A Peachy Criminals, page 9
“It's dark and damp down there. I’ll barely sleep a wink,” Old Joe protested. “Momma Peach, maybe I can sleep at your pad, huh?”
Momma Peach pointed at the cellar door. “Get.”
Old Joe let his shoulders slump. “Yeah, okay, I guess,” he said and snatched up his new clothes and crawled back down the ladder into the cellar.
Momma Peach closed the trap door, replaced the pink carpet, and had Michelle help her push the baking table back into place. “That man is going to cause my hair to fall out,” she said and kicked the floor.
Michelle wasn't sure what came next. Aside from keeping Joe alive and getting him some clothes that didn’t stink, they had not discussed a plan. “We can't hide him forever, Momma Peach,” she said in a worried voice. “If we want to clear his name, I have to begin investigating the murder, which means flying out to St. Louis, which means—”
“You would be running into a snakepit,” Momma Peach finished for Michelle and shook her head. “You ain't going nowhere without me.”
“Even if we did travel to St. Louis, we wouldn't get anywhere. Detective Branson would probably attack us with a bunch of legalistic jurisdiction garbage and run us out of town. And on top of that, Agent Davison would be on us like—”
“White on rice,” Momma Peach finished with a weary smile. “I know, baby. I have been racking my brain trying to figure out what to do. For the time being, all I can come up with is hiding Old Joe.” Momma Peach looked at the floor. “Old Joe must know the name of the poor kid that was shot down...rest his soul, rest his soul.”
“It would help if Old Joe gave us the name, that's for sure,” Michelle added. “If I had a name I could start exploring different roads and see where they lead me.”
“Such as finding out the name of this hush-hush senator.”
“For starters,” Michelle agreed.
“Then that leaves us one choice,” Momma Peach said and tapped the baking table with her right finger. “Help me move the table again, baby. I have a plan.”
“I hope your plan includes some Rolaids. I have heartburn after eating all that pizza last night. And boy, talk about some strange dreams. I dreamed I was on the moon fighting a green wooden mannequin wearing bell bottom pants. In the dream, I couldn’t land one single punch because there was no gravity. Every time I threw a punch the mannequin started singing ‘Stayin’ Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Strange.”
“Honey, we better keep that dream just between the two of us,” Momma Peach told Michelle and wrinkled her nose in wonder. “Ain't no potential future husband needs to be hearing about those kinds of dreams.”
Michelle considered Momma Peach's statement. “Yeah, I guess you're right, Momma Peach. If I told a date about that dream he'd probably think I escaped from a mental hospital.”
“Agreed,” Momma Peach said and grunted as she began pushing the baking table back. Michelle helped. When the table was clear of the trap door, Momma Peach rolled the pink carpet away, opened the trap door and yelled down into the cellar. “Old Joe?”
“I'm half naked, woman. Give a man some privacy!” Old Joe yelled back and scooted over to a dark corner.
“Michelle and I have decided to keep you locked in this here cellar until you give us the name of the young man who was shot to death. And don't go saying you don't know because we know you do. The lies stop today.”
“Now wait a minute, I done told you that young rooster—”
Momma Peach slammed the trap door shut and locked it. She heard Old Joe start yelling and fussing. She chuckled to herself. “Done went and made Old Joe mad at me. Shame.”
Michelle grinned. “Listen to him carrying on down there.”
Momma Peach chuckled to herself. “Help me push the table back in place. We'll go get some lunch and give Old Joe time to think.”
Michelle helped Momma Peach push the table back in place and then walked her up the street to the diner. After a peaceful lunch of chicken and dumplings that Momma Peach insisted tasted like plastic—and oh, don't get her started on the biscuits—they returned to the bakery, hopeful that the long silence would make Joe reconsider his stubborn silence. Instead, they found the back door kicked open. Michelle drew her gun and eased into the rainy alley. “Clear,” she yelled.
Momma Peach plopped her pocketbook down onto the baking table and looked around her kitchen. “Nothing has been touched, baby,” she called back to Michelle. “But I sure do smell that sour cologne Agent Davison wears. That snake has been in my kitchen.”
Michelle walked into the kitchen and closed the back door. She focused on the baking table. The table was in place. She bent down and knocked on the trap door three times. Old Joe knocked back three times. “Ready to tell us the name?”
“I reckon,” Old Joe's voice came up through the door, tired and worn out.
Michelle pushed the baking table out of the way, rolled back the pink rug once more, and unlocked the cellar door. When she pulled it open, Old Joe's head popped up like a spring. He looked at Michelle and rolled his eyes. “Cayson Rarey,” he said and glared at Momma Peach. “Agent Brown and Agent Green was in your kitchen looking for me.”
“We know,” Momma Peach replied. “Did you hear anything they said?”
“Oh, I sure did,” Old Joe said and actually grinned. “Old Joe has ears like an owl. I heard them two killers say a mouthful.”
Michelle reached down her hand. “Let me help you up.”
Old Joe looked at Michelle's kind hand. His first instinct was to tell the cop to take a hike. Instead, he humbled himself and let Michelle help him up out of the cellar and into the kitchen. “I... Thank you,” he said.
“No problem,” Michelle replied. “Now, what did you hear?”
“My tummy is mighty hungry. Hard to talk on an empty tummy.”
“Oh, I didn't forget you,” Momma Peach said. She walked into the bakery and returned with a white to-go container and a large sweet tea. She handed the food and drink to Old Joe, whose eyes lit up. “Chicken and dumplings taste like plastic and the biscuits are as hard as a rock, and the tea is sweet enough to make your spoon stand up...but it's food, I reckon.”
“Suits me just fine,” Old Joe said. He walked over to the kitchen counter, set down his sweet tea, opened the Styrofoam container to see his delicious meal of chicken and dumplings, green beans, and sweet potato casserole. Two soft, moist biscuits sat atop the green beans. Old Joe snatched up a biscuit and tore into it. “What's wrong with these biscuits, they’re—”
Michelle shook her head at Old Joe meaningfully. “As hard as a rock, right?”
Momma Peach gave Old Joe the stink eye, too. He looked from one woman to the other, his mouth full of food and his mind full of confusion.
“Uh...yeah. Awful things...hard as a rock...can barely eat 'em,” Old Joe said and dropped his eyes back down onto the food. “Anyways, Old Joe heard something very interesting while you two were gone.”
“Spit it out already,” Momma Peach griped. “I ain't gonna be young and beautiful forever, you old fox.”
Old Joe leaned back against the kitchen counter. “I need a fork.”
“Oh, good grief,” Momma Peach exclaimed. She snatched open a wooden drawer and fished out a clean fork and tossed it at Old Joe. Old Joe caught the fork and tore into the chicken and dumplings. “Talk.”
“Seems like Agent Brown and Agent Green are getting mighty tired of Agent Davison bossing them around. Heard them both agree that I wasn't worth the trouble they were being put through.”
“Ah, the ship is going through rocky waters,” Momma Peach smiled.
“Way rocky,” Old Joe continued. “Seems like when those two boys are alone they do a lot of talking.”
Momma Peach patted Old Joe on his back. “You just earned your lunch. Fill our ears full.”
Old Joe took a large bite of chicken and dumplings. He was starving. “I learned quite a bit myself,” he admitted. “For instance, I didn't know why Cayson Rarey was killed. Old Joe thought it was because the kid had a big mouth and was using up his daddy's money. Turns out I was mighty wrong.”
“Why was he killed?” Michelle asked.
“Not so fast,” Old Joe told Michelle. “I still have my hide to look out for, young lady. But, it does seem like you're starting to understand Old Joe a little and that's just fine and dandy. We'll take our dance nice and slow until you learn Old Joe all the way around the block and back.”
Momma Peach raised a hand at Michelle. “Don't get upset,” she begged.
Michelle walked over to the back door and disengaged the lock. “I could kick your butt all the way around this kitchen if I wanted to,” she warned Old Joe. “I doubt that would do any good, though. Besides, I talked to Detective Brayson—”
“A corrupt cop. I heard,” Old Joe interrupted Michelle and then returned to gobbling down green beans.
Michelle was gritting her teeth. “I can't...exactly...blame you for running,” Michelle told Old Joe. “And I don't expect you to...exactly...trust me, either. With that said, I would appreciate any information that you are willing to give me. Your cooperation would be helpful.”
Old Joe chuckled. “Your cop friend says her words like that and expects me to believe her. Maybe she don't feel so well?”
“You do look very constipated, honey. Are you okay?” Momma Peach asked Michelle with concern. “I put fresh toilet paper in the employee bathroom if you need to...you know, make a number two.”
Michelle blushed. “No...I'm fine, really. I...” she stopped talking and looked at Old Joe. “Not funny.”
Old Joe chuckled to himself again. “You're not so bad, I reckon. I could have ended up with a lot worse than you. So here's the deal. I'll give you better information in exchange for better threads.”
Michelle took another look at the clothes she had bought Old Joe. The old man did look like a retired lumberjack who was preparing to attend clown school. Perhaps her taste in men's clothing wasn't as refined as she had thought. “Whatever,” she said in a defensive tone.
Momma Peach studied Old Joe's outfit. “You look like an ugly piece of burned meatloaf,” she said with a scrunched-up face. “Yes sir and yes ma’am, you look like something I would pull out of the back of my refrigerator from five years ago.”
“I get it already,” Michelle exclaimed. “I have bad taste in clothes.”
“Just men's clothing, baby,” Momma Peach said and shook her head at Old Joe. “I wouldn't go outside dressed like that. The buzzards might think you're roadkill and get at you.”
Michelle folded her arms and stuck out her lower lip. “The clothes aren't that bad.”
“I look like a deranged lumberjack,” Old Joe corrected Michelle.
“Okay...so maybe you do look...” Michelle gave up. “Okay, okay, you look like a deranged, constipated lumberjack. Happy?”
“Will be when I get some decent threads.”
Michelle watched Old Joe gobble down some sweet potato casserole. She wanted to be angry at the man but felt sorry for him instead. “I'll get you some new clothes when I can,” she promised. “In the meantime, tell me what you heard Agent Brown and Agent Green talking about.”
Old Joe snatched up the sweet tea and chugged some down. “Not too sweet,” he began to say but caught another hard look from Momma Peach. “Way too sweet...sweet enough to rot out a man's teeth. Awful stuff.”
“Mrs. Edwards, that sneaky old woman—and oh, she's a sneaky one—will never learn to make a decent biscuit or a gallon of sweet tea the right way. It's a wonder I even eat her food and drink her tea. I must be out of my mind. Oh, give me strength, give me strength!”
“Is there something I should know?” Old Joe asked.
“Merely a cooking feud,” Michelle explained. “Eat your food.”
Old Joe nodded his head and went back to eating. “So,” he said, “seems like Old Joe's young rooster wasn't killed because he didn't have enough sense to hush his mouth. Seems like he wasn't killed over using up large wads of his daddy's money, either. Seems like he was killed for some sort of political reason. His daddy didn't have him killed, that's for sure.”
Momma Peach glanced at Michelle. Michelle nodded her head. “Okay,” she told Old Joe. “You opened up a few doors for me. Thank you.”
Old Joe kept on eating. “Guess it won't hurt if I open one more door for you, then.”
“I don't want to pressure you.”
“I think for myself,” Old Joe said as he chewed his green beans. The green beans were delicious. Of course, he knew better than to say so. “Agent Davison is working against Senator Rarey. Senator Rarey don't know this. Senator Rarey, whoever the man is, thinks Agent Davison is on his side of the ball field.”
Momma Peach soaked in Old Joe's words and stored them into her brain. “Old Joe, you stated that you saw Agent Davison's two thugs kill that poor young man. You never said if you saw Agent Davison there, too?”
Old Joe glanced up at Momma Peach with a haunted look. “I saw him, alright. He was standing behind his two thugs like one of them ugly stone statues with mean faces. That man seemed…excited about watching that young rooster get shot to death... Our eyes met, just for a second, but that was enough to let me know I was looking into the eyes of an evil man with no soul. Yes sir and yes ma’am, no soul at all. That's when Old Joe ran like the wind.”
Momma Peach connected a few dots. “If Senator Rarey found out that his trusted friend murdered his son, that would cause a lot of problems, now wouldn't it?”
“Could be Agent Davison is trying to alter the current political leadership in Washington. The Democrats aren't happy that the Republicans won the House and the Senate. A lot of underhanded attacks have been taking place, according to the news. I'm not into politics so I don't pay any attention to the circus show taking place between a bunch of suits,” Michelle explained. “Until recently, that is.”
Old Joe picked at his food, wrestling with his conscience. “There’s something else you should know. I heard Agent Brown say that Agent Davison killed that young man in order to force Senator Rarey into retirement. I heard more, but that's enough for now. Chew on the bone I gave you for a while. Seems like I'm a very important man even when I’m just minding my own business in a smelly cellar.”
“Seems like you're acting like an old skunk again,” Momma Peach warned Old Joe. “You better clean your brain out, boy, and stop thinking about how you might con this Senator Rarey fella. His son was shot and killed, so you better chew on that bone.”
Old Joe looked at Momma Peach. The woman was reading his exact thoughts. Instead of feeling remorse over the death of an innocent boy, he was thinking about how to pull off the biggest con of his life. “Yeah, okay,” he said and finished off his food. “What do you want Old Joe to do, Detective?” he asked.
“Stay in the cellar and stay out of sight,” Michelle told Old Joe and pointed at the trap door. “If Agent Brown and Agent Green didn't find the cellar, that means you're safe down there.”
Old Joe lowered his eyes and focused on the dark hole. As much as he hated to admit it, Michelle was right. Besides, his desire to live was more powerful than worrying about being bored in a damp old cellar. “Old Joe will be down below, Captain,” Old Joe told Michelle and picked up his tea. “Momma Peach, don't forget my supper.”
“Don't forget your supper...why I oughta...” Momma Peach moved toward Old Joe with a dark look and chased him toward the trap door. “Get down the ladder before I kick you down!” Old Joe hurried down into the cellar. Momma Peach slammed the trap door shut and locked it. “Let's move the baking table back...again...” Momma Peach told Michelle wearily.
“After I do, I need to return to the police station and start digging,” Michelle informed Momma Peach. “I think we have a few solid leads that could help us. But before I get too ahead of myself, I want to understand who Senator Rarey is. I'm also going to call Marshall McCall and ask him a few questions about Agent Davison.”
“Agent Davison is working outside of his authority,” Momma Peach said as they heaved the baking table back into place. “Agent Davison is up to no good. And,” Momma Peach grunted as she gave the table one last mighty shove, “Agent Davison is working for a very deadly man. If you can find out who, we might be able to convince Senator Rarey to help us.”
“I'm on it,” Michelle promised and glanced at the back door. “Momma Peach, why don't you close the bakery and come down to the police station with me? It's not safe for you here. Those two cowards might come back. I'd feel better if you were with me.”
Momma Peach snatched up her purse, grabbed all the food containers, including Old Joe's, studied her empty kitchen, and then smiled. “I was hoping you would ask me to tag along. Let's go.”
From inside Mrs. Hensley's bookstore across the street, Agent Davison watched Momma Peach walk to Michelle's car. “No, sir,” he spoke into his cell phone, “we are still unable to locate the missing pawn.” Agent Davison glanced over his shoulder, studying the small, cozy bookstore that was no threat to his plans. He then focused his attention back on the front street. Michelle drove away with Momma Peach, leaving the bakery empty. “My men checked the bakery. The bakery was clear.”
“I want him found and killed,” a man's voice hissed. “My career is hanging in the balance.”
“I know, sir,” Agent Davison said in a worried voice. “I'm doing everything within my power to locate Joseph Ingles. But please, sir, I must remind you that I'm operating in shadow mode. I can't utilize my normal resources. And to make matters worse, Detective Chan somehow knows Marshall McCall, and has threatened to contact him.”
“Marshall McCall would open an immediate investigation into your shadow ops and report everything to the Federal Security Advisory Board. Senator Wilcox is Senior Adviser to that board. If that man even has a suspicion that I'm connected with the death of Senator Rarey's son, my career will be over. The media will eat me alive and destroy my credibility. I'll end up rotting away in prison and lose everything.”
