A Dash of Peach

by Wendy Meadows

  Momma Peach smiled fondly. “You are not a nerd. You are a very, very special child of God.” Momma Peach patted Mandy's head with her hand. “Oh, my sweet children, what am I going to do with you all.”

  The sound of someone knocking on the front door of the bakery caused Mandy to raise her head. “Who could that be?”

  “Let me find out. You leave through the back door,” Momma Peach ordered Mandy.

  Mandy hesitated. “Momma Peach, maybe I should hang around a little bit longer?”

  “Go home,” Momma Peach told Mandy and kissed her cheek. “I will call you later to say goodnight.”

  Mandy glanced at the back door and then nodded. She knew better than to stand around and argue with Momma Peach. “Bye,” she said and hugged Momma Peach. “Goodnight.”

  Momma Peach waited a moment until Mandy left and then walked into the front of the bakery. Floyd Garland was standing outside in an expensive, gray overcoat and a dark gray fedora hat. “So, the dog comes prowling,” Momma Peach whispered. She walked over to the front door of the bakery and disengaged the lock. “Give me strength,” she prayed and opened the front door a crack. “We’re closed.”

  Floyd Garland regarded Momma Peach with cold eyes and then put on a businesslike smile that was so fake it could have caused a two-year-old to vomit up his lunch. “Momma Peach, right?” he asked.

  Momma Peach stared into the eyes of a poisonous snake. “Yes,” she said and decided to use honey instead of vinegar. She swallowed down her disgust and smiled. “And who are you?”

  “I'm Floyd Garland. I'm the mortgage clerk down at the bank,” Floyd told Momma Peach in a voice that attempted to sound sweet and pleasant but came out overcooked and rotted instead. “May I come in?”

  Momma Peach glanced up and down the front sidewalk. No one was in sight and the sun was beginning to set behind the tall pine trees lining the street. “We can talk right here,” she said and closed the front door behind her. “It's so stuffy in my bakery. The air is fresh out here and there’s a nice breeze this evening.”

  Floyd nodded his head. “I agree,” he said and pointed to a cast iron table and chairs sitting off to the right side of the porch in front of the display window. “May we sit down?”

  “If you like,” Momma Peach said. She walked over to the table and sat down with her back against the building of the bakery. The row of cozy stores across the street were closing down. The birds were settling down for a gentle night of sleep. The sky was yawning with twilight overhead and the trees were pulling shadows across their limbs. Momma Peach wanted nothing more than to fetch a cup of warm tea, sit outside her bakery, and watch her town fall asleep. Instead, she was sitting across from a man with a polluted soul. “What is it that you want to talk about?”

  Floyd sat down across from Momma Peach and clasped his hands together. “I want to talk business,” he said in a voice that was serious and calculated. “I want to talk about your bakery.”

  “My bakery?” Momma Peach asked and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes,” Floyd said. “You own the building your bakery is housed in, correct?”

  “Yes. I bought this building with a business loan that I paid off ten years ago.”

  Floyd nodded his head. “It has been brought to my attention that there was an error with the processing of the business loan.”

  Momma Peach braced herself to be bombarded with his threatening lies. “Oh? An error?”

  “It seems,” Floyd continued smoothly, “that the mortgage clerk at the time miscalculated your interest rate. You were given a much lower interest rate than allowed.” Floyd leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Regrettably, the difference must be paid. Over the length of the original loan, plus the ten years since then, using the correct interest rate, you have accumulated a great amount of debt.”

  “I see,” Momma Peach replied, remaining calm in the face of his sinister attack. “How much debt, exactly?”

  “As it stands, and will stand in a court of law,” Floyd said in a threatening tone tainted with glee, “you owe the bank over twenty-five thousand dollars that is due within two weeks or the bank will be forced to repossess your bakery and sell it.”

  “I see,” Momma Peach said, resisting the urge to reach across the table and pull Floyd's ears off his head. “Maybe there are other options for me?” she asked innocently.

  “There are always options,” Floyd said and leaned back, satisfied. “For instance, option one could be to focus on baking bread and nothing else. Perhaps the judge might take some pity on you when we bring it to court.”

  “What would be my other options? I ain't that smart, you see. You would know better than me.” She turned her wide brown eyes on him in supplication and waited for the snake to enter the trap. She reflected that perhaps she wouldn’t need Betty to entrap this prey, or perhaps not yet.

  Floyd nodded as he settled comfortably in his chair. Momma Peach knew he moved in such rich circles that he probably wasn't even aware of her reputation as a brilliant detective. He saw her as a fly to be swatted out of the way and nothing more. “A friend of mine left town today. I just happened to see you at the bus station with her,” he told Momma Peach in a slithery voice. “I was unaware that my friend knew you. That’s where option two comes in. Perhaps if you forget about my friend and bake your little pies, then maybe I can arrange to fix this error in the paperwork. Of course, if you keep sticking your nose into business where it don't belong, then, unfortunately, that back payment money may come back to haunt you, and it may rise significantly.” He made a little face as if the whole matter was distasteful to him, and waited for her to take the bait.

  Momma Peach listened to a pretty bird sing into the approaching night from a pine tree in front of her bakery. She knew to make Mr. Garland wait. She spotted Mrs. Hensley across the street locking up her bookstore. “Hey there, Mrs. Hensley,” she called out and waved. Mrs. Hensley waved back, walked across the street, and greeted Momma Peach.

  “I came over about an hour ago to buy some peach bread but Mandy told me you were all out,” Mrs. Hensley said and looked over at Floyd. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

  “Nothing important,” Momma Peach promised with a serene smile. “I'll have some fresh bread out tomorrow bright and early, Mrs. Hensley. My, for a woman of seventy you're looking mighty tempting in that yellow dress. You should be ashamed of yourself. Every man in this town will be knocking on your door tonight to take a peek at that dress.”

  Mrs. Hensley blushed. “Momma Peach, the only man knocking on my door tonight will be my husband coming in from work asking about his dinner.”

  “I know, I know,” Momma Peach chuckled. “How is Harry?”

  “Cranky and old,” Mrs. Hensley said with a stern look that was nevertheless humorous. “I swear that man thinks my kitchen is nothing more than a place to fuss about his aches and pains. I've asked him to retire more times than I can remember now, but he refuses.”

  “I'm sure Harry just doesn’t want to give up making furniture,” Momma Peach assured Mrs. Hensley. “Oh, by the way, this is Mr. Floyd from the bank. We're talking about my bakery. Would you believe this – it seems that I owe some money to the bank because Mr. Hillson, the man who helped me make my business loans years back, made a mistake and gave me an interest rate that the bank didn't approve of? Seems I owe twenty-five thousand dollars in back payments.”

  Floyd tensed up in his seat. Before he could say a word, Mrs. Hensley tore into him. “That's outrageous. Why I'll go down and talk to Mr. Finney at the bank myself first thing tomorrow morning and tell him where he can shove his money if he wants to pull that kind of dirty trick on a good honest business woman like you, Momma Peach. I'll close down my business account and my personal account and take my business elsewhere. How dare you come here and insist she pay for your mistake.” Mrs. Hensley turned to Momma Peach. “Don't worry, Momma Peach, we'll get you the best lawyer money can buy. We'll organize a busines
s protest and boycott the bank and—”

  “Mrs. Hensley,” Floyd interrupted in a sharp voice, leaping to his feet, “that won’t be necessary. It seems that there has been a mistake on my part. This was a terrible misunderstanding. Momma Peach doesn't owe the bank anything.” Floyd looked down at Momma Peach and narrowed his eyes with unexpressed rage. “I'm sorry to have bothered you this fine evening.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” Momma Peach grinned. “Tell Mr. Finney to say hello to Martha for me.”

  “Of course,” Floyd said and walked away stiffly.

  Mrs. Hensley huffed. “What was that all about?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Hensley,” Momma Peach stood up, “you are an amazing woman and a dear friend, do you know that? And I love you to pieces.”

  Mrs. Hensley watched Floyd disappear down the sidewalk. “That man doesn't sit right in my eyes, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach walked Mrs. Hensley back across the street and helped her into her gray Honda Accord. “You don't worry about that man,” she told Mrs. Hensley. “Now, scooter-poot on home and get Harry his supper started. I'll have Mandy run you over a fresh loaf of my peach bread tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Hensley smiled up at Momma Peach. “You haven't been over for supper in a while. How about tomorrow night?”

  Momma Peach patted Mrs. Hensley's hand with care. “In time,” she promised. “Right now, I have business to tend to.”

  Momma Peach waved goodbye to Mrs. Hensley and walked back to her bakery. For the next three hours, she worked in her kitchen baking bread and pies. The scent of rising dough, cinnamon, brown sugar and peaches filled the air. Finally, when the last batch was out of the oven and she felt exhaustion overtake her, she walked home through a warm night buzzing with the lazy flicker of lightning bugs searching for love under a sky twinkling with bright summer stars. “I have a lot of work to do,” Momma Peach told herself as she walked home and then yawned, “but right now I need some sleep.” And sleep she did. She snored so loud the roof covering her home nearly lifted off into space.

  The following morning Momma Peach walked back to her bakery through the cool morning air feeling refreshed and clear-minded. She found Mandy already waiting at the front door. “My, will you look at that dress,” Momma Peach beamed.

  Mandy smiled. “I know green isn't really my color, but I like it.”

  “Green is you,” Momma Peach promised Mandy and hugged her neck. “Now, tell me, what are you doing standing at the front door to my bakery so early the birds are still yawning?”

  Mandy looked down at her hands. “I had a fight with my mom last night,” she admitted. “And of course my dad didn't help much.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Oh,” Mandy said and stomped at the sidewalk, “my mom invited that intolerable Matt Richardson over to our house last night. She thinks Matt is the answer to my being single, forgetting that I can't stand the guy. And I told him that, too...which didn't make my mom happy at all. When I woke up this morning she was still upset with me so I decided to come to work early.”

  Momma Peach sighed. “Oh,” she said and pulled Mandy into her warm arms. “I wish I could make you feel better.”

  “Me, too.”

  Momma Peach looked over her shoulder and saw Michelle walk up carrying two brown paper cups of coffee and still wearing the same clothes from the day before. “Mandy, go inside.” Momma Peach opened her pocketbook, took out the keys to the front door, and handed them to Mandy. “I baked some fresh bread and pies last night. Put them out, okay? And wrap one up extra special for Mrs. Hensley.”

  “Yes, Momma Peach,” Mandy said. She took the keys from Momma Peach, unlocked the front door, and went inside.

  “What is it?” Momma Peach asked Michelle with concern. “Your eyes are full of troubles. Tell me.”

  Michelle handed Momma Peach a cup of coffee and then looked up into the clear morning sky. “Betty Walker's body was found at a hotel in Fieldsdale,” Michelle said in a heavy voice. “She was strangled to death, Momma Peach.”

  Momma Peach felt her heart break. Tears began streaming down from her tormented eyes. “Fieldsdale is the detour town that the bus stopped at yesterday, isn’t it?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes.”

  “Oh, the poor baby,” Momma Peach said. She wiped at her tears. “God rest her troubled soul. You went to Fieldsdale already?”

  “Yes, Momma Peach,” Michelle said and took a breath to steady her exhausted mind. “The same cologne we smelled in the room Mr. Graystone was found in, Momma Peach, was in the room where Betty was killed.”

  “You smelled the cologne?” Momma Peach asked in alarm.

  “Yes.”

  Momma Peach walked over to the table beside the display window and sat down. “I have news for you, too. Floyd Garland paid me a visit last night,” she confessed. “Of course, thanks to my dear friend and angel Mrs. Hensley, his visit didn't turn out the way he planned.” Despite her sadness about Betty’s death, Momma Peach couldn’t help but suppress a smirk to remember Floyd’s poorly concealed rage as two women having a seemingly innocent neighborly chat had undone his sick little blackmail scheme.

  Michelle sat down across from Momma Peach and worked on her coffee. She listened to Momma Peach describe the conversation she had had with Floyd Garland. “Seems like Mrs. Hensley really saved the day.”

  “Lovely woman, one of the best,” Momma Peach said, thinking back again to Betty and how she’d never have a chance to improve her life. She fought back more tears as she remembered an important detail. “The cologne I smelled coming from Floyd Garland didn't match the money cologne I smelled in the room Mr. Graystone was killed in, rest his poor soul. The cologne I smelled on that snake Floyd Garland smelled expensive, but not as expensive as the cologne in the room Mr. Graystone was killed in.”

  Michelle leaned back in her chair. The morning was waking up as the sun rose higher and the air warmed up for another hot Georgia day. The birds were chirping far above them in the trees. At any other time, she would have cherished sitting in front of the bakery with Momma Peach, having coffee together. She could feel her fatigue pulling at her eyelids. “I'll speak with Floyd Garland today about noon. I want you to watch our conversation from the viewing room.”

  “I'll be there,” Momma Peach promised. She sighed heavily. “Check the phone records at the hotel Betty was killed at. I have a bad feeling she called Floyd Garland.”

  “I already spoke to a Detective Mayfield. He's promised to share information with me,” Michelle explained. “I'll give him a call after lunch and see what he's come up with.”

  “How did you find out about Betty Walker?” Momma Peach asked, forcing Michelle to focus. “Did this Detective Mayfield call you?”

  “No, Momma Peach,” Michelle said. She set down the coffee cup in her hand and looked at Momma Peach with mystified confusion in her eyes. “Are you ready for this?”

  Momma Peach braced herself. “Hit me.”

  “I received an anonymous call,” Michelle told Momma Peach. “Someone called me and told me that Betty Walker had been murdered. I was given the name of the hotel and the exact room number.”

  Momma Peach wiped away her tears and took this bit of information in solemnly. “We have more players in this game than we realized.”

  “I know.”

  “Time for me to tighten the strap on my thinking cap and start tossing some serious thinking into the oven,” Momma Peach said and took a determined sip of her coffee. “I don't like being toyed with, no sir.”

  A beautiful brown finch looked down at Momma Peach from a tall tree limb, smiled, and flew away on the soft, morning breeze.

  Momma Peach situated herself on a chair in the viewing room, reached into her pocketbook, pulled out a mint, and settled her mind. “I’m going to watch you carefully,” she said, looking through the one-way mirror at Floyd Garland.

  Floyd Garland had walked into the interrogation room without Felicia, sat down, and folded his
hands across his chest. Michelle stepped in behind him, closed the door, and leaned against the back wall instead of sitting down. She examined Floyd with quick eyes that were in sharp contrast to her relaxed posture. The man was wearing a very expensive cream linen summer suit whose very tailoring seemed designed to intimidate. His short red hair was combed neatly and slicked back with a thin layer of gel that seemed to shimmer under the light just like his dark, snakelike eyes. Yet, Michelle noticed, the man was handsome – but not in an attractive way; Floyd's handsomeness was like a weapon that he wielded as part of his malice, so what might have been attractive was instead poisoned by hatred. “Thank you for coming down,” she said finally.

  “I would have accompanied my wife yesterday, but I had urgent business at the bank. I'm sure you understand, Detective,” Floyd told Michelle in a smooth but cold tone that told her he wished to appear relaxed and friendly.

  Momma Peach, watching through the mirrored window, knew better. “Liar,” Momma Peach said and popped the mint in her hand into her mouth. “I’m going to get you good.”

  “Seems like your work has been keeping you very busy. I was informed you paid Momma Peach a visit late yesterday evening,” Michelle said and folded her arms across her chest. “Mrs. Hensley was a witness to your visit, I understand. Strange, I thought bankers went home when the bank closed.”

  Floyd stiffened slightly in his chair. By now he had surely realized that his attempted threat against Momma Peach had created a weak ankle that he would have to keep walking on, somehow. “Yes, well,” he said, “I thought it was urgent business that I inform Momma Peach of a banking matter involving her bakery. As it turned out, it was nothing to worry about. No harm, no foul.”

  Michelle nodded her head. She let the sleaze think his flimsy explanation had passed muster, but she had more important matters to cover and was going to enjoy watching him squirm. “Betty Walker informed me that you paid her to leave town. Is that true?”