Not Peachy, Mate

  Not Peachy, Mate

  Sweet Peach Bakery #9

  Wendy Meadows

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thanks for Reading

  About the Author

  Read more by Wendy

  1

  Momma Peach wiped sweat off her forehead and looked at poor Michelle. “Well?” she asked as the scorching Australian sun beat down on her from a clear blue sky that ran forever in every direction.

  Michelle straightened up from under the car’s steamy hood, soaked with sweat and frustration. “This rental car isn't worth two cents,” she griped. She slammed the hood closed and looked around at the hot, dry, rugged landscape that reminded her of the remotest parts of Arizona. It was sunny, but being stranded on a remote road in the middle of Australia’s Northern Territory was nothing like being stranded on a tropical beach. “At least we have some water.”

  Momma Peach slowly gazed around the crags and bumps of the landscape. All she saw were the towering red rocks scattered over the dry earth and pale bushes roasting in the dirt. “I feel like a baked potato left too long in a hot oven,” she told Michelle and wiped more sweat off her forehead with a flowered handkerchief. “What I wouldn’t give for air conditioning.”

  “Me, too,” Michelle nodded. She slowly removed her black leather jacket, allowing the black dress underneath to catch some air. “We could be here for a while, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach sighed. “Yes, we could,” she said.

  Michelle watched Momma Peach wipe dust off the blue and white striped dress wilting on her exhausted body. “Water?” she asked.

  Momma Peach shook her head no, checked the blue head scarf she wore, and looked down a long—a very long—deserted road baking in the sun. “I think I'll save my water.”

  “Yeah, I guess we should be careful,” Michelle agreed. She tossed her leather jacket into the driver's seat of the gray rental car on the side of the road, studied the steam coming from under the hood, and rolled her eyes in frustration. “Momma Peach, about how far do you think we are from the town your friend lives in?” she asked.

  Momma Peach wiped at her forehead again. “Michelle,” she said in a desperate voice, “I don't even know where we are. All I know is that we’re lost...and lost but good.”

  Michelle winced. “So I guess we're nowhere close to Greenglow?”

  “Greenglow is northwest of Alice Springs, and we done passed Alice Springs about an hour ago,” Momma Peach replied, trying to force positivity back into her voice. There was no sense in upsetting her baby. “Patrick said his town is about an hour and half away from Alice Springs...so I reckon...we could be close?”

  Michelle studied the blistering landscape. “Who would want to live this far out...this remote?” she asked. Michelle looked at poor Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, you really haven't told me much about your friend.”

  “Well, baby...when we got home from our vacation a while back, we had to figure out who killed our mayor,” Momma Peach explained, wiped sweat off her forehead again, and looked at Michelle with eyes that said she was plum tuckered out. “That murder case was a whole mess in itself.”

  “Yes, it was,” Michelle agreed. “But we found the killer and solved the case.”

  “Yes, we did,” Momma Peach nodded. “But let me tell you, when we finished that case I sure was ready for a break. I wasn't ready for my friend to call out of the blue and ask for help. No sir and no ma’am.” Momma Peach searched the road again, saw only dust flying in a hot wind, and continued. “Mr. Sam and Millie sure were nice to take care of sweet Timmy while we're gone. I’ll tell you what…I sure am glad Timmy isn't standing out on this road with us.”

  Michelle was glad Timmy wasn't present, too. As a matter of fact, as much as she loved and adored her family back in Georgia, including Able, she was grateful it was only her and Momma Peach standing on the side of this remote road surrounded by endless miles of rough, scorched Australian landscape. Why? Well, Michelle and Able had had a bad argument. She had taken her frustration out on Sam which, in turn, had caused Sam to scold her. Michelle was still simmering over the whole mess.

  The worst part was that Rosa and Mandy, Momma Peach’s two young helpers at the bakery, had taken Sam's side—along with Millie. Only Old Joe had taken Michelle’s side. Momma Peach—bless her heart—struggled to remain neutral, but eventually sided with Michelle because Michelle was her baby. Poor Timmy didn't even know why everyone was fussing at each other. The entire fiasco had taken place while they were trying to solve a very difficult murder case. “Momma Peach, that reminds me…do you really believe I was in the right about that whole mess?” she asked. “I worry if I was being too hard on Able.”

  Momma Peach leaned against the back of the gray car and began fanning her face with her handkerchief. “Michelle,” she said in a wilting voice, “My mind is about to melt. I sure don't want to go back and chew on the hot words you and Able threw at one another. No sir and no ma’am.”

  “I know...I know,” Michelle said and made a face that was half frustrated and half tormented. She grabbed her hair and quickly slung it into a pony tail and then leaned back next to Momma Peach. “I…just need to know what you really think,” she said, folding her arms and waiting.

  Momma Peach sighed. “You want to know if I was being truthful?”

  “Yes...please,” Michelle said. She looked at Momma Peach with desperate eyes. “Was I wrong, Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach turned her head, studied Michelle's beautiful, sweet face and, with a painful heart, slowly nodded. “I took your side because you were catching a lot of heat in the kitchen from folks who love you, and I didn't have the heart to add grease to the fire.”

  Michelle sighed. “I guessed I caused the fire,” she admitted. “I was very rude to Sam...and I wasn't very nice to Rosa, Mandy or Millie. Old Joe...maybe he took my side because he was afraid I might have kicked him.”

  Momma Peach felt a grin touch her lips. “Old Joe did take your side because he was afraid you might go after him with more than your words,” she chuckled. “Oh, don't be upset. Good folks like yourself have the right to earn a bad day or two. Look at me. Why, even I have burned some good pies a time or two.”

  Michelle sighed. “I called Able a…Momma's Boy,” she said in a miserable voice. “I…oh, Momma Peach, all I wanted him to do was stand up to his mother and tell her that we wanted an autumn wedding and not a summer wedding.”

  Momma Peach put a loving arm around Michelle. “Able loves you and that's what matters.”

  “He sure didn't act like he loved me at the airport,” Michelle pointed out. “He barely said two words to me and didn't even kiss me goodbye. Sam...as rude as I was to him...at least he hugged me goodbye and slipped a thousand dollars into my jacket pocket.” Michelle felt a tear fall from her eye. Sure, she was a tough cop and a tough fighter, but she was also a woman with a very tender heart. “Millie kissed my cheek and gave me a sweet hug...Mandy and Rosa hugged me goodbye, too.”

  “That's cause we're a family, and even though families fuss and fight at times, when the sun sets, we're still one heartbeat,” Momma Peach explained. She wiped Michelle's tear away. “Able will get over himself and come to his senses.”

  Michelle tried to smile. “I
love all of my family,” she told Momma Peach. “I love Sam, Millie, Mandy, Rosa, Timmy, Old Joe...and more than anyone...you, Momma Peach.” Michelle felt another tear leave her eye. “I'm so sorry for being rude to you. Please forgive me.”

  Momma Peach pulled Michelle into her arms. “Oh, I love you more than life. There's no need to be sorry.”

  Michelle wasn't so sure. “Able might call off our engagement,” she whispered as hot tears rolled out of her eyes.

  “That boy wouldn't even let that thought enter his clumsy mind,” Momma Peach promised, holding Michelle the way she would hold her very own daughter. “Able was mighty upset at the airport because you hurt his pride. Now, when a man has his pride stung, he gets real upset on the inside and fusses a bit. That's when us women have to come along and coddle them a little, make them feel strong again...like they can conquer a grizzly bear with their bare hands...stuff like that.” Momma Peach looked into Michelle's hurt eyes. “You haven't...well, you haven’t yet bandaged Able. Not exactly.”

  “Why should I?” Michelle asked, feeling her hurt turn into anger. “I wasn't the one who backed down to that controlling mother of his!”

  “No, you weren't,” Momma Peach replied in a gentle voice, “but you were the one who made it clear that the man you might be calling your husband someday was weak, and that is just no good. You pick blackberries with soft fingers, not harsh hands.”

  “Why should I baby a man who refuses to stand up to his mother?” Michelle asked in a frustrated voice.

  “Not baby,” Momma Peach pointed out, “understand.” Momma Peach motioned at the rugged landscape with her eyes. “Out in this place, you don't see much life. Why? Because this is a remote part of the land meant for snakes and such.” Momma Peach focused back on Michelle. “Folks know where they belong...where there's life. And Able, all he wants is to keep his momma in a land where there's life.”

  “I don't understand—”

  “What I am saying,” Momma Peach continued in a careful voice, “is that Able is worried that his momma is feeling left out...alone...living way out in rugged land all by herself. All he wants is for his momma to be a part of his wedding.”

  “But she's so...controlling,” Michelle protested. “I can understand that she's Able’s mother and—” Michelle stopped. Her eyes dropped down to Momma Peach's right foot. “Oh, my…uh…Momma Peach...don't move.”

  Momma Peach froze, slowly lowered her eyes, and saw a tarantula spider easing toward her sandal. “Oh...” she said as if someone had slid a pack of ice cubes down her back, “I...oh...yes...I...”

  “Don't move,” Michelle begged in a low whisper. “I'll stomp it.” Michelle raised her right boot into the air. As she did, the sound of a truck with a run-down engine rattled in the distance. Michelle threw her eyes down the remote road and spotted the truck.

  “Uh...baby,” Momma Peach whimpered, “kill the big spider...”

  Michelle focused her eyes back down on the tarantula. The tarantula stopped a couple of inches from Momma Peach's sandal and seemed to look up at Michelle with daring eyes. “I...uh...shoo!” Michelle yelled, and instead of stomping the tarantula into the dirt, she kicked it plum across the road. The poor tarantula went airborne, landed on a hard rock, righted itself with an angry flailing of legs and wandered away.

  “Thank you...baby,” Momma Peach said and almost fainted. Before she could, a run-down brown Toyota truck pulled up.

  “G'day,” a man said in a thick Australian accent. “Having a bit of car trouble, I see.”

  Michelle looked into the face of a man who appeared very rugged and handsome. The man looked to be about her age, in good shape and health; a man who kept himself fit. Yet, through the charming ruggedness—and the intense heat of the day—somehow sensed a coolness at the heart of this man. She hoped it was only his nature to keep cool in the Australian heat, and not the kind of cool that leaves a man soulless. “Engine overheated,” she said, allowing the no-nonsense cop in her to retake control over her emotions. “We need a ride.”

  Momma Peach looked at the man driving the truck. She looked at the brown bush hat the man wore over his deeply hooded eyes. She looked at the man's face, hardened by years of hot weather, suntanned and weather-beaten. He wore khaki-brown clothes like a safari guide. She looked the man up and down with one single swoop of the eye. “We're driving to Greenglow.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “And what would two sheilas like you be going to that dried-up place for? There's nothing there but dirt.” A fat fly landed on the back of his hand and he smacked it with the other. He flicked the dead fly away with a sneer.

  “We're going to see my friend Patrick Walker,” Momma Peach told Mitch and forced her voice to become sickeningly pleasant. “Do you know him? Oh, please say you do, you nice man, because we've come all the way from America to see him and we're mighty tired.”

  Mitch examined Momma Peach and Michelle with curious eyes. Michelle had the look of a cop and Momma Peach, well, she had the look of a woman who was too smart for her own good. “Sure, I know Patty,” Mitch told Momma Peach. “Patty and I are old mates.” Mitch checked the heat gauge on the Toyota. “Greenglow is about thirty or so kilometers down a ways. Hop in the bed and I'll drive you down the road. I’m Mitch Taylor, by the way.”

  Michelle looked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach nodded. “Let us get our luggage,” Momma Peach said in a quick voice. She had no desire to remain standing out in the heat, fighting spiders and thirsting for cool air. Sure, taking a ride from this stranger probably wasn't a grand idea, but what choice was there? Momma Peach would just whack the guy with her pocketbook if he tried anything funny.

  Mitch watched Momma Peach and Michelle retrieve all of their luggage from the trunk of the rental car. He lit a cigarette, took a draw, and waited. A few minutes later, Momma Peach and Michelle climbed up into the dusty truck bed. “What are you thinking, Patty? Do you really think these two sheilas are going to help you?” he hissed under his breath. He smiled out at the dry, endless road.

  “Ready,” Michelle yelled. Mitch nodded and got the truck moving.

  “Ah,” Momma Peach said, feeling the wind begin to blow in her face, “the Lord's wind sure knows how to refresh a body.”

  Michelle looked behind her and watched the rental car slowly vanish in the heat. “Momma Peach?” she asked, sitting on her brown suitcase, “tell me more about Patrick.”

  Momma Peach leaned back on her battered gray suitcase, turned her face to the wind, and allowed her mind a couple of minutes of silence and rest time. “Baby,” she finally spoke, “it's best for you to meet Patrick and figure the man out for yourself, because there's no real way for me to explain a man like Patrick to you.”

  Michelle spotted Mitch glancing in the rearview mirror at her with careful eyes. “Momma Peach,” she whispered beneath the sound of the rattletrap truck and the highway, “I have a feeling we're going to get into a whole lot of trouble way out here in the Australian outback.”

  Momma Peach didn't hear Michelle. She was too busy basking in the wind. Or so it seemed. In the deep channels of her mind she was thinking about Patrick. Patrick asked for help but refused to say what kind of help he needed. All Patrick told her over the phone was that he needed help saving his land. From who? Patrick didn't say. The man was very...eccentric...and not the type to relay his troubles over a phone. “Okay, you old coot, I’m on my way to help you, and you better be ready and have a cold glass of iced tea waiting.”

  Mitch hung a hard right and threw the tires of the Toyota onto a hot, dry, red dirt road that appeared to be more of a driveway. Momma Peach grabbed the side wall of the truck bed for balance and began watching dirt clouds take away the view of the paved road. “My, Patrick sure does live a piece out, doesn't he?”

  Michelle focused her eyes on the dirt road Mitch was driving down at a speed that seemed inconsiderate, if not dangerous. She bumped from one sitting position to the next, holding on for dear life. “All I see are boulder
s, dry brush and dirt,” she told Momma Peach. “I can't imagine why someone would want to live out here.”

  “We're from a land of green pastures...folks out here see this kind of land as their green pastures. This is ranching land. We see a hot landscape while other folks see an oasis,” Momma Peach explained and began wondering if she believed her own words. She had to admit that the dirt road leading to Greenglow looked more like a desert road leading to dried-up animal bones being circled by vultures.

  “I...guess,” Michelle said just as the Toyota hit a hard rut in the road. The truck bounced violently and nearly threw her overboard. “Slow down!” she yelled at Mitch.

  Mitch tossed a cigarette out of the driver's window and continued on down the dirt road without slowing. A few minutes later he zoomed into a small town that consisted of one single gas station that also acted as the local grocery store, a small wooden building that was designed to be some sort of information center but had been turned into a place where the locals gathered to drink sodas and talk about whatever the day had to talk about, a run-down garage holding a bunch of junk cars sitting on the side and a small wooden church that also operated as a school. Mitch slid to a stop in front of the garage. “Have to get some water in my radiator,” he explained.

  Momma Peach coughed, slapped dust away from her face, and carefully crawled out of the truck bed. “You...do that.” She coughed again, looked at the garage—a garage that was peeling gray paint like nobody's business—and sighed. “Hello, Greenglow.”

  Michelle jumped out of the truck bed and surveyed the town. The gas station was next to the garage. The church and another building were sitting across the street, nearly holding hands. “We're in the middle of nowhere,” she told Momma Peach. She nodded north. “That dirt road seems to go on forever.”