A Dash of Peach Page 12

  Momma Peach wrapped her arms around Michelle. She loved Mandy and Rosa more than her heart could speak. And now her babies were forced to leave town. Anger boiled in her heart. “I’m gonna stomp this spider to death real hard,” she promised Michelle. “Real hard until there's nothing left but a black spot on the ground, and then I’m gonna pour bleach on that black spot and scrub it clean.”

  Bob Connor didn’t know that all the wrath of Momma Peach was about to descend on him, Momma Peach thought to herself as she and Michelle drove away. But before she made her way back to the bank, they drove into a fancy neighborhood lined with expensive two-story homes sitting on lush green lawns that no child was allowed to play on. “My,” Momma Peach said, admiring the houses, “will you look at these places,” she told Michelle and whistled. “Mini mansions filled with some rich folk.”

  “They don’t impress me. They just look impersonal and cold,” Michelle replied. “A home is meant to be filled with people who understand how to laugh and love. I would rather live in a shack with you than live in a mansion with a person like Felicia Garland, Momma Peach.”

  “Same here,” Momma Peach told Michelle, but her eyes still shone as they soaked in the beauty of each home. “I would sure like to live in a mansion with you rather than a shack, though.”

  Michelle couldn't help but smile. “I guess that would be nice.”

  “I don't make enough at my bakery to buy a mansion. And I doubt your cop salary is enough to buy a month’s worth of those awful donuts you like.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Michelle sighed and slowed down in front of a two-story house that was brick on bottom and white wood siding on top. A beautiful wrap-around porch hugged the house, filled with patio furniture and plants. A long, gray stone walkway led up to the porch from the road, ending at white marble stairs connected to the porch. “It is nice,” she said to Momma Peach. “This house belongs to Felicia Garland.”

  Momma Peach nodded. She spotted Felicia's BMW parked in a small concrete driveway on the side of the house, next to the two-car garage. Michelle pulled her Oldsmobile up behind the BMW and parked. As she did, Felicia Garland stepped outside through a door connected to the front of the garage and was startled to see them. “Unless you have a warrant, get off my property,” she demanded.

  Momma Peach climbed out of the Oldsmobile and looked at Felicia. She watched as a soft, warm, wind played with the folds of the long, gray dress Felicia wore. And for a second – a mere second in time – the woman actually appeared beautiful. “Where are you going, Mrs. Garland?” Michelle asked, slamming the driver's side door shut.

  “Do you have a warrant?” Felicia asked suspiciously.

  “No,” Michelle said and turned to look at Momma Peach.

  “Bob Connor threatened to kill my babies,” Momma Peach told Felicia in a quietly serious tone that stopped Felicia in her tracks. “Bob Connor didn't know who I was, did he? Maybe he had a scent of me, but nothing to really get his undergarments in a twist over. Someone talked to Bob Connor about me, someone,” Momma Peach pointed a hard finger at Felicia, “who is trying to figure out what team she wants to play on.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Felicia told Momma Peach. She walked over to her BMW, fished out a set of car keys from the white purse she was holding and began unlocking the driver's side door. Momma Peach quickly walked over to the BMW and leaned against the driver’s side door before Felicia could open it. “What do you think you're doing?”

  “I was wrong in thinking you and Bob Connor were playing footsie under the table,” Momma Peach told Felicia, still stubbornly pressing her body weight against the driver’s side door, “but I can't find this so-called family resemblance either.”

  Felicia pulled futilely at the door handle and turned to look at the detective in outrage. But as she watched, Michelle nonchalantly leaned on the hood of the Oldsmobile and seemed perfectly comfortable letting her continue to struggle. “Get off my car,” she demanded, turning furiously back to Momma Peach.

  “Your mother's side of the family were all attorneys,” Momma Peach replied, “isn't that neat. I mean, it's neat if you have something to hide.” Momma Peach folded her arms together. “It's really neat if you had a baby that was, well, a little mistake, and you wanted to erase the birth of that baby off your medical records. I'm sure a family of attorneys could accomplish that task, right?”

  “You're insane.”

  “Enough,” Momma Peach snapped. “If you insist on acting like a stupid little brat any longer I'm going to beat you bowlegged with my bare hands. Your daddy is dead. Betty Walker is dead. My babies have been forced to leave town. I’m mighty mad right now and I want answers. Now tell me why you talked to Bob Connor? And don't say you didn't because I know you did. And it's because of your stupid, fat mouth that my babies’ lives were put in danger. So you better speak to me and tell me the truth or I'm going to go to prison for killing you with my bare hands right here in this fancy driveway.”

  “Better talk to her,” Michelle warned Felicia. “I can't make an official arrest until she attacks you.”

  Felicia looked into Momma Peach's angry face with true terror in her eyes, but she knew she was backed into a corner. “You don't understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Bob Connor is untouchable. He's determined to ruin my life and threatened to kill my husband.”

  “Did he kill Mr. Graystone?” Momma Peach asked.

  “I don't know,” Felicia said, but immediately looked away, unable to meet Momma Peach’s eyes.

  “I see,” Momma Peach said. The woman was lying through her teeth. “Bob Connor killed your daddy, didn't he?” she pressed hard.

  “I...don't know.”

  “You're lying,” Momma Peach snapped at Felicia. Before Felicia could react, Momma Peach reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders, and slammed her up against the driver's side door. “Talk to me before I put a hurting to you, girl.”

  “I don't know who killed my daddy,” Felicia cried out, hoping her lie sounded authentic. “It's true, I knew my daddy was in town. I asked him to come to Bakersville to help me...kill...Bob Connor. Floyd was planning to hire a hit man...I begged him not to.”

  “Why?” Momma Peach demanded.

  “You can't trust anyone,” Felicia confessed. “I...my daddy...we...”

  “Quit chewing your cud, girl, and spit it out!”

  “My daddy and I were closer than I let on,” Felicia confessed and broke down crying. “You don't understand...there are some dark secrets that are meant to be kept in the grave. My daddy...he came to Bakersville to help me end it once and for all.”

  “End what?” Momma Peach asked.

  “I didn't want him to die, honest I didn't...” Felicia threw her hands up to her face and wept.

  “Talk to me,” Momma Peach told Felicia, lowering her tone.

  Felicia kept her face hidden. “I did speak to Bob about you,” Felicia confessed. “I told him that you were becoming a threat. I needed a way to get on his good side, to show him that I could be trusted...because...because...”

  “You want to kill him too, right?” Momma Peach asked.

  Felicia nodded her head. “Bob will go after Floyd next,” she said in a terrified voice. “Floyd and I had to play dumb for the police and handle our affairs in the shadows. It's true, Floyd paid Betty Walker to leave town, but he didn't kill her. Betty...saw something she shouldn't have.”

  “What?” Momma Peach insisted.

  Felicia finally removed her hands from her teary face and looked at Momma Peach. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. What kind of crazy maid service brings towels to your room so early in the morning?” she asked Momma Peach in a desperate voice.

  Momma Peach glanced at Michelle. “Go on.”

  Felicia looked up at a tall, gorgeous pine tree and closed her eyes. “Betty saw the killer.”

  “I see,” Momma Peach said and took a deep breath. “Let's apply the bra
kes a second and go back to the night your daddy was killed. What was he doing in my bakery in the first place?”

  “Waiting for me,” Felicia confessed. “I met my daddy outside of your bakery and drove him back to that awful motel. We...knew Bob was watching me. We wanted...needed...him to see us together.” Felicia forced her nerves to settle down. “Oh, it was such a mess.”

  “People make life messy with their lies,” Momma Peach pointed out. “Now you just keep on talking.”

  “I’ve said too much already.”

  “You ain't said nothing yet,” Momma Peach pressed Felicia with a hard look. “Your daddy killed your momma, didn't he? He wanted her money.”

  Felicia’s eyes grew wide. “I...what are you...I mean, that’s just crazy.”

  “You said your daddy flew them green helicopters in Vietnam but then ended up fixing toilets. That didn't make sense to me so I set my mind to thinking about that last night when I was resting in my favorite chair and soaking my poor feet.” Momma Peach glanced at Michelle. Michelle was listening to her every word. “Your momma, according to you, came from a rich family of lawyers.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your daddy wanted her money, but why would a rich woman like your momma marry a man who went from flying with the birds to fixing toilets?” Momma Peach leaned close to Felicia. “Not unless he had leverage. Your daddy had something on your momma, didn't he? We ran your daddy's military records. He was kicked out of the Army for flying drunk. Now, why would a rich woman marry a man who got booted out of the Army and had his pilot's license yanked out from under his feet?”

  “I don't—” Felicia began to speak.

  Momma Peach interrupted her. “I ran your momma's records,” she told Felicia. “Your momma was born way up there in Brooklyn, New York. In her younger years, she dated a very dangerous man who was arrested by the FBI for murder.” Momma Peach shook her head. “The man the FBI arrested was a hit man for the mafia, woman. He went around, uh, whacking people...did I say that right Michelle?”

  “Yes, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach nodded. “And your daddy became a secret agent—”

  “Informant,” Michelle corrected Momma Peach.

  “Thank you,” Momma Peach said. “Your daddy became an informant for the FBI. Why? Because after he got kicked out of the Army, he went back to his home in Brooklyn and became a...what do you call those hideous creatures, Michelle...wise mouths...wise eggs...”

  “Wise guys,” Michelle said.

  “Thank you,” Momma Peach said and continued. “Your momma and daddy was married in Brooklyn and they were both placed in hiding by the FBI after they both testified in court and sent a very angry Mafia guy...a wise guy...whatever you call them...to prison.” Momma Peach took a deep breath. “Bob Connor is the son of the hit man your momma helped send up the creek bed—”

  “River, Momma Peach. Her momma sent Bob Connor’s father up the river.”

  “Thank you, again.” Momma Peach stared into Felicia's eyes. “Those little computer things are really neat. Too complicated for me to even think about understanding, but my baby standing over there is a genius. You should have seen her making that computer down at the police station talk. My, it was neat.”

  “Please—”

  “Your momma's family wasn't too happy about her choices in men,” Momma Peach continued. “My, she comes from a line of good folk. But, there's always a rotten egg in every carton.” Momma Peach nodded. “Yes, ma’am, there sure is. But your momma cleaned up her act after you were born. FBI records show that she quit drinking, stopped smoking, and even went to law school. She reconciled with her family and started acting right. But your daddy, he didn't change for the better. He kept to drinking, causing fights, getting into trouble, got arrested a few times. Records show that she was preparing to finally file for divorce when she was killed.” Momma Peach scratched her right ear. “Whether she was killed on purpose or by chance, I can't say? Maybe your daddy did send her out driving knowing the poor woman didn't need to be driving? I guess I will never have a direct answer to that question.”

  “My daddy…was planning to kill my mother,” Felicia broke down, unable to stand the steady stream of truth Momma Peach was firing at her. “Oh, I hated them...I hated them both...I hated having to hide who I was...and I hated my mother acting so high and mighty all the time.” Felicia squeezed her hands into two fists. “Who was she to tell me how to act, huh? She dated a killer for crying out loud. She had her fun.” Felicia shook her head. “My mother would have divorced my daddy long ago, but he knew her little secret. He knew she had an illegitimate child and threatened to write a letter to the prison where Rich DeDonato is at if she didn't pay him lots of money. All those years...year after year growing up he blackmailed my mother...not that I cared...or maybe I did?”

  “Keep going.”

  Felicia kicked the front tire of her BMW. “I hated my daddy for hurting my mother...I heard them arguing one night. I heard him tell her that if she stopped paying him that he would tell her secret. I was sixteen...I didn't know any better...I was so angry at both of my parents...so I wrote a letter to Rich DeDonato in order to get back at them.”

  “I see,” Momma Peach said. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Felicia said in an amazed voice. “I thought it was better forgotten, or maybe my letter had gotten lost in the mail. I ended up graduating high school, married Floyd, moved here...and then, one day out of the blue, Bob Connor shows up at my front door. That's when the nightmare began. This was shortly after my mother was killed, too...maybe Bob had her killed somehow? I don't know, honestly, I don't.”

  “Bob came wanting revenge, right?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Money,” Felicia corrected Momma Peach. “Lots and lots of money. He also forced me to tell him where my daddy lived in Restford. Bob threatened to kill Floyd. What was I supposed to do? So I called my daddy and told him what was happening. Together we devised a plan to kill Bob. But it couldn’t be connected back to me. So I had to make it seem like I hated my father when Detective Chan was interrogating me. I figured if she caught me in a few lies I could claim I was just repeating what my daddy told me.”

  “You mean about your daddy leaving his money to a few gray-haired soldiers?”

  Felicia nodded her head. “Yes. The truth is, I'm in his will.”

  “We would have found that out,” Momma Peach informed Felicia, shaking her head sadly.

  “I know.” Felicia looked embarrassed at this.

  “Oh, I see,” Momma Peach said. “You planned to make it appear that your daddy left his money to the old soldiers and then act surprised when you found out he left you the money instead.”

  “Floyd and I agreed that it would be very smart to deflect suspicions away from us. I mean, my daddy is dead and I'm set to receive all of his money? Obviously, the police would come knocking. But we never planned on him dying,” she said, and hid her face in her hands again.

  Momma Peach shook her head. “Woman, I hate to burst your bubble, but your daddy drained his accounts. There's not one red cent left in his bank account.”

  “It's true,” Michelle said. “I ran a check.”

  Felicia lowered her hands from her face, wiping away a tear, and stared at Momma Peach in shock. “I knew he kept cash on him usually,” she whispered, “but...”

  “After your mother was killed, your daddy told the FBI to take a hike and willingly left the Witness Protection Program,” Michelle told Felicia. “Rich DeDonato was put to death about the same time he told the FBI to pack their bags. That's when Bob Connor showed up at your door, too.”

  “I don't understand,” Felicia said, confused.

  “Your daddy, we believe,” Momma Peach told Felicia, “was not truthful with you about more than just the state of his bank account. He contacted Bob Connor in order to have him begin squeezing money out of you.” Momma Peach saw Felicia's pretty face transform in ugly agony as she comprehended the truth of her
father’s dirty scheme. “Felicia, Detective Chan found out that your daddy took a trip to Atlantic City shortly after your mother was killed and gambled away most of his money. He was arrested for hitting a card dealer and let loose on probation. You were his meal ticket. He just had to get someone else to put the pressure on you.”

  “No, that can't be,” Felicia said in a broken voice, “he swore that he was leaving me all of his money. How could he... I... Floyd and I need that money.”

  Momma Peach paced herself. “Why? You have a lovely home, a nice car, your husband works at the bank. Why?” She let the question hang there in the air like a ghost.

  Felicia grew silent. She looked away from Momma Peach. Momma Peach wouldn’t let her pace lose momentum, however. “You were planning to frame Bob Connor for your daddy's murder, weren't you? That's why you called your daddy for help and had him come to Bakersville.”

  “And your daddy was planning on killing Bob Connor in order to blackmail you for your husband’s money,” Michelle told Felicia, “just like he blackmailed your mother for all of those years. Your father’s intention, it appears, was to force you into a corner, leaving you no choice but to try and kill Bob Connor. Either way, he had you in checkmate.”

  “Computers are neat little gadgets, but the human brain is the real thing,” Momma Peach said and tapped the right side of her head. “Reasoning skills and critical thinking are your best friends.”

  “Okay, so you have some theories, prove them,” Felicia said in a shaky voice as she tried to gather her strength. “Get away from my car. I'm leaving now.”

  “Wait a minute,” Momma Peach said. “Even though I’d like to punch him square in the nose, I know you made the poison that killed your daddy.” Felicia stopped in her tracks. “Rest his poor soul.” Momma Peach shook her head sadly.

  “Why?” Felicia asked. She turned to look at Momma Peach with brittle anger. “Daddy always taught me to look out for number one. He taught me how to use my charm and my smile to deceive people. Daddy could charm a snake out its hole if he wanted to. Should I really stand here so shocked that he was looking out for himself? He played me, too...that's all. And now he's dead. Good riddance.”