Free A Peach of a Murder by Livia J. Washburn

left the sheriff's department, he thought about what Haney had said. Love; hate, greed... or some combination of those three things. The hate could apply to Darryl Bishop because of the why Newt had treated him as a boy. Mike wondered if greed figured into it as well. Darryl had a decent job at the truck stop but was far from rich. With his father dead, would he inherit the farm and its lucrative peach orchard? The land itself would be worth a lot with the way Weatherford was growing. Cut up, it had to be worth at least a million, maybe more.
    Mike knew he would have to find out if Bishop had left a will, and if so, what the terms of it were.
    Was it also reasonable to ask if anybody else might profit from his death?
    Greed meant money, and the best place to find a money trail was the county clerk's office.
    Mike' headed for the subcourthouse.
    Early that afternoon, Mike walked into an office on North Main, about a block from the square.
    The sign painted on the
    glass door read LANDERs REALTY. A middle-aged woman with orange hair looked up from a desk and seemed to be a little surprised to see a deputy sheriff. "Can I help you?"
    "Is Mr. Landers in?" Mike asked.
    Instead of answering, the woman said, "Is this about the real estate business?"
    "Well, sort of," Mike answered, "but mostly it's about Newt Bishop's death."
    The woman's lips thinned. She looked like she wanted to say that Landers wasn't there, but Mike could see the man for himself through a window into a private office to the left of the woman's desk. She picked up a phone on her desk, pushed a button, waited a second, and then said, "Mr.
    Landers, there's a deputy here to see you." , Through the window, Mike had seen Landers answer the phone. The silliness of this charade made him want to smile. The man was right there.
    The woman hung up the phone. "You can go on in." "Thanks'" Mike said. It never hurt to be polite.
    His mother had taught him that.
    Alfred Landers stood up behind his desk and reached across it to offer his hand. He was a tall, thick-bodied man with dark hair and old-fashioned black-framed glasses. "Deputy" he said. "What can I do for you?"
    "My name is Newsom:' Mike said as he shook hands with the realtor. "I'm investigating the death of Newt Bishop."
    "I heard about it," Landers said as he waved Mike into the chair in front of the desk. "Terrible accident, wasn't it?" "Well, we haven't determined for sure yet if it was really an accident," Mike said as he sat down, "and I'm not sure how terrible it is for you since you can't have felt very friendly toward Bishop these days, what with that lawsuit and all:"
    Landers frowned as he sank slowly into his chair. "That car. While Darryl Bishop still had to be regarded as the strongest suspect, Alfred Landers couldn't be ruled out. That was going to take some more investigation. And there was still the possibility that someone else, someone whose identity hadn't been uncovered yet, had had a reason to want Newt Bishop dead.
    Not to mention, accidents sometimes did happen.... Not in this case, though, Mike told himself.
    Maybe it wasn't official yet, but he was more convinced than ever that Newt Bishop's death was murder.

Chapter 10
    Life went on, despite the tragedies that were part and parcel of it, and the peach festival was fast approaching. Phyllis hadn't forgotten about Newt Bishop's death, of course, and she had been very interested when Mike told her about the real estate man, Alfred Landers, and the trouble between Landers and Newt. It seemed that at least two people might have had a reason for hating Newt.
    That didn't mean either of them was a murderer, of course, but still, you had to consider it.
    That was Mike's job, though. Phyllis's was to get the recipe for that ginger peach cobbler exactly right....
    She was in the kitchen several days later when Sam Fletcher strolled in, apparently aimlessly. He stood there with his hands in the hip pockets of his jeans and took a deep breath.