Cletus nodded. "You know where I am," he said, and stalked off.
Marshall took my elbow and leaned down to murmur in my ear. "Let's go outside a minute."
I walked away with him, feeling his comforting presence by my side and wishing I didn't want him to stay. I wanted to lean into him, to feel his arm slip around my waist. I wanted him to make it be all right.
As soon as the back door closed behind us, Marshall turned and kissed me. It was a long, slow, deep kiss, full of promise and expectation. His hands encircled my shoulders and slid down my arms, and then he pulled me closer, until I could do nothing but melt into him.
I kissed him right back. I felt our bodies join together and suddenly there was nothing I wanted more than him.
He pushed away and looked down at me, his eyes delving deep inside me, probing for confirmation of what we both felt.
"What was that for?" I whispered.
"What do you think, Maggie?" He tilted my chin up again and brushed my lips with his. "Don't think I'm walking away from you," he whispered. He kissed me again, his hands moving to pull me closer again. "Now," he said, his voice soft against my ear, "I'm going to put a uniformed officer inside the club. I don't think anyone will try anything else tonight, not here at least, but I'd feel better with someone watching you. I'll be back to pick you up at closing time."
The alarm went off in my head and I panicked. He'd be back? So would Tony Carlucci. Now what was I going to do?
"You don't need to do that," I said. "I'll be okay."
"Maggie," Weathers said, his mustache tickling my ear as he whispered. "No arguments. I'll be back at two thirty."
He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and called to have a patrol officer watch the club and me. As he spoke I felt myself spiral further and further away. I couldn't tell him about Carlucci. He'd never understand that. And I couldn't call Carlucci. I didn't know his number. I had no idea how to find him. And even if I could, what would I say? Thanks for watching my daughter, but never mind? I'm going off with that man you say is a loser? And furthermore, what did I care what Tony Carlucci the Thug Private Investigator thought? And then, to top it all off, there was Jack. What was I going to do about him? He'd saved my life and all I'd done lately was hurt him. Tony Carlucci was right-Harmonica Jack did love me, or at least he thought he did, and I'd done a powerful job of ignoring that fact. But how long could that go on?
My ears were ringing. I was confused and frightened and living my life at the hands of others. I was going to have to do something, but what? I wandered away from Marshall, leaving him with his ear glued to the phone, issuing instructions and barking orders. I walked back inside, past the technicians and sound men, past the stagehands and backstage hangers-on, right up to Sparks.
"I'm leaving," I said. "I'll be back in time to finish the last set."
Sparks pushed his ten-gallon hat back on his head and favored me with a malevolent glare. "You can't do that," he said.
But I wasn't listening. I was walking away.
Chapter Twenty-six
I don't think anyone expected me to take a powder. Sparks didn't yell out after me. The boys in the band didn't say a word as I walked away, assuming that I was going to get a drink or stop by the ladies' room. When I stepped outside the front door and stood with my back against the wall, it was just like any one of a dozen or so nights that I'd come outside for a breath of fresh air and a glimpse at the traffic that raced up and down High Point Road.
"Ain't too busy tonight," the doorman drawled.
"Nope," I answered.
"You guys on break already?" He laughed. "Wish my job were as easy as yours!" He turned to make change for a trio of women and when he did, I spotted a regular customer making his way across the parking lot.
"Billy," I called, "will you do me a favor?"
Billy, a young farm boy in his early twenties, was only too happy to give me a ride downtown to my car. He laughed and flirted and never once asked why I needed a ride. When he dropped me off beside the BB amp;T Bank parking lot, I pecked him on the cheek and ran into the deck, my keys in hand.
I started up and drove out of the parking lot, onto the almost empty downtown streets. I circled around, past the police station and back out Elm Street, heading away from the business section and crossing over into the wealthy residential area of older Greensboro.
I was trying to piece everything together in my mind. Nosmo King was dead. Three million dollars was missing. Nosmo was shot with Vernell's gun, in Vernell's truck, and Vernell himself admitted he had no alibi, and all the motive in the world. In fact, the only reason for not believing Vernell had killed Nosmo was my own stubborn belief that he wouldn't do something like that.
But things kept circling around to Vernell. Everything pointed to Vernell and I had to wonder why. Why shoot Nosmo King with Vernell's gun? Wouldn't it be easier to use another gun, a gun not attached to Vernell's body? Why go to all the trouble to make it look like Vernell was the killer? Who would want Vernell and Nosmo out of the way?
I pondered on that one as I found myself winding around through Old Irving Park, approaching Vernell's concrete palace from the less obvious back entrance to New Irving Park.
Nosmo's girlfriend had motive and means and quite probably opportunity. She was next on my list, but first I wanted to look through Vernell's house one more time, without interruption. I glanced at my watch. It was ten thirty. I could do this and see Pauline before closing time. I could be back at the club before Tony and Marshall returned for me, and if my luck were running right, I'd figure some way out to deal with the two of them and avoid any painful consequences.
But who was I fooling? Three men would be waiting for me when I returned, and not one of them would be easy to handle.
I pulled up in Vernell's driveway, cut the lights, and slipped around to the side entrance. When I came within five feet of the door, the security lights flicked on and a strange robotic voice barked "Key in your security code or ring the doorbell." I punched in Sheila's birth date and waited.
"Accepted," the robot said.
I stepped through the door, closing it firmly behind me and locking it. This time there would be no slip-ups, no unwanted intruders like Tony Carlucci.
I stood in the mud room, just off of the garage, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light that shone in from the kitchen.
"If I were Vernell Spivey, and I was trying to hide something like my important papers or money, where would I put it?" There just had to be some way to figure out what the connection was between Nosmo and Vernell.
The stove in Vernell's kitchen glowed with the light from the hood overhead. I walked in and stood by the huge pine table, looking around at the excess Vernell had poured into his new home.
The range was a Viking, but Vernell couldn't cook. The refrigerator was a subzero, but when I opened it, all I found was beer and a shriveled lemon. The tiles on the backsplash were hand-painted. The window treatments were custom-made, something Vernell and I could never afford in all of our married life.
I looked around and realized that Vernell's palace was an interior designer's dream, and that there was not one personal item or picture from his life present in any of the rooms downstairs. Vernell and his second wife, the lovely nymphet, Jolene the Dish Girl, had bought and paid for their lives together, without so much as one idea of what true life really meant. I shook my head. Where had all of Vernell's money gone? Had he ever really had any money?
I looked across the hallway, into Vernell's darkened study. I remembered the stacks and stacks of bills that Vernell had left unpaid on his desk. At the time I'd assumed he was merely irresponsible, not unable to pay them.