Detective MacNeigh spotted Momma Peach entering the dining room and took a sip of chocolate milk. He was sitting at a corner table reading a newspaper, pretending to be absorbed in his usual morning breakfast of pancakes, eggs, and chocolate milk. The dining room was nearly empty except for a few early risers tending to their business quietly. Because MacNeigh was an early riser himself and always ate breakfast in the dining room between seven and eight, he didn't think J.W. Wording would find his presence suspicious. And because Momma Peach was a guest, her presence, he hoped, wouldn't seem suspicious either. “Be careful,” he whispered under his breath as Momma Peach approached the table where J.W. sat.
“Well, good morning,” Momma Peach said to J.W. Wording in a pleasant voice, even though her skin felt cold.
J.W. Wording raised his eyes up from a newspaper and saw Momma Peach smiling down at him. “Oh, good morning,” he said, forcing his voice to sound pleasant. The forced politesse was sweet and spoiled as a peach left to rot in the August sun.
“Eating breakfast alone?” Momma Peach asked. Before J.W. could reply, she sat down across from him. “Personally, I just despise eating breakfast alone. I can deal with eating supper alone, but breakfast is the most important meal of the day and should be eaten with good conversation. Supper comes late in the day, and by then the mouth can be awful tired.”
J.W. watched Momma Peach make herself comfortable in the chair. He wasn't in the mood to be annoyed by this woman. “I apologize, ma’am...I am expecting company,” he lied.
“Good, the more the merrier,” Momma Peach beamed. She reached down and picked up a dark blue menu with gold trimmings on it. “My, these menus are sure fancy. You don't see menus like this back home, especially in the local diner. But I don’t recommend you go there unless you want to have your stomach pumped,” Momma Peach chuckled. “The local diner is owned by a woman who couldn't bake a biscuit right to save her life, yes sir and yes, ma’am.”
J.W. stared at Momma Peach. “I see,” he said in a bored tone. “Well, nonetheless, I am expecting company and sincerely regret—”
Momma Peach sniffed the air. “My, that cologne you're wearing sure is nice.”
“Thank you,” J.W. replied and put down his newspaper. “Momma Peach, isn't it?” he asked.
“That's right,” Momma Peach forced her smile to stay on her face.
J.W. stared at Momma Peach. He decided to change his tactics. “You know, this is a very nice hotel, Momma Peach. And, to put it indelicately, very costly. I’m curious to know how a woman from such clearly humble beginnings as yourself has come to stay in such a sumptuous locale.”
“I won a contest,” Momma Peach answered J.W. with a calm, clear voice. “The Golden Days Flour Company is paying my stay at this here fancy place.” Momma Peach looked at the menu. “Momma Peach baked a peach pie that put her competitors to shame.”
“I see,” J.W. said. “Well, as I said, I am expecting a Mr. Edward—”
“Yes, and as I said, the more the merrier,” Momma Peach said, again cutting J.W. off. He did not speak the full name of the man he planned to meet, the man that Detective MacNeigh believed was to be his next victim. Before the morning is out, she felt sure that MacNeigh would have this evil man in custody. It felt good to help catch such a nasty criminal. She lowered her menu and looked around the dining room. “Say,” she said and lowered her voice down to a whisper, “did you hear about the murder that happened up on the floor where I am staying? My, when people say New York is a dangerous city they sure aren’t kidding around. I was afraid to come out of my room last night.”
J.W. stiffened in his chair. “I heard that a housekeeper died tragically,” he stated in a flat voice. “Is that the same rumor you heard?”
Momma Peach nodded her head up and down vigorously. “Yes sir,” she said. “But not just a rumor—it’s a fact. A poor housekeeper was strangled to death.” Momma Peach searched the dining room as if looking for the killer. “Mighty scary not knowing who killed that poor woman. Makes a person want to go hide under a rock.”
J.W. glanced around the dining room, too, and spotted the hotel detective eating his usual breakfast. However, he didn't think much of it and focused his attention back on Momma Peach. “Murder is an ugly business,” he said in a bored tone of voice. “Manhattan is a busy place, but I'm sure the police will catch the killer in time.”
Momma Peach settled in her mind and eased forward carefully in her seat. It was time to set out a little bait and hope the smell wafted up J.W. Wording's nose. “Well, I have an idea who killed that poor woman. But that's just between us.”
“Oh?” J.W. asked in a curious voice.
Momma Peach narrowed her eyes and looked around the dining room again. “You might not know this, but maybe I should have been a detective instead of a cook,” she whispered in a serious voice, “because I ain't no dummy.” Momma Peach looked at J.W. as if they were gossiping over sweet tea on porch rocking chairs. “Anyway, I’m glad I can tell you about this. I sure was happy to see a familiar face when I walked into this dining room. The thought of eating alone wasn't sitting well in my gut.”
“Ah, the more the merrier,” J.W. said.
“You bet your bottom dollar,” Momma Peach stated. “Anyway, if I have an idea who the killer is, then I sure don't want to be seen alone. Why, the killer might try and strangle me.”
J.W. stared at Momma Peach. “Forgive me for being nosy, Momma Peach, but how did you become involved in the investigation, exactly?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m involved, exactly. Like I said, I’m just a smart lady who keeps her eyes open. I saw a bunch of folks standing outside of the room where it took place and poked my nose in where it didn't belong and grabbed ahold of something the police missed. Now,” Momma Peach dove into the deep end of the swimming pool with a life jacket, “I have a piece of evidence that could help the police catch the killer. But that's just between us.”
“Of course, of course,” J.W. said, focusing on Momma Peach's eyes. The woman, in his view, was obviously a complete idiot, but she was revealing herself to be a serious threat with every word she spoke. “Tell me, Momma Peach, what did you find that police did not?”
“Oh no, sir,” Momma Peach said and lifted the menu up to cover her lips, “I ain't gonna put your life in danger by spilling the beans,” she said. Then she glanced over at Detective MacNeigh. “See that man sitting over there?”
J.W. looked over at Detective MacNeigh. “Why, yes I do.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “He's been following me around. I don't know who he is, but...well, I am pretty sure he might be the killer.”
J.W. studied Detective MacNeigh. The man was reading a newspaper and eating his breakfast without a care in the world. J.W. knew Detective MacNeigh was a cop who had been put out to pasture. The man wasn't a threat or even a mild concern. “Really?” he asked, amused.
Momma Peach nodded again. “I saw him outside of my room last night,” she whispered. “That's why I came straight to you. We got to act normal, see? I want that man to think I have friends in this here fancy hotel.”
“I see,” J.W. said. “Well, you're obviously a very clever woman.”
Momma Peach tapped the side of her head. “Momma Peach ain't no dummy.”
“Indeed,” J.W. said. He scanned the room idly and then focused his attention back on Momma Peach. “Perhaps, Momma Peach, it would be wise to tell me what evidence you found? If something should happen to you, I would be able to go to the police.”
“If I tell you what I found, your life will be in danger,” Momma Peach warned J.W. again. “I can’t take that risk, Mr. Wording, sir. I can tell you're a mighty nice fella and I wouldn’t want you in harm's way. Just allowing me to sit here with you is enough.”
“Oh, come now,” J.W. pressed, “what kind of a man would I be if I didn't offer a damsel in distress my help?”
Momma Peach looked into the face of a killer and felt a cold chill run dow
n her spine. She made a thoughtful face, grew silent, and pretended to consider the offer placed on the table. “Yes, sir,” she finally spoke, “you're a mighty nice man.” Momma Peach glanced over at the Detective out of the corner of her eye. “Listen, my knight in shining armor, come to my room tonight at midnight. I will meet you there and let you hang onto the evidence I found.” Momma Peach frowned. “If something should happen to me, you'll be responsible for taking the evidence to the police. I would take the evidence to the police right this very second, but I just can't get away from that man. I’m afraid he might have too many connections, or maybe he has a few more bad guys stationed at this hotel someplace watching me when he’s not around. No sir, I can't chance leaving this hotel with what I found.”
J.W. picked up a crystal glass of orange juice. “I understand your concern. You were very smart to hide the evidence.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “I sure was,” she said and looked around. “I sure am hungry, but I admit I just can't eat with that killer sitting over there. I’m going back to my room to order room service.”
“Good idea,” J.W. agreed. “I'll meet you in your room at midnight. Don’t forget, now.”
Momma Peach nodded her head, gave J.W. her room number, stood up, and quickly walked away. As soon as Momma Peach stood up and left the dining room, Detective MacNeigh put down his newspaper, stood up, and followed her.
“Very interesting,” J.W. whispered and turned his coffee cup in its china saucer. “That broken-down old hound dog must know that southern hick is hiding something.” J.W. narrowed his eyes. “Unfortunately, Momma Peach will be dead before MacNeigh can find out what she is hiding.”
A few minutes later, a tall man in his early fifties walked into the dining room carrying a black briefcase. He spotted J.W. sitting alone and carefully approached his table. “Mr. Wording?”
“Ah, Mr. Edward Potter,” J.W. flashed a hungry smile at the expensively dressed man. “Right on time. Please, sit down.”
Edward Potter nervously sat down, unaware he had entered a sticky spider web, and began listening to J.W. explain the situation. “I will meet you in your room after midnight, Mr. Potter. I expect you to have the rest of my money by then,” J.W. explained with a darkly menacing smile. Killing two birds with one stone was going to be a very delightful experience.
Momma Peach opened her eyes in her kitchen in Georgia, the foggy weather still lurking outside. Manhattan memories faded as she pondered everything she remembered. “I know I left the dining room and walked back to my room,” she whispered, “and didn't see that monster again until he showed up at my door exactly at midnight.” Momma Peach took a bite of pie. “Now all I have to do is remember every word that was spoken in that there dining room before I got up and left.”
Momma Peach stood up and began to pace. She had a lot more thinking to do.
Across town, J.W. Wording walked into Mrs. Edward's diner, spotted an empty booth near the back, and sat down. He ordered an early lunch, ate very slowly, left a generous tip, and then made the long walk back to the house where he was hiding out. The walk was relaxing and allowed him to decide at a leisurely pace who he should kill if and when Momma Peach failed to come up with the name he desired. “If you fail, Momma Peach, I’m thinking the old woman in the diner will surely die. I'm still deciding on who the other two victims should be, but the old woman in the diner will definitely be one of them. She has seen my face twice now, and that is two times too many.”
J.W. arrived at the house hidden in the fog and walked through the front door. In the kitchen, he sat down at the table and dialed a California number on his cell phone. “This is J.W. Wording. What’s our status?” he demanded.
A woman with a face as hard as stone and a voice as sharp and cruel as a butcher’s knife stood up from behind an expensive wooden desk and looked out across the large office, with its walls covered in art like a gallery. Her smile was ugly, and it did not reach her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Wording…Mr. Galloway delivered the names on time. I have the full list secured in a private safe.”
“Very good,” J.W. replied, pleased. “Your next task is to eliminate Mr. Galloway. Is that clear, Ms. Murton?”
Nadine Murton nodded her head. “Yes, Mr. Wording, very clear,” she said.
“Very good. Afterward, please contact me. You have until midnight your time.” J.W. ended the call. Despite the setbacks caused by Momma Peach making too many good guesses with too much help, things seemed to be getting back on track. “It's much nicer when everything goes according to plan,” he said and yawned. “Now, a nap. I must be rested for tonight.”
“Momma Peach, you better think, girl,” Momma Peach grumbled at herself as she paced the floorboards in the front room. The floors squeaked under her in protest. “We got until midnight.”
Momma Peach made her way back into the kitchen and plopped down in a chair, rubbed her hands together anxiously, and sighed. Her stomach was rumbling unhappily, probably from Mrs. Edwards’ cooking at the diner again, but she ignored it. This was no time to focus on that woman’s cooking. “Okay, you turkey, so you think I know the name. So I must have heard you speak the person's name at some point or another...if not you, then somebody said it...” Momma Peach shook her head. “I must be missing something. I have to think back…maybe I should go back to what happened in the dining room again,” she said and began reliving the conversation in her mind over and over. “Maybe I could focus if Mrs. Edwards’ cooking wasn't bothering my tummy,” she complained and then froze as her troubled mind latched onto a name. “Edwards...Edward...Oh, my!” Momma Peach jumped to her feet and began dancing around the kitchen. “Oh, your cooking may be the worst I have ever eaten, but your name sure is sweet in my mouth today!”
Momma Peach was so delighted she grabbed a broom and began dancing with it. “Why, hello Mr. Edward...uh, whatever your last name is. I don't know your last name, but I sure remember that turkey speaking your first name!” Momma Peach dipped the broom, spun it around, and then leaned it against the corner of the table again. She sat down and wiped her forehead. “My oh my, saved by a woman who cooks the worst food in the world.”
Silence dropped into the kitchen. Momma Peach closed her eyes and allowed the silence to calm her mind. “Okay, now that I remembered the name, I have time to get one step ahead of this snake.” Momma Peach kept her eyes closed. “How in the world am I going to trap him this time? He sure ain't gonna walk into a trap blindfolded, not this time around, no sir and no, ma’am.” Momma Peach opened her eyes, looked down at her piece of half-eaten pie, pushed it away, and grabbed her coffee cup. “Let's get some fresh coffee,” she said.
After pouring fresh coffee into her cup, Momma Peach began pacing around the kitchen. “We have to lure him into some quicksand...but how?”
Across town, the phone rang in Michelle’s office. Michelle snatched up the phone on her desk.
“Right on time,” Michelle told Shelia.
“I've always been a punctual person,” Shelia replied. She leaned forward and studied a piece of paper on her desk. “Michelle, I have the name of the hospital administrator you need. I did some digging on the person, too.” Shelia picked up the piece of paper. “Honey, I hate to disappoint a good friend…I'm afraid I'm going to have to get involved from this point forward.”
Michelle grabbed a cup of coffee and took a sip. “Hit me up, Shelia. I can take it.”
“Nadine Elise Murton is your woman,” Shelia told Michelle. “Six months ago, she replaced Martin Galloway as the new hospital administrator. From what I could find, Nadine Murton shouldn’t have been hired to flip burgers, let alone be hired as a hospital administrator. The woman was released from prison last year and doesn't even have a high school diploma. She’s got a record longer than my arm and a very violent reputation.”
Michelle leaned forward in her chair. “Why was Nadine Murton sent to prison?”
“She was caught running guns for a crime family in Sacramento,” S
helia explained. “Nadine Murton is a dangerous woman, Michelle. She was sent to prison for running guns, but it's believed she killed at least two people. They just couldn’t prove it. That’s how good she is at getting rid of the evidence.”
“Where was this woman born?” Michelle asked, trying to connect her to the Wording family.
“New York,” Shelia told Michelle. “She's fifty-one years old, never been married, no children, both parents are dead...a real loner as far as I can tell.” Shelia continued to study the printout covered with notes in her hand. “Her parents immigrated to America from Germany in 1963. I looked into their original naturalization paperwork…it turns out they also had a son but gave him up for adoption before they came here.”
“Bingo!” Michelle exclaimed.
“What?” Shelia asked.
“I'll explain later, Shelia. Right now, you need to get that woman behind bars,” Michelle insisted.
“I've already sent agents out to arrest her.”
“Perfect,” Michelle said and stood up. “Shelia, who is Martin Galloway? Did you get any information on him?”
“Yes, I did, honey,” Shelia assured Michelle. “Galloway is a very wealthy man who spends most of his time in a resort area in Mexico mingling with some very rich people. For the life of me I can’t make sense of why he would be working as a hospital administrator.”
“That actually makes sense,” Michelle replied. She drew in a deep breath. “Shelia, do you know about what the J.W. Wording Medical Center is involved in? Off the books?”
“I know, honey,” Shelia told Michelle. “We've been tracking down evidence on an illegal organ trafficking operation in that area,” she said, “and thanks to your information, I think we might have the missing pieces we require.”
“Shut them down, Shelia.”
“Oh honey, I plan to,” Shelia assured Michelle. “I've already put out a warrant out for Martin Galloway. Lucky for us, he's in Los Angeles, and he was spotted just last week by the paparazzi at a restaurant, so he shouldn't be too hard to track down.”
What a Peachy Night Page 11