A Peach of a Murder Read online

  Phyllis couldn’t help but smile at that description. “That does sound more like Carolyn, all right.”

  Sam shook his head and said, “I never have thought that she did it. She might slap somebody silly, but she wouldn’t poison ‘em.” He plugged in the saw. “Innocent or not, though, she’s still got a mighty big problem on her hands.”

  “Why do you say that?” Phyllis asked with a frown. “Because Boatwright’s murder has got the whole town stirred up. Mike may not have said anything to you about it, but I’ll bet the Fops are under a lot of pressure to arrest somebody.”

  “You don’t think they’ll really come after Carolyn, do you?”

  Sam raked a thumbnail along his jawline. “I don’t know. Sounds to me like she’s their main suspect. And you’ve got to admit, she’s got a good motive. She’s been up to her elbows in peach pits lately, too, and that’s where the cops think the chemical that killed Boatwright came from. On top of that, she was around the festival all day, and she could have slipped the stuff into his water bottle. In a big crowd like that, you’d think somebody would notice something that unusual, but that’s not necessarily the case. Most folks don’t pay any attention to anything that’s not right in front of their noses.”

  “I’ve had a lot of peach pits in the house, too,” Phyllis pointed out, “and I was around the festival enough that I could have poisoned Donnie’s water. That’s true of dozens of other people.”

  Sam shook his head. “You didn’t have any motive. Carolyn did.”

  “What about all those other people, especially the ones in the contest?”

  “That’s what the cops ought to be trying to find out.” Sam slipped a pair of safety goggles over his head. “I don’t know if that’ll happen, though. Once they start looking hard at a particular suspect, they sometimes tend to neglect all the others.”

  Phyllis didn’t think that would happen, especially with Mike being involved in the investigation … but you could never tell about these things. If Chief Whitmire and Sheriff Haney decided that Carolyn was guilty, they might try to push the case through the system in a hurry. What was that old expression? Railroaded? Phyllis respected both lawmen enough to hope that they wouldn’t do such a thing, but they were, after all, politicians….

  “Somebody killed Donnie Boatwright.” she declared firmly, “and it wasn’t Carolyn. They’ll just have to find out who it really was. Somebody will have to find out the truth.”

  “Uh-huh;” Sam said, and then he bent over and set the saw on the board he had clamped to the end of the workbench. He pulled the trigger and the circular blade began to revolve with a high-pitched whine. It bit into the wood, shearing smoothly through it as Sam followed the line he had drawn. The blade cut the end of the board off cleanly, and it dropped to the concrete floor of the garage. Sam set the saw aside, straightened up, and pushed the goggles up on his head as he turned to look at Phyllis. “Somebody meaning you?”

  She returned his level gaze but didn’t answer. Her heart pounded in her chest, as if she were standing on a high place, looking down at empty air just waiting for her to step out into it….

  Chapter 19

  The idea was still nibbling around the edges of Phyllis’s brain the next day. On the face of it, it was ridiculous. She couldn’t investigate a murder. She was just a retired schoolteacher.

  But she had taught history for all those years, she reminded herself. That meant she knew about cause and effect, and how one incident followed another and another and another, all of them linking together to form a single, far reaching chain of events. Of course, random violence sometimes occurred in the world-all too often, in fact but she didn’t believe for a minute that there was anything random about what had happened to Donnie Boatwright. The decision to kill him had been prompted by something that had happened in the past.

  And what was history if not the study of the past and how it affected the present?

  Mike would be furious if she started messing around in his case, she told herself. But if it was true what Sam had said about the authorities feeling considerable pressure to solve Donnie’s murder, if she could help Mike to do just that, it would be a good thing. Wouldn’t it? Being the mother of a deputy sheriff, and well-read to boot, she knew a few things about criminal investigations. She wouldn’t do anything to interfere with the official investigation, and she wouldn’t compromise any evidence.

  She would just … ask a few questions here and there.

  That was all. If she found out anything interesting, Mike could take it from there.

  Once her mind was made up, she knew she had to get started before she thought better of it. She got her car keys and stepped out into the garage.

  Sam was already at work again on his bookshelves, cutting the shorter boards that would form the shelves. His plan was to cut all of them and then stain them before he put them together. He set the saw aside, pushed the goggles up, and asked, “Goin’ somewhere?”

  “Just to run a few errands,” Phyllis said.

  She thought he looked a little suspicious, but he nodded and said, “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

  Phyllis just smiled and nodded back to him as she got into the Lincoln. Being casual, that was the ticket. Whatever she did, it would just be a little something, nothing to get all worked up about.

  But she couldn’t sit by and do nothing, she thought as she drove away from the house. Carolyn was still refusing to eat this morning. Something had to be done to clear her name, and Phyllis was no longer sure that the law was interested in that.

  She drove out the old highway to the newspaper office on the edge of town. A few years earlier, she’d had Bud Winfield’s twin daughters in her class, so she was acquainted with the editor and publisher of the paper. She knew him from the cooking contest at the peach festival, too, since he was usually one of the judges.

  Bud was in his office when Phyllis got there; she saw him through the window between the office and the reception area. The woman behind the counter asked if Phyllis needed help, but before she could answer, Bud came to the door of his office and said, “Hello, Miz Newsom. Something we can do for you?”

  “I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes, Bud.” “Sure, come on in and sit down.”

  Phyllis accepted the invitation. She sat down on an old sofa in Bud’s office as he closed the door. He went behind his desk and sank into a swivel chair.

  “I’m sure sorry about the way that contest turned out,” he told her. “Your cobbler was mighty good. What was that secret ingredient again? Cinnamon?”

  “Ginger,” Phyllis said, “and it wasn’t a secret. I even had the recipe printed up to give to people.”

  “Oh, yeah, I remember that. It’s a real shame, what happened to Donnie.”

  “Mat’s what I wanted to ask you about.”

  The lanky, redheaded Bud raised his eyebrows. “Me? I don’t know anything more about it than what the police have said in their official statements.”

  “You haven’t heard if they’re close to making an arrest?” Bud shook his head. “Not that I know of. I’m not sure they even have any suspects.”

  Then do I have a scoop for you, Phyllis thought, or at least I would have if I could reveal what I know about Carolyn and Sandra.

  But she would never do that. Instead she said, “I was more interested in talking about Donnie himself. You’ve known him for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, more than twenty years. Ever since I moved to Weatherford and bought the paper in, what was it, ‘84. You can’t cover local events in this town and not run into Donnie Boatwright. He had a finger in every pie you can think of.” Bud grinned. “Not just the peach ones.”

  “Yes, if there was ever a man whom everybody knew and liked, I guess it was Donnie’” said Phyllis.

  “Well … I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that everybody liked Donnie. He was a businessman, after all, and you can’t do business without getting cross
wise with somebody every now and then. “

  “Really?” Phyllis tried to look and sound interested without letting Bud know just how strong her interest really was. “Are you saying he had enemies?”

  “He had one, anyway,” Bud said pointedly. “Whoever slipped him that poison.”

  “I guess that goes without saying. But who could have hated him that much?”

  Bud shrugged. “I don’t like to gossip, but…” He broke into a grin. “Ah, who am I trying to kid? I’m a newspaperman. I love to gossip.” He leaned forward. “Donnie was quite a ladies’ man, you know, and he didn’t slow down much when he got older. In a week’s time, you might see him out for lunch or dinner with two or three different women. Heck, I’m surprised he never called you up after your husband passed away.”

  With a smile, Phyllis said, “Maybe he just hadn’t gotten around to me yet.”

  “Maybe so. But all I’m saying is that a guy who plays the field like that has to leave a few broken hearts behind him. And traditionally, poison is a woman’s weapon.”

  “I suppose that’s possible. Maybe money was at the root of it, though. You said Donnie might have made enemies in the business world.”

  Bud frowned in thought and then said, “Yeah, but I can’t think of anybody he screwed over - pardon my French - bad enough to make them want to kill him. Unless, of course, it was his brother and sister.”

  Again Phyllis struggled to control her reaction. She didn’t want Bud to see how shocked she was by what he had just said. “His brother and sister?” she repeated calmly.

  “Yeah. Now I really am telling tales out of school. But from what I’ve heard-and this is just rumor, mind you, because it all happened before I came to town-Donnie had a falling out with Charles and Sally a long time ago because of what happened with their mother’s will.”

  “I never heard anything about that.”

  “No reason you would have. It was Boatwright family business, after all. But as I understand it, the old lady had quite a bit of money, and Charles and Sally both expected that they’d get an equal share along with Donnie when she passed away. That’s not how it happened, though. Donnie had her power of attorney, and he managed to get his hands on most of her funds before she died. Then, to add insult to injury, she changed her will at the last minute and left everything to him anyway. That was the real slap in the face to them.” Bud shrugged. “Of course, that was a long time ago, and even without that inheritance they were expecting, Charles and Sally did all right for themselves. Charles has that car dealership, and Sally married Kent Hughes, who had that restaurant out on Highway 80. So neither of them ever hurt too much for money.”

  “I imagine they still resented what Donnie did, though.” “Yeah, but to think either of them would have held a grudge that long…… Bud shook his head. “I just don’t see it. Besides, they were pretty broken up at the funeral. I think they forgave Donnie a long time ago. He could be a scoundrel, but you couldn’t help but like him.”

  Maybe that was true, Phyllis thought, but their demeanor at the funeral didn’t have to mean anything. She recalled the line from Shakespeare about how a man could smile and smile, and still be a villain. She supposed that was true for crying at funerals, too.

  The picture of Donnie Boatwright that was starting to foam in her mind was considerably different from the image he projected to the public. Womanizer, sexual harasser, blackmailer, a man who would take advantage of his own family… . That was a far cry from everybody’s friend, the sort of surrogate grandfather or uncle to the whole town that Donnie had pretended to be.

  Or maybe he really was those things, too. Everybody was a mixture of good and bad, and Phyllis knew personally of quite a few ways that Donnie Boatwright had benefited Weatherford and Parker County. But the flaws had been there as well, and there was no doubt that one of them was responsible for getting him killed.

  “Phyllis, let me ask you a question,” Bud said, breaking

  into her thoughts. “Why did you come here today to talk about Donnie.”

  “Well … I was right there when he died,” she said. “That really bothered me, and not just because it looked for a minute like my peach cobbler might have killed him. I guess I just wanted to understand Donnie a little better, in hopes that maybe I’d understand why it happened.”

  Bud nodded slowly. “Yeah, I see what you mean. It was a real shock to all of us. Seeing him die like that, well, it’s made me think a lot about my own life.”

  “I appreciate you talking to me.”

  “Oh, I have an ulterior motive,” Bud said. “What could that be?”

  “Your son’s a deputy sheriff, and I know the sheriff’s department and the Weatherford police are cooperating on this case. Maybe if Mike were to hear something about the investigation … and if he just happened to mention it to you … you could maybe give me a call… .”

  “You want me to be a source for you,” Phyllis said. “What is it the newspaper stories always say? A source close to the investigation?”

  Bud smiled. “I’m just saying that could work out well. And Sheriff Haney would never find out where the information came from. I protect my sources.”

  “I’ll think about it, Bud,” Phyllis said, “but I can’t make any promises.”

  “Oh, sure, I understand. The subject might not ever come up. But if it does, keep me in mind, that’s all I’m asking.” Phyllis got to her feet. “I enjoyed our talk. Thank you, Bud.”

  “No problem. I’m convinced my girls got through Advanced Placement History in high school because of what they learned in your class. So I owe you for that.”

  “Not at all. It’s my job to teach. Or rather, it was my job, I should say.”

  “None of us are ever too old to learn.” Bud’s expression

  grew more solemn as he stepped over to the door. “I probably shouldn’t say this, since big stories are good for the paper, but I hope there aren’t any more murders around here for a while. Two of them are plenty.”

  Phyllis paused. “You’re talking about Newt Bishop, as well as Donnie?”

  “Yeah. There’s never been an official finding in his death, but I’m convinced somebody knocked that jack out from under his car on purpose.”

  “So am I,” Phyllis said.

  Bud’s eyes widened suddenly. “Say, you were the one who found Newt’s body. And you were right there when Donnie collapsed. That’s sort of strange, isn’t it?”

  Phyllis smiled. “Do you think I’m the killer, Bud, or just a jinx?”

  “No, no, I don’t mean anything like that,” he said quickly. “It’s just … weird.”

  “Well, for the record, I’d just as soon not see any more dead bodies, either.”

  “Yeah.” Bud laughed. But Phyllis thought it sounded a little weak, and he watched her with what looked like a mixture of interest and apprehension as she walked out of the newspaper office.

  She knew he didn’t seriously believe that she was a serial killer, murdering fast Newt Bishop and then Donnie Boatwright. But it was certainly true that she had been on hand for both of those mysterious deaths.

  And as she drove away, she suddenly asked herself if there could be any connection between them. As old-timers in Parker County, Donnie and Newt had known each other. Donnie, had known just about everybody of any importance in the county, and with his successful peach orchard, Newt had qualified for that distinction. But for the life of her, Phyllis didn’t see how their deaths could be related.

  It was sure something to think about, though.

  Chapter 20

  “What can I do for you, Miz Newsom?” Charles Boatwright asked as he and Phyllis stood in the showroom of Boatwright Motors, surrounded by the gleaming shapes of new cars.

  “Well, I was thinking about getting another car,” Phyllis said. “That Lincoln of mine is more than a few years old now.”

  “Yes, but they’re good cars, built to last. How many miles do you have on it?”

  “O
h, goodness, I don’t know for sure,” Phyllis said. “Around seventy thousand, I think.”

  Charles waved a hand. “It ought to do just fine for you for a good while yet. If you’d like, though, I can have the fellows in my service department look it over for you, just to make sure there aren’t any mechanical problems developing.”

  Phyllis couldn’t help but laugh a little. “This is the first time I’ve ever had a car salesman try to convince me not to buy a car.”

  Charles laughed, too. He was short and stocky, and despite being in his seventies, his hair was still thick and mostly brown. His hands and the lines around his eyes showed his age more than anything else.

  “I just want everybody to drive what they need to be driving,” he said. “I firmly believe there’s a right car for everybody, and if you’re happy with what you have, you don’t go messing with it.”