Your Cheatin Heart mr-1

by Nancy Bartholomew

  He turned to me and Sheila. "You all right, baby?" he asked her tenderly.

  "Yeah, Daddy, I'm fine." But she wasn't fine. Her body trembled against mine and her fingers were icicles.

  "Kiss your mama, then, and run on up to bed. It's late."

  Sheila pried herself out of my arms, kissed me on the cheek, and then clung to my neck for a long moment before she let go.

  "I want to see you tomorrow," I said firmly, trying to make her look at me, but failing.

  "I don't know," she muttered. "I have to work."

  Vernell stepped in. "Girl, what's wrong with you? This here's your mama. That comes first."

  He looked at me. "Don't worry. I'm gonna drive her to school personally tomorrow, and you can pick her up, if it suits." Sheila started to protest, but broke off at the stern look of warning from her father. She turned and walked up the stairs, past Jolene, to her room. I'd waited sixteen years for this kind of support.

  "Thanks, Vernell," I said.

  He shrugged and scratched at his belly, forgetting, I suppose, that this wasn't exactly appropriate behavior to display in front of an ex-wife, especially when the current wife was hovering like an avenging angel.

  "I don't know what the hell's going on," he said with a sigh. "This week has about run me to the end of what all a man can endure, what with Jimmy gone." He looked very sad, and I reached out to touch his arm.

  "I'm so sorry, Vernell," I whispered.

  "Vernell!" Jolene had had enough.

  "I'll keep a close watch," he said, as he walked me to the door. "She's my baby, too, you know."

  "I know, Vernell."

  He opened the door and watched as I walked over to my car. "Take care of yourself, Maggie."

  I looked back. Jolene was drifting down the staircase like a descending spider. Vernell was the one who needed to watch his back, I thought.

  I started the car and backed carefully out of the jdriveway, past the flattened mailbox, out into the cul-de-sac. Vernell had closed the front door and by now was facing an angry Dish Girl. I let the VW slide across the street, under the cover of the drooping pin oak, and watched.

  The downstairs lights went out. Eventually only one room stayed lit, Sheila's. She was sitting up there, worrying, I just knew.

  "Don't worry, baby," I whispered into the darkness. "Mama's right here."

  I sat under the big tree branch and watched for I don't know how long. The sound of Maurice Chevalier's voice echoed in my head, replaced by Jolene's accusatory voice: "What kind of a mother are you?"

  Maybe the warning had been directed at me. Maybe someone knew about Jimmy being dead in my house, and me being a singer and having a daughter. I'd heard about people getting anonymous phone calls after they'd been in the paper or on TV. Maybe that Jolene was right. But there'd been that phone call at the Curley-Que, too. I pondered on that awhile. Was she right? Was I a bad mother? What kind of right did I have to go off and pursue my own dream?

  Sheila's light finally winked out a little after two A.M. I sat there a few more minutes and then drove off toward Jack's. There was no sense in going back to the club. The boys would all be heading home by now. The night was drawing to a close.

  I putted slowly across town, lost in a fog of indecision and confusion. I pulled into Jack's parking lot, slid into a space near the loading dock and walked toward the door, all without consciously taking in my surroundings. Only the harmonica music drifting slowly across the lot intruded into my awareness. Jack was sitting on the concrete loading pad, waiting for me, a Rolling Rock in one hand and a C Sharp harmonica in the other.

  "You scared the shit out of me," he said. He didn't look scared, though, he looked just as he always did, calm and peaceful. "I've been sitting out here, waiting."

  It was only when I stepped up onto the dock and sank down beside him that I noticed his hands were shaking ever so slightly.

  "Jack, I'm sorry," I said. He turned to me, his eyes filled with concern and some other emotion that I couldn't read. "I had to go see about Sheila. I couldn't have stayed and explained."

  "Is she all right?" he asked.

  "I don't know. I think maybe, for now, she is." Jack sighed and took a swig of his been "Vernell's fine little wife thinks the man on the phone was trying to point out what a bad mother I am."

  "Well, that's just horseshit!" Jack said. He reached over and put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close to him. It was cold outside and Jack's body was warm.

  "I don't know what to think. All I know is, it scared me to death."

  "Scared me, too" he said. "You've gotta start taking better care of yourself. Watch what you're doing. Fix the damn lock over at your place and let the police help you. This is getting serious, Maggie. I tried to explain it to Sparks, but I gotta tell you, Maggie, he was a little pissed."

  That was all I needed. "I'll call him tomorrow."

  "Well," Jack sighed, "better let him cool down a bit first. Just show up on time tomorrow night and talk to him."

  "What did he say, Jack?" I asked, suddenly more afraid.

  "He said he'd had enough of you running in and out. Said he had a band to think of and that if you couldn't be reliable, he'd have to let you go."

  "Great! Just fine!" I said.

  "Try not to let him get to you," he said. "His bark is worse than his bite." He squeezed me tight, then stood up. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

  It wasn't until we got inside and into the light that I realized something else. Jack had been crying. He tried to hide it with a thin, watery smile, but his eyes were swollen and red. In my lifetime I will admit that I had not seen many men cry. It was unusual and a little frightening. But then, Jack was unusual, a man who was comfortable with his feelings. Still, I couldn't help walking up to him and touching him tentatively.

  "Jack? What's wrong? Have you been crying?"

  He turned and smiled softly, but his lips trembled. "I'm fine," he said.

  "Did I scare you that badly?" I asked.

  He laughed a little and shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. It doesn't have a thing to do with you. Except"-his voice faltered for a moment-"except just don't let anything happen to you, all right? I couldn't stand to lose anyone else right now."

  "Is it Evelyn?" I asked.

  "Yeah, but let's not talk about it right now, all right, Maggie?" He reached out and stroked my hair gently, as if I were much younger than him, and not the other way around. "Let's just go upstairs and go to sleep." He stressed the word sleep, as if I should understand that he, too, realized the moment we had shared was past.

  I let him take my hand, and we walked up the stairs to his bedroom. This time, when I slipped in between the sheets, it no longer occurred to me to worry about his nakedness. Instead I rolled over to face his back, reached out my hand, and let it rest on his shoulder. Later, when he thought I was asleep, I heard a quiet sob escape his lips and felt him tremble.

  I lay there wondering what to do, my hand still resting on his shoulder. In all of my life, I had never seen a man hurt this way, not over a woman, not over anything that I could recall. Even when my brother Larry's wife left him, he hadn't cried. I'd found him out behind the old barn, chopping wood in the middle of January, working so hard that even bare-chested in thirty-degree weather, he was sweating. But I never saw him cry.

  Eventually, I heard the soft sound of even breathing and realized that Jack had drifted off to sleep. I lay awake for a long time, thinking about the men in my life, and wondering if one of them had been the voice on the phone, if maybe someone I knew had killed Jimmy and now wanted to see me dead. But why? What had I done to make someone so angry they'd threaten my daughter and try and frame me for murder?

  Chapter Nineteen

  I awakened alone and with a plan. Jack was gone and the carafe of coffee was waiting for me on the kitchen counter. I sat on the sofa, drinking and rooting through my purse and wallet. I had been surprised to see Marshall Weathers's card floating arou
nd in my bag a few days ago. I hadn't remembered him giving it to me, but now when I needed it, it was nowhere to be found.

  "Come on, Weathers, I know you're in here," I muttered. I pulled out my wallet and started taking every picture, credit card, and paper out of the worn leather slots. It had to be there somewhere. Only after I emptied every last item out of my purse did I find the beige business card, wedged under a piece of leather at the bottom.

  I sat for a few moments, studying the card and debating: Call or don't call? "Just don't think about it," I whispered to myself. "Just pick up the phone and do it." My fingers were cold and I realized that I was shaking on the inside. "What are you afraid of? He'll listen to you. He'll take you seriously." But maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd blow me off like he had when someone shot at me. Maybe he'd think I was making it all up to throw the suspicion off of myself.

  I jumped up off the sofa and ran across the room to the phone, picked it up, and dialed before I could stop myself. He answered on the first ring.

  "Marshall Weathers," he said, his voice deep and businesslike.

  I hung up.

  A few moments later the phone rang, echoing through the cavernous room. I jumped and stared at it. I started to reach for it, and changed my mind. I couldn't do it. What if it was him? "You're being ridiculous," I said aloud. The phone continued to ring but I walked away. Calling Weathers was a bad idea.

  "I'm making a big deal out of nothing, probably," I said to the empty room. "I'll get my locks fixed. I'll just go over and pick Sheila up after school. Between me and Vernell, we can watch her. If somebody lays a hand on my baby, me and Vernell'll kill him."

  That was the right decision. If I left it up to the police, they might not watch her like I could. They might figure I wasn't telling them the truth, and my little girl would be caught in the middle. That is, if Sheila were even in danger. Chances were, it was just a Nosy Parker with too much time on his hands, looking to scare someone.

  I ran upstairs, took a quick shower, and threw on a pair of jeans and a purple sweatshirt. Eventually, despite what I'd told Weathers, I was going to have to go back into my house, even if it was only to pick up more of my belongings. I wedged on a pair of tan suede, low-top cowgirl boots and ran down the stairs. Weathers was leaning against my car when I stepped out into the bright fall afternoon.

  "Ever hear tell of Caller ID?" he said.

  "So, when I hung up you got my number?"

  "It ain't rocket science," he said.

  I jammed my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and stood on the dock staring at him. It was just as well that we were both wearing sunglasses. I couldn't see those powerful blue eyes and he couldn't look through mine and see what I was feeling. He stood there, his arms folded, smiling. I figured he was feeling right proud of himself.

  "So, what'd you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

  "It wasn't anything much," I said. I took my time walking down the steps and over toward him. "If it'd been worth bothering you about, I'd have stayed on the line. As it was, I simply changed my mind. So you ran over here for nothing, and I hate it for you."

  The smile never left his face but that little muscle began to jump in his jaw. He looked at his watch, then back at me.

  "It's past lunchtime," he said. "You eat yet?"

  My stomach growled. "No." I was close enough to touch him if I'd wanted to. For an instant the idea crossed my mind. What would it be like to touch him? He stood there, still smiling, waiting and not saying a word. It was up to me, somehow I just knew it.

  "You want to go grab a bite?" I said. I didn't look at him when I spoke. It wasn't that obvious; I let my eyes wander to a spot just below his collarbone. The man made me nervous, or else I'd had too much coffee.

  "Sure," he said, like a teacher who's been waiting on a student to come up with an obvious answer. "That'd be fine. Where you got in mind?"

  Weathers was never going to be a man to use two words when one would do. I tried to think of where to go, and could only remember the last place we'd been, the only place we'd ever been together. "Yum-Yums'll do, I reckon."

  He nodded, the decision made. He didn't even ask if I wanted to drive. He simply headed for his car, unlocked the door, and waited.

  "I don't feel like driving anyway," I muttered to myself. "Use his gas."

  He was talking on his cell phone as we drove off, a series of grunts and "uh-huhs" that gave me almost no indication of whether the call was business or personal. He cut across town, heading for lunch, his driving as clean and spare as his conversation. I was a shameless eavesdropper. I stared out the window, tried to act disinterested, and listened as hard as I could.

  "Yeah, uh-huh, well, I know that." He leaned his head to the left, balancing the cell phone while he turned down the radio. "I know that, too," he said, but this time he seemed a little impatient "Here's what you do," he said. "You tell her I said no. She'll understand that." He listened for a moment, grunted something I couldn't make out, and hung up.

  For a moment he seemed to have forgotten that I was even in the ear. He had pulled into Yum-Yums, and now sat with the ear in park, his arms folded across the steering wheel, staring at the brick wall in front of him.

  "Trouble at work?" I asked after a minute, in which we sat stone silent in his car.

  He didn't jump perceptibly, but he came back from wherever he'd been and looked across at me.

  "Come on, let's get us a hot dog," he said. He didn't answer the question.

  "Must've been personal," I murmured to myself, not that there was any logic involved in that deduction. Just call it woman's intuition. I wondered who the "she" was that he'd said would understand "no."

  I wondered about it the whole way up to the counter. I placed my order, almost without having to think, and went back to speculating about Weathers. I knew what I was doing. I was putting off the inevitable. I was going to have to talk about Sheila. I could feel it building up in me like a storm. My mother's intuition told me that the voice on the other end of the phone had meant to scare me, and also to threaten my daughter.

  If Weathers knew what I was doing, he didn't comment. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. We took our hot dogs and walked to a booth across the room, under a chart showing a World War II aircraft carrier. He carefully unwrapped his hot dog, grabbed a couple of napkins out of the dispenser and handed me one. Then he focused on eating.

  We sat for a couple of minutes in complete silence, until I couldn't stand it any longer. There was no one in the booths nearby, no other conversation to listen in on, and no distractions to keep me from talking.

  "So, how'd you come to be at the Golden Stallion the night I auditioned?" I asked. A harmless question.

  "Is that what you called me to ask?" He quit eating and sat perfectly still, waiting.

  I felt myself turn red. "No, I'm just making polite conversation, that's all." He still didn't say anything. "I mean, you haven't been in since that night, that I'm aware of. I just wondered."

  "Keep careful track of the Golden Stallion patrons, do you?"

  I gave up. Shook my head in disgust and took a sip of my soda, only to have it misfire and go up my nose. I choked and coughed, my eyes watering with the effort to regain control of my windpipe. He laughed. Laughed so hard, I finally had to join in, and we laughed until I realized I was losing control and on the verge of tears.

  "Okay," he said, suddenly reaching across the table, his fingers stretching to cover mine, "why did you call?"

  "Someone threatened my daughter. I know you may not believe that, that's why I hung up. I just didn't know who else to call and I had to talk to someone."

  He straightened up, his fingers edging back into his lap. It was business now;

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  I looked back at him, right into his eyes. He was really listening, and so I told him about the phone call. My voice shook, my hands trembled, and I felt cold, even though the steam from hundreds of hot dogs filled the tiny rest
aurant. I was so afraid.

  He leaned back against the booth, his head cocked slightly to the left, listening as I went through the details of the phone call. He didn't laugh at me or make light of the threat. He just nodded, as if he was all too familiar with threatening phone calls.

  "So, do you think this is something I should take seriously, or was it a crank call?"

  "I don't know," he said. "Could be either. I don't think you oughta go getting totally paranoid, but I don't think you can just dismiss it, either." He smiled slightly. "You tick anybody off lately?"

  I almost came up off of my seat. "Of course I ticked someone off, Weathers," I said. "Someone's so ticked at me that they're trying to make me out to be a murderer! And if that fails, they're gonna flat out kill me! I know that's not exactly what you want to hear, but it's God's honest truth." I didn't give him the opportunity to deny it.

  "The whole Spivey clan must be angry with me. The grieving widow is especially angry, on account of Jimmy left his share of the business to me. Vernell can't be too pleased, although he sure is putting on a good show of it. He thought he was rid of me. Now I'm his business partner and maybe, he thinks, his brother's killer. So, I'd say, in answer to your question, yeah, I got a whole slew of people ticked off at me." I leaned back against the booth, breathless.

  "All right," he said. "Let's set the record straight, again. I am only interested in finding out who killed Jimmy Spivey. I have no personal vendetta against you. I am working just as hard to find the innocent parties in this investigation as I am to find the guilty ones. You need to quit looking at me as if I'm your enemy, Maggie. We'll get a lot further if you start trusting me."

  I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to trust this man. "Well, it just seems as if I'm the only person you're investigating."

  "We've covered that, Maggie. I'm not 'investigating' you. I'm asking questions."

  A crowd of teenagers came through the door, out of school and hungry, laughing and talking as if they hadn't a care in the world. For a moment, Weathers allowed himself to be distracted, but then he was right back at it.