Peachy Villains

by Wendy Meadows

  Young glanced down at his worn sneakers and shook his head no. “I'm divorced, ma’am. My own fault...’m’ drunk too much.”

  Lionel cleared his throat. “Detective Chan would like to ask you a series of questions, Mr. Greenson. I expect you to answer honestly if you expect to remain employed. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hayman,” Young said and nodded his head up and down with a look in his eyes like a dog begging for approval.

  Michelle folded her arms across her chest. It was clear to her that Lionel Hayman held some form of authority over his employees that went beyond the usual boundaries of an employment arrangement. “Relax, Mr. Greenson. This is an informal inquiry. You're not in any kind of trouble. All I want to do is ask you a few questions, okay?”

  Young slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded his head again. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Please, call me Detective Chan.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Momma Peach recognized Young's accent. The man was a Texan, like Lidia. “Relax, baby,” Momma Peach told Young. “Ain't no sense being tense.”

  “I reckon I should be tense,” Young told Momma Peach in a worried voice. “Everyone around here knows Lance and me had issues with each other. I reckon I'm the number one suspect.”

  “Issues?” Michelle asked and looked at Lionel. Lionel was glaring at Young with cold eyes.

  Young kept his eyes low. “Lance and I worked together as clowns. Only, we didn't work so well together. I reckon that was my fault because I….drank a lot and Lance, well, he worked through his time in the bottle and came out dry.” Young shook his head. “Lance tried to help me kick the bottle but I ended up turning him into my enemy.”

  “How’s that?” Momma Peach asked.

  Young glanced up at Lionel and then quickly returned his eyes to the ground. “It was a prank, really,” he explained. “I got so sick and tired of Lance fussing at me to kick the bottle that...I slipped sweet liquor into his coffee before a performance.” Young sighed. “He was a whiskey man so he didn’t recognize it at first…I told him it was one of them fancy flavored creamers and he drank it all up. Lance went out drunker than a skunk...oh, folks thought it was part of the act, and I didn't say a word...until now. Afterward, he figured it out. He stopped being my friend and turned sour toward me. I guess I had it coming.”

  “You do realize your confession just cost you your job,” Lionel said coldly.

  “I reckon,” Young nodded his head miserably. “But Lance is dead and he deserves a truthful mouth from this old drunk.” Young looked up at Momma Peach, his head swaying a little on his neck. “Lance turned sour like I said, and we got into a few brawls...guess I was too stubborn to admit that I was the one in the wrong. I told him it was a joke, he told me I was an idiot and the drink would kill me one day if I didn’t wise up. But I swear, I didn't kill him.”

  “Why did you go to his trailer this morning?” Momma Peach asked.

  Young kicked at the damp ground. “Oh, last night Lance and me tangled again, but not too bad. I slung him over a chair and he punched me in the stomach. The fight was my fault because he was sitting with Millie at supper again.”

  “Millie?” Michelle asked.

  Young nodded his head. “Millie Frost. She handles the poodles,” he explained. “She sure is a pretty woman and it's no secret Lance and me both want her hand in marriage...well, wanted her hand in marriage.” Young ran his hands through his messy hair. “I felt pretty bad about the fight because, well...it upset Millie. Millie don't like violence and...well, dag-blast-it, the mess between Lance and me was all my doing. I needed to make it right so I went to Lance's trailer this morning to make it right.”

  Momma Peach knew Young was speaking the truth. “You found Mr. Potter dead, rest his poor soul, right?”

  Young nodded his head in sorrow. “Lance was lying face-down next to his couch...he had a knife….well, I already told you where he was stabbed.” Young looked at Michelle. “I freaked out and ran to Mr. Hayman. I thought for sure folks would say I killed Lance, but I didn't. I swear it.” Young looked down at his feet. “Millie is sure to hate me now,” he whispered.

  Michelle reached out and put a hand on Young's shoulder. “You need to sober up, Mr. Greenson, and take your life back from the shadows.”

  Young shook his head. “I already tried. The bottle is more powerful than me.”

  “Jesus is stronger than the bottle,” Momma Peach promised Young and patted his shoulder. “It's never too late to get right with Jesus, baby.”

  Young lifted his eyes and looked into Momma Peach's loving face. “I'm too old and worn-out to be of any good anymore. And now I'm an unemployed clown...a real loser.”

  “No, baby,” Momma Peach promised Young. “You're only a loser if you let yourself be.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” Lionel complained. “Is this a police investigation or an AA intervention?”

  Michelle shot Lionel a cold eye. “Mr. Hayman, I want to speak to Millie Frost.”

  “Oh, very well,” Lionel said and pointed a hand at Young. “Go find your...friend, Mr. Greenson, and bring her to me and then begin packing your bags.”

  “Yes, sir,” Young said and quickly walked away on stumbling feet.

  Momma Peach looked at Lionel. “The man admitted his mistake. You should consider giving him a second chance.”

  “I don't give drunks second chances,” Lionel scolded Momma Peach. “I run a business. Not a rehab facility.”

  Momma Peach wrapped her hand around the strap of her pocketbook and prayed for strength as she muttered to Michelle, “Baby, station yourself between that dog and me because I am about to be on him like white on rice. Oh, give me strength, give me strength.”

  Lionel tapped the ground with his cane and looked away from Momma Peach and waited for Millie Frost to appear. While he waited, Michelle made a few notes in her notebook while Momma Peach composed herself. Momma Peach took a deep breath and studied the cane marks on the ground with skillful eyes. Twenty minutes later a tall, pretty woman with black hair streaked with gray walked into the center ring. “You took long enough, Ms. Frost,” Lionel said tersely.

  “Oh, keep your shirt on,” Millie fussed in a strong Texan accent. The woman had a pretty face and her eyes were full of fire and sass. “I got here, didn't I?” she asked and slowly tucked a blue shirt into her long, old West-style gray skirt. “I was washing my dogs for goodness sake. I can't just come running whenever someone bellows for me.”

  “Mind your manners,” Lionel warned Millie. “Might I remind you that I am your boss?”

  “Might I remind you that I could care a dog’s fart less?” Millie told Lionel. “Might I also remind you that I work this circus because I choose to, not because I have to. The interest I draw off of my money in one month is more than you pay me in a year. So shove it, pal. In fact…you know what? I quit. I'm not sticking around this dungeon any longer. I only stuck around this long because of Lance. And now that he's been killed, well, I'm making tracks back to Texas.”

  Momma Peach was impressed. She saw Michelle grin. Before Lionel could answer, Momma Peach jumped in. “Ms. Frost, as much as I would love to stand here and watch you tell this stuffy rat off, we do need to ask you some questions, baby.”

  Millie turned her attention to Michelle and Momma Peach. “You want to know if I killed Lance, right?”

  “Oh, I am sure you didn't kill anything but some pesky fleas,” Momma Peach smiled. “What I want to know is who was Lance Potter? Was the poor soul ever married? Did he have children?”

  Lionel huffed at Millie. His power over her was lost. “Answer honestly, Ms. Frost.”

  Millie threw her hand at Lionel. “Oh, shut up you overgrown crumpet,” she fussed and returned her attention back to Momma Peach. “Lance never had a wife or kids, I'm afraid.”

  “What's the man's story?” Michelle asked in a polite voice. “Any information would help, Ms. Frost.”

  “Oh, call me
Millie,” she told Michelle. “Ain't no reason to be calling me anything except my name.”

  “Okay then...Millie,” Michelle smiled. “Millie, what do you know about Lance Potter?”

  “Lance Potter was a sixty-one-year-old recovering alcoholic who never escaped his time in the Vietnam War,” Millie began, her eyes wistful and sad. “After the war, Lance tried to go back to school, get a job, manage his life...but he ended up on the bottle and eventually he ended up homeless and living in an alley.” Millie shook her head with sadness. “A preacher man found Lance and helped him turn his life around. But,” Millie sighed, “Lance had to spend over a year in a mental hospital fighting a really bad depression.”

  “The poor soul,” Momma Peach said.

  “Eventually, Lance got his mind worked out and decided he wanted to become a therapist and work in a hospital where he could help sick children. That's what he did until he was fifty-four. But the sight of sick children finally took its toll on Lance, so he decided to join the circus and perform for all kinds of children.” Millie focused on Michelle. “You getting’ this down, honey?”

  “You bet.”

  “Lance joined the Spectacular Circus first and worked for Mr. Ridge for five years touring around Texas and Louisiana, Mississippi and Arkansas, all through that area. But when the Spectacular Circus went bankrupt, Lance found work at this dive. We both did.”

  “Both?” Michelle asked.

  “Yeah,” Millie explained. “I came to work for Mr. Ridge about two years after Lance did. After my husband died, you see. I couldn't see myself sitting around Texas feeling sorry for myself and, well, as silly as this may sound, ever since I was a little girl the circus has always fascinated me.” Millie smiled. “When the Spectacular Circus came to Dallas I decided to see a show. That's how I met Lance. It was Lance who convinced me to join the circus. But what did I know about a circus?” Millie nearly laughed and then almost began crying. “Lance suggested I learn how to train poodles. I thought he was crazy. But you know what?”

  “What baby?” Momma Peach asked.

  “I did learn, too,” Millie wiped at a tear. “I'm sixty years old, ladies, and I've lived a full life. Now it's time for a new adventure, somewhere.”

  Momma Peach walked up to Millie and put her warm, loving arms around her. “You're a special woman, I can tell.”

  Lionel cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Can we focus on the questions at hand?”

  Millie hugged Momma Peach and threw a sour look at Lionel. “Oh, keep your shirt on.”

  “Millie,” Michelle asked, “Young Greenson confessed that he and Mr. Potter had their share of fights. Did Mr. Potter have problems with anyone else?”

  “No,” Millie said, “just Young. After Young put that liquor in his coffee last year, well, a man can only be pushed so far.” Millie shook her head. “It wasn't that Lance was mad at Young for spiking his coffee, he was mad at Young because it was an insult to the children. The children, you see, were Lance's world and Young caused him to perform drunk in front of them. For a former alcoholic, it was his worst nightmare. Can you ladies understand that?”

  “We sure can, baby,” Momma Peach promised.

  “Yeah,” Michelle sighed, “we sure can.” Michelle looked around the empty ring. In her mind, she saw a bunch of clowns riding in tiny cars, honking horns, waving at smiling children. “Mr. Greenson seems to be letting his guilt eat him alive.”

  “Oh, Young isn't a bad guy,” Millie pointed out. “It's no secret that he loves me, but I don't love him, not in the way a woman should.”

  “You loved Lance, didn't you baby?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Oh, sure I did, but not romantically. Lance was a very special fella, but we never clicked romantically.” Millie clasped her hands together. “Folks around here, especially Young, always said Lance was after my hand. The truth is, Lance, was devoted to the children...he was married to their laughter, their smiles. The man would have made a great husband for a very special woman, but God has his reasons and Lance's purpose in life was to make children laugh. Lance and I were friends, same as Young and I, but I always held a special affection for Lance.”

  “Millie,” Michelle asked, “the way you describe Mr. Potter makes him sound like a very likable person. But someone killed him. Are you sure Mr. Potter didn't have any other enemies, other than Mr. Greenson?”

  “Not a soul that I can think of,” Millie confessed. “Lance was well-liked by everybody, except his ongoing fight with Young of course...and Ms. Sung. But Ms. Sung doesn't like anybody.”

  Momma Peach heard a gentle rain start falling outside of the tent and then felt her tummy rumble. “Well, baby,” she told Michelle, “let's take lunch and come back. I need to eat.” Momma Peach looked at Millie. “Millie, do you want to join me for lunch?”

  “Sure, why not,” Millie said with a sad smile.

  “I thought,” Lionel said and cleared his voice, “my circus was under lockdown.”

  “Millie Frost is free to leave,” Michelle informed Lionel. “We'll be back after lunch and continue with the questioning. In the meantime, stay on the fairgrounds, Mr. Hayman.” Michelle looked at Millie. “Do you need to get your purse?”

  “Nope,” Millie said and patted her waist, “I carry my dough right here where no one can get to it.” Millie looked at Lionel. “You know what, Lionel? I warned Lance it was time to leave but he insisted you had some good in you. He was wrong.” And with those words, Millie walked away.

  Chapter Two

  Momma Peach plopped down in a red and white booth and carefully eyed Mrs. Edward, the old woman who owned the diner, who sat at the front register just as pleasant as a bushel full of fresh peaches. “Oh, I just know she's going to serve some of those day-old biscuits again,” Momma Peach groused to Michelle. “I must be starving if I’m willing to eat that woman's cooking.”

  Michelle sat down next to Millie, grinned at Momma Peach’s usual protests, and then casually picked up a menu. The lunchtime crowd had passed, leaving the diner mostly empty except for a few senior citizens sitting around, drinking coffee and talking about the old days. Michelle couldn't blame the old-timers for making the diner their choice spot. The atmosphere in the diner was pleasantly old-fashioned and always smelled of coffee and delicious foods; of course, she would never tell Momma Peach that, goodness no—that would start a war. “We'll just have to pump our stomachs afterward, Momma Peach,” Michelle said and zoomed in on a scrumptious chicken and dumplings plate.

  Millie wasn't certain why Momma Peach chose to eat at the diner if she despised the cooking. “Would you like to eat someplace else?” she asked hesitantly.

  Michelle let out a slight giggle. “Oh no, we're fine. You see,” Michelle lowered her menu, “Momma Peach and Mrs, Edwards, the woman who owns this diner, have been at war with each other for quite some time.”

  “Oh, I see,” Millie said. She spotted Mrs. Edwards placing a careful eye on Momma Peach. “Oh, I do see,” she grinned. “Well then,” she said and picked up a menu, “I guess I better choose me a meal...if I can get it down, of course.”

  “Baby, if you can eat that woman's food you'll be my hero,” Momma Peach promised Millie and snatched up a menu. “Let's see...burnt meatloaf...soupy dumplings...greasy hamburger steaks...” Momma Peach mumbled to herself.

  Michelle winked at Millie. Millie nodded her head. Even though she barely knew Momma Peach she could sense that the woman’s heart was very special and her spirit was as soothing as a balm. “I think I'll have...oh, the chicken and dumplings plate,” she said and placed her menu back down onto the table. “And maybe a glass of iced tea.”

  “Horridly sugary tea,” Momma Peach mumbled under breath. “It’s so sweet you could stand a spoon upright in it. Mrs. Edwards is fixing to turn our poor bodies into mounds of melting fat, at this rate.”

  “Perhaps coffee would be better,” Millie quickly changed her mind. Momma Peach nodded her head in approval.

  A young
woman wearing a brown and white dress walked up to the table with a lovely smile and greeted them in a pleasant voice. “Momma Peach, you must be here to fuss over Mrs. Edward's cooking yet again. I do declare, you are something else.”

  Momma Peach raised her eyes and looked up at Jessica Braveton disapprovingly, but Jessica was already shaking her head. “Baby, you keep the doctor on speed dial I might need a stomach pump after I eat that woman's food.” Momma Peach tossed a thumb at Mrs. Edwards. Mrs. Edwards shook her head, raised her wooden cane, and shook it at Momma Peach. “Yeah, yeah, you old bat,” Momma Peach griped, “you and your day-old biscuits will do me more harm than that cane of yours!”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Those two,” she said to Michelle. “What can I get you to drink? Coffee? Iced tea?”

  “Coffee,” Michelle told Jessica.

  “Coffee, black,” Millie said and looked up at Jessica. “My, the way you have your hair braided is lovely.”

  Jessica blushed. She touched her dark brown hair with her left hand. “My mother helped me braid my hair this morning.”

  Millie smiled. She never had children herself, but she had always considered every child in the world a part of her heart. Maybe that's why she and Lance got along so well, she always thought. “Well, you tell your mother she did a wonderful job.”

  “I'll have...oh, for goodness sake baby, bring me a cup of coffee...if you can get a spoon in it, that is. And you might as well bring me a burned meatloaf plate with some okra and mashed potatoes...some of them day-old biscuits and a slice of that awful apple pie.”

  “I heard that,” Mrs. Edwards yelled at Momma Peach. “No senior discount for you!”

  “Just pay my hospital bill after my meal, old woman,” Momma Peach hollered back. “Gonna need an army of doctors to save my stomach after I eat your food.”

  Jessica rolled her eyes again. “Detective Chan?”

  “I'll have the chicken and dumpling plate with okra and green beans,” Michelle placed her order.

  “Ma’am?” Jessica asked Millie.