Chapter Seven
I stirred at dawn, sensing movement in the room. Jack was standing by the window, fully dressed and staring out at Greensboro by first light. He wore faded boot-cut jeans and a dark navy blue shirt. In the half-light of morning I studied him. Jack's mother was dying and he wore the sadness of her leaving like a heavy cloak. His shoulders bowed under the weight of losing his confidante.
"Are you going to see her?" I asked, my voice startling him.
He turned back to me, shaking off the mantle of sorrow and trying to smile. "Mornings are tough on her," he said. "I like to help her get started."
I thought of Evelyn, her short white hair framing her face like a wispy halo, so frail she could barely walk unassisted, yet hanging in, refusing to leave her son and the world she loved so much.
"Want me to come with you?"
He smiled. "Sleep, Maggie. I'll leave you some coffee."
I snuggled down deeper under the thick quilts, my eyelids heavy with fatigue. I heard his footsteps dying away as he descended the winding iron stairs, then listened as he made coffee for the morning. I tried to sleep, but found myself following Jack's movements around the kitchen. The awareness of yesterday came rushing back in flashes, and as it did I realized there would be no more sleep.
I lay floating on the warm surface of the waterbed, chilled by the reality of my situation. Mama had a way of summing up life when it got to its roughest going. She'd say: "Sugar, life is like a winding mountain railroad. It's the quality of the track that determines the ride." Vernell's track never ran true, while mine seemed to hit the brick wall of unpleasant reality with increasing regularity.
As I listened, the loading-bay door swung up and Jack left for his morning ritual with his mother. I stayed under the covers for all of another five minutes before I jumped out, ready to start my own day. Jack's shower was slow to warm up, but once it did, I stood under the spray and thought about my first move.
By the time I'd finished dressing and coated my developing black eyes with makeup, I had a plan. It was still early. I could slip into my bungalow, take some clothes and supplies, then head out on my search for Vernell. If I got there early enough, the Shadow might miss me.
When I stepped out onto the loading-bay platform, my hair was still wet, hanging around my shoulders in thick, spiral curls that matched the steam from my coffee cup. I had purpose and intent. Marshall Weathers apparently felt the same way. He was perched on the hood of my car, a thick Styrofoam coffee cup clutched in his left hand. My breath caught in my throat as he brought the cup to his lips, took a swallow and slowly brought his hand back down away from his mouth. The way that man moved sent a shiver up my spine. I just wanted to be his coffee cup.
He watched me walk down the concrete steps and cross the parking lot to my car, all without speaking. I saw no sign of his unmarked sedan. His tan leather cowboy boots were spotted with the dew that clung to the grass that sprouted between the pieces of broken asphalt of the lot. The suit was gone, in its place a pair of faded blue jeans, another crisp white shirt, and a navy blue blazer.
"We need to talk," he said, as I drew closer.
"You found Vernell?" My heartbeat quickened.
"No, but I'm working on it." His icy blue eyes never left my face. He was searching for something inside me, I could tell that much. I just didn't know what he wanted.
He took another swallow of coffee and stood up. "Let's walk a little bit."
I raised an eyebrow. This was new behavior. Weathers wasn't the type for strolls.
He took off, as if he had a destination in mind, barely waiting to see that I'd joined him. We left the parking lot and turned out onto Elm Street, moving south toward the railroad tracks. The early morning rush had started and cars passed us, heading into the main business district, moving quickly away from Jack's fringe neighborhood, unwilling to linger among the closed antique shops and funky nightspots.
Weathers kept moving too, toward a little triangle-shaped park that lay just in front of the train tracks, rucked behind the front row of buildings and the encroaching neighborhood of aging Victorians. The park was seldom used, even in the daytime, because of its proximity to Lee Street and the people who wandered the neighborhood looking for handouts or a bench to sleep off a drunk.
Weathers walked toward a bench that faced the entrance to the park. It was the only one of the few benches a cop would've taken. It backed up to a brick wall and had a view of all three park entrances and exits. There was no way to sneak up on it. No surprises possible here.
He motioned for me to sit down, then sat next to me, but further away, so he could face me as he spoke. I sat there waiting, but he didn't say a word. Instead he was watching me, then looking away, paying exaggerated attention to the park and the train tracks.
Mama says any man'll eventually get around to making his point and it doesn't do to rush him. "A man holds counsel with himself, Maggie," she said, "and only comes to you when he thinks he's drawn a conclusion." Mama always saw it as her job to help Daddy "interpret" his conclusion to her way of thinking.
Marshall finally turned to face me, drew in his breath and exhaled for a long, silent moment. "I wanted to call you, but I couldn't," he said. "The timing wasn't right, Maggie. It wasn't you. It was me."
I sat there, staring at my hands. I wasn't sure I wanted to see the look in his eyes, or read a lie on his face. I've heard every excuse a man can give in life. I didn't want to look up and realize this was just another one.
He must've sensed that, because he reached over and laid one strong hand on top of my two. I looked up finally and saw him watching me. I had a hundred other questions lined up for him, but I couldn't make the words come out.
"Maggie, I'm divorced," he said. "When I met you, it hadn't been final for more than a month. I just wasn't ready for a woman like you. You're not the type for something casual. And right now, that's all I have to offer."
He looked at me as he spoke, straight into my eyes, and on through. When I looked back at him, all I could see was a wall.
"That doesn't mean I'm not attracted to you, or that I wouldn't want to spend more time with you. It's me; that's all. I'm not ready and I don't want to hurt you."
Of course, he couldn't see that he was hurting me now. What was he saying, that girls like Tracy were what he was looking for? What was I, yesterday's cornbread?
"I understand," I said, and stood up in front of him. "You don't owe me an explanation. It was just one of those things."
I was holding my head up, like maybe I could keep the rush of tears from climbing uphill from my heart to my eyes, but it wasn't working. I turned away and he snatched my hand and tugged me back. He stood up and pulled me into him, so close now that I could feel his breath on my hair.
"You don't understand. It matters to me. I don't want to see you hurt."
I looked up at him, the top of my head just touching his chin. He reached up with one hand and stroked the side of my cheek. His fingers were rough but gentle as he cupped my chin and leaned down to kiss me. His lips brushed mine, soft at first, then more insistent.
"It matters to me," he said again, and pulled me the rest of the way into his arms. We stood like that, in the crisp early morning, in the park by Jack's house and I felt as if the entire world had vanished, leaving us alone, together.
Of course, the world had to intrude, crashing back in like a drunken stranger with the shrill ring of Marshall's cell phone.
"Weathers."
He listened, cocking his head and squinting his eyes almost shut. He too, was trying to salvage the moment, his arm still encircling my waist, his hand stroking my back.
"You're sure?" Weathers barked. His hand tightened, then froze. "See if you can find a more solid link. Any family?" He listened. "All right, I'll take that. You get on this other." He touched a button and slid the phone back into his pocket. The Weathers of a moment ago had vanished. The cop was back and it wasn't good news.
"Is it Vernell?" I asked. I took a step backward, out of his arms, out where I could read him and know.
"Not directly," he said. He drew the words out so that they began to take on the opposite meaning. Directly. Somehow I knew he felt Vernell was involved directly.
"We've got an I.D. on the man in the truck. His name's Nosmo King. You know him?"
I frowned. Why would I know him?
"No. Should I?"
Weathers turned and nodded in the direction of Jack's warehouse. Our moment in the park was over. He meant for us to start walking, and the pace he set was a quick one.
"He's trouble. He's a money man for the Redneck Mafia. You ever hear of them?"
It felt like an accusation instead of a question. His tone and manner had changed, making me wonder what else he knew.
"Why don't you quit running around the barn and tell me what's really going on?"
Weathers cut down the alley that ran up to Jack's warehouse. His unmarked sedan was parked beside a scraggly clump of mimosa trees. He stepped just short of the bumper and looked at me.
"Nosmo's a real predictable guy. He ate breakfast at Tex and Shirley's three days ago, just like he always does. Had two eggs over easy, grits and gravy, dry toast and black coffee. Then, after breakfast, Nosmo did something completely unpredictable: He left the restaurant and disappeared off the face of the earth." Marshall's electric blue eyes darkened. "His breakfast partner that morning was none other than your ex-husband, Vernell."
My head spun and I couldn't put the pieces together. What had Vernell been doing talking to Nosmo King? The possibilities were endless and none of them were good.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
Marshall's hand was on the door handle. He was already thinking three moves ahead. In his mind, he was a million miles away.
"I'm going to see Nosmo's widow," he pronounced calmly, "and then I'm going to find out how Vernell and Mr. King came to hook up."
I thought about the stranger in Vernell's house. Could the Redneck Mafia be looking for Vernell? Was that who the stranger was working for? I shook myself and looked at Weathers. I thought about telling him, but for some reason held back. If the stranger worked for the Redneck Mafia, Weathers would find out sooner than I could. And what did I have to tell him anyway? A dark-haired stranger held a gun on me and then kissed me? And how would I explain not telling Weathers earlier? I needed more proof before I started raising a fuss about someone who could turn out to be perfectly harmless.
My stomach did a little flip, remembering the feel of his lips on mine, the way his eyes had seen right down inside my soul, as if he could read my mind. No, that guy wasn't harmless. It was my Pure T. Stubborn nature that held me back. I would tell Weathers when I was good and ready.