I crept up behind Jolene's car, trying to peer inside without being spotted. Don Evans sat in the driver's seat with Sheila next to him. Jolene sat behind her and Keith sat next to Jolene. It was a perfect setup. If Sheila or Keith caused a problem, it would be easy to shoot them. The windows were rolled up, the air conditioning was running full-blast, and the outside world went by in front of them like a movie.
I waited two car lengths back, hidden by a family passenger van, looking for my moment, waiting for the element of surprise to be on my side. Up ahead, volunteer firemen were slowly moving down the line of cars, stopping at each one, talking about the accident. People were everywhere. I waited, sweating under my cap and sweater, the tire iron eating into my armpit. Then, just as the volunteer started for Don Evans, gesturing for him to roll down his window, I made my move.
I loosened my grip on the tire iron, letting it slip down my sleeve and into my hand. Like Mama always said, opportunity is not a lengthy visitor. I took a deep breath and jumped out from behind the van, ran up to Jolene's side of the car, the tire iron held high over my head. I brought it down quickly, smashing into Jolene's window with all my might.
The glass shattered into a million little diamonds, and Jolene screamed as the tire iron grazed the side of her head. I don't know how I did it. I don't remember doing it, but somehow I pulled her scrawny little body out of the window. Unfortunately, the gun came with her.
Jolene stood for a second, dazed, the gun trembling in her hand, and then she seemed to come back to life. Her eyes focused, her lips curled into a snarl, and she started to bring the gun up in front of her. I slashed out with Vernell's Dancing Jesus tire iron, knocked her hand out of my way, and then lunged at her. Sheila was the only thing on my mind. The woman wanted to kill my baby.
This was not a woman you wanted to fight with for a sale item at the semiannual Dillards' clearance sale. I charged her and we went down, hitting the asphalt with a bone-rattling jar. The shock finally loosened the gun from her clawlike grasp, sending it skittering across the road. I was beating the crap out of Jolene, and it felt so fine. I tangled my hands in her bleached blond hair and yanked so hard, she screamed. She brought her knee up and attempted to disembowel me with the sheer force of her adrenaline. But I banged her face against the gravel.
"That's for Sheila!" I panted, and proceeded to pull my fist back. I had never been in a fight, not in all of my life, but it came natural and easy. My fist connected with her pretty little nose, and to my surprise, it cracked. "And this is for Jimmy!" I screamed. "And Jerry!"
I don't even think I felt the police officer pull me off her. I know I didn't feel any of the blows she landed. I kept trying to get to her, even as she was surrounded by uniformed officers and led away.
"Maggie, let up now, girl." I heard the familiar voice, talking right into my ear. "You want to see your daughter or not?" he asked. "'Cause I can't let go until I know you're in control."
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."