Poor Bertie. "Well, you two sure seemed cozy when I stopped by," I said.
Bertie pushed her thick red hair out of her eyes and attempted to fix both eyes on me. "Do you think I'm a fool?" she asked. "If he knew I'd found out about him and Ashdale and then told Jimmy, he'd kill me." She saw the shocked look on my face and rushed in. "Well, maybe not kill me, but you shoulda seen Jimmy's face after he went in and had it out with him!"
Bertie made a big show of looking at her watch, and then back at me.
"I can't stay," she said, "I've got things to tend to. I came to you only because I cared so much for Jimmy." I didn't believe that for one sweet second. "I was going to just leave. After that sweet Mr. Sizemore offered me a job, I thought I'd just walk away and not need the Mobile Home Kingdom. Everything's different now. And nobody pays like the Spivey brothers, least not until that cute Jerry came along." She sighed again, as if resigned to hear lot in life. "But that don't matter now. What matters," she said, the angry glint back in her eye, "is that somebody needs to look out for me and the Kingdom. I know how Jimmy felt about his brother, and I hear he's bad to drink. He can't be counted on. No, the way I see it, I figure that somebody oughta be you."
She stood up, grabbed her purse, and stood staring down at me. Clearly I was the last hope in a long line of failed heroes. I watched her walk off, a frumpy wanna-be sex kitten. Now what? I wondered.
The moms were leaving Bisquitville, rushing off to run their errands in the two hours left before they returned to preschool to pick up their little darlings. I watched them, pairing up in twos and threes, and for a moment I felt envious. I wanted those years back. I wanted to rush off to the grocery store, then take my little girl home for a nap. I wanted to be me, before it all unraveled, before I knew what a louse Vernell was.
But who was I kidding? Something inside me knew that Vernell was no-good husband material before we even married. And no matter how many times I could magically transport Sheila back to toddlerhood, she still had to grow up into a rageful adolescent and leave me behind. A few years from now, who knew? Maybe she'd marry and have a daughter of her own. Maybe then she'd decide to be close again.
I shook myself and stood up. It wouldn't do to stay in one place too long. Not with the police and a killer on my tail.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mama had a saying for times of trouble: Good intentions in a crisis are like feathers on a pig, they get in the way and probably do more harm than good. I was sure Detective Marshall Weathers had good intentions, but I knew the Spivey family from the inside out, and therefore I was the best candidate to sort out the whole mess.
If you want something done, do it yourself. Save yourself a whole lot of trouble and pig feathers. I could continue to sit by and wring my hands, or I could take the bull by the horns and steer the course of fate. It seemed only logical to direct my little Beetle over to the Mobile Home Kingdom. Furthermore, if I was responsible for Jerry Lee Sizemore's death, then I had a duty to his remaining kin and to his memory.
I pulled my little car up into the lot and parked right in front of the model trailer. This time no one came rushing up to greet me. No prowling salesmen, cigarettes dangling from their lips. No slick finance managers. There were a few cars and pickup trucks in the lot, but no sign of their owners.
I stepped out into the sunshine and squinted to read the sign on the door of the model. It was a cardboard clock, the little red hands pointing to two P.M., and a red-lettered sign that said "Gone to lunch." I ran up the steps and tried the door handle, but it didn't budge. I looked around the lot. Columns of single-wides and double-wides stood like rowhouses, some with their storm doors hanging open, some leaning back at an angle, as if not securely fastened to their temporary piers.
It was like a ghost town. The trailers were so closely packed that they cast one long gray shadow the length of the lot. Behind them, the cars whistled past on I-85. Out on Holden Road, it was lunchtime. Traffic moved along at a fast clip, carrying hungry workers to the nearby Mexican restaurants and fast food joints. The lot was eerily silent.
"Good a time as any to look around," I said out loud. "Not like I'd be trespassing."
I started off down the walkway, my cowgirl boots crunching into the fine gray gravel. The first three mobile homes I tried were locked, but the fourth was wide-open, the product of a forgetful or careless salesperson. I stepped inside the double-wide, reaching for a light switch before realizing that, of course, display homes weren't fully set up with electricity and running water.
Sun streamed in through the back windows, making it bright enough to see without lighting up the poor construction. It looked like a dream home. Fully furnished down to fake food on plates in the eat-in breakfast nook, children's toys in one of the bedrooms, and plants in planters by the back door.
"Oh, this is nice," I said aloud. "This is really nice." I walked down the long hallway to the master bedroom, touching the wallpaper, letting my feet sink into the thick, pile carpeting, and thinking that maybe Vernell and Jimmy had really been on the cutting edge of what was now a booming business. I stepped into the master bedroom and glanced up at the skylights in the vaulted ceiling.
The four-poster bed was piled with pillows and quilts. For one uncontrollable second I found myself thinking of Marshall Weathers.
"Stop that!" I said loudly. "Hum," I said. The old Mama trick for bad thoughts. Humming will keep him out of your head. "I'm Falling in Love with You" came unbidden to my lips, and I hummed away at full volume. But it didn't seem to do the trick. For when I stepped into the master bath and saw the oversized Jacuzzi tub, my wicked thoughts were back. I hummed louder and stepped into the walk-in closet.
I still heard a faint whistle behind me, but there wasn't time to react. Something collided with the back of my skull and the humming stopped. I remember falling forward into the darkened closet, but little else.
"Mama? Mama, answer me!" It was Sheila's voice, trembling with anxiety, begging me to answer her, and yet I couldn't quite rise up out of the mist that surrounded me.
"What should we do?" she cried. "Should we call nine-one-one?"
A deeper, adolescent male voice answered. "I don't think we oughta jump to that," Keith was saying. "Remember, she and the cops don't gee-haw too good right now."
"But what if she's dying?" Sheila cried.
I must've moaned. I thought I was speaking. I thought I'd said, "Keith is right for once. Don't call the police." But Sheila and Keith didn't act as if they heard me.
"Listen," he said. "I think she's coming around. Maybe we can get her to a doctor."
I blinked my eyes and saw only blue sky. The brightness made my head pound.
"Mama?" Sheila's face loomed into view. The blurriness of her features began to fade as the world swam into focus. I was lying on the bed in the mobile home's master bedroom, staring up at the skylights.
I tried to sit up, but Sheila pushed me back against the pillows. "You'd better not move," she said.
"What in the world is going on?" I said, my voice coining out in a hoarse whisper. "What happened?"
"You tell us, Mama. Keith was checking to make sure the trailers were all locked up so he could take off for lunch and when he saw the door wide-open, he decided to check around. That's when we found you."
Keith stepped out from behind Sheila. He looked worried and I noticed his hand placed protectively on Sheila's thin shoulder.