A Peach of a Murder (10 page)

"Well, that's certainly what it sounded like!"

Mike looked at Carolyn and said carefully, "Miz Wilbarger, if something like that did happen, everybody would know that it was purely an accident."

"I didn't do it, I tell you!"

"No, she didn't, Mike," Phyllis declared without hesitation. "That would have required Carolyn to consider the possibility she might lose to me, and I don't believe that thought ever entered her mind."

"Of course it didn't!" Carolyn said.

Mike held up his hands to bring the discussion back under control. "For what it's worth, Miz Wilbarger, I don't believe you'd do such a thing, either. But my job is to consider all the possibilities.",

Carolyn sniffed and still looked offended, but she settled back into her chair.

"I think we've hashed this out enough for now," Mike went on. "If any of you think of anything you saw or heard, anything at all that's the least bit suspicious, or even puzzling, please let me know:'

He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. "I'd better be going."

Phyllis got up and went with him to the door. She stepped out onto the porch with him and said quietly, "Carolyn really couldn't have done it, you know. I don't know what made me say that."

"Like you said, you were just thinking out loud, Mom." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to be all right? I know it was a mighty bad day for you."

"I'll be fine," Phyllis said. "But you're right ... it should have been a wonderful day, but it didn't turn out that way at all."

Especially for Donnie Boatwright, she thought.

The atmosphere in the house was very strained for the next couple of days. Carolyn had been hurt by the accusations leveled at her, but so had Phyllis. They sort of tiptoed around each other, not talking much, and when they did speak, it was in carefully polite, neutral tones. Phyllis was glad Carolyn hadn't gotten so mad that she wanted to move out. Phyllis didn't want to lose her as a boarder-or a friend.

Time would heal the rift; Phyllis was confident of that. But it might help, she thought, if the police caught Donnie Boatwright's murderer. It would be easier for both her and Carolyn to put their hurt feelings behind them, once they were in the clear.

Donnie's funeral was held at the Methodist church. The services for Newt Bishop had been well attended, but this funeral was in a whole other category. The big sanctuary in the church was packed, and several hundred people crowded into the fellowship hall next door, to listen to the service as it was piped in on the church's public address system. Representatives from the news media in Fort Worth and Dallas were there, too. Since Donnie's death had officially been ruled a homicide, while Newt's still could have been an accident, that provoked more interest, too.

Donnie's decadeslong career as a local politician, businessman, and celebrity made the story that much more intriguing.

Phyllis was well aware of all that, but it still seemed like a circus to her, and that made her uncomfortable. A person's final farewell shouldn't be a mob scene.

But she felt like she ought to attend, even though she just added to the mob. She, Carolyn, Mattie, Eve, and Sam filed in and found seats in the church early, before the auditorium completely filled up. A short time later, Carolyn's daughter, Sandra Webster, and her husband, Jerry, came in and sat down beside Carolyn, filling up the pew. Sandra had worked for Donnie Boatwright at one time, Phyllis recalled. That was probably why she was here.

Donnie had a younger brother and sister, Charles Boattvright and Sally Boatwright Hughes. Both were in their seventies. Donnie himself had been a bachelor his whole life. This day and age, that sometimes prompted whispered speculation about a man's sexuality, Phyllis knew, but not among her generation. They had known perfectly well that a man could fail to marry and still not be, well, like that. Anyway, Donnie had been quite a dashing figure in his time, and had always had plenty of lady friends. Mattie had been among them in her younger days, in fact. Phyllis recalled Mattie talking about how Donnie had taken her dancing once at the Casino Ballroom over in Lake Worth.

Phyllis bowed her head as the minister offered up a prayer to get the service underway. This was the second funeral she had attended this summer, she thought briefly, and she hoped it would be the last.

The Methodist minister was more long-winded than the Baptist preacher who had done Newt Bishop's funeral, and the service began to grate on Phyllis before it was over. She sat there with her face solemn and composed, however, not letting her impatience show. Finally, the minister wrapped things up, and Phyllis joined the hundreds of others in attendance in filing past the casket.

Whoever had prepared the body had taken great care to get Donnie's sweeping mustaches just right.

They bristled as if Donnie were still alive. Phyllis was surprised that the sight of that affected her more

than the music or the minister's words, causing a pang of regret and the awareness of her own mortality to go through her. Donnie Boatwright hadn't been her friend, but she had known him for so long that she regarded him as a fixture of sorts in Weatherford, someone who had always been there and it seemed always would be. Despite his age, he had been a vital personality. But now he was gone, his life ripped away from him, and it just seemed wrong.

When they reached the sidewalk in front of the church, Phyllis turned to Mattie, thinking that perhaps the older woman would be upset. Mattie never cried at funerals, though-she claimed she had been to too many of them for that and her eyes were dry now. Phyllis had thought it might be different, as Mattie and Donnie were old friends, but obviously not.

Nor was Carolyn crying, or her daughter Sandra, for that matter. Eve dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, though. Phyllis suddenly found herself wondering if anything had ever gone on between Eve and Donnie. Their breezy, sometimes earthy personalities had certainly been similar, and the fact that Donnie was twenty years older probably wouldn't have mattered to Eve, especially back when Eve was, say, forty and Donnie was sixty.

Phyllis pushed those thoughts out of her head. Such things were none of her business.

Sam put his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and watched the mourners as they continued to pour out of the church and join the crowd that spilled for more than, a block along the sidewalk.

"Mr. Boatwright must've been one heck of a popular fella," he said.

"I'm surprised you never met him," Phyllis commented. "Everyone in Parker County seemed to know him."

Sam shrugged. "I knew who he was because I saw his name in the paper all the time. But our paths just never crossed, I guess."

Sandra Webster heard him and said, "You were one of the lucky ones, then."

The curtness of the comment took Phyllis by surprise. She looked more closely at Sandra and saw no sign of grief at all. Sandra was in her early forties, a little heavy but still an attractive woman with reddish-blond hair that had just started to be touched with gray here and there. Not only did she not look upset about Donnie's death, Phyllis was shocked to see what looked almost like a certain degree of satisfaction in Sandra's eyes.

Jerry Webster put a hand on his wife's arm and said quietly, "Let's go, honey."

Sandra nodded, gave Carolyn a quick hug, and then moved off along the sidewalk with her husband. Phyllis frowned as she watched them go. What had that unexpected comment been about?

Under other circumstances, Phyllis might have asked Carolyn what Sandra meant, but given the tension between them, she didn't think that was a good idea right now. Carolyn didn't volunteer any explanations, either.

None of them were going to the cemetery for the graveside service, so they, headed for Phyllis's house. She was eager to get out of her churchgoing clothes and into a pair of blue jeans.

When they got there, Carolyn went straight to her room and shut the door. Phyllis tried not to sigh.

She still hoped that everything would work out sooner or later, but it was beginning to look like Carolyn might not ever get over being angry. If that turned out to be the case, it would be a real shame. Phyllis had already apologized for her thoughtless comments, though, so she didn't see what else she could do.

Murder, it seemed, changed everything, and sometimes the damage just couldn't be repaired.

Mike was surprised when he came into Sheriff Royce Haney's office and found Weatherford Chief of Police Ralph Whitmire sitting there in front of the sheriff's desk. Of course, there was no reason why the two top law enforcement officials in the county shouldn't get together, and Mike happened to know that Haney and Whitmire got along well, unlike the situation in some places where there was friction between the sheriff's office and the police department. But it was rare for them to have such a summit meeting as this appeared to be.

"Sit down, Mike," Sheriff Haney invited. "You know the chief?"

"Yes, sir," Mike said. He shook hands with Whitmire and then took the other chair in front of the sheriff's desk.

"Of course Deputy Newsom and I know each other," Whitmire said. "I keep my eye out for good young officers, and Mike's got a job waiting for him in my department any time he wants it. "

"No offense, sir," Mike said with a slight smile, "but I'm happy right where I am."

"Yeah, so stop trying to steal my deputies, Ralph," Haney said with a smile of his own. He grew more serious as he went on. "I asked you in here to talk about Donnie Boatwright's murder, Mike."

That took Mike by surprise, too. He had written up statements for his mother and her friends-recounting their assertions that they hadn't seen anybody messing with Donnie's water bottle, or anything else suspicious-taken the paperwork by the house for them to sign, and then turned them in for the sheriff to pass along to whoever from Chief Whitmire's department was in charge of the investigation. Given the high profile of the victim, and the case, that might well be the chief himself.

He hadn't put anything in the statements about the wild accusations his mother and Carolyn Wilbarger had traded, because it was just crazy to think that anybody would commit murder over a cooking contest, but now he thought maybe that had been a mistake. He shouldn't have let loyalty to his mother color his judgment.

"I thought the Weatherford police have jurisdiction over that case, Sheriff," he said.

"They do. But as you know, we're trying to help out any way we can." Haney laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his stomach. "I'll tell you the truth, Mike. There's a lot of pressure to make an arrest and clear this case."

Chief Whitmire nodded in solemn agreement with the sheriff's statement.

"Donnie Boatwright was an important man, even though he didn't hold public office anymore. The district attorney, the mayor, the city councilmen, and the county commissioners ... everybody knew Donnie. Everybody wants his killer caught."

"So do 1, sir;" Mike said. "I don't have any idea who it is, though."

"We're hearing from Donnie's family, too," Haney went on as if Mike hadn't spoken. "His brother and sister are mighty upset, as you can imagine. What makes it worse is that there was a large insurance policy on Donnie's life, and the insurance company isn't going to pay off as long as there's a cloud hanging over his death."

"That doesn't,make any sense," Mike protested. "Mr. Boatwright's death has been ruled a homicide.

What else does the insurance company need?"

Whitmire said, "They don't want to take a chance on paying a bunch of money to somebody who might have been responsible for Donnie's death."

Mike sucked in a sharp breath. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. "The insurance company thinks Mr. Boatwright's brother or sister killed him?"

"They consider it a possibility. Not only that, but just because the death was ruled a homicide doesn't mean that Donnie couldn't have put that poison in his water bottle himself."

"Now that is crazy. He wouldn't have committed suicide. The doctor said he was in good health."

Haney shrugged. "People, have killed themselves before when it didn't seem like they'd have any reason to do such a thing."

Mike shook his head. "I don't see it. The insurance company is just looking for excuses to drag its feet about paying off."

"Maybe," Haney agreed. "But even if that's true, they'll have to settle once the case is closed.

Charles Boatwright and Sally Hughes know that, and that's why they want us to make an arrest:'

"There can't be an arrest until we know what happened," Mike said stubbornly.

"Of course not," Haney agreed. "There's not going to be any rush to judgment about this. But you can see why we can't afford to overlook any possibilities."

This was about the statements he had taken from his mother and her boarders, he thought. He had begun to hope that the sheriff and the chief wanted him to probe some other angle of the case.

Sheriff Haney leaned forward. "Mike, I hate to ask you this, but are you certain your mother and her friends didn't have any reason to hurt Donnie Boatwright?"

"Of course they didn't," Mike responded without hesitation. "They all knew him, of course, but so did half the people in Parker County. And just about everybody in the county knew of him."

"None of them had any reason to hold a grudge against "Not that I'm aware of," Mike said, and that was a totally honest answer.

"What if there was some other reason?" Chief Whitmire asked. "When somebody's murdered, you always have to take a look at who was close to them when it happened. Maybe Donnie was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You mean maybe he was killed because somebody tried to sabotage the cooking contest?" There, he had said it. And it sounded unbelievable even to his ears, and he'd been there when his mother and the others were talking about it. "We're just trying to cover all the bases," Haney said. "Do you think that might be what happened?"

Mike shook his head. "For what it's worth, Sheriff, I've known my mother my entire life and Miz Wilbarger almost that long, and I just don't believe either of them would do that. I know my mother wouldn't. I couldn't say about all the other women in the contest, but I even know some of them and they don't strike me as killers."

"Well, it was a long shot," Haney said with a sigh, "and even though we can't rule out the other contestants entirely, based on the evidence, I don't think they should be a focus of the investigation.

What do you say, Ralph?"

"I never believed it, either," Whitmire said. "But maybe one of the contestants ... say, Mrs.

Wilbarger ... had a reason to want Donnie Boatwright dead that didn't have anything to do with the cooking contest itself:'

"That still doesn't Seem possible to me," Mike said, but inside him, a feeling of unease stirred.

Haney and Whitmire looked at each other for a second, and then the sheriff said, "That's because you don't know what we've found out, Mike. But we're about to tell you. . . ."

The morning after Donnie Boatwright's funeral, Phyllis did some shopping. When she got back to the house and started to put the groceries away, she paused as she looked into the refrigerator and saw the fresh peaches that were still sitting in the crisper. After a moment, she took them out and dropped them in the garbage can. It went against the grain for her to throw away perfectly good food-she had been raised never to waste anything-but she knew good and well that she wasn't going to feel like fixing anything with peaches in it for a long time. These particular peaches would be rotten before she would ever use them, and she didn't feel up to freezing them.