Momma Peach bent down and gently touched Timmy's shoulder. “Did the man Mr. Sam punched in the nose see you? Now think real hard.”
“No way,” Timmy said, shaking his head vehemently. “I skedaddled upstairs faster than a cat that got its tail stepped on.”
Momma Peach studied Timmy's eyes. “I know you are telling the truth,” she smiled. “You did right to tell us everything.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “Timmy, this is good information. If Andy Pracks had seen Timmy down here after he shot William Krayton, he surely would have gone after him.”
“I promise nobody saw me,” Timmy told Momma Peach.
“We believe you, boy,” John said and patted his lap. “Come here.”
“It's okay,” Momma Peach assured Timmy.
Timmy walked over to John. “Crawl up here, son.” Timmy looked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach nodded her head. Timmy drew in a deep breath and crawled up onto John's knee in the wheelchair. John put a warm, loving arm around him. “Now you listen to me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“See that door back behind the counter?” John pointed to a closed wooden door.
“Yes, sir.”
“That door leads to my living quarters,” John explained. “And inside my living quarters are lots and lots of donuts, as many as you can possibly eat.”
“Really?” Timmy asked.
John nodded his head. “There's also a television set and one of them confusing game systems my grandson plays when he comes to visit. And,” John added, “there is lots of ice cream in my freezer. I like ice cream, even in the winter. Do you like ice cream?” Timmy nodded his head up and down. “Good,” John finished in a gruff but gentle voice. He smiled and looked at Sam and Momma Peach and then focused his attention on Rosa. “Rosa?”
Rosa was shocked that John remembered her name. “Yes, sir?”
John held out his hand. “Come here.” Rosa walked over to John and took his hand. “Take young Timothy and go into my living quarters and stay there until we come for you. I need to talk to Sam and Momma Peach, okay?”
Rosa looked at Momma Peach. “Momma Peach?”
“No place is safer than the home of a soldier,” Momma Peach assured Rosa. “You can be sure of that.”
“Go get yourselves as many donuts as you can eat,” John told Rosa in a warm voice. “Afterward maybe you both can figure how to play that confusing game system my grandson is so crazy about.”
“Yes, sir,” Rosa smiled. “And thank you for getting the power back on, too. I was worried we might be sitting in the cold all day.”
“You're welcome.” John smiled and looked at Timmy. “You know, it took a lot of courage and guts to confess what you saw with those eyes of yours. You're a very brave soldier.”
“Really? I'm a brave soldier?” Timmy asked.
John nodded his head. “Yes, son, you are. Now, go with Rosa, okay?”
“You ain't mad at me…for the donut? And for hiding in your attic?” Timmy asked.
“I'm just grateful I forgot to lock the attic door last time,” John smiled and set Timmy down on his feet. Rosa took Timmy's hand and walked him into John's apartment. She opened the door, and everyone watched as the two youngsters stepped into the immaculately clean apartment. It was appealingly stylish, a little like a sixties bachelor pad but with touches of cozy warmth. Momma Peach smiled in approval.
“Okay,” John said when the door shut behind them and the coast was clear. He turned to Momma Peach and Sam. “So what are you two cooking up, huh? I've seen you on the security cameras walking every inch of my inn. If you're so bound and determined to make my fight your fight, not to mention stubborn as a pair of mules, you better tell me what you're cooking up…I have a bad feeling Andy Pracks is going to make his attack as soon as the sun sets.”
Sam set down the bag of food on the coffee counter. “John, we only want to help—”
“We have a plan,” Momma Peach interrupted Sam. She picked her coffee up and took a sip. “My, Martha makes a good cup of coffee.”
“A mean biscuit, too,” John commented to Momma Peach. “Now, quit stalling and tell me your plan.”
“What's your plan, first?” Momma Peach asked.
He sighed in exasperation. “Sit here in front of the door and wait for Andy Pracks to arrive and hope I'm quicker at the draw than he is,” John explained. “There's too many guests prowling about right now. He'll make his attack when it's dark and when the guests are in their rooms, I figure.”
Sam walked over to the fire roaring in the fireplace and warmed his hands. “John, before we go any further,” he said, “I have to tell you that Momma Peach and I believe Coplin and Morris are planning to carry out something very dangerous.”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“Andy Pracks rode off on a snowmobile after our fight,” Sam explained. “Where did that snake get a snowmobile...or why would he even have one? This is Tennessee, not Alaska.”
Momma Peach worked on her coffee. “It's possible,” she said, “that Coplin and Morris are scheming up a very deadly plan to harm your fine little community, and they’re planning on using this storm as cover.”
John wheeled himself over to the fireplace and warmed his hands. “Okay, you two, I'm all ears. What's the plan?”
“I want to catch me a snake and force that snake to take us to its hidey-hole,” Momma Peach told John. “You see, Mr. John, if Coplin and Morris are planning on carrying out whatever deadly plan they have schemed up, many innocent lives could be lost. Because we don't know for certain what Coplin and Morris are going to attempt, we have to catch ourselves a little snake first. We can’t just get rid of Andy Pracks—they’ll just send another snake in his place. We have to smoke out the nest, you see?”
“Andy Pracks isn't the type of man to squeal,” John pointed out. “Even if you do catch him he'll clam up.”
Momma Peach spotted a chocolate glazed donut and decided to treat herself. “Why not?” she said with hungry eyes and snatched it up off the pretty yellow and blue glass donut tray, “Momma Peach will walk you off going up them stairs.”
“We're worried and she eats donuts,” John sighed.
“Don't mess with Momma Peach when she's eating a donut,” she protested as donut crumbs crumbled down her chin and onto her coat. “I am a hard-working woman, Mr. John, and I deserve a donut now and then, yes sir and yes, ma’am. Need to keep up my strength for the fight ahead. I may not be the brawn in this here fight, but I can be the brains.”
Sam shook his head at John. “Don’t let her fool you—Momma Peach is a smart cookie, but she’s also lethal with her pocketbook. It's best to leave her alone and let her have a second donut.”
“That's right,” Momma Peach beamed and grabbed herself a second donut and waved it at John. “Back to business…I know a snake like Andy Pracks won't talk, but I also know there's ways to make any man talk.”
“Momma Peach,” John said, “I saw enough torture in Vietnam. I'm not going to resort to devious tactics to make a man talk.”
Momma Peach grinned. “Mr. John, I have other ways of making folk talk,” she said and gobbled down her second donut and then grabbed her coffee and took a sip. “Not bad, not bad,” she said, “a little stale...about a week old...but not bad.”
John shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and felt his gun. “Momma Peach, Andy Pracks is going to arrive here tonight with only one purpose: To kill me. That man isn't coming to my inn to play games.”
“Who’s talking about playing games?” Momma Peach asked John. She walked over to the fireplace and bumped Sam aside with her hip. “Make room for the donut-eating momma,” she said, warming her own hands. “And listen to me because I have a plan. And before you say a word, Mr. John, let me tell you that I have dealt with my share of killers in my lifetime. Why, just last autumn a crazy old clown stabbed me and tried to kill me...that crazy old clown, oh, give me strength.” Momma Peach sipped some more coffee. �
��I have solved my share of murder cases and I’m not about to back down now. Of course, I would rather be on a warm, tropical island soaking in the sun, but the good Lord has me here for a purpose and that purpose is to save a little boy’s life and to save your life. So clamp some tape over your mouth and start listening because Momma Peach is going to do herself some talking.”
Sam grinned, decided to get himself a donut, and then listened to Momma Peach explain her plan. When Momma Peach finished, he looked at John. “You gotta admit, John, she’s no shrinking violet. That's some plan.”
John stared at Momma Peach. “Yes, it is...if Momma Peach can pull it off,” he answered Sam in a worried voice and then turned his attention to the storm outside.
Chapter Seven
Night had come. Darkness intensified the blizzard’s wrath. Outside in the storm, Andy Pracks crept through the blowing snow one deadly step at a time, working his way toward the back exit of the Greenview Inn—the same one Momma Peach had taken with Sam and Rosa when they first walked over to the truck stop. Dressed only in a black ski suit, the man could have been a horrifying shadow creature preparing to lurch out of some poor child's closet.
“Time to end this,” Andy said grimly, reaching the exit door. He looked over his shoulder toward the truck stop. The lights at the truck stop were off and the building was cloaked in darkness. “Good,” he said, examining the aged light fixture hanging over the exit door. The light bulb was dim, and its glow seemed to waver. “He must be running the building off a generator. Perfect.”
Andy pulled out a lock-picking device and with skill and ease, he picked the lock and slowly eased open the door to the rear stairwell. With careful eyes he studied the empty space and listened for footsteps. Hearing none, he then stepped inside. “Let's play,” he grinned and cautiously cracked open a wooden door and peeked into the front lobby. He spotted John sitting at the front door holding his gun. Sam was standing next to John, unaware that they were being watched. “Just as I thought,” Andy whispered. He eased back into the stairwell, took the black rucksack off his shoulders and set it down on the floor. He snatched open the top flap. “Time’s up,” Andy hissed and pulled out an ugly gun with a silencer attached to the barrel. He eased open the door again and crept out into the lobby and aimed his gun directly at John's back.
“Oh no, you don't, dummy!” Momma Peach yelled.
“Huh?” Andy yelled and spun around. He saw Momma Peach explode up from behind the front counter with a shotgun in her hands—Martha's shotgun. Momma Peach aimed the shotgun at his face.
“Drop the gun, sucker, or I won’t hesitate to rearrange your ugly face!” Momma Peach yelled. “I don't chew my cabbage twice so you better mind me the first time!”
Sam and John turned and looked at Andy. The man was frozen in his tracks. “Better do what the lady says,” Sam warned Andy, “because she's in a real bad mood tonight.”
“Boy, you got cotton wool in your ears?” Momma Peach growled at Andy. “I done told you to drop that gun you're holding!”
Andy stared at Momma Peach. She narrowed her eyes and racked the slide of the shotgun so it clicked loudly in the quiet lobby. He realized she was indeed prepared to fire the shotgun. His blood went cold. “Alright!” he yelled and threw the gun in his right hand down onto the lobby floor. “There, I dropped my gun.”
Momma Peach walked out from behind the front counter. “Mr. Sam, do your thing.”
Sam nodded his head. He walked over to the coffee station, opened the cabinet, and retrieved a rope. Andy saw the rope and panicked, but before he could formulate a plan, John caught his eye. John aimed his gun at Andy's face, too. “Don't even think about making a run for it,” he said in a deadly serious tone. “I won’t rearrange your face, I'll rearrange how your brain thinks, you filthy sewer scum.”
Andy knew if he moved one inch, Momma Peach and John would fire their weapons and end his life. “You can't win, old man,” he growled at Sam who approached him with the rope. “It doesn't matter if you tie me up and take me to that dumb hick of a sheriff. Coplin and Morris will have me sprung from jail and breathing fresh air quicker than you can blink.”
“Who said we're taking you to the sheriff, dummy?” Momma Peach asked. “You came here to kill my two babies and I don't take kindly to snakes that want to kill my babies, no sir and no, ma’am.” Momma Peach grinned at Andy. “Tonight, boy, you're going to get a good old-fashioned beating like you've never had before and then we're going to hide your worthless body up there in the attic.”
“When spring comes,” John told Andy, “we're going to drag your body to the ninety-four acres of land I own out in the country, land I hunt on, and bury you so deep only the moles and the worms will be able to find you.”
Sam walked up to Andy and without wasting a second kicked the man's right knee out from under him. Andy toppled down onto the floor. “Roll over onto your stomach and put your hands behind your back, boy,” Sam ordered in a voice that told Andy he was in some very serious trouble. He looked up at the man in the wheelchair again only to see John still aiming his gun directly at his head. When he turned his head to the right he saw Momma Peach aiming her shotgun at his face. “Now!”
Andy rolled over onto his stomach and put his hands behind his back and began wondering how he had let a bunch of Southern hicks get the best of him. “No one could have seen me,” he demanded. “It's nearly one o'clock in the morning!”
“Oh,” Momma Peach grinned, “we got friends in low and high places, if you will. We know a watchful eye over at the truck stop,” Momma Peach told Andy. “You were seen sneaking up to the back door of the inn, dummy. All it took was one phone call to blow your cover.” Momma Peach watched Sam begin to tie Andy's hands behind his back. “You see, boy, in this world, love, respect and kindness go a long way. Your weapon is hate, but hate always loses in the end.”
“Save the sermon, you oversized blimp of a hypocrite,” Andy hissed.
“Oh no, he didn't!” Momma Peach yelled. She walked up to Andy, handed Sam the shotgun, and then, to John's shock, jumped into the air like a ferocious tiger and practically belly-flopped down onto Andy's back. Andy let out a mighty “Oooofff” sound then dropped off into dreamland.
“Ouch,” Sam winced.
“That...had to hurt,” John agreed and looked at Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, remind me to never insult you.”
Momma Peach chuckled to herself and stood up. “This here snake is in dreamland temporarily, but his nightmare is just beginning. Mr. Sam, finish tying him up for me.”
Sam handed Momma Peach her shotgun and skillfully tied Andy's arms and legs together in tight knots. “Okay,” he said, standing up, “it's your show, Momma Peach.”
“Then let's get this dummy up to the attic,” Momma Peach said. “Mr. John, hold my shotgun.” John wheeled over to Momma Peach and took her shotgun. “Okay, Mr. Sam, let's you and me break our backs carrying this dummy to the elevator.”
Sam nodded his head, bent down, grabbed Andy's legs, and helped Momma Peach carry him over to the lobby elevator. “I'll take the back elevator,” John told Sam and wheeled himself behind the front counter and hurried into his apartment.
“Up to the attic,” Momma Peach told Sam, catching her breath. Sam pushed the button and the elevator doors slid shut. “Mr. Sam?”
“Yes, Momma Peach?” Sam asked.
“I am getting awful sick of dealing with snakes like this one. But what gets me really mad is that this snake is nothing compared to the two boss snakes we have to catch.”
“Do you really think you can make this low-life talk, Momma Peach?”
“Yep,” Momma Peach said and watched the elevator door slide open. “Here we go, heave-ho!” Sam reached down and grabbed Andy's legs and helped Momma Peach carry him up into the attic. After securing Andy's body in a tight corner, he hurried back down the attic stairs and found John. “I'll carry you up if you like, and then come back for your wheelchair.”
John
nodded his head. “Only my hired help ever goes up into the attic. I haven't been up there in years.”
Sam carefully picked John up in his arms and with all the strength he had, he managed to carry the man up the attic stairs and then came back down and retrieved his wheelchair.
As Sam worked to get John into the attic, Momma Peach put on a scary monster mask she had spotted in the attic the first time she came up with Sam. “Smelly,” she said and slid a black sheet around her body. “All set for the play,” she chuckled and looked at herself in an old broken mirror leaning against a worn-down chair. “Oh, Momma Peach, you are a scary lady tonight, yes indeed. Watch out, world, because Momma Peach is on the loose!”
Sam wheeled John over to Momma Peach and studied her choice of outfit. “Momma Peach, you're enough to give a grown man nightmares.”
“And don't you forget it,” Momma Peach chuckled and then kicked at Andy's legs to see if he would wake up. The man groaned a little but did not open his eyes yet. “Okay, you two, get out of sight and let me do my thing,” she whispered. Sam wheeled John behind a pile of boxes and hunched down.
“Okay, you,” Momma Peach boomed in a spooky voice, “time to wake up!” Andy didn't move. “Hey, dummy, wake up!” Momma Peach yelled and slapped Andy across his face. Andy let out a low moan. “That's right, wake up, your time to pay has come!”
Andy slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a dark creature bathed in a weak, eerie light, standing over him dressed in black. “What?” he asked in shock as he jerked his eyes open. Fear ran through his veins and gripped his heart. “Hey...where am I…what's going on here?” he asked in a desperate voice and began struggling against the ropes holding him captive.
“Your time has come,” Momma Peach told Andy, changing her voice into a low, deep angry tone that sounded like a man twice her age and twice as frightening.
Andy stopped struggling against the ropes and froze. He looked up at Momma Peach—at the scary mask—with terrified eyes. “Leave me alone!” he screamed like a scared schoolyard boy. “Untie me!”
Not So Peachy Day Page 10
