Max remained calm. He retrieved his cigar and took a puff. “You are an investigator, yes?”
“You bet your backside Momma Peach is an investigator,” she retorted. “But more than anything, I am a human being with a heart for justice, you miserable old worm.”
Max waved away Momma Peach's insult. “I come to you a man with a conscience. If I am guilty of ending the life of an innocent man, then perhaps you will chain me to my guilt and soothe my conscience. If you fail, then perhaps my own conscience will be my eternal prison, yes?” Max puffed on his cigar, in a philosophical mood. “So I suppose you must begin your work.”
“I'll clobber you, is what I'll do!” Momma Peach promised and nearly wound up her arm to smack Max around his trailer with her pocketbook. But instead, she remained in place and forced her brain to absorb the situation. Max Moroz killed Lance Potter, rest his poor soul, and not Lionel Hayman or Lindsey Sung. However, Lionel and Hayman and Lindsey Sung saw a door of opportunity with Mr. Greenson, and used the man's death to create a way out for the circus. And why not? Being trapped in a small Georgia town wasn't good for business, right? Not at all. Lionel Hayman and Lindsey Sung had a black market to run, so what was the death of one man if it meant clearing the circus for travel?
“Your assault on my body is nothing compared to the pain a man with a conscience is consumed with,” Max told Momma Peach. “So please, get to work, and see what clues you might discover. I'll remain here at the circus.”
Momma Peach stared at Max. What a world she was living in. A world where people were going more berserk by the second. “I am going to take you down, old man,” she promised and walked outside into a cool evening. “Oh, give me strength, give me strength,” she whispered.
Michelle spotted Momma Peach and hurried over to her with a cup of coffee in hand. “Well, what did Mr. Moroz have to say?” she asked.
“What did that old man have to say?” Momma Peach asked Michelle and then rolled her eyes. “Baby, that old man just about confessed to me that he killed poor Mr. Potter, rest his soul.”
“What?” Michelle asked in a shocked voice.
Momma Peach nodded her head. “His wording was very clever, so I don't recommend arresting him. He said it without saying it, baby. You wouldn't have any legal ground to hold him on.” Momma Peach looked at Michelle. “Max Moroz has challenged me to a game. He wants me to capture him, which means...” Momma Peach rubbed her chin, “which means there must a be a hidden clue somewhere in this circus.”
Michelle looked around. The circus grounds were silent. No one dared to leave their trailers. No one dared to speak to the law, save Mr. Moroz. And no was one dared to mention the name of Lionel Hayman or Lindsey Sung. “This place is really spooky, Momma Peach. These people...they're like...these strange twilight zone-type people, you know? You'd think that with Lionel Hayman in custody and Lindsey Sung on the run someone of them might open up and talk now.”
Momma Peach felt the eerie mood slithering about in the air. “Baby, these people are scared, not strange. But there is a killer among them, and I have to catch that killer.”
Michelle thought back to the dark, foggy night when Mr. Moroz committed the crime. In her imagination, the circus was quiet. The grounds were empty and still. Suddenly, Max Moroz slipped out of his trailer unseen, eased through the heavy fog like a dark shadow hunting for prey, knocked on the door of Lance Potter’s trailer, entered, and then...struck. They had already searched all these areas, however, so where was this mysterious clue?
“Momma Peach, if you think Max Moroz confessed to you that he killed Lance Potter, then I'll arrest him and hold him. Who knows, maybe he'll break and make a confession.”
“Max Moroz has issued a challenge, baby. I know better than to think he'll break sitting in a run-down interrogation room, too. No, baby, that man is brilliant and deadly. He wants me to capture him, but he sure ain't gonna roll out the red carpet, either.”
“Momma Peach, we have Lindsey Sung to worry about. We don't have time to play games with a deranged old man.”
“Baby, that man isn't deranged. He's just as deadly in his old age as he was in his young age,” Momma Peach explained and took Michelle's coffee from her hand. “No sir and no ma’am,” she said taking a sip of coffee and nearly spit it out. “Oh, baby, too much sugar.”
Michelle took back her coffee. “I know,” Michelle apologized. “Next time I'll make my own coffee instead of having one brought into me.” Michelle looked at Max Moroz's trailer. She saw the old man peer out at her from behind a curtain, and then vanish again as the curtain fell back into place. “I'll run a check on him.”
“I was hoping you would. In the meantime, I have to search these here grounds for whatever clue Max Moroz has hidden for me to find,” Momma Peach explained. She looked toward Lance Potter's trailer. “I am going to have to go back into that poor man's trailer, baby.”
Before Michelle could answer, Millie came running up. “Okay, Sam is here with the trailer. We can take Melanie now. He's also coming to grips with my canine friends. I guess I should have mentioned all of them at dinner last night.” Millie looked at Michelle. “Are we clear?”
“You're clear, Millie,” Michelle told Millie. “You're clear. I've called the mayor and informed him of the situation. He's ordering a special permit that you can pick up tomorrow morning down at the city hall. Tell Sam to be there bright and early, okay?”
“I will,” Millie promised. She began to jog away but stopped. Something in Michelle's eyes worried her. “Do you really think Lindsey Sung will try something?” she asked. “That woman could be miles from here by now.”
“Millie,” Michelle said and pointed toward the woods behind the fairgrounds, “Lindsey Sung works for very powerful men. She is a woman determined to complete her mission regardless of the cost. She is also a woman who possesses great skill and resources. Lindsey Sung isn't worried about a small town police department, and she's not worried about me. Her mission now is to kill anyone who may jeopardize the operation of her employers. Needless to say, I don’t mean Mr. Lionel Hayman. I mean the men further up the chain.”
Millie looked at Momma Peach. “That's right, baby,” Momma Peach told Millie. “Now you go help Lidia, bless her heart, get that sweet elephant out of here and tell Mr. Sam we'll be by later for supper.” Momma Peach patted Millie's hands. “And baby, don't let that man douse our supper with cayenne pepper.”
“Sure,” Millie forced a smile to her face and wandered away, leaving Momma Peach and Michelle trapped in a sticky web.
A heavy rain had settled in over the circus, causing the grounds to become saturated and muddy. Momma Peach sure wasn't interested in sneaking around a dark circus in a heavy rain, especially not with her belly full of one of Sam's full suppers that consisted of a very heavy chili dosed with enough cayenne pepper to scare off a coyote. “Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach moaned as she eased into the main tent wearing a black rain jacket, hoping the black jacket and hoodie would make her fade into the darkness without being seen by watchful eyes. Sure, there were a few cops roaming about in gray rain slickers, and sure, Momma Peach really didn't need to be sneaking around—however, being unseen was her mission. She didn't want even a tiny little field mouse knowing she was roaming about.
As Momma Peach eased through the darkness, a second figure appeared in the shadows and began walking toward Momma Peach with fierce power. Momma Peach didn't notice the figure. Instead, she hugged the right wall and began walking behind the bleachers, one slow step at a time. Surely, she thought, she would be able to find a secret position that would allow her to monitor Max Moroz. Surely she would find a hiding spot, a safety net to think in. “Easy does it, girl,” Momma Peach said, walking toward the far end of the main tent with her back pressed up against the canvas. “Mr. Sam's chili, cayenne pepper, and killers don't mix well together.” Momma Peach paused, let out a painful burp, admonished Sam under her breath, and then continued on.
&nb
sp; The dark figure watched Momma Peach and then dashed to the end of the main tent and waited. When Momma Peach reached the end of the tent, the figure slipped up behind Momma Peach and covered her mouth with a strong hand. “It's Michelle,” Michelle whispered, “what in the world are you doing here, Momma Peach? I drove you home with Lidia.”
Momma Peach nearly fainted. When Michelle let go of her mouth she threw her hands over her chest. “Oh, I saw my life flash before my eyes,” she whispered in a frantic voice. “Baby, you just scared me out of my wits.”
“You told me you were going to wait until tomorrow to come back here because of the rain,” Michelle insisted.
“I know, baby,” Momma Peach whispered, still breathing hard. And then, she farted. “Oh, give me strength. Mr. Sam's chili is going to cause the US Army to come running if I drop any more bombs.”
Michelle waved her hands in front of her nose. “Oh, Momma Peach,” she said.
“Blame Mr. Sam,” Momma Peach complained and, against her will, let out a second fart. “Mercy, my stomach is really doing a number.”
Michelle took a step back. “What are you doing here, Momma Peach?”
“Farting up a storm, it seems,” Momma Peach whispered. “Shoo...give me strength, give me strength.”
“I'm being serious,” Michelle insisted. “You know Lindsey Sung is loose.”
“I know, baby,” Momma Peach told Michelle and waited for her tummy to settle. “Hey, wait just a second. You told me you were spending the night in your office. What are you doing here, huh?” Michelle scuffed at the ground. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”
“I came here hoping Lindsey Sung might show up,” Michelle confessed.
“Well, baby, I came back to this creepy place to watch Max Moroz's trailer,” Momma Peach made her own confession. “There are four of your people prowling about. I didn't think I’d be in any danger.”
“My men aren't a danger to Lindsey Sung,” Michelle warned Momma Peach. “Lindsey Sung can kill my men within seconds if she chose to.”
“Don't I know it, baby,” Momma Peach said and stepped back and let out another fart. “Oh, Mr. Sam, what have you done to poor Momma Peach. Oh, give me strength, give me strength.”
Michelle touched her own stomach. Sam's chili was a bit strong. “Well, since we’re both here, we might as well work together, Momma Peach. We can watch Max Moroz's trailer from here and keep an eye out for Lindsey at the same time.”
“Baby, do you think Lindsey Sung will show her face back here at this here circus?” Momma Peach asked as the damp night air bathed her face.
Michelle shrugged her shoulders. “She's somewhere, Momma Peach. My guess is she might be watching this circus as we speak.”
Momma Peach bit down on her thumbnail. “Baby, can you...what I mean is...can you—”
“Beat Lindsey Sung in a fight?” Michelle finished.
“Yes, baby. Can...you?”
Michelle drew in a deep breath. “Momma Peach, I honestly don't know. Lindsey Sung is a skilled fighter and she doesn't look like she's lacking in discipline, either. That woman is, as you Southern people say, as fit as a fiddle. She sure isn't sitting around on her tush eating donuts like I've been doing.”
Momma Peach made a pained face. Michelle was an agile fighter, but she did love her donuts. “Baby, what if Lindsey Sung wins the fight?” she dared to ask.
“Simple,” Michelle stated, “she'll kill me, Momma Peach. Lindsey Sung isn’t going to stop with only a few punches. Once she has me beaten down she'll finish me off….lights out, so long, bye-bye, nice knowing you.”
Momma Peach winced. “Oh please tell me you have your gun on you,” she begged.
“I do,” Michelle promised, “but Momma Peach...I can't shoot Lindsey Sung. Lindsey and I will have to participate in hand to hand combat...she’ll be expecting a gun so she’ll come at me so fast and so close the gun will be useless. When we fight…the last person standing...lives.” Michelle reached out and touched Momma Peach’s shoulder. “Don't feel bad for her, Momma Peach. If Lindsey Sung wins she'll come after you next and then anyone else she might think is a danger to the men she is working for.”
Momma Peach sighed and let her eyes soak in the vast space of the main tent. The tent was really dark. As far as she knew Lindsey Sung could be crouched down and hiding in any shadow. “Okay, baby, we'll take tonight one step at a time and see what happens,” Momma Peach told Michelle and took her hand. “Let's find us a good hiding spot.”
“Standing behind these bleachers is good,” Michelle said. “The back flap is open, giving us a pretty good view of the tents and trailers.”
Momma Peach looked out into the rain. She could see Max Moroz's trailer. “Okay, baby, we'll stand here and wait. You didn't happen to bring any coffee with you, did you, baby?”
“Coffee and Sam's chili don't mix well together, Momma Peach.” Michelle rubbed her tummy again. She felt tired and worn-down. All she wanted to do was go home, cuddle up on the couch under a warm blanket with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, watch a movie, call Able, and then go to bed. Instead, she was standing in a dark, damp tent waiting for a deadly killer to appear and a sly old man to—maybe—slip out into the rain and make one false move. “Momma Peach, we need a vacation.”
“Oh no,” Momma Peach said and shook her head no. “Our last vacation we ended up burned on both sides.”
“Alaska wasn't so bad,” Michelle said. “Able and I took a very nice walk down to the lake.”
“Minus the killers, Alaska was nice, baby.” Momma Peach raised her hand to her mouth and burped up some cayenne pepper. “Millie was supposed to make sure Mr. Sam went easy on the cayenne. Guess that didn’t work out.”
Michelle bit down on her lip and looked out into the wet night. A light was on in Max Moroz's trailer. “Mr. Moroz gave me the creeps from the first second I laid eyes on him. He reminded me of a mortician from a spooky movie.”
“Oh baby, you and your horror movies,” Momma Peach protested. “Don't plant images in my poor mind that I don't need. Oh, give me strength, give me strength.”
Michelle kept staring out into the night. “I keep expecting to see zombie clowns walking around everywhere, too,” she said in a low tone. “Something about this circus really gives me the creeps. I know zombies are not real and clowns are meant to entertain...but I can't help but feel that underneath it all lies something very sinister.”
“Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach begged and threw her hand over her mouth. “You are going to cause me to have nightmares for the rest of my life.”
“I'm sorry, Momma Peach, I can't help the way I feel.” Michelle eyed Max's trailer and then spotted Officer Barnett walk by, bored, wet and irritated. “Barnett is not happy that I stuck him on night patrol.”
Momma Peach spotted Officer Barnett. “Oh baby, you were a bit tough on the man. Let's face it, Vern Barnett is no Bruce Lee, baby.”
“I know, but, well,” Michelle kicked at the ground, “I want my men fit and ready to brawl when the situation calls for it. Lately, I've noticed most of my guys putting on weight and getting really lazy. Sure, we don't live in in a big city with lots of action on the streets, but that doesn't mean we can get out of practice. We've had three murders in our town this year.”
“Each murder committed by an outsider, baby.”
“Maybe,” Michelle agreed. “And that's my point. The outside world can and will invade our sleepy little town and my guys act like they're living in a perfect countryside utopia. Now, I like living in small-town Georgia just as much as the next guy, Momma Peach—and I wouldn’t trade it for the world—but our town isn't a paradise. I mean, for crying out loud, look at Sam's little town. Who would have ever thought that his wife would blow it up?”
Michelle made a solid point that Momma Peach couldn't refute. “I know the good men and women wearing badges are a bit...complacent...but they are good folk.”
“Deadly criminals don't care how good you
are or aren't at heart, Momma Peach.”
“Don't I know that as the truth, baby,” Momma Peach agreed.
“I'm going to create a physical fitness program and make my guys start working out some,” Michelle said. “And I'm going to start making them take karate courses and hitting the range for target practice at least once a week. It's time for some tough love.”
Momma Peach began to respond when she saw the door to Max's trailer open. Max popped his head out, looked up at the rain and then glanced around. He seemed satisfied, nodding his head before he ducked back inside. “Now what is that creepy snake up to?” Momma Peach wondered.
“He could be making sure the coast is clear. Barnett did just walk by.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “That's my guess, baby. I bet you ten of my famous peach pies that Max Moroz will leave his trailer in the next minute or so and aim his old body toward poor Mr. Potter's trailer.”
“Let's start counting.”
Five minutes passed and then, to Michelle's shock, when the door to Max's trailer opened again, Lindsey Sung sprung out instead of Max. Lindsey hit the ground running and vanished into the dark rain before Michelle could say a single word. Her legs screamed at her to give chase but her mind cautioned her to stand still. “Well, I'll be,” Momma Peach said in a bothered voice, “it seems that Max Moroz is playing with Lindsey Sung, too.”
Michelle narrowed her eyes and began thinking. It was clear that Lindsey didn't know she was around, which was good. If Lindsey knew Michelle was hiding in the main tent the woman would have definitely attacked. But what was Lindsey doing in Max's trailer? “Let's go speak to Max.”
“Not yet, baby,” Momma Peach told Michelle. “If we go charging up, Max will know we were watching his hideout. Let's let some time pass and then I'll wander around some and pretend to be doing some late-night detective work, making sure that old man spots me.”
Michelle knew Momma Peach made a good point. “Yeah, you're right, Momma Peach. And who knows, maybe Lindsey might come back and we can trap her?”
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