Not So Peachy Day Page 12

  Sam burst out laughing as he headed for the door to the hallway.

  “Shut up, Mr. Sam,” Momma Peach yelled through the door and then moaned. “Oh, that Tabasco sauce is going to be the end of me...oh...”

  Sam folded his arms together and waited in the hallway until she came out some minutes later, red-faced and waving a lit match in front of her face like a priest conducting an exorcism.

  “Oh, don’t look at me that way, Mr. Sam. It burns up the stink. I’m doing us all a favor,” she said.

  Sam tried to keep a straight face. “Well, Momma Peach, I hear some people do their best thinking on the toilet. Any ideas about how we're going to handle Coplin and Morris?”

  “Yes, I do have an idea,” Momma Peach said. “For starters, we aren't going to Maybrook Street. Remember, Mr. Sam, I took that turkey's phone from him.”

  “That's right, you did,” Sam said and began to see the shape of her thoughts.

  “I am going to make a call to Coplin and Morris and play Andy’s confession to them, and only after we hear their response will we make our attack.”

  Sam chewed on Momma Peach's words a moment. He had a few hesitations. “Momma Peach—”

  “Before you say a word,” Momma Peach interrupted, “let me tell you that men like Coplin and Morris will have strong security. I don't believe Andy Pracks is telling the whole truth about them two men being all alone in a big old house. No, it's better to lure them out into the open.”

  Sam realized that Momma Peach had latched onto a very serious truth that he had not considered. “Yeah, it's likely that snake didn't tell us the whole truth,” he said. “What location do you want to lure them to, Momma Peach?”

  “The truck stop,” Momma Peach said. “We’ve got allies there, don’t forget.”

  Sam walked over to the bedroom window. He pulled back the curtain covering the window and studied the truck stop. The truck stop was still very dark and still in the storm. “I'll call Martha.”

  “Not yet,” Momma Peach said. “I need to chew on my thoughts some more and make sure my mind is sharp. We're down to the nitty-gritty and let’s not forget I have Rosa and Timmy to consider. If I mess up now, then Rosa and Timmy could be harmed. No sir, Mr. Sam, I need a minute to think on my plan and iron out the rough spots.”

  Sam grew silent. Momma Peach sat on the bed and appeared to be deep in thought. Sam kept his eyes on the truck stop and wondered what plan Momma Peach was hatching. Whatever her plan was, he thought, it wasn't going to be conventional, because Momma Peach was a woman who worked outside the boundaries of logic until she captured her prey.

  Chapter Eight

  Vern Coplin heard his cell phone ring. He sat up from his position on an expensive, brown leather couch to check the display on the sleek gray phone, which sat on an antique coffee table that cost more money than most people made in a year. “It's Pracks,” he said and stood to pick up the phone. The antique coffee table faced a roaring fire trying to escape its large marble fireplace.

  A man with thick black hair walked over to the fireplace and looked into the fire. “Coplin, I still don't agree with your plan,” he said.

  Vern Coplin turned his glare into daggers, wishing he could stab Brad Morris in the back and be done with it. “Pracks—is it finished?” he said, answering the call.

  “Nope,” Momma Peach said, “this here isn't Andy Pracks, you turkey. This here is a woman that has your nose in a pinch.”

  Vern froze. “Who is this?” he demanded and ran his left hand through his thin, graying, red hair.

  Momma Peach popped a piece of peppermint into her mouth and sat down on the edge of her bed. “Andy Pracks made a nice little confession earlier. Want to hear?”

  “What happened?” Brad Morris demanded, turning to look from his spot at the mantlepiece.

  Vern threw an angry hand into the air to get Brad to shut up. “Where is Pracks?” he demanded.

  “Well, maybe you should listen to his confession. But first, is this Coplin or Morris I'm speaking with?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Coplin.”

  “Oh, the man who ordered Andy Pracks to kill John Minski,” Momma Peach said in her best sweet Southern twang. “How sickening to meet you.”

  “Lady, you're speaking to a very dangerous man—”

  “I'm speaking to a worm,” Momma Peach interrupted. “Now, you listen to me and listen close. I know all about the explosives. I know all about your dumb little plan to destroy this fine little community. You see, Andy told me a lot.”

  “You're lying!” Vern yelled and kicked the coffee table viciously. The leg of the table splintered, and the table tilted dangerously.

  “What is it?” Brad demanded. Paranoia in his wide eyes, he began to back out of the room. “I’m going to set the explosive charge off now. I told you we couldn’t trust Pracks—”

  Vern glared at Brad, and out of anger and rage, snatched out a gun from the inside pocket of his gray suit and shot Brad dead.

  Momma Peach heard the gunshots. “Oh my,” she whispered, “Momma Peach's plan just hit a snag.”

  “What?” Sam asked, reading Momma Peach's worried face.

  Momma Peach put her hand over the phone. “I think Coplin just shot Morris dead.”

  Sam made a pained face. “Not good,” he said.

  “Hear that, lady?” Vern yelled into the phone, “I just killed Brad Morris. The man is dead and you're next unless you start talking. Where is Andy Pracks?”

  “Shut up, dummy, and listen to this!” Momma Peach yelled back and stuck the tape recorder she was holding in her left hand up to the phone and hit play. Andy's voice began to speak. Vern stood still and listened to Andy's entire, pathetic, tearful confession. “Did you hear, turkey?”

  “I heard,” Vern said in a strained voice. Now his back was up against a wall. “What do you want? Money?”

  Momma Peach felt she had been tossed onto a hot plate and in her mind, she began jumping around hoping to find a cool spot to stand and think. “Yeah, I want money, chump,” she said and held up her hand at Sam to urge him to wait without asking questions. Sam nodded his head.

  “How much?”

  “How much you got?” Momma Peach asked. “You want this confession to disappear? This here woman ain't cheap, pal.”

  “Who are you? CIA? FBI?” Vern demanded. “Or are you moonlighting on the side to grab some extra cash? Sure, that's it, isn't it?”

  “Listen, you turkey, it ain't none of your business who I am and what my business is. All you need to know is that I am the woman who outsmarted one of your best men and I am the woman who has a very dangerous weapon to use against you if I decide to make Andy Pracks’ confession public.”

  Vern squeezed his hands into two fists. He didn't have time for any more problems or delays. The Russians were breathing down his neck. He had one week to destroy Mableville and take control or die. “How much?”

  “How much you got, dummy? Don't you have ears?” Momma Peach asked.

  Vern closed his eyes. He couldn't set off the explosives—not yet, anyway. He had to kill the woman he was speaking to before he could detonate the explosives. “I’ll bring enough, don’t you worry about that,” he said as he threw his eyes open and walked across a glossy hard floor. He yanked open a wooden door. “In here, now,” he snapped at a large man wearing a black coat. The man hurried into the living room. “Wait,” Vern told him in an undertone as he focused his mind back on Momma Peach. “Where can we meet?”

  “Not so fast, dummy,” Momma Peach said, finally finding a cool spot to stand on. She began restructuring her plan. “Let's talk cold, hard cash, first. I want ten million dollars.”

  “Done,” Vern lied.

  “Ten million ain't nothing to the foreigners you're trying to bring into Mableville,” Momma Peach told Vern. “So maybe we need to make it twenty million?”

  “Done,” Vern lied again.

  Momma Peach knew Vern was lying but pretended to accept his agreeme
nt. “Okay, turkey, here's the deal. We're going to meet at the local truck stop in town. You're going to leave the money in the back of the truck stop and take a hike. Once I have the money, I'll send Andy Pracks on his way—”

  “Kill him,” Vern snapped. “That man is worthless to me now.”

  “My, aren't we cranky,” Momma Peach told Vern. “Somebody put Pinesol in your lemonade, boy?”

  “Twenty million,” Vern growled at Momma Peach. “I'll have the money to you within the hour. But you better listen real good, lady. I want that recording destroyed. If you try and trick me, I'll track you down and whoever you have told about it, so—”

  “Oh, shut your mouth, turkey,” Momma Peach snapped. “I want the money. I ain't interested in your stupid threats. You give me my money and I'll vanish into the wind.”

  “Deal.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Momma Peach said, “I have eyes everywhere, so if you're thinking about sending one of your hired security guards to kill me...don't bother. If I see anyone but you show up at the truck stop, I'll have Andy Pracks all over the news so fast your head will spin. We clear?”

  “We're clear.”

  “You better be sure, because my people are watching your house at 1901 Maybrook Street,” Momma Peach told Vern and winked at Sam. “You better leave there alone or else.”

  Vern nearly exploded in rage. “Get out,” he snapped at the man wearing the black coat, “I'm going solo.” The man stared at Vern for a few seconds and then walked out of the living room without saying a word about Morris’s dead body lying on the floor. “Okay, lady, I'll be at the truck stop in one hour. No games.”

  “No games,” Momma Peach agreed. “One hour.”

  “One hour,” Vern said and slammed his cell phone down onto the couch. “One hour and you'll be dead,” he promised.

  Momma Peach tossed Andy Pracks’ cell phone down onto her bed. “Well, Mr. Sam, so much for my original plan. It looks like we're going to have to play the final scene by ear after all.” Momma Peach grabbed her head. “Oh, I just want to go to that island of yours and soak her feet in the ocean.”

  Sam sat down next to Momma Peach. “We have one hour to think of a plan,” he said.

  “Yes, we do, because I surely know Coplin isn't going out into the snow to give us no twenty million dollars. That man is going out into this here storm to kill me.”

  Sam put his chin down into the palm of his hands. “Are you sure Coplin killed Morris?” he asked.

  “I heard the sound of a gun firing,” Momma Peach told Sam and put her own chin down on her hands. “Yes sir and yes, ma’am, I am sure Coplin shot someone and after he did, I never heard that second voice in the background again. Plus, Morris never tried to take the phone and do himself some talking, so it only stands to reason the man is dead as we speak.”

  Sam looked down at the patterned carpet and shook his head. “Momma Peach, all we wanted to do was take a nice, simple vacation and get some sun. And now look at us, caught up in another case without Michelle.”

  Momma Peach closed her eyes and brought Michelle's beautiful face to mind. “Oh, how I wish my girl Michelle was here now.”

  “Me, too,” Sam said. “I talked to Michelle last night. She was real worried about you.” Sam kept his eyes on the carpet. “I wanted to tell her about being trapped in this storm, but instead I assured her that we were all okay and would be leaving for our island as soon as the storm ended.”

  “Now, my baby ain't stupid, Mr. Sam. She can read a lie a mile away.”

  “Yep,” Sam said in a miserable voice. “I think Michelle knew I was lying but she didn't seem to let on.”

  “Michelle wouldn't ever call you a liar,” Momma Peach pointed out. “She loves you.”

  “And I love Michelle,” Sam told Momma Peach and finally stood up. “But Michelle is thousands of miles away and we have one hour to catch a killer who is closer by the minute.”

  Momma Peach began rubbing her temples. “Think, woman, think,” she ordered her mind. “How can we outsmart Coplin? That man is surely going to try and pull the rug out from under us.”

  Sam walked over to the sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed some water onto his face. “Momma Peach?”

  “Yes?”

  “What Andy Pracks said...about America being systematically destroyed by outside forces...he's right, you know,” Sam replied in a tired voice. He needed sleep. “Even if we win this round, there will always be more and more bad guys to fight. We can't fight them all.”

  “No,” Momma Peach agreed, “but we can win this battle and save this little town from being destroyed. That's something.”

  “I keep thinking...what if Coplin and Morris had attacked our town, Momma Peach? What would we do?” Sam asked.

  “Fight, baby. Fight.”

  Sam splashed more cold water onto his face. “Let me rephrase my question: What would the good people of our town do?”

  Momma Peach looked over at Sam. “Some would fight, others would surrender to the harsh hand of the system.”

  Sam turned and walked back to Momma Peach. “Nate's lodge in Alaska is looking better and better by the minute,” he told Momma Peach and sat down next to her. “I miss my desert town, but I know Nate's lodge is going to be the next best thing. The more I think about the lodge the more impatient I become to buy it from Nate.”

  “Mr. Sam is anxious to go north again,” Momma Peach said in a sad voice.

  “Yeah, I am,” Sam confessed and wrapped his arm around Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, I love living in your town. I love the farmhouse I own and the land that surrounds it. But I'm a hermit, Momma Peach. I like living in remote, secluded places.”

  “Nate's lodge is about as remote as you can get.”

  Sam forced a smile to his face. “Andy Pracks said these outside forces are coming for America, but I think the wilderness of Alaska is protected, being so far up north like it is. It’s like going back to the good old unspoiled version of America, just little towns and good folks and clean living. I guess what I'm saying is that...I'm anxious to get back to the lodge, to the lake, to the wilderness, and get settled in.” Sam looked into Momma Peach's eyes. “Momma Peach, Nate isn't going to sell his lodge anytime soon, so I'll be around for a while yet. But when he does sell to me, remember, you have to promise to come spend some time at the lodge, too.”

  “I remember the talk we had way up there in Alaska,” Momma Peach forced a smile to her face. “Don’t forget someone’s got to visit and bake you some peach pies once in a while. Even if I have to bring the peaches with me in my suitcase all the way up there.”

  “Way up there in Alaska,” Sam sighed, “where we got tangled up in a mess...and what a mess it was. You sure saved our butts, Momma Peach.” Sam leaned over and kissed Momma Peach's cheek. “You saved our butts because you're a brilliant woman. And that's why I'm confident you'll outsmart the likes of Coplin.”

  Momma Peach blushed. “Oh, Mr. Sam, you're enough to make a woman turn red all over.”

  Sam kissed Momma Peach's cheek again. “Then turn red,” he smiled.

  Momma Peach did turn red. She blushed all over and then stood up. “Is it hot in here?” she teased Sam and began pacing back and forth. “Okay, I have to think up a plan. While I’m thinking please go check on Timmy and Rosa for me, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” Sam agreed and left the room.

  As soon as Sam closed the door, Momma Peach plopped back down on her bed. “How in the world am I going to think of a way out of this mess in this storm?” she asked herself. “Think, girl…think…Coplin is going to arrive with his guns at the ready. He said he would arrive alone but we sure can't trust that lie.” Momma Peach bit down on her lip and forced her exhausted mind to think. And then an idea burst into her thoughts. “Well, I'll be,” she said and jumped to her feet and grabbed her pocketbook. “Yeah, now you're using your brain, old girl,” she said and dashed out of her room and got moving back to the upstairs attic.r />
  When she reached the attic, she found John keeping guard over Andy Pracks. “A man of your word,” she smiled at John and kicked Andy Pracks on his leg. “Wake up, turkey, because I have a need for you. Tonight, you're going to earn your keep before being shipped off to prison.”

  Andy Pracks opened his eyes and looked up at Momma Peach. “Shove off, porky.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head and then wrapped her right hand around the strap of her pocketbook. “Mr. John, you might want to turn your head because this is gonna get real ugly.”

  “Nah, I want to see this rat take his beating.”

  Andy glared at Momma Peach. “Give me your best shot, fat lady.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Momma Peach said and tore into Andy with her pocketbook like a woman on fire. John sat back and enjoyed the show. By the time the show ended, Andy Pracks was bruised and bloodied and begging for mercy. Momma Peach wiped sweat from her face and leaned up. “Call me a name again, chump, and you'll get a second helping that won’t be quite so gentle.” Andy spit a tooth out of his mouth and looked up at Momma Peach and realized the woman meant business. Nevertheless, he still promised himself he would kill her, a thought he savored deep in the recesses of his wretched mind.

  Sam walked into John's apartment and found Rosa and Timmy in a back guest room playing an old Nintendo. Timmy was sitting in a warm and comfortable green armchair parked in front of a television having the time of his life. Rosa was sitting next to him on a white sofa watching Timmy jumping on the heads of turtles and mushrooms. “How’s it going?” he asked Rosa.

  Rosa stretched her arms. “Oh, fine,” she said in a sleepy voice. “We've just finished our hundredth cup of hot cocoa of the night and now we're playing Mario Brothers.” Rosa smiled at Timmy. “He's about ready for bed.”

  Timmy paused his game and looked up at Sam. His little eyes were sleepy. “I'm not going to bed without...” Timmy yawned, “without Momma.”

  “I know, champ,” Sam said and rubbed Timmy's hair. “We have a little business to attend to and then we'll all go to bed, I promise.”