"I talked to Sheila yesterday, in my office, with her father and stepmother present. I was interviewing her just like I did you. She is not a suspect."
I wanted to reach across the seat and tear into him. I wanted to beat him. All thought of romance had vanished. I wanted to hurt him for ever coming near my little girl. Instead I forced myself to stay still. I couldn't put Sheila in jeopardy by showing my fear.
"I'm late for work again," I said, my voice controlled. I reached for the door handle, then decided I had enough reserve to play his game. "There was something else you wanted me to think about?" I hoped I sounded cool, as if Sheila's whereabouts at the time of the murder were inconsequential.
"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot." He leaned over toward me. "I thought we might talk about the night before Jimmy's wedding. I just thought you might like a chance to tell me your side of the story."
I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Who'd talked this time? Who in their right mind would've told him about that little episode? The answer came as quickly as the question. Roxanne.
Chapter Fourteen
That night, the Golden Stallion was hopping. The all-male dance revue, the Young Bucks, were in town and strutting their stuff on the dance floor. It was a sight to behold. A tribe of young farm boys, their muscles pumped, their hair perfectly slicked back against work-tanned skin, wearing their jeans tight enough to cause concern about future progeny. It was all happening right in front of me, and I had all I could do to keep my mind focused on the job at hand.
Weathers knew much more about me than I knew about him. The Digger story was one thing. I figured Weathers brought that up just to show off how much he was capable of finding out. That story wasn't going to hurt me, not like the story of Jimmy's wedding rehearsal dinner. Now that could hurt me.
Jack sidled up while I sang "My Heart's on Fire, but Your Hands Are Still Cold." It was a rowdy little tune about a drunken cowboy who loses his love to another. I had the Young Bucks restless and the cowgirls breathless, just urging them on. If anyone in the place went home lonely tonight, they'd have only themselves to blame.
"Evelyn needed my car tonight," Jack said, between verses. "Can you give me a ride again?"
I looked over at him and nodded. Who in the world was this Evelyn, and why wasn't she coming to pick him up? She'd lose him to someone if she kept up this kind of behavior. Of course, if she was anything like Jack, they probably had some open type of arrangement. Hell, she probably lived with two or three guys in a commune somewhere.
I could never stand for that, I thought. I'm a one-man woman.
The song came to an end and Sparks gave the band the nod to go into their break tune.
"Folks, we'll be right back," he announced. "Gotta tend to a little business, if you know what I mean." He laughed, as did the crowd. All I had on my mind was some fresh air and a little solitude. Sometimes watching all those couples together out on the dance floor really got to me.
I pushed my way backstage, past the stagehands and groupies waiting to transact business with the boys in the band. I stepped out onto the fire escape and walked over to my car. No one ever looked for me there, especially if I didn't crank the engine, and slid down in the seat where I wouldn't be noticed. I needed time to think.
Jimmy got married in August five years ago. At the time, we all figured we knew why. Had to be that Roxanne was pregnant. Jimmy had practically made a career out of avoiding marriage. But with Roxanne, he was announcing his engagement a mere four weeks after he'd met her. And the engagement wasn't even announced in the traditional manner.
At the time, me, Vernell, and Sheila were living out in Oak Ridge on what Vernell referred to as a "gentleman's farm." What it really was, was a brick three-bedroom ranch that sat on four acres. Vernell figured that because it took a riding lawn mower to cut the grass and because there was a detached garage in the shape of a barn, he could call it a farm.
It was pretty, though. The house sat up on a little rise, set back from the road. A porch spanned the front of the house, and in the summer we'd sit out there and watch the cars passing by and the corn growing in the fields across the street where the real farmer lived. We were sitting out there the afternoon Jimmy came to announce that he was gonna marry Roxanne.
His little red pickup swung into our dusty dirt driveway, spinning out as it rounded the corner and slinging gravel everywhere.
"Wonder what the hell bee's got up his butt," Vernell muttered, watching Jimmy push his truck up the hill. "Probably got trouble out to the lot again. You know, I'm getting sick of his lazy ass. Don't take a rocket scientist to run a business. If the boy can't handle it, he ought to get somebody in there who can. Hell, he could put in a manager and go play golf all day and make more money than he is running it himself."
I didn't say a word. It was the same-old same-old as far as I was concerned. The Spivey brothers fought about everything, constantly. And they were worse when one or both of them had been drinking.
"Hellfire," Vernell said, rising up out of his rocker. "And here it is about supper time. Darned if that boy don't smell you cookin' from across town. Jimmy!" he yelled out, stepping down off the porch. "You're tearing up my yard!"
His yard! Vernell figured his outdoor duties were discharged when he bought me a used John Deere riding mower.
Jimmy stepped down out of his truck, his Braves cap twisted around backward and a Bud Lite in his hand. We were headed for trouble, I thought. Maybe food would sober him up.
"Hey, Jimmy," I called. "Come on in. You're just in time for dinner."
"Cain't stay," he yelled, like maybe with me being ten feet away I couldn't hear him speak in a normal tone. "I just come to tell you something." He was looking straight at me, ignoring his brother completely.
"Now, Jimmy," I said, standing up and preparing not to take any of his nonsense, "I made your favorite, fried chicken."
He hesitated, then took a few steps toward the porch. "Greens or beans?" he asked.
"Beans with tatters. Cornbread with cheese. And for dessert, I made a banana cream pie. So come on." I wouldn't have let him leave anyhow. Any fool could see he was drunk.
Jimmy walked straight as an arrow to the porch steps and sank down on the top one. "Banana cream?" His eyes had unexpectedly filled with tears and the hand holding the beer began to shake. "Aw man, I sure am gonna miss your cooking."
I sank down beside him. Vernell was eyeing Jimmy as if he were a subspecies. In Vernell's world, even a drunk man ought not cry.
"Jimmy, now you know Vernell's just kidding when he gets on to you. He don't mean nothing by it when he teases you for coming to eat so often." Okay, so Jimmy ate with us more than he did his own mama. I didn't mind. "We like having you here, don't we, Vernell?" I gave Vernell a nasty look and he grunted in our direction, still eyeing Jimmy the way a hound eyes a skunk.
"Not no more," Jimmy cried balefully, "I'm getting married. Next Saturday."
This galvanized old Vernell into action. "No wonder you's all emotional!" he yelled. "You about to go and let loose of your freedom. Hellfire!" Vernell let out a loud rebel yell. "Who's the lucky jailer, I mean, woman?"
I stood up and pulled Jimmy with me. "We'll talk about it over supper," I said. "When's the last time you ate, Jimmy?"
"I don't know," he said, not sounding at all like a lucky bridegroom.
"Well, that's your problem, son. You need something on your stomach. A man can't live by beer alone."
I led Jimmy into the kitchen, Vernell following, but still maintaining a healthy distance in case his brother were to start emoting again. They both sat at the table, content to let me run around the kitchen, setting out plates and silverware. The scent of fresh fried chicken and moist southern corn-bread danced across the roomy kitchen. It was my favorite time of day, the time when smells and sounds outweigh the reality of a home fraught with tension and too little love between partners.