Darlene raised up and glared at me. "You're not thinking of taking him back, are you?"

I smiled. "Darlene, pity is one thing, foolishness is another. I care for him. Somehow I see him as, well, like a kid that can't grow up. And he's Sheila's daddy. I've gotta help him whenever I can."

Darlene was still frowning. "I saw an Oprah show on that," she said. "What you got is a bad case of codependency."

"Well, what else I've got is a bad case of that man ran off with all the money in his business accounts and payroll's due and I'm half-owner and I can't cover it!"

"That," Darlene pronounced with satisfaction, "is a reason I can get behind."

"Just hang on to Sheila," I said. "She's right shook up about this, but of course it comes out as obnoxious behavior."

Darlene laughed. "She won't be obnoxious with me. I'm gonna put her to work. She'll be mucking out stalls and training that puppy. When she's done with that I'm gonna make her come teach the little ones with me down at the dance studio."

"So you figure she'll be too tired to be obnoxious? I wouldn't bet on it."

Darlene laughed. "Quit worrying!" Then she looked serious for a moment. "You are going to have protection, right? You're not just going to go bumbling around without someone or something to deal with trouble, are you?"

"Sure," I lied. "I'm covered over in protection. I've got a private eye and a police detective to watch out for me. I'm just going to lay low and help them out with information when I can."

Darlene didn't look like she believed me. When I walked down to the barn to kiss Sheila good-bye, she didn't believe me either.

"I know whose shirt that is," she said.

What could I say? I hadn't had time to change. I'd been in a hurry and hadn't given it a thought. So I went right on with my farewell instructions as if she hadn't said a word.

"And I'll run by the school and get your work, so don't worry about it." As if Sheila would give it a second thought.

"Mama," Sheila said, "if you're finally dating that detective, you don't have to hide it from me. After all," she said, tossing her long red hair back, "we are women. We can share these things. My psychology teacher says it is the hallmark of a self-actualized relationship."

I couldn't hold my tongue any longer. "And your grandma used to say that even a blind hog finds an acorn now and again. It just don't make him brilliant."

I hugged her neck and turned to go.

"Mama," she said, "don't let anything happen to you. Tell him I said to take care of you."

"He will, baby," I said, and turned away. I didn't want her to see my face. I didn't want her to know that I wasn't sure Marshall Weathers would look out for anything other than his own tough hide.

Chapter Fourteen

Greensboro was sleeping peacefully when I arrived back in town. I drove up Friendly Avenue, pacing myself to ride right through a string of green lights, winding around and turning onto Mendenhall, then slipping down the alley to my bungalow. There was no way I could stay there, but I needed enough clothes to last through the next few days. I could've kicked myself for not packing when I'd had the opportunity, but I'd been in too much of a hurry to get Sheila out of town and myself away from Carlucci.

I found myself flashing to the image of Carlucci, standing in my doorway, gun in hand, ready to take on the unseen threat to Vernell's family. I thought of the way he'd handled Sheila, easing her out of town, making her part of the solution, not another teenaged problem. And then I thought of him in a completely different manner. He was strong and attractive in a very different way from Marshall. Tony was there, in your face and ready. Marshall was more cautious, more reserved. I shook myself.

"Stop it," I whispered. "This ain't no time for thinking about men." After all, it was better to be called foolish than to be called unprepared. I had to be ready. By the time I reached my street, I was all business.

The lights were all out, and there was no sign of Tony Carlucci. "Probably found a hole to crawl into somewhere," I muttered. But to be on the safe side, I parked at the far end of the alley and crept back. I walked around the back of the house, peering in the windows before I remembered we'd closed all the curtains and shades. There was nothing for it but to go inside.

I slipped the key into the back door lock, turned it, and entered into my bedroom, pausing for a moment as the light from the alleyway shone in across my bed. Nothing. No Carlucci. I breathed a sigh of relief, closed the door, and crossed the room headed for the tiny blinking red light of the answering machine. "The key is not to turn on any lights," I whispered.

I hit the play button and settled in to listen to the messages. There were at least four hang-ups, followed by Terrance Griswald, the manager at the Mobile Home Kingdom.

"Hey, Ms. Reid, listen, this here's Terry. Some of the guys are getting a little restless about their paychecks. I done like you said and had Becca make checks out for the ones that needed 'em, but the others are mouthin' off about it now." Great, I thought, what else? "Maybe you could get the bank to swing us a loan or something. Hey, the owner of VanScoy's Mobile Homes, Archer VanScoy, called again, too. Says Vernell was talking to him about selling, so now he wants to talk to you on account of he wants to buy us out. Is that true? Give me a call." The line went dead and I waited for the next message.

"Ms. Reid," a tired, female voice said, "it's Bess King. You're right, we gotta talk. The, um, funeral's tomorrow at eleven. The Holy Vine United Methodist Church, out on High Point Road. The family's gonna gather after that at my place. I'll just try to find a time. I don't know how, with everyone up under me, but we've got to talk." She hung up then and I sat on the edge of the bed, listening.

Three more hang-ups and then a hushed voice began to speak.

"Baby, izzat you? Come on now, honey, pick up. Maggie, pick up the damn phone, it's almost midnight. I know you're there!"

Vernell Spivey, alive and knee-walking drunk from the sounds of it. I looked at the red numbers on the digital clock. He'd called less than two hours ago.

"Oh hell, honey," he said, "I'm in deep dirt now. Maggie, come on, baby, talk to me." There was silence and then a loud clatter as Vernell tried to put the receiver back on the stand. In the background I could hear the whine of country music but nothing else. Where the hell was he?

"There are no more messages," my machine said.

"Figures," I said back.

I stood up and made my way over to the walk-in closet that stood in the tiny space between my bedroom and the kitchen. I stepped inside, pulled the door shut after me, and reached for the light switch.

"This is stupid. Vernell Spivey, you three-legged dog, why are you such a total idiot? After all this time, here I am, still at the mercy of your stupidity. I thought I'd come further, but a woman forced to pack up her belongings in the dead of night, with the closet door shut, can't have come too far."

I pulled a black sequined shirt off its hanger and stuffed it in a brown paper sack. The trouble with my closet was it took the spillover from all the junk that didn't fit in the kitchen. So there were shopping bags and cookie cutters jammed in next to cowgirl boots and fancy belts.

I grabbed a black broomstick skirt, and was just fingering a belt with a huge silver buckle when the lights went out.

"Carlucci," I yelled, "that's enough!"

I whipped around. The huge shape filled the doorway. I stepped right up to him and shoved as hard as I could, and that's when I realized it wasn't Carlucci. The man shoved me hard against the back wall of the closet, up against the shoe rack, then stepped up to me, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me into the wall again.