Peaches and the Baby Mama

By A. T. Hicks

Sometimes a Closet Full of Designer Shoes is Better Than a Good Lover...

Loyalty has never been high on the list of characteristics in Cecily Washington's life. She prefers cash over love, designer shoes over men and freedom over marriage.

On the eve of her 30th birthday bash she'll show everyone exactly how lucky she really is.

But when she's found brutally murdered the day after her party, the victim of a knife in the back, many wonder if the killer is the wife of her newest beau, a jealous rival or an envious friend that has committed the delicious crime.

Amateur sleuth Peaches Donnelly jumps feet first into the fray and with her Dove ice cream bars and Bojangles' fried chicken as constant companions, is determined to find the killer of the well-to-do Baby Mama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. T. Hicks
• Release date: Mar 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301698189

A. T. Hicks

A.T. Hicks lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina with her patient husband, rotating children, a menagerie of pets and an overactive imagination. Though she wrote her first novel more than twelve years ago while living in Aix-en-Provence, France, she wouldn't actually publish until many years later. Thank God for that! With many more years of experience under her belt, her writing skills improved to such a degree as to be nearly unrecognizable to her earlier attempts. After having read many a novel, she realized mystery was the genre she was most interested in. Diving in headfirst, she tackled her second novel with zeal and several months later she completed the first installment of a series of Peaches Donnelly Mysteries called Peaches and the Gambler. She can most often be found in front of her laptop computer, but reading a novel, or just observing the kookiness of daily life are also very enjoyable pastimes.

Book preview

Peaches

and the

Baby Mama

Published By A. T. Hicks at Smashwords

Also By A. T. Hicks

Peaches and the Gambler

***

Copyright © 2013 by A. T. Hicks

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

***

Dedicated to Madden 2012 and Pabst Beer without which my husband wouldn’t have been distracted enough to allow me to finish this book.

I am forever in your debt…

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Prologue

From a young age Cecily Washington learned two important things: she was very beautiful and beauty held power.

With her keen child’s instincts, she understood the endless fascination her unusual loveliness held for her frumpy mother. She often tested this heady knowledge by asking for increasingly extravagant gifts. For her eighth birthday she requested a Barbie themed party. She demanded that this shindig have the latest and greatest powder-pink Power Wheels Corvette. Her mother worked overtime for an entire month to make her dreams come true. On nights when her mother dragged her sore feet home after a long day at work, Cecily would sweetly ask for crispy fried chicken. Her mother would not only fry chicken, but would also make mashed potatoes and hot buttered cornbread as accompaniments. And when Cecily batted her big eyes and flashed her dazzling smile, requesting the most expensive dress in Dillard’s department store for her senior prom; her mother took on a second job just to make her wishes a reality.

Yes, Cecily realized beauty held power and that power could get her what she wanted.

With only a revolving door of dead beat boyfriends and a minimum wage job at The Convenience Mart, darling little Cecily was the light at the end of the tunnel. Waiting on her hand and foot, she was awestruck by her daughter’s perfect features, thick, curling hair and golden hued skin. She often wondered at God’s ability to bless her with such a lovely child.

She frequently gazed upon her daughter’s perfection, knowing big things were in precious little Cecily’s future…

…and she was absolutely right.

**

As the years passed by, Cecily advanced from very pretty, to downright stunning. Though smart, she had no interest in school, preferring to invest her intellectual prowess in urban big game hunting. Her hunting didn’t require guns nor clever camouflage nor an uncomfortable stay in a safari camp. Instead, she needed a few carefully chosen dresses, VIP passes into the best clubs in town and several pairs of killer heels.

It would be a three hundred dollar pair of spiked red beauties and a skintight silver dress with a dazzlingly bare back, which netted her first big kill.

His name was Jamal Anderson and he had just been signed to the San Antonio Spurs for a cool sixty mil.

Just as he inked his deal, Cecily smugly discovered she was six weeks pregnant.

She was nineteen.

**

An industrious girl, by the time she was twenty-nine, she had bagged two additional Platinum Baby Daddies.

Gregory Bynum, the star running back for the New York Giants, seeded her with a bouncing baby boy and Darren Porter, megastar R & B singer, blessed her with fraternal twins. Each of her baby daddies had proposed to her and each had been coolly turned down. She preferred her freedom. Besides, she was no fool. No sooner would she be carried over the threshold than they would be casting their nets out for other women to warm their beds while on the road. She liked control and she planned to keep it in her corner.

Between the three fathers of her four children, she was raking in a whopping sixty thousand dollars a month in child support dividends. A tiny portion of this, just enough to pay for bills, food and maybe a movie or two a month, was sent to her mother. The rest was tucked securely in several bank accounts and sequestered in varying investments.

Today she was turning thirty.

She walked out onto her massive, hand crafted, stone patio, smiling with satisfaction at all the birthday preparations busily being carried out to her specifications.

Tonight, she was going to put that long ago Barbie Birthday Bash to shame.

Chapter 1

Oh…I thought you were bringing your man, Cecily said, gazing coolly at the tall, attractive woman standing next to Lynn Breeze.

The woman was dressed in a form-fitting blue dress, and though at least three seasons behind what was walking down the runway, showed off her impressive cleavage and well toned legs to great advantage. Her nails, an electric blue with silver tips, were top notch.

Right away, Cecily decided she was unwanted competition.

It was eight thirty p.m. on Saturday. The party was in full swing. The music from the cover band playing around back, wafted to the front on a warm June breeze.

I was going to bring Shawn, but he couldn’t make it, Lynn said, handing her a blue polka dot gift bag. He booked a party at the last minute and had to work late.

The theme of the party was The Blue Bash. If you weren’t wearing blue, you wouldn’t get into the party. In contrast to her guests, Cecily was wearing a pale white affair. In her designer getup she’d stand out like a goddess amongst mere mortals. Her party. Her rules.

You know what they say about a man who’s always working late, Cecily said, returning her attention to Lynn and raising an eyebrow.

No. What’s that? Lynn asked, warily.

There’s always a woman working beside him.

There was a momentary shocked silence.

Really? the woman standing next to Lynn finally drawled.

And who’s your friend? Cecily asked, positioning herself so her back was to the other woman.

I’m Peaches Donnelly, the woman said, sidestepping Cecily’s turned back and sticking a hand out.

I’m sorry, Cecily said, looking down at her outstretched hand, that same cool smile twisting her full lips. I have a thing about shaking hands. Bit of a germ-a-phobe, I’m afraid. But nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you, too, Peaches responded, wondering why this woman was such a colossal bitch.

She was a gorgeous colossal bitch though, Peaches grudgingly admitted. Her hair was thick and lustrous, arranged in shining layers around slim shoulders. Clever makeup enhanced almond shaped, caramel colored eyes and a sheath of a snow white dress was cut to just above her knees, looking like it had cost a million bucks. Hell, if the sprawling brick edifice she called her home was anything to go by, it probably had.

Well, anyway, Cecily said, a gay peal of laughter erupting on cue. Welcome to my house, Bitches!

**

After grabbing a couple of much needed high-octane mixed drinks, Lynn and Peaches barely had time to enjoy the ambiance of the party, before being grabbed by Cecily and herded off on a ‘Look at Me I’m Rich!’ tour of her opulent home.

After being ushered to a luxurious alcove large enough to house Peaches three bedroom apartment, they stood amongst a group of eight other chattering women.

So, Bitches, Cecily said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and smiling. As many of you know this party today isn’t just for my thirtieth. It’s also my house warming party.

Took you long enough to invite us, girl, complained a tall, dark-skinned woman. You’ve been in this house for more than three months now. For a while there I thought it was like the Bat Cave: top secret.

The woman’s camel-like face--large prominent nose and long protuberant chin--was creased with displeasure. She parted long, cascading weave, glaring at Cecily. Her breasts, impossibly large and firm, soared from the neckline of her dress making it hard to see anything other than her obviously surgically enhanced cleavage.

Cecily, displeased with this interruption, turned to the party pooper and smiled, her perfectly bleached teeth bared like fangs.

"Jennifer, you wouldn’t have had time anyway. You were too busy recovering from your, umm, not-so-little surgery," she said, her eyes languidly sliding down the woman’s neckline and landing quite deliberately on those twin mounds of silicone flesh.

Everyone’s eyes followed Cecily’s, Peaches included. Light snickers and heavy eyebrow raising followed.

The woman flushed angrily, folding bony arms across her splendidly inflated chest, lips tightening into a thin line. The arm folding merely served to make the problem worse. Her artificial wonders nearly popped out and made an unwanted appearance. But luckily her generously spandexed dress held out. Her friend--Costello to her Abbott--was as plump and pale as Jennifer was thin and dark. She patted Camel-Face’s back consolingly. She in turn shrugged her off with an irritable scowl.

Peaches sucked down the rest of her drink, studying the lady of the house. Cecily was a real piece of work, coolly and efficiently dealing blows before you even knew what was happening. It was a wonder she had any friends at all. But on the other hand, people with as much money as Cecily always had friends that hated them privately and adored them publicly. Calculating as Cecily appeared, Peaches would imagine she could care less if her entourage loved her or hated her. Much like the earth needed the sun to survive, Cecily needed worshippers.

When Lynn, one of her oldest friends, had invited her to the party, Peaches was only too happy to oblige. Delicious food and unlimited, free flowing alcohol were hard to turn down.

She had heard the name Cecily Washington many times over the years and was curious about the woman. There just weren’t that many young, attractive female millionaires prancing around Durham, North Carolina. Though most of the gossip about Cecily had been unflattering, Peaches was a person who needed first person perspective before she made up her mind.

So far, Tricks, the infamous internet blog calling Cecily a ‘Gold-digging, leg spreading, baby machine whose biggest accomplishment lay in her ability to get pregnant by some of the world’s most eligible dick’, seemed to be on the right track. Not that Peaches had done any preliminary research to dig that piece of vicious tongue wagging up. The information just happened to pop up while she was cruising around on Google.

Grabbing another drink when a liveried servant whisked over, a shining silver tray filled with icy beverages balanced in one white gloved hand, Peaches listened as Cecily delivered her speech with the finesse and polish of a seasoned politician.

What you’re looking at is the result of all my hard work, blood, sweat and tears… Cecily droned.

And a shitload of child support! Lynn squawked in Peaches ear.

…unerring dedication and an iron will… Cecily continued.

And twins from one of the wealthiest singers in R & B! Lynn grunted.

"…a belief that this--this--, she said, slowly raising her arms, eyes slightly closed. --would be the place I could pass on to my children and they to theirs…" she intoned, dramatically.

This is the third house she’s had built in seven years, Lynn snorted, disbelievingly. I seriously doubt it’ll make it to her kids.

Without further ado, welcome to The Palisades, Bitches!

With these words she turned on her heel and with a flourish, waved her arms, indicating they should follow.

**

After having been taken on a tour of what seemed like a hundred rooms, each a yawn fest and larger than the last, Peaches just wanted to get back downstairs and gobble down some of those yummy looking little crab puff things with the creamy topping. Instead, Cecily was guiding them to yet another room.

And this is my favorite room in the house, Cecily fawned. This cavernous space was filled with ruffles, fake flowers, a million flounced pillows and…Cabbage Patch Kids? My bedroom.

The plump yellow girl accompanying the camel-faced woman sneezed violently, then whispered, These are sorta creepy. Peaches couldn’t have agreed more.

Though bizarre, the Cabbage Patch Kids were a welcome change from the McMansion monotony of it all. They covered every wall, still in their original boxes. Encased behind custom-made glass cases, birth certificates on display at the foot of each box, they eerily stared out, fake cherubic grins pasted on their faces. Peaches hadn’t seen a collection of Cabbage Patch Kids this massive since, well, ever.

Peaches had a cousin named Mary who’d had at least twenty of the dolls sitting on wooden shelves above her bed. During the occasional sleepover, they were strictly forbidden from playing with them. Instead, they had to request a ‘play date’ with the toys. Then, under warden-like supervision, they were merely permitted to take them down, stare at them longingly through their prison of a cardboard box, then place them back exactly as they were before. She remembered spending many a night scared out of her mind as all those peculiar dolls stared down at her from their shelves.

She shivered inadvertently. Peaches would never have been able to get any rest in this weird room.

Looks like you collected a few more since the last time I saw you, commented a brunette with a shoulder length bob. She walked over to an Asian Cabbage Patch Kid, staring at it through its glass casing.

I did, Cecily said, proudly. Thirteen to be exact. I met a collector right in our very own neck of the woods. She walked over to a case; tenderly smiling at her Spain issued Cabbage Patch Kid. Bought every single one she had.

My goodness, Cecily, a girl with short, tight curls hiccupped. A hand was plastered on one generous hip, the other gripping a mostly empty watermelon martini. The sad slice of watermelon perched precariously on the glasses edge, wobbled as the girls legs grew unsteady. Your obsession is growing.

And so’s your alcoholism, Cecily said ruthlessly, rounding on her. That’s your fifth drink, right? But who’s counting?

A tinkling laugh followed this stinging rebuke. The woman looked as if she wanted to cry or throw up or both.

Patty--, Cecily cooed, gliding over to where Peaches and Lynn were standing.

Peaches, she corrected, gritting her teeth.

Petra, she said. I noticed that beautiful ring on your index finger. Were you married?

"Peaches, she enunciated, loudly. The woman smiled, her eyes as blank as a new sheet of paper. She sighed, giving up. I was married. But this wasn’t from The Ex husband."

Who was it from then?

Well--, Peaches hesitated, kicking herself for having offered so much information to this mean-spirited battle-ax. All the other women gathered round, eagerly awaiting her response.

Don’t tell me. Let me guess, she said, a knowing glint in her eye. She picked up Peaches hand, leading her over to a lamp and turned the light on. The other women followed.

Turning her hand to and fro beneath the bright light, Cecily examined the recent engagement ring Peaches had nabbed from her sleazy ex-boyfriend, Vernon. Peaches wore the prized ring on her index finger, scrutinizing it with joy each and every morning. After the dramatic end to their relationship, during which she suffered the indignity of a Long Island Iced Tea splashed liberally in her face by his supposed ex-girlfriend, she figured she’d earned the ring.

Cecily viewed the ring with the practiced eye of a jeweler. Dropping her hand, she opened a small drawer just under the table lamp. Peaches half expected her to whip out a jeweler’s loupe, put it up to her eye and quote her its market value. But instead, she pulled out a book of crossword puzzles. Flipping it open, she once again picked up Peaches hand. Firmly holding it to the side beneath the light, she leaned down, holding the crossword page just beneath the ring. Then, straightening up, she replaced the book, dropped Peaches hand and turned to her breathless audience.

He cheated on you, she announced, triumphantly. He wanted to get you something big and fancy because he was probably always acting up--,

Lynn grunted in agreement, but miraculously managed to stay silent. Lynn had always hated Vernon--or Vermin as she so fondly referred to him. When Peaches had finally managed, albeit a bit theatrically, to extricate herself from his charms, Lynn had rewarded her with a celebratory spa treatment, a box of Bojangles’ fried chicken, and three boxes of Dove ice cream bars.

From the shine on the band--, she continued. I’d say it wasn’t more than a few months old. That means he recently dumped you. Am I right?

"I dumped him," Peaches growled.

Tomato, tamato, she said, airily.

Did this woman double as a psychic when she wasn’t talking shit to her girlfriends or out trolling for her next wealthy baby daddy?

And one more thing, Cecily said, an almost sympathetic expression in her large eyes. It’s not real, Petra.

All the ‘Bitches’ started yelping excitedly.

What the hell are you talking about? Peaches bellowed, throat dry.

"Oh, the stones surrounding the center stone are real--of very low quality--but real nonetheless, Cecily announced, speaking to the group of women as a whole. She raised her voice. But the center stone is clearly a fake."

How do you know that? Where the hell was a waiter with some alcohol when you needed it?

Well, she said, that chilly smile glued on her lips again. "I know real diamonds. Her tone held just the slightest edge of condescension. A real stone refracts light to a very high degree. This stone sparkles and refracts light somewhat, but when you view letters through it, it has what jeweler’s refer to as ‘double vision’. That means it’s a fake. Probably moissanite."

What’s moissanite? the camel-faced woman named Jennifer hissed to her plump friend.

A low quality gem people are always trying to pass off as a diamond, Cecily responded, pretentiously. I briefly played with the idea of becoming a jeweler, took a few classes, then changed my mind. Now, no fake can ever get over on these x-ray eyes.

Oooo! Her man bought her a fake! giggled the drunk with the watermelon martini. The large hipped, gigantic bottomed woman standing next to her contrived to keep a straight face, then she started snickering alongside the drunk. The two of them looked at Peaches, furiously whispered again, then burst out in loud brays of grating laughter.

It felt like high school all over again. Wishing she could melt into the floorboards, Peaches threw back her shoulders and raised her chin, trying her best to ignore them.

My God. Vernon had ran out and bought her a fake ring?

He was a worm, a snake…a new species of invertebrate. Despite the relationship being over, Peaches stomach boiled with fury.

Should’ve known old Vermin wouldn’t spring for the real thing, Lynn trumpeted. Too much of a cheap ass for that.

Peaches didn’t bother to respond. After all, the proof was in the pudding, so to speak.

"I was almost married eight times," Cecily continued, blithely unaware or uncaring of the tumult she had released into Peaches world.

Eight times? By contrast, Peaches had never been engaged, had barely made it through three years of a disastrous marriage and was now the proud owner of a mostly fake engagement ring.

And now I have a very special home for all of my ‘retired’, babies, she simpered. But before I get to that, I need to show you this.

Gliding over to a fabric covered wall, Cecily keyed in a code. The wall soundlessly disappeared and everyone gasped at the sight revealed within.

It was the Eighth Wonder of the World.

"Welcome to--Excuse me? Can I get some space please? Who are you anyway?" she demanded, crossly. She was frowning at the plump yellow girl drifting by Camel-Face’s side. She was crowded right behind her as the closet door opened.

Emily Johnson, she said, timidly backing up.

I don’t remember you. But don’t touch anything. Got it?

The girl nodded her head, eyes huge.

Anyway, welcome to my closet, Bitches!

A humongous, custom-made closet filled top to bottom with enough designer shoes to give Imelda Marcos a run for her money, lay deliciously before them. There were hundreds of them, the more spectacular ones showcased beneath their very own spotlight. Others were housed in glass cubes sprinkled decoratively throughout the vast space. Shoes were grouped by designer, their names etched on tacky silver plaques much like you’d see at a veteran’s memorial. Breaking up the grandness of it all, two seating benches, several beveled mirrors and three custom built dresser’s were dispersed throughout the area. Altogether, the grandiose studio apartment/walk-in closet must’ve cost a fortune to design and build.

This is the culmination of all my efforts, she said, voice choked with emotion, eyes glimmering with tears. It’s what I fondly call my very own Million Dollar Room.

It’s what Peaches called Heaven.

This closet is more like a culmination of all her pro-level blow-jobs, Lynn muttered.

"It’s amazing, Cecily. Absolutely amazing, oozed a fantastically fit woman Peaches had heard someone call Karen. The woman spun around as though she were Cinderella at the ball with Prince Charming, a look of astonishment coupled with a healthy dose of jealousy saturating her question of: How much was it?"

Well, let me put it like this, Cecily stage whispered, reveling in the adulation being bestowed upon her. I had to sacrifice my Olympic-sized pool to get this closet.

But you have a pool, the woman commented, puzzled.

"Yes. But it’s not Olympic-sized."

Everyone nodded their heads. Looks of: ‘Ahhh. Of course,’ plastered in varying degrees of comprehension on their faces.

"Don’t touch those!" Cecily suddenly barked.

Peaches, about to lovingly finger a pair of dangerous looking stilettos with spikes sticking out on all sides, guiltily drew her hand back.

But it was a pretty Dominican-looking girl with long, curling hair she was talking to. The girl had, in record time, managed to slide out of her own Payless pumps and slip into a pair of museum quality silver tipped heels. She was currently admiring her feet in the mirror.

Cecily--, the girl said, her tone of speech musical. I’m just trying them on. Don’t be such a hard-ass.

Stomping over to the girl, fists balled up at her sides, Cecily stopped, eyes shooting sparks.

"Luna…take…them…off…now!"

Alright, alright. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Cecily.

The defiant Luna sat down on a bench, getting her revenge by taking an excruciatingly long time to remove each shoe and return them to their pedestal, all the while smiling up at the looming Cecily.

If it hadn’t been for Mama begging me to invite you, you wouldn’t be here, Cecily groused, coldly looking down at Luna. This is why I don’t ever invite family to my house. Because when I do, they don’t know how to act.

Cus, Luna said, her eyes mirroring the frigidness of Cecily’s own. It’s just a pair of fucking shoes.

Yeah, Cecily said, arrogantly. "But it’s my pair of fucking shoes. You’ll do well to remember that."

Additional eyebrow raising and lip smacking from the ‘Bitches’ followed this little exchange.

Now--, Cecily said, striding back over and waving her arms to gather everyone around. The petulant Luna remained seated on the bench. Where were we? Oh, I haven’t shown you all The Engagement Rings of Boyfriends Past, have I?

I’ve seen them, Camel face said, raising a hand and excitedly waving it around like she was in the third grade. I like the ones that--!

Wait, Jennifer, Cecily snapped, frowning. Don’t spoil the surprise for the rest of the ladies!

Oh, so they were ‘ladies’ now.

They shuffled behind Cecily around a corner and into the Dress Wing of the walk-in monstrosity. Dress upon designer dress was lovingly hung in the spacious area, each coordinated by color and, of course, designer. In the center of this area, seated upon a glazed black dais with its very own chandelier, was a velvet-lined, egg shaped case filled with a dazzling array of diamond engagement rings. Because of its dimensions, no matter what side you were on, you were getting a bird’s eye view of one of those absurdly large baubles.

Peaches guessed they were looking at more than a half million dollar spread of bling. Surreptitiously sliding her own knock-off ring into her knock-off Coach, Peaches idly wondered if Cecily would notice if she did the old Switcheroo with one of her glittering beauties. She could more than afford to spread a little of the good will around.

All of these rings were from the men I once loved, Cecily prattled, somberly. She then proceeded to regal them with story after story of proposals, engagements and of course the inevitable break-up. Each story ending with desperate pleas on the behalf of the men, for Cecily to ‘Give them another chance.’

Sounded like a bad script for a romantic comedy.

There was one particular ring--a pink, marquise cut diamond surrounded by clusters of smaller, white diamonds--that had all their hearts going pitter-pat. It was exquisite, the light shining from the chandelier capturing every facet of its luminescent glory. Nestled at the very top of the egg shaped ring holder, it practically screamed wealth and desirability.

And they all gave up the rings without a fight? Luna asked, skepticism scrawled across her face as she eyed a princess cut diamond in a rich platinum setting.

They had no choice, she said, a tinkle of a laugh trickling past her lips.

And why is that? the girl named Emily asked, her nose wriggling like a rabbit’s. She sneezed. Then sneezed again.

Who are you again? Cecily snapped, eyes narrowing.

Emily, the girl whispered timidly.

Cecily’s blank expression told Peaches she had absolutely no memory of the woman having introduced herself less than ten minutes earlier. Evidently the only person Cecily remembered was Cecily.

When you have access to the kind of men I have access to, Cecily fluted, pompously turning back to her captive audience. "It’s always a good idea to keep some sort of…memento--, she worded delicately. --to remind them of your presence in case they need a little persuasion in a given situation. I persuaded them and kept the rings."

Choosing not to elaborate any further, she allowed them to finish salivating over the rings before guiding them through the rest of the closet. The tour ended in her luxuriously appointed master bathroom. It was equipped with matching his and her toilets, sinks, tubs, showers, and even twin bidets that faced one another.

Unbidden, an image of Cecily and an imaginary beau gazing lovingly into each others eyes, dual bared derriere’s poised over a gentle spray of water as they partook