Your Cheatin Heart

Chapter Thirty

As I saw it, I had only one option. My daughter was missing, at least to me, and I needed to go over to Vernell's New Irving Park palace, wake everybody up, and assure myself of her safety. If that was an inconvenience to Vernell and the lovely Dish Girl, well, so be it and I hated it for them. Parenthood was not without its tribulations and rewards. Maybe old Vernell needed to be reminded of his parental responsibilities.

If Sheila wasn't home, he needed to be up and by my side until we found her. If she was home, then the lovely Jolene needed to answer the phone when I called looking for my daughter and not leave it to the answering machine. The way I saw it, people didn't call your house at one A.M. unless it was a total, life-threatening emergency. I always answered my phone when it rang in the middle of the night.

Armed with this justified way of thinking, and warmed by dry clothing, I set off across town. I hadn't gone two miles when I realized I had trouble. My car, always reliable, seemed to have caught cold. It was coughing and wheezing, and when I hit the light at Green Valley and Battleground, it died and almost didn't start up again.

"Don't do this," I pleaded. "Not now." But my little VW, Abigail, couldn't help herself. She was struggling to keep going north on Battleground, but we made the split onto Lawndale, with Abigail choking and dying out unless my foot was constantly tapping the accelerator. By the time we wound our way through to Vernell's street, I knew she wouldn't make it home again. Abigail waited until we were on the downhill slope of Vernell's little cul-de-sac to die. I lifted my foot off the accelerator, slipped her into neutral, and coasted to a halt just inside Vernell's cobblestoned driveway.

"Oh, well, that's that." I sighed. I was not a Triple A member, a fact I deeply regretted at that moment, and one I promised myself to rectify just as soon as I got back home.

"Well, girl, at least you got me here." My voice sounded loud in the stillness of Vernell's dignified street. There was not one light on inside any house in the circle, including Vernell's. We'd slid to a stop just behind Sheila's black Mustang convertible, but that meant nothing. She'd been driving Keith's truck that morning.

Vernell's Day-Glo orange panel truck stood next to Sheila's little car. Too large to fit in his garage, I was certain status-conscious Jolene had plenty to say about Vernell bringing the revolving Jesus home to rest in her driveway.

"Glad that's not my problem," I muttered and headed up the drive to ring the front doorbell.

As I pressed the brass button, I noticed one little light on in the back of the house. Someone might be up. I pressed my face to the cut-glass oval that took up half of the heavy wooden door, and tried to see into the house. At the same time, I kept my finger continuously pressed on the doorbell. Someone was moving toward me, shuffling slowly, half bent over, and weaving from side to side. Vernell.

"Where's the fire?" he called. He swung open the door and a loud voice startled both of us.

"Intruder! Intruder! Front entrance. You have twenty seconds to disarm!"

Vernell looked momentarily confused and worried, then disgusted. "Dag-blamed security system!" He turned away from me and began stabbing a pudgy finger at the keypad by the front door. "If it ain't one thing it's another with this place," he grumbled. He was wearing his blue polyester leisure suit, rumpled and stained from what looked like continuous wear without benefit of washing.

"Come in! Come on in!" Vernell's dark hair stood up in tufts across the top of his head. "I was just talking to you, anyway," he said. Vernell's breath and body smelled of liquor and I could see a bottle of Wild Turkey sitting out on the kitchen table.

I followed him into the kitchen, tempted a few times to reach out and grab him as he threatened to do damage to a fancy doodad or knock into a framed picture with his drunken body.

"Vernell," I said, "do you know what time it is?"

"You come all this way to ask me the time?" Vernell looked genuinely puzzled. "Well, I reckon it's coming up on ten o'clock."

"Vernell, it is two-thirty in the morning."

"Well, if you knew, why'd you ask?" Vernell eyed me suspiciously. "This is some kind of test, isn't it? You just want to know how much I been drinking. Just like Jolene-hellfire, just like any woman. That's the trouble with you people, always asking questions. Wanting to talk about your feelings." Vernell was on the verge of a sermon.

"Vernell, hush! Where's Sheila?"

Vernell's eyes cleared for one second. "Why, ain't she with you?"

"Vernell!"

"Well, honey, she called hours ago. Told Jolene she was going to stay at your place tonight on account of you had a headache."

My heart jumped up into my throat. "Where's Jolene? Let me talk to her! Wake her up!" I jumped up from the table and stood staring down at Vernell.

"Can't do it," he said slowly. "Jolene ain't here either. She's over to her mama's on account of her mama being sick. She's helping out." Vernell looked morose. "Well, that and maybe she got a little hot because I was drinking."

"Come on," I said, grabbing the shot glass out of his hand.

I was off, heading for the stairs, looking for anything that might tell me where Sheila had gone. Vernell puffed along behind me.

"Up at the top of the stairs to the right," he said. "When's the last time you talked to her?" Vernell's voice had changed. He sounded almost sober and definitely worried.

"About four or five this afternoon. She lay down in her room to take a nap. Vernell, last time I checked on her, she was sleeping." It's my fault, I thought. I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I should've done something, everything, differently.

I ran down the hallway, knowing without being told which room was Sheila's. I'd been sitting across that street for so many nights, watching that little light over her desk, trying to catch a glimpse of my girl, hoping to know for sure that she was home where she belonged. Where was she now?

Vernell pounded right behind me, stopping at the entrance to Sheila's room as I ran inside. I stood still and looked around. It was every teenage girl's dream. A beautiful brass daybed, piled high with lacy pillows. White carpeting and pink walls, thick crown molding, and a walk-in closet crammed with all the latest fashions from Sheila's favorite stores. A lot of the clothing still had price tags hanging from the sleeves. Sheila couldn't possibly have worn all those things.

"Vernell, my God, did you let her buy all those things?" I asked.

Vernell seemed as puzzled as me. "No, I guess Jolene must've done it. You know how she likes shopping." He peered deeper into the closet. He sighed. "Women. I don't recall you ever having that many outfits. Jolene says we gotta look the part. She says image is everything."

I could just hear those words dripping off her lips.

"Vernell," I said, "it don't matter if you paint the barn black or white, it's still a barn. Now let's get to it."

"To what, Maggie? She ain't here. Let's start calling her friends."

"Vernell, unless you've been spending a lot of time around her new school and know some things I don't, we don't know any of her friends. And think about it, Vernell, if your best friend ran off, would you tell where he was?"

Vernell spent too long pondering his answer, and I couldn't wait. I pulled open the drawer of her nightstand, looking for her phone book or anything that could help us.

"What about her boyfriend?" he asked. "Keith."

"I don't know his phone number," I said, tugging at Sheila's crammed bedside drawer. "We'll have to ride by, but I doubt she's there. He lives with his parents."

Sheila's drawer was full of letters and photographs, some of which spilled over and fell onto the floor as I wrestled to get the drawer all the way open. It was stuck on something, and I couldn't quite reach it with my fingers.

"Well, least we can do is ride by," Vernell huffed. "Let me get that." He pushed me aside, reached for the drawer, and gave it a mighty tug. The crystal lamp began to topple, the pink princess phone slid, and the drawer came flying open. Papers rained everywhere and a small clothbound book fell out onto the floor, its cover scuffed and bent from its tussle with Vernell.

"There it is," he said.

"This isn't her phone book," I said, picking the small journal up and flipping through the pages. "This is her diary."

I sank down onto her bed and started leafing through the purple ink-covered pages, looking for the last entry. I'd never gone through Sheila's things before and I felt slightly guilty for doing it now, but a crisis was a crisis.

I will carry flowers on the beach, she wrote in large loopy script. My heart froze. Red ones. And Keith says he knows a guy ordained by that mailorder Universalist Church of Higher Love that's gonna do the ceremony.

I read the words aloud as Vernell sank down beside me. "No," he moaned softly. "No."

It won't be that church wedding my mama wants. Sheila wrote, but at least we'll have the beach. Keith says our lives will be bonded together forever. We will share our future. What's his will be mine, and what's mine will be his. We won't ever get like Mama and Daddy did. Our love will last. True love forever.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, dripping onto the purple ink and leaving blotches of pale purple tears. Vernell, reading over my shoulder, reached out and put an arm around me.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said softly. "I really am sorry."

"We can't get into all that right now," I said, looking up and folding the book shut. "We've got to stop them."

"You wanna ride by Keith's place?"

I stood up and pulled a pale pink tissue from the box on Sheila's nightstand.

"Yeah, just to make sure," I said, "but then we'd better get a move on."

Vernell looked puzzled, and still sad. "Get a move on?"

"Vernell, don't you realize where they've gone?"

"To the beach?" he said. "Maggie, they could be anywhere. Hell, they could be in Daytona with all them bikers and-"

I cut him off. "Vernell, they're at your parents' place. That's the only beach house Sheila knows. That's where she'd go. She knows nobody'd be there this time of year."

Vernell just stared at me for a moment, as if reading my lips and hoping to make sense out of what he saw and heard. His little girl, marrying a skinhead on the beach outside of his parents' beach house. It was all more than he could imagine. Then something else happened. Vernell returned. Not the Vernell I'd seen drunk and out of control, but Vernell the self-made man, Vernell the survivor, Vernell the man who wasn't about to let a boy ruin his daughter's life.

"All right," he said, his voice strong and filling the frilly bedroom, "let's ride." He moved past me, down the hallway, down the stairs, and over to the hat rack by the front door where he grabbed his white straw cowboy hat. He stopped by the front hall table, scooped up a set of keys and his cell phone. We were outside in the cold morning air, heading for my car, before I remembered that it wouldn't run.

"Vernell," I said. "Wait. My car died in the driveway. Let's take Sheila's car."

Vernell stopped on a dime and looked over at me. "Can't," he said.

"Why not?"

"I don't got a key. Sheila has it."

"Well, where's your car?" We were taking too long. We needed to be leaving. For all I knew, the wedding could be taking place first thing in the morning. It would take four hours to reach Holden Beach, and we'd have to be flying to do that.

"Calm down, honey," he said. "My car's at the office. We gotta take the truck. Let's go!"

Vernell had opened the door, hopped up in the cab, and started the engine before I reached the passenger side. So much for keeping a low profile, I thought. The satellite dish groaned as it began to turn, and we were off, backing down Vernell's driveway, and out into the street "Rock of Ages" bellowed out into the silent cul-de-sac, and one by one lights began coming on. Vernell's neighbors had to hate him.

"Vernell, can't you cut that down?"

"Say what?" he yelled. "I can't hear you with the music on."

"Turn it off!" I screamed.

Vernell calmly reached up under the dash and hit a toggle switch. "You don't have to yell," he said.

"Just drive, Vernell." I sighed and looked out the side window. He was impossible.

"Where to?"

"Keith lives three doors down from my place. I suggest we ride by, see if his truck is there, and if it isn't, check my place. Maybe she came back after I left." But I knew it was pointless. Sheila was in Holden Beach.

Vernell drove the truck like a sports car, careening around corners, sliding up on curbs, and running the truck flat-out and wide-open. If our mission hadn't been so serious, we might've enjoyed ourselves. It was like the old days, in high school, when we rode around the Virginia countryside, whooping out the windows and feeling the air fresh in our faces. Back then, we were reckless and carefree. Back then we would've done anything on a dare. Now our daughter had replaced us, and it was up to us to save her from herself.

"He's not there," I said. We were running down my street at fifty miles an hour, narrowly squeezing past cars parked on either side of the street. Vernell was either one hundred percent sober, or a very skilled drunk driver.

"Stop in front of my place and I'll run in and check."

Vernell stood on the brakes and skidded to a stop. "Hurry it up!" he said.

We both knew it was pointless. I ran up the steps, slammed the side of my fist into the front door, and stepped inside my darkened house.

"Sheila?" I called, switching on the light and moving rapidly toward the back of the house. No answer. "Sheila?"

Of course she wasn't there. Her room was undisturbed, except for the slight rumpling of the quilt where she'd lain sleeping the last time I'd seen her. I moved on to my room and glanced at the answering machine. No blinking red light. No messages.

"I'm having a bad feeling," I said aloud to the empty room. I picked up the phone and dialed the number that had stuck in my head, unwanted, since the first and only time I'd called it. "A really bad feeling," I said again.

"This is Corporal Marshall J. Weathers of the Greensboro Police Department," a familiar deep bass voice said. I sucked in my breath, about to answer him, but he went on. "I am away from my desk or out of the office. Please leave me a brief, detailed message and I will get back to you as soon as possible." There was a pause and then the familiar beep.

"Detective Weathers, this is Maggie Reid. Sheila's run off with her boyfriend, to Holden Beach, and I think she intends to get married, maybe in Myrtle Beach. She's underage, as you well know, and I don't like this guy. He's been arrested before, but I guess you know that. Can you call down there? Do you know anyone? I'm heading down there, but I don't know if I'll make it in time." I was running out of time and breath. "Oh, shoot, I know what. Never mind, I'll page you."

I hung up and dug deep in my jeans pocket for his card. "If you need me, page me," he'd said. I needed him. I punched in the number, waited for the series of beeps, and then punched in Vernell's cell phone number. I hesitated for a second, then punched in 911. "That oughta get you," I said to the lifeless phone, and ran out of the house.

Vernell was still sitting in the middle of the street, the Jesus satellite dish spinning around like a dancing girl on top of his truck. When he saw me, he gunned the engine and motioned for me to hurry.

"What'd you take so long for?" he asked.

"You got your cell phone on?"

Vernell gave me a "Do you really take me for an idiot?" look, and pointed to the cell phone that lay on the seat between us. A green light winked on and off. "Of course," he said. "I am never out of communication." He meant he was never off Jolene's leash, but I didn't say a word.

Lying under the phone was an assortment of papers and junk. A thick white envelope with a Flatiron and Scruggs, Attorneys at Law, return address caught my eye.

"Vernell," I said, pulling the envelope out from under the phone. "Aren't these Jimmy's lawyers?"

Vernell looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, technically, they're the attorneys for the business, but he used them to do his estate stuff, too."

"So, is this about Jimmy's estate?" I asked.

Vernell looked over at the envelope and changed the subject. "Let's not talk business," he said. "Not at a time like this, limes like this make me remember what we had, Maggie,"

"Vernell," I cautioned. But it was too late. We were headed out of town on Highway 220, in a fluorescent orange panel truck, with Jesus dancing on top of our heads, trying to save Sheila from a fate worse than death, and Vernell was choosing this moment to get nostalgic.

"Maggie, face facts. Jolene don't love me. She thinks I'm a withered up old man, made of money." I looked over at him, and was surprised to see that Vernell Spivey was actually crying. Tears ran down his weather-toughened cheeks.

"Oh, Vernell," I said, "now that just can't be so. She married you. She chased up after you for years." The words were hollow comfort, and I knew it as well as he did. Vernell had driven his ducks to bad market and they were coming home to roost.

My fingers picked at the envelope in my hands, bringing my attention back to it.

"Is this a copy of Jimmy's will?" I asked.

"No." He moaned. "She never did love me. Even Jimmy knew that. He tried to warn me right before he died." Vernell was milking this act, I could tell from the way he kept casting nervous little looks over at the envelope. He was trying to lead me away from the envelope, like a papa bird leading a cat away from the nest.

"Well, is it?" I asked.

"Is it true?" he said. "I don't know. I only have what Jimmy said to go on, and Lord knows he was jealous to beat the band."

"Vernell, answer me. Is this Jimmy's will?"

"Jimmy always said she wanted me for my money. Said she'd crawl up my back with spikes to get to the next best thing. Bleed me dry, is what he said. Jimmy done told me, I walked out on the best woman in the world and I-"

"Vernell, I'm gonna look for myself!" I lifted the flap and pulled out the sheaf of papers that filled it.

"Maggie! I'm trying to talk to you!" he said. "Don't you have a lick of respect for other people's privacy?"

I didn't listen; instead, I read the enclosed letter. Vernell had asked for a copy of the will. He wanted to contest it, the snake!

Highlighted in yellow were all the parts of the document pertaining to the business, including my name and Sheila's. Roxanne had been given a life insurance policy and set up with a trust fund which would dole out money monthly. Jimmy had signed over his portion of the satellite dish business to Vernell, so the lawyers seemed to feel Vernell couldn't do a thing about it. It was signed and witnessed, all legal and binding.

"Maggie," Vernell said, "it wasn't nothing personal."

I didn't even look at him. I was afraid I'd hit him if I saw that pitiful look he always wore when he knew he was in deep trouble with me. I stared at the will, forcing myself to concentrate on the paper. Signed and sealed, all good and proper. Bertie Sexton had notarized it, and Sheila's Keith and Don Evans had witnessed it, so Jimmy must've signed it in his office.

"Now, Maggie, honey, don't be mad."

I looked up at him. "Why should I be mad, Vernell? Because you want me to believe that you think you've made a terrible mistake leaving me? You can't break the will, so you want to con me into coming back to you? I don't think so, Vernell. I really don't."

"Honey, Jolene's the one started this whole mess. She called the attorney. Said we needed to make sure of our rights, and little Sheila's, too. I mean, what if Roxanne was to contest the will? And what if something was to happen to you, God forbid? I'd have to look out for Sheila's interests. She'd inherit the whole forty-nine percent. Lord." Vernell whistled. "Cain't you just see her, eighteen and loaded? You think that closet's full now!"

"So Jolene's behind it, huh? I don't buy for a New York minute that she had Sheila's best interests at heart." In fact, little pieces of the puzzle were all starting to come together in my head.

"Maggie! I can't believe you would think such a thing as that!" Vernell said, but his words were wasted. The cell phone began to chirp and we both grabbed for it.

Vernell snatched it out of my hands. "Give me that! What if it's Jolene?"

"What do you care, Vernell?" I said sarcastically. "She's just a big mistake!" Vernell put the receiver to his ear and leaned away from me, causing the truck to lurch across two lanes of highway.

"Vernell!" I hissed. "Pay attention!"

"Hello, sugar," he cooed into the receiver. "Hey, who is this?" he said, his voice shifting angrily. "Oh!" Vernell was all cooperation now that he knew it was the cops. "Yes, Officer, she's right here. I'll put her on. You have a good evening, now, y'hear?"

Vernell glared over at me as he shoved the phone into my hand and whispered, "Why didn't you tell me you gave a cop my number?"

"And when could I have gotten a word in edgewise?" I hissed back.

"Hello?"

"Maggie Reid?" I didn't recognize the voice and my heart lurched. Where was Weathers?

"Yes," I answered.

"Maggie, it's Bobby, Marshall Weathers's partner."

"Oh, hey, Bobby." His voice was tinny and faraway sounding.

"Listen, Marshall got your message and your page, but he's out of town. He asked me to call and see what you needed."

Well, I wasn't going to tell him. It was one thing to ask Marshall Weathers for a favor; but it was another thing again to ask an almost total stranger.

"When's he coming back, Bobby?"

"Well, I don't know for sure." Bobby's voice had taken on a formal, "I can't talk about police business" tone that I knew all too well from Weathers.

"Well," I hedged, "it can wait awhile, Bobby. I didn't mean to trouble him."

"Well, Maggie, you punched nine-one-one in after your number…"

I decided to play dumb. "I'm sorry, Bobby. My daughter ran off to Holden Beach with her boyfriend, and I panicked. But I know where she is now and I've got it all under control. I'm on my way there with her daddy. We've got it covered."

Bobby was not at all sure, but he had no choice. "I'll be calling him back," he said. "Do you want me to give him a message?"

"No," I said. "It can wait. Good night."

I hung up the phone without waiting for him to end the call. I didn't want any more questions. He'd already given me the one piece of information I needed: Marshall Weathers was not available. Taking care of my daughter would be entirely up tome.

I stared at down at my lap, my eyes slowly focusing on Jimmy's will. Sheila and I stood to inherit a large amount of money. Of course, we couldn't inherit if we were dead; Vernell would cash in then. I looked over at him; his roughened hands gripped the wheel, and he bit into his lower lip like a kindergartener. Vernell was not a murderer. He was foolish and bad to drink, but he wasn't a killer.

"Vernell?" I asked softly. "Think back a second. Jolene sure didn't seem too upset when I got that threatening phone call about Sheila. Remember that night? Jolene doesn't care about Sheila." And she doesn't care about you, and she pure-T hates me. "How sure are you that Jolene's with her mother?"

"Well, God, Maggie, where else would she be?" He looked across at me and saw the frightened look on my face. "Maggie, you don't think…"

Vernell's face crumpled for a brief moment, then hardened.

"Vernell," I said, my voice shaking, "hit the gas. I think Sheila's in a world of trouble."