She was gone without another word, stomping off down the front porch steps. I went to the living-room window and watched her hop into a car full of her girlfriends. She was gesturing wildly, obviously filling them in on the ruination of her day and the realization that now she had to report to school. Carlucci was right. I kept my eyes on the street in front of the house, not wanting to turn around and face him.

I heard him get up and take the dishes out to the kitchen. Then the water started in the sink. The domesticated biker-private eye was cleaning up. First he threatened my family, then he invaded my home, and now he was doing my dishes. What in the hell was going on?

I stayed there for a few minutes, just staring out the window at the college students walking by and the cars that jockeyed for a parking place within a mile of the campus. It all looked so normal, but my world was going crazy a piece at a time.

I didn't hear the water cut off. I was lost in thought, figuring out how I was going to get to the bottom of things, when I heard Carlucci's voice behind me.

"I said it was a woman."

I didn't turn around. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"A woman what?" I said finally.

"That hired me. That's all I'm gonna tell you. I shouldn't even have told you that much, but I'm starting to feel sorry for you. You got a teenager out running the streets, a husband leading a life you don't even know the half of-"

"Ex-husband," I snapped.

Carlucci ignored me and went on. "-no money and two black eyes. Somebody oughta take pity on you."

That got me to turn around, but he was watching the street, his eyes narrowed to wary slits. I opened my mouth to tell him he didn't need to feel sorry for me, but how could I? Everything he'd said was apparently true.

"I don't need your pity," I said. "What I need is something to go on. How can I help you or Vernell or my family if no one will tell me anything? Why don't you just shoot straight? Tell me what it is you're trying to say about Vernell."

Carlucci stared at me until I felt myself go cold with worry. His eyes flickered past me, out onto the street, and then back.

"Don't you ever wonder how Vernell can just start up a new business? Don't you ever ask him where the money comes from?"

"He started up the satellite dish company with the money he got from the mobile home business. It was going well."

Carlucci shook his head. "A mobile home business, a satellite dish company, a mansion, three vehicles, money, money, money. It don't grow on trees."

Carlucci was looking back out at the street. "I'm gonna tell you one thing, and I shouldn't probably, but it's time you grew up. There's a motel on Battleground Avenue, the Twilight Motel. It's been there for years, next to the Your House Diner. Why don't you go there sometime and drive around the back of the place?" He glanced over at me. "You might take it into your pretty little head to wonder how come it's so full of Volvos and Mercedes in the middle of the day."

Carlucci smiled softly. "Of course, you wouldn't be that type, would you?"

"What type?"

He didn't answer. Instead his shoulders tightened and he was frowning at something outside.

"Looks like your bad day's about to take a downward turn," he said.

I looked to see what he meant and found Marshall Weathers climbing out of his unmarked car. If anyone would get the straight facts out of Carlucci, it would be Weathers. I moved to the door, turned the lock, and swung the door wide open.

"We'll see who knows what now," I said, looking back at Carlucci. But he was gone, and the slamming of the back door was my only answer.

Chapter Nine

Marshall Weathers was in a foul mood and maybe that's why I didn't tell him anything. Maybe if he'd made it easy, I would've told him about Carlucci, but as it was, I didn't get a chance. At least, that's how I chose to see it.

"I thought you might be here," he said. "I need your signature on a search warrant so we can go through the books and other stuff in Vernell's offices." He was whipping out the papers as he spoke.

"Come inside," I said. The curtains fluttered across the street and I knew the unmarked patrol car, with its antennae and state plates, was drawing the attention of my neighbors. It wasn't the first time they'd seen police cars in front of the house, but I didn't want them to start speculating on my lifestyle.

Weathers stepped into the living room and sniffed. He smelled breakfast. He looked past me at the dining-room table and I saw his eyebrow twitch. The radar was on. Two coffee mugs sat out on the table. Two crumpled napkins.

"Company?" he asked.

There was something in the tone of his voice, a hint of sarcasm or suspicion that I didn't like one little bit.

"Sheila. I always make her breakfast," I lied. I don't know why I did it, except I didn't like the insinuation.

"I thought you said she stayed at her friend's house and was going to school from there." He had me and we both knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

"She forgot her science book." My neck was starting to flush red, spreading across my chest, burning its way up to my ears. I never was a good liar, but pride made me continue to try. "You know young'uns," I said, "always hungry."

He looked at me, his eyes zeroing in on my neck. He took his time folding up the search warrant and pushing it slowly into his jacket pocket.

"Yep," he said at last, "I know young'uns, and I know Sheila. She just don't strike me as the breakfast type." Before I could argue, he turned away. "Guess you learn stuff about folks every day. Next time I see you, maybe you'll catch me up on why Sheila drinks black coffee instead of juice. And how come she's started carrying pieces of motorcycle chain around with her."

I looked back at the table and saw Carlucci's mug. It was half full. My mug was easy to tell. It had a lipstick-stained rim. A few pieces of metal lay next to Carlucci's mug. I hadn't noticed them. Weathers was out the door and down the sidewalk without a backward glance.

"Damn," I said, "damn, damn, damn!" I'd lied to Weathers for no other reason than stubborn pride and he'd caught me. "Okay," I said out loud, "it's time to make a move. Forget those stupid men!" I grabbed the cordless phone from its stand by the front door and punched in the number I knew by heart. It was time to call in backup. It was time for brains over brawn. In short, it was time to do the job myself, without relying on a Prince Charming.

"Curly-Que Salon and House of Beauty," a familiar voice rasped.

"Bonnie," I said, "what are you doing?"

There was a snort, and then the sound of a long exhale as Bonnie blew out a stream of cigarette smoke.

"Honey, what the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm doing hair, that's what. I know you've been gone from here a while, but I didn't figure singing would make you forget about the business totally. What am I doing!" She laughed again, her deep voice rumbling through the phone. "You must be having one hell of a time if you can't remember your partner's occupation!"

"Bonnie," I said, breaking in before she took off again, "I need you."

That was all it took. "All right, sugar, what you got going on? I reckon Velmina can take over my customers for a while. You need me now?"

Bonnie never asks why. When Vernell walked out and left us, Bonnie never asked the obvious questions, the ones everyone else asked over and over. She's raising six young'uns on her own, she doesn't have to ask why. Why doesn't matter when you've got to go on. When I told her I wanted to take a leave of absence from our shop and go be a country singer, Bonnie smiled and said, "Go for it, girl!"

"I'm coming to get you," I said. "Vernell's gone, his money's gone, and I've gotta find him."