I stood behind him and slowly unzipped my jeans. He was talking and made no indication that he even cared that I was behind him, stripping down to my underwear.
"When did Vernell give you that pistol?" he said. I stepped out of my jeans and tossed them across the bed.
"I don't know. Six or seven years ago, I guess."
"Any particular reason?" I lifted my sweatshirt up over my head and threw it on top of the jeans. I was down to a pink satin bra and panties, Weathers was six feet away from me, and there was no more hope for romance in that room than there had been in the three years I'd been divorced from Vernell.
"He gave me the gun in a foolish attempt to save our marriage," I answered, as I pulled the black sequined dress off its hanger.
Weathers moved suddenly in the chair and I jumped into the dress.
"Save your marriage?" he said.
"Yeah, I dragged him to a marriage counselor and she said we ought to share a hobby. The gun was Vernell's idea of a hobby. He thought we'd go off in the country and shoot at tin cans or something. I just hope he hasn't been as foolish with his second wife."
Weathers laughed. "Target shooting?"
"Well, we've all got our notions of what's a romantic outing," I said, slipping my feet into spiky black heels.
Something in the husky tone of his voice made me look up and stare in his direction. Weathers hadn't moved a muscle and I could suddenly see why. From where he sat, if he stared just a little to the right, my every movement was reflected in the dresser mirror.
"Oh my God!" I shrieked.
"Something wrong?" he asked innocently.
I stared at the back of his head for a second. Could he really see from there? Maybe I was wrong. I walked up behind his chair and squatted down until I was at his eye level. All he would've needed to do was turn his head, just a little bit to the right.
"Lovely view, isn't it?" he asked softly. Before I could say a word, he was up and moving toward the front door. "You'd better get a move on, aren't you late?"
I stormed off after him, all sorts of snappy comebacks crowding into my head, but I couldn't say a word. Instead all I could feel was the heat that had suddenly filled my bedroom when he'd looked at me squatting down next to his chair. We had unfinished business, he and I, but now wasn't the time.
As we were heading out the front door of my house and moving to his car, he looked over at me and said, "What were you doing at the Mobile Home Kingdom after I told you not to go there?" The moment was broken, and we were back on familiar ground.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Weathers didn't want to let me go, but he knew he couldn't stop me, I'd answered all his questions. I told him all about my talk with Bertie Sexton. I told him in graphic detail how I'd been bashed over the head in the closet of a mobile home. I left out only one little thing- Sheila's revelation. That would just have to wait.
He rolled right up in front of the Golden Stallion, announcing to the world and Cletus, who was working the door, that Maggie Reid had arrived with a police escort. He could've just grabbed a megaphone and shouted, "Appearing live from the Greensboro jailhouse, Miss Maggie Reid!" But I didn't care. I was on time and leaving Weathers behind.
"Page me if you can't find a way home," he said, as I slammed the car door. If he were the last ride home, I wouldn't call him. If he were the last ride anywhere, I wouldn't call him. But I didn't say it. For once I kept my mouth shut. I was going to need him later, when Sheila decided to quit stalling and tell the police what she'd heard.
The band was warming up as I walked through the front door of the Golden Stallion. If Cletus was surprised to see me pull up in a police car, he didn't say a word. Instead he raised an appreciative eyebrow at my black dress and high heels, cocked his head to one side, and gave me his attempt at a wink. Cletus couldn't wink. It looked more like a squint accompanied by a lopsided leer.
Sparks took the band into my theme song when he saw me standing at the back of the house. It was show time. I cut through the crowd, greeting a few of the regulars, and walking like I owned the place. This was where I belonged. For a few short hours, life was going to be uncomplicated, just me and the music and the boys in the band.
Jack was blowing on the harmonica when I stepped up to the mike, dancing across the stage in his loose-shouldered, knee-lifting dance style. Sparks had his head bent to the pedal steel, ferociously playing a lead. And Sugar Bear was slowly leading the boys off the intro and into the song. I looked out on the floor, flashed my biggest grin, and started singing about lonely cowboys.
The house was unusually full for a Tuesday night. Carvette, the line-dance instructor, had a large group of fat ladies stumbling across the floor behind her. Had to be a promotion with the weight-loss clinic, I figured. Carvette was big on working the public relations angle. The Young Bucks dance team took up the side of the floor closest to a table of young secretaries who were celebrating and impressed by what the farm boys had to offer. It was going to be a swinging night.
"Where have you been?" Jack had snuck up behind me, and I hadn't even heard him.
"Home and chasing up after my young'un," I answered. "Gettin' my head half bashed in and driving on the sidewalks of Greensboro." Jack laughed; obviously I had to be kidding. Sparks frowned at him, thinking we were going to mess up, and I slid into the last verse.
Jack stood right by my side, playing softly and shuffling in place. His jeans were wrinkled and he still looked as if he could use a good hot meal. The boy needed a mama.
"Can I catch a ride home with you?" I asked between songs.
"Sure." He looked surprised. "Need a place to stay?" He looked hopeful and a little lonely. Where was that Evelyn of his? Then I remembered him crying the other night, and realized what must've happened.
"Sorry, sweetie," I said, the same way I'd talk to Sheila, "I'm going to sleep in my own bed for awhile. Those water beds make me seasick." He laughed and went back to his harmonica. When this current crisis was over, I was going to have to find that boy a good woman.
It was a good night for making music, but as the first set came to an end, I realized that Mama Maggie wasn't too happy. By the end of the second set, my mama instincts were going haywire, and I could no longer deny that Sheila might be in trouble. I'd tried to believe that she'd gone off when Keith came by, and probably she had done just that. He'd probably come to the front door and carried her out to dinner and then driven her back home to Vernell's. But what if she hadn't?
I tried to call her just before the last set started up, but there was no answer at the Spivey castle, only the answering machine with Jolene's tinny little TV voice instructing me to leave a message and "have a nice day." I hung up and ran up the steps to the stage. Where was that girl?
"She's probably asleep, Maggie," was Jack's theory. "It's almost one o'clock in the morning. The whole house is sleeping, if you ask me."
"But she just took off."
"All teenagers just take off," he said, turning back to his harmonica for a brief moment. "It's what teenagers do."
I didn't feel better. Instead, I felt more and more apprehensive. Deep inside my bones I could feel it. Something was not right with Sheila.
I kept scanning the door all through the last set, half expecting to see uniformed officers, or Weathers. It was the McCrarey gift of second sight, I could feel it, tingling my scalp and running down my arms. Even Jack sensed my unrest, sticking close by me as I sang the last few songs.
"All right," he said, when the last number drew to a close and the house lights came up. "It's last call. We can leave. I'll take you home, or wherever else it is you need to go."