I could see Marshall standing out in the hall, entertaining the jailer.

"What were you trying to square, Vernell?"

Vernell looked down at his lap, then back at me. "I wanted to ask him to let go of Bess."

Oh great, give Vernell yet another motive to murder Nosmo King.

I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. The doorknob twisted and Marshall Weathers was back in the room with me.

"I'm sorry, Maggie," Vernell said. "I didn't mean for it to come out like this."

The door opened and the jailer appeared behind Vernell, motioning for him to come. I stared at Vernell, watching the way his jumpsuit hung on his bony frame, memorizing the way his eyes sought out mine, begging me to understand him.

"Baby, get me the best lawyer they got. I didn't do it."

Marshall Weathers waited until Vernell left the room before he spoke.

"See what I mean?" he said softly. "I didn't have another choice."

I stood up, squared my shoulders, and stared right into his eyes. What else was there left to say?

"Thank you for your time," I said. "I appreciate you getting me in to see him like this."

The jailer returned for us, opened the door, and led us back through the system of doors to the front of the building.

I stepped ahead of Weathers, who stopped when another deputy called his name, walked out the front door and down the ramp to the sidewalk. I didn't hear the motorcycle coming. Didn't track that Carlucci was there until he pulled right in front of me.

"Here," he called, handing me my helmet. "Let's go."

He didn't have to ask how it went. It was written all over my face.

As he pulled away from the curb and into traffic, I saw Marshall Weathers step out of the jail and walk toward the sidewalk. I looked in Carlucci's side-view mirror and watched him stand there and watch as we rode off. Then I closed my eyes and tried not to think of him at all.

Chapter Twenty-one

Dumping Carlucci wasn't easy. He took me to the side street where I'd hidden my car, took elaborate care to check it for bombs and whatever else he thought might be attached to it, and with great reluctance agreed that I could drive it. I wasn't in much of a mood for arguing or fussing over what my next move was going to be. Instead, I let him tell me what the plan was.

"Let's take your car back to my house," he said. "No one'll try and bother us in the daytime. It's too busy, what with the concrete trucks coming and going. We can eat a late breakfast and go from there."

I nodded and he took pity on me.

"It's gonna work out all right, Maggie," he said. "Weathers is all wrong."

I couldn't bring myself to talk much. I sighed, took the keys from his outstretched palm, and opened the driver's-side door. Let him think I was a half-zombie, completely devastated by what I'd learned about my ex-husband, and at the hands of my ex-boyfriend who'd never really been my boyfriend anyway. Let him think I was an overwhelmed female. That suited me just fine.

I slid behind the driver's seat and cranked the engine. Inside a little kick of adrenaline flared up and I could feel the surface of my skin prickle.

"I'll follow you," I said, my voice a tired, hopeless monotone.

"Okay. I'll drive slow so I don't lose you."

I nodded and waited for him to put his helmet on and start off down the street. I waved one hand out the window and started off after him, content to let him wind me through the older neighborhood of homes, around the back of Greensboro College, and into downtown Greensboro.

I stayed right up behind him, until I knew for certain he was confident that I'd follow him all the way to Pleasant Garden. Then, as we drove down Eugene Street, moving away from the police station in a lazy zigzag, I cut off, did a U-turn across Battleground, and disappeared up Greene Street.

I knew I had mere seconds to escape, but I had one advantage my northern friend didn't-I knew Greensboro. I knew every little alley and more than that, I had a parking card to the BB amp;T bank building employee parking lot, courtesy of my lease with them for the Curly-Que Salon. While Tony would have to park, dismount, and begin his search, I could evaporate.

I slammed the VW into a basement-level parking slot, ran for the stairs and raced up two flights of steps to the Greene Street exit. I stood just inside the door, peering out for any evidence of Carlucci, and when I was sure he was still circling the garage, I lit out around the corner, past the Carolina Theater, and around the corner to the Curly-Que.

The bell tinkled as I ran inside and Bonnie looked up from her chair by the counter. Velmina was back at the shampoo station, carefully working on a little old lady. Rozetta, the receptionist, was making change for Bonnie's departing customer, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

"Bonnie," I said, dashing over to her. "Help me quick!"

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Maggie, what's wrong?"

Unfortunately, everyone in the salon, with the exception of Velmina's customer, heard me. I had their complete and undivided attention.

"Hide me! A big guy, dressed in black, will probably come busting through that door in two minutes and he can't find me!"

Bonnie's customer turned around. She was a tall, slim woman with blunt-cut, strawberry-blond hair and freckles. When she moved I saw the gun clipped to her belt and the quick way her eyes moved to the door and back to me.

"I'm an intensive parole officer," she said. "You need help?"

Bonnie grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the shampoo station.

"Nah," she said, her voice like tumbling gravel, "this kinda crap goes on all the time. You might oughta hang around, though, just in case it gets interesting. Besides, he might be single." She laughed, choking it off into a smoker's cough.

"Sit down," she said, and threw a huge black cape over my body as she pushed my head back into the bowl of the sink.

"Hey," Velmina said, "he's gonna see her legs and know." Velmina sat her customer up, wrapped her head in towels, and walked over to my chair. "Here, do this." She knelt in front of me, pulled off my shoes and rolled the legs of my jeans up until they were tucked underneath the black vinyl cape. She grabbed a pedicure pan and quickly stuck my feet in the cold water.

"Oh God!" I shrieked. "It's freezing!"

"Can't help that now," Velmina said calmly. "It's all right, dear," she murmured to her now-anxious customer. "Foot problems. Had 'em all her life."

Bonnie dunked me under the warm water and began pouring shampoo onto my head.

Rozetta, not one to be left out, got up and grabbed a tube off the makeup counter.

"He'll see her face! Honestly!" She clacked up beside me in her four-inch stiletto heels and began slathering a thick cream on my face.

Bonnie cackled. "Oh, that's good," she said. "Green goop. Now she looks like a Martian!"

"Great!" I sighed.

"I think it's high time someone changed your look anyway," Bonnie said.

"Why don't we color her hair?" Velmina asked.

The parole officer was watching the door. "Big, black hair, black motorcycle jacket?" she yelled over the din in the salon.

"That's him!"

My heart began to dance up into my throat and my chest tightened. The bell tinkled, the door flew back against the wall, and everyone but Bonnie and Velmina's little old lady jumped.

"Well, son," Bonnie said slowly, "we can all tell you need a haircut, but don't bust the place down trying to get it!"

Rozetta slowly exhaled, placed the last dollop of goo on my face, and turned away. I kept my eyes tightly shut, afraid like the Indian legend that my soul might escape from my body if I inadvertently looked into his eyes.

"Do you have an appointment, baby?" she purred.