A Peachy Plan

by Wendy Meadows

  “Best idea that I have heard all day,” Momma Peach said in a grateful voice. The sky continued to turn darker as the storm morphed into a fierce scream, filling with danger and hidden traps. The last thing Momma Peach felt like doing was wandering around in a snowstorm all night searching for an unseen killer who, at the moment, had a leg up on them. Also, Momma Peach had to concede, the chances of locating little Susan were very weak. Truthfully, Susan most likely found a hiding spot that would require an entire army to locate her; little girls—especially scared little girls—had a talent for finding the least likely locations to hide in.

  Thelma patted the warm passenger's seat. “Hop in, then, and we'll get moving.”

  Momma Peach nodded. “Michelle, you and Mr. Sam—” Momma Peach began to say but stopped when she spotted Chief Duddles ease away from the crowd like a slippery snake and begin walking toward a connector street. “Now where is that dirty dog off to?” she asked and pointed at Chief Duddles.

  Michelle narrowed her eyes. “That man is playing a dangerous game,” she said in an irritated voice. “Let's follow him.”

  “Too late,” Sam replied in a quick voice and pointed to a black SUV rolling down the side street. The SUV pulled up to Chief Duddles and stopped. Chief Duddles opened the left passenger's door and crawled inside. The SUV slowly pulled away.

  “That would be Mayor Beardman,” Thelma pointed out and shook her head. “It's not often Mayor Beardman makes a public appearance. I guess he came down to see the mess and wants some answers from the chief.”

  Momma Peach watched the black SUV vanish into the storm. The more she lingered inside the heart of Ridge Falls the more she felt trapped in an episode of the Twilight Zone. On the outside the town appeared cozy, quaint and snuggly—but hidden with the heart of the town stalked an ugly monster, hunched under the streets and houses, prowling around with hungry, cruel secrets. “Michelle, you and Mr. Sam follow Thelma's tow truck,” she said and looked toward a gray truck that Thelma had loaned them for use in place of the crippled SUV they had been driving. “At least that truck don't smell like dirty socks, yes sir and yes ma’am.”

  Sam bit down on his lip and studied the scene very carefully. He soaked in the details of every face, every vehicle, and every sight that his mind could gather. Certain that Momma Peach and Michelle were way ahead of him, he hoped to capture something that might be useful to them later on. “Yeah,” he said, looking at an old woman wearing a thick, vintage fur coat over what appeared to be a pink bathrobe, “the truck smells like pine instead of old socks.”

  Michelle looked around the scene a few more times. Her instincts told her to question the neighbors of Charlene Readings, but her heart quietly confirmed that each neighbor would promptly slam a door in her face if she attempted to pursue any line of questioning; the strange faces standing out in the snow already threw suspicious looks at her. “Let's go,” she said and patted Momma Peach on the shoulder. “We'll tag close behind, okay?”

  “Okay,” Momma Peach replied and let her eyes scan the crowd. She saw the same old lady wearing the fur coat who had caught Sam’s glance. The old lady seemed like the only person in the crowd not sending out negative vibes; at least that's what Momma Peach felt. Momma Peach wanted to speak to the woman, but like Michelle, she felt sure the only answer they would receive would be a hard door slammed in their faces—at least for the time being. “Mr. Sam, drive safe.”

  “Sure thing, Momma Peach,” Sam promised and walked Michelle over to the truck and jumped into the driver's seat.

  Momma Peach hurried around the tow truck and climbed back up into the passenger's seat and buckled up. “Oh, sweet heat,” she said and leaned her face toward the inside vents.

  “Roads are barely passable,” Thelma said and shifted the tow truck into drive and eased off the clutch, “I'm a little shocked to see the mayor out in that fancy SUV of his.”

  “Is this Mayor Beardman fella a good guy or bad guy?”

  Thelma eased down the street toward the stop sign. “Well, Bill Beardman is both,” she explained and fished a half-smoked cigarillo out of the ashtray and popped it into her mouth. “You see,” she continued, coming to a careful stop on the icy road, “Bill Beardman is a man controlled by money but he tries to...well, be a people person. Does that make sense?”

  Momma Peach thought for a few seconds. “Momma Peach wouldn't assume a mayor in a town this small would make much money, is that right?”

  Thelma let off the brake and pushed the tow truck through the intersection. “Nope,” she said, “Bill makes his money playing the stock market, or so I heard. The money he jingles in his pocket as mayor pays for the tab he runs up at Mom's Diner.”

  “I see,” Momma Peach replied and looked into the rearview mirror. Sam was right on the tow truck’s tail like a faithful dog following its owner. “Is this Mayor Beardman fella old, young?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  “How long has he been mayor?” Momma Peach asked.

  “Years and years and years, it seems,” Thelma explained. “I can't recall there ever being an election for mayor in this town. It's kind of an unspoken rule that Bill Beardman is mayor and will always be the mayor until he either resigns or dies. Must be part of that famous pact, you see.”

  Momma Peach took off her thick gloves and ran her bare hands in front of the vents. “Baby, is this man a person who seeks justice? Or is he a pawn?”

  Thelma drove past a line of cozy gingerbread homes. “Bill Beardman only has a backbone inside Ridge Falls, Momma Peach. Once he's outside of his safe zone he turns into a spineless jellyfish. At least that's how I perceive him.” Thelma glanced at the rows of houses blanketed with snow and continued. “Chief Duddles and Mayor Beardman aren't two men I would trust to find little Susan, either. Those two guys are fixtures in this town, like the light post you see on the main street.”

  “I am starting to understand this dreary little town, with Ms. Thelma's help,” Momma Peach said in a grateful voice. “I just wish little Susan was in my arms and Charlene Readings was still alive. My, what a mess, yes sir and yes ma’am. If it ain't Old Joe giving me a headache or some creepy old clown trying to stab me, some other crazy problems comes along. Poor Mr. Sam must be ready to pull his hair out by now, yes sir and yes ma’am.”

  “Old Joe...creepy clown?” Thelma asked and looked at Momma Peach. “Are there some stories you would like to share with me, Momma Peach?”

  “Not now,” Momma Peach said and patted Thelma's arm. “I ain't wanting to think about that old creepy clown who tried to stab me and I sure don't want to think about what kind of trouble Old Joe might be causing my girls back home right now.” Momma Peach shook her head. “Mandy and Rosa are taking some serious heat in the kitchen in order for me to be able to venture off on this trip. Bless their little hearts.”

  “Seems you come from a very interesting place.”

  “Oh, not really,” Momma Peach explained. “I live in a small Georgia town filled with good folk...well, not everyone in her town is good, because some folks are bound and determined to be a rotten apple. But,” Momma Peach drew in a warm breath and felt her cheeks beginning to defrost, “for the most part the folks in my town are good. Oh, we have our problems, especially down at our local diner...the woman who owns the diner can't cook a decent biscuit to save her life, and her sweet tea, oh child, don't get me started on that woman's sweet tea!”

  Thelma grinned. “Too sweet, huh?”

  “Sweet enough to turn in a grown man into a sugar cube,” Momma Peach continued to fuss. “And her meatloaf, always burned...chicken and dumplings always runny...scrambled eggs dry as a bone...makes me wonder why I even waste my hard earned money eating there.”

  “Well…why do you eat at this diner if the food is so bad?” Thelma asked, confused.

  Momma Peach shot Thelma a very serious eye. “Because,” she said through gritted teeth, “I ain't about to give up the war.”

  Thelma glanced at Momma Peach,
saw the fire in her eyes, winced, and quickly looked back at the snowy road. “Best of luck,” she said and swallowed. “Uh, we'll drop off this weight we're carrying and drive to my place. I'm not the greatest chef in the world, but I can cook up a good meal on a minute’s notice.”

  Momma Peach leaned back in her seat. “Baby, whatever supper you rustle up on a day like this will be just fine. I’m hungry enough to eat a Cracker Barrel out of business.” Momma Peach felt her mouth begin to water. “My, my, how I love me their plate of chicken and dumplings, with a sweet potato and a helping of coleslaw. Now, the biscuits aren't anything to write home about but the coffee takes care of that little dent.” Momma Peach felt a smile touch her lips. “And oh, after the meal I love to plunder through the store, explore the fun candies, see what stuff is on sale, look through the music and even take a glance or two at the toys just to be silly.”

  “Sounds to me you have a pretty nice life down there in Georgia.”

  “No complaints,” Momma Peach replied in a sweet voice. “My life has hit a few hard bumps in the road, but the good Lord in all of His love carried me through and filled my life with some very beautiful people.”

  “Yeah,” Thelma sighed, “I can see that Sam and Michelle love you in a way that I just can't put into words. Kinda makes me jealous, too. Don't get me wrong, Momma Peach, I'm grateful for my life here in Ridge Falls, but the closest person I have to family is Mom. It...gets lonely at times.” Thelma tossed the cigarillo in her mouth back down into the ashtray. “I stay because I feel my husband in this town. I know that might sound crazy, but it's true.” Thelma fought back a tear. “Mom remembers my husband eating at the diner when he was just a kid...”

  Momma Peach touched Thelma's arm with a sweet, loving, hand. “The nights sure get long, don't they?”

  “Yes, Momma Peach, they do,” Thelma agreed. “Sometimes I sit on the front porch when the weather is nice and stare out at the front yard imagining what it would be like…to still have my husband with me...a house full of children...at times I can almost hear my husband's voice calling out from the kitchen wanting to know where I put the coffee. But when I walk into the kitchen...no one is there.”

  Momma Peach saw her own kitchen back home. She saw herself walking into the kitchen in the early morning hours expecting to see her husband sitting at the kitchen table sipping a cup of coffee but finding an empty chair instead. “Sometimes, I sure am anxious to get on to Heaven and be with Jesus and everyone I love. Sometimes, when it's late at night and I lie in my bed and the floor fan is running, I close my eyes and reach for Heaven with all of my heart, hoping maybe...the Good Lord will let my husband say a hello or two. Now, I know better, but in my heart...oh, I don’t mind being a bit foolish.”

  Thelma looked at Momma Peach and saw a special love in the woman's eyes that gave comfort to her heart. “Momma Peach, when we get back to my place I want you to tell me all about your husband over a pot of hot coffee.”

  “I would love that, baby,” Momma Peach smiled and checked the rearview mirror. Sam followed the tow truck nice and safe. “That's it, Mr. Sam, stay close, baby, because this storm is growing into a mighty fierce enemy.”

  Thelma's home, a quaint two-story farmhouse, included a snow-covered red barn and a few acres of lovely land. Because of the snow, they could barely make out the yard in front of the farmhouse, but Momma Peach knew the garden beds beneath the snow surely sprouted with beauty and magnificence during the spring and summer months.

  “Well,” Thelma said, pulling the tow truck up to a wooden two-car garage at the side of the farmhouse, “here we are. Home sweet home.”

  Momma Peach spotted a red 1967 convertible Volkswagen sitting in the garage next to a classic blue Chevy truck. The truck was a beauty compared to the worn-down gray truck Sam was driving. “My, Ms. Thelma has some real pretty toys,” Momma Peach whistled, straining her eyes through the snow in order to see the convertible and truck better.

  “Wind blew off the car covers again,” Thelma complained. She pointed at the Volkswagen. “That was the very first car my husband bought me. The truck belonged to my husband.” Thelma sighed and climbed out of the tow truck. As she did, a sound coming from behind them caught her attention. “Huh?” It came from the cramped space behind the front seats.

  Momma Peach heard the sound as well. She quickly hurried out of the tow truck and placed her finger up in the air. Thelma read Momma Peach's eyes and nodded. “Well,” she said, keeping her voice casual, “I better get those emergency blankets out from the back so we can bring them inside.”

  “Okay,” Momma Peach said and backed up against the side of the tow truck and waited. As she did, Sam appeared in the gray truck. Momma Peach waved at him to stop. Sam eased to a stop. “Mighty cold out here, Ms. Thelma, you better hurry and get those blankets.”

  Thelma braced herself and carefully leaned back into the tow truck, released the front seat lever, and pulled the seat forward. As she did, a tiny, very scared little girl with black hair threw a green emergency blanket off her head and darted out the passenger door. Momma Peach gently grabbed her in a hug. “Hold on, baby,” she said in a loving voice, “ain't nobody gonna hurt you.”

  Little Susan struggled against Momma Peach. “Let me go!” she cried.

  “Ah, so you can speak English,” Momma Peach said and waved at Sam and Michelle with her left hand. Michelle jumped from the truck and ran through the storm. The little girl would not stop struggling. “Michelle, tell this child we're not going to hurt her in a language she understands a little better.”

  “Let me go!” Susan cried again and managed to yank free from Momma Peach, only to be caught by Michelle. Michelle began speaking soft and careful in Mandarin Chinese. Susan froze and listened. As she listened to Michelle the icy winds tore into her scared face. Momma Peach quickly retrieved a blanket and handed it to Michelle. Michelle wrapped the blanket around Susan and continued to speak. When she finished speaking, Susan looked up at Momma Peach, then at Thelma, and finally to Sam who stood beside the gray truck, doing his best to appear nonthreatening.

  “Okay?” Michelle asked transferring her language back to English.

  Susan hesitated and then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

  “What did you say to her?” Thelma asked.

  “I told her that we were friends with Charlene and that we're here to catch the person who killed her,” Michelle explained and swooped Susan up into her arms. The girl allowed herself to be taken and slowly wrapped her arms around Michelle and tucked her face into her neck. “You're frozen,” she said in a worried voice. “Let's get you inside.”

  Thelma quickly fished a pair of house keys out from her pocket and handed them to Momma Peach. “You take Susan inside and I'll cover the vehicles.”

  Michelle nodded, searched the stormy landscape for any sign of intruders, and hurried toward the house. “Sam, help me cover my vehicles,” Thelma called out over the wind and waved at Sam.

  Sam checked the snow and walked up to the tow truck. “Whoever is after that little girl,” he said, speaking the way a person would when he or she is about to step on a rattlesnake, “will mow right through us. We have to hide that child and hide her real good.” Sam searched the snow again. “This storm is just the ticket we need, too.”

  Momma Peach hugged her arms together. “Let's pray so, Mr. Sam,” she said and hurried off toward the house. “Hold on, I’m getting to the house as fast as my legs will take me,” she called out to Michelle.

  Michelle stepped next to a wooden rocking chair and made way for Momma Peach to unlock a thick, wooden, pink and white front door protected by a sturdy glass door covered with storm glass. She watched Momma Peach stick a silver key into an old-timey lock. “This storm is making is difficult to see,” she told Momma Peach and pulled Susan closer. “As far as I can tell Sam and I weren't followed. But I don't think it's any secret that we're staying with Thelma. Whoever is after Susan will eventually come to this house, Momma Peach.�
�

  “I know,” Momma Peach said in a worried voice and unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The smell of dried rose petals mingled with cinnamon filled the house and struck her nose. The smell reminded Momma Peach of being home in Georgia. “Hurry and get inside.”

  Michelle carried Susan through the front door and stepped into a warm, delightful living room that appeared not to have been updated since the nineteen-thirties; it resembled a very quaint sitting room filled with vintage furnishings in excellent condition. “See, it's warm inside,” Michelle told Susan in a soft voice, stomped snow off of her shoes, and walked over to a soft green couch that complimented a glossy, immaculately clean hardwood floor. Michelle saw clearly that Thelma not only had exquisite taste but that the woman also ran a very tight ship. “Nice and warm.”

  Momma Peach remained at the front door in order to keep a careful eye on Sam and Thelma. She watched Michelle sit little Susan down on the couch and cover her with the green blanket. “My shoes have snow on them,” Susan told Michelle. “I'll wet this nice floor.”

  Michelle gently pushed Susan's black bangs away from her scared eyes and removed the pair of ragged pink tennis shoes from her feet. “I'll just take your shoes over to the front door, honey,” she said. “You just sit there and get warm, okay?”

  “Okay,” Susan promised and looked around the nice living room.

  Michelle walked over to Momma Peach and placed Susan's shoes down onto a thick brown weather mat. “I know this isn't the time to say this but I'm starved,” she whispered.

  “I’m hungry, too,” Momma Peach admitted, spotting Sam walk into the garage with Thelma. “Hurry, Mr. Sam.”

  Michelle glanced over her shoulder at Susan and then looked back outside. “It's getting very dark. The last of the daylight is already fading away.”

  “Michelle, we're not very far from the Canadian border. The darkness this far north is a lot different than the darkness in Georgia. This darkness is...cold and unforgiving,” Momma Peach said as a shiver ran down her back. In her mind's eyes she saw the night as a hideous creature lurking in the approaching storm, studying the farmhouse with hungry eyes. “Oh, give me strength,” Momma Peach begged, “my imagination is running away with me again.”