The bungalow smelled of pine. With evening's arrival, the lamps had begun to fill the rooms of the house with a warm, buttery glow. The hardwood floors gleamed and for a moment, it was as if nothing had ever happened in my home. For an instant, I was comfortable and safe, glad to be back. But then the little prickles of fear edged their way back into my awareness.
"Ah! Don't do that!" I cautioned myself. "Keep moving!"
I replayed Jerry's message, writing down the directions to his house. Then I grabbed my keys and my swimsuit and walked out the door, leaving every light in the house on. No more staying with Jack. No more running away. I was coming home tonight, this time for good.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was totally dark when I reached Jerry Lee Sizemore's house, but there was no mistaking it. A huge Vietnam veterans' MIA flag hung attached to a big post on one side of his driveway, and the American flag hung on the other side. The property was posted with NO TRESPASSING signs, barbed wire ran along the top of the chain-link fence, and the entrance gate, which was standing open, had a huge wrought iron S welded into the centerpiece. As I drove slowly past the entrance, I noticed yet another sign, smaller than the others, mounted on one side of the gate. "This property protected by Smith and Wesson."
As I moved into the long, pitch-dark driveway, lights flickered on, lighting my way down the rutted, red-clay drive. Jerry'd rigged motion lights on every pine tree that edged the drive. His big, log-cabin style house seemed to suddenly jump out in front of me, bathed in still more lights, with a circular drive and a flagpole that was mounted dead center in front of the house.
I pulled my car up to the front steps and cut the engine, afraid to open the car door and actually get out of my vehicle. A compound like this had to have a guard dog. With my luck, Jerry wouldn't get to me before the guard dog did.
After several minutes I realized the dog wasn't coming and neither was anyone else. I opened the car door and listened. In the distance I could hear music, Cream, from the 70s. The song was "White Room." No dog came to eat me, so I got out of the car and headed up the wide steps to the front door.
YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, a sign said, SO COME ON THROUGH THE HOUSE TO THE BACK. WE'RE PROBABLY IN THE HOT TUB.
My anxiety vanished. He and his friends were all partying in the back. He wasn't lying in wait to seduce me. I just had an overactive imagination, the same problem I'd had all my life.
I grabbed the large brass handle and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Jerry's house was as welcoming on the inside as it was forboding on the outside. Southwestern in theme, Jerry's living room was filled with overstuffed chairs and sofas in a brick red Indian blanket print. A book lay open, with a pair of reading glasses resting on the pages, beside a recliner. An empty shot glass stood next to the book.
I walked on, toward the sliding glass door that overlooked a massive deck. The music was louder now but still I could hear the swooshing sound of the hot tub. Tiki torches burned in holders along the deck railing. Huge potted fig trees and ferns lined the deck, making it a private nighttime enclave. Now I knew why Jerry liked to conduct his business from the hot tub; his deck was an oasis.
I stepped out onto the deck, gently closing the sliding glass door behind me. At the far end was the hot tub, or at least I assumed so from the sound of water. It was hidden completely by plants and flowers.
"Jerry?" I called.
No answer.
"Hey, I hope you're semi-decent." I was walking slowly across the deck, an uneasy feeling beginning to gnaw at my stomach. Maybe he'd passed out. "Hey, Jer, it's me, Maggie…" I stepped to the edge of the fake forest. There was no sound, only the music and the gurgling of the hot tub. The night sky above me was black and starless.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to slip through the screen of plants. Jerry Lee Sizemore lay on his back, his body swirling slowly in the twelve-person hot tub, an ugly red stain blossoming across his chest.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When he answered the phone, I held it tighter against my ear, witling him through the receiver and into my head, willing him to lend me some of his strength.
"Help me," I said, my voice barely rising above a whisper. "Oh my God, help me."
"Maggie?" Marshall Weathers knew my voice. "Where are you?"
I was crying now, choking and gasping, feeling every edge of control I had disintegrating.
"I'm scared," I cried.
"I know you are, Maggie, and I want to help you. Tell me where you are and I'll be right there."
I told him exactly where I was. I stumbled over the words, sobs leaking out at every pause, but I told him and knew he would come to me.
"Maggie," he said, "I'm going to put you on the phone with Bobby, here. He's going to stay with you while I start driving. Talk to Bobby, Maggie." He was on his way without even asking what was wrong.
A younger male voice replaced Marshall's, but still I clung to the phone, standing in Jerry's living room, my back to the deck and Jerry's body.
"Maggie?" the young man said. "Maggie, I want you to try and tell me what happened so I'll know what backup to send with Detective Weathers."
He wanted me to help Marshall. I could do that. My heart was pounding in my chest, I thought I was going to throw up, but I could do this one more thing.
"He's, he's, he's…" I hiccupped, "dead. My… Jerry Lee Sizemore, he's, he's…"
"Dead," Bobby said calmly. "Okay. Okay, Maggie. Are you sure?"
"Yes," I said, my voice rising an octave. "I'm sure! He's been shot!"
"Okay, Maggie, stay with me here a second." There was the sound of hushed voices as Bobby issued instructions to someone.
"When will he be here?" I asked, unable to keep myself from exploding with fear.
"Ten minutes, Maggie. Hang in there. I'm sending some other officers. They'll be there sooner because they're closer."
But they weren't. It was Marshall Weathers who arrived first, flying down Jerry Lee's driveway, his blue light still flashing.
He didn't seem to move quickly, but he was on the porch and at my side in what seemed like an instant. It seemed natural to go to him, to let him take me into his arms, if only for a moment.
"You're sure he's dead?" he asked, moving past me, toward the interior of Jerry's house.
"Yes."
Behind us sirens wailed, lights flashed along the driveway. It seemed as if the entire police force was arriving, filling Jerry Lee Sizemore's expansive front yard with vehicles and uniformed officers.
Marshall stopped the first pair at the foot of the steps. "Go around back," he said. "We got one that's probably dead in the hot tub. Might oughta look and make sure there's no more. Let's make a fifty-foot area in front of the house, then go as far back as you can."
Another unmarked sedan came flying down the driveway, stopping inches from the patrol units. I recognized the man who hopped out of the car, moving quickly toward us. It was Marshall's young partner, Billy Evans.
Marshall waited until Billy reached the top of the steps, then he turned to me. "Stay here with Detective Evans, Maggie. I've gotta go take a look." Two EMTs walked up, bags in hand, questioning looks on their faces. Weathers nodded them in, and the three disappeared inside Jerry's house. Every nerve fiber I had stood on edge, waiting. I realized I was clenching my teeth and knotting my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms. I didn't feel safe when he wasn't in my sight.
When he returned there was a strange look on his face. He walked up to where I stood with Billy Evans and then pulled him aside. Whatever he had to say, he didn't want me to hear. Billy looked down at Marshall's right hand, staring at a small metal piece laying in his palm-a shell casing. Then they both looked back at me. I knew, without anyone saying a word, that it was another.38-caliber bullet that had killed Jerry Lee Sizemore.