“Calm down, calm down,” Aunt Rachel told Momma Peach, “and let's think. Who are you supposed to remember?”
“The next person the killer intended to kill—but he didn't, because Momma Peach got in his way.”
“My, my,” Aunt Rachel said, “that is a tough one.” She closed her eyes and began to think. “The best way to remember is to become the past. In my old age I learn the truth of this every day. Sometimes I think I remember being a young lady better than I remember what I did last Sunday, truth be told. Mercy. Sometimes a person isn't aware of something in her past until she becomes her past all over again...she lives every single second of it like it was happening all over again. Do you hear your Aunt Rachel?”
“I hear you.”
“Good,” Aunt Rachel said. She looked down at the phone in her hand and said with a broken heart: “If anything ever happened to you, Caroline, I would never forgive myself.”
“I know,” Momma Peach told Aunt Rachel. She took a deep breath and knew what she had to do. “Listen, I need to get off the phone now and do some thinking.”
“Okay, baby...I love you.” Aunt Rachel hung up the phone and sat silently for a long time, remembering and worrying, worrying and remembering. Then she shook her head and made a decision. “No one is going to hurt my baby,” she said in an angry voice. She picked up the phone and called the Georgia State Patrol and asked for Captain Paul Oaks.
Momma Peach waited for the phone to ring. When the phone did ring, she reluctantly raised her hand and grabbed it. “I am here in my bakery,” she told J.W. “Following your rules.”
“And your detective friend is at the police station as ordered,” J.W. said, standing across the street from the bakery. “If you fail to tell me the name I desire, then your cop friend will be my first victim, Momma Peach.”
“You slimy—”
“Enough with the insults,” J.W. snapped. “Have a civil tongue, woman. Don’t you know better than to bite the hand that feeds you? Or more accurately, the hand that holds the gun to your head? You have until midnight and then I kill. If you give me the name I need, we'll move to square four.”
“How many squares are there?” Momma Peach asked.
“Five,” J.W. answered in a mild tone. “I have to admit, Momma Peach, I didn't expect you to move across the playing board so swiftly. You're ahead of schedule. But that's my fault. Your detective friend was very helpful to you, it appears. Too helpful. I should have separated you two from the beginning. However, I'm growing older and my mind isn't as sharp as it once was.” J.W. searched the fog. “I assumed a small town like this wasn't capable of harboring an intelligent cop. I was obviously very wrong.”
“My girl will kick your teeth in if she gets the chance, you lousy, good-for-nothing—”
J.W. sighed. “You're a very stubborn woman who doesn't know when she’s beaten,” he told Momma Peach. “No matter. The game is moving forward, and I seriously doubt you will win the next round.”
“I will,” she said between gritted teeth.
“No, you won’t,” J.W. hissed. “Momma Peach, you caused me great disgrace, and now I'm going to cause you great pain. The death of the people I kill will be on your hands. Is that clear?”
“I'll get the name...somehow,” Momma Peach promised desperately.
J.W. pushed back his temper. “How?” he asked in a curious voice. “The name I want belongs to a person you never met...except for one time.” J.W. grinned. “Oh, did I accidentally give you a clue? Well, so be it. It makes the game more interesting.”
“You're a very arrogant piece of sewer trash, aren't you? You're so confident that I am going to fail.”
“Yes, I'm very confident that this round will belong to me.”
Momma Peach bit down on her lower lip and decided to change gears. “Tell me something, you turkey.” Momma Peach kept her eyes on the foggy street outside the window. “I want to know if that woman you had supper with the night you met me in the dining room was your momma.”
J.W. grew silent and very still. “That is none of your concern—”
“It was your momma, wasn’t it?” Momma Peach interrupted J.W. “I figured as much.”
J.W. gritted his teeth. “My mother is dead. If you dare insult her memory, I will end this game and kill everyone you care about so quick your head will spin like a top,” he threatened.
“Oh, I don't disrespect your memory,” Momma Peach told J.W. in a light tone of voice. “Momma Peach just kinda figured the woman I saw was your momma ever since I found out your daddy was suspected when she was found drowned in the Pacific. Allegedly. But listen, I know the woman found on the beach wasn't Meredith Wording, now was it? Nah, Meredith Wording faked her own death the same way you faked your own death.”
J.W. swallowed and took a shallow breath, trying to control his temper. Momma Peach had gotten ahold of very sensitive information that he had not intended her to know. “You're walking on very dangerous ground. My advice is to back away and play by the rules.”
“What rules?” Momma Peach asked. “Yours? The rules of a madman?”
“Enough with the insults.”
“Oh, hush up,” Momma Peach fumed. “I am playing your deadly game, ain't I? Your rules are ridiculous, but I’ve been playing your game since yesterday. All I’m doing now is asking some questions.” Momma Peach searched for more courage and continued. “Your daddy helped finance a hospital because he knew it would make great money if he created an avenue for people to buy illegal organs. Now, your momma either found out what was going on or she didn't, but she sure didn't fake her death because your daddy was being nice to her, no sir and no, ma’am. I happen to know she filed for divorce before she faked her death.” Momma Peach stared into the foggy distance, trying to picture the long-ago actions of Meredith Wording. In her mind, she prayed for him to take the bait and talk, desperate to dig into his mind.
J.W. stood very still and held his silence for a long, uncomfortable minute. “My father was a cruel man, Momma Peach. What you say is true. He did begin a very…ugly business, in which he allowed the highest bidder to purchase a new heart or liver or other organs needed for life. He was a vicious, power-hungry man. He found out that my mother had let rumors of the black market business spread throughout society. My mother had no choice but to fake her death in order to escape to safety. If she hadn’t, he would have simply murdered her.”
“Fair enough,” Momma Peach replied. “I don't like men hurting women, no sir, and that includes even you.”
“I do not harm women, either. I simply mark my target and carry out my objective.”
“Yeah, sure, if that helps a rat like you sleep at night,” Momma Peach said with sarcasm before she could catch her tongue. She shook her head and quickly added: “So you faked your death the same as your momma. Why? Was your daddy out to kill you, too?”
“My father started it,” he said in a low but furious voice. “He decided that I was going to be a threat to his treasure chest of hidden secrets sooner or later. He sent two men to kill me. Those two men died instead. However,” J.W. continued, “I knew my father would not stop until I was dead. I had no other choice but to fake my own death. You can imagine how angry I was.” J.W. gritted his teeth. “On the day I drowned the man whom the authorities later would mistake for my own corpse...I swore revenge on my father. My sweet mother was with me that day and together we created a plan. Carrying out the plan was very difficult, though. Money was scarce, and living in the shadows was very difficult. But we were patient. I attended medical school under an assumed name and used that knowledge to hone my skills as a killer. When the time was ripe, my mother and I traveled back to New York and from there we set our plan in motion.”
“You took down your daddy first, didn't you?”
“Yes,” J.W. said, pleased. “I see we think alike, Momma Peach. Jeremy Wyatt Wording had to die. I went to his office building and began following him. I learned where he lived, what his daily routin
es were, and who his friends and coworkers were. On a snowy night, shortly before New Year’s Eve, I crept into his apartment and paid my father one last, personal visit.”
“You killed him.”
“Yes. But not before forcing him to open his personal safe,” J.W. explained. “My father kept five hundred thousand dollars in his safe.” J.W. narrowed his eyes. “But the money and his death...it wasn't enough. It wasn’t the main goal.”
“You made your daddy tell you who got organs at his hospital.”
“No,” J.W. corrected Momma Peach, “I didn't. I found those names in a folder in the safe. The names were, as they say, better than gold. I knew I had found a treasure that was worth more than the measly five hundred thousand dollars I took from the safe that day.”
Momma Peach saw the woman J.W. had supper with appear in her mind. “Let me guess. You wanted more money for your momma?”
“Yes,” J.W. told Momma Peach. “My mother was a genteel woman who lived her life in fear. Her fear ended when I killed my father,” he explained. “After my father was dead, I swore I would take revenge on everyone who made my father rich. I would steal their money and give it to my mother so she could live the life she deserved. But you, Momma Peach, you came in and destroyed my plan and caused me great disgrace. And even worse,” J.W. growled, “you caused my mother to lose millions. But the issue at hand concerns us, you and me…not my mother. This game is between you and me, after all. The disgrace you caused me will be corrected.”
“What you mean is that I hurt your pride and you're still licking your wounds, is that it?” Momma Peach sighed, and the fog seemed to creep even closer. “A little old pie maker from Georgia outsmarted a brilliant killer and made him go running to his momma...no offense to your momma.”
J.W. gritted his teeth. “You're a very brazen woman, Momma Peach. Your words are going to cause you great pain.”
“Maybe,” Momma Peach replied. “But since I am running my mouth I might as well say that I believe it was your momma, rest her soul, who helped turn you into the killer you are. Oh, I ain't saying she wanted you to kill all the people you did. Maybe your momma only wanted you to kill your daddy. But after you found those other names...well, maybe your momma was the one who helped you see what a gold mine it was, huh?”
“You're a very observant lady, Momma Peach,” J.W. said and forced his anger into the pit of his stomach. Why get upset over the truth? Did it really matter if the woman knew his deepest secrets? She was going to die, and that's all that mattered. “Yes, it's true, after I presented the file I found to my mother, she helped me begin devising a new path to walk. That’s to her credit. She always was a smart lady. But now, enough talk. You have until midnight. I will be in touch.”
Momma Peach put down the phone. “You'll be in touch, turkey,” she mumbled to herself. “Momma Peach knows you be in touch...but the question I keep asking myself is why you decided to get in touch with me now. Why, after all these years? Your sudden arrival in town doesn't make much sense, now does it?” Momma Peach eased up onto her feet and crept over to the front window and looked out into the fog. “You're in my town for a reason,” she whispered. “I sure am certain you want revenge on me for tangling with your plans the way I did, yes sir and yes, ma’am...but I am also certain you're here for another reason. But what?” Momma Peach peered through the thick fog, feeling like a prisoner trapped in her own bakery. What if a customer tried to pay her a visit? She doubted anyone with sense would be out in the fog, but it angered her heart to know she was barricaded in her own bakery, cut off from her town and the people she loved. “Why are you really here, turkey? You could have easily killed Momma Peach without her being aware you were around. No, you're here for a reason...you want Momma Peach to understand you...but you also want something else...something...” Momma Peach struggled in her thoughts. “You want Momma Peach dead for a reason.”
Momma Peach crept away from the front display window and walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling very tired. “Okay, Momma Peach, you better focus on one thought at a time and stop chasing a herd of wild horses. You have to figure out the name of the person J.W. Wording was set on killing up there in New York.” Momma Peach took a sip of her coffee. “Oh, sweet coffee, talk to Momma Peach and wake her up.”
As Momma Peach stood alone in her kitchen, across town Michelle arrived at the police station and raced inside. Beth had gone home, but Michelle found a brown file on her desk marked Confidential. Michelle opened the file, looked through a stack of papers connected to the case, and nodded her head. “Bingo,” she said, slammed the file closed, and snatched up her phone. A minute later she was on the phone with the FBI. “Shelia, this is Michelle.”
A woman with short brown hair stood up from behind a desk loaded down with case files. “Michelle? My, it's been a long time.”
“It sure has,” Michelle agreed. “How are you?”
“Oh,” Shelia said and shuffled aside the case files on her desk, “staying busy. And you?”
“The same,” Michelle replied. She tapped the brown file on her desk. “Shelia, I—”
“You need a favor,” Shelia told Michelle.
“Don't hate me.”
Shelia smiled. “Hey, you saved my butt when we were going through the academy. If it hadn't been for you, I would have never become a cop. And that’s what got me to the FBI, in the end. You really got me through a hard spot on the road of life.”
Michelle closed her eyes. “You passed the academy all on your own, Shelia. All I did was help you get in shape.”
“You didn't let me give up, though,” Shelia pointed out. “Most people were willing to walk right on past me…but not you. And because of that, I not only made it through the police academy, I made it through the FBI officers’ academy with flying colors. Now, tell me, what can I do for you? You name it.”
“I need you to find out who is running the Jeremy Wyatt Wording Medical Center in California and get all the information you can to me on that person.”
“Michelle, what’s going on?” Shelia asked in concern.
“I have a killer in town, Shelia,” Michelle confessed.
“A killer?” Shelia exclaimed. “Have you called for backup? Notified the state police—?”
“Shelia, it’s more urgent than that,” Michelle tapped the brown file folder again. “This killer seems to be playing a very strange game.”
“Michelle—”
“Shelia, I have to handle this case on my own,” Michelle informed her old friend. “If you care for me, just do as I ask, please. If I mess up, a woman who is very dear to me might die. I have to work behind the scenes while she's working out in the open. Time is short, and I have to act fast.”
Shelia sat back down at her desk. “I can have your town covered in agents within the hour—”
“The killer will only fade into the woodwork and come back at another time,” Michelle explained. “This is our one chance. We have to catch him in the fog or we'll never catch him.”
“The fog?” Shelia asked in confusion.
“The fog is crazy here right now, but it’s keeping everybody in place, at least,” Michelle confirmed. “Now please, chase down the information I asked for? I can’t find anything online.”
Shelia nodded her head. “I will,” she promised Michelle. “Give me an hour and I'll give you a call back.”
“Thank you, Shelia. And hey...sorry so much time has passed. Life gets busy.”
“Honey,” Shelia told Michelle, “my husband and I are expecting our third child. Believe me, I know how busy life gets.”
“Oh, a new baby,” Michelle exclaimed. “Shelia, I didn’t know—”
“You just make sure you come and see our daughter when she's born,” Shelia smiled.
“I promise,” Michelle told Shelia.
“One hour,” Shelia said. She hung up and went to work.
“One hour,” Mi
chelle whispered and went to work studying all the information Beth had managed to gather in the brown file. Outside, the fog loomed still and silent, covering the town in its suffocating, damp weight. It was waiting...waiting to whisper secrets to a deadly killer. “Hang in there, Momma Peach, and keep fighting. Please, keep fighting.”
Chapter 7
Momma Peach refilled her coffee cup and paced around her kitchen, feeling increasingly like a chicken caught in a foxhole. “Poor Momma Peach is drinking so much coffee she's bound to turn into a coffee bean,” she said and then shrugged and took another sip of coffee. So what if she turned into a coffee bean? “And so what if someone hears me talking to myself like a crazy woman, surely that won’t surprise anyone by now,” Momma Peach said and let out a little fart. “Oops. Well, better out than in, those eggs from the old woman's diner aren't sitting well with Momma Peach...oh boy, what a stink! Give me strength, give me strength!”
Momma Peach walked to the opposite end of the kitchen. “Who is the mystery person you wanted to kill, J.W.? Obviously, you think I know...you hinted that I only met them once.” Momma Peach opened the refrigerator, studied the contents with half her attention, and decided to eat a slice of peach pie. “Why not,” she said and grabbed the pie plate. “If Momma Peach is gonna die, she might as well die fat and happy, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”
Momma Peach cut a slice of pie and sat down at the baking table. “So who could it be?” she asked, taking a bite of pie. Aunt Rachel’s advice entered her mind: the best way to remember is to become the past. “Well, there's only one way to find out. I have to walk back through time and explore my memories, yes sir and yes, ma’am.” Momma Peach closed her eyes and returned to the fancy hotel where she had been a guest many years ago.
Momma Peach saw herself walking into the dining room of the hotel wearing a simple blue and white striped dress. “There you are,” she whispered, spotting the younger J.W. sitting alone beside the fireplace. It was the morning she put into action the plan she had formulated together with Detective MacNeigh.
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