“My, my,” Momma Peach said in a very sad voice, “what a shame. I honestly thought that nice detective was...decent in his heart. A little old and a little sloppy, perhaps, but I thought he was good-hearted. What a shame.”
“That's not the worst of it,” Michelle continued. “The worst part is—well, you may want to sit down for this.”
“Just lay it on me. I’m strong enough to handle anything, at this point.”
Michelle set down her drink and fiddled with a pen, reluctant to say it out loud. “Detective MacNeigh went a step or two further. Much further. He decided to help J.W. Wording kill you in exchange for a million dollars.” Michelle was silent for a long moment, listening for Momma Peach’s reaction and hearing nothing. Finally, she continued, “Detective MacNeigh helped Wording escape the night he was forced to flee from the hotel.”
Momma Peach could not speak for a time. She felt her heart break. She took a long breath before replying. “I guess Momma Peach was a blind bat. I truly believed that man was a hero. But now I understand why everything happened the way it did. Yes sir and yes, ma’am, now I know why the detective never showed his face until the next morning.”
“I'm sorry, Momma Peach,” Michelle said.
“So am I,” Momma Peach sighed. “But, when times are hard and a person is in a squeeze, I know that they will show their true colors, and some will agree to just about anything to save their own hide. Desperation turns a person's mind into a field of hysteria, yes sir and yes, ma’am.” Momma Peach shook her head. “This here case is turning awful muddy.”
“I know.”
Momma Peach closed her eyes. “I heard one of your guys blaring orders from his car earlier. At least people are home behind locked doors.”
“That may be true, but the mayor sure isn't happy. He wants to know why I'm letting a killer walk loose in our town.” Michelle turned in her chair to peer out through the blinds at the dark street and the fog. “I walked him outside to see how bad the fog is and asked him what he wanted me to do. I just don’t see that we have any choice. I...kinda lost my temper, too. But Momma Peach, the man expected me to miraculously produce the killer right before his eyes...what a jerk. We don’t have the resources to run a manhunt. Not right now, not in this fog.”
Momma Peach chuckled to herself. “Our dear mayor isn't a very logical man.”
“You can say that again. He ordered me to call in the FBI and the State Police. I told him the FBI was already on board and had asked the State Police to step aside for the time being—but with this weather, they’ll be too busy to come to our little town anyway. Needless to say, the mayor made it clear that the day I leave town will be the happiest day of his life.”
“Ignore that bag of wind, baby. This town needs you, and he knows that,” Momma Peach told Michelle. “The mayor is always huffing and puffing over something. No one pays him any mind.”
“I know, but he sure does get under my skin,” Michelle sighed. “I felt like kicking him upside his fat head. Who is he to demand I go out into this fog and search for a killer? J.W. Wording could be hiding anywhere. Plus, we don’t even know what he looks like right now. Sure, you told me what he looked like years ago, Momma Peach, but the man is older and has most likely changed his appearance by now.” Michelle shook her head. “Besides, your life is on the line, and we have to play this game very carefully.”
“Baby,” Momma Peach told Michelle, “you're a great cop, but you're lousy at handling that temper of yours.” Momma Peach chuckled and added, “Then again, maybe I ain't so good at controlling my temper, either. That makes us a perfect pair.”
Michelle grinned. “You've beaten more people with your pocketbook than I can count, Momma Peach. At least I have a badge on my side.”
Momma Peach chuckled again. “You’ve got lethal training, too. When you hit a target, you hit it dead on.”
Michelle remembered Momma Peach beating a rough biker with her pocketbook and laughed. “Momma Peach, I swear you would beat a hungry tiger with your pocketbook if it tried to take your lunch.”
Momma Peach grinned. “Momma Peach don't take bad manners from anybody. Tiger or no, I ain’t taking no lip. Anyhow, speaking of taking lip, I need to quit flapping mine and get to thinking.”
Michelle stopped smiling and grew sober. “Any idea how we can trap J.W. Wording, Momma Peach?”
“Not yet,” Momma Peach replied in a miserable voice. “I have to lure the man into the bakery but he sure ain't gonna waltz in here with his eyes shut, no sir and no, ma’am. And what worries me is that I know that monster has a plan to lure me out into the fog…but I don't know how. And of course, he can change the rules of the game at any second. Sure, we stopped his money-making operation, and sure the FBI is arresting two of his people, but we don't know how many more people that turkey has working for him.” Momma Peach fought back another yawn. “There's a lot of things hidden in this fog we can't see...important, hidden things. Facts. I’m assuming J.W. Wording tried to start up his money-making operation again because he was low on money, but there could be other reasons, who knows?”
Michelle began to reply but saw a light on her office phone blinking, indicating that another call was trying to come through on her extension. “Momma Peach, let me put you on hold. I have a call trying to come through.” Michelle put Momma Peach on hold and answered the call.
It was Shelia. “Michelle, honey, I have some real bad news for you,” Shelia said in a worried voice.
“Lay it on me,” Michelle told her friend, using one of Momma Peach's phrases. She took a breath to steel herself.
“Nadine Murton called someone right before my agents kicked in her office door. They caught her shredding papers but managed to get her cell phone before she erased the call log. We had to trace the number through her mobile service provider right now, but we don’t know who it was.”
“I’m pretty sure I know who she called,” Michelle told Shelia. “When was the call placed?”
Shelia told Michelle the time. “That was right before Momma Peach called me,” she said in a worried voice. “No wonder Momma Peach said he sounded grumpy...but he still gave her until midnight to remember the name. Huh…”
“Michelle, honey, what are you saying?” Shelia asked.
Michelle stood up behind her desk and took a few steps, holding the phone to her shoulder and thinking it through. “He must know,” she whispered to herself, “but he's still playing the game...or is he?” she pondered in confusion. “Shelia, can you give me the number Nadine Murton called?”
“Sure, honey,” Shelia said and gave Michelle the number to J.W. Wording's cell phone. “What are you thinking?”
Michelle picked up a pen and began tapping her desk. “I won't know until I talk to Momma Peach,” she told Shelia. “Keep me updated, okay? And whatever you do, don't get stressed. You're managing the takedown in California, not to mention I haven’t forgotten that you’re expecting a baby, Shelia. I want you to have a healthy baby girl. This can’t get in the way of that.”
“Oh honey,” Shelia promised Michelle, “I have tough skin, don't worry. I'll be in touch.”
Michelle put down the phone and looked at her office window. “What are you up to, J.W. Wording?” she asked in a worried voice. “What are you planning?”
Momma Peach heard a knock at the back door. She quickly grabbed a kitchen knife and with nervous steps, she crept over to the refrigerator blocking the door. “Who is knocking on Momma Peach's back door?”
“It's Old Joe, Momma Peach,” Old Joe called out.
“Old Joe?” Momma Peach exclaimed. “What in the world?” Momma Peach put down the kitchen knife, pulled the refrigerator away from the back door, unlocked it, and pulled the door open. Old Joe appeared wreathed in the heavy fog, droplets of water clinging everywhere to his clothes. “Old Joe?”
“Now before you go getting all mad at Old Joe,” the man begged, “let me explain.”
“You better explain,” M
omma Peach said gruffly, but she was indeed happy to have a friend by her side for this ordeal. She grabbed Old Joe, yanked him into the kitchen, and slammed the back door. Once it was locked and the heavy refrigerator wrestled back into place, she turned to face him. “Start talking.”
Old Joe spotted a fresh pot of coffee brewing and smelled the kitchen air. “I sure did miss this kitchen,” he said in a fond voice. He looked at Momma Peach. “Our little boy Timothy is safe, Momma Peach. He's with Able and Able’s momma.”
“So why are you here, Joe?”
“Because I couldn’t just...I couldn't leave you,” Old Joe confessed. He looked down at the kitchen knife and gently pushed it away from Momma Peach’s hand. Better safe than sorry. “Momma Peach, I'm getting older, and you know and I know that I haven't done much good in my life.” Old Joe sighed. “You're the only person who has ever believed in me and taken a chance on me...the only one who has trusted that I am capable of standing up as a man instead of a bum and a criminal. I know you trusted me to help get Timothy to safety, but it ain't right for a man to stay so far away when he’s left a scared woman behind. And well, Old Joe cares about you...I’d rather die in a town I know well than stand safe at a distance and watch you try to hold onto the tail of a tiger alone.” Old Joe looked at Momma Peach with love and concern in his eyes. “You sure were scared when I left with Timmy, and that didn't sit well in my heart, Momma Peach.”
Momma Peach couldn't believe her ears. She stared at Old Joe in shock, touched by his outpouring of affection. There was hope for the man after all. Tears began to fall from her eyes. “Old Joe—”
Old Joe held up his right hand. “Long ago I did your husband wrong. Your husband was a mighty good man, Momma Peach...I didn't deserve the kindness he showed me.” Old Joe shook his head. “I was too arrogant and stupid to see that the friendship your husband was offering me was far better than a pocket full of money that wouldn't last me a night. But what did I go off and do? I stabbed your husband in the back and made him come to you in shame. I will never forgive myself for that, either. It’s a miracle you forgave me, too.” Old Joe walked over to the coffee pot and looked at it for a moment. He looked up at her, a determined look in his eye. “I got to thinking while those two cops were driving me and Timmy to Savannah. I got to thinking that it wasn't right for me to betray your husband and then desert you into the bargain. What would your husband say if his ghost could talk? Why, never mind you trying to wrestle a tiger by the tail, your husband would gore me like an angry ox for daring to leave your side in a time of need. Especially after you...went and forgave me and believed in me the way he did, all those years ago. It's not fitting for a man to always hold out his hand and not offer anything in return.” Old Joe stepped towards his friend with his old shoulders as straight as he could hold them. “Momma Peach, I know I ain't no hero, but I owe you a great deal...I owe you a debt that money can't pay off. So please, let me stay here and stand by your side.”
Momma Peach wiped her tears away. “I surely will, Old Joe. I will be proud to have you by my side, and I know my husband would say the same, God rest his soul, if he were here.” She focused her thoughts on the task at hand. “It's nearly midnight, Joe. That J.W. Wording is going to call me at midnight. I ain't sure what's gonna happen after that. So you better pour yourself some coffee and sit down for a bit.”
Old Joe nodded his head. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the baking table. “I ain't never seen you barricade yourself in your kitchen,” he said in a worried voice, looking at the unplugged fridge.
Momma Peach slowly folded her arms. “I have the front door barricaded, too,” she confessed.
“From the looks of your face, you have your mind barricaded into the bargain,” Old Joe told Momma Peach. He sipped on his coffee. “You seem awful troubled.”
“I can’t help it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to catch a monster, Old Joe,” Momma Peach confessed. She leaned against the refrigerator and began explaining to Old Joe everything that had happened since he left town with Timothy and Able. Old Joe listened with careful ears.
“My,” Old Joe said in a disgusted voice. “Who’d think up such a thing—folks paying for other peoples’ organs. Mighty sick thing to do.”
“Nadine Murton and Martin Galloway are in FBI custody, Joe,” Momma Peach continued. “That’s been our one stroke of luck so far. Michelle called me and said Nadine Murton managed to sneak in a call to an unknown number before the FBI snagged her. We're assuming she called Mr. Wording.” Momma Peach bit down on her lip. “As of now, we have no idea what he knows or is planning to do. All I can do is wait for him to call.”
Old Joe sipped at his coffee. “Let me get this straight in my mind,” he said, shaking off the exhaustion of his long drive and hoping Able's elderly mother would not mind that he had chosen to “borrow” her car. “This turkey is playing some kind of sick game with you, right?”
“Right.”
“And by now he probably knows that the FBI has closed his business right down, am I right?” Old Joe asked.
Momma Peach nodded her head. “I think so.”
“But he didn't let on he knew about it?”
“Not to Momma Peach.”
Old Joe nodded his head. “That tells me one of two things. First, he either suspects you are involved but doesn't want to let you know he knows. Or second, he has other enemies besides you and might be checking out who really stabbed him in the back...narrowing down the list, so to speak.”
“If that's true, Old Joe, if J.W. has more enemies who he fears might be treading on his boot strings, then why is he playing this game with me? Why not just kill me?” Momma Peach shook her head. “I think J.W. is playing with me because his pride is wounded and he wants to settle an old score. He also wants me out of the way because I’m the only person who knows he was the Manhattan Killer. I think he’s counting on me to make him famous, somehow.”
“Maybe,” Old Joe agreed, “but a man like Wording can have a lot of enemies, Momma Peach, enemies that don't know he was this Manhattan Killer. After all, it has been some years since you've seen the man, right?”
“Right.”
“The man has to have been doing something or another during that time,” Old Joe pointed out. “As a man who has not led a saintly life, I have a pretty good guess what a devil like him might get up to in his spare time. He sure hasn't been sitting around twiddling his thumbs all day.” Old Joe nodded toward the back door and the frightening, invisible world beyond the fog. “He's managed to get his sister into that hospital scheme somehow; so he had to track her down, since he was adopted. And then there's his momma,” Old Joe said in a thoughtful voice. “When that turkey fled New York, you better believe he took his momma. And Momma Peach, if that woman was the brains of the operation, you can bet your last penny she didn't retire to some happy little God-fearin’ community and start weaving baskets all day or some such. No sir,” Old Joe banged the baking table with his left fist, “folks who have murder and crime in their blood don’t just sit around idle.”
Momma Peach soaked in Old Joe's words. “You may be right. You know, I told the police that the killer was J.W. Wording, but at the time I didn't know the man was going to fake his own death. That means there was no way for the police to track him down. J.W. escaped without being captured. No one really knew who he was...his face, even though it looked very distinctive to me, was just a stranger’s face to every other person in that hotel. As I recall, he even gave a fake name when he checked in. Momma Peach was the only woman who could identify him...well, me and Detective MacNeigh. But now I know that the detective was a crooked man who was trying to play both sides, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”
Old Joe stood up. “So what you're trying to tell me is that Wording is here for two reasons: one, to get revenge on you for ruining his plans years ago. And two, to kill you because you're the only one who knows he's the Manhattan Killer. You're the only person left alive who can
identify him.”
“That's what I’m thinking,” Momma Peach nodded her head. “After I left New York, I never looked back. I never called the police to find out if J.W. Wording had been caught and never spoke to Detective MacNeigh again. Why? Because I knew the killer had escaped into the wind and was gone. I knew the police would never catch him and I didn't want to worry my mind more than it already was. It was best just to move on and forget about the whole mess. Besides, even if I wanted to chase down the clues, what good would it have done? You have to remember, that was before I knew our sweet girl Michelle, and before I was as clever an amateur detective and puzzle-solver as I am today. Anyhow, J.W. used a fake name to check into the hotel. His momma must have used a fake name, too. All I would have had to go off of was a facial description that matched hundreds of other faces. Do you know how many men in the hotel I stayed at looked like J.W. Wording, Joe? How many men wore fancy suits, had fancy little mustaches, had that...that kind of gentlemanly face?”
“A whole bunch of rich folks, that's for sure.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “Rich, yes, but bad...no. Old Joe, some people work very hard for their fortunes. Just because a man is rich don't make him bad. I had a rich man give up his cab for me once while a street bum begged me for liquor money. All I’m trying to say is that money wears a certain mask and J.W. was wearing that mask...a mask that blended in with a whole bunch of other people looking the same type of way. Momma Peach had nothing to give the police except a vague facial description that didn't do a world of good.”
What a Peachy Night Page 13
