I looked around the little room and realized that this was Jimmy's office. His nameplate was sitting on the edge of a bookshelf, and the space where it had been on the desk was rimmed with dust. Don Evans had wasted no time at all in moving in.
"Well, being as how Jimmy left his share in the business to me, I figure he'd want me to take care of it. I know how much it meant to him," I said.
Don Evans moved from behind the desk, a sad smile on his face. "Of course," he said. "What a wonderful attitude. You don't have to worry about this place on a day-to-day basis. Jimmy had it all set up. He barely had to do a thing except collect the money!" He chuckled. "I run the everyday business of the lot. I keep up with the salespeople, the business end of things, gettin' your trailers set out on the lots, all that petty stuff."
"Well, that's wonderful to hear," I said, putting on my best smile. "I just thought I'd come down, introduce myself, and find out a little more about how things are done. I'm sure my accountant can explain the financials of the business."
I didn't actually see Evans stiffen, but he did, ever so slightly, and his tone dropped a little. "Accountant?" he asked.
"Mr. Evans," I said, "I'll be frank with you. Over the past six years, I've heard Vernell and Jimmy argue, I don't know how many times, about the business. They each had their side to it, and it was clear to me that they each had a different opinion of how things ought to go. I figure I'm going to need to learn all I can about this place so I can hold my own with my ex."
Evans had a frozen smile on his face. "Well, of course," he said. "I'll be happy to show you everything. Miss Sexton can explain the books. She's been our bookkeeper for five years now."
"Oh, I'm not one for numbers," I said, walking up to the desk and running my finger through the dust outline of Jimmy's nameplate. "I'll just let Jerry do all that."
I hadn't planned on this. Driving up, I hadn't had any idea of where I was going to go with the Mobile Home Kingdom, but suddenly the idea of an audit crystalized. The more Evans seemed to blow me off, the firmer I was in my resolve, Crazy Jerry Sizemore would be just the ticket for this case.
I met Crazy Jerry when I bought the Curley-Que. My lawyer recommended him, and I soon found out why: Jerry was the best in the business, never mind that he was completely crazy.
Jerry had roared up to the Curley-Que that first time on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle, a big one, chopped with a front end that extended further than the legal limit, I was sure. He wore a fringed suede jacket and a coon-skin cap. His salt-and-pepper gray hair hung down to the middle of his back, and he had a ruby stud in his right ear. I hadn't wanted to hire him, but my attorney made me keep him.
He was a wild man, a Vietnam veteran who drank Wild Turkey and rode with bikers, but he was also brilliant. Jerry would get to the bottom of anything going on in the Mobile Home Kingdom, I felt sure.
"I'll have my accountant give you a call," I said. Evans was too wise to fight it, but the wheels were turning behind his eyes.
I stepped a little closer to Don Evans. "I can't stay too long today," I said. "But I thought it best that I stop by as soon as possible and introduce myself. I'm sure we'll work well together."
He didn't know what to say and I was sure he'd be on the phone to Vernell before my car was off the lot, but that was fine, too. On my way out, I popped in on Miss Sexton. She was staring intently at her computer screen, hoping I'd go away. I stood there for a second, watching her work. Another redhead, I thought. Poor old Jimmy.
"Miss Sexton," I said, stepping right up to her desk, "I'm Maggie Reid." She looked up, a flat, disinterested look on her face. "Jimmy left me his share of the business, so we'll be working together from now on." I let the words hang in the air for a moment, watching as they slowly filtered down through Miss Sexton's brain.
"My accountant will be coming by to look at the books. I'd appreciate all the help you can give him," I said. "Later on, after he's through, maybe we can get together and talk a little bit about the office."
"Yes, ma'am," she said. "We're all gonna miss Jimmy." A little tear welled up and spilled over her eyelid. Unless I missed my guess, she really meant it.
I left her there, dabbing gently at her eyes, and made my way out of the office. I'd had enough for my first visit. I'd know more after I sent Jerry in to nose around. I stepped out into the fresh air of the late fall afternoon and stood, surveying the vast lot of mobile homes. The blue pickup and angry driver had gone, but Tommy Purvis was entertaining another visitor.
He leaned against a late-model Thunderbird, his heavy butt jutting out into the late afternoon sunshine. From the way he had his torso half stuck into the driver's side, I figured it must've been a female admirer. I could've slid right past him, hopped into my car, and made a clean getaway, if not for the fact that Tommy's rear end and his girlfriend's Thunderbird were blocking my exit.
"Hey, Purvis," I called.
Tommy swung around, a displeased look on his face.
"Can you ask your girlfriend to move her car?" I asked.
The Thunderbird lurched forward suddenly, almost carrying Tommy with it. It didn't stop, careening with a rooster-tail of gravel as it left the lot. Tommy stared after the car in shock, but I knew why his female admirer had left so suddenly. It just wouldn't have done for a grieving widow like Roxanne to be caught flirting by her ex-sister-in-law.
Chapter Seventeen
I knew Jerry Lee Sizemore wouldn't disappoint me. His machine had been on when I'd called, but Jerry rarely answered the phone. "I don't like gettin' that personal with folks," he'd say. I knew otherwise. Jerry didn't answer the phone for two reasons: Half the time he was drunk, the rest of the time he was entertaining guests, usually women.
My lawyer explained it to me when she'd given me his name and number to call.
"Jerry Lee Sizemore doesn't have to work another day in his life. Back before he went to 'Nam, Jerry Lee was a geek, a financial genius, but a geek none the less. He invested in computers. Put that together with his partial disability payments, and Jerry could live out his days in modest comfort. Trouble is, Jerry runs to excess." She sighed, but there was a slight, knowing smile creeping across her face. It was the smile of a woman who's been there and liked what she found.
"Poor Jerry." She sighed again. "He's a genius. He'll take a look at the Curley-Que, and if it's right, no one'll know better than him. If he would only lay off the Wild Turkey and give up the hot tub…" She shook herself back to the present and handed me his card. "Have a good time," she said. "He's partial to redheads."
I'd called him that day. I was desperate to make the Curley-Que work. I was newly divorced and scared to death about my future. This just had to work.
His machine had come on after one ring.
"Tell me who you are," it barked. "Tell me what you want. And don't try and bullshit me with ideas. Just tell me the facts."
I was so thrown off by his message, I hung up. Then I rehearsed my message and called back. Jerry Lee Sizemore didn't surface for two whole days. Days that I spent anxiously waiting by the phone.
He called at two in the morning. I was sound asleep, but he sounded as if it were the peak of the day. He didn't apologize, just took down what information I had and hung up. Three days later, he turned up at my cottage.
I heard him long before I saw him. He rode his Harley without baffles, didn't care that it was against the law, and apparently didn't obey the helmet laws, either. I was outside planting pansies when he pulled up. He looked like any other biker with the exception of his fringed suede coat and his coon-skin cap. I knew he wasn't anyone I knew or was likely to know, so I ignored him. When he strode up my little walkway and planted himself in front of me, I finally looked up. Jerry Lee Sizemore was one frighening individual.