The Gingerbread Bump-Off (25 page)

The idea was still vague and she needed more information to fill in some of the missing pieces, but she felt like she was on to something.

She needed to talk to Sam about it. That always helped her get her thoughts in order.

He brought in the rest of the groceries. “Need my help puttin’ these up?”

“No, that’s all right, we know where everything goes,” Phyllis told him. She saw the relief in his eyes. He didn’t mind helping carry things, but he just wasn’t wired to remember where everything went in a kitchen and pantry.

Sam went out to the living room while Phyllis and Carolyn put the groceries away, except for the things Carolyn would need for the new batch of gingerbread cookies. Phyllis said, “While you’re doing that, I’m going to go see if I can find a good wedding cake recipe on the Internet.”

She was really going to talk to Sam, though. She found him in the recliner where he usually sat, looking through the newspaper.

“I need to talk to you for a few minutes,” Phyllis said, and he looked up immediately as if he sensed how serious she was.

“If this is about that nap—”

“No, it’s not. I really don’t care how many naps you take, Sam. I’m not your mother.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“This is about Joe Henning and Rusty Kearns.”

“Joe and Rusty?” Sam looked confused. “What? Who’s Rusty?”

“Laura Kearns’s husband.”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Stocky guy, short beard. Mechanic, right?”

“That’s right,” Phyllis said. “He works for a garage that handles most of the roadside assistance calls around here for AAA. And Rusty is the one who’s nearly always sent out on those calls.”

Sam set the newspaper aside and sat up in the recliner, a frown on his face as he obviously thought about what Phyllis had just told him.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Joe Henning had a flat tire out on the interstate by the Brazos on the evening of the Jingle Bell Tour.”

Phyllis nodded. “That’s what Detective Latimer told us.”

“So his alibi for the time of the attack on Miz Hallerbee was the fact that he called AAA and they sent somebody out to help him.”

“Exactly.”

“That somebody more than likely bein’ this fella Rusty Kearns.”

“More than likely,” Phyllis agreed. “But the only proof of that would be the dispatcher’s log, Rusty’s testimony, and the form he filled out for Joe to sign so the garage could bill AAA.”

“Now, hold on,” Sam said. “I’m gettin’ confused. The dispatcher’s log proves that Henning called.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t prove
where
he called from. When you call AAA, you just give them directions to wherever you are when you need their help.”

Sam let out a low whistle. “So he could’ve been anywhere and just
said
he was out on the highway, twenty miles from here.”

“That’s the way it looks to me.”

“But if that’s true . . .”

Sam didn’t finish the sentence, but Phyllis could see in his eyes that he understood.

“But if that’s true,” she said, “then he had to be working with Rusty Kearns and everything was set up ahead of time. Rusty could fill out the paperwork and Joe Henning could sign it whether or not any of the other really happened.”

“But the only reason to do that would be to create an alibi for Henning.”

“Which he wouldn’t need,” Phyllis said, “unless he was planning to murder Georgia Hallerbee.”

Chapter 24

T
hey sat there in silence for a long moment. Phyllis could tell that Sam was considering everything she had just told him, turning the pieces over in his mind to see if they fit together, and, if so, whether they formed the same picture she saw.

Finally, he nodded slowly and said, “It could’ve worked that way, all right. They would have had to be in it together from the start. But I got a couple of questions, and the first one is . . . why?”

“Why murder Georgia? The only reason I can think of is the first one that occurred to us. Joe has been stealing from his great-aunt, Georgia found out about it and was going to tell me, and Joe had to kill her to keep her from doing that.”

“But how did Henning find out that Georgia was gonna spill the beans to you?”

This was the part Phyllis really didn’t like. She drew a deep breath and hesitated, but no amount of hesitation would change the answer.

“He knew because Laura Kearns told him.”

Sam gave her an intent look. “The little gal who worked for Miz Hallerbee. The one who’s married to that fella Rusty.”

“That’s right. She was right there in the office with Georgia. They worked together all the time. It makes sense that if Georgia uncovered Joe Henning doing something wrong, then Laura would know about it, too. That’s when she saw her chance.”

“To cash in,” Sam guessed.

“Yes. She and Rusty are struggling, financially. When Georgia found out about Joe’s wrongdoing, Laura realized she could blackmail him with that knowledge.”

“But not if Georgia went to the law, or even to you, about it, because you’d call the cops for sure.”

Phyllis nodded. “Yes, I would have, or at least I would have told Georgia she was right to do so. On the day of the tour, when Laura overheard Georgia telling Carl Winthrop that she was upset about something and coming to talk to me about it, Laura knew what it had to be. Maybe she and her husband and Henning were already planning to kill Georgia, or maybe they had to scramble to put the plan together right then, but either way, they figured out a way to give Joe Henning an alibi so he could hustle back here to Weatherford and shut Georgia up permanently.”

“Henning didn’t know about those ceramic gingerbread men on the front porch,” Sam pointed out.

“He didn’t have to,” Phyllis replied with a shake of her head. “That really was spur of the moment. Henning probably planned to strangle her or something like that. But he saw the gingerbread men, grabbed one of them, and used it instead. That could have been a terrible mistake, though, because after that crash he couldn’t hang around to make sure Georgia was dead. He had to hope that he had killed her then and there. As it turned out, he hadn’t, and those days that she lingered in a coma must have been torture for him.”

“No worse than what the son of a . . . what the varmint deserved.”

Phyllis nodded. “True. And, of course, in the end Georgia died without regaining consciousness and without revealing his secret. That left Henning in the clear . . . except for the fact that now he wasn’t just an embezzler; he was a murderer, as well.”

“Doesn’t look like he thought that through too well,” Sam said.

“No, because now Laura and her husband have even more of a hold over him. He’ll have to keep stealing from Margaret so he can pay them off. In time he’ll bleed her dry, and Laura and Rusty will do the same thing to him.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “They can’t do that. They helped with the murder. If they give Henning to the law, they’ll be confessin’ to their own part in it, too.”

“They didn’t actually kill Georgia, and they weren’t even here when she was attacked, so the charges against them would be less than the ones against Henning. Besides, they’re both pretty bitter about money. They may figure that this is the only real chance to get rich they’ll ever get, so they’re willing to run the risk that Henning will pay rather than dare them to go to the police.”

Sam nodded again. “You’re probably right about that. And all the rest of it fits together, as far as I can see. Which brings me to that second question I mentioned awhile ago.”

“And that is?”

“How are you gonna prove any of this?”

“I don’t know. I can’t just go and ask Laura or Joe Henning about it. And since it’s just a theory, without any evidence to back it up, I can’t very well go to Detective Latimer with it. Besides, he’s already looking at Chris Cochran as the killer. He probably wouldn’t appreciate having a whole new theory dumped in his lap.”

“Of course, he only considers Cochran a suspect because of the things you dug up about him,” Sam pointed out.

Phyllis sighed and nodded. “I know. Which means I’ll be responsible if he’s innocent and winds up being arrested for killing Georgia. Don’t think I haven’t thought of that.”

“I wouldn’t be feelin’ too bad about what might happen to that young fella,” Sam told her. “Even if he winds up havin’ to spend a few hours in jail, it won’t hurt him any. Might even do him some good, although I doubt it. But his daddy’ll bail him out in a hurry; you can count on that.”

“I suppose so. I think I’ll go see Margaret in the morning. Maybe she can tell me if Joe has been acting any different lately.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said.

“I don’t know if that’s necessary—”

“Henning’s liable to be there. If there’s a chance he’s a murderer, I’m not lettin’ you go in by yourself.”

“I’m not going to charge in like a SWAT team and try to arrest him or anything like that,” Phyllis pointed out.

“No, but I’d still feel better if you weren’t by yourself.”

Phyllis nodded. To tell the truth, she would feel better about it, too.

 

 

 

“Today?” Eve asked the next morning. She and Carolyn were sitting in the living room. Phyllis had gotten her coat from the hall closet and was putting it on. “You’re going out running around today? But the shower is tomorrow.”

“I know,” Phyllis said. “Don’t worry—everything will be ready.”

“It’s only a little more than twenty-four hours away.”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, since the shower was scheduled to start at two o’clock on Christmas Eve afternoon, and it was now ten o’clock in the morning on the day before Christmas Eve, but Phyllis understood her friend’s concern. Eve wanted everything to be perfect. Given her history, there was no way of being sure about such things, but at her age there was at least a reasonable expectation that this would be her final marriage.

“Carolyn will be here working on the preparations,” Phyllis assured her. “Anyway, there’s not really that much to do. A few decorations to put up, some snacks and punch to get ready—that’s all. We can handle it tomorrow morning without any trouble.”

“What about entertainment?” Eve asked. “Have you arranged for entertainment?”

“You don’t have male strippers at bridal showers,” Carolyn said. “Those are for bachelorette parties, and then only when the bride and her friends are degenerates. Anyway, we’re long past such things.”

“Speak for yourself,” Eve said. “What about games?”

“We’re not going to play any silly games, either,” Carolyn said. “Again, those are for—”

“Degenerates, I know. You don’t expect everyone to just sit around and do nothing, do you? That would be boring.”

“I prefer to think of it more as dignified,” Carolyn said.

Phyllis slipped out of the living room while she could, leaving Eve and Carolyn to wrangle over the details of the bridal shower. She and Carolyn had talked about games earlier but weren’t able to find any that they felt their guests would really want to do. She buttoned her jacket as she went down the hall to the kitchen. Sam was waiting there.

“Ready to go?” he asked her.

“Yes, I suppose so. Although I feel a little bad about abandoning Eve today.”

Sam smiled. “She and Carolyn are goin’ ’round and ’round about the shower, eh?”

“They’ll work it out,” Phyllis said.

She hoped that was true.

They took Sam’s pickup, since Phyllis hadn’t had a chance to get that flat tire repaired or replaced, and she didn’t like driving too much on the spare. She didn’t really trust it since it had already gone flat, too. Maybe she would look into replacing it as well, she thought, but that would have to wait until after Christmas. She just didn’t have the time to mess with it now.

Sam drove to the big old house on the hill on the western edge of town. As they pulled up in the circle drive, Phyllis saw a car that was somehow vaguely familiar parked in front of the house.

“Who’s that belong to?” Sam asked as he brought the pickup to a stop behind the other vehicle.

“I don’t know, but I think I’ve seen it before.”

“Do we go ahead and go in?”

She nodded. “Yes, I want to talk to Margaret. If she has another visitor, we’ll just have to wait.”

They went up the steps to the porch and Sam rang the bell. A moment later, the housekeeper Sophia opened the door. She smiled and said, “Oh, hello, Mrs. Newsom. Are you here to see Mrs. Henning?”

“That’s right,” Phyllis said.

“She’s in a business meeting at the moment, but if you and your friend would like to wait . . .”

“That would be fine, thank you.”

Sophia ushered them in and indicated that they should go into the formal living room across the hall from the parlor. A beautiful old set of folding doors had been closed across the entrance to the parlor, so Phyllis couldn’t see who was in there with Margaret, but she heard the faint murmur of voices.

“Can I get you some coffee or something else to drink?” Sophia asked as she indicated that the visitors should have a seat.

Phyllis and Sam sank onto a heavily upholstered divan. Phyllis shook her head and said, “No, thank you,” while Sam added, “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer,” Sophia said as she backed out of the living room.

When the housekeeper was gone, Sam looked around the room, which was furnished with spindly legged antiques and decorated with a multitude of fragile-looking Christmas figurines and knickknacks for the tour, and said, “I feel like that ol’ bull in the china shop you hear about. I don’t want to move because I’m afraid these gawky arms and legs of mine will knock something over and bust it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Phyllis told him.

“Who do you reckon is in there with the old lady?”