"How would she know to come here?" he said. "And why would she?"
The man was dumber than dirt sometimes. "Because, Vernell, she has just as much of a reason to stop this wedding as you and I do. She wants all that money to stay in your family. And she could've found out where they were headed the same way you and I did. So let's be on the safe side. Let's scout the situation out before we go bursting in." Vernell was working hard to listen.
I reached over and took one of his weathered hands in mine. "Vernell," I said, "I want you to listen to me. I'm gonna say something that we both know is a home truth, but it's gonna break your heart." Vernell looked at me, his eyes pooled-up brown spots of pain. He knew. "You were right a while back when you said Jolene don't love you and Sheila. She's in this for the money, just like Jimmy tried to tell you. I think Jolene killed Jimmy and I think she killed Jerry Lee. I think she could be aiming to kill Sheila and you, and maybe even me."
Vernell's head dropped to his chest and a sound escaped his lips, half-sigh, half-moan. Then he lifted his head and looked straight into my face. "Oh, God, I think you're right," he whispered. "Let's go get our little girl."
I squeezed his hand, leaned over, and rested my head on his shoulder for a brief moment. "Okay. But let's be smart about this. If she's down here, she could already be at the beach house. She's killed twice, Vernell. We don't want her to panic."
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm thinking we park the Day-Glo Jesus, walk along the beach until we're level with the house, and scout it out."
Vernell nodded. "Yeah, that's good. But if she ain't there, I'm goin' in and kickin' that young skinhead's hairy behind!"
"Vernell! All right! But first, we do it my way."
It was kind of strange, walking along the Spivey beach with my ex-husband. It was still early morning and the sun was just beginning to edge its way over the horizon. Vernell and I were moving fast, his thick black work boots kicking up sand as we made our way closer and closer to the Spivey house.
Vernell and I had covered this beach every summer of our youth, hand in hand, laughing and cutting up. Then we'd lost it, and times had turned hard. We weren't talking about the future anymore, or looking at the past, we were here to save our daughter.
Vernell was the first to spot the car. He stopped in his tracks, holding me back with one muscled arm as he pointed up the beach. Jolene's white Cadillac was parked underneath the house, next to Keith's shiny red truck. As we stood staring, the sliding glass door leading to the deck slid open and a man walked out onto the deck. It wasn't Keith the skinhead.
"Who's that?" asked Vernell.
I reached up and spun Vernell toward me, away from the beach house, using his body to shield my own.
"It's Don Evans, and I don't want him to recognize us."
When I saw Don Evans, the last pieces suddenly flew into place. What was it Bertie Sexton had said? A high-dollar, married girlfriend with a white Cadillac… comes running whenever she calls.
Vernell wrapped his arms around me and I stood huddled inside them, peeking out every now and then to take stock of the situation. Don Evans smoked a cigarette, then lit another one right after it. There was another flash of color at the door as Jolene stuck her head outside and seemed to be saying something to Don. A moment later, she emerged with Keith and Sheila. The sunlight glinted off an object in Jolene's outstretched hand.
"Vernell," I said, my voice shaking, "she's got a gun and they're all heading for the car."
Vernell was transformed into action. "Come on," he yelled, "run!" He was off, moving down the beach, away from the beach house and back to the parking lot where he'd hidden the Dancing Jesus. I lit out after him, my heart pounding in my throat. Now what were we going to do?
Vernell sprinted the distance back to the truck and had the motor started by the time I caught up.
We were less than a quarter of a mile from the beach house in one direction and almost a mile from the bridge in the other.
"They're gonna have to go through me to get off this island!" Vernell yelled over the sound of "Amazing Grace" that suddenly blared out over the loudspeaker.
"Turn the music off!" I yelled back.
Vernell flipped the switch, but nothing happened. Instead I could hear the grinding of the satellite dish as it started moving faster. Vernell's truck seemed to be developing a mind of its own. Vernell flicked switches and dials, but still the music screamed out into the early morning air.
"Vernell, do something!" I screamed. "There they go!" Jolene's white Caddy shot by, speeding down Beach Road.
Vernell put the truck into gear and laid rubber out onto the street. "Don't worry!" he yelled over the "Hallelujah Chorus,"
"we'll catch up to them! I had this baby custom-built. She'll flat fly!"
Vernell stomped on the gas pedal and the truck lurched into a screaming acceleration, just what we needed to catch up to Jolene and my baby. We didn't have a plan, we didn't even have a weapon, but we were going to, by God, save our little girl. And we might have done it, too, if Vernell had just been watching the road up ahead.
"Look out!" I shrieked. "Slow down!" But it was too late. Up ahead the traffic had come to a halt, backed up by an accident that seemed to eat up the foot of the bridge.
Vernell tried to react, but the Dancing Jesus had other ideas. "Onward Christian Soldiers," it blared, the music coming so fast, it was sounding like Munchkins on a holiday from Oz. Vernell reached for the emergency brake, stood on the brake pedal, and slammed the truck from one low gear to another. The tires squealed, the brake lining smoked, and the Dancing Jesus mobile turned sideways in the street, slid off the edge of the road, and bounced into a telephone pole with a mighty thud.
Vernell flew forward as I was thrown to the floor. His head banged up against the windshield and his body fell back against the seat. There was a mighty hiss as the radiator sprang a leak. For once the Dancing Jesus was silent.
"Vernell!" I said, pulling myself up off the floor. "Vernell, are you all right?"
Motorists were leaving their cars, walking toward us with concerned looks on their faces. After all, it wasn't every day that Jesus took a flying leap into a telephone pole. Vernell lay sprawled on the passenger seat, moaning softly, a big goose egg rising up in the center of his forehead.
In the distance, I could make out Jolene's Cadillac, locked into a queue of cars. Every emergency vehicle in the world, or on the island, was congregated at the foot of the bridge. They wouldn't get to us for awhile, if ever. In the meantime, Jolene might get away with my baby, and if she did…
I looked back over at Vernell. He was out of it.
"Honey," I said to his prostrate body, "stay here. I'll be back." I reached down on the floor, among the fast food wrappers and other trash that littered the Dancing Jesus, and pulled out a baseball cap and a tire iron. I crammed my hair up into the cap and pulled the bill down low over my face. I pushed the tire iron up into the sleeve of my sweater.
Vernell moaned again. "Wait," he cried weakly. "Sheila."
"It'll be fine," I said softly. "I'm done thinkin'. It's time to act."
With that I left Vernell to the ministrations of strangers and took off to save Sheila.
As I walked swiftly up the line of cars, I tried to develop a plan. Short of reaching into the car and hauling Jolene out by her hair, I was not having much success with the tactical aspect of my mission. The closer I got to Jolene, the closer I came to the scene of the accident. It was a nasty one. Two victims lay on the ground, tended to by EMS workers. The fire trucks obscured the crash vehicles, but from the amount of glass on the highway, I knew it must've been bad.