Not Peachy, Mate Page 2

  Mitch got out of the truck. “Hey, Evan, put some water in my pouch!” he yelled, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the driver's door. “Patty's place is down about a two-kilometer stretch,” he explained. “He lives in a green brick house. Can't miss it.”

  Michelle saw a skinny man hurry out of the shade of the garage on scared, nervous legs. The poor man was carrying a red gas can full of water that was far too heavy for his weak arms. “Coming...coming,” he called out and hurried to the Toyota.

  Mitch worked on his cigarette. “When you're finished with the water, run these two sheilas down to Patty's,” he ordered.

  Evan stared at Mitch with uncertain eyes. “But—”

  “But nothing,” Mitch growled.

  Momma Peach studied Evan with careful eyes. The old man had a shaggy head of gray hair that looked sandy-colored under the gray. His face appeared thin and bony but tough as hard leather. His body seemed scrawny but healthy, even though the brown shirt and shorts the poor man was wearing sagged on his hungry frame. All in all, Momma Peach saw a man who appeared to be in his early sixties, and who didn't seem to be a stranger to worry, hardship and fear. “Mr. Evan, is it?” Momma Peach asked. Evan looked at Momma Peach with wary eyes and reluctantly nodded. “Momma Peach is my name, and this here is Michelle Chan. We've come a mighty long way to see Patrick and would be very grateful if you took us to him.”

  Evan glanced at Mitch. Mitch was staring across the street at the soda building, listening the way a snake listens to a mouse before it strikes. “I...okay,” he said in a thick Australian accent. The accent of Evan’s voice, unlike Mitch’s, sounded more charming than threatening.

  “Tell Patty I'm in town,” Mitch ordered Evan. “But I don't want a personal meeting. Not today. Just tell him I'm around.”

  Evan popped the hood of the truck open with shaky hands and began filling the radiator. When he completed his chore, he shut the hood and looked at Mitch. “Your pouch is full.”

  Mitch threw down his cigarette. “On second thought,” he said and threw his eyes at Momma Peach and Michelle, “tell Patty I was in town, but I left. I've got more important things to do than stand around this dirt heap all day.” Mitch quickly tossed their luggage from the truck bed down onto the ground, climbed into the Toyota, brought it to life, kicked the gas, sped off into a tight U-turn, and vanished in a cloud of dust.

  “Not a very nice fella...” Momma Peach coughed and slapped dust away from her face yet again.

  Evan ignored the dust and the heat. “Mitch Taylor is worse than a croc hiding where you can't see him,” he said in a low, worried voice. Then he turned and began walking back toward the garage with the gas can. “I've got my buggy up and working. I'll only be a sec.”

  Michelle folded her arms. “I don't like Mitch Taylor,” she told Momma Peach, watching Evan disappear into the garage. “I've got a bad feeling that rat is part of the reason your friend asked you to come here.”

  Momma Peach bent down, picked up Michelle's suitcase, brushed it off, and looked around. “I'm sure Patrick will put the ingredients in the pie.”

  Michelle unfolded her arms, took her suitcase from Momma Peach, and looked around. “Gas station doesn't even look open. I wish it was. I'm parched.”

  “I sure could go for a cold soda,” Momma Peach agreed. She grabbed her suitcase, brushed more dust off of it, and waited for Evan. A couple minutes later, Evan came around the side of the garage in a brown 1978 Volkswagen dune buggy. The old vehicle clattered, coughed, sputtered and kicked like it was a dead old man gasping his last breath. Black exhaust floated out from the tailpipe, filling the dry, hot air with a suffocating smell. “Oh my,” Momma Peach gasped.

  “Poor thing,” Michelle said, pitying the dune buggy.

  Evan eased up to Momma Peach and Michelle. “One of you is going to have to sit in the other’s lap, I'm afraid,” he explained.

  Momma Peach gave Evan a look. She sighed and crawled into the passenger seat as Michelle tossed the suitcases into a small, open-topped wooden trailer attached to the back of the dune buggy. “Okay...almost...in...like an elephant squeezing through a water hose...getting in...almost...”

  Evan watched Momma Peach struggle to plant her backside down into the passenger seat. At first, he didn't think Momma Peach was going to make it. The dune buggy rocked from side to side as the woman fought her way up and over. Then, just when Evan thought the dune buggy was going to turn over onto its side, Momma Peach simply plopped her backside down into the passenger seat and let out a happy sigh. “All set,” she smiled at Evan and gestured to Michelle. “Come on.”

  Michelle hesitated. “Uh, I think I'll ride back here in the trailer if that's okay.”

  “The wagon? It isn't very stable,” Evan warned. “It's just good enough to haul some water cans from the watering hole. Best if you ride up here. Besides, the exhaust will broil you alive.”

  Michelle examined the wooden slats of the trailer, which seemed sturdy enough. “I'll be fine...really,” she promised, jumped into the wagon and quickly sat down on her suitcase. “See?”

  Momma Peach chuckled. “We'll see, we'll see.”

  Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, have it your way,” he said and got the dune buggy moving. As he did, the exhaust plume covered Michelle. Michelle began coughing.

  “Okay...okay...” Michelle cried. She jumped from the wagon right into Momma Peach’s lap.

  “That's my girl,” Momma Peach chuckled again and wiped some soot off Michelle's red face.

  Evan nodded and the dune buggy moved down the little town’s road. Michelle looked over her shoulder and watched the town of Greenglow slowly fade away into the burning heat. “Why do you live here?” she asked Evan in a confused voice. “It...forgive me for saying...but it doesn't seem like much.”

  Evan shrugged his shoulders. “Greenglow is just a speck in the road,” he replied. “Reckon I’m not one of those folks who could get along in a place like Sydney or Melbourne. Northern Territory’s where I’ve always lived, yeah? Lots of room to spread out.” Evan glanced over at Michelle. The woman was beautiful but seemed all tied up inside. “People call lots of places home. Greenglow is my home.”

  “What happens if you get sick and need a hospital?” Michelle asked.

  Momma Peach situated Michelle into a more comfortable position. “Maybe we should—”

  “No, it's okay,” Evan assured Momma Peach as the dune buggy kicked and clattered down a dry road lined with boulders. He nodded all around. “Out here a man settles himself to two things.”

  “And what’s that?” Michelle asked.

  “Living and dying,” Evan explained. “A man doesn't live out here and expect pampering. You grow up in the bush, you learn to bandage your own cuts and bruises, doctor your own flu. A man lives out here because he wants to be on his own, do things on his own, and live the way a man should live...free.”

  “Amen to that,” Momma Peach nodded. “There is a beautiful sense of freedom out here.”

  “There's no fancy stores, hospitals, doctor offices, pharmacies, grocery stores...just man and the land,” Evan continued. “Out here you earn what you get with your brains and your back and nothing else.”

  “But...there's no people...no...life,” Michelle objected.

  “Maybe not in your eyes,” Evan replied. “In my eyes life is more full out here than it is in the capital city.” Evan’s vehicle crawled past a large boulder. “See that boulder?” Michelle nodded. “I kissed my wife for the very first time behind that boulder.”

  Momma Peach smiled. “Mighty special boulder.”

  “Always will be,” Evan agreed.

  “Does your wife mind the solitude?” Michelle asked.

  “I reckon not, seeing as she’s above all that now, living someplace beautiful in a place the Bible calls heaven,” Evan told Michelle.

  “Oh...I’m sorry,” Michelle winced.

  “My wife lived the way she wanted to live and didn't even let he
r cancer stop her,” Evan told Michelle. “Don't feel sorry for her.” Evan looked around. “This place isn't much to some but it's everything to others.”

  Momma Peach remembered the interaction in town. “For a man who seems to like the life out here, you sure didn't seem very comfortable around the fella who drove us into town. How come?”

  Evan felt his stomach twist into a knot. “I...there's...it's better for me not to...” he struggled and then stopped talking all together, his mouth twisting.

  Momma Peach didn't press Evan. The man seemed troubled enough and didn't want to add to his problems. So instead she pointed out at the landscape. “Why do they call this place Greenglow when the land looks so red?”

  “Oh,” Evan said, relieved Momma Peach had changed the subject, “that's simple...and one of the main points of living here.” Evan raised his left hand off the steering wheel and pointed farther north. “There's a canyon not too far from here that holds a green spot of water...our local watering hole,” he explained. “No crocs,” he added with a hint of happiness. “Not many people know how to find the spot of water, and that's the way we like it.”

  “I bet your spot of water sure is pretty,” Momma Peach said.

  “At night the water glows,” Evan nodded. “Nobody really knows why. In all my years I haven't been able to figure out what makes the water glow at night. I gave up trying to understand it.”

  “How big is this spot of water?” Michelle asked, wishing the dune buggy would pick up speed and create a breeze.

  “Oh...about...three meters across and two meters wide at the deepest part,” Evan explained. “Water comes up about to your waist. The floor is solid rock. The spring comes up from somewhere under the rock.”

  “Like a mini pool,” Momma Peach told Evan. He nodded.

  “Is it like a hot springs?” Michelle asked.

  Evan glanced at Michelle and smiled. “No. That's what makes the water so special,” he said. “The water is freezing cold. You can only stand in the water for a few minutes before you begin turning blue.”

  Michelle didn't know what to say. If a man wanted to live out in a scorching desert because of a simple watering spot, who was she to argue? “I'm sure it's very nice,” she told Evan and dropped the subject. Still, she wondered why he looked uneasy for a moment as he stared out towards the horizon, as if remembering Mitch from back in town.

  “Well, Mr. Evan,” Momma Peach said, trying to embrace the heat instead of fighting against it, “I'm sure that watering hole is a mighty pretty place. Maybe you can take us there before we—”

  “Maybe,” Evan nodded and continued on down the dry road. A while later he stopped in front of a dirt driveway and pointed to a brick house sitting off in the distance. The brick house was a squat, square structure that looked big enough to hold a bedroom, living room, a bathroom and a kitchen. “There's Patty's house,” he said.

  Momma Peach studied the brick house. “My...I expected more,” she said.

  “Well...there is a wooden fence running around the house,” Michelle told Momma Peach and winced. “It's...not a five star hotel, that's for sure.”

  “No, it's not,” Momma Peach winced back. “Uh, Mr. Evan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is there running water in that there house?” Momma Peach asked in a desperate voice.

  “All of our water comes from the watering spot,” Evan explained. “And from the rain cisterns. I'm sure Patty has some water stored up.”

  Momma Peach winced again. “I...come on, baby,” she told Michelle. “Time’s a-wasting.”

  Evan nodded at a run-down, red pick-up truck parked in the driveway. “Patty is home.”

  “Yeah...so he is,” Momma Peach whispered and began wondering what trouble she had allowed herself to get into this time. “Let's go say hello to...Patty.”

  Uneasily, she checked the windows and realized not a soul was peeking outside or coming to the porch to greet them. It gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  2

  Evan carried Momma Peach's suitcase down the dry driveway. Michelle lagged behind, looking around, searching the rugged landscape—a landscape that stretched out in the heat in endless directions. “Sydney was very beautiful,” she mumbled under her breath. “Why couldn’t we have stayed there?”

  Momma Peach heard Michelle, sighed, and continued on toward the wind-worn front door, walking over hard gravel that crunched under her sandals. When they reached the front door, Evan set down her suitcase, raised his right hand, and issued a hard knock. “Patty, your visitors are here!” he yelled out in a loud but friendly voice. Evan's voice, Momma Peach found, was simply a voice that was real, honest and, yes, imperfect. Evan was a man who would never tangle with a lion, but he was decent, and that's what mattered. “Patty!” He looked around the property.

  Michelle set down her suitcase. “Maybe he's asleep?” she suggested.

  “Nah, not this hour of the day. Why it's just barely reaching high sun,” Evan told Michelle. “Patty!” Evan shook his head and decided to open the door. The door swung open on rusted hinges and eased open. Evan stuck his head into a sweltering living room and yelled out: “Patty...you home?” The smell of old cigar smoke mingled in with heat struck Evan's nose. He narrowed his eyes and peered into the living room. A thick, dark green curtain covered the living room window, throwing shadows into the room. The shadows covered the white plaster walls, the faded carpet, and an old green couch and coffee table that was barely standing. The back of the couch faced the front door, obscuring most of the room from their sight. “Patty?”

  Michelle heard concern enter Evan's voice—a concern she didn't like. “Hold on,” she said, pulled a gun out of an ankle holster attached to her right ankle, and stepped up to the front door. “Let me go in and take a look around.”

  Evan lowered his eyes down to the gun Michelle was holding. “You manage to sneak that through?” he asked in a worried voice.

  “Who says I snuck it?” Michelle said to Evan. “I'm a cop and I don't go anywhere without my gun. Now, step aside.” Evan looked at Momma Peach in bewilderment. Momma Peach nodded. Michelle thanked him and then slowly eased into the living room. “Mr. Walker?” she called out and began to ease around the couch. As she did, her eyes instantly caught sight of the body lying face-down behind the piece of furniture. “Momma Peach, it’s Patrick!” she yelled. She dropped to her knees to check for a pulse and made a grim face, shaking her head sadly at her friend.

  “Oh my...no,” Momma Peach begged, brushed past Evan, and got her short legs moving. “Please say it isn't true, Patrick...” Momma Peach ran into the living room and spotted a body face down on the floor wearing a stained white t-shirt and khaki shorts. The man's clothing was nondescript but his hair—crazy bright red hair that was messy with curls—stuck out like a sore thumb in the gloom. “Oh Patrick...no, baby...no,” Momma Peach moaned. She dropped down onto her knees and bowed her head. “No...baby...not my Patrick. Oh, no.”

  “I'll check the rest of the house,” Michelle said and moved away from the body.

  Evan stepped up to Momma Peach, looked down at Patrick Walker's body, and shook his head sadly. “I was wondering when his time would come.”

  “What do you mean?” Momma Peach asked Evan. “Do you know who might have killed this sweet man?”

  Evan hesitated. “Patty's troubles are not my troubles,” he said and pointed to the messy gunshot wound staining the middle of Patrick's back with dark blood. “Patty was...warned,” he said and walked back outside, overcome with emotion.

  Momma Peach closed her eyes in a brief prayer. “Oh, I got here as fast as she could.”

  Michelle checked the house and returned to Momma Peach. “House is clear. No signs of forced entry anywhere. Nothing seems to be missing,” she explained. “Where is Evan?”

  “Outside.”

  “He'll need to call the local police,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “I'll be right back.” Michelle walked outside i
nto the bright sunshine and found Evan standing beside his dune buggy. “Evan, you need to call the local police,” she called out. “We'll stay here and—”

  “There's no phone to Greenglow,” Evan called back in a worried voice. “Closest phone is hours away.” Evan pointed at his dune buggy. “My buggy isn't even fit for the front road. You'll have to take Patty's truck.”

  Michelle felt a headache coming on. “I...okay.” Michelle turned her attention to the old pick-up truck parked in the driveway. She shook her head and walked over to the truck, went to the driver's side door, and peeked in through an open window. A very large scorpion on the front seat turned and greeted Michelle, its stinger poised and ready. “Oh my,” Michelle said and quickly backed away from the truck. “Mr. Evan...come here!”

  Evan hesitated. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was cause Mitch Taylor to have reason enough to kill him. But what could he do? “I'm coming...I'm coming,” he said and hurried over to Michelle. “What is it?”

  “That scorpion,” Michelle muttered and pointed at the truck.

  Evan felt his blood turn cold. He cautiously stepped up to the truck, peeked down into the front seat, and spotted the scorpion prepared for battle. “Yeah, he's a big one,” Evan told Michelle, backed away from the truck, and looked around. “Best if we leave him alone.”

  “How did that scorpion get into that truck?” Michelle demanded.

  Momma Peach heard the commotion and decided to go outside. She spotted Michelle and Evan standing a few feet away from Patrick's truck. “What is it?”

  “See for yourself...but be careful, Momma Peach,” Michelle answered. She pointed to the truck.

  Momma Peach drew in a deep breath, tip-toed over to the truck, and peered down at the front seat. When her eyes saw the scorpion staring up at her she nearly fainted. “Oh my!” Momma Peach screeched and began stumbling backwards on her short legs. She crashed into poor Evan and tumbled down onto the ground, bringing Evan down with her. “Oh my...oh my...”