"Is this Maggie Reid?" the woman asked.
"Don't mess with me," I warned. "I am not in the mood. And who exactly is this?" My heart was racing, but not because I was afraid. Now I was angry.
"Bertie Sexton, from the Mobile Home Kingdom." I sat straight up in bed. "I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but I think we should talk."
"Talk?"
Bertie Sexton was crying or had a very bad cold. She was snuffling and clearing her throat, with little catches of breath that sounded like stifled sobs.
"Did you hear about that guy?" she said softly. "Mr. Sizemore? The one you had come out and do the audit?"
"Where are you?" I asked.
"I'm at home," she said. Her voice broke and I knew she was crying. "They sent me home on account of I was too tore up to work. The police were out to the lot and they were all over us. I couldn't take it anymore." The girl was openly crying now.
"Look," I said, "get ahold of yourself, honey. You know where the Bisquitville is on West Market?" I got a sniffly sound that I took for an affirmative. "Meet me there in thirty minutes." I hung up before she could start crying harder. Mama always said that action was better than a bucket full of tears, and in Bertie Sexton's case that had to be true.
I flew out of bed, dressed, and crossed my fingers that the police had returned my car. They had, but they'd left it in a NO PARKING BETWEEN 6 AND 9 A.M. zone, then they'd ticketed it! Weathers's doing, no doubt. I didn't have time to stop and speculate. Bisquitville made strong, hot coffee and I needed plenty to get my brain going.
It was late in the day for Bisquitville's early regulars when I pulled into the parking lot. The phone company trucks were gone. The construction worker pickups were now replaced with Volvo station wagons and passenger vans, a sure sign that „ the second shift, preschool-mom regulars, were clustered around the tables and booths, comparing notes and complaining.
Bertie Sexton had beat me to a back booth in the crowded, smoky restaurant. She saw me as I walked through the side door, but looked away. Her eyes were black mascara-rimmed circles and her pale face looked ghostly in the harsh daylight that poured through the many windows.
I ignored her while I grabbed a large coffee and a bacon biscuit, and made my way over to her booth. She waited until I was seated across from her to look up.
"Thank you for coming," she said, in heir baby soft voice. "I didn't know who else to talk to, what with Mr. Spivey being dead and Don, er, Mr. Evans, turning out to be not at all the man I thought he was. I figured with you being a woman and just coming into the business, well, there might be a chance to right some wrongdoings." There was an angry flash in her dark brown eyes, the flash of a woman scorned. I was fixin' to get the good stuff from Bertie Sexton and nothing suited me better.
"Well now, honey," I said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with my own, "you just take a deep breath and tell me all about it. You know, I had a feeling things were not quite right when I was in the other day. If they're not treating you right…" I let my voice trail off and tried my best to look sympathetic. As in, just tell old Aunt Maggie all about it.
That was all it took. Bertie scanned the little restaurant for interlopers, decided it was safe, and began to talk.
"When I came to work for Mr. Spivey, five years ago, the business was still growing. Mr. Vernell had gone off to tend to his other business and Jimmy needed someone to help out in the worst way." Her eyes widened a little and I knew then that Bertie had fallen hook, line, and sinker for Jimmy's fast talking.
"I tried to tell him there were problems, that some people weren't doing right by him or the customers, but I couldn't get him to listen. As long as he could run off when he wanted, the money kept coming in, and everybody liked him, Jimmy was fine. He didn't care what Tommy or Don did."
This was the good stuff. "You know," I said, leaning in closer, "Jimmy was a fine man." Bertie's eyes welled up with tears. "The very thought of someone trying to take advantage of him just makes my blood boil!"
Bertie's eyes flashed again. "He didn't have a wicked or disloyal bone in his body!" she said. "There he was, loyal to that terrible woman, and her sneaking around here like a yard dog, sniffing up after Tommy Purvis. They weren't even trying to keep it a secret, if you ask me."
"You mean Roxanne and little Tommy Purvis?" I acted like this was the biggest surprise in the world.
"Oh yeah, honey," she said, "All the time! The second Jimmy'd take off to play golf, in'd come Roxanne, like the queen of the world. She and Tommy'd sit out in her car for hours. Her just a-smiling and him acting like she was the hottest thing around. And you know, he didn't mean a bit of it. It was insurance, pure and simple."
"Insurance?" Bertie was going faster than I could track.
"Oh, sure," she sighed, "Tommy was taking kickbacks from the set-up guys." I must've looked confused. "You know, the guys that put the homes on the lots and secure them to the piers and all. If Jimmy'd found out, he would've just killed Tommy. But he knew Roxanne wouldn't let Jimmy fire him. Wouldn't suit her needs. And," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm sure old Tommy was cutting Roxanne in for a goodly amount."
"Roxanne was taking money from her own husband's business?"
Bertie nodded sadly. "She and every other living creature knew Jimmy didn't love her. He tried, but he couldn't hide it. He was in love with someone else, if you ask me. I just never knew who it was." Bertie looked even sadder. "You think I like my hair this color?" she asked suddenly. "Jimmy used to say how much he loved curly red hair so I-" She broke off, staring at me. "Hey!"
I didn't know what to do. I kept my face neutral and played stupid.
"It was you!"
"Bertie, I was married to Jimmy's brother! I would no more…"
Bertie shook her head. "That don't mean much, as envious as Jimmy was of his brother."
"I never," I said.
"Oh, I'm not saying you did," she said. "But it sure explains a whole lot. Unrequited love." She sighed wistfully. "I was turned down for Jimmy's unrequited love. Just like in the movies."
I let her trail off into the romanticized version of her past, and then brought her back with a snap.
"And Don done him wrong, too?"
Bertie's eyes flashed and I knew we were closing in for the kill. "You better watch out for him, sugar," she said, "'cause he sure isn't worried a thing about you!" Bertie's cheeks were flushed and her ears were turning as red as her dyed hair.
"What do you mean, he isn't worried about me? He ought to be worried. If Jerry Lee Sizemore found out he's been doing wrong…" Again, I let my voice trail off and Bertie chimed right in.
"Oh, it didn't take Mr. Sizemore finding out," she said. "I knew for a long time what Donald Evans was up to. I even told Jimmy about it, not three days before he died. I just didn't care anymore."
The hairs stood up on my arms and I felt chill bumps run across the back of my neck. "What did you tell Jimmy?"
"About how Donald Evans was lining his pockets with money from Ashdale Manufacturers while Jimmy lost out! Had to be close to three hundred thousand a year that Jimmy never saw."
"How could Jimmy not know?"
" 'Cause Don wasn't here three months before he'd won Jimmy over and convinced him he could run the day-to-day of the lot. Then he cuts a deal with Ashdale to rep only their homes, and put them on Ashdale's lots, and use Ashdale's finance company. Jimmy would never have done business like that."