He looked up at the stage, at the boys in the band, and the roadies running around switching mikes and stringing an extra cable or two.
"You got yourself quite a little gig here, don't you?" He was smiling like he approved.
"I like it," I answered.
"Glad to see you loosening up," he said, turning back to me. "Used to look like a scared bunny rabbit. Now you're looking like a woman."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.
"I'll get up with you in a few days. Maybe this time you'll come out to my place."
"I don't think so, Jerry. Hot tubs aren't my thing." I looked him square in the eye and he laughed.
"Nah, didn't think so," he said. "But it was worth a try;"
With that, Jerry Lee Sizemore was gone, striding out of the Golden Stallion, his long silver hair shining under the spots, his suede coat as smelly as ever and his coon-skin cap sticking out of his coat pocket like fresh roadkill.
"Who was that guy?" Jack asked, walking up as soon as Jerry vanished.
"My accountant," I answered, watching the effect.
Jack looked after Jerry and smiled. "Cool," he said. He slapped his harmonica against his thigh. "Cool, cool, cool." He was starting to zone off. I could see it happening, the faraway stare, the vacant smile. Jack was thinking about someone or something else.
"Hey, you're coming back to my place tonight, aren't you?" he said, reining himself back in.
"Why? You need a ride? Does Evelyn still have your car?"
The mythical, elusive Evelyn. Why didn't she ever come watch Jack play? All the other guys in the band had girlfriends who hung around at a table, their eyes always on their men, watching out for competition. Why didn't Evelyn come and join in?
Jack was smiling, that same goofy, out-to-lunch smile he'd had on a moment ago. "No," he said, "she gave it back. I just wanted to make sure you'd be there."
"Oh, wait," I said, suddenly aware that I might be cramping his style, "if you and Evelyn want some time alone, I can stay away."
Jack laughed, as if I'd said something funny. "Don't worry about us. Evelyn doesn't want any more time alone with me than she gets. It'd cramp her style." He slapped his harmonica a few more times and started to wander away. "I'll just meet up with you back at the ranch."
I watched him walk away, remembering the way last night had ended for the two of us. The picture of us standing in front of his window, dancing, then not dancing, as the sun began to brighten the new day. What was I going to do about him? Somehow, that almost-kiss seemed to have happened in another lifetime, a lifetime that no longer fit with the way I felt tonight. Jack wasn't the man I wanted. The man I wanted wanted me, but he wanted me for murder.
My stomach flipped as I remembered the feel of Detective Weathers's fingers against my skin and the taste of his lips. Did he really think I could've killed somebody?
"Maggie!" I looked up and found one of the doormen gesturing impatiently. "I been calling you and calling you! You've got a phone call."
My first thought, as always, was of Sheila. She was the only one in my life who would call me here, and then only if something was wrong. I quickened my pace, half running toward the phone.
"Sheila?"
There was silence on the phone and then music, scratchy and thin, sounding as if it came from a long distance away.
"Thank heaven, for little girls…" Maurice Chevalier's voice, gay and lilting, sang through the receiver.
"Who is this?"
"For little girls grow older every day." Then silence. Then a raspy whisper. "Where's your little girl, Maggie?"
Chapter Eighteen
I screamed, but no sound escaped my throat. The scream stuck, with the unshed tears of terror in my chest, squeezing the breath from my body. The phone line had gone dead, the connection severed. Somewhere someone had just threatened my daughter.
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. Instead I made jabbing motions at the keypad, trying to dial Vernell's number and failing to remember it.
"Damn it!" I cried. Cletus, who'd wandered up to help collect the cover charge and check IDs, stopped what he was doing, alerted by my tone.
"What's the matter, Maggie?" he asked, but I couldn't stop to answer. I had to go. I had to get to Sheila.
I pushed past him, running now, from the Golden Stallion entrance to the back. I know I shoved someone out of my way, when I heard a surprised, angry cry echoing behind me. I heard footsteps following me, but I didn't stop until I reached the dressing room and had grabbed my purse and keys.
"Maggie, stop!" It was Jack, his face concerned. He grabbed my arm and held me. "Take a breath."
"Let go of me," I screamed, wrenching my arm away. "He's going to hurt Sheila!"
I was running again, with Jack right behind me. "Who? Maggie, stop! What is it? Wait!"
But I was gone, the mother in me taking over. I had to get to Sheila. My voice was screaming her name over and over in my head. It throbbed, pulsing with my heartbeats, stronger and louder. I had to find my little girl. I slammed the car into gear, tearing out onto High Point Road, screaming at the cars that got in my way.
It was after midnight on a Thursday night, a school night. Sheila should be at Vernell's, in bed, sleeping. I drove, talking to myself, careening down Holden Road, cutting across Greensboro in search of my baby. I issued instructions, like "Don't hit that car!" I screamed at other drivers, and finally I prayed. "Don't let my baby get hurt. Be with Sheila! Protect her!" The tears came then, filling my eyes. But I couldn't cry, not now.
I made it across town in five minutes, flying down Vernell's darkened cul-de-sac and screeching to a halt in front of his garage doors.
Sheila's black Mustang sat in the driveway. That wasn't good enough, not by a long shot. I raced from the car to the front door, pounding on it, ringing the doorbell and trying the handle.
"Open this door!" I cried. "Vernell!"
But it was Sheila herself who answered. She was dressed for bed in her long white T-shirt, her face scrubbed pink, and an expectant look on her face. She was not at all frightened or cautious, as she should have been. She never should have opened the door.
I flew into her, pushing her backward into Vernell's expansive foyer, slamming the door behind us.
"Oh, my God, Sheila!" I cried, sinking down with her onto one of the steps that led to the second floor of Vernell's house.
"Are you all right?" I asked. I pulled her to me, holding her as tightly as I possibly could. My breath came in ragged gasps and dry sobs that I couldn't control.
Sheila was scared now.
"Mama, what's wrong?"
Above us, lights flared on, doors opened, and footsteps started down the hall.
"What in the hell is she doing here?" Jolene asked. She stood at the top of the steps in a filmy white negligee.
Vernell came staggering out behind her, fighting to become conscious. His thick black hair stood up on one side of his head, and lay flat on the other.
"Hey, Maggie," he said, a bleary smile jumping across his face before he realized Jolene was right by his side.
I sat, rocking Sheila back and forth in my arms, just as I had when she was a baby.
"Mama!" Sheila protested, struggling to get free.
I looked up at Vernell, ignoring Jolene. "I got a call at the club tonight," I said. "Made me think Sheila was in danger. A man threatened her."
"What?" I had Vernell's complete attention now. "What do you mean? What'd they say? Who was it?" The questions flew out of Vernell. Instantly, he was awake and angry.
"He played a little bit of this old song about little girls and then asked if I knew where Sheila was."
Jolene's shrill laugh cut off Vernell's next question.
"That's it?" she asked from her position at the top of the stairs. "Someone calls up and asks if you know where Sheila is and you freak out? Why, that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard!"