"I need to talk to Pauline, please." I smiled and tried to look harmless, like I'd dropped by for a glass of tea.
"She's not here," Christine said, but she was lying. I could hear water running in the background and someone was humming.
"I really do need to talk to her," I insisted.
"About what?" Christine's expression looked skeptical. Her eyes were narrowed and her mouth was a flat line of displeasure with what she was hearing.
"Nosmo King," I said. "She and my ex-husband were probably the last two people to see him alive. I just wanted to talk to her about-"
Christine cut me off. "You're Vernell Spivey's wife? Well, we for sure don't want to talk to you."
"Fine," I said, "then I'll just talk to the police about it."
It always works on TV, but Christine wasn't buying it.
"Fine then," she said. "Talk to them." And closed the door.
I stood out in the hall listening to her footsteps dying away, hoping to hear her talking to Pauline, but there was not a sound.
"Great," I muttered. "Some detective I am."
I rode the elevator back downstairs, walked outside, and found Sheila and Wombat deep in conversation with a young guy with long stringy hair and a goatee. Sheila had a knack for attracting oddballs.
I walked to the truck, pulled open the squeaky door, and climbed up inside. Sheila noticed me, waved me off, and continued talking. I watched her through the rearview mirror, watching her toss her head and laugh at something the boy said. She was so young, and despite her facade, so vulnerable.
After a few moments, Sheila stood, gathering Wombat up into her arms and saying her good-byes. The kid watched her walk away and I watched them both in the mirror. Young love.
I cranked the truck as she stepped up into the cab.
"I believe you could find a boy to talk to in an all-girls school, Sheila."
Sheila smiled and tried to speak without moving her lips. "Mama, just wait until he can't see us."
I shrugged and pulled back out onto Elm Street. I debated for a moment about where to go and then figured my house was best, even though it was broad daylight.
Sheila startled me when she started talking again. "Mama, that was no boy, as in attractive, go-out-with type boy. He works as a maintenance guy at the condos."
"Nothing's wrong with a service profession," I started.
"Mama, get a grip! That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying he's worked on that girl's apartment and he was telling me all about her." Sheila took a deep breath. "Mama, she is, like, totally shallow, you know what I'm saying? Like totally not authentic. She was Nosmo King's, like, woman. He paid for everything. The apartment and all is in his name. Did you know that?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"Well, so, like, did you know that Nosmo was cheating on his girlfriend with her own girlfriend?"
Now she had me. I looked over at her. "What do you mean?"
Sheila sighed. "What do I mean? I mean, Todd said that once, when Pauline was out, he had to go in and do something to, like, her toilet or something. And guess what? That King guy was there, and so was this friend of Pauline's, some blonde girl that's always around. Well," she said, "the blonde girl was topless. See, they didn't know Todd was coming. And when he opened the door…"
Sheila started laughing. "The old fart was in his boxers and the blonde was like on his lap. The old guy jumps up and the blonde falls over and Todd said he was, like, too freaked to move." Wombat shifted in Sheila's lap, unable to get comfortable with the amount of wiggling Sheila was doing to tell the story.
"What happened?"
"What happened?" Sheila echoed. "The old guy, King, goes ballistic. He freaking screams at Todd for, like, five minutes before it dawns on him that Todd could dime him out to his girlfriend."
"Then what?"
"Todd just like stood there, grinning, until the old guy gives him, get this, a one hundred dollar bill, and tells him to forget about it, or else." Sheila shook her head. "Todd was, like, about to wet his pants then on account of he sees a gun out on the table. Todd is like a vegan. He's, like, totally nonviolent." She sighed. "I'm thinking he won't remember my number because he didn't have a pen."
I thought about Todd, the mental image of him burned into my memory, and hoped he wouldn't remember her number. On the other hand, Todd certainly was full of information about Pauline Conrad and her friends.
"So what else?" I asked.
"Mother," Sheila said, "like, isn't that enough!"
"Yeah, baby," I laughed. "That is actually a gracious plenty."
"Thank you," she said.
We drove on to the house, each lost in her thoughts. I had to figure out where to put Sheila so she'd feel a part of things and yet be safe. I had only two hours left before I was due at the Golden Stallion and something had to be done. I thought about Carlucci for a second, but just as quickly discarded him. No way was I subjecting us to him again. And then I thought about Marshall Weathers.
What Carlucci said wasn't true. Weathers and I had an understanding. He didn't want a relationship. Well, neither did I. I'd thought about it. My life was fine without a man in it. I had a great job, a great daughter, and lots of wonderful friends. If I wanted a relationship, I could have one any time at all. I just didn't want one. And of course I was feeling a little needy right now. Who wouldn't, with someone trying to kill you and get money from you that you don't have and with your ex in jail for murder?
"Humph!" I said, forgetting Sheila was there.
"So who are you thinking about, Mama?"
I shook my head. "Just life in general, babe."
We turned onto our street and were headed for the drive back into the alley when I spotted the patrol car.
"Oh great!" Sheila said. "Now he's having us staked out! If he's so worried why doesn't he let Daddy out?"
We swung around to the back, pulled up in the backyard, and climbed the stairs to the door.
Wombat, new to the situation, stepped over the threshold and sniffed. He trotted past us and walked right up to the spot where my intruder had died at Tony Carlucci's hands. Wombat sniffed, then yipped, and then without warning, urinated all over the floor.
"Oh gross!" Sheila cried.
I walked past her into the kitchen, picked up a roll of paper towels and a bottle of disinfectant, then handed them to my wrinkle-nosed daughter.
"Welcome to parenthood, baby," I said. "It's tough, but ultimately rewarding."
Sheila sighed. "Whatever."
Chapter Twenty-four
While Sheila cleaned up after Wombat, I listened to my messages. There were the usual assortment of hang-ups and solicitations, then Terry Griswald from the Mobile Home Kingdom came on.
"Ms. Reid," he said, his voice thin with anxiety. "The fellas heard about Vernell being arrested. I'm sorry, but done all of 'em walked out. I'm still here, though. Are you gonna be coming down anytime soon? I reckon we oughta talk. That VanScoy fella stopped by again. Said to tell you and Vernell it's seventy-five now. Well, all right, I guess. Call me."
He sounded desperate. I figured he was, too. Christmas would be coming up in six weeks. I knew he had a wife and new baby to think about. What was I going to do?
The next message was from Vernell himself. "Hey, baby," he said. "Listen, you've gotta take care of a couple of things for me." Yeah, right, like returning three million dollars to the Redneck Mafia. "Call Brenda McCoy at Cornerstone Realty and tell her to just hold on. I'll be ready to sign the contract in a couple of days. The same with the house, too. Tell her I want a full-price offer."
Then Vernell cleared his throat and hesitated. "Baby, listen, I don't want you to think nothing about this, but if she says anything about the Satellite Kingdom being up for sale, don't worry. I'm just selling off the land and the office. It's no big thing. I talked to the lawyer and all after you left. It don't look like I'll be leaving here for a little while, so I'm gonna need you to kinda step in and help me out." There was a pause and then Vernell spoke again, so softly I could almost not make out the two familiar words. "I'm sorry."