The Fatal Funnel Cake Page 2

  “I don’t think she will,” Carolyn had told the others. “Peggy’s not really the type to make a fuss over anything. She’s very levelheaded. Salt of the earth, you know.”

  “Then how did she wind up in Highland Park?” Eve had wanted to know. “That’s where all the snooty upper crust live, isn’t it?”

  Earlier in the year, the others had discovered that Eve was much more well-to-do than they had believed she was, but no one could ever call her snooty. She had continued teaching for years, despite her wealth, simply because she enjoyed it and thought she was doing something worthwhile.

  “Not everybody in Highland Park is a millionaire,” Carolyn had said. “It just so happens that Peggy’s late husband was a pretty successful businessman, but he certainly didn’t start out that way. Starting out, he had just one little furniture store in a bad neighborhood, and they struggled for years to build the operation into a chain. When they finally had some money, he wanted to give Peggy a nicer place to live, so they moved.”

  Phyllis was looking forward to meeting Peggy. If she was anything like Carolyn, Phyllis knew they would get along . . . although Carolyn could be a little prickly at times.

  Phyllis was glad that she and Carolyn wouldn’t be competing directly against each other at the fair. Over the years since their retirement from teaching, they had entered many of the same cooking and baking contests, and although the competition had remained friendly, a rivalry between the two of them definitely existed.

  They had looked over the list of state fair contests online, and Carolyn had settled on the cookie contest. Since contestants didn’t have to preregister or send in recipes ahead of time, just show up with the cookies they wanted to enter on the day of the contest, she was going to enter in three different classes: drop cookies, icebox sliced cookies, and bar cookies.

  The funnel cake competition Phyllis entered was different. It was a special contest in which the entries would be prepared at the state fair, during the competition. With funnel cakes there was really no other way to do it, since they were best eaten fresh, as soon as they had cooled slightly from the boiling oil in which they were fried.

  Phyllis made the first batch using a funnel cake pitcher but didn’t like pouring the batter that way. It felt like cheating. She wanted to learn to make them using a funnel, so she bought a good funnel and spent a week experimenting with recipes, to the point that her housemates were probably sick of funnel cakes . . . except maybe for Sam, who had a prodigious appetite and had been blessed with a metabolism that allowed him to eat as much as he wanted and never add an ounce of fat to his lanky frame.

  Since funnel cakes were all made basically the same way, the differences came in things that could be added to the recipe and the cake maker’s skill at manipulating the funnel and drizzling the batter into the hot oil. Phyllis had watched videos of people who were able to create dazzling patterns within the traditional roughly circular shape of a funnel cake. She didn’t think that she could manage to compete on that level without years of practice . . . but she was confident that she could come up with a funnel cake that looked acceptable and tasted great.

  So she had experimented with pumpkin funnel cakes, strawberry funnel cakes, French vanilla funnel cakes, chocolate funnel cakes, and several other varieties. She had dusted them with regular powdered sugar, with powdered sugar and cinnamon, and with powdered sugar and nutmeg. She had made funnel cakes from biscuit mix and pancake batter, frosting the latter with maple syrup.

  As Carolyn had commented at one point during the week, “Good grief, it’s a wonder we’re not all in diabetic comas already!”

  Phyllis hadn’t quite settled on the recipe she wanted to use yet, but she still had a few days to prepare and planned to get in some more practice while they were staying with Peggy. Ultimately she thought it would be fun just to go to the fair and see everything, as well as compete, and if they got a chance to attend one of Joye Jameson’s live cooking shows, so much the better.

  The drive from Weatherford to Fort Worth and on past downtown went smoothly. It wasn’t until they reached the stretch of interstate highway between Fort Worth and Dallas that traffic began to slow down. This was a busy area and a big tourist destination at certain times of the year, with the amusement park Six Flags Over Texas and the stadiums of the Texas Rangers and the Dallas Cowboys all within about a mile of one another on the south side of the highway. Six Flags was closed during the week now, open only on weekends since school began, the football games were on the weekend as well, and the baseball games were at night. Even so, there were lots of people going about their everyday business and lots of cars. Sam wasn’t ruffled as he navigated the traffic, though.

  It got worse as they passed Arlington and the Dallas skyline came into view up ahead. The traffic wasn’t particularly slow, but it was heavy, and Phyllis wasn’t sure but what that was worse. Being completely surrounded by cars, pickups, vans, SUVs, and eighteen-wheelers, all of them going sixty-five to seventy miles an hour only a few feet away, was nothing if not nerve-racking.

  “I still don’t know why people watch NASCAR,” Carolyn said. “They could just watch Dallas traffic cameras instead.”

  “What would drive me crazy,” Eve said, “is all the roads that come in from all directions all the time. How can you ever be sure you’re in the right lane?”

  “Oh, it’s not too bad,” Sam said. “All you have to do is be able to look in six different directions at once.”

  Eventually they reached downtown Dallas and negotiated the exit that put them on North Central Expressway, which would take them to Highland Park, the exclusive neighborhood adjacent to Southern Methodist University. Phyllis was glad when they finally got off the freeways and were back on residential streets.

  Peggy’s house was a two-story brick structure behind a green lawn. A circular drive bordered by shrubs and flower beds ran in front of the entrance. In a lot of neighborhoods the place would have been considered a mansion, but in Highland Park it was just a normal house—if anything, perhaps a little smaller and less fancy than most. Of course, Phyllis thought as Sam pulled the Lincoln into the driveway, with the rise of those so-called McMansions, big, fancy houses weren’t as uncommon as they once had been.

  The front door opened as Sam stopped in front of it. Out came a short, stocky woman with silvery hair and glasses, wearing blue jeans and a man’s shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple of turns. She must have been watching for them, Phyllis thought.

  Carolyn got out of the car and hugged the woman as the others were getting out. “Everyone, this is my cousin Peggy,” she said. She introduced Phyllis, Eve, and Sam in turn.

  “I’m glad you were all able to come,” Peggy Stockton said. “Let me help you with your bags.”

  “I can get ’em,” Sam said. “You ladies go on inside and get acquainted.”

  “Nonsense. I insist. Now, open the trunk, Stretch.”

  “His name’s Sam,” Carolyn said.

  Sam grinned and said, “I know what she means.” He opened the trunk.

  Everyone pitched in carrying the bags inside, and Peggy showed them their rooms on the second floor. When they were back downstairs in the living room after freshening up, Phyllis told their hostess, “You have a lovely house here, Peggy.”

  “It’s too much house for one old lady—that’s for sure,” Peggy said. “But Lloyd liked it and I can’t imagine getting rid of it. I’ll have to, one of these days, when it gets to be too much for me to keep up with, but for now . . .” She shrugged. “I’m just glad not to be rattling around in it by myself for a while.”

  “I know that exact feeling,” Phyllis said.

  “That’s why we all moved in with her,” Carolyn added.

  “You can tell me all about it over lunch,” Peggy said. “Hope you’re not expecting anything fancy. I’ve got a lady who comes in and helps me keep the place clean,
but I do all my own cooking and I have simple tastes. I’ve got tuna fish sandwiches in the refrigerator.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sam said.

  She eyed him up and down and said, “You’ve got a hollow leg where all the food goes, don’t you?”

  “I have been blessed in that manner, yes,” Sam said, still smiling.

  Peggy jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward the dining room. “Come on, we’ll see if we can fill you up. I like a challenge.”

  As they were going into the dining room, Carolyn whispered to Phyllis, “See? I told you she was very down-to-earth.”

  Phyllis certainly couldn’t argue with that.

  Over lunch, which included an excellent fruit salad as well as the sandwiches, Peggy said, “So all of you used to be teachers, eh?”

  “That’s right,” Phyllis said. “I taught American history in junior high, Eve was a high school English teacher, and Sam taught math and coached.”

  “Basketball, right, Stretch?”

  “Yep,” Sam said. “And volleyball and baseball and the linebackers and defensive backs on the football team. It was a small school.”

  “That’s the best kind. Some of these schools now, my God, they’re as big as shopping malls! About as warm and welcoming, too. Of course, I’m on the outside looking in, but it seems to be that education’s just become a big business, when it’s not being used as a political football.”

  “Some places it’s like that, I suppose,” Phyllis said. “When we were teaching we tried to make it more than that.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. It’s not the teachers’ fault. It’s those bozos in Austin and Washington. How can anybody do a good job running something when they’ve never actually done it themselves?” Peggy lifted both hands in the air, as if surrendering. “But they don’t ask our opinion, do they? They just do things to suit themselves, like always. So all of you are widowed, right?”

  Carolyn looked slightly uncomfortable, and Peggy’s sudden change of subject made her wince. But Phyllis said calmly, “That’s right. We’ve all lost our spouses. And when I said that I knew what you meant about rattling around in a big house, I meant it. That’s why I decided to rent out some of the rooms in the place to other retired teachers.” She smiled. “Although it’s not really like they’re boarders. We’re all more like family now.”

  “Well, it’s good you had friends. That’s a hard thing to get through when you don’t have anybody else close.” Peggy sounded like she knew that from experience. She looked at Phyllis and went on, “You’re the one who solves murders, like some detective on TV.”

  “No, nothing at all like that,” Phyllis said. “I’ve just helped the police figure out a few things—”

  “Are you psychic?”

  “What?” Phyllis shook her head. “No, not at all.”

  “Got some sort of mental condition that makes you brilliant but wacky in the head?”

  “Uh . . . no. I don’t think so.”

  Sam burst out laughing.

  “Well, how can you solve crimes, then?” Peggy wanted to know. “It’s got to be one of those two things. Or forensics.”

  Phyllis said, “I just . . . sort of figure things out . . .” She turned to Sam, who had restrained his laughter but was still shaking. “You’re not helping.”

  Peggy suddenly grinned and said, “Aw, I’m just messin’ with you, honey. I want you folks to feel at home while you’re here, and we don’t tiptoe around things in this house. We just come right out and say whatever we’re thinking.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Phyllis said.

  “This is gonna be a good trip,” Sam said as he picked up his glass of iced tea and lifted it as if he were toasting Peggy across the table.

  Phyllis could only hope that he was right.

  Chapter 3

  Peggy had said that she wanted them to feel at home here, so Phyllis took her at her word. That afternoon she and Carolyn familiarized themselves with Peggy’s kitchen, which was spacious and furnished with every kind of gadget anyone could think of.

  “I told Lloyd this was more kitchen than I needed,” Peggy said as she sat at the big butcher-block table sipping a cup of coffee. “He insisted, though, bless his heart, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful man,” Phyllis said.

  “He had his moments. And he was a heck of a kisser.”

  That brought a smile to Phyllis’s face. She already liked the plainspoken Peggy quite a bit.

  “No kidding, I’d like to hear more about that murder stuff,” Peggy went on. “I never knew anybody who caught killers before.”

  “I don’t actually catch them . . . ,” Phyllis said, although there had been a few times Sam had physically corralled one of the criminals whose schemes Phyllis had uncovered.

  Carolyn said, “It’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds. She just talks to people and thinks about what they tell her. It’s just a matter of paying attention, the way we always told our students. Isn’t that right, Phyllis?”

  There was a little more to it than that, Phyllis thought, but she didn’t really want to have this conversation and she certainly didn’t want to sound like she was bragging about her abilities as a detective. So she said, “That’s pretty much what it amounts to, all right.”

  “You must be one of those gals people open up to,” Peggy said. “I never was like that myself. Folks seem to clam up around me. Darned if I know why.”

  “We’ve been trying not to talk about the whole crime-solving business around Eve,” Carolyn said. “She suffered quite a loss last winter and we don’t want to remind her of it.”

  “Mum’s the word when she’s around—got it. Say, what about that tall drink of water Sam? Pretty good-lookin’ for a skinny old man, isn’t he? I’m surprised one of you ladies doesn’t have your hooks in him yet.” Peggy raised her eyebrows. “Or maybe one of you does. Maybe more than one. A man living in a houseful of women like that, he might just consider it his own private harem—”

  “Peggy!” Carolyn said. “That’s enough of that kind of talk!” Instantly, she was apologetic. “Of course, it’s your house and you’re being kind enough to let us stay here, and you can say anything you want—”

  “Take it easy, Carolyn. I’m not offended. I just wondered what the story was.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose you could say that Phyllis and Sam have a sort of understanding.”

  Phyllis would have just as soon that Carolyn hadn’t said that, but she wasn’t going to deny the affection she and Sam felt for each other. She didn’t see anything wrong with downplaying it a little, though.

  “We just enjoy each other’s company,” she said. “It’s nothing serious.”

  “Well, there’s two ways of looking at that,” Peggy said. “At our age, who needs serious, right? I mean, we’ve likely had our share of drama in our lives already.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But on the other hand,” Peggy continued, “none of us are getting any younger, so if there’s still something out there that’s important to us, we’d better not waste any time going after it, you know what I mean?” She took a sip of coffee. “We’re all probably going to need somebody with medical power of attorney sooner rather than later.”

  Carolyn said, “Oh, goodness gracious, I don’t want to think about that.”

  “You better think about it, dearie,” Peggy said. “None of us know how long we’re going to be here, or be in any shape to make important decisions.”

  “The only important decisions I have to make are what kind of cookies to enter in those contests.”

  “I hope that’s true for you for a long time yet.”

  That sort of put a damper on the conversation for a while. After half an hour or so, Sam wandered into the kitchen while Phyllis and Carolyn were sitting at the
table, too, talking about recipes.

  Peggy perked up immediately and said, “Honey, we were just talking about you.”

  “Thought I felt my ears burnin’,” Sam said with a smile. “Should I say thank you or just deny everything?”

  “Oh, it was nothing bad. I was just telling these ladies that they’re lucky to have a man around the house. You know, to handle the heavy lifting and get things down from high shelves.”

  “That’s about all I’m good for, all right. That and my sparklin’ wit and dashin’ good looks.”

  “Yes, there’s that,” Phyllis said. “I notice that it’s almost time for Joye Jameson’s show. You don’t mind if we watch it, do you, Peggy?”

  “Help yourself. There’s a fifty-two-inch plasma TV in the den. Another of Lloyd’s ideas. And the cable system’s got every channel under the sun, including some that completely baffle me as to why anybody would ever watch them.”

  Carolyn said, “I know exactly what you mean.”

  The four of them moved to the den. Eve had gone up to her room to lie down after lunch, something that she did most days, and Phyllis didn’t want to disturb her. Eve wasn’t a particular fan of The Joye of Cooking, although she would watch it if she happened to be in the room. She was more interested in the other lifestyle features that Joye Jameson did, rather than the cooking.

  After they had watched for a few minutes, Carolyn said, “This episode is a rerun. I remember seeing it before. She’s going to cook tamales.”

  “That sounds good,” Peggy said. “Probably more complicated than I could ever manage, but I wouldn’t mind watching.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t saying we shouldn’t watch. That’s fine with me.”

  During the next commercial break, Peggy said, “Seems like I used to watch a show like this several years ago, but it didn’t have this girl on it. I think the woman who did it was named Gloria or something like that.”

  “Exactly like that,” Carolyn said. “You’re thinking of Gloria’s Kitchen. The host was named Gloria Kimball.”