“Grand theft auto,” Andy confessed. “I was young and stupid and got caught up with the wrong people. I'm older now. I did my time behind bars. I paid my so-called debt to society, too.” Andy looked at Momma Peach. “My old man didn't take my lip, either. Man, did he have a hard fist. I took more beatings from him than the guys who walked the streets in my neighborhood.”
“I don't have time for your sob story,” Michelle told Andy. “A woman has been murdered and her body is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, missing,” Michelle reiterated. “Now, very calmly, we're going to walk back to the hotel and talk.”
“Can I get a bottle of water first?” Andy begged, wiping his sweat-stained forehead on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Hang on a second,” Momma Peach said and walked back into the cooler. She returned a few seconds later with three bottles of water. “Those footprints the killer left in the sand will come in handy,” she told Michelle. “Here, drink,” she said and tossed Andy a bottle of water.
Andy caught the bottle and quickly opened it, completely ignoring Momma Peach's statement about the footprints in the sand. Momma Peach watched him drain the bottle of water with relief, his shoulders sagging. “Does Mr. Sam know you have keys to his restaurant?” she asked.
Andy wiped his mouth with his right arm. “Sam gave me a spare key when he hired me on,” Andy responded and tossed the water bottle in a plastic trash can sitting beside the back door. “We're allowed three square meals a day and free bottled water. The water that runs into my motor home from the outside pump tastes like rust. But what do you expect in a dump like this?”
Michelle felt the fuse connected to her temper running short. “Listen, pal,” she said in a sharp voice, “if you don't like Gold Dust, then why did you agree to be hired on?”
“I am an ex-con living in a rusted-out motor home. Who else is going to hire me on?” Andy asked Michelle. He shook his head and looked down at the kitchen floor. “I came out west to make a new start for myself. I spent my last dime buying my motor home and bike.” Andy kept his eyes low. “I'm not exactly a people person. New York was getting too overcrowded for my taste. I needed room to breathe.”
“Yeah, sure,” Michelle said in a tough voice, “you needed room to think about how to reactivate your criminal life.”
“Sure, lady,” Andy replied in a whisper and raised his cold eyes. “Are we done with this friendly talk now or what?”
“Get moving,” Michelle said and pointed at the back door with her gun.
“Are you arresting me?” Andy asked.
“No,” Michelle said in a patient voice that made his face turn sour again, “not yet. I want to examine your motorcycle. Let's go.”
Andy opened the back door. “You can look at it all you want. I’m telling the truth. I'm good with my hands,” he said and looked at Momma Peach, “but there's only so much a man can do with a worn-down carburetor.”
“Get moving,” Michelle said. “Momma Peach, stay close behind me.”
“Will do,” Momma Peach said and grabbed her pocketbook. Her mind was so full of questions it felt like they were water pouring over a raging waterfall. As she walked outside behind Michelle and closed the back door, her eyes caught sight of the metal cooler door again. Where was the body of Mrs. Milkson? Who had killed her? Who had stolen the body? “Time will tell,” Momma Peach whispered, “time will surely tell the truth.” The hot, blazing sun overhead agreed with Momma Peach.
Michelle wiped sweat from her forehead as she crouched in the hot desert sun. “He's telling the truth, Momma Peach. The carburetor on this motorcycle is shot,” she said and stood up.
Andy leaned against the door of his motor home, folded his sunburned arms, and nodded his head. “I was trying to make it into High Cliffs to get a new carburetor.”
“Why didn't you drive your motor home?” Michelle asked.
Andy unfolded his arms and tossed his right thumb at the hood. “Radiator runs hot in this heat. I can deal with my bike breaking down on the road, but this heap of junk is my home. I can't risk moving it right now. I guess when Sam gives me my walking papers I'll crawl up to High Cliffs and park at the Ridge Rock RV Park.”
Momma Peach kept her eyes on Andy's motorcycle. She liked the motorcycle. The motorcycle looked fun. The motorcycle was meant for open roads with your hair flying in the wind. The motorcycle wasn't meant to drive over hot, rugged, desert land. “I like this bike,” she told Michelle and ran her right hand over the handlebars. “I like this bike a lot.” Momma Peach looked at Andy. Even though it was hot enough to melt hard metal she ignored the heat and set her mind into business mode. “I will buy it from you at a fair price.”
Andy huffed and rolled his eyes. “No way,” he said in a serious voice. “That bike is my ride. I have money for the carburetor I need.”
“Shame, shame,” Momma Peach told Andy and returned her attention back to the motorcycle. “I was going to get a leather jacket and ride back to Georgia singing 'Born to be Wild'. Oh yes, yes sir and yes ma’am, I sure was.”
Michelle grinned. She imagined Momma Peach racing down a wide open stretch of road wearing a black biker’s jacket with a peach embroidered on the back, a pair of dark shades covering her eyes and a black helmet on her head. Oh yes, Momma Peach was surely born to be wild! “We better get inside, Momma Peach. It's too hot outside for you.”
Momma Peach allowed her mind to return back to the heat. As she did, a black, hairy spider crawled out from under Andy's motor home. “Oh, spider!” Momma Peach cried out in horror. With nowhere else to flee, she jumped onto the motorcycle seat, but failed to balance it and quickly toppled over to the ground. “Oh, save me! Save me!” Momma Peach begged as she struggled to climb out from under the motorcycle. The spider seemed to pause as if listening to Momma Peach, and then she swore she saw it grin and start crawling toward her. “Oh, here he comes to eat me...save me, oh save me!”
Andy rolled his eyes, lifted his right foot, and stomped the spider into the dry, hard ground until nothing was left of it. “There,” he told Momma Peach, “happy?”
Michelle meanwhile lifted the bike’s frame just enough to help Momma Peach crawl out from under the motorcycle. Momma Peach stood up, wiped dirt off her dress, straightened her hat, stuck her chin up into the air, and walked back inside the hotel without saying a word. “Come on,” Michelle told Andy.
“Let me pick up my bike,” Andy fussed. He hurried over to the motorcycle, picked it up, set the kickstand in place, and followed Michelle into the hotel lobby where he saw Jack and Melinda standing near the front counter.
“I thought you rode up to High Cliffs,” Jack said to Andy in a suspicious voice.
“My bike broke down on me,” Andy said in a cold voice, clearly done being interrogated. He moseyed over to an armchair and sat down without saying another word.
“I checked his bike,” Michelle confirmed, “he's telling the truth. The carburetor is shot.”
“Mr. Fix-it can't repair a simple carburetor?” Jack asked Andy.
“Don't antagonize him,” Melinda pleaded with her husband. “Leave him be.”
“A woman is dead, Melinda,” Jack snapped, “and this guy is suspect number one.”
Andy folded his arms and looked at the bookshelf. He didn't say a word. Momma Peach walked up to the front counter and put her right hand on Jack's shoulder. “My baby and I didn't find anybody in the walk-in cooler,” she said in a calm voice.
“What?” Melinda exclaimed, “but I saw her... I...” Melinda turned and looked at Jack for help. “Jack, I saw Mrs. Milkson...she had a knife...oh, she was dead. I saw her.” Melinda turned back to Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, I'm not lying. I promise.”
“I know you're not lying,” Momma Peach assured Melinda and removed her hand from Jack's shoulder. “I know Mrs. Milkson...oh, rest her poor soul...was dragged off into the desert.” Momma Peach cast a curious glance at Andy. “Right now, you folks don't need
to be finger pointing. Finger pointing is an ugly thing, it sure is. We're all adults and we're all wearing our grownup britches. So let's act like we have some sense and rely on facts and not personal feelings.”
“Facts? What facts?” Jack asked Momma Peach in an annoyed voice. “My wife claims she saw a dead woman and now the dead woman is obviously missing.” Jack pointed at Andy. “That guy states he was going into town and then reappears claiming his motorcycle broke down. For all we know he messed with the carburetor to make it appear like his motorcycle broke down. I don't trust him and I don't like him. I’ve had a bad feeling about him from the start.”
Andy stood up. “I'd rather listen to a rattler hiss at me. I'm going back to my motor home.”
“No, you're not,” Michelle told Andy. “Jack, please, calm down. It's hot enough outside without overheating the air in here with our tempers, okay?”
Jack shot Andy a hard look. “Stay away from us, do you hear me?”
“Sure, I hear you,” Andy said and sat back down. “I hear everybody,” he mumbled under his breath.
Momma Peach shook her head and walked over to the front door. “How is Mr. Sam doing with the new people?” she asked.
“Not good,” Melinda told Momma Peach. “It seems like Mom and Dad are really tired and want to stay over a night and rest.”
Momma Peach eased open the front door. She spotted Sam standing beside the minivan talking to a middle-aged man with dark red hair. The man's hot rod-driving son was standing beside him glancing around with bored eyes. “Dad, we're not really gonna spend a night in this place, are we?” he complained.
“Be quiet,” the man snapped at his son in a tired, annoyed voice. “Your mother and I are exhausted. We have been driving all night thanks to you.”
“I didn't mean to get us lost, honest,” the boy snapped back. “And hey, we're closer to the Grand Canyon than we were yesterday, right?”
The man shot an angry look at his son and then looked down at the rumpled, tan, button-down shirt he was wearing over a pair of sweaty blue jeans. “If you can put up with my son, we would like to stay the night. I'll pay whatever price you ask,” he told Sam in a desperate voice. “I'm much too tired to keep driving.”
Momma Peach saw Sam's face. She knew the man was going to cave in. “I don't blame you, baby. That poor man looks plum tuckered out,” she whispered and closed the front door. “We're going to have guests tonight after all.”
“We need to call the State Patrol,” Jack told Momma Peach. He focused on Michelle. “You're a cop from Georgia. You have no authority out here in the Nevada desert.”
“You can call the State Patrol and your wife can report what she saw, but without a body, all the State Patrol will be able to do is conduct a missing person search, ask a lot of questions, and lock all of us down as suspects,” Michelle explained. Michelle wasn't overly confident that she had spoken accurately, but she wanted to divert Jack from calling any outside authorities until she and Momma Peach tracked down the truth.
“Whoever killed Mrs. Milkson is very deadly,” Momma Peach told Jack, clearly reading Michelle's intention. Momma Peach swiftly changed Jack's direction. “Murder is serious business. We all need to have our heads on straight and our minds cleared of any dust. Melinda, baby, have you checked Mrs. Milkson's room?”
“I did,” Melinda confessed, “a few minutes ago. Mrs. Milkson's belongings are still in her room, including her purse and car keys. I hope I didn't commit a crime, but I went through her purse. I found her wallet, too. There was plenty of money in there, and all her cards, so I suppose she wasn’t robbed.”
“You did fine,” Momma Peach assured Melinda. She saw Andy look down the hallway toward Mrs. Milkson's room. “Don't you even think about stealing that poor woman's money, boy.”
Andy flinched. “I wasn't,” he lied. Momma Peach shook her head at him. “Okay, so maybe the thought crossed my mind. I'm not interested in sticking around this place any longer than I have to and payday isn't for another week. I've got just enough money to buy a new carburetor but I still need some cash to pay for my stay at the RV park in High Cliffs.”
“Stealing isn't the way,” Momma Peach informed Andy in a hard tone. “Didn't prison teach you that?”
“Yeah, it did,” Andy confessed. “Prison also taught me to look out for number one, too.” Andy looked at Jack and Melinda. “I'm just a rodent, right Jack? And rodents have to be smart to survive.”
“Stop it,” Michelle ordered Andy. She raised her right hand and rubbed her eyes. “Ben was here and now he's missing... Mrs. Milkson is missing...both are assumed dead...” she whispered to herself in a strained voice.
Momma Peach saw Michelle was upset. She walked over to Michelle and wrapped her loving arms around her. “Michelle, give your thoughts a rest for a bit. Do that for me. It's getting close to lunch. We all need food in our tummies to re-energize our brains, too. There's no sense in stressing over what we don't understand.”
Michelle rested her eyes on Momma Peach's warm face. “I want to conduct a building search, Momma Peach. There's nothing but open desert all around us.” Michelle turned her attention to Jack and Melinda. “I spotted the tracks of a trail bike or maybe an ATV in front of Andy's motor home. Have either of you heard the engine of a trail bike?”
“Well, sure. The trail bike belongs to Sam,” Melinda told Michelle.
“Sam tried to help me fix my carburetor yesterday before anyone arrived,” Andy jumped in. “He rode his bike around to my motor home and offered to let me ride it into High Cliffs.”
“Why didn't you take Mr. Sam up on his offer?” Momma Peach asked.
“I earn what I get,” Andy said in a cold voice. “I don't accept favors from anyone. I know Sam was tossing a helpful hand in my direction, but I ride solo.”
Momma Peach sighed. She wanted to scold Andy for being so hard-headed but decided to focus her attention on Jack and Melinda. “Okay, so much for the trail bike,” she said. “What I want right now is for you to tell me who has been through this town in the last two weeks. Now, take your time. I’m not in any hurry.”
Jack rubbed his chin and then walked behind the front counter and sat down at a nice, comfortable wooden desk. “I know this is against policy, but I'll pull the names of every guest that has stayed at the hotel for the last two weeks. Names help me recall faces.”
Melinda walked behind the front counter and put her hands down on her husband's shoulder and watched her husband go to work. Andy leaned back in the sitting chair, folded his arms together and closed his eyes. Michelle took Momma Peach's hand. Momma Peach smiled. “I ain't leaving Gold Dust until I catch myself a gang of outlaws. Yes, ma’am, Sheriff Momma Peach is on the job.”
Outside, Sam cast desperate eyes at the front of the hotel. “Yeah, sure,” he told the dad, “your family can hunker down here for tonight. I'll even offer a family discount.”
“Hey, that's great. Thanks a lot,” the man told Sam and shook his hand. Sam smiled, but inside his heart, he was worried sick.
Chapter Four
Momma Peach watched Charlie Neilson lug in a heavy brown suitcase and set it down on the floor. The poor man was drenched with sweat. He quickly ran a tired hand through his thin brown hair and then looked over at his wife. “That's the last of the luggage,” he said.
Ruth Neilson brushed some dust off her husband's brown shirt with a caring hand. Momma Peach saw kindness and love in the woman which warmed her heart. Sure, she thought, it was clear that the Neilsons were city folk. Charlie and Ruth wore city faces and they had quick, sidewalk eyes. But still, Momma Peach thought, Charlie seemed like a decent man, and Ruth was a very lovely woman who had the softest red hair she had ever seen. “I'm ready for a nap,” Ruth admitted.
Charlie agreed. The blue and yellow cotton dress his wife was wearing was soaked with sweat. He knew his wife of twenty-one years was just as exhausted as he was. Being fifty-one wasn't easy out in the heat. “Two rooms, please,” he tol
d Jack.
Momma Peach turned her attention away from Charlie and Ruth and focused on two darling twin boys. To her shock, the twin boys were African American. Both were dressed in identical yellow and white striped shirts tucked into their brown shorts. “Hello,” Momma Peach smiled. The boys beamed up at her shyly but did not say a word.
“Oh, they don't speak much,” Ruth told Momma Peach. “Michael and William are from Ghana. We adopted them three years ago.”
“Yeah,” said Henry, Ruth's Mustang-driving son, with a smile and leaned against the bookcase, “Mike and Will are pretty cool little guys when they want to be.” The boys scowled down at the floor for a moment.
“You would fuss too if the air conditioner in your Mustang broke down,” Ruth rebuked her son. “We permitted you to drive your Mustang because we were hoping you were mature enough. Your father and I were obviously very wrong.”
Henry cast his eyes down at the floor. Momma Peach studied the boy. She didn't like the crazy colored t-shirt he was wearing nor the baggy khaki shorts. But, she thought, the boy was young and still had a lot of growing up to do, just like everybody else. And besides, Momma Peach added, there was goodness in the boy that outweighed his silliness. “I was just trying to have some fun, mom. I just turned sixteen...cut me some slack.”
“Life is cruel, boy,” Andy told Henry in his cold voice from across the room.
Sam shook his head at Andy warningly and then walked up to Henry. “We've all been sixteen,” he said in a warm voice, “but with age comes responsibility.”
“Yes, sir,” Henry replied and looked up at Charlie. “Sorry I got us lost, dad. I had the radio blaring and wasn't paying attention to the map.”
Charlie sighed. “It's okay son...it's like Sam said, we've all been sixteen. Run out and check the minivan for me, okay? And make sure I didn't leave any luggage.”
“Sure thing,” Henry said and started to hurry outside.
A Peachy Mess Page 5
