Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mama had a saying for times of trouble: Good intentions in a crisis are like feathers on a pig, they get in the way and probably do more harm than good. I was sure Detective Marshall Weathers had good intentions, but I knew the Spivey family from the inside out, and therefore I was the best candidate to sort out the whole mess.

If you want something done, do it yourself. Save yourself a whole lot of trouble and pig feathers. I could continue to sit by and wring my hands, or I could take the bull by the horns and steer the course of fate. It seemed only logical to direct my little Beetle over to the Mobile Home Kingdom. Furthermore, if I was responsible for Jerry Lee Sizemore's death, then I had a duty to his remaining kin and to his memory.

I pulled my little car up into the lot and parked right in front of the model trailer. This time no one came rushing up to greet me. No prowling salesmen, cigarettes dangling from their lips. No slick finance managers. There were a few cars and pickup trucks in the lot, but no sign of their owners.

I stepped out into the sunshine and squinted to read the sign on the door of the model. It was a cardboard clock, the little red hands pointing to two P.M., and a red-lettered sign that said "Gone to lunch." I ran up the steps and tried the door handle, but it didn't budge. I looked around the lot. Columns of single-wides and double-wides stood like rowhouses, some with their storm doors hanging open, some leaning back at an angle, as if not securely fastened to their temporary piers.

It was like a ghost town. The trailers were so closely packed that they cast one long gray shadow the length of the lot. Behind them, the cars whistled past on I-85. Out on Holden Road, it was lunchtime. Traffic moved along at a fast clip, carrying hungry workers to the nearby Mexican restaurants and fast food joints. The lot was eerily silent.

"Good a time as any to look around," I said out loud. "Not like I'd be trespassing."

I started off down the walkway, my cowgirl boots crunching into the fine gray gravel. The first three mobile homes I tried were locked, but the fourth was wide-open, the product of a forgetful or careless salesperson. I stepped inside the double-wide, reaching for a light switch before realizing that, of course, display homes weren't fully set up with electricity and running water.

Sun streamed in through the back windows, making it bright enough to see without lighting up the poor construction. It looked like a dream home. Fully furnished down to fake food on plates in the eat-in breakfast nook, children's toys in one of the bedrooms, and plants in planters by the back door.

"Oh, this is nice," I said aloud. "This is really nice." I walked down the long hallway to the master bedroom, touching the wallpaper, letting my feet sink into the thick, pile carpeting, and thinking that maybe Vernell and Jimmy had really been on the cutting edge of what was now a booming business. I stepped into the master bedroom and glanced up at the skylights in the vaulted ceiling.

The four-poster bed was piled with pillows and quilts. For one uncontrollable second I found myself thinking of Marshall Weathers.

"Stop that!" I said loudly. "Hum," I said. The old Mama trick for bad thoughts. Humming will keep him out of your head. "I'm Falling in Love with You" came unbidden to my lips, and I hummed away at full volume. But it didn't seem to do the trick. For when I stepped into the master bath and saw the oversized Jacuzzi tub, my wicked thoughts were back. I hummed louder and stepped into the walk-in closet.

I still heard a faint whistle behind me, but there wasn't time to react. Something collided with the back of my skull and the humming stopped. I remember falling forward into the darkened closet, but little else.

"Mama? Mama, answer me!" It was Sheila's voice, trembling with anxiety, begging me to answer her, and yet I couldn't quite rise up out of the mist that surrounded me.

"What should we do?" she cried. "Should we call nine-one-one?"

A deeper, adolescent male voice answered. "I don't think we oughta jump to that," Keith was saying. "Remember, she and the cops don't gee-haw too good right now."

"But what if she's dying?" Sheila cried.

I must've moaned. I thought I was speaking. I thought I'd said, "Keith is right for once. Don't call the police." But Sheila and Keith didn't act as if they heard me.

"Listen," he said. "I think she's coming around. Maybe we can get her to a doctor."

I blinked my eyes and saw only blue sky. The brightness made my head pound.

"Mama?" Sheila's face loomed into view. The blurriness of her features began to fade as the world swam into focus. I was lying on the bed in the mobile home's master bedroom, staring up at the skylights.

I tried to sit up, but Sheila pushed me back against the pillows. "You'd better not move," she said.

"What in the world is going on?" I said, my voice coining out in a hoarse whisper. "What happened?"

"You tell us, Mama. Keith was checking to make sure the trailers were all locked up so he could take off for lunch and when he saw the door wide-open, he decided to check around. That's when we found you."

Keith stepped out from behind Sheila. He looked worried and I noticed his hand placed protectively on Sheila's thin shoulder.

"Honest, Mrs. Reid, I thought for a minute you was dead! There you were, facedown on the closet floor, still and cold. I didn't even know if you were breathing! Sheila liked to have died when we realized it was you."

"You shoulda seen Keith, Mama," Sheila beamed proudly. "He had CPR training in vo-tech school." I looked up at pimply, skinheaded Keith and shuddered. The thought of those chapped lips wrapped over my own and blowing stale breath into my lungs made me cringe.

"Surely I was breathing?" I asked, once again attempting to push myself up off the pillows.

"Oh, yes, ma'am," Keith said. "That's how come I knew you wasn't dead or nothing. I used to get knocked out all the time skateboarding."

That explained a lot, I thought. My head was pounding. "Sheila, why aren't you in school?" I demanded. "And what are you two doing here?"

Sheila favored me with her most adult expression. "Mama, it's a teacher workday. Keith let me use his truck while my car's in the shop. I was just coming back to take him to lunch."

"Back where?" I still couldn't pull myself together.

"Mama! Keith works here! I told you he had a regular job. He's the clean-up man." I looked at Keith, all decked out in a dirty blue jumpsuit, his name embroidered in red on the pocket. "He cleans out the trailers and helps set them up when they come in."

Keith tightened his grip on Sheila's shoulder. "Sheila's uncle gave me the job a couple of months ago," he said. "I'm working my way up."

Everyone's entitled to their fantasies, I thought. Working his way up, indeed! I really tried to sit upright this time, and finally succeeded, although my head hurt like crazy and my entire body felt detached and unresponsive.

"Mama," Sheila said, her face rigid with worry, "what happened?"

"Honey, I have no idea. One minute I was looking around, the next, I'm here with you two."

"Mrs. Reid," Keith said, "it just isn't safe to go roaming around in these trailers, not without a salesperson or something. This isn't the first time someone's gotten into one of our trailers, looking for stuff to take or a place to stay for a little while. We're right by the highway, you know."

Well, duh, I should've been more careful. Of course. But what good was that piece of advice gonna do me now? I'd come to the Mobile Home Kingdom looking to find something the police could've overlooked. Instead, someone had found me, and I didn't for a second subscribe to the theory that a vagrant had bopped me on the head.

"Mama, do you want me to take you to the doctor?" Sheila stepped forward to help me down off the bed.

"No, honey, I'm fine. Really." When I stumbled in my attempt to stand, she and Keith rushed forward, one on either side of me.

"Sheila, you'd better take your mama home and stay with her for awhile. I'll come pick you up after work." Keith was taking charge and Sheila jumped to do as he said. They led me, like an old woman, to my car. Sheila carefully lowered me into the passenger seat before she turned to kiss Keith good-bye. It was a long kiss, full of promise.

"Don't worry about a thing," he said softly to her. "Your mama'll be fine. I'll be along to carry you out to supper later." She floated over to the driver's side, slid behind the wheel, and held out her hand expectantly for my keys.

It was a first. Sheila driving my car with me as the passenger. I didn't know what scared me more, the idea of riding with her down busy Holden Road, or facing the thought that someone at the mobile home lot had seen me arrive and had wanted to hurt me.

I closed my eyes and tried not to open them as Sheila drove. I knew that if I so much as peeked out at our progress, I would begin shrieking instructions. It would end in disaster or death, and, if Sheila really was a bad driver, I didn't want to see the end coming. No, I would take the coward's way out. I would squeeze my eyes shut and pray for the best.

Fortunately, I chose to open my eyes as we were mere carlengths from home.

"Look out!" I cried, ducking down below the window. "Don't stop! Keep going!"

This, of course, scared the fool out of Sheila, who reacted by applying the brakes and skidding to a dead stop right in front of the house. By that time I was almost on the floor of the front passenger side, my head pounding unbearably, and my eyes once again tightly shut.

"Drive!" I barked.

"Mama!" Sheila squealed.

"That man knocking on the front door is a cop! Get out of here!"

"Cool!" Sheila said. "It's a getaway!" She peeled rubber and skidded down the street, popping the car into second gear as she accelerated and pushed my ancient relic into cardiac arrest.

"Sheila! What'd you do that for?" We might as well have stopped, rolled down the window and screamed, "You can't catch me!" I knew without looking behind us that Marshall Weathers was on our tail.

I straightened back up in my seat and glimpsed in the rearview mirror. There he was, as certain as nightfall, as constant as daylight.

"Honey, just pull over," I said.

"No, Mama, I can lose him! Watch this!" Before I could open my mouth to stop her, Sheila accelerated, pulled up on the hand brake, fishtailed, and cut the corner onto a little side road that I knew was a dead end.

"Sheila! Stop! Right now!"

Marshall Weathers turned on the blue lights and stepped on the accelerator. He zoomed up behind us, and I could almost make out that little angry twitch in his jaw.

"Mama, I can do this!" Sheila wailed. "I'll save you! They'll never take us alive!"

Was she out of her damn mind? "Sheila, look out!" We were about to run up on the dead end. Sheila swerved, hit the curb, bounced up on the sidewalk and came, finally, to a halt. I reached over and pulled the keys from the ignition.

As Marshall Weathers walked purposefully up to my side of the car, his jaw definitely working, I rolled down the window and said loudly, "And that concludes today's lesson on driving with a stick shift."

Weathers leaned down and looked in the window. He didn't say a word, and if I had to guess, he was working to control his temper. Finally, he spoke.

"Ladies," he said.

"Afternoon, Detective," I said. "I believe you know my daughter, Sheila. What can we do for you?"

Sheila, taking her cue from me, smiled broadly and leaned forward to bat her eyes at the cute detective. "Cool, huh?" she said. "Mama's teaching me to drive a stick."

Weathers swallowed hard. "Perhaps you ladies might do best to practice in a less populated area," he said. Then he looked at me. He hadn't forgotten last night. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. "I want to talk to you'" he said.

"Take a number," I answered.

"Now," he said, his voice dropping to an almost-whisper.

"Later," I said, "can't you see I'm in the middle of something?" My head was singing. It hurt so badly and when I looked hard at Weathers, his face suddenly split into doubles.

"When, exactly?" he said.

"Come by around seven," I answered. "Before I leave for work."

"If you try and run out on me, I'll come down to that dance hall where you work and haul you out like a common criminal."

"And if you do," I answered, pitching my voice as low as his, "my attorney will run your ass up a flagpole."

He whirled around and was gone, leaving me and Sheila slumped back against our seats, breathing hard.

"Well, how about that." She sighed. "We're finally equals."

"What in the world do you mean by that?" I asked.

"Well, like, we're both in trouble! It's not just me. We're hanging together."

"It is a sorry day, Sheila, when you think cool is being in trouble with the law."

Sheila looked hurt. "Well, I was only trying to help, Mama. I know you did what you did for a reason. I haven't stopped believing in you. I just wish you'd tell me the whole story. Did he molest you?"

I turned to look at my daughter. She had a pained and fearful look on her face. Her eyes brimmed with tears that spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

"Sheila, what are you talking about? Did who molest me?"

"Uncle Jimmy, Mama."

"Uncle Jimmy?"

Sheila nodded slowly, stretched her hand out, and let it rest on my leg. "Mama, I think I got it all figured out. That's why he left that money to you and me, 'cause I'm his love child and Daddy's not my daddy." Sheila was about to bust a gut crying. "He must've forced you, Mama. That's why you killed him, huh?"

That's when Sheila really let go. Her pitiful sobbing filled the car. My poor, sweet, baby girl had been laboring all this time under the delusion that I had killed her favorite uncle. What in the world would make her think a thing like that?

I got out of the car, walked around to the driver's side, and opened the door.

"Scootch across, honey," I said. "I'll drive us home."

Sheila was coughing and blowing and crying up a storm that I knew would eventually make her sick if I couldn't calm her down. The last time I remembered heir crying like this, Vernell had packed his bags and walked out the door for the last time. There had been nothing I could say to stop the hurt that time. This was different. Sheila was confused and wrong, and as soon as I got her home, I was going to explain the entire situation.

I drove around the block slowly, in part because I didn't know where Weathers really was and in part because I was still seeing double. I managed to maneuver the Beetle into the backyard and drag my sobbing daughter up the stairs and into my bedroom. We both collapsed onto my bed and I set about the task of correcting my daughter's vision of her mother as a murderer.

I propped myself up on one elbow, reached across to the bedside table, grabbed a box of tissues, and shoved it into Sheila's hands.

"Sheila, I did not murder your Uncle Jimmy, let's just start with that and go on from there. I can assure you that you are your father's child." Sheila was sniveling, but she was not flat-out sobbing anymore. I had her attention.

"Your Uncle Jimmy always carried on like he loved me, but honey, he was really just putting on. Jimmy just loved everything his brother had." Sheila blew her nose loudly. "Over the years, me and Jimmy developed a friendship, a good friendship, but that was all."

I was sitting up on the bed now and so was Sheila. She'd pulled herself up, Indian-style, and was eyeing me through puffy, red eyes. I don't think she believed me, not totally. What was with her?

"All right," I sighed, "your turn. What made you think I killed Uncle Jimmy?"

Sheila didn't say a word. She adopted that sullen, teenaged-girl scowl that I was so familiar with, and stared down at her lap.

"Sheila, you're holding onto something," I said. "It's been eating at you ever since Jimmy died. You might as well tell me, because it's going to come out some way or another."

Sheila thought for a moment and then exploded. "Of course it's going to come out, Mama! That's what I'm afraid of! If the police find out, they'll arrest you!"

"Honey, the rate we're going, they're gonna arrest me anyway. You'd best tell me, so I can deal with whatever it is."

Sheila looked terrified and I was starting to worry. At least I had the advantage of knowing for certain I hadn't killed my brother-in-law.

Sheila tossed her hair back out of her eyes and stared at me. She was ready to talk and I could tell from the set of her obstinate chin that I wasn't going to like what I heard.

"Nobody likes Keith. Not you. Not Daddy. Not even Jolene. But that don't matter none, because what we have is the real thing." She glared at me defiantly, but I didn't say a thing. It was her opening policy statement. Every teenager had one. It was best just to let it ride.

" We could never be alone together. Not at his place and certainly not at Daddy's. Jolene was always there, always watching me. So we didn't have anywhere to go."

It was beginning to suddenly fall into place. Her ring on the bathroom sink. Keith looking around the house, pretending he was looking for intruders.

"So you came here when I was gone. You still had your key. It was close to his house. It was perfect." I was angry, but more than that, I was sad. This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out.

"We're going to be married, Mama. It's just a matter of time. It's not like we weren't serious, or like I didn't love him. Anyway," she said, rushing on, "that's not what this is about. Not really." What in the world else could it be about? Sheila's face had grown very pale again and she was staring down at the tissue in her lap, tearing it into little shreds.

"I heard Uncle Jimmy die," she whispered. "That's how come I knew it was you."

I grabbed her hands and shook her. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"I got here before Keith that day and I was in my room when I heard the front door. I figured it was Keith, on account of how he knew to where to hit the door to make it open. Anyway, I just stayed where I was. It was fixing to get dark and I was lighting some candles in my room." Her voice trailed off and I could just envision my little girl preparing her boudoir for her skin-headed lover. "It was going to be our first time, you know, to go all the way."

"What happened?"

"When Keith didn't come right in, I started to walk out of my room. That's when I heard Uncle Jimmy's voice. I flipped out and started blowing out the candles. I didn't want him to find me there. He would've told you and you would've killed…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "Anyway. Uncle Jimmy said, 'What are you doing here? I thought you'd be gone by now.' And then I heard a gunshot and Jimmy cried out." She stared up at me, her eyes big, dark pools of terror as she remembered.

"I hid under my bed for I don't know how long. After the gunshot, I heard the front door close, but I didn't know for sure if I was alone or what. I was scared, Mama. Scared of you!"

"Oh, sweetie," I cried.

"Then I heard Keith. I heard him whack on the front door and come in. He said something like 'Oh my God!' And I knew then that Jimmy was shot. I ran out of my room and there Keith was, bending over Jimmy, this really bizarre look on his face. He said, 'He's dead, Sheila. What's going on?'" Sheila looked at me for a second, then back down at her hands. "He thought maybe I did it, but I told him no. He just looked at me and he knew. He said 'Your mama did this, huh?' So, see, even Keith guessed."

I was breathing through my mouth, trying to stay calm and focused. My thoughts were racing across my brain like thunderclouds, too fast to catch.

"Why didn't you call the police?" I asked.

Sheila gave me a look. "Mama! The cops would've thought one of us did it!" Sheila looked back at her hands, holding them out a little ways from her lap and staring at them. "I touched him, Mama. I had to make sure he was dead, even though Keith told me he was. I had blood on my hands, and some got on my jeans."

I reached over and took her hands in mine. They were freezing. "It's all right now, honey. Just keep telling me what happened."

"Keith told me to go on home. He said we should both get out and not tell anybody anything." Tears were dripping down off the end of Sheila's chin. "So, I did. It was dark, and I was so paranoid, I thought everyone was after me, that everybody knew what was going on. I kept ducking behind trees and stuff on my way to my car, because I thought every car that passed me was the cops, or you or Daddy or Jolene."

"Oh, honey, you must've been terrified!" My almost seventeen-year-old daughter, struggling with her uncle's murder, all alone.

"I got home and, for once, no one was there. I got to my room and got cleaned up before I heard Daddy pull in. He was drinking and looking for Jolene to fix him dinner. He didn't even notice anything was wrong." Just like the Vernell of late, oblivious to everything, even his own daughter. "Jolene came in an hour later, so loaded down with shopping bags she couldn't walk. She and Daddy got into it over her not having dinner on the table and it being almost eight-thirty." Sheila was clearly reliving that night, her face wrinkled with disgust. "She called him a drunk and he called her a slut. I just left. They never even knew I'd been in the room."

"Sheila," I said, "listen to me. I don't know who Jimmy was talking to, but it wasn't me. I didn't shoot your uncle. Now, we're going to have to do the right thing, and clean up this mess."

Sheila looked up at me, her eyes dark with suspicion. "What?" she asked.

"I want you to tell the police everything you just told me. They need to know."

"But Mama!" she wailed. "I can't! They won't believe us!"

"Sheila, it's going to look worse if they find out some other way, and believe me, eventually the police find out everything." I thought back to the look on Marshall Weathers's face last night as he held my gun up, waiting for me to come up with an explanation. He'd find this out, too. We'd have to tell him.

I looked at my watch. In two hours, he'd be at my front door, wanting to talk, wanting answers. My head was demanding my attention, pounding and throbbing. I looked over at Sheila and saw she didn't look much better. We had to pull it together before Marshall Weathers arrived.

"Sweetie," I said, "my head's killing me and you don't look so hot yourself. Why don't you go into your room and try and rest for a little while. I'm going to take something for my headache before Detective Weathers gets here. There's no sense in us calling him about this right now. It can wait a couple of hours."

To my surprise, she didn't fight me. She walked to her room like a zombie and lay across her old bed sideways. When I looked in ten minutes later, she was sleeping. I stumbled back to my room and fell across my bed; My head was banging against my skull, but that didn't stop me from closing my eyes. It had all been too much, and within moments I felt myself drifting off. It was a relief not to be conscious, not to think or remember.