A Peach of a Murder (4 page)

"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. "rune 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 uncomfortablefor 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 Danyl 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, hardworking 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. "Mat'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." `

"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 frowned, 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.

Mike finished the thought for her. "Unless he planned on doing something he didn't want anybody to know about:' Like killing his father. Mike didn't have to say that part of it. Phyllis knew that was what he meant.

"You seem to have accepted the idea that it was Darryl I saw out there that day," she said.

"It's still just a theory, but it's sure worth checking out. I'll talk it over with the sheriff. Somebody needs to go and have a talk with Danyl, I guess." Mike took another swallow of the tea. "Do you know of any reason why he'd be upset with his dad?"

"Upset enough to.. .hurt him, you mean?"

"Just upset in general," Mike said. "Upset enough to yell and wave his arms around."

"I don't know the family that well. I don't have any idea what goes on between them:'

Mike nodded. "I guess that's something else we'll have to ask Darryl about."

Phyllis felt a sudden surge of concern. "I almost wish I hadn't said anything. First Darryl loses his wife and is left with that little boy to raise, and now his father's gone, too, and he's suspected of having something to do with it! That poor man."

Mike reached across the table and took hold of her hand. "No, Mom, you did the right thing," he said. "If it turns out that Darryl did have something to do with his father's death, you don't need to feel sorry for him. You wouldn't want him to get away with it:'

"No," Phyllis said. "I wouldn't."

Before they could say anything else, the doorbell rang in the living room. Eve, Mattie, and Carolyn were in there, and Eve called out, "1911 get it." A moment later, Phyllis heard her say, "Why, Sam!

There you are. We were beginning to' wonder what had happened to you!"

Sam Fletcher's deep voice tumbled in reply, "Got delayed a little. Nothing to worry about, though."

Mike inclined his head toward the living room and asked, "Who's that?"

"The new boarder," Phyllis said.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "A man?"

"Oh, now, don't you start in on me, too," Phyllis said as she got to her feet. "Next thing you know, you'll be fussing just like Carolyn."

She walked down the hall to the living room and heard Mike following her. As she came into the room, she saw Sam'heading toward the stairs with a cardboard box in his hands. Eve was beside him, obviously intent on keeping him company while he moved in. Mattie sat on the sofa, squinting at some needlework and pretty well ignoring the goingson, while Carolyn was in an armchair, frowning.

Sam stopped when he saw Phyllis and Mike. With a friendly nod, he said, "Hello, Miz Newsom."

"It's Phyllis, remember?" she told him.

There was a twinkle in Sam's eyes as he looked at Mike, said, "Somebody call the law on me?" and then glanced at Carolyn.

"I'm Mike Newsom," Mike said as he stepped forward. "My son," Phyllis added.

Sam set the box on the floor and extended his hand. "Sam Fletcher. Glad to meet you, Mike. If you grew up in this house, you know what a nice place it is, so I don't have to tell you how pleased I am to be sharing it with your mother and these other fine ladies."

Mike shook hands friendly enough, but he looked at Sam with slightly narrowed eyes. "Don't I know you from somewhere, Mr. Fletcher?"

"From high school, maybe? Poolville never played Weather ford, but we came to some preseason tournaments down here:'

Some of the suspicion left Mike's face as he nodded.

"Yeah, I remember you now. You coached basketball at Poolville. You guys always had a good team. I remember being glad we weren't in the same classification." He paused. "So you're going to be living here?"

Eve took Sam's arm. "He certainly is, and it's going to be really nice to have a man around the house."

"Well, I'll try to help out as much as I can," Sam said, and once again Phyllis admired the smooth way in which he disengaged his arm from Eve's grip.

She stepped forward and said, "Sam, you haven't met Mattie yet."

"That's right, I haven't." He joined Phyllis in walking across the room toward the sofa.

"Mattie, here's Mr. Fletcher," Phyllis said. "You wanted to meet him."

Mattie looked up from her needlework with a puzzled expression on her lined face. "I did?"

"Of course," Phyllis said quickly. "He's our new boarder. He's going to be living here."

"Really? Nobody told me about that." Mattie looked up at Sam. "You're a tall one, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I surely am." He smiled gently at her and reached down to take her hand. "And it's an honor to meet you, ma'am. I've heard a lot about you."

Mattie laughed. "Half of it's probably not true."

"Do I get to pick which half?" Sam asked her, still smiling.

"Just you mind your manners, boy, and we'll get along just fine."

"Yes, ma'am. I intend to behave."

From the bottom of the stairs, Eve said with a laugh, "Not too well, I hope!" That drew a disapproving snort from Carolyn.

Sam didn't pay any attention to them. He said to Mattie, "Now, if you'll excuse me, ma'am, I've got to carry a few things upstairs."

"Sure thing. Nice to meet you, Mr. Fletcher."

Mike leaned over and gave Phyllis a kiss on the cheek. "I've got to run, Mom. See you later." He lifted a hand in farewell to Sam. "See you around, Mr. Fletcher."

"So long, Mike," Sam responded. He went to the foot of the stairs and picked up the cardboard box again.

"What do you have in there, dear?" Eve asked. "It doesn't seem to be very heavy."

If he minded her nosiness, he didn't show any sign of it, Phyllis noted. "Oh, just some pictures." He glanced at Phyllis. "Don't worry, I won't put any nails in the wall to hang. them on. They'll sit on the dresser and that chest of drawers:' "That'll be fine," she said with a nod.

Sam went on upstairs; followed by Eve. Phyllis looked back over her shoulder at Mattie, who seemed to have no memory of saying something earlier in the day about wanting to meet Sam: She had certainly been aware that the new boarder was supposed to move in today, but obviously it had slipped her mind entirtly. As far as Phyllis was concerned, that was just one more thing to worry about, along with Newt Bishop's death and the fact that the man's own son might be to blame for it somehow.

Things had been a lot simpler back in the old days, when all she'd had to worry about was taking care of a husband, a son, and five classes of unruly eighth graders every day.