Your Cheatin Heart mr-1

by Nancy Bartholomew

  "How's Vernell get along with Sheila?" he asked.

  "Fine. Why?"

  "Well, you said the voice on the phone was male. You mentioned Vernell was probably plenty angry at you. I'm just asking questions, Maggie."

  "Oh, Vernell's harmless," I said. "He wasn't a nice husband. He treated me like a dog, but he's a good daddy. He wouldn't harm a hair on Sheila's head."

  "Maybe not, but you're the one brought his name up."

  So I had, but I was only trying to make a point. Vernell wouldn't harm a fly, would he?

  "Have you talked to Vernell?" I asked.

  "Sure." Nothing more. The professional mask was back in place.

  "Where was he when Jimmy died? Could he have done it?"

  Weathers studied me for a moment, making up his mind. "Vernell says he was on his way back into town from Stokesdale. We haven't been able to confirm or deny that yet."

  Vernell didn't have an alibi. But that didn't mean a thing. I flashed on Vernell in the Golden Stallion, the night after Jimmy's death, drunk and decked out in his blue polyester leisure suit. Sure was a funny way to show grief for the loss of your only brother.

  "But Vernell would never hurt Sheila," I said.

  "Nobody's hurt Sheila," he answered.

  "It's gotta be somebody else."

  "Probably is," he said. His face was closed and I couldn't read him.

  "Well, we've got to make sure she's safe," I said. "Shouldn't you have somebody watch her?"

  Weathers shook his head. "That's TV, Maggie. We don't have enough manpower to put an officer on everybody who receives a threatening phone call. I don't know any police department that does. Unless someone actually tries to hurt Sheila, our hands are tied. But," he said, before I could start in, "that doesn't mean that I'm not taking this seriously."

  "Then what are you going to do about it?"

  "We, Maggie," he said. "What are we going to do about it. You've got to talk to Sheila, get her to be cautious. Then you've got to try and help me figure out who would want to scare you. Because that's what I think this is, an attempt to frighten you. We just need to know why."

  There was something about Marshall Weathers that made me believe what he was saying. Not just believe him, but feel comforted and reassured by his words. He knew we could figure this all out. He seemed so sure of himself. He didn't seem upset or even very worried. It was as if he dealt with this kind of thing every day, and of course, he did. This wasn't the worst thing he'd ever heard of, but he wasn't dismissing it, either. He was making me feel like I had some control over what happened. The voice on the phone had been trying to scare me. In reality, no one had hurt Sheila, and I could help make sure that no one did.

  "Okay," I said. "Fair enough. I'll talk to Sheila and I'll keep talking to you."

  Weathers nodded, satisfied.

  "I still don't think Vernell has anything to do with this," I said. "He's my ex, and by rights I could hate him, but he's harmless."

  Weathers shrugged. "You may be right," he said, "but I don't take nothing for granted when it comes to ex-spouses. There's always an axe to grind somewhere, no matter how deep it's buried."

  I looked over at Weathers, noting the tiny twitch back in his jaw. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that I had just gotten a glimpse of the man who lived behind the professional exterior.

  I opened my mouth to ask the next question, to find out a little bit more about this man and his past, but he saw it coming.

  "Gotta get back," he said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the trash can. "I got work to do, and you've got a daughter to look after."

  I couldn't argue with that. I followed him out into the parking lot, the afternoon sun hitting me squarely in the eyes. He was on the cell phone once again when I climbed into the passenger seat. For a minute I wondered if he was really talking to anyone at all. Maybe hugging the phone was his way of avoiding questions from me. Still, I listened.

  "Hey!" he said, his voice a bit rougher than it was when he spoke to me. "Listen, I been thinkin' and I got a different way to go on this here." He was watching the road, but for an instant he glanced over at me. "I want you to draw something up and get her to come in and sign it. I'm tired of fooling around."

  He looked almost sad, his eyes dark blue wells. Couldn't be a professional call, I thought. There was nothing in his tone to give away sadness, but I had an urge to touch his knee, a sure sign that my womanly intuition was on alert and sending signals. Just like me to hone in on another wounded dog. Probably them bad picker genes leading me down one more dead-end road.

  "Yeah, huh." He grunted. "I know it." He listened, making the turn onto Elm Street and preparing to pull back into Jack's parking lot. He sighed, a frown creasing his forehead.

  "I ain't much for Monday morning quarter-backing," he said. "Let's just get on with it and see what you people can get accomplished." Then, an afterthought: "And keep it simple, y'hear? She started the whole mess, but that don't mean we gotta make it sting worse." He slammed the phone shut and threw it down on the seat between us.

  "Lawyers," I sighed, shaking my head and taking a stab in the dark.

  "Ain't that the truth," he said, before he could catch himself.

  "Listen now," he said, turning to me, "you get up with Sheila, make sure she's all right. I'll be in touch."

  I hopped out of the car and turned back to say good-bye. "Maybe you can tell me all about your divorce next time," I was going to say, leave him with the smart aleck comment this time. But he was already back on the phone, barking at someone. He lifted his hand up, a dismissive wave good-bye, and was gone.

  I was left standing in the parking lot once again, my mouth hanging open and looking like a big dummy. Back when I was growing up, whenever Mama witnessed someone who had a particular talent for leaving others speechless and getting their own way, she'd stand back and admire the whole act for a few moments. Then she'd turn to us young'uns and say, "Now there goes a prize violin."

  Weathers had played me like a fiddle all right, but the band was just tuning up and Maggie Reid was gonna have the last word.

  Chapter Twenty

  I could hear the choir tuning up and the organ wailing as I stood outside the Ledbetter Greek Methodist Church, waiting on Bonnie. Churches made me nervous, ever since Daddy fell out drunk one time in our home church and the pastor thought God had struck him dead and tried to revive him in the sacred baptismal pool. After that, I decided to leave organized religion to them what do it best.

  I was half hiding underneath the shade of a pin oak, tugging at my blue skirt and wishing it was a tad longer. It's one thing to be a Reba McIntyre look-alike on stage, but it is quite another to carry it to church. I had on a high-necked white shirt and prissy white shoes. Not a rhinestone in sight. And I must've passed, 'cause Bonnie almost walked right past me.

  "Hey," I called softly.

  Bonnie was taking one last drag on her cigarette and shooing three of the six children off toward Sunday School. She stopped, startled, and guiltily pitched her smoke in the bushes.

  "Lord, honey, you liked to scared me to death! I thought you was one of the bazaar ladies." She took a deep breath and gave me a thorough onceover. "Dang, Maggie, you must want this'un bad to dress like that!" Not that Bonnie was the picture of conservatism. She was just used to looking like someone's mother.

  "I got good news for you, though. I forgot, we're having a pinto bean supper after church today!"

  "How's that good news? I don't like pinto beans and the last thing I want to do is-" Bonnie cut me off with a wave of her hand.

  "His mother will be working the line, you idiot! We'll sit at her table!" Bonnie turned and started up the stairs to the sanctuary.

  "Praise God," I whispered and followed her.

  The church was relatively small and very old. Thick windowsills and whitewashed walls. Pretty stained-glass windows depicted the saints and Jesus, all having a time of it being Christians. Bonnie slipped into
a pew halfway up the red carpeted aisle, tugging me in beside her. All the church members were old, or at least that's how it seemed to me. They smiled and waved to each other, but when the opening hymn began and the congregation stood, they became seriously devout.

  Bonnie nudged me as I fumbled with my hymnal. "See her?" she whispered. "The lady two rows up, just in front of you, with the gray curly hair."

  I looked. Bonnie's description fit just about every woman in the place, but I knew Marshall Weathers's mother instantly. When she turned to watch the choir approach our eyes met briefly. Electric blue lie detectors. She wasn't tiny, like some of the others, but taller and grandmotherly. The kind of woman who wears an apron around the house and forgets to take it off 'cause she's always in the kitchen. She looked tanned and happy, and I imagined her out in the garden picking beans for supper.

  Bonnie raised an eyebrow at me, then winked. She was loving this. Intrigue came simple to a woman with six children.

  I don't remember the pastor's sermon. He was a small, bland little fellow with cherry red cheeks and a look of surprised innocence about him. His voice came out in a hushed monotone that the ladies, Mrs. Weathers included, all seemed to strain to hear. I was too busy watching her and wondering about the mother of my detective to listen to the service.

  When the choir started the last hymn, Bonnie gave me another nudge. "We gotta get straight on down to the fellowship hall if we want to sit with Flo and them. As soon as the preacher gives the benediction and people start to file out, you follow me."

  The "Amen" had barely left the preacher's lips when Bonnie charged the aisle like a water buffalo. She cut past the ladies who waited to shake hands with the minister, plowed through little groups of chatters, and led me straight outside into the noontime sunshine and across the little churchyard to a low white building.

  Bonnie didn't stop her single-minded pursuit until we were sitting at a table along the far left-hand side of the narrow fellowship hall, happily ensconced among five gray-haired women.

  "Sit here," she'd said, placing me next to the one empty chair at the table, facing a blank wall with a colorful picture of Jesus at the Last Supper. "That's her chair there. You wait, as soon as the line gets started, she'll come around!"

  But when Flo Weathers did appear, I found myself suddenly shy. What was I gonna do now?

  "Well, hey there, ladies!" she cried, setting her plate of pinto beans, cornbread, and coleslaw down with a gentle thunk. "Bonnie," she said, looking at me, "who's your friend?" And before Bonnie could swallow her tea and answer, Flo took matters into her own hands. "Anybody ever tell you you look like Reba McIntyre?" she asked. "I got a son who just worships that woman!"

  The others laughed, apparently well familiar with Flo's patter.

  "I'm Flo Weathers. Welcome to Ledbetter Greek Methodist." Bonnie had choked on her iced tea and was trying to catch her breath. "Bonnie's usually better mannered than this, must be livin' around all them young'uns got her flustered. What's wrong with you, Bonnie?" Bonnie had turned red and was coughing fit to beat the band. When it came right down to it, Bonnie didn't have the temperament for subterfuge.

  "I'm Maggie Reid," I said, smiling right back at her, but trying not to look too closely into those clear blue eyes.

  "Flo, Maggie works with me down to the Curley-Que, but she's going into a new… Ow!" Bonnie grabbed her leg and howled, unable to tell Flo I was a singer on account of me kicking her under the table. "Oh," Bonnie said, catching my eye.

  "Hairdresser, huh? You single?"

  The ladies laughed again, a comfortable here-we-go-again laugh that signaled familiarity.

  "Listen, Maggie," Flo said, leaning closer to me. "Don't pay them a bit of mind. I'm just a mother looking out for her handsome, smart, and newly single son."

  I raised my eyebrows and smiled politely. "Well, yes, ma'am, I am single," I answered.

  "Hmmm," Flo said, breaking a piece of corn-bread, but not making any moves to eat it.

  "Tell me about your son," I said, doing my best not to catch Bonnie's eye or look anything but neutral. Bonnie was choking so badly now, she had to leave the table.

  "Oh, he's a doll!" one of the blue-haired ladies said. The others murmured their agreement. "And so polite," another said. "A real lady killer," the third one said.

  That stopped the crew in their tracks and they all looked across at the little birdlike lady with the blue-and-pink straw hat. She turned scarlet.

  "Well, what I mean is, he's a gentleman, of course, but a real charmer!"

  Flo looked back at the line where the servers were doling out plates of beans and saw something she didn't like. She hopped up and was gone before anyone could say another word.

  "I'm sure he's a nice boy," I said, smiling, "but if he's newly single, he's probably not anxious to meet anyone new."

  A slight cloud passed over the group, then a plump lady with a bright purple dress spoke up.

  "What happened to little Marshall was a pitiful shame!"

  "I'm sorry," I said, picking at my pinto beans. "Did his wife die?"

  "Oh Lord, no, and sometimes we think it might've been better if she had." The purple dress looked back where Flo was dumping beans into a large pot, then back to me. "His wife left him for another man!"

  "No!" I said, seeing Bonnie approach the table, her face now a modest pink.

  "Yes!" they all cried in unison.

  "And him working like he does, solving all those horrible murder cases!" The purple dress was upset. "She just run out. Left everything but her clothes and took off with one of his best friends. He ain't been quite right since. Flo's just worried sick! He don't go out much. He don't come to church. He don't hardly even associate with his friends anymore, either. I guess he just don't trust nobody and I can't say as I blame him."

  "Well, it's been over a year," the bird lady said. "He needs him a new horse is what he needs. Swing back up in the saddle!"

  "Martha!" the others gasped.

  "Oh, don't act like such a bunch of prissies!" she snorted. "I changed that boy's diapers. I watched him raise hell all through school. He just needs a good woman, that's all. Trouble with him is, he don't know it! Thinks we're all the same, faithless hussies! Thinks work's all there is to life." The ladies sighed collectively. Martha was a loose cannon.

  Flo was walking back toward the table, and everyone but Martha set about shoveling beans into their mouths.

  "Ain't that right, Flo?" Martha said.

  "What's that?" She was smiling, settling back into her seat and reaching for her tea.

  "Don't Marshall need him a new woman?" Flo looked over at me and laughed. "Yes, Lord! But don't go scaring Miss Maggie! She'll think we're desperate to marry him off."

  "Well, aren't we? Who's the one wanting after grandkids?"

  Flo sighed and looked at me. "You know how it is, a mama just hates to see her baby hurtin', no matter how old they get or how tough they act."

  "I know just what you mean," I said. "I got a baby of my own."

  Flo smiled. "You know, you just might like my boy, and I know he'd like you."

  "Oh, well, maybe I'll meet him sometime," I said casually.

  "Oh, you most certainly will. He's due to be here any minute. He wouldn't miss one of our pinto bean lunches. Brings all those boys he works with, too!"

  Bonnie choked and started coughing wildly.

  My heart started pounding and the only thing I could think of was escaping. I looked over at Bonnie, trying to catch her eye.

  "Honey," I said loudly, rising out of my seat and moving over to hers. "Let me help you! "

  I snatched Bonnie up out of her chair, grabbed my purse and hers, and looked back at my luncheon companions. "Well be right back! These spells just come on her so sudden, and the only thing for it is fresh air."

  I started Bonnie toward the front doorway of the fellowship hall only to see a group of men approaching. I recognized one as a detective and quickly spun Bonnie on her heel and made
for the rest room at the back of the long room.

  "Quick!" I said. "Get in there before he sees us!"

  We headed almost at a dead run for the bathroom, with me praying for escape and Bonnie barking like a dog. I ducked into the pink-tiled room and took stock of our situation.

  "What're we gonna do now?" Bonnie gasped.

  I looked around the room, taking in the three stalls, the two sinks and the one window.

  "Bonnie," I said, "tough times call for thick skin. We gotta get out of here."

  "But he'll see us! You don't want that, do you? You want him to know you've been querying his own mama? That's liable to make him mad."

  I walked over to the frosted glass window and pushed it open, staring out at the cemetery that lay behind the church.

  "Bonnie," I said, "you first."

  "I can't do that!" she shrieked. "What about the kids?" She was right. She couldn't go off and leave her kids.

  "All right," I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. "You go back in there and quietly round up the young'uns and leave. If anyone asks where I am, just act like you don't know." But I knew she'd be lost the second he looked at her. Bonnie was not a professional liar. "Just try to slip out without Flo seeing you. Can you do that?"

  Bonnie looked nervous, and she fumbled with the clasp of her purse, like maybe she was going for a cigarette.

  "All right," she said finally. "I'll do it."

  "Good! And Bon, could you do one more thing?"

  "What? I don't think I can take much more pressure!"

  "It's simple," I said, slipping off my shoes. "Just give me a boost out the window."

  With Bonnie's help I squeezed up onto the windowsill, over the ledge, and out, landing with a thud on the ground outside. Bonnie's frizzy blond head popped over the edge, looking down.

  "You all right?" she asked.

  I stood up, brushing fresh grass clippings off the back of my skirt and slipping my shoes on. "I'm fine. All right, get to it, or they'll really be looking for you! I'm gonna make a run for it."