A Dash of Peach

by Wendy Meadows

  “I know her kind,” Momma Peach told Michelle. She closed her eyes and began thinking. “Mr. Smelly-Breath in there needs another good slap upside the head with my pocketbook.”

  “He's getting too liquored up to care,” Michelle explained. “He will, though,” she promised. “I'm going to shut this rat-trap down once and for all.”

  “In time,” Momma Peach told Michelle, her eyes still closed in thought. Suddenly, her eyes flew open in alarm. “First, we have to check the bus station. Drive fast and forget your car has a brake.” Momma Peach said in a quick voice and hurried around to get in on the passenger side of the Oldsmobile.

  Michelle, realizing Momma Peach’s exact line of thinking, dove quickly into the driver's seat. “Hold on Momma Peach!” The Oldsmobile jerked backward as she slammed it into gear and sped out of the dirty parking lot. They left behind black skid marks as a present.

  “I'm a-holding on,” Momma Peach yelled back and braced her hands against the dashboard. “Oh, don't send me to Heaven early.”

  Michelle leaned forward to grip the steering wheel. “You told me to forget this car has a brake,” Michelle grinned as she sped down a road lined with tall pine trees, their branches like green hands stretching up into the blue sky.

  “I might have spoken foolishly,” Momma Peach cried out as Michelle raced the Oldsmobile around a slow-moving truck. The old man in the driver’s seat turned to look at them as the Oldsmobile raced by. Momma Peach smiled and offered a nervous wave. The old man shook his head and turned back to the wheel. “Oh, give me strength,” she begged in an undertone.

  Michelle pressed down harder on the gas pedal. “Hold on, Momma Peach!”

  “Oh goodness,” Momma Peach cried, “I want to meet the angels, but not now!”

  “The three o'clock bus leaves town in less than ten minutes. If Betty Walker is trying to skip town, then we have to beat the bus.”

  Momma Peach closed her eyes. “I think someone paid Betty to leave town,” she said over the roar of the engine, reaching out for calm thoughts like butterflies to soothe her scared mind. But instead of butterflies, a swarm of annoying flies buzzed around her head. “Shoo, get out of my mind,” she ordered the flies.

  Momma Peach cracked open one eye, spotted Michelle racing up behind a slow-moving tractor, and slammed her eye shut with a strangled half-scream. The car swayed as Michelle raced around the tractor at the last second. “Ebenezer Scrooge didn't need to see his past, present, and future to straighten out his heart...all he needed was one car ride with you.”

  Michelle kept her right foot pressed down on the gas pedal. “Momma Peach, do you think Floyd Garland paid Betty Walker to leave town?”

  “Maybe,” Momma Peach inched her right eye open a tad and peeked around. “Still alive. Oh, thank you!”

  “It's possible Betty won't be at the bus station,” Michelle pointed out, though she didn’t slow the car down for one second. “If Floyd Garland paid her to take a hike he might have sent her out of town by a different route.”

  “I know that. But I know that some folk are very narrow-minded in this town. I think a high-falutin man like our Mr. Garland would sooner give Betty a ticket and then wash his hands of the whole thing. So we have to take a peek at the bus station and...oh, give me strength!” Momma Peach cried out again as Michelle raced past a gray Toyota.

  Michelle focused on her driving while her mind whirled around her thoughts. “The coroner will tell us what kind of poison killed Mr. Graystone. That'll be a good lead.”

  “Yes,” Momma Peach said taking deep breaths. “Baby...do you love me?”

  “Of course.”

  Momma Peach grabbed Michelle's right arm with her left hand. “Then slow down.”

  Michelle glanced at Momma Peach's frightened face. She eased off the gas a little. “Better?”

  “Next time I tell you to drive fast...slap me.”

  Michelle grinned. “Okay, Momma Peach,” she said and maintained a steady speed. When she pulled the car up to the small brick building of the bus depot, she spotted the Greyhound bus still idling in the parking lot. Michelle jumped out of the Oldsmobile and jogged up to the door of the bus and looked up at the gentle face of a black driver sitting behind the wheel. “Any passengers yet?” she asked and displayed her badge.

  “Not yet,” the driver replied to Michelle. “I just pulled in about five minutes ago.”

  Michelle walked up the steps and looked down the long aisle of the Greyhound bus. She counted fourteen faces. Seven women, five men, and two children. Betty was absent among the faces. Still, Michelle thought, as she hurried down the aisle to check the bathroom, you could never be too careful. “Anyone in there?” Michelle asked and knocked on the bathroom door. A ten-year-old boy stepped out of the bathroom, looked up at Michelle with curious eyes and said “Wait your turn, lady.”

  Michelle smiled. “Sure, kid,” she said and walked back to the front of the bus. Three children, she amended the count in her head. “Nobody gets off, okay,” she told the driver.

  “I understand,” the driver told Michelle and leaned back in his seat. “Anything I should be worried about?”

  “I'm looking for a certain woman,” Michelle said and gave Betty's description to the driver. “This bus is heading toward Orlando, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay,” Michelle told the driver and walked down the front steps. “I know how many people are on this bus. I'll do a second count when you leave. I'm going inside to search the depot. If anyone tries to get on that matches that description I gave you, please let her on the bus but don't leave until I come back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver promised Michelle.

  Michelle spotted Momma Peach walking through the front door of the brick building. She jogged over to her and nodded at the bus. “The bus is clear.”

  Momma Peach smiled. “Good,” she said, stepping into the cool lobby. A single wooden bench sat in the middle of the lobby facing a ticket counter, and a light brown carpet covered the floor. Two bathrooms stood at the back of the lobby, separated by a drinking fountain and a soda and snack machine. Betty was nowhere in sight. Momma Peach walked up to the ticket counter. An old man sat behind the counter, sitting on a wooden stool, reading the afternoon newspaper. “Hello, you lazy hound.”

  Jim Matthews looked up from his newspaper, recognized Momma Peach's loving face, and smiled. “Taking a trip, Momma Peach?” he teased.

  Momma Peach leaned her right elbow onto the front counter and cast a strict eye at Jim. “If I was, you would be the last to know, Jim Matthews. I’m still upset with you because you ate Mrs. Bellman's blueberry cobbler instead of my peach pie at the church picnic.”

  Jim leaned forward and whispered: “And you know what, Momma Peach?”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Bellman's blueberry cobbler was just awful, too,” he said and then chuckled to himself. “But the things we men do when courting a widow.”

  Momma Peach grinned. “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Now, tell me, has any soul been in to see you today?”

  “Nathan Hardy is leaving town today. You know that boy got a scholarship to go to college down there in Florida? He better hurry his butt up, too. The driver arrives early and leaves right on the second.”

  “Nathan Hardy?” Momma Peach asked and searched her memory. “Oh, Hank and Kathy Hardy’s boy.”

  “Good people,” Jim said with a nod. He rubbed his right elbow, stood up, straightened out the white and gray work shirt he was wearing and looked at Michelle. “Who are you looking for, Detective?”

  Before Michelle could speak, Betty stepped through the front door of the building wearing a fashionable blue dress. Instead of appearing frightened, she marched right up to the ticket counter, set down a gray suitcase next to where Momma Peach stood, and looked at Jim: “One ticket to Jacksonville, please.”

  Momma Peach examined Betty carefully. She sniffed the air and caught the scent of a cheap perfume float
ing off of Betty. “You've been down to Flora's Hair Place, haven't you? Only Flora uses that perfumed shampoo I smell coming from you.”

  Betty didn't look at Momma Peach. “My business is my business,” she said in a sharp tone.

  “Hello again, Betty. When I saw you earlier your gray hair hadn’t seen the inside of a hair salon in probably a couple years,” Michelle told Betty. “Now your hair looks considerably nicer. Also, if I recall, your hair was gray. Now it's brown.”

  “So what?” Betty asked Michelle. “Is it against the law to get your hair done in this town?”

  “No,” Michelle said. “But I wish you’d told me you were leaving town. Don’t you know that looks suspicious in an investigation? By the way, I like your dress. I saw one just like it in the front display window at Clair's Boutique.”

  “Mighty pricey, that place,” Momma Peach commented.

  “You gonna sell me a ticket or what?” Betty snapped at Jim.

  “No, he isn't,” Michelle told Betty and pointed at the wooden bench. “Sit down.”

  “Are you arresting me?”

  “I want to talk,” Michelle said.

  “Arrest me or get lost,” Betty told Michelle in a hateful tone.

  “Oh, no you didn't,” Momma Peach said. Before Betty knew what was happening, Momma Peach had swung her pocketbook over her shoulder and landed a blow squarely between Betty’s shoulder blades. “Get over there and sit down!” Momma Peach yelled in a furious voice. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, talks to my baby like that!”

  Betty scurried toward the bench and threw her hands in the air to block Momma Peach's attack. “Are you crazy?!” she yelled.

  “I’m about to get more than crazy if the situation calls for me to be!” Momma Peach yelled back. Michelle grinned at Jim. Jim smiled, sat back down on his stool, and returned his attention to his newspaper.

  Betty backed up to the wooden bench and tumbled down right as Momma Peach's pocketbook went flying past her head. “You're insane!”

  Michelle approached, put a gentle hand on Momma Peach's shoulder, and looked down at Betty. “Who paid you to leave town?” she asked.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Betty hissed and began rubbing her shoulder. “You should arrest this woman for assault.”

  “I don’t think so. Her methods might be unorthodox, but it looks to me like Momma Peach just prevented a suspect in a murder case from escaping,” Michelle informed Betty in a pointed tone. “I told you this morning to stay in town.”

  “You also said I wasn't under arrest,” Betty said defensively and looked up at Momma Peach. “You had no right to attack me.”

  “Be grateful I didn't have a frying pan handy,” Momma Peach told Betty and put her pocketbook down at her feet. “A poor soul is dead. Haven't you got a conscience, woman?”

  “I didn't know the man,” Betty replied in a sour voice. “I found him dead...over one of your pies if I recall. Maybe you killed him, huh?”

  Momma Peach bent down, put her nose to Betty's nose and said: “Don't ever insult one of my famous peach pies again, woman. You will wish you didn’t live long enough to regret it.”

  Betty's eyes grew wide and the whites of her eyes were stark around her pupils. “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Momma Peach said and stood back up. “Listen here, Miss High and Mighty. You have a piece of steak stuck in your teeth and your breath smells like an Andes mint like they give out down at the chop house. New dress, fancy haircut, steak lunch, and now you're buying a ticket to Jacksonville. Cleaning rooms at a slum motel must pay nicely.”

  “I’m sure a lie detector test will tell us what we need to know,” Michelle told Momma Peach.

  “What? Wait, no...” Betty said in a nervous voice. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, plainly visible in the harsh overhead light of the bus depot. “I haven't done anything wrong, honest. I didn't kill that man...I...”

  “You what?” Momma Peach demanded.

  Betty cast her eyes down at her hands. “You don't understand... I've lived a hard life. I was married to an abusive husband for twenty years. Sure, I drank a lot with him and caused a lot of grief for myself by not divorcing the jerk when he first started hitting me...but I didn't have no place to go.” Betty shook her head. “I was raised white trash...I only went as far as the eighth grade... I can barely read and write...so what if my husband hit me? At least he kept me around.”

  Momma Peach saw tears begin falling from Betty's eyes. Her heart broke for the woman. “I understand,” she said and sat down next to Betty and put her right arm around her. Betty flinched. “I’m not going to hurt you. You just keep talking.”

  Betty looked into Momma Peach's eyes. “I didn't mean what I said about your pie,” she promised. “I was being mean.”

  “I know.”

  Betty ducked her head down, ashamed of herself. “I've been on my own for the last five years. Garth, that was my husband, got liquored up one night and ran his truck through a red light.” Betty explained and wiped at her tears. “When he went to jail, I got kicked out of our apartment. I didn't have no money. So I called my cousin...he's the guy who owns the motel. He let me stay there in exchange for cleaning the rooms.”

  “Why didn't you tell me he was your cousin?” Michelle demanded.

  “Because I got to look out for myself,” Betty snapped at Michelle.

  “Now, let's be calm,” Momma Peach pleaded.

  “Calm?” Betty laughed. “How can I be calm when I'm scared half to death?”

  “Why?” Michelle asked.

  “Because I was told to leave town or die,” Betty answered Michelle in a hard voice. “But, as you can see, I was treated very nicely when I decided to leave town. I was given a lot of money. I sure don't know why but I didn’t ask any questions.”

  “That was blackmail,” Michelle explained. “You took the bribe and now if you decide to talk then they’ve got leverage against you.”

  “That's right,” Momma Peach said. “You also mark yourself as a guilty, guilty person.”

  “If you left town I would suspect you killed Mr. Graystone and put a warrant out for your arrest, too,” Michelle added. “Of course, the person who paid you off knows this.”

  “You mean... I was being set up?” Betty asked, comprehension dawning on her face.

  Momma Peach nodded. “Seems that way,” she said.

  “But what choice did I have?” Betty begged. “My life was threatened.”

  “Of course it was,” Momma Peach told Betty and gently pulled her closer. “I know how a snake thinks. You think of yourself as a piece of white trash, uneducated, and unworthy of love. So along comes a snake who spots your weakness and attacks without mercy. But don't worry, I know how to kill that kind of snake.” Momma Peach looked up into Michelle's thoughtful face. “We need to make folks around here think Betty has left town.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Michelle agreed. She placed a gentle hand on Betty's shoulder. “Floyd Garland paid you off, didn't he?”

  “I'll die if I tell you,” Betty answered in a scared voice. “Money talks and even I know that you cops can't protect me from the power of money.”

  “God is more powerful than all the money in the world,” Momma Peach promised Betty. “You just nod your head yes or no when I ask you this question: Did Floyd Garland pay you to leave town?”

  Betty looked deep into Momma Peach's eyes. Something in the woman's eyes brought courage and comfort to her terrified heart. She quickly nodded her head. “That's why that snake didn't show up at the police station with Felicia,” Michelle said in an angry voice. “And more than likely he's parked outside somewhere watching the bus station. I could arrest him, but we need hard evidence about the murder. All we have is evidence of blackmail.”

  “His lawyer would have him walking in less than an hour,” Momma Peach said in a calm tone. She patted Betty's hand. “Go buy your ticket, and get on the bus. But get off in D
awnville. I will be there to pick you up.”

  “And bring me back here?” Betty asked. “No deal. Please, just let me leave town. I'm going to Jacksonville. That's where I was raised. I have enough money to rent an apartment. I can get a job cleaning hotels. Please...just let me go,” Betty begged.

  “And go back to drinking at bars, being used by abusive men, and ending up dead in an alley? I don’t think so,” Momma Peach told Betty sternly.

  “Why do you care?” Betty asked. “I'm a nobody...a booze hound...a washed-up piece of trash on the beach that people kick to the side. What does it matter where I end up?” She looked down at her fine blue dress and for a moment she crumpled a handful of the material in one fist as if she wanted to rip it off and expose her true self beneath.

  “It matters to me,” Momma Peach told Betty and placed her right hand to Betty's cheek. “I care.”

  Without understanding why, Betty burst into tears and threw her arms around Momma Peach. Momma Peach pulled Betty into her loving arms and held her. “You're going to come live with me,” she whispered in Betty's ear. “I’ll keep you safe and set you right. But first I need you to get on that bus and make Floyd Garland think you left town. I will pick you up in Dawnville.”

  “Please,” Michelle begged Betty. She squatted down close to Betty. “You're not alone anymore if you don't want to be.”

  Betty nodded. “Okay...I'll do it.”

  Outside, parked at a safe distance down the street in his flashy red BMW, Floyd Garland waited for Betty to leave the bus station and get on the Greyhound bus. When Betty walked outside with Michelle and Momma Peach at her side, he tensed up. But then he saw Michelle speak to the driver, who stepped out to place Betty's suitcase under the bus in the luggage compartment, then she shook Betty's hand and walked back inside the bus station with Momma Peach. Betty boarded the bus just as she’d promised him. He kept watch, wary that she might change her mind at the last second, but all he saw was that five minutes later a young man came running up and managed to catch the bus before it pulled away. “We'll talk tomorrow,” Floyd whispered at Michelle as he drove away from the bus station and tailed the Greyhound bus until it reached the interstate. “Don't come back,” he warned Betty, before pulling an illegal U-turn and speeding back toward town.