I had to be hallucinating. He couldn't be here, but he was. Marshall Weathers held me fast, his mustache brushing against my ear as he pulled me tight against him.
"Let me see Sheila." I quit moving and stood still, waiting for him to let go.
"All right," he said. "That's it. That's better."
"Jolene killed Jimmy and Jerry Lee," I said, trying to catch my breath.
"I know," he said calmly.
"You know? How do you know?" I couldn't stand it. Always in control, never surprised, Detective You-Can't-Tell-Me-A-Thing Weathers. "And what are you doing here?" I asked.
"Maggie, we recovered a tiny piece of a partial print when the crime lab processed your gun." I nodded slowly. "It took a while, and the lab used a pretty advanced technique, but we found one. That's why I'm here."
"Jolene's print, huh?"
Weathers shook his head. "No, Don Evans's. It wasn't until we started surveillance that I knew about Jolene. She picked him up yesterday and we followed them here. That's when we started to figure out what was going on. Then Bobby called and told me about Sheila. That started making the pieces fall into place."
"So you knew."
"Well, let's say I had a pretty good idea," he said. "I didn't have the Jolene piece and still wasn't sure."
"She and Don were ripping off Jimmy, and he found out."
Weathers nodded. "We were working on getting them out of the beach house when you and Vernell arrived. I had the realty company call and say they were sending in workmen. We had this all staged," he said, gesturing toward the accident scene. "We wanted them out in the open, so we could control the situation." There was that C word again.
"Where's Sheila?" I said, looking around. "I need to see her."
"You can see her, but then we'll get on to the hospital."
"Why? Oh God!" I said. "Vernell! Is he at the hospital?"
"No, he's all right. He's with Sheila. You're the one who needs a hospital."
"I don't need to go to the hospital!" I said, and started to walk away from him.
"No, that's right, you don't." He reached up and touched the side of my head, his hand coming away covered with blood. "You can just bleed all over yourself until you die." He was getting worked up again. His jaw twitched angrily. "You don't need a damn hospital. What you need is a little time in jail for obstructing justice!"
The sight of blood, my blood on his hand, suddenly made me feel a little woozy. Weathers sensed this and softened a little.
"It ain't gonna kill you, but you'll need some stitches."
I looked past him and saw Sheila walking toward me with Vernell on one side and Keith on the other. Sheila was clinging to her father's arm, her head on his shoulder. Keith seemed to have been forgotten, and, if I knew my ever-changeable daughter, that probably meant he was already a fading memory. True life-and-death trauma can take the thrill out of young-love romance. Slowly, the world seemed to come back into focus, and I realized how tired I was, and how scared I'd been.
"Is it really over?" I asked Marshall.
"Yeah, honey," he said gently, "it's really over."
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was good to be back, doing the one thing that seemed to come natural to me: singing. When I walked into the Golden Stallion, for the first time in days, the boys fell all over themselves. Was I sure I wanted to sing tonight? Was I really all right? They didn't know how badly I needed this time, how much I wanted to feel normal again. Harmonica Jack knew. He didn't say a word, just smiled and took my guitar from me.
"I'll put it out on its stand," he said. "You go puke or whatever it is you do in the ladies' room."
I wanted to say something to him, but it wasn't necessary. Whatever might have passed between us was best not examined. We had a connection that bridged the usual man-woman type stuff, and I'd never had that before. So, I walked away.
Just before the band got started, Jack walked up again. A tall, very thin woman with short silver hair stood by his side, smiling expectantly. She looked like a floating angel, barely touching the ground, her skin a translucent white. I knew in an instant who she was, and I also knew something else. She was very, very ill.
"Hey, Maggie," he said. "This is Evelyn. Mom, this is Maggie."
Evelyn reached out and slipped a thin hand into mine. "I've been waiting to meet you," she said, her voice escaping in a delicate whisper, "but my body doesn't seem to want to cooperate these days."
My eyes met Jack and finally I understood his sadness.
"Evelyn's gonna stay for the first set," he said softly. "I'll go get her settled in."
Evelyn and I looked at each other and smiled.
"I really like your son," I said. "He's always talking about you."
Evelyn smiled and slipped her arm through his. "I'm right fond of him myself," she said. "But he needs to eat more." She looked from him back to me, her head moving quickly, like a little bird. "Maybe you can make sure he eats now and then?" she said.
"There's nothing I like better than laying on a home-cooked meal," I said. "Maybe I can get you both over for a Sunday dinner."
"Maybe," she said, her face suddenly wistful.
Sparks looked over and gave us the high sign; it was time. Jack steered Evelyn away and I walked offstage to wait for my cue.
The first set went off like clockwork, not a missed note, not a harmony out of place. I was back and it was good. Even Sparks was happy, his ten-gallon, white straw Stetson nodding over the pedal steel. But I should've known it wouldn't last. In the middle of the second set, while I was singing a particularly slow ballad, I saw Sugar Bear look offstage at something I couldn't see, nod, and walk over to Sparks.
This was all accomplished while Sugar Bear was picking out his solo, but he never missed a note. Jack didn't see the conversation between Sparks and Sugar Bear because he was trying to put a riff behind Bear's solo. I came back in for the last few lines, but not before I saw Sparks look over at me, frown, and then give the nod to Sugar Bear.
Before the next song could start, Sparks beckoned me over.
"Maggie, sit this one out."
"What do you mean, sit this one out? I'm the singer. I don't sit out!" If there was going to be trouble, I wanted in on it. If Sparks still had an axe to grind with me, he'd soon find out that I was no longer a pushover.
"Calm down, Maggie," he sighed. "Bear's just been working on something he wants to try."
"Oh," I said, still suspicious, but relieved that it wasn't a problem with me.
"You can put something behind it if you want," he said.
I looked over at Sugar Bear, who was adjusting my vocal mike to his height. He looked like a frightened teddy bear. To my knowledge, Sugar Bear had never sung the lead on a song. He was too bashful. In fact, I couldn't recall ever hearing him hum, let alone sing.
"What's he going to do?" I asked.
Sparks shoved his hat back on his head. "Some request. A Clint Black tune. 'Our Kind of Love.' You know it?"
Know it? It was my favorite cut off my favorite CD. Before Jimmy'd died, I'd listened to it almost every day. I'd sung the harmony along with Allison Krauss so many times, I could probably sing it in my sleep.
"Great! No problem. I'll do the harmony."
Sparks wasn't listening. He was counting off the intro and giving Bear an intense glare that said, "You'd best not mess this up!"
I walked to the side of the stage and brought Bear's mike down to my level. Jack was all the way across the stage, blowing his harmonica with his eyes closed, dancing in place. I started nodding, tapping my foot in time to the bass. When Sugar Bear began to sing, I stopped short. His voice rang through, rich and deep and very pure.
"Long ago, with a younger partner…"