What a Peachy Night

by Wendy Meadows

  “An adopted child. A boy,” Beth replied. “Love Rich Wording is the boy's name. And before you ask, yeah, that's a real strange name for a boy. But I'm just telling you the name I found on the adoption records…after I did a little hacking, but you didn't hear that from me.”

  “His first name was Love?” Michelle whispered.

  “Yes, Love,” Beth confirmed. “The boy was brought over to America from Germany after World War II ended. He was a war orphan. Poor thing was only seven years old when his mother was found dead. Afterwards, Mr. Wyatt sent him away to a boarding school in Europe.”

  “I see,” Michelle said. “Beth, can you run a search on Love Wording?”

  “Already did,” Beth confirmed. “Love Wording died in 1975. At least, that's what his death certificate states. Cause of death was drowning.”

  “Can you get me a photo of how Love Rich Wording looked before he died?”

  “No photos,” Beth told Michelle in a disappointed voice. “I've burned my computer up searching for a single photo. All I was able to find was a young Love Wording standing beside Mr. Wording at the Wording Hospital groundbreaking ceremony. Of course, now the hospital is called a Medical Center and has undergone so much change that you can barely recognize the old hospital.”

  “Whatever came of the older Mr. Wording?” Beth asked.

  “Jeremy Wording was found poisoned in New York in 1981, at the age of seventy-one. His business partner, a man named Robert Bibb, was arrested for the murder…”

  Michelle heard something in Beth's voice. “But?” she asked.

  Beth shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know what to make of this, but in his official statement during the trial, Mr. Bibb swore Love Rich Wording was the killer. It was in all the papers, though they claimed he was insane and trying to get his way out of doing time. Mr. Bibb swore he saw Love in the apartment building their offices were housed in. However, Love had an airtight alibi—just like his father had had for his mother’s death—and in any case, the jury didn't buy Bibb’s claim and sentenced him to life in prison. He died of cancer in jail in the eighties.”

  Momma Peach studied Michelle's face. It was plain to see that Beth had dug up plenty of juicy information. “Baby?” she said and pointed at the clock hanging on the wall behind the front counter, “time is ticking away.”

  “Beth, does Mr. Bibb have any living relatives?” Michelle asked in a quick voice.

  “I can find out.”

  “Please,” Michelle urged Beth. “You're doing great work and I am very grateful. Thank you, Beth. You'll never know how much your research has helped.”

  Beth felt her cheeks turn pink. She wasn't used to anyone complimenting her. Being a female cop meant she had to be hard and tough. “Anytime, Detective,” she said in a proud voice. “I'll get to work on finding out if Mr. Bibb has any living relatives.”

  “Thanks, Beth,” Michelle said and hung up the phone. She turned to Momma Peach. “Momma Peach, boy do I have an earful for you.”

  Momma Peach hurried over to Michelle, grabbed her arm, and ran into the kitchen. “Tell Momma Peach what that sweet Beth found out.”

  Michelle grabbed her coffee cup and filled it full of hot coffee. “Mr. Jeremy Wording and his wife, Meredith Wording, adopted a son from Germany,” Michelle began. The boy's name was Love Rich Wording.”

  “Love Rich Wording?” Momma Peach asked, looking blank. Michelle nodded her head. “Okay, what else? Keep your lips moving.”

  Michelle took a sip of her coffee. “Let me rewind a little,” she said and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Meredith Wording was found floating in the Pacific. Her death was ruled a suicide, but according to Beth, the Los Angeles Police Department didn't believe Mr. Wording was innocent.”

  “What year was the lady found in the ocean?”

  “1959,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “Beth said one report suspected Mr. Wording killed his wife because she had filed for divorce while a second reporter suspected she was killed because she might have started some vicious rumors about the hospital he founded being a front for illegal organ transplant operations. Who knows the real reason?”

  “My, my,” Momma Peach said as if she had taken a bite of sour pie, “what an evil world we live in.”

  Michelle nodded her head and sipped her coffee. “Momma Peach, after Mrs. Wording was killed, Mr. Wording sent his son to a boarding school in Europe. In 1981, Mr. Wording was found...are you ready for this? Poisoned to death.”

  “Goodness!” Momma Peach exclaimed.

  “Hold on,” Michelle added. “Momma Peach, according to Beth, Love Rich Wording died in 1975. The cause of death was drowning.”

  “Goodness and gracious all together,” Momma Peach said.

  Michelle looked down at her coffee cup and then focused her eyes on Momma Peach. “Mr. Wording’s business partner, a man named Robert Bibb, was tagged for the murder. However, Mr. Bibb claimed in court that Love Rich Wording, the son, was the killer. He claims he saw the younger Mr. Wording in his father’s office building.”

  Momma Peach sat down at her baking table and shook her head. “Love Rich Wording faked his death, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”

  “I agree,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “Unfortunately, Beth couldn’t find a single photo of him. All she could dig up was an old photo of Love Wording as a child, standing next to his father Mr. Wording at the groundbreaking ceremony for the hospital he donated to, when it was first being built.”

  Momma Peach grew silent, thought for a minute, and then spoke. “If Love Rich Wording is J.W. Wording, then Beth has armed us with some decent ammunition. I ain't sure how to fire the ammunition and in what direction, but I am sure Beth has lined our gun belt with some mighty fine bullets.”

  Michelle checked the clock. “Beth did some great research,” Michelle said, “but her research doesn't bring us any closer to discovering the name of the cologne this guy was wearing.”

  Momma Peach picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. “Now don't go getting all discouraged on me,” Momma Peach told Michelle. “Maybe Beth gave us a magnifying glass…”

  “What do you mean? Like a hint?” Michelle asked.

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Assuming that Love Rich Wording is going by the assumed name of J.W. Wording,” she said in a thoughtful voice, “maybe he tried to hide his name somehow, like a puzzle, in the cologne?”

  “How?” Michelle asked.

  Momma Peach rubbed her chin. “Love Rich Wording was adopted from Germany...so maybe, the name of the cologne is in German?”

  “Could be.”

  “So let's weed out every cologne that isn't German,” Momma Peach said in a quick voice. She snatched up the pad of paper and began scratching out every cologne that wasn't attached to a German name. “Okay, let's see...well, we still have a list, but not as long.”

  Michelle finished off her coffee and refilled her cup. “Okay...let's see...Love Rich Wording...how can we—” Michelle stopped talking. Her eyes grew wide. “Momma Peach!” she exclaimed, “you said the cologne smelled of money...Rich!”

  Momma Peach felt excitement burst through her veins. “That's right.”

  “Now, how to say the word 'rich' in German?” Michelle asked. “I better go call Beth. She'll find out for us.” Michelle raced off and returned a few minutes later. She told Momma Peach how to say the word in German and spelled it out for her. Momma Peach scanned the names of colognes but came up empty. “Okay...now we try the first name.” Michelle raced off to the phone again and came back just as fast. “Beth is really on the ball tonight,” she said in a quick voice.

  “How do you say love in German?” Momma Peach asked in an urgent voice, scanning down the list with her pen poised.

  “Liebe,” Michelle told Momma Peach and spelled out the word.

  Momma Peach quickly scanned the names of colognes and then yelled: “There it is! Look!”

  Michelle nearly jumped out of her skin. Momma Peach yanked up the pad of
paper and shoved it in her face. And right there, on page three, was a cologne named Liebe. “We found it, Momma Peach!”

  Momma Peach jumped up and began doing a jig. “My baby and that sweet, dear Beth are both geniuses.” Momma Peach grabbed Michelle and planted a big kiss on her cheek. “Oh, you saved a life!”

  Michelle couldn't help but smile. “No, Momma Peach, we saved a life together.”

  Momma Peach's smile widened. “I wouldn't have remembered that name, no, not in a million years. But by sweet grace, we sleuthed out the name.”

  Michelle looked at the pad of paper resting on the baking table. “Assuming that we did find the name,” she said and began to worry. Her smile quickly faded. “Momma Peach, what if that's not the name of the cologne?”

  “It is,” Momma Peach promised. “It’s got to be. I feel it in my gut. I couldn’t come up with it in my memory, but now that I’ve heard it, why, my mind knows for a fact that this must be the name of the cologne J.W. Wording...uh, Love Rich Wording...whoever...told me he was wearing!”

  Relief whispered through Michelle's heart. She walked over to the kitchen counter, snatched up her coffee, took a sip, and let out a sigh of relief. “Now all we can do is wait for...let's just call him J.W. Wording...to call.”

  Momma Peach agreed. She snatched open the refrigerator, pulled out a load of peach bread, and hurried over to the kitchen counter. “We have about an hour to talk,” she said and began cutting the bread into even slices. “Now, listen to Momma Peach. When I was in New York years ago, I saw J.W. Wording have supper with a woman who had to be at least twenty years older than he was, on the very same night that poor housekeeper was found dead.”

  Michelle studied Momma Peach's eyes. She saw a thought slowly emerging from a place of curiosity and speculation. “What are you thinking, Momma Peach?”

  “Maybe,” Momma Peach said, “just maybe, the woman I saw J.W. Wording have supper with was his momma? It’s a stretch, but maybe his momma faked her own death the same way he did. And maybe,” Momma Peach added in a very serious tone, “the people J.W. Wording killed were marked targets...people who were a threat to either himself or his mother. We could research that. Now, this is only a theory to chew on before I can bother tossing it into a frying pan to cook it...but it's worth taking out of the freezer and defrosting.”

  Michelle nodded her head. “I'll get a list of people that J.W. Wording killed and see if we can find a connection.”

  “That's good thinking,” Momma Peach told Michelle and handed her a plate of bread. “We need to get some food down us. We're running off coffee and leftover pie. This bread will help us.”

  Michelle took her plate and looked down at a delicious piece of peach bread. “Momma Peach, pulling an all-nighter like this…well, this case makes me feel like a real cop.”

  “You've always been a cop.”

  “Oh, I know...but I didn't feel like a cop in Vermont, or in Alaska, or even in Nevada. I kinda felt...well, like a lost little girl at times. But whenever I'm on home turf, I feel like a cop.” Michelle took a bite of her bread. “Even when the bad guys come to town, I feel more sure of myself when we’re here. Also, I've been hitting the gym real hard and laying off the sweets...well, until today. I feel good about myself, Momma Peach. I feel like a seasoned police detective, and that's very important to me. I know a time will come when I will retire my badge, but that time isn't now.”

  “You'll never retire your badge,” Momma Peach smiled. “Being a cop is in your bones...in your heart. And let me tell you, this town is very blessed to have you.”

  “I’m the Iron Woman, they say,” Michelle said and shook her head. “I guess I'll never be known as the cute girl who wears pretty dresses and high heels.”

  Momma Peach grinned. She was full of coffee and her mind was running into a lot of rooms and glancing in at a bunch of hidden thoughts. “Well, you did wear that leather jacket on the beach a few times.”

  Michelle glanced down at her leather jacket. “Oh...yeah,” she winced. “I guess being a woman isn't my bag.”

  “Baby,” Momma Peach promised Michelle, “you're a real woman full of beauty, intelligence, love, and strength. You don’t have to measure yourself up to other women; you should measure yourself against what matters to you, not you to them. If you feel strong and smart and you’ve got love in your life, then that is how you are the most beautiful woman. Not by what you wear or what others say.” Momma Peach smiled. “Now, eat up and let's get to talking before our nasty friend calls. Who knows what move he has in store for Momma Peach next?”

  J.W. called Momma Peach’s bakery phone at exactly six o'clock. What Momma Peach didn't know was that the man was standing directly across the street from her bakery, dressed in a thick gray overcoat. “Good morning, Momma Peach, how was your night?” he asked in a calm and rested voice. “Did you stay up late? Drink a lot of coffee?”

  Momma Peach gritted her teeth. “Listen, I ain't in the mood for small talk. You want to come to town and threaten my babies, then let’s get on with it—get to the point and let’s play your stupid game, or I'll beat you bow-legged with my pocketbook when I get my hands on you.”

  J.W. grinned. He didn't mind Momma Peach's threat. After all, the woman’s voice sounded shaky from lack of sleep, wired up on coffee, and crankier than a skunk sprayed with perfume. “Why, Momma Peach, is that any way to talk to an old friend?” he asked.

  “You're not any friend of mine,” Momma Peach fired off. “Now listen, turkey, stop your jawing and get down to business.”

  J.W. searched the fog. The fog was thick and deadly—delightfully mysterious. “Very well, Momma Peach. I want you to tell me the name of the cologne I was wearing the night I met you in the dining room of that lovely hotel.”

  “The name of the cologne is Liebe, you piece of roadkill. Not even a buzzard would touch your corpse!”

  J.W. stopped smiling. So Momma Peach had remembered the name of the cologne after all...which meant he would not be able to speed things along by killing a random person. But rules were rules. “Very good, Momma Peach,” he growled. “I'm very impressed that your mind managed to locate the memory of that evening in such detail.”

  “Piece of cake,” Momma Peach replied, not revealing how she figured it out. She wiped her left hand across her forehead and looked at Michelle. If Michelle had known J.W. was standing directly across the street she would have snuck out the back door, circled around, and come upon J.W. with her gun at the ready and ended his deadly game. Instead, she stood still and listened to Momma Peach talk into the phone.

  J.W. pulled a syringe out of the right pocket of his overcoat, studied it, and then put the syringe away. “Very well, Momma Peach, now we move forward in the game.” J.W. examined the empty street. “Two people will die by noon unless you can tell me how the people I killed were connected. You have six hours.”

  Momma Peach stood very still. “He's trying to tell me who he really is by playing a game,” she whispered. “I don’t have a choice but to play along,” she whispered to Michelle in despair.

  “Momma Peach, did you hear me?” J.W. demanded. “I will call you at noon.”

  “I heard you, turkey.”

  J.W. looked across the street. Even though he couldn't see Momma Peach's bakery through the foggy gloom, he felt secure knowing she was standing inside, trapped by her fear. “You have six hours.” J.W. ended the call and walked away into the fog and vanished.

  “I have six hours to find out how the people that monster killed were connected,” Momma Peach told Michelle and slammed down the phone. “If I fail...he'll kill two people.”

  “He's adding more people to each forward move,” Michelle told Momma Peach in a worried voice. “Next he'll threaten to kill three people and then four.”

  Momma Peach rubbed her eyes. “Oh, give me strength,” she begged. “I am seeing double and need a nap, yes sir and yes, ma’am. Me oh my and my oh me, after a night like that, I sure need a nap.”r />
  Michelle tapped the phone. “Looks like it's going to be a long day for everyone, including Beth,” she said and snatched up the phone and called the police station. “Beth, I know your shift is about to end in an hour, but I need you to sit tight.”

  “I had a feeling,” Beth told Michelle. “I made a fresh pot of coffee and grabbed some chocolate out of the vending machine. I also called my cousin Ralph and woke him up.”

  “Ralph?” Michelle asked. “Doesn't he work at the library?”

  “Ralph is one of the librarians. He's as dorky as they come, bless his heart, but he's a good man and he's married to a good woman,” Beth replied. “And when it comes to brains, he sure isn't short in that department.” Beth took a sip of coffee. “I'm going to have Ralph help me dig around some, if that's okay, Detective.”

  “Beth, I trust you. If you say your cousin can help then get him on board...but silently, okay? We don't need a panic on our hands. He cannot tell anyone else in town, absolutely not a word. This is confidential police business.”

  “Understood,” Beth told Michelle. “I'll make sure Ralph understands that he needs to keep a closed lip and a working mind.”

  “You're the best, Beth. I know you're tired and I really appreciate you staying over with me and helping out.”

  “Well, this caffeine is keeping me too wired, and besides, my husband is away seeing his sister in North Georgia, so I really don't have to rush home anytime soon.” Beth rolled her eyes. “Rhonda is having one of her sick weeks again, which means everyone has to run to her side and assure her she isn't going to die. That woman will live until she's a hundred and still swears she's dying tomorrow.”

  Michelle felt a grin touch her tired lips. “I take it you're glad you didn't have to accompany your husband, then?”

  “You bet I'm glad,” Beth confessed. “I love my sister-in-law, but I can only be in the same room with her for five minutes before I'm ready to pull out my gun and shoot myself in the foot.”

  “I bet,” Michelle told Beth.