I slammed Vernell's truck into reverse, stripping half the gears and propelling Vernell across the slippery bench seat.

"Get off me!" I cried, pushing at him with my right hand and trying to keep a grip on the steering wheel with my left. Vernell giggled and rested his chin on my shoulder. I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face and I almost gagged on his breath. Marshall Weathers was still watching. He was wearing shiny, aviator-style, dark glasses. Even from a distance, I could tell he was laughing.

"The hell with him," I muttered, "and get the hell off my shoulder!" I cried, this time pinching Vernell in the fleshy area tinder his chin.

"Ouch! Dog, you are feisty when your dander's up!"

I pulled out into traffic, easily done since most of the cars on Battleground stopped when they saw me coming. Vernell reached out and switched on what I took to be the radio, but suddenly the air was filled with the sounds of a choir singing the "Hallelujah Chorus" from the Messiah.

I was trying to concentrate on the rush-hour traffic, while trying to figure out the truck's shifting pattern. It was all I could do to make wild swipes at the dashboard.

"Vernell, turn that off!" The other cars were pulling off the road, as if responding to an ambulance. Vernell picked that moment to fall asleep.

"Vernell! Vernell, listen to me! Don't you dare fall asleep!" No response. Instead the sounds of the choir grew steadily louder, and there was a grinding noise from the roof of the truck. It was then that I remembered that Vernell had the dish wired to rotate clockwise whenever the truck was moving.

I looked in my rearview mirror. One lone car followed, a brown Taurus sedan.

"Aw, man! What did I ever do to you?" I yelled. What was God doing, appearing to my ex-husband? Where was divine intervention when I needed it? Pink robes!

I made a sweeping right-hand turn onto Independence Avenue, and began the final descent toward Vernell's brick mansion. How was I going to explain myself to Jolene, the Dish Girl? Maybe she wouldn't be home. Maybe she was out shopping and I would be able to leave Vernell and his truck parked in the driveway. But I knew, even as I thought it, that fate was against me. Jolene would be home. It was just that sort of day.

The brown Taurus rolled to a stop underneath the tree where I sat at night to watch for Sheila. I pulled up into Vernell's driveway with only one casualty: the handcrafted, Victorian mailbox. I flattened it like a pancake, an action which brought young Jolene dashing to the door.

She was dressed all in white, from the headband pushing back her bleached-blonde hair to the tips of her little white tennis shoes. She stood in the doorway, her eyes slowly registering our arrival.

"Got a delivery for you, Jolene," I yelled, trying to make myself heard above the music that hadn't stopped when I'd turned off the engine.

Jolene's beady little eyes narrowed, and she puffed out her chest, as if thinking maybe her breasts would do the talking.

"I don't think they're gonna help you with this," I said, walking up the cobblestone path to the front door.

"What have you done to him?" she shrieked. "Is he dead?" Her little white tennis skirt fluttered against her perfectly tanned thighs.

"In a manner of speaking," I said. "He's dead drunk. He's dead to the world. But no, I guess that's not exactly what you were asking, is it?"

Around the cul-de-sac, the neighbors had begun to emerge, casting angry and curious glances in our direction.

"Turn off the music," she demanded, stomping her little white-shoed foot on the ground.

"Well, honey, what's his is yours. You turn it off."

She marched over to the truck, pulled the key from the ignition, fiddled with the interior switches, and finally gave up. The music had now switched to "Rock of Ages."

"So I hear you think Vernell should sue me?" I said, stepping up behind her and scaring her so badly, she jumped.

"Yes, I do," she answered coldly. "You used his brother's affections to your own advantage."

"Now ain't that the pot calling the kettle black," I answered.

From inside the truck, Vernell moaned in his sleep.

"Get off my property!" she said.

"When I'm done," I said. "First, we got some unfinished business."

Jolene took a tiny step backward and began to hyperventilate.

"I don't have any business with you," she said. She tossed her blonde mane in an attempt to dismiss me, but I invaded her personal space again.

"You have been low-rating me in front of my daughter," I said. "I don't like that."

"I have said nothing but the truth," she answered.

"Truth is," I said, snatching her up by her little white tennis sweater, "I didn't kill Jimmy Spivey, and you have no right to say I did." Behind me, I heard a car door slam and the sounds of footsteps moving quickly across the street and toward the driveway. I knew who that was. Frankly, the thought of adding assault charges to murder didn't worry me. I was too excited at the prospect of blackening Jolene's eyes.

"If you so much as hint that I am anything but a sterling vision of motherhood, I will personally return to this house and kill you!"

"That's enough." Marshall Weathers's strong hands gripped my arms, forcing me to unhand the now sobbing Jolene.

"Arrest her, Officer!" Jolene screamed.

I was going to spend my evening in jail. I could smell it coming.

"Well," Weathers said slowly, his face an inscrutable mask behind his glasses, "I reckon I could do that." I could feel the silver cuffs snapping tightly around my wrists. It was going to be a reality. I could smell the jail-cell dinner. "But, if I did," he said, "it might be more of a problem for you."

"How's that?" Jolene said, sticking her chest under Weathers's nose, and smiling like an ingenue.

"Well, if I have to call a car to the scene, and take a report, then I'll end up having to cite you for public nuisance. You know, violation of the city noise ordinance. Parking violations. All sorts of things."

Jolene did a slow burn, "So that's the way it is, huh? You're on her side! My brother-in-law not even cold in the ground and she's the one who killed him. You'd think you people would be more concerned with justice."

Weathers didn't budge. "Oh, no, ma'am. I'm just stating a fact. Things would get official and I wouldn't be able to stop them. Better you should just let me escort your unwelcomed visitor off the property and let you attend to controlling the noise problem. Besides," he said, smiling softly at me, "I have a few questions I need to ask Miss Reid."

The truck was now blaring "Bringing in the Sheaves." Vernell had started snoring almost as loud as the music.

"All right then!" Jolene cried. "Take her away! And keep her away from us. The funeral's tomorrow. We don't want the likes of a natural-born killer showing up at a holy burial."

I started to answer her, but Weathers let his hands tighten oh my arms, steering me away from Jolene the Dish Girl and on down the cobblestoned drive.

"Don't say a word until I get you in the car and down the street," he said in a voice only I could hear. His mustache tickled my ear. "She could've had you locked up."

"What for?"

"Terroristic threats to start with. You've got a violent temper, Miss Reid."

We were almost to the car. "Don't even go there with me, Detective."

"Hey," he said, opening the passenger side door, "I'm not the one getting my tail in a sling."

I looked back at Vernell's castle, with his truck still blasting away and Jolene tugging at Vernell's deadweight, drunken body. I could have it a lot worse, I thought, I could be her. It was just like Mama always said: Don't go coveting your neighbor's husband, 'til you've walked a mile in his wife's shoes.