Free The Gingerbread Bump-Off by Livia J. Washburn

this,” she said.
    “Yeah, and it’s not your job to do it,” Mike said, unknowingly echoing the very thought that had just gone through her head.
    “You know that getting mixed up in those other cases wasn’t necessarily something I wanted to do.”
    “Maybe not, but I’ve heard rumors that Ralph Whitmire isn’t very happy about the way you’ve solved those murders in the past.”
    “Chief Whitmire has always been very nice to me,” Phyllis pointed out. “He’s always seemed grateful when I figured out what happened.”
    “That’s because he’s a decent guy. But you can’t blame him when a retired schoolteacher catches more killers than his police department does!”
    “Oh, now, that can’t be true. Sometimes months go by when I don’t—”
    Phyllis stopped, realizing that she wasn’t making a very strong argument by saying that sometimes months went by without her solving a murder.
    And in this case, it hadn’t even been a month yet since that awful business at the Harvest Festival.
    “The detective who came here last night seemed to be a very competent man,” she resumed. “His name was Latimer. Warren Latimer, I believe. Do you know him?”
    “No, but I’ve heard of him. I think he used to be on the job down in Austin or San Antonio, somewhere like that. Real hard . . . uh . . . hard-nosed guy.”
    Phyllis knew that Mike had been about to use a slightly cruder term when he caught himself. She said, “He seemed nice enough. Very businesslike.”
    “Well, that’s good. Maybe he’ll catch whoever did this without any problem. I hope so. In the meantime, if there’s anything you need me to do, just let me know.”
    “All right.”
    They said their good-byes and hung up. Phyllis looked out the window at the front yard. The crime-scene tape was still in place, even though all the police had been gone since sometime after midnight. With all the decorations on the lawn and in the trees, the yellow tape was actually a little hard to see. It was almost like grim tinsel strung here and there.
    Carolyn was out doing some Christmas shopping, and Eve and Roy were house hunting again. Sam was in the garage, staining those bookshelves. Phyllis didn’t like being left alone in the house with her thoughts. In order to distract herself, she went out into the kitchen and started thinking about the appetizers she would serve at Eve’s bridal shower on the day before Christmas. That seemed like an odd time for a shower, but it was Eve’s business, not hers, Phyllis told herself. It did seem, though, that they were rushing things a little, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was Eve’s idea or Roy’s.
    Something else was odd, she thought, and that was the way Roy had shown up the night before only minutes after Georgia was attacked. He had been quick to point out to Warren Latimer that he hadn’t been there when the incident happened. But he could have parked somewhere down the street, followed Georgia up onto the porch, grabbed the gingerbread man, struck the blow with it, and then run back to his SUV. After that it would have been easy to drive up in a hurry and pretend to be worried about Eve . . .
    “And why would he have done that?” Phyllis muttered aloud to herself. As Roy had told Latimer, he had never even met Georgia Hallerbee, and as far as Phyllis knew, that was true. She was letting her imagination run away with itself. She had gotten too much in the habit of questioning people’s motives and the things they said. Just because Roy hadn’t talked a lot about his background didn’t make him an attempted murderer, for goodness’ sake!
    The kitchen door opened, breaking into Phyllis’s haphazard thoughts, and Sam leaned in to say, “There’s a lady out here lookin’ for you, Phyllis.”
    Phyllis didn’t know who it could be, but a visitor would be a welcome distraction right now. Putting a smile on her face, she stepped out into the garage as Sam moved back from the