A Peachy Criminals

  Peachy Criminals

  Sweet Peach Bakery #3

  Wendy Meadows

  Copyright © 2017 by Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  * * *

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Meadows

  Chapter One

  It was another glorious Georgia morning, but Momma Peach walked up to her bakery more slowly than usual. Momma Peach was sad that her new friend Sam had to travel to Arizona to take care of some sudden legal business concerning the sale of his town. And on top of that, Rosa and Mandy were both on vacation with their families; Mandy was in Florida and Rosa was in Mexico. It was going to be quiet in Momma Peach’s kitchen today. But, Momma Peach thought, staring up into the gloomy gray clouds starting to fill the morning sky over her town, at least she still had Michelle. “My sweet girl,” Momma Peach smiled and fished a set of keys out of her pocket book. “Oh yes, at least there’s still someone to keep me company.”

  A set of curious eyes watched Momma Peach unlock the front door to her bakery. As soon as the door was unlocked and Momma Peach stepped a foot inside, Old Joe hurried out of the side alley between a book store and an antique shop and hurried across the street on tired legs with scared eyes. His eyes searched the street for any signs of danger and then glanced up at the stormy sky and shook his head. What a morning for a storm, he thought and dashed toward the bakery. “Momma Peach,” he called out in a jolly, happy voice poisoned with the sour notes of a skilled con man.

  Momma Peach was just stepping through the front door into her bakery. She froze. “Oh, give me strength,” she whispered as her eyes slowly closed. “Please don't tell me that Old Joe just called out my name...I’m dreaming...oh, I’m dreaming.”

  Old Joe scooted up to Momma Peach, knowing she would surely give him his walking papers if he didn't play it real cool. “My, aren't you a grand sight for these old eyes of mine. Yes sir,” Old Joe whistled, “you sure are a fine sight, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach grimaced. She turned around and opened her eyes. A man her own age stood before her wearing a cheap brown suit and holding a wooden cane that was probably dug out of a dumpster. The rumpled suit and worthless cane she could overlook. What she couldn't overlook was the lying, backstabbing, hypocritical soul staring at her through a pair of eyes that were always on the prowl for a cheap con or two. “You lousy rat,” Momma Peach exploded and smacked Old Joe across the face. Old Joe went reeling backward a few steps, clutching his cheek and nearly fell down. “How dare you come back here!”

  Old Joe looked at her in shock. Momma Peach sure knew how to use her hand to say hello. For a few seconds, all he could see was stars. “Now...calm down, Momma Peach,” Old Joe begged.

  “Calm down?” Momma Peach asked and narrowed her eyes. She wrapped her right hand around the strap of her pocketbook and stepped toward Old Joe. “Calm down?”

  Old Joe dropped his eyes down to Momma Peach's pocketbook. “Oh boy, I'm in for a whipping,” he said in a scared voice and quickly stepped back onto the street. “Now, Momma Peach...we can talk—”

  “Your hair may be gray, and your face may hold more wrinkles than I remember, but underneath that slick voice still lurks the same old Joe who conned my husband before he went on home to heaven,” Momma Peach growled at Old Joe as she slowly eased toward him with a stony warning in her eyes. “Oh yes, I don't forget anything, you lousy, no good for nothing, lying rat!” she yelled.

  “It was just a friendly pool game! Your husband, he...” Old Joe swallowed as she wound her arm back as if to strike the false words out of his mouth. “Okay, okay…so I took your husband for a ride at the pool table. But that was years ago, Momma Peach. I'm a changed man. Honest.”

  Old Joe's statement was met with Momma Peach swinging her pocketbook at his head. Old Joe managed to duck and backed further out onto the street. The birds weren't singing anymore, and the sky was growing darker and darker overhead. Momma Peach's mood was a perfect fit for the gloomy morning. “Folks change when the good Lord touches their hearts...you ain't changed a bit. I can read your eyes,” Momma Peach hollered and swung her pocketbook at Old Joe's head again. This time Old Joe was too slow. Momma Peach's pocketbook crashed up against the side of his head and sent him sprawling down onto the street. Old Joe looked up and saw a gray work truck driving down the street toward him. The driver of the truck spotted Old Joe lying in the street and slammed to a stop at the last second. The left front tire of the work truck stopped mere inches away from Old Joe's head.

  He gasped, raising his head to look up. Momma Peach was unmoved. “Leave town, boy,” she snapped at Old Joe, spun around, and stormed off into her bakery.

  Old Joe sighed and placed his head back down on the street. How in the world was he going to get Momma Peach to help him?

  “Mister, you alright?” a concerned voice asked. Old Joe looked up and saw the driver of the truck, a middle-aged man with a thin beard, staring down at him with worried eyes. “Family argument,” Old Joe explained. “Be a good boy and help this old fella up.”

  The man was happy to oblige and carefully helped Old Joe stand up, brushing off his coat. “Maybe I should drive you out to the hospital and have a doctor look you over?”

  Old Joe brushed at his pants with his left hand and then positioned the cane in a dignified manner in his right hand. “I'm fine, honest,” he said, but then he looked up into a pair of bleeding-heart eyes. He saw an easy con. “But just in case, let me get your information…perhaps my lawyer will know best in case I have to file a claim.”

  “Lawyer?” the man asked and then sighed. “I knew it, I knew it,” he said and hit the hood of his truck with his right fist. “Oh boy, Brenda is going to have a field day with this one. She's been on my case about seeing an eye doctor because I've been having some trouble reading small print.” The man looked at Old Joe. “It's not like I'm going blind, you know? I can see just fine. But Brenda would swear I’m blind as a bat.”

  Old Joe grinned. Bingo. He took a step toward the sidewalk and then placed his left hand on the small of his back and made a pained sound. “On second thought, maybe I should see a doctor,” he said. “It would be smart to contact your lawyer, son. It's always best to have lawyers handle these types of issues.”

  The poor man sighed heavily. “Mister, I can't afford a lawyer. I work for the city. I can barely manage to send my daughter through college as it is.” The man stared into Old Joe's face, his brow furrowed. “Wait a minute…I saw Momma Peach hit you and then you fell down. All I did was manage to avoid running over you. I don't think I'm in the wrong here.”

  “Best to let a lawyer decide. I'm sure my lawyer will be upset to learn that your
dear wife has been demanding you see an eye doctor and yet here you are, out driving,” Old Joe replied and made a painful face again.

  The man shoved his hands down into the pockets of his brown work pants and shook his head. “Brenda is going to hit the roof.”

  Old Joe began to move in like a hungry shark but then he spotted Momma Peach walk back out of her bakery and rush over to the truck. “Brad Hendricks,” she called out, “you don't pay no mind to what this old skunk is telling you.”

  Old Joe eased back from Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, this ain't none of your business. Now, you mind your own and—”

  Momma Peach wrapped her arm through Brad's and patted his hand. “Listen to me, honey,” she said, “you go get back into your truck and get on to work. I will handle this skunk.”

  Brad looked down into Momma Peach's loving face. “That fella told me to contact a lawyer, Momma Peach. I think I need to stick around and handle this.”

  “A lawyer?” Momma Peach exclaimed. She looked at Old Joe with furious eyes. “Are you trying to con Brad Hendricks, you worthless old barnyard fox?”

  “Well, I—” Old Joe tried to explain, his hand still rubbing the false injury on his back.

  “Let me tell you something,” Momma Peach erupted and pulled Brad closer to her, “Brad Hendricks comes from good people...good people, you hear? His daddy helped many poor folk in this town during the depression years, even though he was poor as dirt himself.” Momma Peach patted Brad's hand again. “Brad gives this town five days of good, honest, hard work and then goes home to his family the way a man should. His daughter is studying to become a nurse and his wife, bless her soul, is trapped in a wheelchair. And you dare try to con this man?” Momma Peach shook her head. “I'm gonna kill you. That's what I’m gonna do...I’m gonna kill you, as sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Maybe...we can talk another time...when you're calmer,” Old Joe told Momma Peach, and without missing a beat he turned and scurried away.

  “Who is that?” Brad asked Momma Peach.

  “A flea on a dog,” Momma Peach said in a disgusted voice. She looked up at Brad and smiled. “Get to work, honey. I’m sorry he troubled you. I will bring your wife some of my famous peach bread when I can.”

  Brad nodded his head. He hugged Momma Peach, thanked her for saving him a whole bunch of trouble, and drove away. He passed Old Joe walking on the opposite side of the street and drove on. Old Joe watched Brad drive by and sighed. “There goes my lunch ticket,” he grumbled. “Old Joe better figure out a way to play Momma Peach or Old Joe is dead.”

  Momma Peach walked back to her bakery, glanced up the street, spotted Old Joe turn the corner, and shook her head. “Darn old fox,” she complained to herself and walked inside.

  The phone sitting on the front counter was ringing when Momma Peach walked back inside. Momma Peach hesitated and then decided to answer the call. “Hello, this is Momma Peach,” she said, forcing her voice to sound pleasant and warm.

  Aunt Rachel's voice came through the phone. “Maye? Is that you, Maye?”

  “Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach whispered and banged the phone against her head softly. Her aunt was like a leech that just wouldn't go away. A senile leech, or maybe just a leech who liked to play pranks on her niece, Momma Peach could never be too sure. “Aunt Rachel, this Caroline, your niece. You called me.”

  “Caroline? I don't live in North Carolina,” Aunt Rachel yelled into the phone. “I live in Virginia. Maye, what kind of games are you playing, girl?”

  “I'm not Maye,” Momma Peach nearly began crying in frustration, “I'm Caroline Johnson, your niece. I live in Georgia, I own a bakery…”

  “Maye, are you taking your medicine?” Aunt Rachel asked. “You know you start acting funny when you go off your medicine.”

  “I don't even know who Maye is!” Momma Peach cried and banged the phone against her head again. “Aunt Rachel, this is Caroline...oh, forget it. Why did you call?”

  Aunt Rachel sat grinning in her wheelchair, quickly glanced around the hallway leading away from the front desk, and let out a fart. No sense in holding it in, not at her age, no sir. Besides, she grinned, the nursing home she called home was filled with nothing but old farting machines. What was one more fart? “Is this the airport?”

  “The airport?” Momma Peach exclaimed. “Why are you trying to call the airport?”

  “Roger is getting married. I have to fly to Florida,” Aunt Rachel replied and smiled up at a nurse who was giving her a strange look. The nurse knew all about Aunt Rachel's infamous phone calls to her poor niece down in Georgia. “Is this you, Maye? Are you still living with all those cats?”

  Momma Peach dropped the phone and began banging her head against the front counter. “Give me strength, give me strength...those awful tunnels back in Mr. Sam's town sound mighty nice right about now...oh, give me strength.”

  Michelle walked through the front door just then and spotted Momma Peach banging her head against the front counter. “Is that Aunt Rachel?” she asked. Momma Peach nodded her head. Michelle giggled sweetly, walked over to the front counter, and picked up the phone. “Aunt Rachel, Momma Peach will call you back later.” Michelle hung up the phone and sat down on the front counter and began swinging her legs.

  “You're in a jolly good mood,” Momma Peach told Michelle.

  “I received a raise at work,” Michelle stated proudly.

  Momma Peach smiled, the phone call forgotten. “You’re going to be rich!”

  Michelle glanced down at the worn black leather jacket covering her dark gray dress and shook her head no. “It's only a few extra dollars per paycheck. But it's nice to be recognized for the work I do.”

  Momma Peach reached out and smoothed down the tight pony tail Michelle had her hair wrapped in. “You should be recognized. You’re so pretty, too,” she smiled. “I sure am proud of you. It's about time the folks in this town understand how important you are.”

  Michelle's cheeks turned red. “You make it sound like this town can't survive without me.”

  “I can't survive without you,” Momma Peach corrected her, and then gestured around the bakery. “Honey, pick out anything your heart desires, as a reward for being so wonderful.”

  Michelle examined the delicious contents of the bakery arrayed before her. “Now that's what I call a real raise,” she smiled happily. “But, before I dig into some of your famous peach bread, I need to talk with you, Momma Peach.”

  “Oh?” Momma Peach said. She rubbed her forehead where she had been banging the phone against it so recently and sighed. “Someday I'm gonna kill that old woman.”

  Michelle grinned. “I didn't hear that.”

  Momma Peach felt laughter erupt from her heart. “You can be my partner in crime, baby.”

  “Maybe,” Michelle laughed back.

  “Now, what do you want to talk to me about? There's not been a murder. I don’t see worry in your eyes.”

  “No murder,” Michelle confirmed in a relieved voice. “Actually,” she stated, “I'm not sure if what I have to say is serious or not. You see, Momma Peach, the St. Louis PD wired me over some information on a man named Joseph Ingles, some con man who has an arrest sheet a mile long. It appears this con man is heading to, as the people in this town would say, our neck of the woods.” Michelle paused as her skilled ears caught the distant sound of thunder. “I ran a check on this man, Momma Peach. He's been arrested for petty thievery, running scams, selling stolen goods...nothing serious, but a lot of it.”

  Momma Peach sighed, looking out of the front display window into the darkening morning. “And…?”

  “Nothing, really,” Michelle said. “I was just wondering if you might know who this man is and why he's decided to leave St. Louis and come here. Please don't be offended, Momma Peach.”

  “I ain't offended, honey,” Momma Peach assured Michelle. “You're right in thinking I might know the man in question because I do. As a matter of fact, I ran Mr. Joseph
Ingles off just a few minutes ago.” She chuckled at the memory.

  “Really?” Michelle asked in a surprised voice.

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Old Joe is what I call him, we go way back,” Momma Peach explained and walked over to the front display window. She felt at ease in her usual blue dress with the white stripes. She loved the pink cloth she covered her head with—her head covering was part of who she was. She loved her bakery and her town and the people in her town; she loved feeling at home and just being Momma Peach. But Old Joe was sure making her feel uncomfortable in her own home and heart. “Old Joe and I went to high school together. He dropped out and vanished for a bit. When I married my husband and we moved here, Old Joe showed up one day poorer than dirt and hungrier than a starving alley cat.” Momma Peach looked across the street and studied the familiar buildings that always brought comfort to her heart. “My husband was always a tender-hearted man who tried to see the best in folk, so he took Old Joe into our home.”

  “I see,” Michelle said and braced herself for some bad news.

  “I knew the man wasn't good from the beginning,” Momma Peach sighed. “One night that old skunk didn't show up for supper, so my husband went looking for him. He found Old Joe at a pool hall.” Momma Peach shook her head. “My husband came home flat broke and Old Joe vanished into the night. That was the first time I ever saw my husband hang his head down in shame.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “I am sorry, too, baby,” Momma Peach said in a hurt voice. “I loved my husband very much and swore to never forgive Old Joe for the harm he caused. But the good Lord commands us to forgive, so through the years, I have been asking my heart to forgive Old Joe...it sure ain't easy, baby.” She grimaced, remembering the blow she had dealt him that morning.