Free The Christmas Cookie Killer by Livia J. Washburn Page A

feel like I have to go ahead and watch this tape right away so that it can go on to somebody who’s really homebound.”
    Sam gestured toward the big screen, where time was ticking down as the Redskins drove toward the Cowboys’ goal line. “You want to use the TV?”
    Phyllis laughed. “I wouldn’t do that to the two of you,” she said. “The game’s almost over, isn’t it?”
    “That’s all right, dear,” Eve said. “We don’t mind, do we, Sam? We could go watch the rest of it on the TV in my room.”
    “No, you can finish it up right here,” Phyllis said. “I insist.
    And I hope the Cowboys win.”
    “Well, okay,” Sam said as he settled back against the sofa cushions and turned his attention to the game again.
    Phyllis left the room with the videotape before Eve had a chance to glare at her.
    Despite what she’d said about it not being necessary, Phyllis enjoyed watching the church service on the videotape. She didn’t think anybody would want to come back and get it today, but she told herself she would call the church office the first thing in the morning and let them know she was done with it.
    She went downstairs in the late afternoon and looked around THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 61
    the kitchen for a snack. No one ate a formal dinner on Sunday evening in her house. The custom was for everyone to sort of fend for themselves.
    Phyllis was surprised when she saw the half dozen round
    plastic containers on the kitchen counters. They were full of cookies, all of which she recognized from the cookie exchange the day before. It looked like more than half of them had been left from the get-together.
    She found Carolyn in the living room, working on some
    knitting. The whine of power tools from the garage that had been audible in the kitchen had told her where Sam was. There was no sign of Eve, who was probably upstairs.
    “I thought you said people took cookies home with them
    yesterday,” Phyllis said.
    “They did,” Carolyn replied as she looked up from her
    knitting.
    “Then, what are all those in the kitchen?”
    “Well . . . after what happened to Agnes . . . and after everyone had been questioned by the police . . . I guess people didn’t feel as festive as they would have otherwise. Not everybody took cookies with them, and some of the ones who did probably didn’t get as many as they might have if all that hadn’t happened.”
    Phyllis supposed that made sense, but even so, she couldn’t help but be disappointed. The cookie exchange was one of the highlights of the Christmas season for her, and it bothered her that people hadn’t enjoyed it as much as they should have.
    “I wonder if the Simmonses would like some of them, since we have plenty left,” she said.
    “You already took cookies over there, remember?” Carolyn
    asked. “I mean, I know you remember. You’d have to.”
    “What with finding Agnes’s body and all, right after that.”
    Phyllis nodded. “Yes, I’m not likely to forget that. But those 62 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
    cookies were knocked off the table and stepped on and ruined.
    I’m sure someone cleaned them all up and threw them away.
    But I could take a nice fresh batch over there.”
    “You’re supposed to be resting,” Carolyn pointed out.
    “I feel fine. Goodness, I’m getting tired of saying that! But it’s true. I’m sure it won’t hurt me just to walk next door. My knees don’t even hurt that much anymore.”
    Carolyn set her knitting aside. “All right, but I’m coming with you, just in case.”
    “Just in case what? Do you think I’m going to pass out or something?”
    “Well, I certainly hope not, but you never know.”
    Phyllis didn’t waste time or energy arguing with her. Be-
    sides, she wouldn’t mind having Carolyn’s company.
    She went to the kitchen, put an assortment of the leftover cookies on a paper plate, then slid it into a plastic Ziploc bag and sealed the bag. The two women put on their coats and left by the kitchen