A Peach of a Murder

by Livia J. Washburn

  “Within reason,” Carolyn said. “With the Peach Festival coming up, the kitchen is going to be pretty busy for a while.”

  Phyllis’s lips tightened. Carolyn was a good one to talk, the way she had hogged the kitchen for half the day.

  Sam smiled as he looked around at them. “You ladies wouldn’t be entering the cooking contest, would you?” “Phyllis and Carolyn are involved in that,” Eve said quickly. “I never had the skills in the kitchen that those two have. I save my energy for other things.”

  “Oh,” Sam said. “Well, I, uh . .”

  “Don’t mind her,” Carolyn said. “She’s that way with every man who still has a pulse.”

  That was true, Phyllis thought, although she might have phrased it a bit more delicately. Or not said it at all.

  Eve arched her eyebrows. “Well! I certainly hope your recipe this year isn’t that sour, dear, otherwise Phyllis is sure to beat you this time.”

  “I doubt that,” Carolyn said.

  Phyllis managed to laugh as she wished the tension in the air would go away. She said to Sam, “If we haven’t scared you off already, would you like to see the rest of the house?” “I sure would.”

  The tour didn’t take long. As it was going on, Phyllis explained that there was one other boarder in the house who wasn’t there at the moment. Sam didn’t press her for the details, and she didn’t supply them. If he moved in here, he would meet Mattie soon enough.

  They walked back into the living room a short time later. Phyllis began, “I imagine you’ll want to think it over-” “Nope;” Sam said. “I’ve seen enough. This is a beautiful house, and you ladies seem like fine company. I’d be pleased to board here, if you’ll have me.”

  “Well…” Phyllis glanced at Carolyn, who still looked disapproving, but maybe not quite as much as she had when she first heard about the possibility. And Eve, of course, was all for the idea. Phyllis tried to think of some reason she should say no, but she couldn’t. Sam Fletcher was friendly, polite, and every bit the gentleman that Dolly Williamson had said he was, without being smarmy about it at all.

  Phyllis took a deep breath. “When can you move in?”

  “I can start bringing my stuff over tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Sam hesitated and then said, “You know, your name sounded familiar to me, Phyllis, and I just remembered where I heard it before. You’re the one who found that poor fella under his car, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I read about it in the paper.” Sam shook his head solemnly. “Must have been a terrible experience.”

  “Yes, it was, and I don’t really like to talk about it.” Whenever she thought too much about Mike’s visit that morning and the things he had told them, it still made her upset.

  “I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again,” Sam said quickly. He frowned. “Anyway, don’t I, uh, smell something burning?” Phyllis sniffed, and then her eyes widened with horror. “My cobbler!” she exclaimed as she turned and ran for the kitchen.

  Chapter 5

  “I never liked funerals,” Phyllis said as she straightened the pin on her gray blouse. She wore a black skirt with the blouse. This was her summer funeral outfit. People didn’t seem to care as much anymore about wearing something dark to funerals, but to Phyllis anything else would have been a gesture of disrespect for the deceased.

  Not that she’d ever had all that much respect for Newt Bishop, but still … he was dead, after all.

  Mattie leaned over and checked her hair in the mirror that hung in the big house’s front hall. “When you get to be my age,” she said, “You’ll have been to so many funerals it’ll seem like something’s missing when you go a week without one.”

  Eve came along the hall and asked, “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay here, Phyllis? Someone should be here while Sam is unloading his things, don’t you think?”

  “Carolyn will be here,” Phyllis pointed out. Carolyn was the lone Methodist among the women. Phyllis, Mattie, and Eve all attended the Baptist church where Newt Bishop had been a member and where his funeral would be taking place in a half hour or so. Newt had shown up for services only occasionally, but he still had a right to have his funeral there. And as loyal church members, Phyllis, Mattie, and Eve all felt like they ought to go.

  “Yes, but Carolyn will just hide out in her room, and you know it,” Eve said. “She’s made it plain that she doesn’t want anything to do with Sam. If he needs any help, I’m sure it would never occur to her to offer.”

  Phyllis said, “Sam Fletcher didn’t seem to me like the sort of man who would need any help moving a few things into a house.”

  A smile spread across Eve’s face. “Yes, he did appear quite strong and capable, didn’t he?”

  Mattie laughed and said, “I want to meet this fella who’s got you hens all cluckin’ and flappin’.”

  “Why, I certainly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eve protested. “I’m not the sort to take on over some man.” That got another laugh from Mattie.

  Phyllis picked up her purse from the hall table. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

  The other two didn’t argue. Mattie had given up driving years earlier, somewhat reluctantly. Her eyesight and her reflexes just weren’t up to the task. Eve still drove, but her little foreign car had such a tiny backseat, it was uncomfortable for more than two people. Even the front seat wasn’t that big, and Phyllis permitted herself a mental chuckle at the thought of Sam Fletcher trying to fit his long legs into Eve’s car. He’d have a much easier time of it in Phyllis’s Lincoln.

  Not that there was much likelihood he’d ever be riding with either of them, she reminded herself.

  The three women went into the double garage and Phyllis hit the button that opened the door behind her car. It rumbled and shook a little as it rose. They got into the Lincoln. The Baptist church was only four blocks away, but what was a pleasant walk at some tunes of the year definitely wasn’t in July.

  From the looks of the cars in the church parking lot and at the curbs along the street, there was going to be a good turnout for the funeral. The hearse was already there, parked in front of the building. There was also a police car with a young bored-looking uniformed officer leaning against the fender. He would lead the funeral procession to the cemetery after the service. Several men in dark suits stood on the church’s front porch, talking. Phyllis knew they were from the funeral home. Other people, soberly dressed men and women for the most part, were making their way through the front doors of the church.

  Phyllis made a block and drove around back, knowing that there was a small parking lot at the rear of the church property. As she had suspected, it was only half full. She parked the Lincoln there, and then she, Mattie, and Eve got out and walked along the side of the building toward the front, following a concrete walk that led past some hedges.

  Just before they got to the comer of the .building, Phyllis stopped short. A dark blue pickup had pulled up in the church’s driveway and stopped behind the hearse. A tall, slender man got out from behind the wheel and slammed the door hard. A boy climbed out of the truck on the passenger side and closed his door more carefully. One of the men from the funeral home came over to speak to them.

  “Phyllis, dear, what’s wrong?” Eve. asked. “Aren’t we going inside?”

  “They’ll be starting soon,” Mattie put in.

  Phyllis gave a little shake of her head. “Yes, of course.” she said. She had recognized the boy who got out of the pickup. He was Justin Bishop, Newt’s grandson who had been helping out at the orchard that day. Which meant the man with him was probably his father.

  Quietly, as the three women walked up the side steps to the church’s porch, Phyllis said to Mattie, “Isn’t that Darryl Bishop over there talking to Mr. McGinley from the funeral home?”

  Mattie squinted. “Yes, I believe it is. I suppose I should go talk to him
, tell him how sorry I am for his loss.”

  “We can do that later.” Phyllis said, lightly touching Mattie’s arm to steer her through the open doors into the church. “He’s busy right now.”

  “All right. They’re sure lettin’ the air-conditioning out, aren’t they?”

  Phyllis glanced over her shoulder as they went into the church. Darryl Bishop was in his thirties, with thinning brown hair and a prominent Adam’s apple. There was certainly a resemblance between him and the glum little boy who stood with him, surreptitiously tugging at the tie around his neck, but Phyllis didn’t see how Mattie could have mistaken Justin for his father. Of course, Phyllis hadn’t known Darryl when he was a little boy, either, and Mattie had. People sometimes changed a lot over the years.

  The three women found a place to sit in one of the pews on the right-hand side of the auditorium, about a third of the way toward the front. The church was almost full. Perhaps Newt Bishop hadn’t had a lot of close friends, but he had been a man with plenty of acquaintances. He also hired a good number of immigrants to work in his orchard, and some of them were on hand. They sat together on the other side of the auditorium, dressed in clean, neatly pressed work clothes, holding their straw Stetsons in their hands as they talked quietly among themselves in Spanish.

  Phyllis felt someone sit down beside her, and looked over to see her son. Mike said in a half whisper, “Hi, Mom.” He nodded toward the part of-the church where Phyllis had been looking and added, “I’ll bet at least half of those fellas are illegals.”

  “You’re not going to arrest them, are you?” she asked in surprise.

  “Shoot, no. At a funeral? Anyway, they’re good, hard working folks-at least most of ‘em are-just trying to do what they can for their families. And they had to put up with working for Newt Bishop, so I figure they’ve already been punished enough.”

  Phyllis frowned. Mike’s comment came too close to speaking ill of the dead to suit her. She would have a talk with him about that later. At least she approved of his attitude toward the immigrants. Once when he was a kid, she had overheard him laughing with his friends about some “wetbacks.” A couple of weeks without any allowance had taught him a little something about not referring to people by hurtful names.

  She turned her attention to the front of the church as the organist began to play a hymn. The flowers that surrounded the closed coffin were lovely. Eve was the former English teacher, but a line from some poem came back to Phyllis, something about finding beauty in death. She supposed that might be true, but overall she didn’t have much use for it.

  The crowd settled down as the organist went through a couple of songs, and then one of the men from the funeral home led the family in through a door to the left of the pulpit. Everyone stood up. Newt Bishop’s son and grandson were his only close family, but he’d had some cousins and nieces and nephews. About a dozen people in all filed into the pews reserved for family. The minister came last, stepped up behind the pulpit as the organist finished playing, and said, “Let’s all bow our heads in prayer.”

  Phyllis might not have been to as many funerals as Mattie, but she had been to plenty, enough so that her mind wandered while the minister was eulogizing Newt Bishop and then offering up a short sermon. She looked at Darryl, and though she couldn’t see but a little bit of his face, he seemed calm and under control, not broken up as some people might be. Of course, everybody dealt with their grief in different ways. Justin sat beside his father and wiped at his eyes every now and then, obviously trying to be discreet about it. A few of the female relatives let out an occasional sob. But clearly, there wasn’t going to be any weeping and wailing over Newt’s passing.

  One of the ladies from the church got up and sang a hymn, the preacher made a few more remarks, and then the organist played while the men from the funeral home moved the flower arrangement from the top of the casket, opened the lid, and folded back the lining. Everyone stood to file past the coffin for a last look at the deceased, a custom that Phyllis, in her heart of hearts, regarded as somewhat barbaric and morbid. She had already decided that when she went, they could darned well leave the coffin closed.

  But tradition couldn’t be ignored, so she and Mattie and Eve shuffled past along with everybody else. Newt didn’t look like himself and didn’t look like he was sleeping, no matter what anyone said. Then it was over, and Phyllis was able to step outside with a small sigh of relief.

  Mike was behind her. He was in uniform, and as soon as he was outside, he put his hat on. Phyllis touched him on the arm and said, “Are you going out to the cemetery?”

  He shook his, head. “Nope, I don’t think so. I go on duty in just a little while.”

  “You can wait a minute, can’t you?” “Yeah, I suppose.”

  Phyllis turned to her friends and said, “Mattie, what happened to Darryl Bishop’s wife? The little boy’s mother?” Mattie frowned as she tried to remember the answer to Phyllis’s question. “She passed away a few years ago, I know that. Cancer, maybe. Or leukemia. I’m not sure which.” “So it’s just the two of them?”

  “That’s right.” -

  “And now Darryl’s lost his father, too,” Phyllis said softly.

  “Was there something you wanted to ask me, Mom?” Mike said.

  She turned back to face him and took a deep breath. “Actually, there’s something I want to tell you. That pickup over there, behind the hearse…’ ” She nodded toward the vehicles. “That’s Darryl Bishop’s truck, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same one I saw out at Newt’s place the other day, just before he was killed.” `

  Chapter 6

  “Are you sure about that?” Mike asked a short time later as he sat in the kitchen of his mother’s house, a glass of iced tea with lemon on the table in front of him. He had called the dispatcher at the sheriff’s office and explained that he was following up on some new information concerning Newt Bishop’s death.

  “Well, I can’t be absolutely certain,” Phyllis said as she sat down on the other side of the table. She had a glass of tea, too, but she didn’t drink from it, just moved it around a little on the table instead. She frowned. “But if that wasn’t Darryl’s pickup I saw out at the farm, it was one that looked an awful lot like it.”

  Mike shrugged. “There are probably a lot of blue pickups in Parker County. I can probably check that through the computer.”

  Phyllis suppressed a brief flash of irritation. Mike wasn’t doubting her word, she told herself. He was just doing his job, which was to consider every possibility and check everything that could be checked. A law enforcement officer had to have proof of things, not just somebody’s opinion. Even when that opinion came from the officer’s mother.

  “I didn’t get a real good look at the man who came up and talked to Newt,” she said, “but from what I saw, it could have been Darryl. He was certainly taller and thinner than Newt.” She held up a hand to stop Mike from saying anything. “And before you point it out, I realize that there are a lot of men around here who are taller and thinner than Newt was.” “That thought did cross my mind,” Mike said with a slight smile. “But I believe you, Mom. Don’t think for a second that I don’t. I’m just a little surprised that you didn’t recognize Darryl that day, even seeing him from a distance.” “I’m not. I never knew him all that well, and he wasn’t in any of my classes. I haven’t seen him to speak to in several years.”

  Mike nodded. “That makes sense. The man you saw, whether he was Darryl or not … you said he was arguing with Mr. Bishop?”

  “He seemed to be. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, of course, so again, I don’t know for sure.”

  “Did the man seem violent?”

  Phyllis concentrated, trying to see the scene again in her mind. “Not violent, really, but definitely agitated. He kept waving his arms around.”

  `But he didn’t try to hit Mr. Bishop?” “Not that I saw.”

  Mike took a long drink of the tea and then set the glass down. He fro
wned, too, and Phyllis began to worry even more.

  “You don’t think Darryl could have hurt his own father, do you?” she asked.

  “You never know,” Mike said. “When some folks get mad enough, they’re liable to do almost anything.”

  “But the pickup left,” Phyllis pointed out. “And Newt was just fine after that. I know because I saw him several times, moving around the barn.”

  “Maybe after Darryl drove off, he parked the pickup somewhere close, somewhere you couldn’t see it, and then came back on foot. He grew up out there on that farm. He probably knows all the paths and shortcuts. He could’ve slipped into the back’ of the barn without anybody seeing him.”

  “He wouldn’t do that unless-“Phyllis stopped short, unable to bring herself to go on.