Detective Weathers pulled slowly away from the curb. He didn't say another word and I was not in the mood to insert my foot any farther into my mouth. It was occurring to me that my profile was a little too high when it came to the police. I'd have to find another way to elude Weathers while still getting the information I needed.

As if reading my mind, Weathers looked over at me. "So, who's little red wagon are you gonna go upsetting next?" he asked.

"I went to see my daughter," I said calmly. "When her father showed up, obviously inebriated, I drove him home. I did it as much for Sheila as for him. When Vernell gets off the wagon like this, it's an embarrassment to the entire family, especially a vulnerable teenaged girl."

We were pulling into the strip shopping center, heading for the parking space next to my Beetle.

"That's what you want me to believe," he said.

"Actually, I don't give a dead rat's ass what you believe," I answered. "I know the truth,"

Weathers turned to look at me, his arm stretched along the back of my seat, almost touching my shoulder. The Taurus now rested in its slot beside my little car. "Exactly," he said. "You know the truth. That's all I want from you, Maggie, the truth." He let his fingers slip down until they rested lightly on my shoulder. I froze as he gently caressed the side of my neck.

"I haven't lied to you yet," I lied, but my heart wasn't in it. What was he doing to me? I turned and reached for the door handle. If I stayed any longer, I'd be trapped telling one lie after another, or worse, falling under the spell he seemed to weave with no effort at all.

"Before you go," he said softly, the dangerous tone back in his voice, "I have a couple of things for you to think about." He pulled his hand back, straightening up ever so slightly.

"And what would that be?" My heart was pounding again. I could feel him watching me, smell his cologne, hear the soft squeak of his leather jacket as he moved ever so slightly toward me. Touch me again. Just one more little touch…

"Sheila didn't go to work Wednesday night for one," he said.

"Well, big deal. Everybody gets a night off now and then," I answered, suddenly feeling my heart leap to my throat. No, no, no.

"She told her stepmother she had to work, but she called her boss and said she was sick."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

"She told me she went shopping," he said slowly, "but I don't believe her. Would you know anything about that?"

"When were you persecuting my daughter? Why wasn't I there?" My voice jumped. I sounded guilty. I just knew I did.

"I talked to Sheila yesterday, in my office, with her father and stepmother present. I was interviewing her just like I did you. She is not a suspect."

I wanted to reach across the seat and tear into him. I wanted to beat him. All thought of romance had vanished. I wanted to hurt him for ever coming near my little girl. Instead I forced myself to stay still. I couldn't put Sheila in jeopardy by showing my fear.

"I'm late for work again," I said, my voice controlled. I reached for the door handle, then decided I had enough reserve to play his game. "There was something else you wanted me to think about?" I hoped I sounded cool, as if Sheila's whereabouts at the time of the murder were inconsequential.

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot." He leaned over toward me. "I thought we might talk about the night before Jimmy's wedding. I just thought you might like a chance to tell me your side of the story."

I jumped out of the car and slammed the door. Who'd talked this time? Who in their right mind would've told him about that little episode? The answer came as quickly as the question. Roxanne.

That night, the Golden Stallion was hopping. The all-male dance revue, the Young Bucks, were in town and strutting their stuff on the dance floor. It was a sight to behold. A tribe of young farm boys, their muscles pumped, their hair perfectly slicked back against work-tanned skin, wearing their jeans tight enough to cause concern about future progeny. It was all happening right in front of me, and I had all I could do to keep my mind focused on the job at hand.

Weathers knew much more about me than I knew about him. The Digger story was one thing. I figured Weathers brought that up just to show off how much he was capable of finding out. That story wasn't going to hurt me, not like the story of Jimmy's wedding rehearsal dinner. Now that could hurt me.

Jack sidled up while I sang "My Heart's on Fire, but Your Hands Are Still Cold." It was a rowdy little tune about a drunken cowboy who loses his love to another. I had the Young Bucks restless and the cowgirls breathless, just urging them on. If anyone in the place went home lonely tonight, they'd have only themselves to blame.

"Evelyn needed my car tonight," Jack said, between verses. "Can you give me a ride again?"

I looked over at him and nodded. Who in the world was this Evelyn, and why wasn't she coming to pick him up? She'd lose him to someone if she kept up this kind of behavior. Of course, if she was anything like Jack, they probably had some open type of arrangement. Hell, she probably lived with two or three guys in a commune somewhere.

I could never stand for that, I thought. I'm a one-man woman.

The song came to an end and Sparks gave the band the nod to go into their break tune.

"Folks, we'll be right back," he announced. "Gotta tend to a little business, if you know what I mean." He laughed, as did the crowd. All I had on my mind was some fresh air and a little solitude. Sometimes watching all those couples together out on the dance floor really got to me.

I pushed my way backstage, past the stagehands and groupies waiting to transact business with the boys in the band. I stepped out onto the fire escape and walked over to my car. No one ever looked for me there, especially if I didn't crank the engine, and slid down in the seat where I wouldn't be noticed. I needed time to think.

Jimmy got married in August five years ago. At the time, we all figured we knew why. Had to be that Roxanne was pregnant. Jimmy had practically made a career out of avoiding marriage. But with Roxanne, he was announcing his engagement a mere four weeks after he'd met her. And the engagement wasn't even announced in the traditional manner.

At the time, me, Vernell, and Sheila were living out in Oak Ridge on what Vernell referred to as a "gentleman's farm." What it really was, was a brick three-bedroom ranch that sat on four acres. Vernell figured that because it took a riding lawn mower to cut the grass and because there was a detached garage in the shape of a barn, he could call it a farm.

It was pretty, though. The house sat up on a little rise, set back from the road. A porch spanned the front of the house, and in the summer we'd sit out there and watch the cars passing by and the corn growing in the fields across the street where the real farmer lived. We were sitting out there the afternoon Jimmy came to announce that he was gonna marry Roxanne.

His little red pickup swung into our dusty dirt driveway, spinning out as it rounded the corner and slinging gravel everywhere.

"Wonder what the hell bee's got up his butt," Vernell muttered, watching Jimmy push his truck up the hill. "Probably got trouble out to the lot again. You know, I'm getting sick of his lazy ass. Don't take a rocket scientist to run a business. If the boy can't handle it, he ought to get somebody in there who can. Hell, he could put in a manager and go play golf all day and make more money than he is running it himself."

I didn't say a word. It was the same-old same-old as far as I was concerned. The Spivey brothers fought about everything, constantly. And they were worse when one or both of them had been drinking.