Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Twenty-Three

When he answered the phone, I held it tighter against my ear, witling him through the receiver and into my head, willing him to lend me some of his strength.

"Help me," I said, my voice barely rising above a whisper. "Oh my God, help me."

"Maggie?" Marshall Weathers knew my voice. "Where are you?"

I was crying now, choking and gasping, feeling every edge of control I had disintegrating.

"I'm scared," I cried.

"I know you are, Maggie, and I want to help you. Tell me where you are and I'll be right there."

I told him exactly where I was. I stumbled over the words, sobs leaking out at every pause, but I told him and knew he would come to me.

"Maggie," he said, "I'm going to put you on the phone with Bobby, here. He's going to stay with you while I start driving. Talk to Bobby, Maggie." He was on his way without even asking what was wrong.

A younger male voice replaced Marshall's, but still I clung to the phone, standing in Jerry's living room, my back to the deck and Jerry's body.

"Maggie?" the young man said. "Maggie, I want you to try and tell me what happened so I'll know what backup to send with Detective Weathers."

He wanted me to help Marshall. I could do that. My heart was pounding in my chest, I thought I was going to throw up, but I could do this one more thing.

"He's, he's, he's…" I hiccupped, "dead. My… Jerry Lee Sizemore, he's, he's…"

"Dead," Bobby said calmly. "Okay. Okay, Maggie. Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, my voice rising an octave. "I'm sure! He's been shot!"

"Okay, Maggie, stay with me here a second." There was the sound of hushed voices as Bobby issued instructions to someone.

"When will he be here?" I asked, unable to keep myself from exploding with fear.

"Ten minutes, Maggie. Hang in there. I'm sending some other officers. They'll be there sooner because they're closer."

But they weren't. It was Marshall Weathers who arrived first, flying down Jerry Lee's driveway, his blue light still flashing.

He didn't seem to move quickly, but he was on the porch and at my side in what seemed like an instant. It seemed natural to go to him, to let him take me into his arms, if only for a moment.

"You're sure he's dead?" he asked, moving past me, toward the interior of Jerry's house.

"Yes."

Behind us sirens wailed, lights flashed along the driveway. It seemed as if the entire police force was arriving, filling Jerry Lee Sizemore's expansive front yard with vehicles and uniformed officers.

Marshall stopped the first pair at the foot of the steps. "Go around back," he said. "We got one that's probably dead in the hot tub. Might oughta look and make sure there's no more. Let's make a fifty-foot area in front of the house, then go as far back as you can."

Another unmarked sedan came flying down the driveway, stopping inches from the patrol units. I recognized the man who hopped out of the car, moving quickly toward us. It was Marshall's young partner, Billy Evans.

Marshall waited until Billy reached the top of the steps, then he turned to me. "Stay here with Detective Evans, Maggie. I've gotta go take a look." Two EMTs walked up, bags in hand, questioning looks on their faces. Weathers nodded them in, and the three disappeared inside Jerry's house. Every nerve fiber I had stood on edge, waiting. I realized I was clenching my teeth and knotting my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms. I didn't feel safe when he wasn't in my sight.

When he returned there was a strange look on his face. He walked up to where I stood with Billy Evans and then pulled him aside. Whatever he had to say, he didn't want me to hear. Billy looked down at Marshall's right hand, staring at a small metal piece laying in his palm-a shell casing. Then they both looked back at me. I knew, without anyone saying a word, that it was another.38-caliber bullet that had killed Jerry Lee Sizemore.

"Oh God." The words escaped from my lips before I could stop them. It was happening all over again. Weathers glanced back at me and then back at his colleague. "Why don't you finish up here," he said. "I'll take Ms. Reid back and get a statement."

My thoughts were racing, one after the other, too fast for me to track, bits and pieces that were gone like storm clouds before a front. Black widow spider. That's what Weathers was thinking. And everywhere that Maggie went her gun was sure tofollow…

"Come on," Marshall said, "we'll take my car. Someone'll follow with yours."

I let him lead me, not caring about my car. All I could see was Jerry's bloated body, floating before me, the ugly red stain on his chest a stark contrast against the lush tangle of plants, his sightless eyes staring up at an empty sky.

"It was a thirty-eight-caliber gun that killed him, wasn't it? You think I killed him, don't you?" I said. We were not even out of Jerry's driveway. "You're thinking it's the same caliber gun, that it had to be mine."

We were at the end of the driveway and he stopped to look at me. "So now you read minds?"

"Well, it's what I'd be thinking."

"That's you."

"All right," I said, "what are you thinking?"

Weathers turned out onto the road and started toward town. "Don't much matter what I'm thinking."

Marshall Weathers was the most frustrating human being I had ever encountered. He always bounced the ball back into my court, never answered a question, especially if it had anything to do with himself. I looked over at him as he drove. His face was a mask, not an unkind mask, but closed.

"It's all about control with you, isn't it?" I asked.

"I don't follow," he answered. But I knew he did. His mustache twitched.

"You've always got to be in control."

"Well, sure." He said it as if I'd said, "The sky is blue."

"Have you ever not been in control of a situation?"

"Maybe at the start of something," he said. He was uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. His shoulders tightened and he stared straight ahead, not looking at me.

"Maggie, sit there for a while and think back on everything that happened from the time you got to Sizemore's until the time I got there." He didn't want any more personal questions. "Close your eyes and play it like a movie. When we get back to the office, I want you to tell me everything you can remember."

I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to see Jerry, over and over, floating in his hot tub. I wanted Weathers to do that. I wanted him to take over and fix everything. But that was just the problem. No one else was going to fix it for me. All of my adult life, I'd had to face this same realization, time and time again. I always fixed everything.

At first, I'd been mad about it. There was no Prince Charming and I wasn't Snow White or Cinderella. Then, somewhere along the line, I got to feeling proud. I was Maggie Reid, and I could take care of myself. Still, when things got a bit much, like now, I found myself wishing for a knight in shining armor. Weathers was merely pointing me back to reality. He'd come when I'd needed him, but I was going to have to pull the killer out of the hat to save myself. Doggone it!

I closed my eyes and willed my mind back to Jerry Lee's phone message, then to his house. The gate had been open. Why? Was it always that way? He was expecting me, in a general way, but he had no idea when I'd show up. Had he expected someone else? What had he found out about the mobile home lot? The reality of Jerry's death was dawning on me. I'd asked him to look into Jimmy's lot. He'd found something, and now he was dead.

I gasped softly and my eyes flew open. Weathers was pulling into the underground garage of the police department. He reached a hand over and touched my arm lightly.

"Stay with it, if you can," he said. "Don't try and make sense of what you remember, just go for the details, the little things that might not seem to matter."

"You don't understand," I said. "He's dead because of me. I sent him to audit the Mobile Home Kingdom and he found something."

Weathers didn't react. "Let's go on up," he said. He opened the car door and stepped out into the gloomy underground parking lot. It was deserted except for the two of us, but we were not alone. From every corner, covering every angle, cameras watched and reported back to their monitors. The place was probably wired for sound, too.

Weathers walked quickly to the door, punched in a series of numbers, waited for a dull click, then pulled the heavy metal door open. He held it, ushering me through with a motion of his hand. He didn't want to talk here. We would talk where he said and when he said, and that was probably for good reason. I walked by his side, struggling to match his quick, long-legged stride, my mind rushing in all directions.

We rode the elevator in silence. He stood so close that had I moved merely an inch, I would've been touching his arm. I remembered how it had felt when he held me for that one quick moment after he'd arrived at Jerry Sizemore's. Stop it! How can you think about that now? I yelled silently. But I couldn't not think about it. The attraction that had simmered before threatened to boil over and consume me.

I brought my hands together and pinched the flesh in between my left thumb and forefinger, hard.

"What'd you do that for?" Weathers had been watching.

"To get my attention," I answered.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders. Now he could add dingbat or crazed to the list of adjectives I was sure he carried in his head to describe me.

"Guess that's a woman thing, huh?"

I glared at him. "Like men don't do anything to keep their minds on a task?"

"Don't usually need to," he said.

I thought of Vernell, reciting mobile home statistics to himself while we made love. Weathers was right. Men were the exact opposite of women.

"So what were you thinking that took your mind off Mr. Sizemore?" he asked.

The elevator jerked to a stop, pushing me against his arm. "Nothing," I said, jumping toward the door.

As the elevator door slowly pulled apart, I could've sworn I heard a slight chuckle from Marshall Weathers. I didn't look back. I walked ahead of him, down the long hallway to the CID offices. It was going to be another long night.