Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was totally dark when I reached Jerry Lee Sizemore's house, but there was no mistaking it. A huge Vietnam veterans' MIA flag hung attached to a big post on one side of his driveway, and the American flag hung on the other side. The property was posted with NO TRESPASSING signs, barbed wire ran along the top of the chain-link fence, and the entrance gate, which was standing open, had a huge wrought iron S welded into the centerpiece. As I drove slowly past the entrance, I noticed yet another sign, smaller than the others, mounted on one side of the gate. "This property protected by Smith and Wesson."

As I moved into the long, pitch-dark driveway, lights flickered on, lighting my way down the rutted, red-clay drive. Jerry'd rigged motion lights on every pine tree that edged the drive. His big, log-cabin style house seemed to suddenly jump out in front of me, bathed in still more lights, with a circular drive and a flagpole that was mounted dead center in front of the house.

I pulled my car up to the front steps and cut the engine, afraid to open the car door and actually get out of my vehicle. A compound like this had to have a guard dog. With my luck, Jerry wouldn't get to me before the guard dog did.

After several minutes I realized the dog wasn't coming and neither was anyone else. I opened the car door and listened. In the distance I could hear music, Cream, from the 70s. The song was "White Room." No dog came to eat me, so I got out of the car and headed up the wide steps to the front door.

YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, a sign said, SO COME ON THROUGH THE HOUSE TO THE BACK. WE'RE PROBABLY IN THE HOT TUB.

My anxiety vanished. He and his friends were all partying in the back. He wasn't lying in wait to seduce me. I just had an overactive imagination, the same problem I'd had all my life.

I grabbed the large brass handle and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Jerry's house was as welcoming on the inside as it was forboding on the outside. Southwestern in theme, Jerry's living room was filled with overstuffed chairs and sofas in a brick red Indian blanket print. A book lay open, with a pair of reading glasses resting on the pages, beside a recliner. An empty shot glass stood next to the book.

I walked on, toward the sliding glass door that overlooked a massive deck. The music was louder now but still I could hear the swooshing sound of the hot tub. Tiki torches burned in holders along the deck railing. Huge potted fig trees and ferns lined the deck, making it a private nighttime enclave. Now I knew why Jerry liked to conduct his business from the hot tub; his deck was an oasis.

I stepped out onto the deck, gently closing the sliding glass door behind me. At the far end was the hot tub, or at least I assumed so from the sound of water. It was hidden completely by plants and flowers.

"Jerry?" I called.

No answer.

"Hey, I hope you're semi-decent." I was walking slowly across the deck, an uneasy feeling beginning to gnaw at my stomach. Maybe he'd passed out. "Hey, Jer, it's me, Maggie…" I stepped to the edge of the fake forest. There was no sound, only the music and the gurgling of the hot tub. The night sky above me was black and starless.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to slip through the screen of plants. Jerry Lee Sizemore lay on his back, his body swirling slowly in the twelve-person hot tub, an ugly red stain blossoming across his chest.