Free The Pumpkin Muffin Murder by Livia J. Washburn

prepared to do that, but at the same time, for all she really knew, her friend was right. And it was none of her business either way. She just hated to see anyone unhappy, and from the sound of it, Dana Powell certainly had been when she left the park the night before.
    There was nothing she could do about it, though, so she turned her attention back to her baking. “There are still muffins left from the batch I made yesterday, and you’re welcome to those,” she told Sam and Carolyn. “Otherwise you’re on your own for breakfast this morning.”
    “A couple of those muffins’ll do me just fine,” Sam said with a smile.
    “I believe I just want coffee,” Carolyn said. “I’ll be sampling a lot of baked goods later on this morning. We’ll be doing the judging at eleven o’clock, and the results will be announced at eleven thirty.”
    When Bobby got up, he was satisfied with a muffin for breakfast, too. Maybe that wasn’t the healthiest breakfast in the world, Phyllis thought—all right, it definitely wasn’t the healthiest breakfast for a growing four-year-old—but for one morning it wouldn’t hurt him. And she was a grandparent, after all. It was her job to spoil her grandson just a little.
    The morning’s preparations went by in a blur. The festival opened at ten o’clock, and the entries for the contest had to be on hand by ten thirty. Phyllis got Bobby and herself dressed in comfortable clothes that would be warm enough in the cool breeze out of the north, then put him and the muffins in the backseat of her car. Carolyn had already left, and Eve was going to ride with Phyllis. Sam intended to take his own pickup. The two of them came out of the house, and Phyllis said, “All right, I believe we’re all ready to go.”
    Sam lifted a hand. “See you at the park.”
    Phyllis and Eve got into the car. “Do you have the canned goods?” Eve asked.
    “Two big bags in the trunk,” Phyllis answered, “and Sam has two more in his pickup. That’s more than we have to donate, but it’s such a good cause.”
    All of them had chipped in to buy the food, which Sam had generously offered to pick up the day before. Carolyn’s story about growing up poor had touched Phyllis, and she wanted to do whatever she could to help make this Thanksgiving season memorable and happy for the families in town who hadn’t been as blessed as she was.
    It was barely ten o’clock, but the parking lots on both sides of the lake, neither of which was very big, were already full, as was the lot at the complex of softball fields next to the park. Cars also lined the sides of the roads leading to the park.
    “We’re going to have to walk quite a way, it looks like,” Eve said. “It’s a good thing I wore comfortable shoes today.”
    Phyllis tried to wear comfortable shoes just about every day, but she knew what Eve meant. She found a place to park her car, and as they all climbed out, she said, “I’m going to trust you to carry the muffins, Bobby, while Mrs. Turner and I carry the bags of canned goods. Can you do that?”
    “Sure, Gran’mama,” the little boy answered. “I’ll be really careful with ’em, too.”
    “I’m sure you will,” Phyllis said as she placed the two plastic containers in Bobby’s outstretched arms. The muffins didn’t weigh much, relatively speaking, and she thought he could handle them all right.
    The bags of canned goods were much heavier, heavy enough so that she and Eve both had tired arms before they reached the booth at the end of the long line of people going into the park. Sawhorses had been set up to funnel visitors through a single entrance on each side of the lake. When each family reached the booth, they handed over their bag, or bags, of canned goods to volunteers, who placed them into the back of a truck parked next to the booth. Then every visitor received a little ink stamp on the back of the hand to prove that he or she had made the appropriate donation.
    Bobby giggled as