Wedding Cake Killer by Livia J. Washburn

Author:Livia J. Washburn [Washburn, Livia J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780451238092
Publisher: Penguin Group (USA) Incorporated
Published: 2012-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

She lifted the plate in her hands. “I wanted to bring you some cookies, since we had so many left over from the get-together the other day. And I thought we might visit for a while.

Do you have any plans for Christmas Day? You could always come over and have dinner with us. We’ll have more than

enough food. We always do!”

She was talking a little fast, she knew, but she hoped that he would invite her in to chat so that she could work the conversation around to Agnes’s murder and find out if he had noticed anything unusual going on in the neighborhood recently.

However, Oscar wasn’t showing any signs of doing that. He said, “Thanks for the invitation, but I’m driving down to Brownwood on Friday to spend the weekend with my son and his family.” Oscar’s son was a professor of economics at Howard Payne University. As he reached for the plate of cookies, he added,

“These look great. I’ll take them with me down there . . . if there are any left by then!”

As she got ready to hand over the cookies, she realized that her plan wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t very well snatch the THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 143

cookies back and refuse to give them to him unless he allowed her to question him.

Then she glanced down, was surprised by what she saw, and said, “Your, uh, slip is showing, Oscar.”

His eyes widened. He said, “What?” then jerked his head

down and stared at the two or three inches of what appeared to be the lacy hem of some silk lingerie showing below the bottom of the robe. A strangled sound came from his throat.

Phyllis tried hard not to be shocked. She had to admit that for a fleeting second, seeing Oscar in a robe in the middle of the day like this, she had wondered if he had a woman in his house, even though as far as she knew, he hadn’t even dated since his wife’s death.

Evidently that wasn’t the case.

She thought for a moment that he was going to slam the

door in her face—either that or have a heart attack on the spot, if his rapidly purpling face was any indication. Then his shoulders slumped as if he were giving up. He stepped back, opened the door wider, and rumbled, “Come in for a minute. Please.”

Phyllis hesitated. She didn’t think she was in any danger from Oscar Gunderson, having known the man for twenty years, for goodness’ sake, but obviously people were capable of all sorts of surprises, even good old Oscar. Her curiosity got the better of her, though, so she stepped into the house. He closed the door behind her.

The drapes over the front window were tightly drawn, so

that no one could look in. The reason for that became under-standable when Oscar loosened the belt of the robe and opened it a little, sort of like a flasher. He wasn’t exposing himself, though, but rather the sleek, pale pink slip that he wore.

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