A Peach of a Murder (5 page)

Later in the afternoon, Phyllis went upstairs and down the hall toward Sam's room. The door stood open, but she knocked lightly anyway.

He looked around from where he was straightening a framed picture on the nightstand next to the bed. "Come on in'" he said. "It's your house."

"Yes, but I respect my boarders' privacy." "Good policy," Sam said with a nod.

"I wanted to tell you, though," Phyllis went on, "that you don't have to ring the bell when you come in. This is your house, too, as long as you're living here:'

"Mighty nice of you to feel that way. It may take me a little while to get comfortable with that, so you'll bear with me?" "Of course." Phyllis looked at the photograph on the nightstand, which was of an attractive redheaded woman in her thirties. "Your daughter?"

"My wife;' Sam said as he half-turned toward the picture. "Oh:" She should have known that the photo would be of his wife, Phyllis scolded herself. Naturally a widower would want to keep his late wife's picture close by, so that he could look at it whenever he wanted to. "She was very pretty."

Sam picked up the photo and ran a finger along the side of the polished wooden frame. "Yes, she sure was," he said with a touch of wistfulness in his voice. "Her name was Victoria-Vicky, I called her-and I thought she was the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth, right up until the day she couldn't fight that damned disease anymore:' Phyllis felt a tightness in her chest and a catch in her throat at the depth of the emotion in Sam's voice. It was simply stated and there was nothing dramatic about it, but she knew how real and true it was. She knew because she had felt the same way about Kenny.

"I didn't mean to stir up memories . . ." she began softly. "No, that's all right;' Sam said with a shake of his head. Carefully, he replaced the framed photograph on the nightstand.. "It's been a while."

"Not all that long, from what I understand. I don't mean to be forward, but I can tell you that eventually it does get better. The hurt fades some."

"But it never goes away completely," he said. She shook her head. "No. It never does."

He laughed quietly, but there was no humor in the sound. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it, why people go through all the foolishness of falling in love and getting married and raising families?"

"Not at all," Phyllis said without hesitation. "Me good times are worth the pain. At least I've always thought so." "That's a good way to think," he said with a nod, but she couldn't tell if he agreed with her or not.

She changed the subject by saying, "What happened to Eve? I thought she'd still be up here buzzing around you likea moth around a light bulb."

Sam chuckled, and this time he sounded genuinely amused. "I guess she got a little tired of me just saying `Yep' and `Nope' like Gary Cooper. I didn't figure she really needed any encouragement, though."

Out of a sense of loyalty to her old friend, Phyllis said, "She just tries to be friendly. You don't like her?"

"I like her just fine. I think she's a fine lady like the rest of you. I guess I'm just not much on flirting. Never did much of it:'

That was your wife's loss, Phyllis thought, but she kept the comment to herself. Instead, she said, "I should probably explain about Mattie.. . . She knew you were moving in today, it just slipped her mind."

Sam nodded. "I wondered if it was something like that." For some reason probably because he was easy to talk to-Phyllis blurted out, "I'm getting more and more worried about her lately. She forgets things a lot, and sometimes she seems to think that ... well, she doesn't know what year it is. She thinks it's a long time ago."

"That happens," Sam said. "Have you talked to Miz Harris's doctor about it?."

"Oh, he knows about it. I take Mattie to the doctor for her checkups, and he told me there's really nothing he can do." "Just be her friend as best you can, for as long as you can."

"Exactly:'

"Yeah, I went through that with my dad some years ago. It's a hard road. Folks just have to get through it somehow." "And we will;' Phyllis said. "I just thought you should know, in case Mattie seems a little ... off to you sometimes." "I understand." He rubbed his hands together. "Well, I'd better go down and get my rocking chair out of the pickup and bring it in."

"You have a rocking chair?"

"Yeah, but I keep it oiled up so it doesn't squeak. It won't keep you awake nights. I like to sit in it and read."

"I'm sure it won't bother me," Phyllis told him. "I love rocking chairs."

"Thought as much when I saw the ones on the porch;" Sam said with a grin. "Nothing like sitting out on the porch on a nice evening:'

"Isn't that the truth!" As they left the room, she asked, "Do you need any help?"

"Nope, but I appreciate the offer."

"Ibere.,you go, imitating Gary Cooper again."

"Aw, shucks-"

She lifted a finger to stop him. "If you call me ma'am, you'll have to move out."

"I'll be careful," he promised, his smile widening into a grin again.

Before leaving for the funeral, Phyllis had put a roast on to cook, knowing that it would take most of the afternoon. She used her mother's recipe and cooked it in Coke, which gave the meat a wonderful, distinctive flavor. "Co' Cola," her daddy had always called it, back when she was a little girl, when he wasn't calling it soda pop. Phyllis had never been one for drinking alcohol, but she truly loved a cold Coke, preferably over crushed ice.

She checked on the roast and found that it was ready to add the cola. She took the cover off and poured most of a twelve-ounce bottle over the roast. She set the timer for thirty minutes, covered the roast again, and put it back in, the oven. For a moment, with the cooking contest on her mind, she wondered what a roast cooked in peach soda would taste like. That wouldn't really qualify, of course, since it didn't make use of fresh peaches, but it was still an intriguing idea. She would just have to try it sometime, she decided.

In the meantime, she put some potatoes on to boil. A roast had to have mashed potatoes with it, and she wouldn't use the ones that came out of a box.

Mattie came into the kitchen as Phyllis was opening the oven to baste the roast. "Smells good," she said. "You spend too much time cooking for us, Phyllis. Spend too much time doing for us, all around."

"I like helping people. So do you, Mattie, or you wouldn't be volunteering all the time."

"I've got to stay busy," Mattie said. "Staying`busy's good for the mind and body."

Phyllis knew that to be true. Unfortunately, , in Mattie's case no amount of staying busy was going to save her mind from its long, slow descent.

Mattie went on. "That Mr. Fletcher seems like a nice fella."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Phyllis was glad to see that for right now, at least, Mattie's thinking and memory were clear.

"Tall, though. He'll have to be careful going through the doors in this house. Liable to bump his head on 'em."

"I'm sure he'll be careful." Seeing that her friend's mind was sharp at the moment, Phyllis took a chance and said, "Mattie, what can you tell me ;.about Newt and Darryl Bishop?"

Mattie gave a little ladylike snort. "What's to tell? Newt was always surly as an of possum. He didn't give me any trouble, mind you. I reckon he knew I wouldn't stand for that. But he was mighty hard on his wife and on that boy. Especially the boy." Mattie shook her head regretfully.

"You see kids come to school, and sometimes you just know their folks don't treat 'em right."

"Yes'" Phyllis said, thinking of some of her own students. "It's a terrible feeling. You never know what to do." "That's how it was with Darryl. He'd come into the classroom and be limpin' a little, and with most kids you'd think they just hurt themselves playing. With Darryl, though, it was because his daddy'd taken a strap to him.- And Newt's wife, Velma, was a mousy little thing, not the sort to stand up to him, even to protect her child. He didn't beat on her like he did on Darryl, but I'll bet he found plenty o' ways to make her life pretty hard." Mattie sighed. "Of course, times were different then. If a kid misbehaved, his daddy could blister him without havin' to worry about gettin' the law down on him. Problem is, I'm not sure Darryl ever misbehaved enough to deserve all the blisterings he got."

"It seems to me that a child would never forget being mistreated like that."

"Of course they don't forget! Why, many's the time Darryl looked like he wanted to take a strap and get some of his own back from Newt, and he was just a little boy. I worried some about what he'd be like when he grew up. He turned out all right, though, at least as far as I know. Took care of his mama as best he could before she died, and then took care of his wife when she got sick. And he thinks the sun rises and sets on Justin. I don't figure he's ever raised a hand to the boy. That's been good to see, because lots of times when a kid's mistreated, he doesn't treat his own kids very good when he grows up:'

Mattie was right about that, too, Phyllis knew. Child abuse was a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle.

The fact that Darryl Bishop had been able to break that cycle was admirable.

But she couldn't help but wonder if he had broken it completely. She wondered if all the old hurts-physical, mental, and emotional-had lingered in Darryl all these years. Had he forgiven his father, or was the old resentment he felt toward Newt still there?

Had he hated Newt enough so that something might have set him off and led to ...

Phyllis pushed the thought away, but she knew she couldn't banish it completely. What she had just learned from Mattie put a different face on the events of the past few days. She hated to think about it, but maybe there was a good reason to suspect Darryl Bishop of having had something to do with his father's bizarre death.

Like it or not, she decided, she was going to have to talk to Mike again, and fill him in on what Mattie had told her about the way Newt Bishop had treated his son all those years ago.

Phyllis was waiting at Mike's house-a nice brick home in one of the newer residential developments on the north side of Weatherford-when he got home that evening. He came in looking surprised, knowing she was there, because he had seen her car parked out front.

"What is it, Mom?" he asked her. "Something wrong?" Phyllis laughed. "I ask you," she said to Sarah, her pretty blond daughter-in-law, "is that any way for a son to greet his mother?"

"Absolutely not," Sarah said with a smile of her own. Phyllis got along well with Sarah and thought the world of her most of the time, although there were those very rare instances when she wanted to speak up and offer some unasked-for advice. She always bit her tongue on those occasions, though, and kept her opinions to herself.

"If you two are gonna gang up on me, I'm not even going to try to defend myself," Mike said as he hung his Stetson on a hook near the kitchen door, where he had just come in from the garage. "I'm sorry, Mom. I just didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Well, I wasn't expecting to come over, but I found out something-about Newt Bishop, I mean-and h*ante4 to talk to you about it."

That got Mike's interest, right enough. But he paused long enough to give Sarah a quick kiss and ask her, "Where's Bobby?"

-

"Getting a little nap before dinner. He was worn out from playing all afternoon."

"He didn't take his first step yet, did he?" "Not yet. It's going to be soon, though." "Boy, I hope I'm here for it," Mike said. "So do I:"

Mike came over to the kitchen table where Phyllis was sitting, and took one of the empty chairs.

"Now, what's this about Mr. Bishop?"

Phyllis hesitated, still reluctant to stick her nose into the investigation. But what she had found out might be important, she reminded herself.

"I was talking to Mattie this afternoon, after you left," she began, "and I asked her about Newt and Darryl. Darryl was in Mattie's class when he was in second grade, you know."

Mike nodded, not rushing her. She knew he probably felt a little impatient and Wanted her to get to the point, but he would never say that.

"Mattie said that Newt was ... not very nice to his family back then," she went on.

"He was abusive?"

"Well ... Mattie said that sometimes when Darryl came to school, she could tell that he'd been beaten. with a strap. Evidently Newt wasn't quite that physically abusive to his wife, but he made life difficult for her, too."

Sarah said from the stove, where she was stirring a pot of chili, "I wouldn't put up with something like that. Anybody who mistreated my child sure-as heck wouldn't be able to feel safe closing his eyes around me ever again."

"It was a different time back then," Phyllis said, echoing Mattie's comment from earlier in the day.

"People just felt differently about what was acceptable and what wasn't."

"Right and wrong don't change that much, though," Mike said as his forehead creased in thought.

"And a little boy

who's abused is liable to grow up to be an adult with a lot of hate in him."

Phyllis said, "That's exactly what I was thinking. And it made me wonder..."

"If that was a strong enough motive for murder?" Mike nodded grimly. "People have killed for less, that's for sure. And it's interesting that Darryl Bishop didn't say anything about any of this when I talked to him a little while ago."

"You went to talk to him?" The question came quickly from Phyllis. She realized that the thought of Mike questioning Darryl bothered her, and it took her only a moment to understand why. Darryl was a murder suspect now, and he hadn't been before.

"Yeah, I talked to the sheriff about what you told me earlier-you know, about thinking it was Darryl's pickup you , saw at the farm-and he told me to follow up on it. Darryl admitted right off the bat that he was there that day."

Sarah came over and sat down at the table, too. The smell of the chili she'd left simmering on the stove was wonderful, but Phyllis barely noticed it. Sarah seemed worried, too,, as she said to Mike,

"Did you ask him if he'd had a fight with his dad?" She exchanged a glance with Phyllis that showed they shared the same worry: Killers sometimes turned violent when they were confronted.

Mike seemed pretty casual about the whole thing, though, and obviously he was all right. "I asked him if there had been any trouble between them lately, and he said no. Said he and his dad weren't particularly close, but that they hadn't had any problems."

"That wasn't the way it looked to me," Phyllis said, "and they were close enough so that Darryl's been letting Justin help out in the peach orchard this summer."

Mike nodded and went on, "I didn't press him on his story or tell him that we had a witness who saw him and his father arguing. I didn't want to spook him. Seemed like it might be a better idea to get some more background first, maybe see if I can turn up anybody else who can testify that there was bad blood between them, and tell us the reason why."

"Well, I'm sure you know the best way to handle something like this,' Phyllis,said. "Lord knows I don't know anything about murder investigations."

"If it really was murder," Mike said. "We haven't positively established that yet. There was a scraped place on the locking lever of that bumper jack where something might have hit it and knocked it loose, but we can't be sure when it was put there. Might be totally innocent. We fingerprinted the jack and the tire iron and didn't come up with any prints but Mr. Bishop's."

"So it still could have been an accident."

Mike shrugged. "With an old jack like that ... yeah, it could have slipped. But I don't think that's what happened, and neither does the sheriff."

Sarah asked, "What about an alibi? Did you ask Darryl where he went after he left his dad's farm?"

Mike didn't seem to mind the questions. "Yeah, I asked him. He claims he,drove home and then went on to work. Problem is, his shift at the truck stop out on the Interstate where he works as a mechanic didn't start until two o'clock that afternoon. He showed up for work when he was supposed to, but he would have had time to park his car out of sight of the barn, circle around on foot like we talked about, knock that old Caddy off the jack, and get out of there and go' on to work like nothing happened."

"So he doesn't have an alibi,' Sarah said. "Not one that's worth anything."

"It was Justin who found his grandfather," Phyllis said. "Darryl would have to have known that the boy was somewhere right around there. Could Darryl have done such a thing knowing that it was his own son who would probably find the body?"

"Folks who lose their heads and commit murder don't stop to think it through. They don't think about what the total effect of their actions will be. If they did, there would probably be a lot fewer killings."

"So what now?" Sarah asked. "You'll continue investigating?"

"Yeah. Darryl may be starting to wonder if we're looking at him as a suspect. The sheriff talked to him after Mr. Bishop's body was found, of course, but at the time we didn't have any reason to think that Darryl might have been there that day. And even though he didn't deny it now, he sure didn't volunteer the information then. Now that we've come back to him again and he's had to admit that he was there, he may start to worry. We'll be keeping an eye on him, though, in case he decides to run."

Phyllis frowned. "How can he do that? He has a job, and a son:'

"You'd be surprised what desperate people will do, Mom. Darryl could take Justin and leave town, leave the state if he wanted to. He hasn't been charged with anything, or even officially brought in for questioning. There are plenty of cases on record where fugitives have changed their names and dropped completely out of sight for years. Sometimes they're never found."

"And if he tries to get away?"

"We'll try to hold him as a material witness, but even that would be tricky, since we're not officially investigating a crime. Even a halfway decent lawyer would have Darryl sprung in a hurry. What we really need is more evidence ... but I don't know if we'll get it."

"So if he did do it," Phyllis said, "there's a chance he'll get away with it?"

Mike sighed. "That's one of the things that'll drive you crazy about this job. Sometimes guilty people do get away with what they've done."

Her son's words stayed with Phyllis as she drove back across Weatherford in the gathering twilight.

They mixed

with the things Mattie had told her, and she thought that for a lot of years, Newt Bishop had gotten away with his crimes ... the crimes he had carried out against his wife and son.

But in the end, retribution-whether at the hand of God or man-had caught up with him.

She had to put those thoughts aside and concentrate on her driving. Her eyes weren't as good as they once had been, and dusk was a bad time for her. But she reached her house without any trouble and put the Lincoln away in the garage.

When she came into the house through the kitchen, she found Carolyn at the stove. The smell of cooking peaches was id the air, along with something else--the smell of some ingredient that Phyllis couldn't identify. Carolyn moved quickly, getting between Phyllis and the stove. "You didn't need anything over here, did you?" she asked over her shoulder.

Phyllis knew perfectly well that Carolyn didn't want her to see what she was cooking. She wasn't going to be pushy and nosy-maven though, technically, this was her kitchenso she said, "No, not at all," and went on through the dining room to the living room and the den.

Eve and Mattie were watching an old Cary Grant movie on one of the cable channels. Eve was watching,, anyway; Mattie had dozed off in her chair. Phyllis didn't want to disturb her just yet, although later she would see to it that Mattie got to bed all right. She nodded to Eve and went on upstairs.

The sound of another TV playing came through the open door of Sam Fletcher's room. When she looked in, she saw that he was sitting in the rocking chair, watching the portable TV he had brought in earlier. The television had a DVD player sitting on top of it.

Sam smiled at her from the rocker. "Want to join me?" he asked. He nodded toward the TV "It's She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. I've got a fondness for the Duke."

"I appreciate the invitation," Phyllis said, "but another time, maybe. Is there anything you need?"

"Nope. That was a wonderful dinner. I don't think I've ever had roast cooked in Coke before. It was mighty good, and that gravy was the best I've ever had. So I'm full, and I've got plenty of movies to watch and books to read. I do believe I'm pretty much set."

"That's good to know. If anything comes up..." "I won't hesitate to holler."

Phyllis smiled. "Good night then ... Sam." "Good night, Phyllis."

He went back to watching the movie and rocking slightly. On the TV, John Wayne said, "Never apologize, Mr. Cohill.. . . It's a sign of weakness:'

Phyllis walked away, smelling the scent of peaches that

, filled the house, thinking about Newt

Bishop, and wondering if he would still be alive if he'd ever been "weak" enough to apologize for the things he had done.