Free The Candy Cane Cupcake Killer by Livia J. Washburn

several months earlier. Phyllis went to the computer in the living room and turned on the monitor. She checked her e-mail—nothing important, not even a message from a Nigerian prince—and then opened one of the true-crime websites in her browser. She didn’t want to admit it to Carolyn, but she had bookmarked several of them.
    She winced as she saw the title of the first post: WEATHERFORD, MURDER CAPITAL OF TEXAS—AND PHYLLI S NEWSOM’S HOMETOWN . There was a picture of the big crowd gathered on the courthouse lawn for the previous year’s Christmas-tree lighting, since it had never taken place this year.
    The person who had posted the story had included a photograph of Barney McCrory, too. It had been takensomewhere outside, probably on his ranch, and Phyllis thought it made him look like the Marlboro Man. Of course, there was no mention of that, since not many members of the Internet generation would even be aware of who the Marlboro Man was.
    There was a picture of Clay Loomis, too: a professional portrait showing his sleek, silver-haired good looks and plenty of white teeth bared in a politician’s smile. The story explained that he was the local official who’d been playing Santa Claus in the parade.
    Not only that, but there were also pictures of attractive young women in elf costumes that were even skimpier and more suggestive than the ones the cheerleaders had actually been wearing. The story made it sound as if the women in the photos were the high school girls who had been on the carriage, even though they really weren’t.
    As she skimmed through the story, Phyllis had to admit that despite its overall sleazy tone, the basic facts as presented by the website were correct. She clicked on the bookmarks again and went to another site.
    This one was more restrained, although one of the commenters on the post had written in all caps, NEVER GO TO THE OPERA WITH PHYLLIS NEWSOM! She wasn’t sure what
that
meant. She hadn’t been to the opera in years. She didn’t even
like
opera.
    Then she frowned and said, “Ohhhh,” as the light dawned.The idea was ridiculous, of course. She went to plenty of places where murders never took place.
    Sam came into the room behind her and she gave a little guilty start, as if she’d been looking at something she shouldn’t. She started to close the browser, then decided not to. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
    â€œCarolyn was right, eh?” Sam said. “The story’s already out there?”
    â€œYes, but there’s really not much about Nate and Allyson.” She let out a ladylike little snort. “They’re too busy making snide comments about how dangerous it is to be around me.”
    â€œMaybe I’d better keep that in mind,” Sam drawled. “These days, I spend more time around you than anybody else, so I reckon I’m in the most danger.”
    â€œDon’t be—” She was going to say
ridiculous
, but then she turned and saw that he was grinning. “You’re just giving me the business.”
    â€œMaybe.” He grew more serious as he came to stand beside her. “Did you see anything that gave you ideas?”
    â€œUnfortunately, no. There’s nothing in-depth in any of the stories. We need to sit down with Nate and Allyson again, maybe with Mr. D’Angelo there, and go over everything they can tell us about Mr. McCrory and his business. There has to be something somewhere to justify someone taking a shot at him.”
    â€œUnless it was just a random shooter,” Sam said.
    â€œIf that were true, isn’t it more likely he would have kept shooting? Maniacs like that generally don’t stop with one shot.”
    â€œThat’s true. The way the whole thing played out makes itlook like he was just after Barney. When he made his first shot, that was the end of it.”
    Phyllis frowned. She said, “How do we know it was his first