"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.

I crept up behind Jolene's car, trying to peer inside without being spotted. Don Evans sat in the driver's seat with Sheila next to him. Jolene sat behind her and Keith sat next to Jolene. It was a perfect setup. If Sheila or Keith caused a problem, it would be easy to shoot them. The windows were rolled up, the air conditioning was running full-blast, and the outside world went by in front of them like a movie.

I waited two car lengths back, hidden by a family passenger van, looking for my moment, waiting for the element of surprise to be on my side. Up ahead, volunteer firemen were slowly moving down the line of cars, stopping at each one, talking about the accident. People were everywhere. I waited, sweating under my cap and sweater, the tire iron eating into my armpit. Then, just as the volunteer started for Don Evans, gesturing for him to roll down his window, I made my move.

I loosened my grip on the tire iron, letting it slip down my sleeve and into my hand. Like Mama always said, opportunity is not a lengthy visitor. I took a deep breath and jumped out from behind the van, ran up to Jolene's side of the car, the tire iron held high over my head. I brought it down quickly, smashing into Jolene's window with all my might.

The glass shattered into a million little diamonds, and Jolene screamed as the tire iron grazed the side of her head. I don't know how I did it. I don't remember doing it, but somehow I pulled her scrawny little body out of the window. Unfortunately, the gun came with her.

Jolene stood for a second, dazed, the gun trembling in her hand, and then she seemed to come back to life. Her eyes focused, her lips curled into a snarl, and she started to bring the gun up in front of her. I slashed out with Vernell's Dancing Jesus tire iron, knocked her hand out of my way, and then lunged at her. Sheila was the only thing on my mind. The woman wanted to kill my baby.

This was not a woman you wanted to fight with for a sale item at the semiannual Dillards' clearance sale. I charged her and we went down, hitting the asphalt with a bone-rattling jar. The shock finally loosened the gun from her clawlike grasp, sending it skittering across the road. I was beating the crap out of Jolene, and it felt so fine. I tangled my hands in her bleached blond hair and yanked so hard, she screamed. She brought her knee up and attempted to disembowel me with the sheer force of her adrenaline. But I banged her face against the gravel.

"That's for Sheila!" I panted, and proceeded to pull my fist back. I had never been in a fight, not in all of my life, but it came natural and easy. My fist connected with her pretty little nose, and to my surprise, it cracked. "And this is for Jimmy!" I screamed. "And Jerry!"

I don't even think I felt the police officer pull me off her. I know I didn't feel any of the blows she landed. I kept trying to get to her, even as she was surrounded by uniformed officers and led away.

"Maggie, let up now, girl." I heard the familiar voice, talking right into my ear. "You want to see your daughter or not?" he asked. "'Cause I can't let go until I know you're in control."

I had to be hallucinating. He couldn't be here, but he was. Marshall Weathers held me fast, his mustache brushing against my ear as he pulled me tight against him.

"Let me see Sheila." I quit moving and stood still, waiting for him to let go.

"All right," he said. "That's it. That's better."

"Jolene killed Jimmy and Jerry Lee," I said, trying to catch my breath.

"I know," he said calmly.

"You know? How do you know?" I couldn't stand it. Always in control, never surprised, Detective You-Can't-Tell-Me-A-Thing Weathers. "And what are you doing here?" I asked.

"Maggie, we recovered a tiny piece of a partial print when the crime lab processed your gun." I nodded slowly. "It took a while, and the lab used a pretty advanced technique, but we found one. That's why I'm here."

"Jolene's print, huh?"

Weathers shook his head. "No, Don Evans's. It wasn't until we started surveillance that I knew about Jolene. She picked him up yesterday and we followed them here. That's when we started to figure out what was going on. Then Bobby called and told me about Sheila. That started making the pieces fall into place."

"So you knew."

"Well, let's say I had a pretty good idea," he said. "I didn't have the Jolene piece and still wasn't sure."

"She and Don were ripping off Jimmy, and he found out."

Weathers nodded. "We were working on getting them out of the beach house when you and Vernell arrived. I had the realty company call and say they were sending in workmen. We had this all staged," he said, gesturing toward the accident scene. "We wanted them out in the open, so we could control the situation." There was that C word again.

"Where's Sheila?" I said, looking around. "I need to see her."

"You can see her, but then we'll get on to the hospital."

"Why? Oh God!" I said. "Vernell! Is he at the hospital?"

"No, he's all right. He's with Sheila. You're the one who needs a hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital!" I said, and started to walk away from him.