A Peach of a Murder (13 page)

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, farreaching chain of evegts. 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: '

T,he 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 crosswise 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 Frenchbad 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 hey 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.

"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?"

"Oh, 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."

"Those sound like words to live by." Charles smiled. "I try to."

"Well ... I have to admit that my car's not really giving me any problems, and if you think I ought to stick with it a while longer, I will."

"Just remember who gave you that good advice, and when you need to replace your Lincoln, you come see me again."

"Oh, 1 will." Phyllis hesitated. "While I'm here, I'd like to tell you just how sorry I am about what happened to your brother."

A solemn expression appeared on Charles's face, and he nodded slowly. "It was a terrible shock, all right. I appreciate your words of condolence, Miz Newsom." He paused. "Although I suppose under the circumstances, what happened was almost as shocking for you as it was for my sister and me." "It was horrible," Phyllis admitted. "For a moment there, I ... I really did think that I might have been to blame for ... for what happened."

Phyllis blinked her eyes and raised a hand to cover them, as if trying to conceal the fact that she was about to cry. She had never thought of herself as any sort of an actress, but she must have been convincing, because Charles Boatwright stepped toward her quickly, touched her arm, and said,

"Oh, no, Miz Newsom, please don't blame yourself. We all know now that you had nothing to do with it."

"Yes, but ... he had just eaten some of my cobbler. . . :' Charles looked around the showroom. A couple of his salesmen were talking to other customers, and there were people out in the service area, but other than that, the place wasn't busy. He said, "Why don't you come into my office and sit down for a minute? I don't like for anyone to leave Boatwright Motors upset."

"I . . . I think I would like that," Phyllis said. "Thank you, Mr. Boatwright."

He took her arm and steered her toward a door that led off the showroom floor. "Please, call me Charles," he said. "Would you like a cup of coffee, or a cold drink?"

"Some coffee would be very nice."

"We'll get you settled in the office, and I'll bring you a cup."

Phyllis felt a twinge of guilt as Charles took her into his spacious, wood-paneled office and set her down in a comfortable leather chair in front of his desk. Here she was, putting on a big show of being upset, and he was trying to be nice to her.

But she wanted to find out more about the relationship between Donnie Boatwright and his brother and sister, and this was the only way she'd been able to think of.

Charles said, "I'll be right back," and left her sitting in the office. Phyllis frowned at the desk, wondering if she ought to take this opportunity to rifle through it. That was one of the things detectives did, wasn't it?

But she realized that she wouldn't really know what she was looking for, and anyway, Charles probably kept any important documents locked up. And since the poison that had killed Donnie probably had come from peach pits, it wasn't like she could open a desk drawer and find a bottle of arsenic or something like that in it. Locating the murder weapon wouldn't be that convenient in this case.

Maybe she could find something that would indicate the car dealership was going broke. That would strengthen Charles's motive. His brother had cheated him out of his inheritance, and now his business was failing. That would be a reason to get mad enough to kill, wouldn't it?

But for one thing, all you had to do was take a look around the dealership to know that it was doing just fine. The place practically reeked of success. That could be a sham, of course, a cleverly constructed fagade, but Phyllis didn't think that was the case. And for another thing, she didn't want to get caught searching the desk. So she stayed where she was in the leather chair, although she did have the presence of mind to take a lacy handkerchief from her purse and clutch it in her hand as if she had been using it to dab at her eyes.

Charles came back into the office a minute later, so Phyllis was glad she hadn't tried to get into his desk. He carried a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, along with packets of sugar, artificial sweetener, and nondairy creamer in the other hand. "I didn't know how you take your coffee," he said, "so I brought some of everything."

"Thank you, Mr. Boatwright. I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"No bother at all," he said as he handed the cup to her and placed the other things on the front edge of the desk where she could reach them easily. "And I told you to call me Charles."

Phyllis summoned up a smile. "'then thank you, Charles." She set the cup on the desk and emptied some creamer and artificial sweetener into the coffee. She lifted it to her mouth, took a sip, and said, "That's very good."

"Well, you just take your time with it:' "I hate to keep you from your work......

He sat down behind the desk and gave another of those expansive hand waves that seemed to be a habit with him. "You're not keeping me from anything." He smiled. "I'll let you in on a little secret.... This place practically runs itself. The key is hiring good people."

"I know several people who say they wouldn't buy a car from anybody else."

"Why, that's mighty nice to hear. It's been a pleasure serving the good people of Weatherford and Parker County for all these years. "

He sounded a little like a TV commercial, Phyllis thought. She supposed that when you were in the business of selling cars, that became a habit, too. She took another couple of sips of coffee and then said, "I'm really glad you don't hold a grudge against me because of what happened to your brother.

I hesitated about coming here today because of that."

"Goodness, why in the world would you feel that way?" Charles asked with a frown. "You didn't have anything to do with his death."

"If you don't want to talk about it, I certainly understand, but.. . do the police have any idea who was responsible?" What looked like anger flashed in Charles's eyes. "If they do, they haven't told me about it," he said, his tone growing sharp. "And I don't mind saying, my sister and I are rather upset about it. They won't tell us if they have any suspects, or anything else about the investigation."

Phyllis felt a flash of relief. That meant the police were keeping their suspicions of Carolyn to themselves, at least for the time being. She was convinced Carolyn was innocent, so there was no point in the story of what Donnie had done to Sandra ever getting out to the public.

"Mat must be terribly frustrating," she said.

Charles nodded. "It is. I've heard that with every day that goes by in a murder case, the chances of catching the killer go down. I just hate to think that whoever killed Donnie might get away with it."

"I don't see how anybody could want to hurt your brother. He did so much for Weatherford and for Parker County, and I'm sure he did that much or more for his family."

"Well, I wouldn't say-" Charles stopped himself. After a moment, as Phyllis looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face, he went on. "There are little spats in every family. And Donnie was my big brother, after all. Brothers always fight sometimes."

Phyllis allowed herself a smile. "Mine certainly did."

"I remember a time . . :" Charles leaned back in his chair and smiled a little. Phyllis knew that people seemed to like talking to her. She supposed she had developed that ability during her years as a teacher, because sometimes you needed the students to open up to you. Charles went on. "We were swimming over in the Clear Fork, before they ever built the lake, and Donnie kept dunking me. He thought it was so funny, and he just wouldn't stop. I got so aggravated at him I could have just-"

Phyllis expected Charles to say killed him, but instead he stopped short, and to Phyllis's surprise a tear welled from the corner of his right eye and ran down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he went on as he brushed it away. "I don't mean to get all maudlin. It's just that talking about Donnie brings back so many memories."

"I understand," Phyllis said.

"When you lose somebody, even the memories of them that aren't so good become precious in their own way." Phyllis nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. There were days when I wanted to strangle my husband, but since he's been gone, even those times mean so much to me." "Exactly,"

Charles said. "Even when Donnie would pull some stunt that you didn't like-and he could pull some doozies, let me tell you-once you got over being mad you'd see that he was, well, just being Donnie. You couldn't stay upset with him. I know I never could."

Was he telling the truth, Phyllis asked herself, or was he just trying to cover up the rage he had felt for years-the rage at the injustice of it all, which had built up until Charles Boatwright finally snapped and did something to get even with his older brother?

I'm, well," Charles went on after a moment of silence, "you didn't come here to listen to me reminisce about bonnie. I'm sure you must have better things to do."

"No, that's fine," Phyllis said quickly. "If our conversation made you relive some good times, I'm glad. And I know talking to you has made me feel better."

"Well, good. I guess I had better get back to work, though.... "

Phyllis took one more sip of coffee and then set the cup on the desk. "Thank you. I'm sorry if I was a bother." "Not at all, not at all." Charles came to his feet as Phyllis stood up. "Now, you remember what I told you about coming to see me when you do get ready for a new car. I'll see to it that you get the best deal in Parker County."

"Thank you, Charles:' Phyllis tucked her handkerchief back in her purse. She hoped he hadn't noticed that her eyes weren't red, as they would have been if she had really been crying. Probably not, she decided, since the very idea of a woman crying gave most men the fantods. They were too busy feeling uncomfortable and wondering what they should do to pay much attention to what was really going on.

With a smile, Phyllis left the office. She walked across the showroom and out the door to the parking lot, where she had left her car. To her left was the service area, and in front of and beyond it was the large lot where late-model used cars were parked. To her right was the sweeping lot full of new vehicles. Just looking at all the cars made Phyllis realize that her thoughts about the dealership possibly going under had been foolish. Charles Boatwright was doing very well. He might harbor some resentment toward his brother for the fast one Donnie had pulled when their mother passed away, but was it likely he hated Donnie enough because of it to poison him?

Phyllis didn't think so.

And yet there had been that moment when Charles had spoken of the incident in the Clear Fork of the Trinity River, when he and Donnie were young. True, the moment had been a fleeting one, but for a second there Phyllis had been convinced she saw a lot of long-forgotten anger in Charles's eyes. She was leaning away from regarding him as a strong suspect in Donnie's murder, but she couldn't eliminate him entirely.

As she drove away, her mind went back to the story of Cain and Abel. While it was hard for her to even conceive of one brother hating another enough to kill him, there was plenty of precedent. Cain had murdered Abel out of jealousy, and down through the ages, time and again, brother had slain brother for that reason, and for all the other possible combinations of greed and lust and ambition you could think of. It happened sometimes, and maybe Charles Boatwright was just a damed good actor.

She supposed she needed to keep digging. She had done enough gardening to know that to get the results you wanted, most of the time you had to get your hands dirty.