What a Peachy Night Read online

  Momma Peach didn't have nothing to lose. “That's why you’re a detective and I'm a putz.”

  “You're not a putz,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “You're a brilliant woman who can run rings around any cop I know.” Michelle ran to the phone. “Now, stop being so hard on yourself and make us another pot of coffee, Momma Peach. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  Michelle walked into the brightly lit kitchen carrying a notepad in her right hand. She looked tired but also very beautiful in her sleek leather jacket. Sure, Momma Peach thought, her baby was a fighter—but she was also a delicate rose. “Well, I have all the names of the colognes,” she said, studying the notepad. “At least I think I do. You would be amazed at how many colognes there are in this world, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach poured Michelle a cup of coffee and then sat down at her baking table. “Okay, start reading off the names to Momma Peach.”

  “In a minute,” Michelle said and tossed the notepad down onto the baking table and turned her attention to the refrigerator. “I'm starving.”

  “Help yourself to whatever is in that there refrigerator,” Momma Peach told Michelle. She picked up the notepad and began studying the name of each cologne Michelle had written down. Of course, reading Michelle's handwriting was a chore in itself; especially when the handwriting was in some funny foreign languages. “I can't make out half of these names.”

  Michelle opened the refrigerator. “Some are in French, some German, and some Italian,” Michelle explained. She spotted a half-eaten peach pie and retrieved it. “I think I'll have some pie.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head and continued to study the list. “Think, old lady,” she griped, “think until smoke comes out of your ears.”

  Michelle pushed the refrigerator door shut with her right foot, walked over to the kitchen counter, retrieved a plate and a knife, and cut herself a piece of pie. “I wrote down the translation next to each cologne, Momma Peach. I figure J.W. Wording probably told you the foreign name of the cologne he was wearing instead of the English name. He sounds like the type.”

  “Yeah, the name of that monster’s cologne was a funny name that I can't seem to remember. I can sure remember something told to me in English, but not something spoken in a foreign language. At least not from years back. I ain't dumb, mind you, but my mind is getting older, and sometimes it's not as easy to remember stuff the way I used to be able to in my younger days.”

  Michelle took a bite of pie. “You still have a sharp mind, Momma Peach,” she promised. “And you still make the best pie around.”

  Momma Peach looked up from the list and watched Michelle take another bite of pie. “I’m glad you enjoy the pie,” she smiled. “And thank you for sticking by me when I’m up to my neck in mud, too.”

  “You're my family, Momma Peach,” Michelle replied in a soft voice. “You're all I have. I know there are lots of friends here in town, people we can always count on—Mr. Sam and your bakery girls, Old Joe, and even Millie—but you're my...my deepest heart, Momma Peach. You’re the person who takes care of me when my own mother can’t be here to do that anymore. And I know someday...at least, I pray someday...Able will ask me to marry him and we'll begin a family together. If and when that day arrives, you'll still be a part of our family. I can't imagine life without you.”

  “I feel the same way about you. And you better know you'll never be able to love me more than I love you,” Momma Peach promised Michelle. She stood up, wrapped Michelle in her arms, and hugged her tightly. “Someday, Able is going to ask you to marry him, and you're going to become a momma yourself, and when those days arrive, Momma Peach will still be at your side.”

  Michelle hugged Momma Peach back. “I wouldn't want it any other way.”

  “You might,” Momma Peach said, “if my old brain can't remember the name of that cologne.” Momma Peach sat back down and began studying the list of colognes again. “You were on the phone for a long time. Well over two hours.”

  Michelle checked the watch on her wrist. “The night is getting late. It's getting close to midnight.”

  Momma Peach strained her eyes and tried to make out a cologne that started with the letter B. “Baby, what is this name?”

  Michelle stepped over to the table and looked down at the list. “That's a French word, Momma Peach.” Michelle spelled out the name.

  Momma Peach rubbed her chin. “No...that name doesn't ring a bell,” she said and sighed. “You go eat your pie. I will study these names.”

  Michelle went back to her pie. “Momma Peach?” she asked after a minute.

  “Yes?”

  “J.W. Wording is a killer. He was never caught, though, and he's not in any database. I had his name run while Beth was gathering the names of colognes for me.” Michelle polished off her pie. “J.W. Wording has to be a fake name.”

  “I didn't figure it would give his real name. Seems to be just a tad silly.”

  “Yeah, I figured that myself,” Michelle continued. “That makes me wonder why he chose the name J.W. Wording at all…and what does the J.W. stand for?”

  Momma Peach raised her eyes. “You're asking a very important question that we'll have to tangle with later on.”

  Michelle put down her pie plate in the sink and pointed at the list Momma Peach was holding. “I asked Beth to run the name J.W. Wording in a few other places for me. She's going to give me a call if she comes up with something. Maybe Wording was a fictional character in a book... some historical figure... who knows?”

  Momma Peach bit down on her lip. “Right now, anything can help.” Momma Peach shook her head. “Why is it there's always a storm before the calm? Take the trip we just came back from. All Mr. Sam was wanting to do was take me and Rosa and escape to a warm island for a bit. And what happens? We get caught in a blizzard filled with some real ugly monsters stuck in it. But,” Momma Peach added, “we did find Timmy and end up making it to the island.”

  Michelle leaned back against the kitchen counter. “When the circus came to town and we got caught up with Lindsey Sung, I thought I was going to die. Lindsey was an incredible fighter. I...wasn't sure if I could defeat her, and from the way the fight was going it looked like Lindsey was going to beat me. All I could do was keep fighting, Momma Peach. And that's all we can do now. That's all we could do in Nevada, Alaska, and in Vermont.”

  “We sure get tossed into some powerful winds, don't we?” Momma Peach asked. “Yes sir and yes, ma’am, we sure do. And we also get caught up with some strange minds that force a person to think outside of the box. But J.W. Wording...he's not someone who thinks outside of the box. He's a...well, he's an old-fashioned killer...a gentleman killer, I guess you can say.”

  “There's been plenty of gentlemen killers throughout the centuries, Momma Peach. J.W. Wording is nothing special. Underneath all his fancy talk and expensive suits, he's just an ugly monster. Every killer believes he or she is something special in some form or another; at least, the killers who are out to make a name for themselves. Each killer believes he is above the law, some form of genius, and immortal in a sense. Each killer believes the law will never harm him and that he will leave a legacy that will make him famous. In truth, the killer is nothing more than a deranged psycho, no better than a dog infected with rabies. When the public gives credit to a killer, it only feeds his ego and allows him to continue killing.”

  “I am not giving credit to J.W. Wording,” Momma Peach assured Michelle. “I am simply stating that the monster isn't someone who plays outside of the box...thinks on his feet...changes the rules of the game. J.W. Wording sets the rules before the game begins and sticks by the rules he creates. At least that's what my gut is telling me.”

  Michelle nibbled on her lip. “Wording has the game board set out, the rules created, and your piece set to play, so he says. So maybe...if you don't play by his rules, Momma Peach, you could throw him off balance?”

  “No,” Momma Peach warned, “if I don’t play by the rules, Mr. Wordin
g will steal away into the fog and go after everyone I love in order to punish me and make sure I play by the rules next time he sets out the game board. He’s all about control. If I’m smart, I’ll sit here and find the name of that cologne before six o'clock strikes. And while I’m searching for the name of the cologne in my memory, I’ll also start doing some serious thinking about how to outsmart a madman who likes to do everything so neat and tidy. Now, help Momma Peach with these names, okay?”

  “Okay, let’s—” Michelle stopped talking when she heard the phone ring. “That might be Beth,” she said and ran into the front room and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  “It's me, Detective,” a woman told Michelle.

  “Beth, good, what did you find?” Michelle asked in an urgent voice. “Time isn't on our side.”

  Beth leaned forward in her desk chair and studied a computer screen. “Well, I'm not sure if I've found anything or not,” she confessed. “When I put the name J.W. Wording into the search engine I came up blank. I searched fictional and historical characters and didn't come up with anything. But,” Beth emphasized, “one website took me to a hospital in California.”

  “A hospital?” Michelle asked.

  “The Jeremy Wyatt Wording Medical Center,” Beth explained, staring at a photo of a two-story hospital. “The hospital is located north of Los Angeles. I'm not sure what that means, or if it means anything?”

  Michelle bit down on her lower lip and ran the new information through her mind. “Okay, Beth. Here's what I need for you to do. Run a search on the hospital, find out the history, when the hospital was built, who this Jeremy Wyatt Wording is, and so on.”

  “Will do, Detective,” Beth promised. “I'll put a rush on the research and try to get back in touch within the hour.”

  “You’re the best, Beth. Thank you.”

  “Detective, you're the one that's the best. My husband and I both think this town is very blessed to have you. I'll be in touch.” Beth ended the call and went to work.

  Michelle put down the phone, glanced uneasily at the dark fog outside, and then walked back into the kitchen. She found Momma Peach skimming through the names of colognes. “Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach raised her head. “What did Beth have to say?”

  “I'm not really sure...yet,” Michelle explained. She walked over to the kitchen counter and picked up her cup of coffee. “She wasn't able to connect J.W. Wording to any fictional or historical character, but she did find a hospital in California named the Jeremy Wyatt Wording Medical Center.”

  Momma Peach rubbed her chin. “A hospital?”

  “I'm having Beth run a history on the hospital and find out who Jeremy Wyatt Wording is.” Michelle sipped on her coffee. “Maybe Beth found us a lead?”

  Momma Peach continued to rub her chin. “No connection to a fictional character or a historical figure...but the name comes up friendly with a hospital? Now, that's very interesting.” Momma Peach stood up and stretched her back. “J.W. Wording killed every one of his victims using a poison. The only victim he didn't kill using a poison was that poor housekeeper.”

  “Poison?” Michelle asked. “Momma Peach, you should have told me that.”

  “Oh, I still have an awful lot to tell you,” Momma Peach confessed. “I’m just trying to pull J.W. Wording out of the fog and see him clearly, that's all. And now that you mentioned that hospital, I am wondering…could J.W. Wording have some form of medical knowledge?”

  Michelle put down her coffee. “Could be,” she said and checked the back door lock again. “We won't know anything until Beth calls us back. Let's just hope she comes up with a solid lead.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Let's hope,” she told Michelle and tapped the pad of paper sitting on her baking table. “Momma Peach ain't getting nowhere with this here list, no sir and no, ma’am. All that list is doing is making me constipated.”

  Michelle checked the back door one last time and walked over to the baking table and picked up the list. “We're searching for a needle in a haystack,” she agreed. “But right now, we don't have no other choice, Momma Peach. The clock is ticking and we're running out of time.” Michelle put down the list and gently put her hands on Momma Peach's shoulder. “Sit down, Momma Peach, and I’ll cut you a piece of pie. Maybe something to eat will help you remember.”

  Momma Peach sat back down and looked down at the list. “If only I can make my old mind remember what the monster said...he told me the name of the cologne he was wearing...the name is somewhere in my memory, lost in a dark closet. All I have to do is remember...”

  Michelle cut Momma Peach a slice of peach pie and brought it to the baking table and then refreshed her coffee. “You said the cologne smelled like money and expensive homes?” she asked. “Maybe we can narrow down our search using the scent?”

  “I wouldn't know how to name the scent she smelled. All I remember is that the cologne smelled very fancy...like the smell in the foyer of a fancy mansion...you know, a smell of money...like maybe some kind of furniture polish, glossy floors, fresh wind...oh, I can't really put the scent into words. All I know is that it reminded my nose of money and expensive homes. But that could be any one of a hundred perfumes, for all we know.”

  Michelle sat down on the edge of the baking table. “You’re right. Plus, Momma Peach, to your nose the cologne smelled like that, but to someone else, the cologne may have smelled completely different. That doesn't help.” Michelle shook her head. “Okay, let's try something else. I'll read off the names of each cologne along with the English translation and see what we get.”

  Momma Peach took a bite of her pie and glanced outside anxiously. She felt the thick fog clawing at the door, whispering to get inside the kitchen and torture her mind. She felt the dark night hissing and laughing at the same time, taunting her troubled mind. A sense of despair gripped her heart, though she tried to keep it at bay.

  Far away, J.W. Wording poured himself a cup of coffee and checked the time. “Tick-tock, Momma Peach, the sand is running out,” he said and picked up a syringe full of poison. “You better remember, or someone is going to suffer the consequence. Those are the rules of the game.”

  Chapter 4

  Beth called Michelle just as Michelle was walking out of the back bathroom. Michelle ran to the phone and snatched it up. “Hello?” she asked in a tired but anxious voice.

  “It's me, Detective,” Beth told Michelle. “Sorry it took me so long, but I've been doing some digging.”

  Michelle looked down at her black boots and realized it was going to be a long time before she got a good night’s sleep. “What have you come up with, Beth?” she asked.

  Momma Peach eased into the front room, leaned in the doorway, and listened with anxious ears. “I found out,” Beth said and took a gulp of coffee, “that Jeremy Wyatt Wording was a bad fella.” Working the night shift was easy. Staying awake was the hard part.

  “I'm all ears.”

  Beth leaned forward in her computer chair and focused her eyes on a bright computer screen. “Jeremy Wyatt Harding paid for the hospital to be built, so they named it after him,” Beth began. “He was a wealthy businessman that divided his time between Los Angeles and Manhattan. He became rich from playing stocks.”

  “Okay,” Michelle said, making mental note of all this.

  “On the outside, Mr. Wording seemed on the up-and-up, Detective. Honest businessman, charitable, the works.”

  “Except?” Michelle asked.

  “Except that his wife turned up dead,” Beth explained. “Meredith Wording was found floating face-down in the Pacific. She was thirty-eight years old. The cause of death was ruled a suicide. Some heavy anti-depressant drugs were found in her system, and she had a medical record indicating some risk factors. But, from some newspaper articles I found, it appears that the Los Angeles Police Department cast some heavy suspicion on the husband, Mr. Jeremy Wyatt.”

  “Why would they have reason to do that?” Michelle asked.<
br />
  “One reporter suggested that Mr. Wyatt killed his wife because she had filed for divorce. It was in the gossip rags at the time, since they were rich and mingled with society figures on both coasts. Another reporter suggested he killed his wife because she was the source of a bunch of nasty rumors that had gone around town at the time his hospital was built—the gossip said it was built as an illegal organ transplant operation for the rich. Nobody ever figured out who started the rumor, but one reporter was convinced it was his wife, and her death was arranged to cover everything up and squash the rumors. Anyway, it seems like Mr. Wyatt was under a lot of scrutiny before his wife even died, and he had an airtight alibi, of course. However, even all his money couldn’t keep news of the investigation under the radar, and society was shocked to find out that the charitable businessman they thought so highly of was under suspicion for such a terrible thing.”

  “Beth, when was Mrs. Wording found dead?”

  “1959,” Beth told Michelle. “Mr. Wording was in his forties at the time. Of course, a lot has changed since then. Nowadays, the folks in Los Angeles would probably be just as likely to help Mr. Wording set up that kind of an illegal operation instead of trying to fry his hide. Nobody cares about divorce anymore, either. But back in the old days, certain men still valued integrity.”

  “Indeed,” Michelle mused. She looked at Momma Peach and then asked the most obvious question: “Beth, did Mr. and Mrs. Wording have any children?”