"What?"
Carlucci looked at me for a slow moment. "About you."
He still wore his black jeans, shirt and boots, but the jacket was gone. The way he said about you made my skin tingle as little hairs rose up on the back of my arms.
"Not like that," he said, reading me again. "Well, maybe some of that, but I told you, I don't do complicated. You're complicated." He stretched and stood, walking slowly toward me. "I was thinking about your situation. I'm thinking you and Bess King oughta talk."
"So you had to come in here and watch me sleep?"
His eyes followed the outline of my body under the covers, moving slowly, like I was a consideration and he was biding his time.
"Yeah, something like that. That and I thought I heard something a little while ago, so I just thought I'd sit here, just in case."
I looked at him and didn't believe him.
"The dog didn't bark."
Carlucci laughed. "How would you know? You were snoring too loud to hear much of anything."
"I was not!"
At that moment, Popeye went crazy. His deep, excited barking filled the air, lights flicked on in the backyard, and a gun materialized in Tony's hand.
"Get out of bed and down on the floor," he commanded.
I jumped, hitting the cold wooden floor next to the bed with a sharp slam.
Tony walked to the window, stood to one side and pushed the curtain away with the barrel of his gun.
"It's probably nothing," he said. "A cat maybe, or a raccoon." And for the second time in as many minutes, I knew he was lying.
Popeye was hysterical. Carlucci let the curtain slip back into place. "Stay right where you are." He tossed me the cordless phone. "If I don't come back in five minutes, call nine-one-one."
"Wait! Don't go out there! That's stupid."
Popeye screamed, a dog howl of anguish and pain, and Carlucci was gone.
I heard the front door open softly, then close. Popeye was silent. There was no sound from the outside at all for a moment, then gunfire. Two or three blasts close together, then the sound of a car starting up in the distance and pulling away.
I hit the buttons on the phone and heard someone say "Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?"
"Someone's shooting at us," I said.
"Okay, ma'am. Just tell me where you are," she said.
And mat's when I stopped. I didn't know where I was. I hesitated, looked up, and saw Tony step into the doorway. "It's all right," he said. "Tell them you're fine. Tell them never mind."
I looked at him, not believing that he was serious.
"It's fine. Tell them."
His voice was hard.
"I'm fine. I'm sorry. It was a mistake."
"Ma'am," the 911 operator said, "are you sure you're fine? All you have to do is say no and we can send a car."
I tried to calm my voice, to convince her. "I'm sorry," I said, "I guess I got a little frightened. It was just a car backfiring." I laughed apologetically. "It woke me up, and I guess I got carried away."
"All right then, ma'am," the woman said. "It's all right."
Tony walked into the bedroom and sank down on the floor beside the bed. His face was white and drawn, and when I looked I saw something that terrified me. His hands were covered with blood.
He stared at me, as if he were looking right through me. "They killed Popeye," he said. "They shot him with a high-powered bow. He's dead."
He looked down at his hands, as if they didn't belong to him, and then he stood up. "I'll be back."
He turned and walked away, his back stiff, his gait strangely uneven.
"Where are you going?"
He looked at me for a second then turned away. "To bury my dog."
I listened to his footsteps dying away, the sound of the back door deadbolt sliding as he unlocked it and stepped out onto the deck. The next sound I heard was that of a shovel ringing against the hardened ground as Tony dug a grave for Popeye.
When he came back inside, the sky was beginning to lighten. I could see it seeping through the edges of the curtains. Tony had walked past me, into the bathroom, and closed the door. I heard the sound of water running, then the broken sound of water hitting his hands and him washing, over and over. When he came out, he walked over to where I still sat on the floor. With one harsh movement he pulled the covers from the bed onto the floor, then reached for the pillows. Next he pulled his gun from his waistband and placed it on the floor next to the phone.
He started arranging the blankets, making a pallet, and as soon as I realized this, I began to help.
"We can't sleep on the bed," he said, his voice thick with fatigue. "It's not safe. And you're not sleeping alone."
He lay down on one side of the blanket and turned away from me, onto his side, his fingers inches from his gun. I watched him for a moment and then, finally, lay down beside him, wrapping myself in the blanket and turning away from him. Within moments, we slept.
Carlucci was up before I was, and the smell of coffee was what finally drove me out of the warm blanket and into his kitchen. Tony was standing by the window over the sink, staring out at the field behind his house, watching concrete trucks kick up clouds of white dust as they moved through the gate and into the plant. The look on his face frightened me. His eyes were hollow and rimmed with sleepless, dark circles. His hair was wiry and unkempt. But when he turned to face me, his expression took my breath away. He was more than angry; he was enraged.
"You should've called me when you found Vernell," he said. His voice escaped through clenched jaws, rasping at my sleep-drugged mind, forcing me into a sharp awakening.
"You had a million opportunities to let me know you'd found him, and you didn't. What's wrong with you? Didn't I tell you I had to know? Don't you think some of this could've been avoided if I'd had first crack at him and not your precious detective?"
He frightened me, but I wouldn't let him see it.
"What was I supposed to do, Tony, say "Excuse me," and step into a phone booth? I don't carry a cell phone. And what would I have said, huh? 'This P.I. is looking for you, he breaks into houses and waits, he drives your daughter home on his motorcycle without our permission, and he says he wants to get in touch with you before the other people looking for you kill him'?"
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Something like that."
I straightened my back, pushed the hair out of my face, and frowned. "First off, there wasn't time to call you. Second, Marshall Weathers found us, I didn't call him. And third, I don't really know a thing about you. What if you're looking to hurt Vernell, just like the others are looking to do?"
Tony folded his thick forearms and the frown on his face deepened. "So you're saying basically that you don't trust me."
"Something like that," I echoed.
"That's why you didn't tell me straight out when you got home?"
I walked past him to the coffeepot, grabbed a mug from the hooks that lined the underside of his cabinets, and poured myself a cup of steaming coffee.
"I didn't tell you because I wasn't ready to tell you. I wanted to talk to Vernell first, find out what's really going on. I have a history with him. I don't have one with you."
He'd talked to Bess. She'd told him. That much was easy to guess.
"You're playing it wrong, Maggie," he said. His eyes were narrow angry slits, and his face was set in cold, hard lines that sent a chill running through me.
"Take me home, please. Now."
"You can't go home."
That's when I lost my temper. "Yes, I can. Watch me, Mr. Carlucci. You can take me home, or I can call a cab or I can call a friend, or"-and I let the word dangle for a second-"I can call a cop. Somehow, I don't think you're exactly in favor of that idea, are you?"
He took a step toward me, and I braced myself, but I didn't move. I thought he was going to keep coming. I expected him to try and hurt me, but he didn't. He stopped himself, his fists clenched by his side, his face colored with a dusky red rage, an
d as I watched, he let it all go. He stared at me, never taking his eyes from my face. He inhaled, held it, and exhaled, visibly relaxing the muscles in his body.
"All right," he said at last, "I'll take you to your car. But it's not safe. I'm telling you they're looking for that money and they won't stop until they have it. Hurting you is just an amusement for them, Maggie."
I looked past him, out the window, staring at the barren fruit trees.
"They didn't have any trouble finding me here," I said. "You told me, the only way I can get out of this is to go see Vernell and get him to tell me where the money is. If they have their money, they'll leave me alone."
Tony reached for his jacket, pulling it off the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
"Then I'll take you," he said.
"I'll take myself."
Tony shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're a piece of work, Maggie Reid." He stepped closer to me, standing so close I could smell the leather and oil of his jacket. "Let me help you."
I wanted to tell him I didn't trust him, that I couldn't trust someone who carried that much excess anger around like spare luggage, but I couldn't say it.
"All right," I said finally. "Take me."
Chapter Twenty
Carlucci drove down Washington Street to the front of the Municipal Plaza, bumped his Harley up onto the sidewalk, and guided it across the concrete, almost to the broad steps that led to the police department. He stopped the bike in front of a statue of a policeman patting a little boy on the head.
"You're nuts," I said as I pulled off my helmet. "You're surrounded by cops and here you are begging for a ticket. What's wrong with you?"
He looked around the empty plaza. "I don't see anybody coming to take me in. They probably do it all the time themselves."
I shook my head, remembering how Weathers pulled up on the sidewalk exactly as Tony had, but the difference was that he was a police officer and Tony was definitely not one of them.
I handed him the helmet and walked away. Tony Carlucci was strange, and I didn't know that he was any of the things he said he was, or that I could trust him any further than I could throw him. But he was only one of my worries. Vernell and the Redneck Mafia were my main concerns.
By the time I'd worked my way up the stairs and into the lobby of the police department, I'd worked up a good head of steam. When I presented myself to the receptionist in the Criminal Investigation Department, I was almost shaking, I was so mad.
"Detective Weathers, someone's here to see you, says she's a Miss Reid."
I glared at her. "I am Ms. Reid," I snapped.
The receptionist looked startled.
"He'll be right out. Just have a seat over-"
"I'll stand right here," I said.
Weathers rounded the corner and found me waiting, my hands on my hips and a frown on my face.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"Across the street." He said it like maybe Vernell had stepped out for coffee, and not been locked up.
"Take me to him."
Weathers walked right on past me, opened the black door out into the corridor and held it open for me.
"Right this way."
I followed him, not trusting myself to look at his face. I stared at the wall as we walked, noting all the pictures of ex-chiefs and old police cars.
"Maggie, are you going to talk about this or not?"
I still couldn't look at him. "I'm listening."
Weathers opened the front door, led me around the corner of the building, and grabbed me by the shoulders.
"We have the gun, Maggie. It's registered in Vernell's name. He hadn't reported it missing or stolen. Maggie, you've got to face up to this. Vernell killed Nosmo King. He went over the edge. He's been headed this way his entire life."
I looked at the third button on his white oxford shirt.
"Maggie, look at me, damn it!"
I raised my eyes slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't give my feelings away.
"Vernell Spivey has as much as admitted that he killed Nosmo King. The man you put up with for all those years isn't who you thought he was. He tried, and I know you loved him for who you thought he might become, but Maggie, he killed Nosmo King."
"No, he didn't!" The tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn't see. Marshall Weathers began walking down a long outside corridor that led to a set of steps into the parking lot.
"Then I think you should talk to him. Let him explain it to you."
Weathers was calm, too calm. It was as if he trusted Vernell's reaction and I couldn't for the life of me see how. Vernell didn't kill Nosmo King.
We walked across the street, up a wide ramp to the glass doors leading into the sheriff's department and the city jail.
Weathers pulled open the front door, stepped inside, and turned left. He walked up to a small glass window, and spoke to the uniformed officer inside.
"We're here to interview Vernell Spivey," he said. He looked at me apologetically. "It's the only way I can get you inside," he said. "These aren't regular visiting hours. I have to go with you."
A buzzer sounded and Marshall pushed another door open, admitting us to a small room.
"Put your purse and anything in your pockets up on the counter," he said. He reached for his gun, put it in the tray that the jailer extended and then waited for me.
"Okay," Weathers said. "Here goes."
The heavy steel door in front of us swung open, revealing the jailer and a narrow, beige corridor. Weathers and the short, fat man exchanged pleasantries as we walked to the interview room, but I wasn't listening. The jail smelled of disinfectant. I could hear the clang of metal in the distance, the drone of a TV and the sounds of men's muffled voices.
We were led into a small room, just like the movies, with a Plexiglas shield, wooden chairs, and a scarred wooden counter between our side and the prisoner's.
How could Vernell Spivey have come to this?
The door swung open a few minutes later and Vernell stepped into the room, clad in a bright orange jumpsuit, a two-day growth of beard and a hangdog look on his face.
His eyes brightened when he saw me, then dulled as he took in Marshall Weathers. I picked up the handset and waited for him to do the same.
"Hello, darlin'," he said, just like George Jones sweet-talking Tammy Wynette.
"Vernell, why are you in jail?"
He smiled a weak, wishy-washy smile and shrugged his shoulders. "Aw, you know, honey, fate, I guess."
"Fate, you guess? What does that mean, Vernell?"
His eyes wandered over to Weathers then back to me. "Get me a real good lawyer, Maggie."
"That would take money, Vernell. Where is it?"
A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Vernell's forehead. "Use the dish business as collateral. Get a loan."
"You know we can't do that! Where's the money?"
Vernell switched the phone from one hand to the other, rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs. What was the matter with him?
"Tell me the truth. What happened? It's all right, honey, the truth will set you free."
He gulped. "I don't think so, Maggie," he said. "Not this time."
A chill ran up my spine. "Sure it will, tell us what happened."
Vernell looked at me. He was pleading silently, but I wouldn't give.
"Maggie, the money's going to work out. I'm working on something." His gaze shifted to Marshall. "I'd rather not go into it just now."
"Honey, now is the only time you have. Nosmo King is dead, shot with your gun, in your truck, and you don't want to talk about it?"
Vernell smiled nervously. "Not really."
I pointed my finger at him. "This is your daughter's future we're talking about, Vernell Spivey! I have half a mind to go ahead and work that deal with Archer VanScoy and have done with it!"
That got a reaction. "Maggie, don't you dare! You can't sell without me! The lot's not for sale, not at any price. I tol
d him that!"
I glared at him. "Oh yeah, well, when you're sitting in prison, I can do whatever I want! I'll take his hundred thousand dollars and run. At least that way I know Sheila will be taken care of!"
Vernell jumped to his feet, the receiver pressed to his ear. "I will take care of my family! I have a plan!" Then he paused, frowned, and stared straight at me. "VanScoy told you a hundred thousand? That business is worth hundreds of thousands more than that. See why I have to handle it?"
"VanScoy said you took too long, and now he knows you're in trouble, so it's one hundred thousand. See?"
Marshall Weathers was watching me, I could feel it, but I wouldn't look at him.
"Where's Nosmo King's money?" I demanded.
Vernell sighed. "I don't know nothing about that," he said. "I don't have it. I told him I didn't need it after all."
Now we were getting somewhere. I looked at Marshall. "Can you not step outside for a moment?" I said. "You'd have to leave if I was his lawyer."
Weathers shrugged, looked at the window, and motioned to the jailer. "I'll give you three minutes," he said, "then I'm back inside."
The second the door closed I was on Vernell like ugly on an ape. "All right, you low-life pond scum, this is for Sheila. You remember her, don't you, the daughter who thinks you walk on water?"
Vernell's eyes reddened and for a second I thought he might cry. "Maggie, I'm working for the higher good here. I didn't kill King. I didn't take his money. And I'm working on something with the money, so lay off! Get me a lawyer."
"Were you there when Nosmo got killed?" I asked.
Vernell shook his head. "Last thing I remember, me and Nosmo and his girlfriend were drinking. I woke up and it was dark and I was in a field and my truck was gone. I swear, baby, I wasn't working no deal with Nosmo."
"Then why didn't you come straight out and tell the police your truck was missing?"
Vernell wouldn't meet my gaze. "On account of I wasn't sure what happened. I had a bad feeling about Nosmo. I was waiting to find out if anything was wrong." He looked up for a second. "I've been drinking too much lately, Maggie. Sometimes I don't even know what day it is. By the time I came out of it, everybody was looking for me."
Stand By Your Man mr-2 Page 14
