Sam opened the door and walked into the room wearing a warm green sweater and a pair of brown slacks. He looked like a rugged cowboy trying to play the part of a nineteen-fifties sitcom dad. “Storm is settling in,” he said in a tired voice and closed the door. “I went downstairs to get some coffee and take a look at the parking lot. I found the lobby full of those business folks chewing John's ear off. We're not going to get a word in with him for at least another hour.”
“Those fancy suits are fussing up a storm, huh?” Momma Peach asked and rolled her eyes. “Of course they are.”
Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, those folks are all but demanding John make this storm stop in order for the airlines to reopen.” Sam looked at Rosa. Rosa was wrapped up in a thick, white bathrobe and watching her game shows. “What game show are you watching?” he asked.
“Password,” Rosa told Sam.
“Hey, that's an oldie but goodie,” Sam smiled. “Who’s on?”
“Carol Burnett and Gary Moore,” Rosa smiled.
“I've seen that one. Not bad,” Sam explained. He looked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach raised her eyebrows. “What? A man can't watch a few game shows now and then?” he asked and winked at Momma Peach.
“I guess the desert can get mighty boring at times,” Momma Peach told Sam and walked over to the small coffee pot. “I can't stand this stale coffee. I’m going to have to go downstairs and get some of the good stuff.”
“I could go for another cup,” Sam confessed. “I managed to squeeze in an hour nap a while ago and now I'm wide awake.”
“I took a nap, too, Mr. Sam,” Momma Peach said, then said in a secretive tone, “and now I’m wide awake with a belly ache. Too much Tabasco sauce on my eggs.”
“You too?” Sam moaned and rubbed his belly. “Our bodies aren't young anymore, Momma Peach.”
“You said it,” Momma Peach nodded her head and chewed on the piece of peppermint she had in her mouth. “Oh, how I wish I was home in my warm kitchen baking a peach pie. But,” Momma Peach told Sam in a serious voice, “I am very grateful to be in this town, too. You see, I have been doing myself some thinking and I’ve decided that we can’t stand for any funny business with Mr. John. I ain't about to let a poison snake eat an innocent rabbit, no sir and no, ma’am.”
“I'm glad to see you making a stand, Momma Peach,” Sam said, “but I'm not sure how we can help John. I've been racking my brain and I can't seem to come up with a plan, and John has made it clear that he doesn't want our help.”
“Baby,” Momma Peach assured Sam, “Andy Pracks is going to show his ugly face back at this here inn again, you just wait and see. A snake like that, when he's got a hungry taste in his mouth, won't stay away for long. Besides, I think that the bosses he's working for may not want Mr. John behind bars at all...maybe they’ll cut out the middle man and just make sure he ends up dead. Plenty of ways to make accidents happen in a storm like this.”
“Dead?” Rosa asked, alarmed. She closed her laptop and sat up. “What do you mean dead, Momma Peach?”
“Well,” Momma Peach explained, “I was thinking about Martha over at the truck stop and what she told us.”
“About how Coplin and Morris want John to be the first to sell?” Sam asked.
Momma Peach nodded her head. “I ain't so sure blackmailing an innocent man for murder will be enough to scare a few hardened old-timers into selling their land all of a sudden. The man who owns that truck stop doesn't seem like a soft marshmallow that's going to back down from a fight. No,” Momma Peach pointed out, “in my view, it's going to take a lot more than blackmailing a man for murder to scare folks around here.”
“Murder,” Sam said, shaking his head.
Momma Peach nodded her head. “Yep.”
Sam rubbed his chin. “So, you think Andy Pracks will be back, then?”
“I sure do.”
Rosa wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. “Creepy,” she said. “We're trapped in this place and a killer is coming...just like in a book you would read on a rainy night.”
“This ain't no book. This is Mableville, Tennessee. And the folks of Mableville are real people, who are in danger.” Momma Peach shook her head. “We can’t step back and hide.” She focused on Sam. “I have my worries, Mr. Sam. I’m wondering how chopping off the head of one snake will stop those two deadly cobras from sending another one in his place?”
“Coplin and Morris will just keep hiring more killers to come after the people of this town,” Sam said.
“You said it,” Momma Peach said in a worried voice. “Doesn't matter how many we take down, Coplin and Morris have an endless supply of snake eggs in their arsenal.”
Sam walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. He cast his eyes into the storm and studied the heavy falling snow. A brave semi-truck was pulling out of the truck stop parking lot with its headlights on high beam. “It'll be impossible to maneuver in this storm in a vehicle,” Sam said, watching the truck struggle out onto the front street. “If Andy Pracks is coming back for John, he'll be coming back on foot. That fancy limousine he was traveling in is no match for this storm.”
“So...we lock all the doors and call the cops,” Rosa said. “Right, Momma Peach?”
“I sure wish it was that easy,” Momma Peach said and patted Rosa's hand. “The sheriff we met earlier wasn't the type of man who would be willing to walk through a snow storm to come back here to this inn, and Andy Pracks knows that. I know that Coplin and Morris understand how the law in this here town works, and they might even have a few cops on their payroll.”
Rosa couldn't believe her ears. “Momma Peach, this is America, not some corrupt country that terrorizes everyone. My grandfather was trapped in a village in Mexico that was controlled by a gang once when he went on a missionary trip. He barely escaped with his life. Things aren’t like that here!”
“I wish that were so. But just like not all of Mexico is bad, not all of America is good. Unfortunately, the bad guys are gaining more and more ground every day.” Momma Peach put her hand on Rosa's shoulder. “Yes, this is America, but if we let power-hungry politicians and spineless leaders use corrupt laws and money to bully the good guys...we’ll be no better than any other corrupt place on this planet.”
“But...” Rosa said in a confused voice, “this is the land of the free and the brave...the land I love and call home. I understand America has problems, just like other countries, but America is still the greatest country in the world, right? The bad guys will be brought to justice, right?”
Momma Peach sighed. “All I can say is that there once was a time when the bad guys operated only in the shadows, but not anymore—they're walking out in the open while the good guys are being shoved to the sidelines.”
“Rosa,” Sam said, “John is on his own, here. He’s up against powerful forces. Plus, the sheriff has policies and laws he has to go by. Right now, he's going to have to wait for the autopsy report on William Krayton to come back. But because of this storm, an autopsy isn't going to be performed anytime soon, which means John is left on ice for now.”
“And that gives snakes like Andy Pracks room to operate,” Momma Peach pointed out.
Sam nodded his head. “Mableville is a small town full of beautiful, unspoiled property that Coplin and Morris want to snatch for their greedy purposes. And the worst part is the sheriff can't run Coplin and Morris out of town,” Sam finished with frustration in his voice. “They’re willing to play dirty, and the sheriff can’t fight back like that. He has to follow the law, of course.”
“So why fight?” Rosa asked. “Momma Peach, Sam, Mableville isn't our town or our home. Why become involved in a fight that isn't ours?”
“Rosa, Mr. John is our neighbor and the Bible teaches us to love one another. If Mr. Sam and Momma Peach walked away to leave Mr. John to face this peril, why, his blood would be on our hands. No, there comes a time when folks have to stop being selfish, roll up their sleeves, and fight for their neighb
ors, yes sir and yes, ma’am. If it were happening to us and he came to town, I hope he’d do the same for us.” Momma Peach motioned around the room with her hands. “This here inn belongs to Mr. John, who put his life into these walls. It ain't right for another man to come along and destroy what he's built.”
Rosa looked around the room. “I just don't see what we can do for Mr. Minski, Momma Peach. You said it yourself: Even if you kill the snake...another snake will show up sooner or later.”
“Which means we have to go for the heads of the two cobras in charge of the snake hole,” Momma Peach told Rosa in a stern tone. “That's the only way we're going to save Mr. John and the good folks of Mableville.”
“You said it, Momma Peach,” Sam agreed. “And the only way we're going to take down Coplin and Morris is to trap Andy Pracks.”
Momma Peach locked eyes with Sam. “And that task, Mr. Sam, is going to take every bit of brain power we have. Andy Pracks isn't a dumbbell who will walk into a trap, no sir and no, ma’am. Andy Pracks is a clever snake who knows his business.”
Sam grew silent and focused on the storm and thought about Andy Pracks as Momma Peach fetched another piece of peppermint from the depths of her purse and prepared to go downstairs and get herself a cup of coffee.
Sam slowly walked down the hallway with Momma Peach, studying each closed door with careful eyes. “This inn has a total of fifty rooms, Momma Peach,” he said. “The first twenty-five rooms are on the second floor and the last twenty-five rooms are located on the third floor above us. The bottom floor is divided into the lobby area and John's personal apartment. There is a basement that stretches the length of the inn, and an attic, too. So we have a total of four levels, including an attic, with lots and lots of hiding spaces.”
“Has Mr. John rented out every room?” Momma Peach asked.
Sam shook his head. “We're on the third floor, and as you can see, this floor is all but empty. John has rented out twenty-one rooms. I know we're trapped in a storm, but Mableville is a small town, Momma Peach, and the airport isn't really that big. Plus, there are other hotels in town that are offering better amenities.”
“But this here inn is the nicest sleeping pillow in Mableville,” Momma Peach pointed out.
“I guess,” Sam said and scratched the back of his neck. “But even if this inn is the nicest in town, it doesn't offer television, which is a huge turnoff for most folks, especially families with children.”
“I wish this here inn was jammed full of people,” Momma Peach told Sam. She ran her hand over the front of a closed door. “Creepy not knowing who may be lurking inside these empty rooms.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. He looked up and down the hallway. “Andy Pracks could be anywhere in the building as we speak. But my gut is telling me the man isn't on site right now.”
“Mr. Sam, my gut is telling me the same.”
Sam nodded his head. “John is on his guard right now. Andy Pracks will strike when he believes John has let down his guard a little.”
“Which means we have a little time,” Momma Peach told Sam. “Let's go have a look in the attic and then we'll peek our eyes in the basement.”
Sam followed Momma Peach down the hallway and then turned left down a shorter hallway that stopped at a thick wooden door. The wooden door was locked. Momma Peach reached out and grabbed a bronze doorknob and shook it. “A man like Andy Pracks could bypass this lock in a blink of an eye,” she told Sam.
“And so can I,” Sam said. He whipped out his wallet and fished out his bank card. “Watch.”
Momma Peach stepped back and watched Sam fiddle with the gap between the door and the jamb. A few seconds later he pulled the door open. “Patience and know-how,” he said and peeked his head in the door and looked up at a flight of dusty, cold wooden stairs. “Attic is dark,” he told Momma Peach.
Momma Peach imagined a dark attic filled with hideous spiders waiting for a late-night snack. She cringed all over. “Oh, give me strength, give me strength,” she said and then accidentally farted. “Oh, I am gonna gas poor Mr. Sam!” she cried out in embarrassment.
Sam grinned and shrugged as the smell of rotten eggs filled with the hallway. “Better out than in,” he said and found a light switch on the inside wall. Dim, weak light flashed on and illuminated the stairs like a saggy old man using his last ounce of energy to drag his old body to bed. “Ready?”
Momma Peach fanned her nose. “Next time I decide to have a double helping of eggs, Mr. Sam, you remind me to be more ladylike, you hear?”
“A real lady, like yourself, Momma Peach, eats well and understands that the human body sometimes just has to let out some extra gas,” Sam told Momma Peach and patted her shoulder.
Momma Peach blushed. “Oh, Mr. Sam,” she said, “you sure know how to make an old gal like myself feel better about herself.”
“You're not so old, Momma Peach,” Sam protested and slowly worked his way up the stairs.
Momma Peach drew in a deep breath and followed after Sam, keeping a close eye out for any spiders that might be crawling about with hungry fangs ready for her. When she reached the top of the stairs, she found herself in a long room that ran the length of the inn. The room seemed to stretch out forever in all directions. “My, my,” Momma Peach whispered as her eyes wandered over stacked boxes, old pieces of furniture covered over with sheets, old bed frames and mattresses, rusted tools, broken mirrors and other items that John had shoved up into the attic over the years. “A person could get lost in here.”
Sam reached his eyes out and walked them around the attic. “Lots of room for a person to hide, too,” he pointed out. “What we need to look for is a floor door leading back down into the inn.”
“A floor door sounds about right,” Momma Peach said. “Uh, Mr. Sam, what is a floor door? Are you talking about one of them doors that you pull down when you're standing in a hallway or something?”
Sam nodded his head. “Exactly, Momma Peach,” Sam said.
“I’m just making sure,” Momma Peach said and looked around. As she did, she saw a shadow kneel behind a stack of boxes. Momma Peach froze. Her blood went cold. “Uh...Mr. Sam...” she whispered and raised a slow finger and pointed at the stack of boxes. “Something is...behind those boxes.”
Sam spun around and threw his eyes at the stack of boxes. He reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out a pocket knife. “I didn't bring my gun with me on the trip,” he whispered. “This old pocket knife is all I have.”
Momma Peach kept her eyes peeled on the stack of boxes. In her mind, she pictured a monster with foul eyes waiting behind the boxes, waiting to attack with a deadly weapon. “Give me strength, give me strength,” she whispered and wrapped the strap of her pocketbook around her right hand. “Momma Peach has your back.”
Sam looked at Momma Peach. “Stay behind me,” he whispered and then slowly and carefully began walking toward the stack of boxes. “You there!” he yelled and nearly caused Momma Peach to jump out of her skin, “behind the boxes, come out with your hands where we can see them!”
“Uh...yeah!” Momma Peach yelled, feeling like her heart was about to jump out of her chest.
Sam walked to a dusty floor and kicked aside a few pieces of broken glass. “Come out from behind those boxes right now!” he yelled, keeping his pocket knife down low.
“Don't make me go crazy on you up in here!” Momma Peach hollered. “I will tear you a new one like never before!”
A sound came from behind the boxes. Sam stopped walking. Momma Peach stepped up to Sam and focused on the boxes. Then she saw the shadow rise up from behind the boxes and step out into a small opening. “Don't hurt me,” a little boy's voice begged.
“Oh, my,” Momma Peach said and slapped at Sam's hand. “Put the knife away, Mr. Sam,” she said and hurried over to the little boy. The little boy backed away. “Don't be scared, Momma Peach isn't going to hurt you. She thought you were a mean person, that's all.”
The lit
tle boy stared at Momma Peach with scared eyes. His gray jacket was dirty and torn in places. The blue jeans and the old sneakers on his feet were about ready to fall apart. His face was dirty and hungry; his eyes full of fear and his messy blond hair full of dust and dirt. “Please, leave me be. Go away,” he begged Momma Peach.
“Momma Peach can't go away,” Momma Peach said and forced a smile to her face even though her heart was breaking into a million little pieces. “What’s your name?”
“Please...go away,” the little boy begged again and backed up even further when he saw Sam approaching.
Sam held up his right hand. “I'm not going to hurt you, son. It's like Momma Peach told you...we thought you were a bad person hiding behind those boxes.”
“I'm the only one in this attic,” the little boy told Sam in a shaky voice.
“Do you live in this here attic?” Momma Peach asked.
The little boy looked down at his sneakers and nodded his head. “Please don't tell anyone I'm here. If you do, they'll send me back to those foster homes.” The little boy shuddered and looked up at Momma Peach. “Those people don't want me...some of them ain't even nice to me. I hate living in foster homes...I hate it.” The little boy almost began crying.
Momma Peach pegged the little boy to be ten or eleven years of age. “I ain't gonna send you back to a place you don't want to go, no sir and no, ma’am. It ain't right to be forced to lay your head down under a roof where the people don’t want you and can’t be nice to you. That ain't your home. Why, even a dog knows how to find its way home because home is where they’re nice to you. Home is a mighty important place.”
“I ain't got no home.”
Momma Peach felt a tear touch her eye. She quickly wiped it away. “You do now,” she said and reached out her hand. “Tell me your name, okay?”
Not So Peachy Day Page 6
