Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Sixteen

I woke up suddenly, startled and disoriented, but wide-awake. I had been dreaming about something, something important, something about Jimmy, but whatever it was vanished as I opened my eyes. In front of me on the coffee table sat Jack's white coffee carafe, a clean mug beside it. Jack had come and gone, it seemed, and this time he had not left a note.

I poured a cup of his strong French roast and proceeded to indulge in my one secret passion: the motivational infomercial. Aside from being held hostage by the Bonita Faye cosmetic lady once every few months, infomercials were my main personal indulgence. Especially this one guy. He was a tall man who sat out by his pool, behind his mansion, talking about how I, too, could become more successful than my wildest fantasies.

He was always on. If I flipped through the cable channels, he would be waiting for me, and I knew almost every word of his message by heart. He was a poor child, outcast by his peers because of his immense size. But he believed in himself. He called upon the power within, and rose through the ranks to finally parlay himself into a multi-million dollar corporation. His eyes shone as he stared out at his beleaguered audience. "You can do this," he'd urge. Then he'd bring on a bunch of shiney-eyed women, who all told tales of personal despair turned to gold.

This morning as I listened, I realized that I had been focusing on the wrong path. I had allowed myself to be caught up in the reality of my accusers. I had veered from the course to my financial success. There was a whole side to this situation that I had ignored. Jimmy was dead, there was no going back and fixing that situation, but he had left me a gift. I had a responsibility to myself, Sheila, and Jimmy's unsuccessful memory. If what Vernell said was true, and I had no reason to doubt him, I owned forty-nine percent of a very successful mobile home business and it was time to step up to the plate and assume responsibility for its continued success.

It was after two o'clock in the afternoon. For most of the business world, things would be winding down, but not the mobile home sales business. They seemed to be almost always open, that is, if Vernell's hours while we were married had been any indication. "We stay open until the last customer leaves satisfied" was their motto.

I stretched and poured a second cup of coffee. I was about to go down to the intersection of Holden Road and I-85 and claim my inheritance. If I knew Vernell, he'd be thinking that I was going to be a silent partner. He was probably thinking he could buy me out for a quarter the value of the business. Maybe that was why he'd been acting so peculiar and friendly. Maybe he was thinking I was an easy mark. Well, that might've been true a few years back, before I bought the Curley-Que Beauty Salon, but not now. It was time to look at the books.

I raced upstairs and hopped into the shower, my mind going ninety miles an hour with ideas. Mr. Motivation said that you must always dress like the successful person you intend to be. That was going to be a problem, as I had only country-and-western success clothes here and I wasn't going back to my place to hunt up a suit.

"They'll just have to deal with me as I am," I muttered to the shower. "Success is success, no matter what the costume."

I tried to tame my hair, pulling it back tight against my head, but curls insisted upon escaping, ringing my face. I toned down my makeup, but that only made my freckles pop through, and I looked like a teenager.

"That's all right," I said to my green-eyed mirror image, "once they meet up with the 'personal power deep within me,' they'll know they've met their match and I'm the one in charge."

I ran downstairs and poured another cup of coffee to take with me as I hit the road. Caffeine was my friend this afternoon and I had a feeling I was going to need all the friends I could get.

I sang as I drove across town, a song idea popping into my head. "He was a one-horse town on my freeway to love." I thought for a moment, searching for the next line as I drove past the coliseum. "I blew right by him. What was I thinking of?"

It was a beautiful September afternoon in Greensboro. The rainy summer had turned the leaves bright with fall color. When I'd first moved to Greensboro with Vernell, many years ago, I'd been afraid to live in such a big city. Now it felt like a small town, full of parks and neighborhoods.

The VW rumbled along down High Point Road, turning left onto Holden Road. I was almost there. A little edge of excitement began to gnaw at my stomach, or maybe it was hunger, since I hadn't eaten since yesterday. "Cast a commanding shadow," I muttered to myself, remembering Mr. Motivation's mantra for success.

Vernell and Jimmy's Mobile Home Kingdom was wedged in with a half-dozen other mobile home lots, all situated alongside I-85. "Prime location, Maggie," Vernell had claimed once. "Prime in terms of your customer visibility and prime in terms of easy-on, easy-off for delivery."

I hadn't paid it much mind at the time. I hadn't been interested and back then, the Holden Road exit of I-85 had been viewed as out in the country. I'd never dreamed that Greensboro could extend so far in such a few years. Vernell and Jimmy's pasturelike lot was now a tiny wedge in a sea of single and double-wide trailers, all waiting for the right person to come along and claim their housing prize. Jimmy and Vernell specialized in "Been turned down everywhere else? Credit a mess?" customers.

"Hey," Vernell used to say into the camera, "if you got a job, we'll get you a home." The Mobile Home Kingdom, simply the best in the business. I laughed to myself as I pulled up in the parking lot, but it was to cover all the emotions and memories that threatened to spoil my good mood.

Vernell started the mobile home business with Jimmy right after we married. I'd been out to the lot countless times in the early days, even helped out with the office work back then. Now it was a thriving business that would live on without Jimmy. Jimmy'd been so proud when Vernell turned the day-to-day operations over to him. He'd strutted around the lot, sticking his chest out, prouder than Mama's king rooster. Where'd it gotten him? The business wasn't growing at the rate it had in the early days. It had "leveled out," as Jimmy liked to say, but he and Vernell were always arguing about it.

"What do you expect with all the competition?" Jimmy used to ask, but it was never enough for his brother. Nothing was ever enough for Vernell when it came to business and money.

I pulled the car right up to the double-wide that Jimmy had converted into a model/business office. There were plenty of customers, even this late in the day. The office had a ridge of brightly colored plastic flags flapping across the top of the roof, and country music blared through the loudspeakers. For a moment I was intimidated. What was I about to step into?

I didn't have time to give it any more thought. Just like a used car lot, the sales force smelled fresh meat and two salesmen started for me at the same time, coming from opposite directions. The larger man won, waving off his competition with a mere flick of the cigarette in his left hand.

He continued toward me, his eyes locking onto my face, but subtly taking in my physical appearance in a way that only a professional sleazeball can. He was over six feet tall, looked like he worked out with steroids, and had gold chains dripping down his chest like a throwback to Saturday Night Fever. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dull brown hair and hard, dark eyes.

"Hey, pretty lady," he said, as he got closer. He said it like we'd been intimate friends for years. "I'm Tommy Purvis, and this here's my lot I am just the man to put you in the home of your dreams."

"I don't think so," I said.

"Pardon me?" Clearly he wasn't used to being shot down.

I had come with good intentions, but this man was flying all over me. "My lot" indeed. I stiffened my shoulders and looked square into his wide brown eyes.

"I said, I don't think so. Number one, this isn't your lot. You work here, but you don't own it."

"Well, now," he sputtered. "Technically…"

"Technically, I think I'd come a sight closer to owning this lot."

"Yes," he said, "at the Mobile Home Kingdom, the customer is king. And a pretty little thing such as yourself doesn't need to worry in Tommy Purvis's hands."

"But I'm not a customer. I'm Vernell Spivey's ex-wife. So I need to see the manager, Mr. Purvis."

His face was running through some changes. When I'd been a customer, he'd wanted to please me, but now I was the big boss's ex. He wasn't sure he owed me anything.

"Now, if this is about alimony or something such as that, your ex don't exactly come around here too often and we-"

"Mr. Purvis, it does not matter what it is about. The fact is, I want to see the manager and I want to see him now. So, if you can't point me in his direction, I'll just go on inside and find him myself."

"I'll go get him," he said.

"Just tell me where his office is," I said. I didn't want Tommy Purvis to have the opportunity to warn him.

"His office is the last room on the left as you go inside," he said. "But he's kind of tied up right now, and it might not be such a good idea to interrupt him. Besides, I'm the assistant manager. I can probably take better care of you than old Don any day." He gave me his best smile and half-winked. I couldn't believe Jimmy'd hired an idiot like this, but then again, the boy probably led the lot in sales.

Behind us, a beat-up, blue pickup truck came skidding into the lot, roaring toward us almost as if the driver were out of control. I jumped forward toward the office and Tommy Purvis spun around to see what was going on. The truck stopped a mere foot or two away from where Tommy stood. The driver was yelling through the windshield, apparently at Tommy.

I took advantage of the confusion and headed for the business office. Behind me, I heard the truck's door swing open and a barrage of swear words, all directed at Tommy, his mother, and his future sons. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd taken a disliking to Mr. Purvis.

When I stepped inside the model home and the door swung shut behind me, I could no longer hear the raised voices outside. I had entered Jimmy and Vernell's idea of mobile home excellence. It was quite different from the four-hundred-square-foot plywood shack Vernell had first erected on this lot. This was luxury and I found myself distracted.

The carpet was thick, plush, sculptured pile, the kind that swallows up your feet and sucks all the extra noise out of the air. Canned Muzak played softly in the background and the fireplace in the corner was lit, even though the air-conditioning had to run full blast to compensate for the heat. Ahead of me was a pure white kitchen, the kind I'd always dreamed of having, but never actually attained. Until Vernell's recent midlife crisis, he'd lived like a poor man, squirreling his money away or plowing it back into the business.

For a moment, I was lured into the manufactured home dream. That is, until I took a good look at the walls and saw the thin ridges and tiny buckles that indicated inferior quality.

The dream was further shattered by the thick overlay of cigarette smoke that clung to the furniture and filled the air. Customers sat in front of desks, their heads bending over papers that the salespeople laid before them. I guessed at the drill. "Now what can you afford to pay a month?"

My destination was the closed door to the room in the back I slipped through the kitchen, passing a bedroom converted into an office. File cabinets ringed the walls and papers were scattered everywhere. A phone on the desk showed at least four lines lit up, all blinking.

I stepped up to the last door on the hallway and paused outside, listening through the thin walls for the sound of voices. I didn't have to listen long.

"Well, that'd be your own damn fault, now wouldn't it?" a deep male voice rumbled. Silence, then: "No, now don't get all upset. It just complicates things at this end." More silence. He was on the phone. "We'll work something out. I'll do what I need to do at this end before that actually happens." Another spell of silence, then: "Me too, honey." There was another pause, then: "Damn it! Stupid airhead!"

I was about to turn the door handle when I heard another sound. A female giggle and a tiny squeal. That's when I opened the door.

"Oh!" I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were with someone."

It was quite a vision. A heavy set man with prominent hair plugs and a red face sat behind a huge desk. Perched on the edge of the desk, exposing most of her thighs and leaning her big-chested body forward, was a redhead. A young, embarrassed redhead. She jumped like I'd shot her, but he recovered quickly and smiled, pushing her off the desk at the same time.

"Run on, Miss Sexton, I'll be in shortly to review those figures."

I just bet he would, too.

"Don Evans. Can I help you?" he said, rising from his chair. He wore a Ralph Lauren polo shirt and expensive chinos.

I stepped forward and extended my hand. "Maggie Reid," I said, "and Jimmy Spivey just left me his share of the business."

His face moved seamlessly from an expression of sorrow to one of open helpfulness. "Ah." He sighed. "I had heard that Jimmy had made some unexpected changes in his will. I'm sure you were as surprised as"-he paused here for a moment, searching for the right words-"well, as anyone would be at hearing such news. And after such an untimely death." Evans shook his head sadly. "I'm gonna miss old Jimmy," he said.

I looked around the little room and realized that this was Jimmy's office. His nameplate was sitting on the edge of a bookshelf, and the space where it had been on the desk was rimmed with dust. Don Evans had wasted no time at all in moving in.

"Well, being as how Jimmy left his share in the business to me, I figure he'd want me to take care of it. I know how much it meant to him," I said.

Don Evans moved from behind the desk, a sad smile on his face. "Of course," he said. "What a wonderful attitude. You don't have to worry about this place on a day-to-day basis. Jimmy had it all set up. He barely had to do a thing except collect the money!" He chuckled. "I run the everyday business of the lot. I keep up with the salespeople, the business end of things, gettin' your trailers set out on the lots, all that petty stuff."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear," I said, putting on my best smile. "I just thought I'd come down, introduce myself, and find out a little more about how things are done. I'm sure my accountant can explain the financials of the business."

I didn't actually see Evans stiffen, but he did, ever so slightly, and his tone dropped a little. "Accountant?" he asked.

"Mr. Evans," I said, "I'll be frank with you. Over the past six years, I've heard Vernell and Jimmy argue, I don't know how many times, about the business. They each had their side to it, and it was clear to me that they each had a different opinion of how things ought to go. I figure I'm going to need to learn all I can about this place so I can hold my own with my ex."

Evans had a frozen smile on his face. "Well, of course," he said. "I'll be happy to show you everything. Miss Sexton can explain the books. She's been our bookkeeper for five years now."

"Oh, I'm not one for numbers," I said, walking up to the desk and running my finger through the dust outline of Jimmy's nameplate. "I'll just let Jerry do all that."

I hadn't planned on this. Driving up, I hadn't had any idea of where I was going to go with the Mobile Home Kingdom, but suddenly the idea of an audit crystalized. The more Evans seemed to blow me off, the firmer I was in my resolve, Crazy Jerry Sizemore would be just the ticket for this case.

I met Crazy Jerry when I bought the Curley-Que. My lawyer recommended him, and I soon found out why: Jerry was the best in the business, never mind that he was completely crazy.

Jerry had roared up to the Curley-Que that first time on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, a big one, chopped with a front end that extended further than the legal limit, I was sure. He wore a fringed suede jacket and a coon-skin cap. His salt-and-pepper gray hair hung down to the middle of his back, and he had a ruby stud in his right ear. I hadn't wanted to hire him, but my attorney made me keep him.

He was a wild man, a Vietnam veteran who drank Wild Turkey and rode with bikers, but he was also brilliant. Jerry would get to the bottom of anything going on in the Mobile Home Kingdom, I felt sure.

"I'll have my accountant give you a call," I said. Evans was too wise to fight it, but the wheels were turning behind his eyes.

I stepped a little closer to Don Evans. "I can't stay too long today," I said. "But I thought it best that I stop by as soon as possible and introduce myself. I'm sure we'll work well together."

He didn't know what to say and I was sure he'd be on the phone to Vernell before my car was off the lot, but that was fine, too. On my way out, I popped in on Miss Sexton. She was staring intently at her computer screen, hoping I'd go away. I stood there for a second, watching her work. Another redhead, I thought. Poor old Jimmy.

"Miss Sexton," I said, stepping right up to her desk, "I'm Maggie Reid." She looked up, a flat, disinterested look on her face. "Jimmy left me his share of the business, so we'll be working together from now on." I let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching as they slowly filtered down through Miss Sexton's brain.

"My accountant will be coming by to look at the books. I'd appreciate all the help you can give him," I said. "Later on, after he's through, maybe we can get together and talk a little bit about the office."

"Yes, ma'am," she said. "We're all gonna miss Jimmy." A little tear welled up and spilled over her eyelid. Unless I missed my guess, she really meant it.

I left her there, dabbing gently at her eyes, and made my way out of the office. I'd had enough for my first visit. I'd know more after I sent Jerry in to nose around. I stepped out into the fresh air of the late fall afternoon and stood, surveying the vast lot of mobile homes. The blue pickup and angry driver had gone, but Tommy Purvis was entertaining another visitor.

He leaned against a late-model Thunderbird, his heavy butt jutting out into the late afternoon sunshine. From the way he had his torso half stuck into the driver's side, I figured it must've been a female admirer. I could've slid right past him, hopped into my car, and made a clean getaway, if not for the fact that Tommy's rear end and his girlfriend's Thunderbird were blocking my exit.

"Hey, Purvis," I called.

Tommy swung around, a displeased look on his face.

"Can you ask your girlfriend to move her car?" I asked.

The Thunderbird lurched forward suddenly, almost carrying Tommy with it. It didn't stop, careening with a rooster-tail of gravel as it left the lot. Tommy stared after the car in shock, but I knew why his female admirer had left so suddenly. It just wouldn't have done for a grieving widow like Roxanne to be caught flirting by her ex-sister-in-law.