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Authors: Livia J. Washburn
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walk you out,” Sam said.
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 53
Frank stopped before he reached the hallway. He looked back and said, “You know my boy Randall, don’t you, Mrs. Newsom?”
“I remember hearing Agnes talk about him, and I’m sure
I’ve seen pictures of him,” Phyllis said, “but I don’t recall that I ever met him, Frank.”
“Well, if you see him . . . if he happens to come by while we’re not around . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him we’re looking for him. We, uh, haven’t seen him for a while.”
Sam frowned and said, “You don’t know how to get in touch with him?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He moves around a lot.”
“All right,” Phyllis said, her voice gentle. “I really don’t think it’s very likely I’ll be seeing him, Frank, but if I do, I’ll be sure to tell him to talk to you.”
“Thanks.” Frank Simmons lifted a hand and this time left
the house.
When Sam came back from closing the front door behind
the visitor, he asked, “What the heck was that last bit about? You know anything about the guy’s kid, Phyllis?”
She cast her mind back over conversations she’d had with
Agnes in the past and then said, “I think Randall Simmons was sort of the black sheep of the family. From things that Agnes said, I think Frank had a lot of trouble with the boy when he was growing up. They never got along very well. I didn’t know that Randall had disappeared, though.”
“I can’t imagine a child going off like that so his family doesn’t have any idea where he is,” Carolyn said. “That must be a terrible feeling.”
“Randall would be a grown man by now. He must be Mike’s
age, at least.” Phyllis paused, then went on. “But I know what you mean. It doesn’t matter how old your child is; he’s still your child. And you still worry about him.”
54 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Sarah smiled and said, “You mean I’m never going to stop
worrying about Bobby?”
Phyllis shook her head. “No, dear, I’m afraid you won’t.
That’s just part of being a parent. You worry about your kids, and your grandkids, and your great -grandkids. . . .”
She knew that Agnes Simmons had worried about her
grandson Randall. Phyllis could remember hearing the concern in the older woman’s voice when she talked about the troubles between Frank and Randall. It was unusual for Agnes to open up that much about family matters, especially since she and Phyllis hadn’t really been all that close. But that was a good indication of just how upset she was about the subject.
Sarah stood up and said, “Speaking of my kid, I’ve got to go pick him up. Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Phyllis? Or anything you need from the store?”
Phyllis shook her head and said for what seemed like the
hundredth time, “No, I’m fine. And if there’s anything I need, I have these three here to help me.” She smiled at Sam and Carolyn and Eve.
“And we’re not goin’ anywhere,” Sam said. “I reckon you
can count on that.”
Phyllis did. She had come to count on their friendship every day of her life.
Chapter 6
L ater that morning, Phyllis dozed off in the recliner, and that sleep was actually more restful than what she had gotten in the hospital the night before. She supposed it had something to do with being home again.
When she woke up, the smell of good food cooking filled
the house. She smiled without opening her eyes. All rivalries aside, Carolyn really was an excellent cook, and Phyllis didn’t mind admitting that.
She stood up and went to the kitchen, pausing just inside the doorway in surprise when she saw Sam standing at the counter with a saucepan in one hand and a spoon in the other. He was placing dollops of some sort of caramel mixture from the saucepan into the center of what looked like chocolate oatmeal cookies arranged on a long sheet of waxed paper. On the other side of the kitchen, Carolyn tended to food that was cooking on the
THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE KILLER • 53
Frank stopped before he reached the hallway. He looked back and said, “You know my boy Randall, don’t you, Mrs. Newsom?”
“I remember hearing Agnes talk about him, and I’m sure
I’ve seen pictures of him,” Phyllis said, “but I don’t recall that I ever met him, Frank.”
“Well, if you see him . . . if he happens to come by while we’re not around . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him we’re looking for him. We, uh, haven’t seen him for a while.”
Sam frowned and said, “You don’t know how to get in touch with him?”
“No, I’m afraid not. He moves around a lot.”
“All right,” Phyllis said, her voice gentle. “I really don’t think it’s very likely I’ll be seeing him, Frank, but if I do, I’ll be sure to tell him to talk to you.”
“Thanks.” Frank Simmons lifted a hand and this time left
the house.
When Sam came back from closing the front door behind
the visitor, he asked, “What the heck was that last bit about? You know anything about the guy’s kid, Phyllis?”
She cast her mind back over conversations she’d had with
Agnes in the past and then said, “I think Randall Simmons was sort of the black sheep of the family. From things that Agnes said, I think Frank had a lot of trouble with the boy when he was growing up. They never got along very well. I didn’t know that Randall had disappeared, though.”
“I can’t imagine a child going off like that so his family doesn’t have any idea where he is,” Carolyn said. “That must be a terrible feeling.”
“Randall would be a grown man by now. He must be Mike’s
age, at least.” Phyllis paused, then went on. “But I know what you mean. It doesn’t matter how old your child is; he’s still your child. And you still worry about him.”
54 • LIVIA J. WASHBURN
Sarah smiled and said, “You mean I’m never going to stop
worrying about Bobby?”
Phyllis shook her head. “No, dear, I’m afraid you won’t.
That’s just part of being a parent. You worry about your kids, and your grandkids, and your great -grandkids. . . .”
She knew that Agnes Simmons had worried about her
grandson Randall. Phyllis could remember hearing the concern in the older woman’s voice when she talked about the troubles between Frank and Randall. It was unusual for Agnes to open up that much about family matters, especially since she and Phyllis hadn’t really been all that close. But that was a good indication of just how upset she was about the subject.
Sarah stood up and said, “Speaking of my kid, I’ve got to go pick him up. Is there anything I can do for you before I go, Phyllis? Or anything you need from the store?”
Phyllis shook her head and said for what seemed like the
hundredth time, “No, I’m fine. And if there’s anything I need, I have these three here to help me.” She smiled at Sam and Carolyn and Eve.
“And we’re not goin’ anywhere,” Sam said. “I reckon you
can count on that.”
Phyllis did. She had come to count on their friendship every day of her life.
Chapter 6
L ater that morning, Phyllis dozed off in the recliner, and that sleep was actually more restful than what she had gotten in the hospital the night before. She supposed it had something to do with being home again.
When she woke up, the smell of good food cooking filled
the house. She smiled without opening her eyes. All rivalries aside, Carolyn really was an excellent cook, and Phyllis didn’t mind admitting that.
She stood up and went to the kitchen, pausing just inside the doorway in surprise when she saw Sam standing at the counter with a saucepan in one hand and a spoon in the other. He was placing dollops of some sort of caramel mixture from the saucepan into the center of what looked like chocolate oatmeal cookies arranged on a long sheet of waxed paper. On the other side of the kitchen, Carolyn tended to food that was cooking on the
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