Peachy Villains

by Wendy Meadows

  “Leave everything up to me, baby,” she promised Lidia and wiped a tear away from her eye. “I am not going to let you and Melanie lose each other.” Momma Peach grabbed Michelle's hand and walked her toward Lance Potter's trailer.

  Officer John Downing was standing guard in front of the trailer, his tall, thin figure slumped a little in boredom. “Hey, John,” Michelle said. “See anything peculiar while we were gone?”

  John scratched his long nose. “Saw that cute Asian girl making some rounds, talking to some people, and then walk into the main tent with that Hayman fella.” Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Been real quiet ever since.”

  Momma Peach looked past John and studied a red and green striped trailer hooked to the back of a rundown gray Chevy Suburban. Yellow police tape was wrapped around the trailer. Inside the trailer sat the belongings of a decent man who had been murdered. It hurt her heart to see it. “Just plain awful,” she whispered.

  “John, Millie Frost has been given permission to leave the grounds. Go to her RV and make sure she leaves safely, okay,” Michelle ordered John. “She's over there.” Michelle pointed to her right. In the distance, Millie could be seen packing a few lawn chairs into a bright yellow and brown RV. John nodded his head and strolled away. “Ready to go inside?” Michelle asked Momma Peach.

  “I wasn't ready the first time, baby,” Momma Peach replied. “It's never easy going into a man's home and rummaging through his personal life after he’s passed from God’s earth.” Momma Peach stared at the trailer. She looked down at the ground, preparing herself mentally to walk forward and cross the threshold of the trailer. Then she looked a little closer at the muddy ground. “Well I'll be, these weren't here earlier,” she told Michelle and pointed down at the ground with her left hand while holding her pocketbook out of the way.

  Michelle bent down and ran her hand lightly over the damp ground. “Cane marks,” she said.

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Mr. Hayman has been here,” she said. Momma Peach lifted her head, saw Officer Downing talking to Millie. “Hey, bub,” she yelled and waved her hand in the air, “get your tail back over here.”

  Officer Downing made a confused face and jogged back to Lance Potter's trailer. “What is it, Detective?” he asked.

  Michelle glanced up at Officer Downing and read his face. “You left your station.”

  “Huh?” Officer Downing asked. He began shaking his head no. “No way, Detective. I'm been standing guard for hours.”

  “Don't lie, boy,” Momma Peach warned Officer Downing. “See those little holes in the grass?”

  Officer Downing looked down at the ground. He spotted a few tiny holes in the ground near the front door of the trailer. “Yeah, so?”

  “Those marks were made by Mr. Hayman's cane,” Momma Peach stated. “Those marks weren't here when me and Michelle were here earlier.”

  “Why did you leave your station, Downing?” Michelle asked in a patient, professional tone. She stood up. “I want an honest answer.”

  Officer Downing knew he was in trouble and fighting for a lie sure wasn't going to save him. “Okay, okay,” he said and raised his hands into the air, “I did leave my station.”

  “Why?” Momma Peach asked, holding back her tongue.

  “That cute Asian girl...she asked me to go with her while she canned some lady...the elephant lady,” Officer Downing explained in a nervous voice. “She was worried the woman she was going to fire might cause trouble. I wasn't gone from my station...maybe ten minutes at the most.”

  “You were given strict orders to remain on guard at this location,” Michelle said and shook her head in disappointment. “You're on desk duty for a month, Officer Downing. Go radio Officer Catoosa to take your place and get back to the station and start pulling front desk duty until I get back.”

  “Yes, Detective,” Officer Downing said and hurried away in shame.

  “So that snake slithered into Mr. Potter's trailer unseen,” Momma Peach said in an angry voice. “No wonder his tone has changed.” She looked at Officer Downing jogging away. “I might have been too hard on him. We all make mistakes. Go easy on him, baby.”

  “Downing is a good guy. He has low self-esteem, though. I’ll bet anything Miss Sung saw that too and knew she could use it to her advantage. Well, I'll make him write reports for a month and send him back out on duty. This is the first time he's sidestepped off the path, so there's really no sense in writing him up. She knew her pretty smile could be used as a weapon.” Michelle explained.

  “Speaking of that pretty smile, here she comes, the snake,” Momma Peach said as Lindsey Sung walked toward the trailer.

  “What is it, Sung?” Michelle asked.

  Lindsey stopped a few feet away from Michelle. “Listen, cop,” she said in an annoyed voice. “I'm giving you fair warning to back off, or else. You're in way over your head.”

  “You're not willing to teach me how to swim, are you?” Michelle asked lightly.

  Lindsey eyed Momma Peach. “Back off or else,” she warned again. “You know the old ways, cop. You're not just fighting me and you know that.”

  “There’s an easy way to get rid of me. Just tell me the truth. Who killed Lance Potter?” Michelle demanded.

  Lindsey stared at Michelle. It was clear that the bold officer was a fighter and wasn't going to back down. “You're acting very reckless,” she told Michelle and pointed a hard finger at her. “This is my last warning. Heed my warning for your own benefit and we can forget about our little fallout.”

  “Who killed Lance Potter?” Michelle demanded again. “I want answers, Sung. If you refuse to answer my questions, I'll find someone who will.”

  Lindsey shook her head in disgust. “You’ve been warned,” she said and looked at Momma Peach. “You would be smart, lady, to run.”

  “I don't run from snakes,” Momma Peach told Lindsey and gripped her pocketbook and swung it into the air. “I terminate snakes, oh yes sir and yes ma’am.”

  Lindsey backed away from Momma Peach. “You’ve been warned,” she hissed and walked away.

  Michelle felt like chasing after Lindsey and going toe to toe with the woman. Instead, she focused her mind on the trailer. “Come on, Momma Peach, let's see what's waiting for us inside.”

  Momma Peach stopped swinging her purse. “Give me strength, give me strength,” she said and followed Michelle into the trailer and found an ugly surprise.

  Chapter Three

  The inside of Lance Potter's trailer was cramped, cluttered with racks of clown costumes, boxes full of props, toys and candy, a single green couch that folded out into a bed, and small kitchen area with a round table. The floor was covered with an old green linoleum that made Momma Peach think of the old days—the good days. But her attention was quickly brought back to the future when she spotted an ugly whiskey bottle sitting half-way under the couch. “Now Momma Peach knows that poison bottle wasn't here when we combed this poor man's trailer earlier,” Momma Peach told Michelle.

  Michelle pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her right jacket pocket, slid the gloves on, bent down, and retrieved the whiskey bottle. The bottle was empty except for maybe a tiny sip left in the bottom. “What do you want to bet that we're going to find Young Greenson's fingerprints all over this bottle and maybe even a matching saliva sample?” Michelle stood up and shook her head. “Momma Peach, Mr. Greenson has just been framed.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “And you have no choice but to run that bottle and check for prints and go after the person the prints belong to.”

  “I can't suppress evidence,” Michelle said in a regretful voice, “even if I think the evidence was planted. I have to follow the false trail while I look for the real one. Right now we have no way of proving Mr. Hayman planted this bottle here.” Michelle looked around the trailer. She spotted a green and purple clown costume hanging at the back of the trailer. In her mind she saw a kind, decent, funny man singing to himself as he put on the costume, preparing
to bring laughter to hundreds of smiling children. “So sad,” she whispered.

  Momma Peach nodded her head and forced her mind to remain focused. “Honey, what did that woman mean when she said you weren't just fighting her?”

  Michelle turned around and looked at Momma Peach. “In the old country,” she said in a steady but worried voice, “dangerous, powerful men would gather into one force and dominate a certain area. Their power would expand over time, allowing them to control the innocent.” Michelle looked down at the bottle in her hand. “Think of it like the mafia, Momma Peach, but ten times more deadly. We're talking about men who run drugs, guns...people. Men who control not just the dark side of the law, but also shipping ports, entire cities, government power...the works,” Michelle finished.

  Momma Peach rubbed her chin with her left hand. “I think I understand, baby. But what makes my mind wonder is one simple question.”

  “You're wondering what powerful men are doing connected to a small circus, right, Momma Peach?”

  “Yes. How can a bunch of criminals get connected to this little circus, baby?” Momma Peach answered Michelle. “Is that stuffy old English muffin and his bodyguard using the circus as a front to run drugs?”

  Michelle shook her head. “I don't think so,” she answered honestly. “If Sung belongs to the group of people I think she does, then they wouldn't risk putting dirt in the gears by using a small circus to transfer simple dirty goods. It's something more.”

  “Money?” Momma Peach asked.

  Michelle shook her head no again. “No, Momma Peach, if this circus is being used as a secret operation, then more is at stake than just money.” Michelle looked back at the green and purple clown costume. “Somehow, Mr. Potter found out the answer we're seeking and was killed.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “I love when you read my thoughts, baby.” Momma Peach studied the trailer. “The poor soul must have overheard a conversation between Hayman and Sung...or seen something he shouldn't have.” Momma Peach grew silent and then spoke with an anguished, angry voice: “Could that awful woman have killed poor Mr. Potter herself?”

  “Sung is a hired killer,” Michelle mused. “Her kind are easy to recognize. She's a woman without a soul who thrives on power, cruelty, control and money.” Michelle studied the bottle in her hand and then stuffed the bottle into her jacket. “I guess I need to get this whiskey bottle down to the station, Momma Peach. I don't think we're going to find much more today with the boss man and his hired gun threatening them all to keep silent.”

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Baby, for now, let's make our two snakes believe we've fallen into their hole.” Momma Peach tapped the small table in the trailer with her left hand. “We both know Young Greenson didn't kill poor Mr. Potter, rest his soul, but,” she said in a careful tone, “we need to make two deadly people believe we do.”

  “Then let's go speak to Mr. Greenson,” Michelle said. Before she left the trailer, her heart soaked in the sad sight of empty clown costumes once more. “So sad,” she repeated, and walked outside.

  “Sad indeed, baby,” Momma Peach whispered. She followed Michelle outside and closed the door to the trailer behind her. A heavy drizzle had begun to fall. Summer was quickly fading away. “What a gray day.”

  “It seems fitting,” Michelle agreed, looking around at the quiet circus grounds. “Young Greenson's trailer is over there,” she said and pointed to a rusted red trailer hooked to a rundown pick-up truck. Young Greenson was nowhere in sight. “Ready?”

  “I have a heavy heart right now, baby. But I’m determined to catch the bad guys. Let's go.”

  Momma Peach followed Michelle over the damp grass, looking around as she walked, wondering what unseen eyes were watching her every step. The atmosphere of the circus was silent and creepy, the gray rainclouds casting an eerie gloom over the fairgrounds. Somewhere, either hidden in the parked trailers or tents, lurked a deadly killer they had yet to find; that is, assuming the killer wasn't Lindsey Sung. Momma Peach wasn't so sure Lindsey Sung was the killer—not yet anyway.

  As they approached Young Greenson's trailer, Momma Peach spotted an old man peeking at them around the corner of the large, striped tent. It was someone they hadn’t seen before. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to speak to them, but then fear crossed his features and he retreated into his shell. He disappeared. “In time,” Momma Peach promised, “we’ll talk.”

  Michelle stopped at the front door of Young Greenson's trailer, glanced around, and then knocked. “Mr. Greenson, it's Detective Chan,” she said in a loud voice. “I need to talk to you.” Silence followed. “Mr. Greenson,” Michelle said and knocked on the trailer door again, “this is Detective Chan, I need to talk to you.” More silence. Michelle looked at Momma Peach, bent down, withdrew a gun from her ankle holster, and stood up. “Mr. Greenson?” she asked in a loud voice, “are you inside? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Silence again. “I'm going in, Momma Peach.”

  “I’m right behind you, baby.” Momma Peach prepared her pocketbook for battle.

  Michelle nodded her head, reached out, grabbed the door handle, and twisted it, yanked the door open and stormed inside the trailer. “Mr. Greenson—” Michelle said and then stopped. Her words fell down onto an ugly brown carpet like heavy stones.

  “What is it, baby?” Momma Peach asked worriedly. She ran into the trailer and slid to a stop. “Oh my,” she said in a tragic voice and quickly turned her face down to the floor.

  Young Greenson was hanging by the neck from a rope in the middle of his trailer. A note was pinned to his shirt and a spilled bottle of whiskey lay under his feet. Michelle backed away and eased Momma Peach outside. “Are you okay, Momma Peach?” she asked.

  Momma Peach didn't answer at first. Instead, she looked back at Lance Potter's trailer. “God rest that man’s soul, but the planted whiskey bottle belongs to a dead man who can't speak the truth now...” she whispered. “I ain't gonna let two poor men die for nothing. I’m gonna catch me some really bad people, baby.”

  Three hours later, Michelle walked Momma Peach into her office at the police station. Momma Peach sat down in front of Michelle's desk, placed her pocketbook in her lap, and stared at the desk phone. Michelle plopped down in her chair, fought back a yawn, and took a sip of strong coffee from a brown paper cup. “It's been a long day, Momma Peach.”

  “Yes, it has, baby,” Momma Peach agreed. “We still have to have supper with Mr. Sam. After supper I’m going to go home and sleep a good night’s sleep.” Momma Peach fought back a yawn of her own. She felt frustrated and angry. “That fake suicide note is going to be tough to get past,” she told Michelle.

  “I know,” Michelle sighed. She grew silent and listened to a light rainfall outside. “The whiskey bottle, the suicide note...doesn't look good.”

  “Nope, it sure doesn't. And what's worse is that not a single employee at the circus will talk,” Momma Peach said. She raised her eyes and looked at Michelle. “That old geezer I saw looking at me might talk, but I know he has to come to me on his own.”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair and placed her hands behind her head. “Maybe,” she said. “We can hope. In the meantime, I have no ground to hold anyone on. We have a suicide note written by a man confessing he killed Lance Potter. Right now the case is practically solved. Mr. Hayman's attorney will eat me alive if I try to hold the circus in town.” Michelle closed her exhausted eyes. “We lost this battle, Momma Peach. The odds were stacked again us.”

  Momma Peach wanted to argue, but how could she? Michelle was right. The case was lost—for the time being. Momma Peach had a plan, but first, she needed sleep. Her mind felt foggy and tired. A skilled detective knew when to back off and rest before retaliating. “Baby, I'm not a cop.”

  Michelle removed her hands from behind her head, leaned forward, and gave Momma Peach a curious eye. “Momma Peach?”

  Momma Peach reached down and retrieved a piece of peppermint candy from her purse. “B
aby, I don’t need a search warrant. I’m just nosy, you see,” Momma Peach explained with a sly wink. She popped the peppermint candy into her mouth and nodded her head. “I want to take a look in Mr. Hayman's trailer. In order to do so, I’m going to need you to cause a major distraction.”

  “Too risky,” Michelle objected.

  “Oh, not with Old Joe at my side,” Momma Peach grinned. “Old Joe can pick a lock quicker than you can fuss about your laundry having too much starch.” Momma Peach chewed on her peppermint. “Lindsey Sung is a problem, baby. I need you to make double sure that woman is preoccupied.”

  “But,” Michelle began to argue but stopped. She began wondering what Momma Peach and Old Joe might find in Lionel's trailer. Surely, she thought, the man would have valuable papers locked in a safe or hidden someplace that only a skilled thief could locate. Old Joe was a skilled thief. “Can Old Joe pick a safe?” she asked Momma Peach in a quick, low voice, glancing at her office door to make sure it was closed tight.

  Momma Peach nodded her head. “Old Joe may look like a used-up dishrag, but that man still has plenty of smarts in his brain...along with some rottenness that I’m beating out of him with my pocketbook. I’m sure Old Joe can help me find anything that might be important to the case, baby.” Momma Peach fought back a second yawn. “A snake planted a whiskey bottle in poor Mr. Potter's trailer to push us into a corner. I’m going to plant a trap to keep that snake in town.”

  Michelle considered Momma Peach's offer. “We do need time,” she agreed. “Mr. Hayman will have his circus out of town by sundown tomorrow night if we don't stop him.”

  “I’m not going to let that man or his circus skip town without us getting the bad guy,” Momma Peach promised Michelle. “Oh, give me strength,” she yawned, “I thought the little bit of trouble we faced in Alaska was the end of our worries. That cozy lodge sure sounds good right about now.”