"The whole Spivey clan must be angry with me. The grieving widow is especially angry, on account of Jimmy left his share of the business to me. Vernell can't be too pleased, although he sure is putting on a good show of it. He thought he was rid of me. Now I'm his business partner and maybe, he thinks, his brother's killer. So, I'd say, in answer to your question, yeah, I got a whole slew of people ticked off at me." I leaned back against the booth, breathless.
"All right," he said. "Let's set the record straight, again. I am only interested in finding out who killed Jimmy Spivey. I have no personal vendetta against you. I am working just as hard to find the innocent parties in this investigation as I am to find the guilty ones. You need to quit looking at me as if I'm your enemy, Maggie. We'll get a lot further if you start trusting me."
I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to trust this man. "Well, it just seems as if I'm the only person you're investigating."
"We've covered that, Maggie. I'm not 'investigating' you. I'm asking questions."
A crowd of teenagers came through the door, out of school and hungry, laughing and talking as if they hadn't a care in the world. For a moment, Weathers allowed himself to be distracted, but then he was right back at it.
"How's Vernell get along with Sheila?" he asked.
"Fine. Why?"
"Well, you said the voice on the phone was male. You mentioned Vernell was probably plenty angry at you. I'm just asking questions, Maggie."
"Oh, Vernell's harmless," I said. "He wasn't a nice husband. He treated me like a dog, but he's a good daddy. He wouldn't harm a hair on Sheila's head."
"Maybe not, but you're the one brought his name up."
So I had, but I was only trying to make a point. Vernell wouldn't harm a fly, would he?
"Have you talked to Vernell?" I asked.
"Sure." Nothing more. The professional mask was back in place.
"Where was he when Jimmy died? Could he have done it?"
Weathers studied me for a moment, making up his mind. "Vernell says he was on his way back into town from Stokesdale. We haven't been able to confirm or deny that yet."
Vernell didn't have an alibi. But that didn't mean a thing. I flashed on Vernell in the Golden Stallion, the night after Jimmy's death, drunk and decked out in his blue polyester leisure suit. Sure was a funny way to show grief for the loss of your only brother.
"But Vernell would never hurt Sheila," I said.
"Nobody's hurt Sheila," he answered.
"It's gotta be somebody else."
"Probably is," he said. His face was closed and I couldn't read him.
"Well, we've got to make sure she's safe," I said. "Shouldn't you have somebody watch her?"
Weathers shook his head. "That's TV, Maggie. We don't have enough manpower to put an officer on everybody who receives a threatening phone call. I don't know any police department that does. Unless someone actually tries to hurt Sheila, our hands are tied. But," he said, before I could start in, "that doesn't mean that I'm not taking this seriously."
"Then what are you going to do about it?"
"We, Maggie," he said. "What are we going to do about it. You've got to talk to Sheila, get her to be cautious. Then you've got to try and help me figure out who would want to scare you. Because that's what I think this is, an attempt to frighten you. We just need to know why."
There was something about Marshall Weathers that made me believe what he was saying. Not just believe him, but feel comforted and reassured by his words. He knew we could figure this all out. He seemed so sure of himself. He didn't seem upset or even very worried. It was as if he dealt with this kind of thing every day, and of course, he did. This wasn't the worst thing he'd ever heard of, but he wasn't dismissing it, either. He was making me feel like I had some control over what happened. The voice on the phone had been trying to scare me. In reality, no one had hurt Sheila, and I could help make sure that no one did.
"Okay," I said. "Fair enough. I'll talk to Sheila and I'll keep talking to you."
Weathers nodded, satisfied.
"I still don't think Vernell has anything to do with this," I said. "He's my ex, and by rights I could hate him, but he's harmless."
Weathers shrugged. "You may be right," he said, "but I don't take nothing for granted when it comes to ex-spouses. There's always an axe to grind somewhere, no matter how deep it's buried."
I looked over at Weathers, noting the tiny twitch back in his jaw. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that I had just gotten a glimpse of the man who lived behind the professional exterior.
I opened my mouth to ask the next question, to find out a little bit more about this man and his past, but he saw it coming.
"Gotta get back," he said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the trash can. "I got work to do, and you've got a daughter to look after."
I couldn't argue with that. I followed him out into the parking lot, the afternoon sun hitting me squarely in the eyes. He was on the cell phone once again when I climbed into the passenger seat. For a minute I wondered if he was really talking to anyone at all. Maybe hugging the phone was his way of avoiding questions from me. Still, I listened.
"Hey!" he said, his voice a bit rougher than it was when he spoke to me. "Listen, I been thinkin' and I got a different way to go on this here." He was watching the road, but for an instant he glanced over at me. "I want you to draw something up and get her to come in and sign it. I'm tired of fooling around."
He looked almost sad, his eyes dark blue wells. Couldn't be a professional call, I thought. There was nothing in his tone to give away sadness, but I had an urge to touch his knee, a sure sign that my womanly intuition was on alert and sending signals. Just like me to hone in on another wounded dog. Probably them bad picker genes leading me down one more dead-end road.
"Yeah, huh." He grunted. "I know it." He listened, making the turn onto Elm Street and preparing to pull back into Jack's parking lot. He sighed, a frown creasing his forehead.
"I ain't much for Monday morning quarter-backing," he said. "Let's just get on with it and see what you people can get accomplished." Then, an afterthought: "And keep it simple, y'hear? She started the whole mess, but that don't mean we gotta make it sting worse." He slammed the phone shut and threw it down on the seat between us.
"Lawyers," I sighed, shaking my head and taking a stab in the dark.
"Ain't that the truth," he said, before he could catch himself.
"Listen now," he said, turning to me, "you get up with Sheila, make sure she's all right. I'll be in touch."
I hopped out of the car and turned back to say good-bye. "Maybe you can tell me all about your divorce next time," I was going to say, leave him with the smart aleck comment this time. But he was already back on the phone, barking at someone. He lifted his hand up, a dismissive wave good-bye, and was gone.
I was left standing in the parking lot once again, my mouth hanging open and looking like a big dummy. Back when I was growing up, whenever Mama witnessed someone who had a particular talent for leaving others speechless and getting their own way, she'd stand back and admire the whole act for a few moments. Then she'd turn to us young'uns and say, "Now there goes a prize violin."
Weathers had played me like a fiddle all right, but the band was just tuning up and Maggie Reid was gonna have the last word.