The Pumpkin Muffin Murder (26 page)

Dana shook her head. “Nothing we say here can make things any worse than they already are. I’ll tell you whatever I know, Phyllis.”

“All right. Here’s my first question.” Phyllis leaned forward. “What happened to that pumpkin muffin I gave you Friday night?”

J
udging by the expression on Dana’s face, the question took her completely by surprise.

“The pumpkin muffin?” she repeated. “What pumpkin muffin?”

“Remember you ate one here, and then I gave you another to take with you because you hadn’t had any supper and you were going to the park to help with the festival preparations?”

The frown on Dana’s forehead deepened. “Wait a minute. Let me think. I recall eating the muffin here. It was good. And, yes, now I remember you gave me another one to take with me. It was wrapped up in a paper towel, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Phyllis said with a nod. “Did you eat it on your way to the park, or at the park?”

Dana shook her head. “No, I’m sure I didn’t. I had calmed down a little after being so upset about my keys being missing, but I wasn’t actually very hungry. I set it on the passenger seat. . . .” She looked intently at Phyllis. “That’s the last I remember seeing of it.”

“Could it still be there in your SUV?”

“Why does it matter?” Dana asked. She was starting to sound a little annoyed now. “Do you want it back or something?”

“No, no, not at all,” Phyllis said quickly. It seemed that Dana didn’t know about the muffinlike substance that had been found in Logan’s mouth after he was dead. Phyllis didn’t really want to tell her about it, either, because the whole thing might turn out to be meaningless. Dana didn’t need any false hopes at this point. “I just wondered what happened to it.”

“Well, I don’t see how it’s important,” Dana said, “but I don’t know. It’s not in my car, though; I’m sure of that. It would be pretty stale by now, though, if it was.”

Phyllis didn’t doubt that. She said, “When you drove home from the park that night, was the muffin still there then?”

“I don’t know. Let me think. . . .” Dana concentrated for a moment, then went on. “I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think it was. I would have seen it either then or the next morning when I got in to drive to the park, wouldn’t I?”

“I would think so,” Phyllis agreed.

“And since I don’t have any memory of it at all, I don’t see how it could have been there. But that means . . . What
does
that mean? I’m having so much trouble thinking straight. . . .”

“It means someone took it, probably while you were parked there on Friday evening.”

“My missing keys!” Dana suddenly exclaimed. “Somebody used them to get into my car. But why go to that much trouble just to steal a muffin? I mean, yes, the one I ate here was really good, but it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Not to me, either,” Phyllis said. “Not yet, anyway. But we know now that someone got into your car. Was anything else missing?”

“Not that I know of. I . . . I didn’t notice anything being gone on Friday night or Saturday morning. And I think I would have if it was something that was usually there. I just didn’t think about the muffin because I had so much else on my mind.”

“The argument with Logan about his affairs.” Phyllis knew her words would be blunt and painful to Dana, but it couldn’t be helped.

Dana grimaced and nodded. “That’s right. When you’re scared that your marriage is falling apart, you don’t worry about something like a . . . a muffin.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry to have to be asking you about all this, Dana, but are you sure Logan was cheating on you?”

“Shouldn’t I be talking with my lawyer about these things?” Dana asked. Then understanding abruptly dawned on her face. “You’re going to try to find out who killed Logan! Carolyn’s told me about how . . . how you’ve solved all those murders.”

“I’ve gotten lucky a few times.” Phyllis smiled encouragingly. “But who’s to say I won’t get lucky again?”

A hollow laugh came from Dana. “That’s what Logan and I argued about . . . his habit of getting lucky, although in a totally different way from what you mean, Phyllis. Was I sure he was cheating on me? I never actually caught him in bed with another woman, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have motel receipts or anything like that. But I know. A wife knows. He . . . he spent so much time away from home, so many late nights when he didn’t come in until after midnight. Some nights he never came home at all. He blamed it on his business and said that sometimes he slept at the office, and I wanted to believe him, but after so long a time . . . I just couldn’t anymore.”

Phyllis could understand why eventually Dana would get suspicious about her husband’s behavior. She wasn’t sure she agreed, though, about a wife being able to just tell if her husband was cheating. She had learned that the depths of human deception were sometimes limitless . . . and that people generally believed what was easiest and most convenient—and least painful—for them to believe.

“I wish there was some way not to hurt you like this,” Phyllis went on, “but do you have any idea who Logan was seeing, if he was?”

Dana shook her head. “No, I don’t. There are a lot of women who work in real estate, though. Or I suppose it could have been someone in some other business who came in contact with him. There may have been more than one of them, for all I know.”

“Don’t get caught up in wild imaginings,” Phyllis advised.

“There’s nothing wild about it,” Dana insisted. “Logan spent enough time away from home that he could have had three or four women on the string!”

Phyllis considered that unlikely, but she really didn’t know. Maybe Dana was right about Logan. Maybe he was a compulsive womanizer who had cut a broad swath through Weatherford. In that case, there might be several potential suspects out there, including the women he’d slept with and any jealous husbands or boyfriends who found out about it.

The police should be looking into this
, she thought. It was their job to get to the truth. But they weren’t going to do that as long as they thought they could convict Dana, which left it up to other people, like Dana’s lawyer . . . and her friends.

Dana’s face was pale and drawn, and she was starting to get a wild, hunted look in her eyes. Maybe it would be better to back off for the moment, Phyllis decided. After all, as Juliette Yorke had pointed out, they had time. Nothing else was going to happen until after Thanksgiving.

Anyway, it was almost lunchtime, so any more questions could be postponed until later. In fact, Eve came into the living room just a few moments later and announced that the food was ready.

“I don’t think I can eat,” Dana said with a shake of her head.

“Of course you can, dear,” Eve insisted. “Why, you don’t have enough meat on your bones to be able to afford to miss too many meals.”

That was the sort of blunt comment Carolyn usually made, but instead of taking offense at it, Dana actually smiled. “No, I guess I don’t,” she said. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I’ve always been able to eat everything I wanted and never gain a pound.”

“I’d hate you for that, dear, but I’m too busy admiring you.” Eve smiled. “Come on. Carolyn has made some excellent sandwiches.”

To Carolyn, making a sandwich had never meant just slapping together meat, cheese, and bread with some mayonnaise or mustard. Each sandwich was a minor production for her and included an assortment of lettuce, tomatoes, avocado slices, cream cheese, and exotic dressings. A sandwich made by Carolyn was a full-course meal in itself, occasionally worthy of Dagwood Bumstead, Phyllis thought.

The Caesar sandwiches they had for lunch this day were no exception, made with leftover pork roast and served on croissants. Phyllis was glad to see that Dana’s appetite returned when she sampled Carolyn’s effort. Nothing would help Dana get over her loss quicker and better than good food and plenty of rest. Phyllis intended to see to it that Dana got plenty of both of those things.

The talk over lunch was about Thanksgiving. Dana had helped in the planning of the food drive that culminated in the Harvest Festival, so naturally she was still interested in it despite what had happened.

“Do you think it would be all right if I helped distribute the food on Thanksgiving morning, the way I was supposed to?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Phyllis said. “We can ask Ms. Yorke what she thinks, though.”

“I’d like to, if she says it’s all right.”

“We’re going to have a houseful of guests for Thanksgiving, you know,” Carolyn said. “Dolly Williamson is coming, and she’ll be bringing some of the other teachers who don’t have anyplace else to go.”

Dana smiled and said, “That’ll be wonderful,” but Phyllis thought she looked a little intimidated by the idea of having so many people around.

After lunch, when they went back into the living room, Dana tugged at the wrinkled blouse she wore. “I’d really love to get out of these clothes and take a shower, then maybe lie down for a while, but I don’t have anything else to wear.”

“Carolyn and I will go get what you need,” Phyllis said, “but there’s no reason for you to wait for us to get back. I have a nice comfortable robe I think you can wear. It’ll be a little big on you, but not too bad, maybe.”

“That’s really kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“Come on. I’ll show you your room.”

She took Dana upstairs, pointed out the other bedrooms and the bathroom, and took her to the room she’d be using. Leaving her there, Phyllis fetched the bathrobe and returned with it.

“We won’t disturb your nap when we get back. Just let us know when you’re awake again, and we’ll bring everything upstairs.”

“I doubt if I’ll be able to doze off,” Dana said. She muffled a yawn. “I haven’t slept much at all the past two nights.”

She left unsaid the fact that she had spent those nights in jail, which Phyllis imagined would make it difficult for anyone to sleep. She just said, “Well, try to rest some, anyway. You may find out that a nice, long, hot shower will make you feel relaxed enough to doze off.”

“I hope so.”

Phyllis went back downstairs and collected Carolyn, who’d been more than willing to come along and help her gather some of Dana’s clothes and other belongings. Phyllis thought that between the two of them, they could pick out enough so that Dana would be comfortable for a while.

“I don’t actually know where Dana lives,” Phyllis said as they left the house in her car. “You’ll have to tell me how to get there.”

“I’ve been there several times. It won’t be a problem,” Carolyn said.

She directed Phyllis to one of the relatively new, upscale housing developments in the southeastern part of town, on the other side of the interstate. As Phyllis drove across an overpass spanning the highway, she glanced along the divided lanes to the west and said, “I may want to make one other stop before we go back home.”

“That’s fine with me,” Carolyn said. “I’m in no hurry, and if Dana lies down like she said she was going to, she won’t be, either. The poor thing looked exhausted. If she ever goes to sleep, she may not wake up for a while.”

Phyllis thought the same thing. The rest would do Dana good.

It took them about fifteen minutes to reach the street where Dana lived, and where Logan had lived until he was murdered. Phyllis didn’t need any reminders of that, but she got one anyway as she turned onto the street Carolyn pointed out and immediately spotted flashing lights a couple of blocks ahead of them. As they drew closer, she saw two police cars parked in front of a house, with an unmarked car that was probably a police vehicle parked between them.

“Is that . . . ?” she began.

“Dana’s house,” Carolyn said in a grim voice. “Yes. It most certainly is.”

F
or a second, Phyllis thought about turning around and driving back to her house. But she had promised Dana that they would fetch her things, and Phyllis didn’t like to go back on her word.