A Peachy Plan Page 10

  Momma Peach stopped moving, tuned out the winds, and focused on any odd sound. In the distance, she heard what sounded like a horrible scraping sound, and it sent her heart into a panic. “Snowplow!” she yelled and got moving again.

  Michelle threw her right hand over Susan's head and took off like a lightning. She ran to the back of the barn, found an unlocked door, and flung it open. “Honey, I need to put you down for a second,” she told Susan.

  “Those mean men are coming,” Susan whimpered.

  “We'll be okay,” Michelle promised. She set Susan down and studied the dark barn. As soon as Sam came into view she snatched the supplies from his arms and moved back.

  Sam ran into the barn, spun around, saw Momma Peach come in after him, and then slammed the back door closed. “Don't lock the door,” he ordered. “We have to make it look like no one has been in here.”

  Momma Peach felt cold winds strike her face and looked to her right and left. She saw why the windy cold whipped through even inside the barn—a line of windows on the right wall had been broken by a fallen tree limb. Snow screamed through the broken windows and piling up on the frozen dirty floor where the tree limb lay. Old wooden walls formed the unused horse stalls, an area to park a tractor and keep some tools, an upper hay loft, and a work area. The barn was not very big, but—Momma Peach thought, looking around in the darkness—the barn was big enough to have plenty of good hiding spots. “Those broken windows will help cover our tracks,” she said.

  “Yep,” Sam said and took back the blankets and box of food and candles from Michelle. “We need to find stall number three. Come on.”

  Momma Peach reached down her hand and found Susan's cold glove, but the little girl snatched her hand away, frightened. “Let me hold your hand, okay? Michelle is going to have to help Mr. Sam for a minute.” Susan reluctantly looked up at Momma Peach and then, very slowly, took her hand. “That's my girl,” Momma Peach beamed.

  Michelle fished out a small pen flashlight from the left pocket of her winter jacket and turned it on. “Thelma said we'll need to place some hay over the cellar door,” she said, keeping the beam of light low. “Over there.”

  Momma Peach turned and spotted two old, half-rotted bales of hay next to a work table. Clearly Thelma used one of the hay bales as a seat. Michelle started to gather up the hay bale. “Hurry,” she told Michelle and chased after Sam with Susan. She found Sam standing in a dark stall. “Mr. Sam?”

  “This is the stall,” Sam said and kicked a rusted handle connected to a wooden door. “Stay where you are.”

  Momma Peach pulled Susan close and watched Sam, even though the man appeared as nothing more than a shadow. He bent down and pulled open the rusty cellar door. The cellar door moaned and groaned, creaked and fussed, but finally gave way. A strong smell of raw, musty earth flooded up from the cellar and raced out into the barn. “Mr. Sam?”

  Sam turned his attention to the supply box, fished out a flashlight, turned it on, and aimed the beam down into the cellar. “It's okay,” he said and stuck his head down into the dark hole to look around. “Not very big...very old wooden shelves...some canning jars...one way in, one way out,” he called out and pulled his head up.

  Michelle ran up carrying most of a bale of hay in her arms. “Okay, here's the hay.” Mr. Sam moved to climb into the cellar and Momma Peach pulled Susan after her to follow him down.

  Susan felt fear grip her heart. She did not want to go down into a dark hole. She was afraid of tight places. “Please,” she begged, breaking her silence, “don't make me go down into that hole...please...Momma Peach,” she cried, pulling her arm away, “don't make me go down into that hole...I'm scared!”

  “Oh, my sweet baby,” Momma Peach said and swooped Susan up into her arms.

  “I can't say I'm liking this idea much myself,” Sam admitted. “I don't like trapping myself down in a hole. I know Thelma is trying to help us, but if we go down in that hole we might never come back out.”

  Michelle set down the bale of hay she carried and ran over to a broken window and looked out into the storm. “Snowplow is almost to Thelma's mailbox!” she called out and dashed back to Momma Peach. “Listen, I agree with Sam. I don't want to trap myself in some hole in the ground. There has to be a better plan.”

  Momma Peach was not fond of burrowing like a groundhog, either. The truth was, she hated tight places. “Think,” she begged her mind, “wake those brain cells up and fill them full of some good ideas.”

  “Maybe we can hide in the hay?” Susan asked Momma Peach.

  “Hay?” Momma Peach asked and slowly let her eyes travel up toward the hayloft. Huge piles of unbaled hay lay up there, surely enough to hide in. “Mr. Sam? Michelle?”

  “Sure beats hiding in a hole,” Sam said and rubbed his cold neck.

  Momma Peach thought for a few seconds. “Mr. Sam, Michelle, put those supplies down in that hole, make it look real lived in, then cover that there cellar door with some hay, but make sure you leave a little of the door exposed, and then get yourselves up into the hayloft. Susan, come with Momma Peach.” Michelle and Sam looked at each other and then they jumped into action. Sam grabbed the box and crawled down into the hole. Once he safely reached the dirt floor, he pulled a few candles out of the box and placed them around the cellar and then pushed the box next to a flimsy wooden shelf. Next, he took the blankets from Michelle and spread them out to make it appear people had been using the blankets to keep warm.

  “All set?” Michelle asked Sam keeping the beam of her pen flashlight down in the cellar.

  Sam popped his head out. “All set,” he said and crawled back up into the barn, closed the cellar door, and helped Michelle spread some hay around. “Good as it's gonna get,” he said. “Look!”

  Michelle looked at the broken windows and saw headlights moving down the driveway. “Move!” she said and grabbed Sam's arm and ran to the wooden ladder leading up into the hayloft. She forced Sam to climb up the ladder first and covered the rear. When Sam safely reached the loft she climbed up the ladder too and spotted Momma Peach waving at her. “Okay,” she said lowering her voice and crawled over to Momma Peach. Momma Peach grabbed Michelle and pulled her into a hay cave she had managed to make with the piles of loose hay, and then forced the front of the pile to collapse.

  Sam pressed up against Momma Peach and pulled Susan into his arms, keeping his right hand on his gun. Michelle crawled up next to Susan and placed her body there as a protective shield. “All we can do is wait, honey,” she whispered. Susan did not reply. Instead, she began to pray.

  “That's right, baby girl, pray,” Momma Peach whispered, laying on her belly. “Pray with all your heart.”

  Outside in the snow five heavy-duty trucks rigged with snow plows drove down the driveway and parked with their headlights aimed at the farmhouse. Chief Duddles climbed out of the first truck and jumped down into the snow. Two men wearing only black leather jackets followed. “Surround the house!” Chief Duddles yelled into a walkie-talkie. The doors to the other four trucks burst open. Three men spilled out of each truck, all dressed in winter hunting clothes, and began circling the house. Chief Duddles, pleased that his men had obeyed him, marched up onto the front porch, stepped past a fallen tree limb, and banged on the front door. “Thelma Dodge, open up!”

  Thelma drew in a deep breath, wasted a couple of minutes fiddling with some firewood beside the fireplace, and then opened the front door. “What in the world?” she demanded.

  Chief Duddles stared at Thelma. The two men in black joined him. “Where are the outsiders?” he demanded and pushed Thelma back into the house.

  Thelma stumbled backward but managed to catch her balance. “My guests, you fat marshmallow,” she corrected him, “are gone. Your little phone call earlier spooked them.”

  The two men in black pushed past Thelma. One man ran upstairs and the second man ran for the kitchen. Both men, Thelma saw, had the look of trained killers. Both men had short military flat-top h
aircuts, stern stony-faced expressions, and dead, lifeless eyes. “I ordered you to keep them here!” Chief Duddles yelled.

  “How?” Thelma yelled back and deliberately walked over to the fireplace, forcing Chief Duddles to follow her. “Chief, I can't hold people hostage in my home. Besides, they'll be back sooner or later. Those crazy people left on foot. I doubt they'll get far before the cold forces them to change their minds.”

  Chief Duddles examined the living room suspiciously and then looked at the wooden mantle over the fireplace. He swept his eyes across each picture and then spotted a piece of paper sticking out from behind a picture of Thelma and a man in a snowy backyard. “What's this?” he asked and snatched the note.

  Thelma made a face as if she did not understand, making her voice sound suspicious. “How should I know?”

  “You’re standing right here in front of it, aren’t you?” Chief Duddles asked and snatched the note open. “We'll be back with the FBI. Don't worry,” Chief Duddles stopped reading and closed his eyes, “FBI,” he moaned. Thelma shrugged her shoulders. Chief Duddles opened his eyes and continued to read. “We need to find little Susan but will let the FBI locate her. If Chief Duddles shows up, tell him the truth. There's no sense placing your life in any more danger. You've been real nice. Thanks for supper. Love, Momma Peach.”

  Thelma stuck out her hands and warmed them beside the fire. “I doubt those people get two miles in this storm,” she said sorrowfully.

  Chief Duddles shoved the note into his pocket and desperately searched the stairs and the door leading into the dining room. “The FBI,” he whispered in a weak voice. “If the feds show up...” Chief Duddles stopped talking. “Thelma, how long ago did they leave?”

  “I wasn't keeping time, Chief.”

  One of the men returned to the living room from the kitchen. He walked straight up to Thelma and snatched her arm. “You have supplies missing. Food, candles—”

  “And blankets,” a hard voice announced from the staircase.

  “I sure do,” Thelma confessed. “I wasn't about to send those people out into this storm without supplies.” Thelma snatched her arm free. “I am a woman who cares for my fellow man, Chief. Now you can hate me all you want, but I have God and my conscience to answer to.”

  Chief Duddles slowly walked to the front window and looked out into the storm. “I know, Thelma,” he said and let out a worried breath. “Let's go back to town,” he told the two men.

  “First let's check the property,” the two men demanded.

  “Why? The outsiders aren't here. We need to focus on finding the missing girl.”

  One of the men walked up to Chief Duddles and shoved him aside. “You take orders from us,” he growled and marched out into the storm.

  “I...sure,” Chief Duddles said and waited until the living room emptied before talking to Thelma. “Thelma,” he pleaded, “Ridge Falls is in danger. If you do care for your fellow man, call me immediately if the outsiders return.”

  “Why?” Thelma asked in a disgusted voice. “Chief, you're teaming up with the wrong type of people. You've betrayed your badge and the people of Ridge Falls. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Chief Duddles stared at Thelma. The fear torturing his face satisfied Thelma. “Call me,” he pleaded in a weak voice and walked out into the storm. He spotted the two men walking toward the barn with their guns drawn.

  Inside the barn, Momma Peach prayed her heart out as the snowstorm laughed into the night like a crazed, frozen clown, Momma Peach thought. She held little Susan’s hands tight and warm in her own, and continued to pray.

  Chapter Seven

  The back door to the barn slowly crept open and the icy winds swept from the broken windows through the barn and out the open door. The winds ran up the hayloft and began digging at the snow, desperately trying to uncover Momma Peach. “Big bad wolf, stop huffing and puffing,” Momma Peach whispered and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Guys,” Chief Duddles spoke in a pleading tone, “I'm sure the outsiders aren't hiding in this old barn.”

  Vance White walked his eyes through the barn while his brother and partner Yonick dealt with Chief Duddles. “Shut your mouth and start scanning the barn,” he growled. “Our patience is wearing very thin with you, Duddles. You assured us that our targets would be at this location. You lied.”

  Vance withdrew a small but powerful metal flashlight from his jacket pocket, snapped it on, aimed it up into the air, and began bathing the hayloft with a bright beam of light. The beam of light struggled through the icy, dusty air but managed to make contact with the hayloft. “Yonick, check below. I'm going topside.”

  Yonick nodded, snatched out a flashlight, popped on the light, and looked around. “Duddles, you're with me,” he said and methodically maneuvered deeper into the barn. Vance made his way to the ladder leading up the hayloft.

  “Mr. White,” Chief Duddles whimpered, “I really do think we're wasting our time—”

  Yonick shoved Chief Duddles forward. “Shut up and search the barn,” he snapped.

  Chief Duddles stumbled over to the empty stalls. Yonick walked over to him. “The enemy can hide anywhere, Duddles,” he hissed. “We'll search the barn and then comb the woods. If we come up empty-handed then and only then will we expand our search. This storm is hindering our efforts, but it is also working to our advantage. The enemy will not get far.”

  Chief Duddles caved in. “Yes, of course,” he said and looked into one of the empty stalls and spotted hay scattered on the floor. Yonick aimed his flashlight into the stall. The beam of light glinted off of a metal object sticking up out of the hay. “What is that?” Chief Duddles asked and hurried into the stall.

  Yonick walked into the stall, shoved Chief Duddles to the side, and bent down and ran his hands over the floor. “There's a door under here,” he said and handed Chief Duddles his flashlight. “Vance, get over here!”

  Vance did not immediately reply. He had already climbed up the ladder and reached the hayloft and bathed the hay with the beam from his flashlight. Bales of cold, damp hay appeared before his eyes, stacked clumsily. Some bales of hay lay scattered messily atop the pile, other bales falling apart, and some bales of hay completely intact in stacks. The loft smelled strongly of the earthy, barn scent of hay, reminding Vance of cows and horses.

  Yonick yelled again, “Vance, I found a hidden door! Get down here!”

  “Hang on!” Vance studied the hay with his eyes narrowed. The wind forced some of the hay to move about, but he could not detect any human movement. Still, better safe than sorry. He removed his gun from the black holster on the utility belt at his waist and prepared to empty an entire clip of bullets into the stacks of hay. As he did, Yonick yelled at him for a third time. Vance gritted his teeth, stared at the hay again, and after a pause, hearing the urgency in his partner’s voice, he put his gun away. It looked like a pitifully small pile of hay anyway, and he doubted it could hide the people they sought. It would just waste of bullets in the end. “I'm moving!” he yelled and made his way to the ladder and climbed down.

  “Too close,” Sam whispered, squeezing his gun.

  “Way too close,” Michelle agreed and let out a deep breath.

  Momma Peach kept her eyes closed. “I ain't gonna be happy until those snakes leave this barn,” she whispered.

  Down below, Yonick ripped the rusted cellar door open just as Vance ran up. “Cover me!”

  Vance unholstered his gun, stationed himself over the cellar door, and watched Yonick descend into the earth. As soon as Yonick clear the opening, he dropped down into the cellar after his brother. He spotted the box of supplies, the blankets, and the candles. “They must have fled when they heard us arrive,” he said.

  Yonick kicked the cellar wall. “No,” he said and grabbed a white candle. “The wick isn't lit. They set a decoy for us.”

  Vance grabbed a candle. The wicks looked clean. “The woman inside might have set this decoy,” he said and slung
the candle down.

  “Expecting us to believe the people we're hunting are hiding around here someplace, in order to keep us occupied,” Yonick agreed. “We're wasting our time. Let's go.”

  Yonick and Vance climbed out of the cellar. “Well?” Chief Duddles dared to ask.

  “A decoy,” Yonick explained and grabbed Chief Duddles by the collar. “If we fail to find our target then you will not live to see the daylight, is that clear?”

  “Clear,” Chief Duddles promised in a frightened voice. “What do you want me to do?”

  Yonick looked at Vance. “There's not many options right now. All we can do is start searching the roads. Have your men break off from this farm and begin searching the roads in every direction. We can’t be too careful.”

  “That might take—”

  “I realize the timeframe,” Yonick snapped. “While your men are searching the roads we'll go back and search the town.”

  Vance nodded. “We'll search the diner first. That old lady hid that brat before. She'll try and help again if she can.”

  Chief Duddles felt trapped. He had made his bed with the wicked and now being forced to share in their misery. “Sure, we'll go talk to Mom. Maybe she's heard something?”

  Yonick and Vance walked out of the barn without saying another word, leaving Chief Duddles alone. Chief Duddles ran his hands over his cold face, looked down at the dark hole in the floor, and then made his way back out into the storm, slamming the barn door shut behind him.

  “We're okay,” Sam whispered. “Your plan worked, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach said a prayer of thanks and hugged Susan. “See, miracles do happen.”

  Susan hesitated. She kept her eyes closed. “Those men are still going to find us.”

  “No. They ain't,” Momma Peach promised and dared to push hay off her body and stick her head up and draw fresh air into her lungs.

  Sam and Michelle kicked the hay off of their bodies, too. “What now?” Sam asked quietly.

  Michelle brushed hay out of her hair with her left hand while keeping her right hand around her gun. “We wait,” she said, hearing the trucks outside come to life.