What a Peachy Night Page 3

  “A lighthouse?”

  “Yes, a real pretty one,” Momma Peach said and wiped her tears away. “Also, there is a pier and a whole lot of beach to play on. Plus, Able and Old Joe can drive you into Savannah. You guys can go down to River Street and watch the ships come in.”

  “Big ships?”

  “A whole lot of big ships,” Momma Peach smiled. “You just make sure Able and Old Joe treat you to a whole lot of good food and a whole lot of toys.”

  “I don't want toys, Momma. I only want you.” Timmy wrapped his arms around Momma Peach. “I know I have to be brave...and I'll go because you want me to...but I'm going to miss you.”

  “Oh, my sweet baby, I’m going to miss you, too.” Momma Peach hugged Timmy with every ounce of love in her being. “I know this is hard on you, but sometimes life throws some cruel punches. All we can do is stand strong and brave and fight.”

  “Like the men in the Revolutionary War, right?” Timmy asked.

  “Right,” Momma Peach promised. “Some mighty brave men stood up against a mighty powerful army back then. In the end, those men won the war because they didn't give up.” Momma Peach helped Timmy stand up. “Now I ain't no Army soldier,” she chuckled, “but I do have courage. I’ll catch whoever is out there in that fog, you can count your buttons on that.”

  Timmy looked up into Momma Peach's warm face. “I wish I could stay and help.”

  “You are helping me by leaving town,” Momma Peach promised. “Sometimes it takes more courage to do the right thing and leave than it does to do the wrong thing and stay. Can you understand that?”

  “I...think so,” Timmy said. He looked at Old Joe. “Mr. Joe, looks like it's you and me.”

  “Looks like it,” Old Joe told Timmy with a fond smile. Before he could say another word, someone knocked on the office door.

  “That'll be your escorts,” Michelle said. She stood up, walked over to Timmy, and patted his shoulder. “You need to be brave, okay?”

  Timmy squeezed Momma Peach in one more hug. “I'll be brave,” he promised. “Momma, I'll be real brave.”

  “I know you'll be brave,” Momma Peach whispered. She walked Timmy to the office door, opened it, and looked into the faces of two caring men. “You take care of my baby,” she told the two cops.

  “We will, ma’am,” the two cops promised. One of the cops produced a blue and black police uniform hat with a smart, shiny brim. “This might look good on you, son.” He settled it on the young boy’s head.

  Timmy looked up at Momma Peach with a grin. “Bye, Momma.”

  “Bye,” Momma Peach said and kissed Timmy on his forehead. “Old Joe, be on your best behavior, please...and stop along the way and get my baby some solid food.”

  Old Joe patted Momma Peach on her shoulder. “I'll guard the boy with my life and make sure he eats good food,” he promised and walked down the hall with Timmy at his side. When Timmy reached the end of the hall, he turned, waved at Momma Peach, and then walked through an exit door and outside into the fog. As soon as Timmy was out of sight, Momma Peach broke down into tears.

  “He'll be okay,” Michelle promised.

  “My baby,” Momma Peach cried, but then she stopped as anger flushed her cheeks a dark red. “This is twice in my life that I have had to send my babies out of town. I don't like sending them out of my eyesight, let alone out of town.” Momma Peach spun around and kicked over one of the chairs in front of Michelle's desk. “If any harm comes to Timmy, I'll...I'll strangle whoever dares to harm him!” she yelled.

  Michelle closed her office door and then reached down to right the chair that was turned over on its side. “Momma Peach, we have to figure out who followed you to the school,” she pointed out. “Now isn't the time to destroy my office.”

  Momma Peach squeezed her hands into two fists. “Maybe not, but I sure feel like tearing something to shreds.” Momma Peach stormed over to the window again, opened the blinds, and peered out into the heavy fog. “It's like a whole other world out there. That there fog makes me feel like I'm a stranger in my own hometown. Why, I can't even see my favorite tree, even though it's just a few feet away from here.”

  Michelle sat down on the edge of her desk. “Momma Peach, right now we have nothing to go on. All we have is an invisible man whistling in the fog and a pair of taillights that got away from us. Nothing more. No description of the man or vehicle he used to escape in. Nada. Zip. Nothing.” Michelle looked at Timmy's Dr. Pepper can. “Sending Timmy away was smart, and I'm very grateful that Able's mother agreed to help out. I was worried she might put up a fuss. Having everyone out of town is going to be a major help to us, assuming we can track down this man.”

  “He'll show himself...in time,” Momma Peach assured Michelle. “This monster is playing a game with me. He wants to make me sweat it out some...walk on eggshells trying to figure out what he’s got planned…get all shaken up…and then attack.”

  Michelle looked down at her hands and began to think. “Momma Peach, what was the man whistling? Did you recognize a tune?” she asked.

  Momma Peach stood silent for a minute and then spoke: “It was so familiar, but…something was different about it…” she told Michelle. Momma Peach kept her eyes on the fog.

  “Different how, Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach kept her back turned to Michelle and began humming the notes she recalled, and suddenly the tune became clear, even if it was too slow and creepy. Michelle felt her blood grow cold. She sat in silence and listened to Momma Peach hum the rest of the tune. When Momma Peach finished, she turned and looked at Michelle. “That's what the monster was whistling.”

  “Beethoven,” Michelle whispered. “The Moonlight Sonata.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “So we're not dealing with a street bum who whistles any old song.” Momma Peach walked up to Michelle. “I didn't see the monster, but I sure felt the man wasn't very clever...not very intelligent, judging from that wicked laughter of his. It was cruel and deadly, but crude…rough, somehow. Savage and feral, like hungry tigers stalking an innocent rabbit.”

  Outside, the fog sat silent and heavy, listening to every word Momma Peach spoke to Michelle. Michelle felt the fog was alive and listening, even though she knew that was impossible. Yet—somehow—the fog was evil and assisting a deadly killer. “Momma Peach, can you think of anyone who might be out to harm you?”

  “I already ran every name I know through my mind,” Momma Peach told Michelle. “They were all on that list I gave you. Dylan Malone was my best guess, but that turkey is still locked away behind his prison bars.”

  Frustration settled into Michelle's mind. “I almost had him, too…stupid flat tire!” she fussed. “Now all we can do is wait for the man to show himself...somewhere...”

  “He will,” Momma Peach promised. “This man wants to play a game and is going to use this fog to hide in. But you better bet your bottom dollar when this fog lifts...he'll make sure I am six feet under.”

  “No!” Michelle yelled. She stood up suddenly and slammed her hands onto the surface of her desk. “No one is going to hurt you, Momma Peach!”

  “A crazy old clown already stabbed me in the back once,” Momma Peach pointed out. “I don't have nine lives. Whoever this monster is and whatever he's intent on doing, well, it sure can’t be friendly, and there's really no way to stop him right now. All we can do is sit around and wait.”

  “I'm putting you in protective custody. We’ll keep you in our nicest jail cell under twenty-four hour guard,” Michelle told Momma Peach.

  “Oh,” Momma Peach sighed, “what good would that do? I sure can't live in a jail cell the rest of my life, and the monster out there in that fog will just wait and come for me when I get out.” Momma Peach walked back to the window and looked outside into the fog. “The best thing we can do is sit tight and see what comes out of the fog.”

  “Sit tight and wait to be attacked, you mean.”

  Momma Peach shrugged her shoulders. “What
other choice do we have? The fog is thick, and the killer is hidden. On a day like this, the world becomes hidden and strange, transformed into a place where who knows what nightmares might be hiding…and the innocent, baby, have no choice but to…participate.”

  Michelle clasped her arms together and cast her eyes at the office window. Her gut told her to run out into the fog and shake down the entire town, kick over every stone, look under every rug until she tracked down the invisible man who had taunted Momma Peach in the fog. Instead, she was forced to sit and wait. Wait for the closet door to ease open again and the glowing eyes of a monster to appear.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Michelle asked Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach plopped her pocketbook down on the kitchen counter and looked at her baking table. It felt good to be back in her bakery instead of sitting around in Michelle's stuffy office. “Yes. Besides, I can swing my pocketbook at someone's head in my kitchen just as good as in your office.”

  Michelle checked the back door. “Well, we did walk,” she confessed, “and as far as I can tell, no one followed us. Then again, the fog is so thick it would be impossible to tell if an elephant was following us.”

  “The fog is working both ways,” Momma Peach pointed out. She walked to the refrigerator in the kitchen and pulled out a loaf of peach bread and a carton of milk. “If we can't see in the fog, neither can the monster.”

  Michelle watched Momma Peach cut the bread, two large slices on two plates, and then fill two glasses full of delicious, cold milk. “Thanks, Momma Peach. I'm starving. That candy bar didn't help me at all.”

  “We'll go down to the diner and gag down some food in a little bit,” Momma Peach told Michelle and handed her a plate of bread. “Right now, I want to wait and see if my phone rings.”

  “The phone?” Michelle asked, taking a bite of her bread.

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “That monster followed us to Timmy's school, which means he surely knows the location of my bakery. Perhaps he’ll give me a phone call?”

  “Oh, so that's why you really wanted to leave my office.”

  Momma Peach took a bite of bread. “Well, that and your office was beginning to feel very cramped,” she confessed. “I love you, but you need to add some life to your office. Maybe some nice plants…an armchair or something…some pretty pictures on the wall?”

  Michelle grabbed her glass of milk and took a drink. “I guess I'm not much for decorating. People in this town see me as Ms. Kung Fu...I think they would fall over in their graves if I put a colorful photo up on my office wall.”

  Momma Peach saw sadness enter Michelle's eyes. “You have Able, now. It don't matter what folks think about you. Able loves you and he sees your heart, not your fists.”

  “I know...I know...it's just…well, I wish people in this town would see me as a woman and not some cold ninja out of a foreign movie. I guess it'll never be that way. Once you make a reputation for yourself, well, you're stuck with it.”

  “Being a cop is a dangerous job. You have to know how to defend yourself. Most folks know that you've tangled with some pretty bad sewer rats. Maybe a reputation like that is a good thing.”

  Michelle sighed. “Momma Peach, two nights ago at dinner, Able's mother, out of nowhere, began asking me about all the fights I've been in. She brought up the pool hall fight...you know, the one I got into when we went searching for Old Joe.”

  “The big trucker fella,” Momma Peach said.

  Michelle nodded her head. “Yeah, the big trucker I put to sleep,” Michelle confirmed. “Able's mother wanted to know about the fight. She wanted details.” Michelle took another drink of milk. “She wasn't being pushy or rude...but...I don't know...I could tell she was fishing for details. Maybe she’s going to write it all down in a book. It was also as if she wanted to know if I was a violent person who might bring harm to her son someday.”

  Momma Peach put down her plate of bread and touched Michelle's shoulder. “Mothers can be…overprotective.”

  “I suppose,” Michelle agreed. She looked into Momma Peach's eyes. “Able's mother doesn't approve of us. Oh, she pretends that she does but inside of her heart I can sense that she would rather Able marry someone else.” Michelle looked down at her hands. “She's not a bad woman, Momma Peach...but she's never going to approve of me.”

  Momma Peach pulled Michelle into her arms. “Able's mother is a good woman. She'll come around, you'll see.”

  Before Michelle could reply, the phone in the front of the bakery rang. Momma Peach let go of Michelle and looked at the doorway leading into the front room. “Do you think that could be him?” Michelle asked.

  “It better not be Aunt Rachel,” Momma Peach told Michelle and hurried her short little legs into the front room and snatched up the phone. “Hello, Momma Peach's Bakery, Momma Peach speaking.”

  “Why, hello Momma Peach,” a man said in a mild voice warmed with poisonous insanity, “how are you?”

  Momma Peach felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “I am doing just fine. How are you...Mr. Hayes?” she asked, pretending that she was talking to a customer instead of a killer.

  “No, I'm not Mr. Hayes. Try again, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach looked over her shoulder and saw Michelle standing behind her. “Terribly sorry about that, sir. Whoever this is, would you like to place an order? I am a very busy woman with lots of peach bread to bake.”

  The man let out a hideous laugh that sounded horribly familiar. “Does the Moonlight Sonata ring a bell, Momma Peach?” he asked.

  Momma Peach stopped pretending she was speaking with a customer. “I like Beethoven, but not the way you whistle that man's music. No sir and no, ma’am. Your way is as creepy as it comes, you better know it.”

  “Come now, Momma Peach, don't insult an old friend,” the man said. He sounded relaxed and perfectly at ease, except for the sound of insanity that ran like a live current beneath his words. “Old friends should welcome each other with loving arms.”

  “I don't recall you being one of my old friends,” Momma Peach said, desperately trying to recognize the voice speaking to her. “Care to tell me who you are, Beethoven Boy?” she asked.

  The man let out a hideous laugh. “Oh, Momma Peach, you are a delight,” he said. “However, for now, I think it would be wise if I say no more. The game is more interesting when it’s a challenge.”

  “I ain't in the mood for games, you turkey,” Momma Peach snapped. “And I sure ain't going to chase a bunch of alley shadows looking for you, neither. If you want me to know who you are, come down to my bakery and show yourself.”

  “Oh no, no, no, that wouldn't do,” the man told Momma Peach. “Your detective friend might want to have words with me, Momma Peach. I would prefer to keep this game just between us.” The man’s voice turned darker and angrier. “Don’t think you’re in control here. I could have snatched the little boy long ago and killed the man you call Sam. But my interest is only in you, Momma Peach, and you alone. If you refuse to play by my rules, then perhaps I will kill your detective friend. She is a troublesome chess piece, and I can wipe her right off the game board. That would surely be a shame, now wouldn't it? You seem very fond of her.”

  “Touch my baby and I'll ring your filthy neck!” Momma Peach yelled. Her face turned red. “I will—”

  “Oh, come now, Momma Peach, let's not sling mud at each other, now. Your threats are futile. However, my threats are very real.”

  “What do you want, turkey? Tell me your game,” Momma Peach demanded.

  “When your feeble mind figures out who you’re speaking with, we'll continue the game, Momma Peach. Until then, I think it would be wise to stay on square one. However, since you do seem to be having trouble, I will offer a little...shall we say...hint?”

  “Turkey, I don't need no help from the likes of you. I’ll figure out who this is sooner or later and when I do—”

  “When you do,” the man interrupted Momma Peach, “we'll
move on to square two.” The man stared at a fire burning in the fireplace before him. “Don’t you think a good game is worth playing correctly? I was very pleased with the weather report and decided to delay our game until the fog rolled in. I like the fog. The fog is giving the game...character.”

  “You're a sick man,” Momma Peach snapped.

  The man rolled his eyes. “Momma Peach, I expect better from you,” he scolded Momma Peach mildly. “I expect manners, is that clear? A gentleman will not play a game with a lady with a sour tongue. So I suggest you take some soap and wash your mouth out and remember to speak with manners or else I will consider our game forfeit…and then kill those whom you consider dear to your heart, beginning with the boy.”

  “You touch Timmy and I'll...” Momma Peach caught her tongue. Now it was personal. Now it was time to show the monster she was speaking to who was boss. “Okay, turkey, give me a hint. Who am I speaking with?”

  The man let a slow, vicious grin touch his lips. “Think back, Momma Peach, and remember.”

  “Remember what, exactly?”

  “Moonlight Sonata,” he answered Momma Peach. “Think real hard and you'll remember. Think an elevator. It was the music that was playing on the speakers in an elevator when we first met.” And with those words, the man ended the call, leaving Momma Peach speechless.

  “Who was it, Momma Peach?” Michelle asked in alarm, watching Momma Peach's face turn ashen white.

  Momma Peach's hand began to shake. She slowly put the phone in the cradle. “Oh my,” she whispered in a terrified voice.

  “Momma Peach, what is it?” Michelle demanded. “Who was on the phone? Tell me.”

  Momma Peach walked over to the front display window as if she was in a powerful hypnotic trance. “J.W. Wording,” she whispered as her eyes floated out into the fog.

  “J.W. Wording?” Michelle asked and hurried over to Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, who is J.W. Wording?”