The Christmas Cookie Killer by Livia J. Washburn

Author:Livia J. Washburn
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

Chapter 14

Phyllis wanted to recover for a while from the somewhat disconcerting conversation with Oscar before she talked to any of the other neighbors. Anyway, if she was going to use the cookie ploy again to get in the door of wherever she went next, she had to have another plate of cookies.

That was why she walked straight from Oscar’s front door to hers, and when she got there, she saw Frank Simmons standing there on the porch with his hand raised and his finger poised to press the doorbell button.

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Newsom,” Frank said as Phyllis came up the steps. “I was just looking for you.”

“What can I do for you, Frank? And by the way, I think you can call me Phyllis. You’re a grown man, not the little boy who lives next door anymore.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but you know that inside of every grown man, there’s still a little boy.”

“Oh, I never doubted that for a second. Come on in the house.”

Frank gestured toward the metal swing hanging from chains attached to the porch roof. “It’s pretty warm for December. What say we sit outside and talk for a few minutes?”

Phyllis considered the suggestion and then nodded. “All right.” They moved over to the swing, which was big enough for three people to sit side by side, and as they settled down on it at opposite ends, she went on, “I’m glad to see that you look like you feel a little better now than you did the last time I saw you.”

“Oh, that’s just an act,” Frank replied with a shake of his head. “There’s only so much weeping and wailing a person can do. I ran out of mine. Claire hasn’t yet, though.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”

“That’s why I’m here.” Frank took a deep breath. “Mrs. Newsom . . . Phyllis . . . I want to ask you to tell the police that you’ve thought it over, and you’ve decided that Randall wasn’t the person who hit you in my mother’s kitchen.”

Phyllis frowned at him. “But that would be a lie,” she said. “I don’t know who hit me. I never saw him. And I never identified Randall as my attacker, either, for that very reason. I just don’t know.”

“But if you told the police that you do know, and it wasn’t Randall—”

Phyllis shook her head. “I just can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

Frank sighed and passed a hand over his face. “I didn’t really think you would,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to have to do something I didn’t want to do.”

Phyllis felt a shiver of fear at his words. What did he mean by that vaguely threatening statement? She wondered where Sam was, and if he would hear her if she called for help.

“I’m going to have to tell you the truth,” Frank said. “All of it.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t quite as threatening, although it was still confusing. The best way to clear up that confusion, Phyllis thought, was to listen to what Frank had to say.

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