A Dash of Peach

by Wendy Meadows

  Michelle stood up to face Mandy. “Mr. Graystone, man in his mid-fifties with short, very dark red hair. He was a little overweight, but not much, and stood about 5'10'' even though his driver's license claimed he was 6'2''. His face,” Michelle said and paused as if thinking, “well, he looked like that actor who played the dad on the sitcom Happy Days and—”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Mandy exclaimed, “I know who you're talking about. I wouldn't have noticed him, but that’s one of my favorite classic television shows.”

  Momma Peach smiled proudly. “That's my baby. Now tell me about this man.”

  “Well,” Mandy said, trying to think back, “he came in here yesterday, right before closing. Momma Peach, you were in the kitchen cleaning up and I was sweeping up front. I remember thinking that he did look like Tom Bosley, the actor who played Mr. Cunningham.”

  “Did this man say anything to you?” Michelle asked.

  “Not really,” Mandy replied and shook her head. “All he did was look around some. Wait – he did ask me if there was anything I would recommend. So I recommended Momma Peach's famous pie, of course. He paid for the pie, told me to have a nice day, and left.”

  Michelle looked at Momma Peach and then back at Mandy. “So Mr. Graystone came into the bakery, randomly browsed around, bought a pie, and then left?”

  “Pretty much,” Mandy confirmed and then added: “He did seem a little distracted.”

  “Distracted how?” Momma Peach pressed gently.

  Mandy rubbed the tip of her nose with her right finger and then looked at the front display window. “He kept walking past the display window, kinda back and forth. At first I thought he was just browsing, but it almost looked like he was waiting to see someone walk by outside. I mean, that's how it seemed to me, anyway.”

  “How did Mr. Graystone pay for the pie?” Michelle asked.

  “Cash,” Mandy said ruefully. “I remember that because it was right after I had the money drawer counted down, too. I really wasn't expecting any more customers. I guess you live and learn.”

  “We all live and learn,” Momma Peach reassured Mandy and turned her attention to Michelle. “We have our work cut out for us, baby girl.”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes, we do.”

  Momma Peach looked at Mandy and was about to tell her to hold down the fort when the phone on the front counter rang. “Should I get that first?” Mandy asked. Momma Peach nodded. “Hello, Sweet Peach Bakery, this is Mandy, how can I help you? ...oh...sure, Momma Peach is right here.”

  “Who is it?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Aunt Rachel’s assisted living center.”

  “Oh give me strength,” Momma Peach moaned and took the phone from Mandy. “This is Caroline Johnson... I see...okay...yes, put her on.” Momma Peach rolled her eyes and waited. When a confused voice repeated her name, she braced herself. “Hello, Aunt Rachel, this is Caroline.”

  “Who?” Aunt Rachel’s voice was so shrill that Mandy and Michelle could hear it plainly. Mandy suppressed a giggle, having overheard one or two of Aunt Rachel’s phone calls in the past.

  “Caroline...your niece,” Momma Peach repeated in a loud voice. “Are you okay, Aunt Rachel?”

  “Who are you?” Aunt Rachel demanded again.

  Momma Peach sighed in exasperation. “It's Caroline, your niece... I'm the daughter of your brother, Ralph Johnson.”

  “Ralph is over at the Jenkins house playing with Roger. Now, he knows better but he don't care,” Aunt Rachel told Momma Peach in a gossipy tone that made Momma Peach roll her eyes.

  “Aunt Rachel,” Momma Peach said, feeling her patience wearing thin and her blood pressure rising, “Ms. Halcomb said there was a problem with your monthly check. I sent your check out. Did you get it?”

  “Ralph knows better than to play with Roger. Roger broke our kitchen window. Everyone knows it was Roger.”

  “Focus, Aunt Rachel,” Momma Peach practically hollered into the phone. She could hear another voice in the background, perhaps one of the nurses.

  “Who are you?” Aunt Rachel repeated in confusion.

  Momma Peach closed her eyes and gently smacked the phone against her head with each word. “Aunt Rachel...pay attention!” she yelled.

  “Who am I talking to? Is this you, Louise?”

  “No, it's Caroline!” Momma Rachel howled and threw one hand into the air like she was testifying in church on a Sunday. “I'm going to lose it...one of these days...oh, give me strength. Aunt Rachel, please...you know your friend Louise died over ten years ago,” Momma Peach finished in a patient voice. But as she watched, Mandy couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Momma Peach wouldn’t rather go after Aunt Rachel one day with a rolled-up newspaper, instead of that fly.

  “Louise cheats at rummy,” Aunt Rachel said just as if Momma Peach hadn’t said a thing. “I caught her cheating but Louise claims she wasn't. I know better.”

  “Why me?” Momma Peach whispered and smacked the phone against her head again. “Listen, Aunt Rachel...did you get my check or not?”

  “Check? Oh yes, the nurse checks my blood pressure every morning,” Aunt Rachel said proudly. “I had eggs this morning.”

  “Put Ms. Halcomb back on the phone,” Momma Peach said through gritted teeth.

  “Is this you, Louise?” Aunt Rachel asked.

  “No!” Momma Peach cried out, “it's your niece Caroline!”

  “Who’s calling from North Carolina? Who am I speaking to?”

  Momma Peach handed the phone back to Mandy. “Get Ms. Halcomb on the line for me before I go insane.”

  Michelle’s tough demeanor finally cracked into a grin. Mandy took the phone from Momma Peach and managed to get Ms. Halcomb back on the line. “Here you go.”

  Momma Peach took the phone, drew in a deep breath, and closed her eyes. “Ms. Halcomb?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm mailing out a second check. I'm sure my first check is somewhere in my aunt's mail. But just in case the first check got lost in the mail, I'm mailing out a second check. Please see to it that the check is deposited into my aunt's account.”

  “Of course,” Ms. Halcomb promised. “I'm sure we'll locate the first check soon, Mrs. Johnson. If we do, we'll cancel the second check and send it back to you, like last time.”

  “Thank you. Have a good day.” Momma Peach slowly hung up the phone, leaned over the phone where it sat on the front counter, and rested her head against the wood. “Oh Lord, give me strength...”

  Mandy let out a giggle and headed back into the kitchen. Even Michelle had to bite down hard on her lower lip in order not to laugh. “How is Aunt Rachel?” she finally asked.

  Momma Peach stood up straight and sighed, gazing at the phone. “She had eggs for breakfast. But that's okay because she thinks I'm Louise Jones and my Papa, rest his soul, is playing over at an old friend's house.” Momma Peach turned to look at Michelle with eyes that said she was ready to quietly explode. “And it seems that she has either lost the monthly check I sent her or the check was lost in the mail. But I’m not stupid, no ma’am. I know that old bat has my check. This is the ninth time she's played this game. That old woman just loves to torment me,” Momma Peach finished in a near hysterical voice and threw up her hands again. “Oh, give me strength.”

  Michelle gave her a sympathetic look. “Tormentors aside, are you ready to go?”

  “Let me get my pocketbook,” she sighed and walked back into the kitchen.

  As soon as the coast was clear, Michelle let out a disbelieving laugh. She thought privately that Aunt Rachel was not nearly as senile as people assumed, but she did get bored sometimes.

  Chapter Two

  Momma Peach sat patiently in front of a worn wooden desk scarred with years of police work; she counted four cigarette burns, eight coffee stains, and numerous scratches. She wondered why the police department didn't buy Michelle a new desk. “Poor baby,” Momma Peach whispered, turning to look around the small, cramped office that Michelle calle
d home when she was at the station. The office smelled of old coffee and stale donuts—she should have brought along a loaf or two of her peach bread to cover the smell. A slowly-turning ceiling fan appeared to be on its last legs, eking out a slight breeze. A wooden shelf crammed with law books was shoved up against a brown wall that needed a fresh coat of paint; the entire office needed painting, for that matter, Momma Peach thought. A tall metal filing cabinet, pockmarked with rust, huddled on the back wall to the right of the desk. It loomed over the desk like a miserable prisoner tormented by ugly nightmares; the nightmares, of course, were the case files inside filled with violent crimes. “Too much hate,” Momma Peach said, shaking her head in dismay and sorrow.

  A beautiful red bird landed on a flowering pink dogwood tree outside the office window. Momma Peach felt the bird land on the tree inside her heart, turned, and spotted its lustrous red feathers, and smiled. “Hello. How are you today?”

  The cardinal stared through the office window at Momma Peach and then flew off and circled around the large, manicured lawn behind the police station before making its way over toward a cozy residential neighborhood. From where she was sitting, she could see the street lined with one-story ranch style homes with green yards filled with bikes, skateboards, footballs, swing sets and lawnmowers. A few kids were out in one yard tossing a football while a few other kids were climbing up into a backyard tree house. Momma Peach felt the bird’s swooping flight over the neighborhood and smiled. “Fly, baby. Fly free and proud.”

  A few minutes later, Michelle walked into her office carrying a manila folder in her left hand and a plain donut in her right hand. “Well,” she told Momma Peach in a voice that said she was back to business and prepared to work, “the check I ran on Mr. Graystone didn't turn up too much.”

  “Oh.” Momma Peach fussed when she spotted the donut Michelle was holding, “I can't let you eat that awful thing. That little beast has ingredients in it that I can't even pronounce. Throw that ugly little creature away.”

  “But I'm hungry,” Michelle protested. She plopped down in a rickety brown office chair that squeaked and moaned in misery. “I missed lunch.”

  “I will cook you a good supper tonight,” she said and grabbed the big blue pocketbook sitting next to her chair. She dug through piles of odds and ends – Kleenex, Chapstick, old keys, antacids (because she didn't like her heartburn, no sir), pens, pencils, a writing pad, a change purse, a blue wallet, an old M&M toy, a few pieces of peppermint candy. “Ah,” Momma Peach smiled and fished out an organic snack bar. “Here, eat this instead.”

  Michelle really wanted the donut. “Just a bite?” she pleaded.

  Momma Peach shook her head and gave her a look. “Don't make me come across this desk.”

  “Yes, Momma Peach,” Michelle sighed and tossed the donut into the wastebasket.

  “That's my baby,” Momma Peach smiled and handed Michelle the snack bar. “Now, tell me more about Mr. Graystone.”

  Michelle opened the snack bar and took a bite. “Well,” she said, tasting a mixture of chocolate and peanut butter, “Mr. Robert Henry Graystone, age sixty-three, came to our town from Restford, Alabama. He lived at 102 Turner Street.” Michelle took another bite of the snack bar as she scanned the file in front of her. “Mr. Graystone lived alone.”

  “Was this man ever married? Tell me.”

  Michelle nodded. “Mr. Graystone was married for twenty-two years to a Nadine Florence White.”

  “Were they separated by death or divorce?”

  “Death,” Michelle explained. “Nadine White was killed by a drunk driver four years ago in Restford. I checked the records for some more info on that. The man who killed her is serving a very lengthy prison sentence, but I'm still going to check if he has any connection to Mr. Graystone or his daughter.”

  “Good, good,” Momma Peach said with a smile. “Now read my mind and tell me what I'm thinking.”

  “You're wondering if Mr. Graystone had a life insurance policy,” Michelle told Momma Peach as she polished off the snack bar.

  Momma Peach nodded. “Tell me. Tell me.”

  Michelle closed the folder and handed it across the desk to Momma Peach. “They don’t call you the best for nothing. Mr. Graystone had a five-hundred-thousand-dollar life insurance policy. He was also the beneficiary of a very large sum of money from his late wife’s insurance policy, as well.”

  Momma Peach opened the folder and began scanning its contents with focused, sharp eyes. Michelle admired the brilliance that glowed in Momma Peach's beautiful eyes when she was on the trail of a mystery. “Restford is not very far from Anniston.”

  “About half an hour—” Michelle said and spotted a Viceroy butterfly land on the windowsill. She stared at the orange and black butterfly enviously. Far from the confines of paperwork and crime, the butterfly was free to curiously roam the world on soft wings and float on winds to new places.

  Momma Peach spotted Michelle staring outside and lowered the folder in her hand. “Talk to me.”

  Michelle continued to gaze at the butterfly as it opened and closed its wings slowly. “Last night I went out on a date. The date...ended miserably,” she said in a sad voice. “I wasn't even expecting much. I met the guy on an online dating site.”

  “Oh,” Momma Peach admonished her, “you don't need to search for love in a silly old computer. God gives love. Not the internet.”

  “I know, Momma Peach...but sometimes, I get lonely. I wanted to spend a nice evening talking to a nice man,” Michelle explained. “I had him meet me down at the local coffee shop—”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you had a date at Wilma's,” Momma Peach said indignantly. “That woman's coffee is enough to scare away my cousin Eddie. And my cousin Eddie, he can eat raw coffee grounds right out of the can.”

  “I know, I know,” Michelle said in a chastened voice, “but the atmosphere of the coffee shop is nice and relaxing, at least. So I thought, what the heck, why not spend the evening talking to a guy who also studies martial arts and likes jazz over a cup of coffee?”

  “But your fella didn't like martial arts or jazz, did he?” the older woman said softly, already reading the disappointment on Michelle’s face.

  Michelle shook her head no. “That Mr. Don Wilkinson didn't know the difference between Karate and Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.”

  “And the jazz?” Momma Peach asked in voice filled with love and not a trace of reproach for what she knew her friend would say next.

  “Don heard a famous Louis Armstrong tune playing and then told me he was really into it because he loved Nat King Cole so much,” Michelle replied and then rolled her eyes. “I played along with his ignorance and pretended not to notice because I thought I could just have a nice night out. Shame on me, right, Momma Peach?”

  “No,” Momma Peach said. She reached across the desk and patted Michelle's hand. “I understand loneliness. Sometimes it makes us do funny things.”

  Michelle looked away from the butterfly and looked into Momma Peach's loving eyes. “Don left before he finished his second cup of coffee, anyway.”

  “He suddenly remembered that he left the iron on, right?”

  “Yes,” Michelle said in a miserable voice. “I don't blame the guy for getting bored. Sure, he lied to me, but to be honest, I'm about as interesting as a block of wood.”

  “Now don't you go believing that lie,” Momma Peach gently scolded Michelle. “You're a beautiful, strong, skilled woman.” Momma Peach beamed proudly at her friend. “Now, I'm not going to sit here and toot your horn, but I will say that you're my baby and you’re a blessing. God loves you. And I love you.”

  “I love you too, Momma Peach,” Michelle replied and nearly started to cry. Instead, she swallowed the lump forming in her throat and focused again on the case at hand. “So, as I was saying before...Mr. Graystone was left a lot of money by his late wife.”

  Momma Peach leaned back in the creaky wooden chair she was sitting in. She knew her friend had been
comforted by their talk, even if Michelle was private and didn’t like to share her emotions. Besides, they had other things to discuss. “Well, don’t be bashful about it. I want to know how much.”

  “Along with his life insurance policy and the money his late wife left him, Mr. Graystone was worth one point two million. If you want the exact number, it’s one million, two hundred thousand, eight hundred and forty dollars. And eight cents. That's without adding in the value of his home or vehicle and other personal belongings.”

  Momma Peach nodded, taking this in. “Did this poor soul have a will?”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. “Yes.” Being a detective on a small police force was often lonely, tedious work, but working with Momma Peach made everything better. They were always on the same page.

  “Where are the daughter and the husband? Leave nothing out.”

  “Felicia and Floyd Garland are en route to the station as we speak,” Michelle explained. “We'll get to them in a minute, Momma Peach. Right now, I want to talk to you about the hotel room Mr. Graystone was found in.”

  “Fill my ear full.”

  Michelle reached out and grabbed a bottle of water sitting on the right corner of her desk. “Can I get you something to drink, Momma Peach?”

  “No. I only want to drink your words. Talk to me.”

  Michelle took a drink of water and set the bottle back down. “Mr. Graystone was found dead at the Eagle Pine Motel out on Route 14.”

  Momma Peach wrinkled her nose. A foul smell entered her nostrils just hearing the name. “The Eagle Pine Motel is a blight on our fine community. The only kind of folk that dare stay at that trash heap are trash themselves.” She pursed her lips. “I know my words are not Christian or kind, but they are words of truth.”

  “Yes, they are,” Michelle agreed. “Especially when there are many other fine hotels by the interstate. The Holiday Inn Express, the Courtyard Marriott, to name a couple. Mr. Graystone had the money to stay at those hotels, too. Instead, he chose to pay $24.99 a night for a room at a rundown motel favored by drug dealers and cockroaches.”