Black and Blueberry Die (A Fresh-Baked Mystery Book 11) by Livia J. Washburn Page B

remember?”
    “I’m not likely to forget any time soon. In this case, though, the person charged with the murder has already been convicted. He’s behind bars.”
    “Well, you have to get him out! Justice must be served!”
    Justice, Phyllis thought. And Hollywood.

Chapter 12

     
    Having Eve back home made everything seem better, Phyllis thought. The place hadn’t exactly been empty without her, but the four of them were sort of like the Four Musketeers, as Sam had been known to claim.
    “And I’m D’Artagnan,” he would always add.
    “I wouldn’t know how to use a sword or a musket,” Carolyn had said the last time he brought it up. “I’m just glad you didn’t call us the Four Stooges.” She shuddered a little at the thought.
    “There were actually six Stooges in all...seven if you count Ted Healy, who started the act—”
    That was as far as the conversation had gotten before it moved on, thankfully, to something else.
    During the afternoon, at supper, and then during the evening, most of the discussion centered around Eve’s trip to Hollywood. She had plenty of stories to tell about the fancy hotel where she had stayed, the restaurants where she had eaten, the producers she had met, and the movie stars she had seen, which turned out to be more than just Channing Tatum.
    Eve was happy to monopolize the conversation, but she stopped now and then to ask about things that had happened in Weatherford while she was gone, and eventually, that brought out in bits and pieces the story of Phyllis and Sam’s investigation into Roxanne Jackson’s murder.
    “I’m surprised you haven’t solved it yet, dear,” Eve said as they all sat in the living room. “You’ve been looking into it for, what, two days now?”
    “It takes time to figure things out,” Phyllis said, then added dryly, “And who knows, one of these days I might not solve it.”
    Eve shook her head and declared, “Oh, no, I don’t believe that. Failure is not an option, as the old saying goes.”
    “Because it would be bad for sales of your book.”
    “Because it would be bad for that unjustly accused and convicted young man. If he really didn’t kill his wife, he shouldn’t be locked up for it. That just wouldn’t be fair.”
    Sam put in, “There’s another old sayin’ about life not bein’ fair.”
    “Yes, but it should be, whenever that’s possible,” Eve said. “And if we don’t strive for that, then what’s the point?”
    Flighty and shallow she might be, Phyllis thought—or at least might appear to be—but Eve still had the knack of putting her finger on the core of things. Phyllis supposed that was what made her a good writer.
    She was in her bedroom later, with her laptop open on the desk, when Sam knocked softly on the door and came in.
    “Goin’ back over the stuff in the newspapers about the case?” he asked her as he looked over her shoulder at the screen.
    “Yes, just to make sure I don’t forget anything I want to try to work into the conversation at the salon tomorrow morning. I may not get another chance to talk to the people who work there. It would look funny, after all, if I kept coming back.”
    “You could always claim they didn’t make you beautiful enough. Of course, I don’t know who’d ever believe that.”
    Without looking around, she swatted him lightly on the hip and said, “That’ll be enough flattery, Sam Fletcher. We’re both far too old for that.”
    “One more old sayin’...you’re only as old as you feel.” He bent over and kissed the top of her head. “And you make me feel like a young fella of sixty. But I’ll leave you to your studyin’. It’s important.”
    “I know,” Phyllis said. “I’m not sure if it’s because Danny’s going to be transferred to Huntsville any day now or if it’s something else, but I keep having the feeling that time is running out.”
    ••●••
    Sam took an old paperback Western novel with him the next morning, but he had his