A Peach of a Murder

by Livia J. Washburn

  “So has your mother,” Carolyn responded with some of her more characteristic testiness. “I don’t see you accusing her of murder.”

  Mike shook his head. “I’m not accusing you of murder, Miz Wilbarger. I’m just trying to gather information.” “Well, here’s some information for you-there are a lot of other people around here who have been handling peaches lately. For God’s sake, this is Parker County. Everybody has peaches.”

  “That’s true,” Mike said, “but not everybody had a good reason to hate Donnie Boatwright.”

  “Look harder,” Carolyn said flatly. “If he was the sort of man who would do what he did to my Sandra, he must have done terrible things to a lot of other people.”

  That was a good point, Phyllis thought. Maybe Donnie had more enemies than anyone knew about.

  “I promise you, there’ll be a complete investigation,” Mike said. “We’re not going to overlook anything. That’s the reason I had to come and talk to you today, Miz Wilbarger, even though I didn’t really want to bring up all those old troubles. Sheriff Haney and Chief Whitmire thought it might be a little easier on you if it came from somebody you knew.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that it was,” Carolyn said. “But I don’t blame you, Mike. You’re just doing your job.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She wiped away the rest of her tears. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, not right now.”

  “Will … will you have to talk to Sandra?” “I’m afraid so.”

  “She didn’t even go to the peach festival, you know,” Carolyn said quickly. “I happen to know she drove over to Fort Worth on Saturday, to go shopping at Ridgmar Mall.”

  Phyllis was shocked to realize that Carolyn was trying to establish an alibi for Sandra. But that made sense, she mused, because if Carolyn was a suspect because of what Donnie had done to Sandra, then Sandra herself had to be under suspicion, too.

  “I’ll sure ask her about that,” Mike said. “In the meantime, you’re not planning on leaving town any time soon, are you?”

  “Mike!” Phyllis couldn’t contain the exclamation. “What a terrible thing to ask!”

  Carolyn lifted a hand. “No, it’s all right, Phyllis. Mike was always such a nice, polite boy. I know he doesn’t like this any more than we do.”

  “No, ma’am,” Mike said fervently. “You’ve sure got that right.”

  “I’m not going to be leaving town. You can find me right here, any time you need to talk to me.”

  Mike got to his feet and nodded. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch.”

  Carolyn stood up, too, and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to go upstairs and lie down for a while.”

  “Can I get you anything?” Phyllis asked.

  Carolyn shook her head. “No, I … I just want to rest.” Phyllis and Mike stood there as Carolyn climbed slowly up the stairs. When she was gone, Mike sighed.

  “I sure didn’t want to do that,” he said.

  Phyllis felt like giving him a maternal thump on the back of the head for upsetting Carolyn like that. At the same time, though, she knew it was true what Carolyn had said-Mike was just doing his job.

  She followed him onto the porch, well out of Carolyn’s earshot. “You knew about all of that before you got here, didn’t you? That didn’t just come out of the blue.”

  He shrugged. “I knew some of it. Chief Whitmire turned up the arrest record for Sandra Webster. That happened before he came to Weatherford, but the record of the arrest warrant was still in the computer. Since the charges were dropped, they never made it as far as court records.”

  “What about the sexual harassment charge?”

  “Now, that I didn’t know about,” Mike said. “We only had half of the story-the half that said Sandra Webster embezzled money from Donnie Boatwright.” He hesitated. “I’ve got to say, the things that Miz Wilbarger told me just make it look worse for her.”

  “Michael, you know good and well Carolyn Wilbarger never killed anybody. She’s been my friend for thirty years.” His eyebrows rose in surprise, and she knew it was because she had called him Michael, which she hardly ever did-only when she was really mad or upset. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said, “but she’s been Sandra’s mother for even longer than that. And what would you feel like doing if somebody did their dead level best to ruin my life?”

  “Why, I’d ” Phyllis stopped short, frowned, and then said, “I wouldn’t murder anybody because of that.”

  “No, but you’d feel like it, wouldn’t you?”

  Phyllis just looked at him for a long moment and then finally said, “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Carolyn wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “I hope it turns out you’re right.” He turned his hat over in his hands. “You know, I really shouldn’t even be talking to you about all of this. The details of an investigation are supposed to be confidential.”

  “I’m your mother. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

  He put his hat on and smiled. “I’ll remember to tell that to the sheriff if he ever calls me on the carpet about this.” Phyllis folded her arms and said firmly, “You just tell Sheriff Haney to talk to me if he has any problem with you. I’ll set him straight.”

  She just wished that settling this whole awful murder business could be that simple, and that she could make everyone else see what was so plain to her.

  No matter what her faults might be, Carolyn Wilbarger was no killer.

  Chapter 18

  Phyllis was still upset by the time Eve and Mattie got back from the high school, but she didn’t say anything to them about Mike’s visit or Carolyn’s shocking revelations. Obviously, Carolyn didn’t want the story of her daughter’s troubles with Donnie Boatwright getting out, and Phyllis intended to honor that wish to the best of her ability.

  Sam came in a short time later and found Phyllis in the kitchen. “I was wondering if I could ask you about something,” he said.

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “I notice there’s a workbench in the garage. Was it your husband’s?”

  Phyllis smiled. “What makes you think it’s not mine? A woman can work a saw, too, you know.”

  Sam looked embarrassed as he said hastily, “I’m sorry. The bench just looked like it hadn’t been used for a while, and I figured-“

  “You figured correctly, Sam,” Phyllis broke in. “I was just teasing you. That was Kenny’s workbench.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad I didn’t put my foot too far in my mouth. What I was wondering was-“

  “If you could use it? Of course. I’d be glad to see someone getting some use out of it.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Sam went on, “what did your husband use it for?”

  “Kenny collected model trains,” Phyllis explained. “He had quite a setup in one of the upstairs bedrooms. He designed all the layouts himself and built all the little buildings.” She smiled at the memory of all the hours of painstaking work Kenny had put into his hobby. “They were very detailed. He was quite good at it.”

  “I’m sure he was. What happened to all the trains?” Phyllis’s smile was touched with sadness as she said, “After he passed away, I donated everything to a children’s hospital. That was what Kenny wanted done. He liked to think that after he was gone, his work could bring some enjoyment to children and parents who needed cheering up.” “Sounds like he was quite a fella,” Sam said quietly. “But I already knew that.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “Because of the lady he married,” Sam said.

  Phyllis didn’t say anything, and at that moment the timer on the oven went off, telling her it was time to take out the meatloaf she was cooking. She had never been more glad for an interruption in her life.

  Sam didn’t leave, though, so after she had taken the meatloaf out of the oven, she changed the subject, sort of, by saying, “What do you intend to build?”

  “Oh, I
thought I might knock together a bookshelf or two. Most of my books are boxed up in storage, and I’d like to get some of ‘em out. That is, if you don’t mind my cluttering up the room with shelves.”

  “It’s your room as long as you’re here, Sam. You should feel free to do whatever you want.”

  “Okay. I’ve got some boards out in the pickup. I’ll go, uh, unload ‘em.”

  Phyllis laughed. “You don’t lack for confidence, do you, Sam? You knew I’d let you use the workbench.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly know … but I was hopin’.”

  He went out, and Phyllis continued getting supper ready. She wondered if Carolyn would come down to eat.

  As it turned out, the answer was no. Phyllis knocked on her door, but Carolyn said she didn’t feel like eating. At the table, Eve wanted to know what was wrong, and Phyllis said, “I think she’s just a little under the weather.”

  “Hope it’s not anything catchin’,” Mattie said. “I’ve got a bunch to do these days. Can’t afford to get sick.”

  Phyllis wasn’t sure how Mattie kept up with all her volunteer efforts anyway. Tutoring the summer school students took up most of her time, but she also put in stints at the library and the senior citizens’ center.

  “I don’t think it’s contagious,” Phyllis said. “Maybe I’ll take a tray up to her later, if she feels like it.”

  The conversation turned to what was going on at the high school these days. Even though it was summer vacation, things never really stopped completely at the school. There were the summer classes, of course, but there were also early band and football practice and other summer activities going on. It was less than a month until regular school started again, in fact. For most of Phyllis’s teaching career, school had started in September and lasted until the end of May. These days, though, the trend was to start the school year earlier and earlier. Phyllis didn’t like it, and was glad she didn’t have to teach classes when it was well over a hundred degrees outside.

  According to Mattie, a pall still hung over the school, caused by Billy Moser’s suicide. While he hadn’t been the most popular kid in school, he had been well liked.

  “And of course, kids all think they’re immortal to start with,” Mattie said. “It really knocks ‘em for a loop when something bad happens to one of their friends. Of course, they get over it fairly quick, at least on the surface, but I think it lingers in their minds for a long time. Once actual school starts, though, they’ll be too busy to think about it much.”

  After supper, Phyllis went upstairs again and knocked softly on Carolyn’s door, intending to ask if she wanted her to bring up a tray. When there was no answer, a frown creased Phyllis’s forehead.

  She didn’t believe for an instant that Carolyn would ever do anything to, well, hurt herself, but with the talk of Billy Moser’s suicide fresh in her mind, it was difficult not to at least consider the possibility. Phyllis caught her lower lip between her teeth and hesitated as she looked down at the doorknob. Respecting the privacy of her boarders was one of Phyllis’s ironclad rules, but if something was wrong with Carolyn, and she just walked away and let it happen, she would never forgive herself. She was just looking out for her friend’s welfare, she thought as she reached for the knob.

  She turned it slowly and quietly and found that the door wasn’t locked. Easing it open, she leaned forward and looked into the room. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn, but enough of the evening afterglow seeped . in so that Phyllis could make out the shapes of the furniture. She saw Carolyn lying on the bed, fully dressed except for her shoes. Phyllis listened intently and heard her deep, regular breathing. Relief went through her as she-realized that Carolyn was just sound asleep. That was probably the best thing in the world for her right now.

  Carefully, Phyllis pulled the door closed so that it didn’t make any noise. She turned away And stopped short as she saw Sam Fletcher standing in the hall at the head of the stairs, his hands tucked into the hip pockets of his jeans and a quizzical expression on his face. Phyllis lifted a hand. “I can explain.” she began. “No need,” Sam said. “This is your house, after all.” “Listen, Sam, I was … worried about Carolyn.”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You said she was feeling poorly.”

  “It’s not just that she’s sick.” Phyllis felt an almost overwhelming compulsion to explain herself. More than that, she realized suddenly that the knowledge she had gained today was a heavy weight. She wanted to share it with somebody, but she couldn’t tell Eve or Mattie. They had known Carolyn for too long and were too close to her. Carolyn would be humiliated if she ever found out that two more of her friends knew her daughter’s secret.

  But Carolyn barely knew Sam. Odd though it might seem, she would probably be bothered less if Sam knew about Sandra’s troubles than if Eve or Mattie found out.

  And it wasn’t like Sam would ever have any reason to mention the matter to Carolyn, either. The two of them hardly spoke. Anyway, if Phyllis swore Sam to secrecy, she knew instinctively that he would keep his word.

  “Were you going to your room?” she went on.

  “Yeah, but just to get my work gloves. I thought I might get started on those bookshelves we talked about.”

  “Do you mind a little company? Or does it bother you to have someone around while you’re working?”

  His graying eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I’d be glad for the company,” he said.

  “Good. I’ll meet you in the garage.”

  Sam nodded, still looking a little puzzled, and went past her toward the door of his room.

  Phyllis went downstairs and was waiting in the garage when Sam got there a few minutes later. Eve and Mattie were in the living room watching some reality show on television, so Phyllis didn’t think she and Sam would be interrupted.

  Sam was pulling on his gloves as he came into the garage. Phyllis said, “I know it looked like I was snooping, but-“

  “Hold on a minute,” Sam said. “I figured you wanted to talk about that, but let me get a board up on the bench first.” He selected a board from a stack of one-by-sixes he had unloaded from his pickup earlier, and placed it on the workbench. Then he took a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the bench.

  “Plans I drew up,” he explained. “Architecture’s beyond me, but I can design some bookshelves.” He took a short pencil from his pocket and laid a four-foot metal ruler on the board. “Go ahead, Phyllis. Tell me whatever you want to tell me … and I’m guessing you want me to keep it under my hat.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “You’ve got my word on it,” he said simply, and that was good enough for her.

  “Mike was here this afternoon. He had some questions for Carolyn … about Donnie Boatwright’s murder, and about Carolyn’s daughter, Sandra.”

  Sam started to look surprised, but he managed to confine the reaction to one quirked eyebrow. He lined up the ruler on the edge of the board and marked off four feet. Then he moved it and marked off two more feet for a total of six. “Go on,” he said as he used a square to draw a straight line across the width of the board.

  Phyllis sketched in the details of what she had learned that afternoon. Sam listened impassively as he took a circular saw from the cabinet underneath the workbench. Obviously, he had investigated to see what tools were stored there. Phyllis paused in her story and felt a funny little twinge inside when she saw one of Kenny’s tools in Sam’s hands, but then a feeling came over her that told her it was all right. Just as Kenny had wanted his work on the model trains to be put to good use, he wouldn’t have wanted perfectly good tools to just sit in the cabinet and rust.

  Phyllis resumed the story, and when she had finished, she said, “So you can see why I was worried about Carolyn. I thought she might have done something.” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t even say it, the idea seemed so ludicrous now.

  “You thought maybe she really did poison Donnie Boa
twright, and she was takin’ the easy way out instead of waiting to get caught,” Sam said.

  “Well, yes. I know it’s ridiculous. Carolyn would never

  do either of those things. But I guess my wont’ just got the best of me for a minute.”

  “No crime in worryin’.about a friend. I’m not sure I agree with you completely, though.”

  “Oh? What don’t you agree with?”

  “I can see Carolyn gettin’ mad enough to try to even the score with Boatwright, but if she ever did something like that, I don’t think she’d kill herself over it, or even deny it. Seems more likely to me that she’d stand up straight, spit in the eye of whoever accused her, and say that heck, yes, she did it, and Boatwright had it comin’ to him”