do you mean by ‘another one,’ Mrs. Wilbarger?” the assistant chief asked.

“Why, another murder, of course,” Carolyn answered without hesitation. “We come back here to find police cars and sheriff’s department vans parked along the road and the assistant chief of police waiting in the parlor, what are we supposed to think?”

Abby didn’t answer the question. Instead, she asked another of her own. “Where have you ladies been this afternoon?”

Carolyn held up the plastic bags that were decorated with the logos of various stores. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Are we playing Questions Only?” Eve asked.

Both Carolyn and Abby looked at her and said, “What?”

“Both of you keep asking questions but not answering them,” Eve explained. “I thought you might be playing that improv game, Questions Only.”

Phyllis knew good and well Eve hadn’t really thought that. She was just trying to get on Carolyn’s nerves, as she sometimes did.

Abby didn’t seem to see the humor in it. She said, “I’ll ask the questions, and I’d appreciate some straight answers.”

“Eve and I have been shopping all afternoon,” Carolyn said. “Is that straight enough for you, Officer?”

Abby didn’t correct her, but Phyllis noticed that the assistant chief’s jaw tightened a little. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure plenty of people saw you?”

“Of course. And we have cash register receipts that may well have the time printed on them. I haven’t bothered to look.” Carolyn added pointedly, “I didn’t know that we might be called upon to produce an alibi. Who’s dead?”

Abby glanced at Phyllis and Sam, and Phyllis knew what she was thinking. As soon as Carolyn and Eve got a moment alone with them, they would tell the two newcomers what was going on. So there was no point in keeping it a secret.

“Mr. Forrest was killed this afternoon,” Abby said.

“That nerd?” Eve said. “I mean, that engineer from NASA?”

Abby nodded. “That’s right.”

“Who’d want to kill him?” Carolyn asked. “I never saw anyone who seemed quite so harmless.”

“Don’t worry,” Abby said. “We’ll find out.”

“Like you found out who murdered Mr. McKenna?”

Phyllis thought she ought to step in before Carolyn’s blunt nature got her in trouble. She took Carolyn’s arm and suggested, “Let’s go out to the kitchen.” She glanced at Abby Clifton. “That is, if it’s all right . . . ?”

Abby nodded. “Go ahead. There’s no need to question Mrs. Wilbarger and Mrs. Turner any further . . . right now.”

Phyllis tried not to see that statement as being ominous. She and Sam headed for the kitchen with Carolyn and Eve. Consuela, Nick, and Kate were still waiting there.

“All right,” Carolyn said when they were all gathered around the big table in the center of the room. “Tell us what’s going on here.”

“It appears to be the murder
du jour
,” Eve said.

Phyllis winced. Unfortunately, Eve was right. Two days, two mysterious deaths . . . not a good pattern.

She told Carolyn and Eve everything she knew about Sheldon’s death, which unfortunately wasn’t much. However, she didn’t say anything about the meeting she and Sam had had on the pier with Oliver McKenna, Charles Jefferson, and Roger Fadiman. She was going to keep that between the two of them for now. While she was convinced that Ed McKenna’s death was tied somehow to the corporate intrigue going on, she didn’t see any connection with Sheldon’s murder other than the fact that he was Charles Jefferson’s son-in-law.

But maybe there
was
something to that, she thought. Raquel could have found out about the takeover and told Sheldon, or he might have heard about it through his contacts at NASA, since both of the companies involved did some work for the space program. She would have to think that through, Phyllis told herself.

The front door opened again, and this time Phyllis heard the deep, powerful tones of Chief of Police Dale Clifton, though she couldn’t make out any of the actual words. She supposed that Dale had gone into the parlor so that his daughter could fill him in on the developments in the case so far. To be honest, Phyllis didn’t know if there had been any developments beyond the discovery of Sheldon’s body. It was possible that the crime-scene techs hadn’t found any evidence, although it seemed unlikely that the killer could leave the scene completely clean . . . at least, not according to TV.

A worried silence descended over the kitchen table as everyone waited to see what Chief Clifton would do. They heard heavy footsteps going up the stairs. Time stretched out uncomfortably. Finally, the footsteps came back down. A few minutes after that, Phyllis heard a bumping noise. It took her a moment to realize that the noise was caused by the gurney the ambulance attendants were taking up the stairs.

The bumps coming back down a few minutes later were louder, because now the gurney carried a weight on it, Phyllis thought. A deadweight. She steeled herself not to wince every time the wheels thumped down another riser.

At last the gurney rolled out the front door, taking its grisly burden with it. It was a small relief knowing that the bloody corpse was no longer upstairs, but the relief was short-lived because Dale Clifton appeared in the kitchen doorway with Abby behind him. A grim expression was etched into the chief’s weathered face.

“Hello, folks,” he said with a nod, but there was no friendly warmth in his voice. “Sorry to have to intrude on you like this again so soon.” He paused and sniffed the air in the kitchen. “Chili?”

Consuela shook her head, then nodded toward the big pot still simmering on the stove. “That’s tamale soup, Chief. It’s almost ready. All it has to do is simmer a while longer. Then the frozen sliced tamales need to be added for the last few minutes.”

“That’s good. I’m sure one of these ladies can finish it,” Clifton said, “because you’re going to have to come with me, Consuela.”

The woman stiffened in her chair. “Why? What have I done?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Clifton said. “I’m sorry, but I’m taking you in for questioning in the murder of Sheldon Forrest.”