Free The Christmas Cookie Killer by Livia J. Washburn

adolescents, got into the cars, too. Then all three vehicles pulled out and drove off.
    The family was all going somewhere, Phyllis thought. The
    funeral home? Possibly. It wasn’t really any of her business, although she was curious about when Agnes’s funeral would be.
    She wanted to attend, even though she knew her presence
    might be a distraction, depending on how much the news reports played up her part in the older woman’s murder.
    An hour or so later, Carolyn came upstairs and appeared in the open doorway of Phyllis’s room. “Dwight Gresham is downstairs to see you,” she said.
    Phyllis set her book aside on the table beside her chair.
    “Dwight visited me in the hospital yesterday,” she said. “I wonder what he’s doing here today.”
    “I guess he wanted to make sure you were all right. And he has some sort of tape for you, I think.”
    “Tape?” Phyllis repeated with a frown.
    “A videotape.”
    The only way to find out what this was about was to go
    downstairs, Phyllis told herself. She followed Carolyn to the stairs and went down to the front hall. The preacher was waiting in the living room with Sam and Eve. Sam had muted the sound on the football game, but he hadn’t turned it off. Phyllis couldn’t help but notice that the Cowboys were leading the Washington Redskins 24 to 20 in the fourth quarter.
    Dwight stood up from the armchair where he’d been
    sitting—the same armchair where Frank Simmons had sat earlier, Phyllis noted—and extended a hand to her. As she took it, he said, “Well, you’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you, Phyllis.”
    THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 59
    “Being out of the hospital will do that,” she said with a laugh.
    “Please sit down, Brother Dwight. Did you come by just to check on me?”
    “And to give you this,” he said as he picked up a videotape box from the little table beside the chair. “It’s the tape of this morning’s service, since you weren’t able to be there. I told you we have a homebound videotape ministry, so I moved you to the top of the list.”
    “Oh, goodness, you didn’t have to do that! I’m sure the Lord would understand why I wasn’t able to attend today.”
    “Well, it’s just for this week, since I’m certain you’ll be back in church next Sunday morning.” He held out the tape. “Go ahead and take it, and when you’ve had a chance to watch it, just call the church. I’ll come back by and pick it up to take to the next person, or one of the deacons will.”
    “That’s very nice of you,” Phyllis said as she took the tape from him. “Thank you, Dwight.”
    Sam sat forward suddenly on the sofa, drawing her atten-
    tion. A sheepish grin appeared on his face as he said, “Cowboys just kicked a field goal. Now it’s gonna take a touchdown and an extra point to tie, or a touchdown and a two-point conversion to win.”
    “Yes, but it’s still a one-possession game,” Dwight pointed out.
    “Yeah,” Sam admitted. “Up to the defense now.”
    Dwight turned back to Phyllis. “Well, I’d better be going.
    Got the sermon for the evening service to work on, you know, and Jada said something about some other chore she wanted me to take care of this afternoon.”
    Jada was Dwight’s wife, a pretty redhead of about thirty who worked at one of the local insurance agencies. She’d always struck Phyllis as being a little high-strung, but that wasn’t un-60 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
    usual for a preacher’s spouse. The same held true, or even more so, for children of ministers. Having a preacher in the family seemed to put a lot of pressure on people. They felt like they had to be shining examples of just about everything. Jada Gresham, for example, kept about the cleanest house Phyllis had ever seen.
    “Nice fella,” Sam said when Dwight was gone.
    “Yes, he is,” Phyllis agreed as she looked down at the videotape in her hand. “I sort of wish he hadn’t gone to so much trouble, though. Now I