“I know,” Michelle agreed. “The bed in my room was super soft and really warm,” she said in a nostalgic voice. “I remember Able and me taking our romantic walk down to the lake under the full moon, holding hands...” Michelle closed her eyes. She saw Able's dorky but loving face appear in her mind. “Oh, my clumsy little hero,” she whispered in lovingly.
Momma Peach smiled. She knew that someday Michelle and Able were going to get married. When? She really didn't know and the when didn't really matter. What mattered the most in her heart was that Michelle had finally found love with a man that was faithful, caring and brave, even if he was a little geeky and clumsy at times. “Why don't you call Able, baby?”
Michelle shook her head no. “Able is helping Mitchel right now. And if I call him he'll hear the worry in my voice and take the first flight down. I don't want Able anywhere near Lindsey Sung, Momma Peach.”
“I understand,” Momma Peach promised. She stood up, walked over to the office window and opened the blinds. Night had fallen. A wet, strange fog was stalking the night like a wounded, angry predator searching for an innocent victim to devour. “Oh, stop it,” Momma Peach begged her mind. “Ain't no sense in thinking like that, now is there? Must be them awful day-old biscuits that old woman forced me to eat today.”
“Speaking of biscuits, I'm starved,” Michelle admitted. She stood up and walked over to Momma Peach. “Millie should be parked in front of your bakery by now. Let's go pick her up and drive out to Sam's place, okay?”
“Okay, baby,” Momma Peach caved in. “You don't have to twist my arm. A nice dinner at Mr. Sam's farmhouse rings a lovely bell in my mind. Let's just hope that Mr. Sam doesn't soak everything he cooked in cayenne pepper. Oh, give me strength, I was set on fire last time we ate at Mr. Sam's farmhouse.”
Michelle winced. “Yeah, me, too,” she said in a worried voice. “You don't think...I mean...he wouldn't...not again, right, Momma Peach?”
Momma Peach sighed. “Baby, Mr. Sam loves his cayenne pepper. All we can do is wait and see if the fire department is going to be needed after supper.”
Michelle winced again. “Maybe I should stay here at the station and work—”
“Oh, no you don't, baby,” Momma Peach yelled and grabbed Michelle's hand, “If I’m going to suffer tonight, you’re going to suffer right along with me. Let's go.”
Michelle winced for a third time and grabbed an extra bottle of water from her office before leaving.
Sam's old farmhouse sat off alone by itself down a cozy country back road. The farmhouse was worn but built to last. The floors were old and creaked, the ceiling leaked and the doors stuck, but the house was still standing after eighty years. Sam took pride in the farmhouse and he was patiently making needed repairs to the house—and the old barn—when he had the time, and he still managed to keep the original style of the farmhouse. Of course, Momma Peach thought, walking into a small living room holding a used brown recliner Sam had found at a yard sale and the ugliest brown and green couch she had ever seen, a woman's touch never hurt matters any. “Mr. Sam, oh, that couch...my eyes,” Momma Peach exclaimed and shook a little rainwater off her damp dress.
Sam looked at the couch. “You fuss about that couch every time you come over,” he said and rolled his eyes. “I think it's a great couch.”
“You would,” Momma Peach continued to fuss. “Baby, you have money so explain to me why you bought your furniture at a yard sale?”
Sam waited until Michelle and Millie were in the living room before continuing. Millie looked beautiful in her blue dress. Sam guessed he looked halfway decent in his black button-up shirt tucked into his blue jeans. “I like furniture that has character,” he explained and closed the front door. “The furniture you find in the stores today...pure junk,” Sam finished.
Millie studied Sam's ugly couch. She had to admit the couch was an eyesore. The living itself wasn't half bad—cozy, actually. She spotted an old stone fireplace where an inviting fire crackled warmly. The wood paneled walls were made of quality wood and complimented the hardwood floor that creaked under her feet. Some new furniture, flowers, pictures...a little paint here and there...and she could turn the living room around in no time. “It's...nice,” she said and caught Momma Peach staring at her. Momma Peach read her eyes and flashed a happy smile. Millie blushed.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I'm still working on the place,” he explained.
Michelle drew in a deep breath of freshly baked pumpkin pie and hot coffee. Her stomach cried out for the kitchen. “Uh, Sam, what's for dinner?” she asked.
Sam continued to rub the back of his neck. “Well, I took a nap earlier and kinda overslept so I...well, I had to order takeout.”
“From the diner?” Momma Peach asked through gritted teeth.
Sam quickly moved behind Michelle. “Now Momma Peach, I had no choice. I ordered us all a turkey and dressing plate, pumpkin pie and some bread. But the coffee you're smelling is my own, I promise.”
Momma Peach glared at Sam. “You traitor!” she cried out in pain. “Oh give me strength, Mr. Sam has betrayed me.”
“Now Momma Peach,” Sam begged. “I didn't mean to oversleep—”
“I bet you didn't, baby,” Momma Peach said and shook her head. “Well, let me go into the kitchen and examine the poison you're going to serve for supper.” Momma Peach walked out of the living room and found her way into an old-fashioned kitchen that made her heart yearn for the old times. The kitchen reminded her of grandmothers cooking fresh apple pies while children played outside in warm fields. “The good old days,” Momma Peach sighed and put her pocketbook down on a brown wooden counter next to a coffee pot holding fresh, delicious coffee. She turned and focused her attention on the square wooden table sitting in the far corner of the kitchen. On the table sat four take-out containers from Mrs. Edwards’ diner, along with a bag of rolls. “I have spotted the poison,” Momma Peach said and looked at the dark gray stove next to the kitchen sink. The oven was on low, keeping the pumpkin pie warmed and ready to eat. “Where's my stomach pump?”
Michelle walked into the kitchen, spotted the coffee pot, and made a straight line toward the kitchen counter. “Coffee,” she said in a hungry voice, snatched open a wooden cabinet, fished around, and grabbed a green coffee mug. “Momma Peach, coffee?”
“Yes, baby, please.”
Michelle took down three more green coffee mugs and filled them full of coffee as Sam and Millie walked into the kitchen. “Ah, coffee,” Millie said in a happy voice. “After the day I had, I could sure use a fresh cup of java.”
Sam saw sadness enter Millie's eyes. “I heard about Mr. Greenson. I'm sorry,” he told Millie.
Millie walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. She sat silently for a minute and explored the kitchen with tired but curious eyes. The kitchen sure needed a woman's touch. “I don't believe for one second Young killed himself,” she finally spoke.
Sam took a cup mug of coffee from Michelle and walked it over to Millie. “Here's your coffee.”
Millie took the coffee. “Thanks.”
Sam smiled. “Anytime,” he said and walked over to the kitchen counter and leaned against it. “So it seems that there's a double murder at play, right?” he asked.
Michelle handed Momma Peach her coffee. Momma Peach took a careful sip. “Mr. Sam, I don't know how you do it, but you make the best coffee I have ever tasted.”
Sam smiled. “Years of experience, Momma Peach, years of experience.”
Michelle didn't smile. She walked over to the kitchen table and sat down next to Millie. “We do have a double murder on our hands,” she spoke in a solemn voice. “Millie is right: Young Greenson didn't kill himself.” Michelle sipped on her coffee. “We found a whiskey bottle in Mr. Potter's trailer with Mr. Greenson's fingerprints on it. The whiskey bottle was not present during my initial examination of the trailer.”
“Someone planted the whiskey bottle, then,” Sam said and grabbed th
e last mug of coffee and took a sip.
“That's right,” Momma Peach told Sam. “We also found cane marks on the ground in front of poor Mr. Potter's trailer. The cane marks were fresh.”
“And,” Michelle added, “the officer in charge of guarding the trailer was lured away by Lindsey Sung, giving Mr. Hayman time to enter the trailer, plant the whiskey bottle, and get out without being seen.”
Momma Peach took a sip of her fresh coffee. “The suicide note found on poor Mr. Greenson was nothing more than a fake note of confession claiming he killed Mr. Potter in a fit of jealous rage. Of course, that's horseradish and we all know it.”
Millie soaked in the new information, shocked that such confidential information was being made public in her presence. Then her mind understood why. “You two are wondering if I know more than I'm letting on, right?” she asked.
“Do you, honey?” Momma Peach asked.
“You mean do I know more about Mr. Hayman and his black cat?” Millie asked.
“Yes,” Michelle answered in a calm voice. “Millie, any information you have about Mr. Hayman and Miss Sung would be valuable at this point. Mr. Hayman's attorney is arriving tomorrow and as of right now, I have no ammunition to fight with. My back is in a corner and I have no choice but to let the circus leave town. If the circus leaves town...the killer will get away clean and free.”
Millie sipped her coffee. The coffee was the best she had ever tasted, but it couldn’t distract her from the sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of Lionel Hayman. “All I know about Mr. Hayman is that he's a snob of a man with ice in his veins.”
“Back at the circus, you said Mr. Potter thought there was some good in Mr. Hayman. Why, baby?” Momma Peach asked.
“Oh, Lance tried to find good in a rattlesnake,” Millie said in a frustrated tone. “He was always trying to buddy up to Mr. Hayman and make that miserable man smile. Whenever he could, Lance would always sneak over to the snake den and try to talk with the head cobra himself. I always warned Lance that he was fighting a losing battle, but he never listened to me. For some reason, Lance was determined to make friends with Mr. Hayman. It was like...” Millie pondered her thoughts. “It was like Lance was trying to rescue a lost child locked in a man's body. Only the lost child was a snake, but Lance could never see that. He always sought the good in people.”
Momma Peach took a sip of coffee, closed her eyes, and saw a kind man who desired peace and love over hate and violence. “Not many men like Lance Potter left in the world,” she sighed. “I think your Mr. Potter would have gotten along with our Mr. Sam—he’s like that, too. A rare breed.”
Millie looked at Sam. She could plainly see goodness in the man. “Sam, can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I don't like being parked on the street, as nice as it is. I need a temporary campground,” Millie explained. “Momma Peach wants me to stay with her but, well…my RV is my home.”
“And you want to know if can park your RV here at the farm?” Sam asked. Millie nodded her head yes. “Sure, there's plenty of space to park an RV. As a matter of fact, you can back your RV into the barn and I can run an electrical cord out to you.”
Millie smiled in relief. “Thank you, Sam. That would be very nice.”
Momma Peach smiled at Michelle. Michelle nodded her head. “Well,” Momma Peach said, “for now, let's focus on supper and let the shadows sleep. There will be plenty of time to fuss with shadows tomorrow.”
As they turned to easier talk of supper, Millie felt grateful that Momma Peach let the subject of the murders drop. Even though she felt very sad inside—she also felt very afraid. Whoever killed Young Greenson might come after her simply because she knew him. His killer might believe she had some type of secret information that might be dangerous. “Dinner sounds good to me,” Millie said and looked back at Sam. “I drove my RV over, Sam. Maybe after dinner, you can help me back my RV into your barn?”
“Sure thing,” Sam promised. “The barn is a bit dusty, but tomorrow I'll get out there and clean up.”
“I'll help,” Millie promised. “You know, the thought of cleaning up an old barn makes me feel right at home. “I grew on a ranch outside of Dallas and cleaning barns is as natural as breathing air to me,” she told Sam.
“I figured as much,” Sam replied. “You have that look.”
“You sure do, baby,” Momma Peach agreed.
“Absolutely,” Michelle added. “I bet you can ride a horse blindfolded, too.”
“Well,” Millie blushed, “I am an expert rider.” Millie put down her coffee. “I still own the family ranch where I grew up back in Texas. Oh, the ranch isn't what it used to be. I kept up the old house, but I don't run cattle and sell horses anymore like I did in my younger days, so the barn is probably just as dusty as you can imagine.”
Momma Peach took a sip of her coffee and began to ask Millie what type of horses she sold when an idea struck her mind. “Melanie,” she exclaimed.
“The elephant?” Millie asked, confused.
“Yes,” Momma Peach said in an excited voice. She turned to Sam. “Mr. Sam, you have lots of land.”
“A few dozen acres, sure,” Sam replied in a confused voice. Then his mind latched onto the light in Momma Peach's eyes. “Oh no, what are you up to, Momma Peach?”
Michelle knew. “Melanie needs a new home, Sam. And Lidia needs money to buy Melanie.”
“Lidia was fired today,” Momma Peach explained.
“An elephant...on my land?” Sam swallowed nervously. “Hey now, I can take care of horses, but an elephant...I wouldn't even know what to feed an elephant.”
Millie felt excitement course through her heart. “Hey, I can give Lidia the money she needs to buy Melanie and Sam, if you're willing, Melanie could just stay on your land until we find her a permanent home. Oh, she's such a sweet baby. Harmless and gentle.”
Sam looked into the faces of three desperately hopeful women. What could he say? “I guess I'm going to need lots of hay.” He looked a little dazed at the thought.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Sam.” Momma Peach hurried over to Sam and wrapped her loving arms around him. “The thought of letting that old buzzard Lionel Hayman steal that elephant away from the woman who loves and cares for her was sure making me sick to my stomach.”
“Lidia is a good woman, Sam. You'll like her. She's a Texan like me. As a matter of fact, most of the people working for Mr. Hayman are from the Dallas area.”
“Really?” Michelle asked.
Millie nodded her head. “Dallas is the headquarters for Mr. Hayman and his black cat,” Millie said and sighed. “At least now Lidia and Melanie will be able to be free of them. Assuming Mr. Hayman sells Melanie, which I think he will. That man hates elephants. As you saw, Melanie is the only elephant that belongs to the circus. The poor dear deserves to be free.”
Michelle took a sip of her coffee and began thinking. Momma Peach joined her. But instead of asking questions, both women filed their questions away in silence and focused on supper. “Sam,” Momma Peach said, “as much as I hate to say this...let's eat.”
Sam nodded his head. “I'm starved,” he admitted and then caught his words. “I mean, I may be hungry...and maybe this food might be suitable for supper...” Sam cast his eyes down at the floor and hurried over to the table.
Momma Peach shook her head. “Uh huh,” she said and nodded her head up and down, “I have a ship full of traitors in this here kitchen.”
Michelle couldn't help but grin at Momma Peach. “Well, Momma Peach,” she said, “we survived lunch. Maybe we'll survive dinner?”
Momma Peach walked over the stove and peeked into the oven. She had to admit that the pumpkin pie sure smelled good. “Maybe we won't end up in the emergency room,” she fussed and closed the oven. She turned and pointed a finger at Sam. “Next time I’m going to set an alarm clock right beside your head, Mr. Sam.”
Sam winked at Millie. Millie smiled. It felt nice to be i
n a room full of decent folk who meant well toward her. “Let's eat,” she said and then added for Momma Peach's benefit: “If we can, that is. Such awful food might be hard to get down.”
Momma Peach smiled. “That's my girl.”
Far away in the darkness of the night, Lindsey Sung slunk across the fairgrounds, slipping into the shadows of a striped tent and disappearing as stealthily as a cat. Clouds dripped low above the peaked tents and the moon vanished behind the heavy cloud cover, plunging the circus into darkness.
Chapter Four
Momma Peach watched Michelle meet Lionel at the front entrance to the main tent. Lindsey Sung stood beside him with an evil expression on her face. “That's Lindsey Sung,” Momma Peach told Old Joe.
Old Joe leaned forward in the backseat of Michelle's car with a tasty cinnamon roll in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He looked at Lindsey and whistled. “What is it, you old fox?” Momma Peach scowled.
“That woman is mighty cute,” Old Joe told Momma Peach and took a good bite of his cinnamon roll.
“And very deadly, you back-alley tomcat,” Momma Peach said and slapped at Old Joe to make him lean back in his seat. “I ain't in no mood for you to have your head turned around by a pretty face. That’s exactly what got the deputy in trouble. She knows she can turn heads. Don’t be a dummy like the last man.”
Old Joe rolled his eyes. “Sure, Momma Peach,” he said and pointed at a thin East Asian man with straight black hair wearing a conservative black suit. “Who is that?”
Momma Peach studied Lionel Hayman's attorney with careful, patient eyes through a white morning mist that had settled in over the fairgrounds. “That man has to be Mr. Hayman's attorney. Seems like the man arrived sooner than expected.” He looked to be of Chinese ancestry, like Lindsey.
“What do we do now?” Old Joe asked. He took a sip of his coffee and watched Michelle fold her arms. Michelle was obviously becoming impatient. She pointed into the tent. Lionel hesitated and then nodded his head. Although Lionel, his attorney, and Lindsey were clearly unhappy about it, they turned and led Michelle into the tent.
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