Tony's eyes narrowed. "Something like that."
I straightened my back, pushed the hair out of my face, and frowned. "First off, there wasn't time to call you. Second, Marshall Weathers found us, I didn't call him. And third, I don't really know a thing about you. What if you're looking to hurt Vernell, just like the others are looking to do?"
Tony folded his thick forearms and the frown on his face deepened. "So you're saying basically that you don't trust me."
"Something like that," I echoed.
"That's why you didn't tell me straight out when you got home?"
I walked past him to the coffeepot, grabbed a mug from the hooks that lined the underside of his cabinets, and poured myself a cup of steaming coffee.
"I didn't tell you because I wasn't ready to tell you. I wanted to talk to Vernell first, find out what's really going on. I have a history with him. I don't have one with you."
He'd talked to Bess. She'd told him. That much was easy to guess.
"You're playing it wrong, Maggie," he said. His eyes were narrow angry slits, and his face was set in cold, hard lines that sent a chill running through me.
"Take me home, please. Now."
"You can't go home."
That's when I lost my temper. "Yes, I can. Watch me, Mr. Carlucci. You can take me home, or I can call a cab or I can call a friend, or"-and I let the word dangle for a second-"I can call a cop. Somehow, I don't think you're exactly in favor of that idea, are you?"
He took a step toward me, and I braced myself, but I didn't move. I thought he was going to keep coming. I expected him to try and hurt me, but he didn't. He stopped himself, his fists clenched by his side, his face colored with a dusky red rage, and as I watched, he let it all go. He stared at me, never taking his eyes from my face. He inhaled, held it, and exhaled, visibly relaxing the muscles in his body.
"All right," he said at last, "I'll take you to your car. But it's not safe. I'm telling you they're looking for that money and they won't stop until they have it. Hurting you is just an amusement for them, Maggie."
I looked past him, out the window, staring at the barren fruit trees.
"They didn't have any trouble finding me here," I said. "You told me, the only way I can get out of this is to go see Vernell and get him to tell me where the money is. If they have their money, they'll leave me alone."
Tony reached for his jacket, pulling it off the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
"Then I'll take you," he said.
"I'll take myself."
Tony shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're a piece of work, Maggie Reid." He stepped closer to me, standing so close I could smell the leather and oil of his jacket. "Let me help you."
I wanted to tell him I didn't trust him, that I couldn't trust someone who carried that much excess anger around like spare luggage, but I couldn't say it.
"All right," I said finally. "Take me."
Chapter Twenty
Carlucci drove down Washington Street to the front of the Municipal Plaza, bumped his Harley up onto the sidewalk, and guided it across the concrete, almost to the broad steps that led to the police department. He stopped the bike in front of a statue of a policeman patting a little boy on the head.
"You're nuts," I said as I pulled off my helmet. "You're surrounded by cops and here you are begging for a ticket. What's wrong with you?"
He looked around the empty plaza. "I don't see anybody coming to take me in. They probably do it all the time themselves."
I shook my head, remembering how Weathers pulled up on the sidewalk exactly as Tony had, but the difference was that he was a police officer and Tony was definitely not one of them.
I handed him the helmet and walked away. Tony Carlucci was strange, and I didn't know that he was any of the things he said he was, or that I could trust him any further than I could throw him. But he was only one of my worries. Vernell and the Redneck Mafia were my main concerns.
By the time I'd worked my way up the stairs and into the lobby of the police department, I'd worked up a good head of steam. When I presented myself to the receptionist in the Criminal Investigation Department, I was almost shaking, I was so mad.
"Detective Weathers, someone's here to see you, says she's a Miss Reid."
I glared at her. "I am Ms. Reid," I snapped.
The receptionist looked startled.
"He'll be right out. Just have a seat over-"
"I'll stand right here," I said.
Weathers rounded the corner and found me waiting, my hands on my hips and a frown on my face.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"Across the street." He said it like maybe Vernell had stepped out for coffee, and not been locked up.
"Take me to him."
Weathers walked right on past me, opened the black door out into the corridor and held it open for me.
"Right this way."
I followed him, not trusting myself to look at his face. I stared at the wall as we walked, noting all the pictures of ex-chiefs and old police cars.
"Maggie, are you going to talk about this or not?"
I still couldn't look at him. "I'm listening."
Weathers opened the front door, led me around the corner of the building, and grabbed me by the shoulders.
"We have the gun, Maggie. It's registered in Vernell's name. He hadn't reported it missing or stolen. Maggie, you've got to face up to this. Vernell killed Nosmo King. He went over the edge. He's been headed this way his entire life."
I looked at the third button on his white oxford shirt.
"Maggie, look at me, damn it!"
I raised my eyes slowly, biting the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't give my feelings away.
"Vernell Spivey has as much as admitted that he killed Nosmo King. The man you put up with for all those years isn't who you thought he was. He tried, and I know you loved him for who you thought he might become, but Maggie, he killed Nosmo King."
"No, he didn't!" The tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn't see. Marshall Weathers began walking down a long outside corridor that led to a set of steps into the parking lot.
"Then I think you should talk to him. Let him explain it to you."
Weathers was calm, too calm. It was as if he trusted Vernell's reaction and I couldn't for the life of me see how. Vernell didn't kill Nosmo King.
We walked across the street, up a wide ramp to the glass doors leading into the sheriff's department and the city jail.
Weathers pulled open the front door, stepped inside, and turned left. He walked up to a small glass window, and spoke to the uniformed officer inside.
"We're here to interview Vernell Spivey," he said. He looked at me apologetically. "It's the only way I can get you inside," he said. "These aren't regular visiting hours. I have to go with you."
A buzzer sounded and Marshall pushed another door open, admitting us to a small room.
"Put your purse and anything in your pockets up on the counter," he said. He reached for his gun, put it in the tray that the jailer extended and then waited for me.
"Okay," Weathers said. "Here goes."
The heavy steel door in front of us swung open, revealing the jailer and a narrow, beige corridor. Weathers and the short, fat man exchanged pleasantries as we walked to the interview room, but I wasn't listening. The jail smelled of disinfectant. I could hear the clang of metal in the distance, the drone of a TV and the sounds of men's muffled voices.
We were led into a small room, just like the movies, with a Plexiglas shield, wooden chairs, and a scarred wooden counter between our side and the prisoner's.
How could Vernell Spivey have come to this?
The door swung open a few minutes later and Vernell stepped into the room, clad in a bright orange jumpsuit, a two-day growth of beard and a hangdog look on his face.