A Peachy Mess

by Wendy Meadows

  For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then Momma Peach spun on her heel, ran down to Michelle's room and banged on the door. “Get out here, baby,” she yelled, “there's been a murder.”

  Michelle tore her room door open and raced out into the hallway with a look of shock and horror on her face. Momma Peach grabbed her hand and they ran back into the lobby. “Melinda,” she said, “tell us what you saw.”

  Melinda picked her head up from Jack's shoulder and wiped at her tears. “In the walk-in cooler,” she told Michelle, “Mrs. Milkson...her body was slumped over...a kitchen knife...horrible.”

  Sam came bursting through the front door with his Glock 19 at the ready. “I heard you scream,” he told Melinda. “What's the matter?”

  “One of our guests, Mrs. Milkson, is dead. Melinda found her body in the walk-in cooler over at the restaurant,” Jack told Sam and pulled his wife back into his arms.

  Before Sam could say a word, a blue minivan pulled up in front of the souvenir shop with two fussing, overheated kids and a very tired mom and dad who looked like they were about ready to pull their hair out. A 1978 red Mustang with white racing strips squealed to a stop next to the minivan. A young man with surfer boy blond hair jumped out of the Mustang wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and looked around. “Hey, dad,” he yelled at the minivan, “why'd you stop in this dump?”

  Sam bit down hard on his lower lip. “Detective Chan, tell me what to do here?”

  “Go deal with those people,” Michelle said in a quick, calm voice. “Act as if nothing is wrong and get them on the road as quickly as possible. Momma Peach and I will go over to the restaurant. Melinda, you and your husband stay together right here in this lobby and don't move.”

  Jack nodded. “Sure thing.”

  Sam stuck out his arm. “Here, Jack, take my gun. I'll be back for it as soon as I get rid of those people.”

  “What about you?” Jack asked.

  “I have a gun hidden under the front counter over at the shop. I want you and Melinda armed, just in case,” Sam said and handed Jack his gun and hurried outside. “Hey folks, welcome to Gold Dust,” he called out in a friendly voice. They watched him start to usher the tourists towards the souvenir shop.

  “We'll go out the back way,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “Melinda, go close the front door.”

  Momma Peach picked up her pocketbook and followed Michelle down the hallway toward the back door. “Andy Dannity?” Michelle asked Momma Peach in an undertone, as she opened a heavy wooden door and stepped out into bright, blinding sunlight.

  “I’m not sure,” Momma Peach confessed. She shielded her eyes with her left hand and scanned the two RV's parked in back of the hotel. Jack and Melinda's RV was very nice and long, almost like a bus, painted white and brown. Andy Dannity's RV was a rusted, worn down 1977 Dodge Tioga motor home that looked as if it was ready to be hauled away to a junkyard. “Andy Dannity didn't go into town.”

  “He drives a 1981 Honda CBX,” Michelle explained, walking over to the motor home. “I saw the motorcycle sitting at the back of this motor home last night.”

  “I love it when you’re on time with the right scorecard,” Momma Peach complimented Michelle. Michelle walked to the back of the motor home, walking over the dry, cracked sand, and examined the back of the motor home. “Motorcycle is missing,” she told Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach kept her left hand over her eyes and stretched her sight out toward an open desert filled with boulders, dry brush, and bare dirt baking under the boiling, deadly heat. She studied the desert for a very long time and then looked down at the ground. “Tire tracks leading out into that hot land,” she told Michelle and pointed down. “Is a 1981 Honda CBX a motorcycle that can handle this type of off-road land?”

  Michelle shook her head no. “Not really, in my opinion.” Michelle bent down and studied the tire marks on the ground. “These marks weren't made by a street bike, Momma Peach. These tire marks were made by a dirt bike.”

  Momma Peach nodded and then focused her attention on the line of solar panels spanning the back walls of every building on the left side of the street. The solar panels were silent, but the sounds of the large air conditioning unit attached to the hotel was not. Momma Peach listened to the air conditioning run and then turned around and studied Jack and Melinda's RV. The RV was parked at least twenty yards away from Andy's worn-down motor home. A simple but dependable gray economy car was parked on the right side of the RV, out of sight of the motor home. “Okay,” Momma Peach said, “let's go see Mrs. Milkson, rest her soul.”

  Chapter Three

  Momma Peach walked through the beautiful antique wooden front door of the town restaurant. The door held an oval, white and blue stained-glass window in the middle of it. She liked the pretty stained-glass window so much she quickly wondered how all the windows in her home back in Georgia would look if she replaced the plain glass with stained glass? “Later,” she whispered and followed Michelle into a small but very cozy dining room holding five circular tables comfortably spaced apart. The tables stood in a dining room that was wonderfully cold, with its glossy hardwood floors polished and swept clean. The walls in the dining room were covered with a light brown wallpaper with little scenes of an old west stagecoach riding into a happy little town filled with people waving at each other. The sky on the wallpaper was blue, clear, and soft. “Either Sam or Mrs. Sam has good taste,” Momma Peach commented to Michelle.

  Michelle reached down to her right ankle and pulled a Glock 17 out of an ankle holster. “Momma Peach,” she said and stood up, “stay close to me. I don't want anything happening to you.”

  “I will be super glue on your back side,” Momma Peach promised and pointed to a closed wooden door on the north wall. “That door must lead into the kitchen. Melinda said she came in through the front instead of the back.”

  Michelle studied the dining room. On the brown tablecloths on each table were three clear drinking glasses, three rolled up white napkins with silverware inside, three brown menus and a thin white vase holding a few fake but colorful flowers. The dining room appeared clean, neat and orderly. “Whoever did it must have had a key,” Michelle observed.

  Momma Peach nodded. “That's right. And the killer either knew Mrs. Milkson, rest her poor soul, or lured her over to this restaurant. I think the killer knew Mrs. Milkson...oh, rest that poor woman's soul.”

  “I agree,” Michelle told Momma Peach and steadied her mind. “Mrs. Milkson didn't get lost, Momma Peach. That woman knew exactly where she wanted to go. I'm going to run a check on her. I'm going to run a check on everyone in this town, including Sam and his wife.”

  “I figured you would,” Momma Peach told Michelle in a supportive tone. “I wonder how long Mrs. Sam has been out of town?”

  Michelle looked at Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, do you believe Sam's wife is involved with the murder?”

  Momma Peach ran her finger over the table cloth of the table she was standing beside. “Put it this way…I am wondering when Mrs. Sam's daddy was let out of prison.”

  “Oh,” Michelle said and nodded, making the connection. “Maybe I should find out.”

  Momma Peach winked at Michelle. “That's my baby. Now,” Momma Peach drew in a deep breath, “let's go see the kitchen.”

  Michelle carefully walked over to the wooden door. “You open the door Momma Peach and I'll clear the kitchen.”

  “Be careful,” Momma Peach begged Michelle.

  “I will.”

  Momma Peach said a quick prayer, grabbed the doorknob, slowly turned the handle, and then eased the door open. Michelle slid through the door with her gun at the ready and with skilled eyes, she searched the small, empty kitchen, which had hard, rugged wooden floors and dark wooden walls. “Clear, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach eased through the door and closed it behind her. “Oh, how nice,” she said as she flashed a smile around the kitchen and quickly hurried over to a work table standing in the middle of the kitche
n and ran her fingers across the top of the table. “I like this kitchen.”

  “It does kinda resemble the kitchen in your bakery,” Michelle agreed, gesturing with her eyes toward an old-fashioned cooking stove standing next to a brown refrigerator on the west wall and then sniffed the air. “Smell the air, Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach drew in a deep breath. “Sweat,” she said, wrinkling her nose. Michelle agreed. “I also smell the sweet perfume Melinda was wearing...roses and sunshine.” Momma Peach put her pocketbook down on the wooden work table. “The sweat in this here kitchen belongs to a man.”

  “I think so, too.” Michelle pointed to the back of the kitchen and focused her eyes on a metal door leading into a small walk-in freezer. The door to the cooler was closed. “I'll clear the cooler.”

  “Wait a second,” Momma Peach told Michelle. She walked to the wooden back door in the kitchen. “Door is locked,” she said. Michelle watched Momma Peach unlock the door, open it, and look out into the bright, blinding morning.

  “What is it?” Michelle asked, approaching Momma Peach.

  Momma Peach looked to her left and then to her right. She spotted an old straw broom leaning against the back of the restaurant. “The ground is sandy right here,” she told Michelle. Michelle watched Momma Peach pick up the straw broom and shake it. Sand shook loose and dropped down to the ground. “Someone used this broom to erase foot tracks,” Momma Peach told Michelle. “Maybe more than one person. Also, the tracks are leading straight out into the desert...too hot for one person to carry a dead body alone.”

  “You're talking about two people, Momma Peach?”

  “I think more than one skunk is involved.” Momma Peach confirmed. She closed the back door and turned to the metal door. “Okay, let's swallow our vitamin and get into this cooler.”

  Michelle stared at the metal door. “I hate seeing dead bodies, Momma Peach. But I hate criminals escaping justice even more.”

  “I know, baby,” Momma Peach promised Michelle and softly tapped the metal door with her right hand. “Maybe Mrs. Milkson...bless her soul...was shoved into this metal coffin and left as a message. For who? Sam? You? Me? I’m not sure yet. But what I am wondering is if the killer wanted Mrs. Milkson...oh, rest her poor soul.” Momma Peach looked into Michelle's worried eyes. “I know your friend was here, too, Michelle. I believe he was killed, the same as Mrs. Milkson.”

  Michelle felt a tear drop from her eye. “I know Ben is dead,” she admitted. “I feel it. I...can't make sense of any of this, Momma Peach. Ben was here but nobody seems to have seen him.”

  Momma Peach reached out and wiped Michelle's tear away. “I talked to Jack. He can't remember seeing Mr. Ben Fleishman, either. Which makes me think that maybe Mr. Ben might have been wearing a mask.”

  “A mask? Oh, you mean a disguise?”

  Momma Peach nodded. “Yes.”

  “I never considered that,” Michelle stated. “Oh, Momma Peach, of course. Ben was a brilliant man...if he was hiding from someone he would have altered his appearance. I've been describing his normal features to Sam without realizing that Ben could have changed his appearance. Especially if he was on the run, or in hiding.”

  Momma Peach slowly bit down on her lower lip. “Michelle, my theory about Ben Fleishman is just a theory. I could be wrong. I also don’t want to place Mr. Sam's life in too much danger, either, by asking him too much at one time. I will wait until Mr. Sam writes out his list for us and go from there.”

  Michelle quickly agreed. “Okay, Momma Peach,” she said and pointed at the metal handle on the cooler door. “Let's go inside.”

  “Give me strength,” Momma Peach prayed. She grabbed the metal handle and pulled open the door. Cold, refreshing air stormed out of the cooler into the kitchen. Michelle stepped into the cooler. Momma Peach followed.

  “Empty,” Michelle said in a shocked voice.

  Momma Peach darted her eyes around the small, cramped cooler. She spotted boxes full of vegetables, fruits, lunch meats, eggs, bottled water, but what she didn't spot was a dead body. “I know whose tracks the broom erased outside,” she told Michelle with a frown. “I think the killer wasn't expecting Melinda to find Mrs. Milkson's dead body. I believe the killer was thinking we were leaving Gold Dust today.” Momma Peach looked at Michelle. “Mr. Andy Dannity was expecting us to check out. Remember what he told Sam back in the souvenir shop?”

  Michelle thought back. “He said Jack and Melinda wouldn’t have any problems cleaning our rooms.”

  “That's right,” Momma Peach said. She studied the interior of the cooler with brilliant eyes. “No blood. No sign of a fight. All the boxes and plastic containers are neat and orderly.”

  “Mrs. Milkson would have put up a fight,” Michelle replied. “A dying dog fights for its last breath...not that I'm calling Mrs. Milkson a dog.”

  “I know what you mean,” Momma Peach promised. “And I know that two people worked together to kill Mrs. Milkson, oh rest her poor soul.”

  Michelle looked down at the metal floor. She spotted small traces of sand on the floor. “Look at this,” she said and bent down. Using her left fingers, she examined the sand. Momma Peach looked at the sand Michelle was examining. “There isn't much I can do with this sand,” she told Momma Peach in a disappointed voice. “This sand could have come off of Melinda's shoes, too.” Michelle stood up.

  Momma Peach continued to stare down at the floor. “Michelle,” she said in a thoughtful voice, “maybe there is something we can do with the sand.”

  “What?”

  “How do you get a savage dog to come to your back door?” Momma Peach grinned.

  Michelle stared into Momma Peach's eyes, allowing the cold air in the cooler to refresh her tired face. “Set out some scraps?”

  “Exactly,” Momma Peach said. She walked Michelle out of the cooler and closed the door. “Come on, let's get back to the—”

  Before Momma Peach could finish her sentence the back door to the kitchen opened. Andy Dannity appeared. Michelle raised her gun and yelled: “Get down on the floor, now!”

  “What...what is this?” Andy cried out in a shocked voice and slowly began to back away.

  “Don't move,” Michelle yelled. “Get down on the floor, now!”

  Andy could tell that Michelle meant business. He dropped down to the floor and placed his hands on the back of his head, showing Momma Peach that the man understood how to follow the protocols of an arresting officer. “What is this all about?” Andy demanded. “I just came over here to get some water. Sam said we could have water.”

  “Aren't you supposed to be in High Cliffs?” Michelle asked suspiciously.

  “My bike broke down on me a few miles up the road. I had to walk all the way back,” Andy said in a complaining tone, his voice muffled as he spoke into the floor.

  Momma Peach saw that Andy's bare arms were red from the sun and covered with sweat. It was clear to her that the man had been out in the sun for at least an hour. “My bike is parked next to my motor home. Go check it out yourself, lady,” Andy continued to fuss.

  “Stand up, boy,” Momma Peach ordered Andy. She looked at Michelle with eyes that told Michelle to follow along. Michelle nodded with understanding.

  Andy glanced up at Momma Peach with cold fury in his eyes. He removed his hands from behind his head and slowly stood up. “Mind if I close the door?” he asked.

  “Close it,” Momma Peach agreed.

  Andy used his right foot and kicked the back door shut. “Listen,” he snapped, “I don't know what's going on but all I want is some water and I'll be on my way. Cool?”

  “Not cool,” Momma Peach said in a voice that told Andy to put a leash on his attitude. “Don't make me beat you bow-legged with my pocketbook, boy. I try to like the folks I meet, but you put a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Why?” Andy asked, “because I'm poor? Because I live in a rusted tin can? Because I don't look like some California rich boy? Take a hike, lady.”

>   “Take a hike?” Momma Peach asked. “Oh no you didn't,” she said as she snatched up her pocketbook and wound her arm back. Michelle instantly stepped back.

  “What's she doing?” Andy asked Michelle.

  “You'll see,” Michelle promised.

  “Take a hike?” Momma Peach said and started winding up her pocketbook, “I’m going to have to teach you manners, boy.” Before Andy could blink an eye, Momma Peach smacked him upside the head with her pocketbook. Andy staggered to the side and blinked as if he saw stars. The stars kept coming as Momma Peach rushed forward in a daring attack, pushing Andy back into a corner. “Don't you ever,” Momma Peach yelled, beating Andy with her pocketbook, “tell me to take a hike, boy!” All Andy could do was cover his head with his arms.

  “Get her off me!” Andy begged Michelle.

  Momma Peach stopped her attack, breathing hard as she regarded Andy with angry eyes, and backed up to the work table in the center of the kitchen. “Get to your feet and act like you have some sense to you!” she ordered Andy.

  Andy looked up at Momma Peach like a man looking up into a sky expecting to see a flood of bombs falling. Slowly and carefully, afraid to make any sudden moves, he stood up. “What do you have in that thing, anyway? A safe?” he asked Momma Peach and rubbed the back of his head.

  “A woman has been murdered,” Michelle informed Andy. “Mrs. Milkson.”

  Andy made a confused face. “The scarecrow-skinny lady?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Michelle confirmed, ignoring his words.

  Momma Peach set her pocketbook down on the work table and rubbed her right arm with her left hand. “Show Mrs. Milkson some respect.”

  “Hey, I didn't know the lady,” Andy told Momma Peach and threw his hands up in the air. “Look...my parole just ended a few months ago in New York. I can't afford to get into any trouble.”

  “What was your crime?” Michelle demanded, keeping her gun aimed at Andy.