Stand By Your Man mr-2 Read online

  "I had cramps," she said, sliding back down onto the bed. "I just couldn't make myself go."

  Self-discipline was another one of Sheila's "opportunities for growth." She'd learned about this in her psychology class and now every time I tried to call her onto the carpet for slacking off, she'd call it a "growth opportunity" and say she was "working on it." I'd about had it with Sheila's personal growth.

  "Well," I said, "it's probably for the best anyhow. We've got a problem. Your daddy's missing along with almost all of his money. I'm going to need your help."

  The pretense fell away from Sheila. She sat up, started at me for a minute, and then decided I was serious.

  "What happened? Where is he? Is he all right?"

  I went over to her, sat down and looked straight into her eyes. "Sheila, we don't know. No one knows, but everyone's looking for him."

  Sheila's face went still and pale. I could see her working to control her emotions, and it wasn't going well. She bit her bottom lip, but her chin quivered.

  "Did someone hurt him?"

  I reached out a hand and stroked her arm. "I don't know, honey. I'm going to find out."

  "Do you think he left?"

  I wasn't going to lie or sugarcoat the truth. "Some folks think so. I don't. Your dad's got his shortcomings, but he wouldn't leave you."

  Sheila folded up like a hinged chair, drawing her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and laying her head on top of her knees. Her hair spilled around her like a sheet of silky satin. She sighed, her thin shoulders moving with each breath. I stretched out my hand and touched her, letting my fingers rest gently on her arm, a reminder that I was still there with her. After a minute she raised her head and it was my Sheila, back again, strong and tough.

  "Okay," she said, her voice clear. "Let's go get Daddy!"

  I smiled at her. "I think we should start with his castle."

  "Oh, most definitely," she said. "Daddy's house is a mess. I'm sure we'll find tons of sh… um, clues, there."

  She was up and moving, grabbing her small leather backpack purse and looking back at me with her usual air of impatience.

  "So, like, are you coming or what?"

  Mama said once, "You can't skin a rattlesnake with a toothbrush." She was cautioning me about not studying for a test in high school, but it clearly applied here. Sheila was loaded for bear, all right, and ready to go find her daddy, but what did we know about tracking down a missing person?

  I thought about Detective Marshall J. Weathers and had a pang of regret. I needed his help and expertise. It would've been nice to know I could count on him, or to feel we were working together to find Vernell, but this was the same man who'd promised to call and vanished. Now he'd said he'd help me, but what kind of guarantee was that? Maybe it meant he'd file a report and forget about it. Maybe it meant less than that. Maybe it was all talk. No, Sheila and I were on our own, tracking down a man who'd cheated on me, left me, and still, in his heart of hearts, loved me.

  Chapter Three

  I ate, has a funny way of slapping you in the face. I don't say that on account of Tracy the police cadet whopping me with a thick, steel door. I'm just making the observation. Every time I think I'm in control and in charge of my life, something happens. Vernell's house was just another reminder.

  Who knew Vernell would amount to something? I guess I thought we wouldn't starve when I ran off with him, pregnant and in love and barely as old as my Sheila is now. But I never thought he'd parlay an empty plot of land into a few million dollars' worth of hype and commotion. Vernell Spivey, The Mobile Home King. Then, Vernell Spivey, The King of the Satellite Dish.

  I thought about it every time I pulled my VW up into his driveway. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret his leaving and I sure don't miss his money.

  "Mama," Sheila said, her voice sharpening to get my attention. "Let's go!" Sheila, never slow to move unless it involved chores or homework, set off for the front door, her key in hand. As she moved through the early evening darkness, motion lights flashed on, lighting her way and bathing the concrete castle in a warm golden glow. By the time I reached Sheila's side, she was disarming Vernell's security system, punching her birth date into the keypad and hitting the light switch. The huge crystal chandelier lit up like a birthday cake. The marble foyer was empty and I realized I'd been holding my breath, half expecting to find Vernell's body on the cold floor.

  Vernell's mansion looked just as it always did, uninviting and overdecorated. Come to think of it, it looked just like Vernell's ex-wife, Jolene. I chuckled silently and moved past Sheila.

  "I'll take the downstairs," I said. "Why don't you look around upstairs?"

  "Gotcha," she said, moving at warp speed to the sweeping staircase. "Remember, don't touch too much. In fact, I think I have a pair of gloves that came in my hair dye box. You want them?"

  I looked up at her and choked off a laugh. Her face was set in a hard line of determination. She was going to find her daddy.

  "No, baby," I said. "I'll be careful. Why don't you use them? Anyways, there's bound to be some of those yellow rubber things under the sink." Jolene would never have risked chipping a nail on something as mundane as a dish. In fact, I doubted she ever washed so much as a saucer. But there would be gloves in place, just for show, just in case she had to act like the little homemaker in front of company. Too bad the girl was doing time in Raleigh, otherwise I'd know she was somehow behind Vernell's sudden disappearance.

  Sheila reached out and hit a switch, plunging the house into almost total darkness.

  "What did you do that for?"

  "Mama," she whispered, her disembodied voice floating out into the air above my head, "don't you watch TV? We don't want to be seen." She didn't say by what or by whom, and I let her have it her way. If it made her feel better to be in charge, well, it certainly wasn't hurting anything.

  "There's a flashlight under the sink in the kitchen," she said. "I've got one in my bedside table. We'll use those."

  I followed a dim light that glowed from the stovetop in the kitchen and used it as a beacon to find my way. Vernell's kitchen was a mess. Dishes lay out on the countertops; pots crusted with dried food sat in the sink. Vernell's housekeeping habits had not changed with his new status. An empty fifth of Wild Turkey sat out in the middle of the kitchen table, an overturned silver tumbler next to it. I sighed and touched the bottle. Poor Vernell-his drinking was the one thing holding him back.

  I walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway that led to the three-car garage. Vernell's home office was on the right, tucked away like a turtle in its shell. I stepped inside the room and flicked the flashlight around the room. A black velvet Jesus jumped out at me from the far wall, his eyes glowing. My heart flew up to my throat and I made myself count to three to calm down.

  When Vernell's brother, Jimmy, died, Vernell had a vision. Jimmy appeared to him and told him, "If you paint it, they will buy." Immediately afterward, Vernell started painting Jesus on all of his satellite dishes. He did a pretty good job of it, too. Black backgrounds and gold trim around Jesus's head and arms. When Vernell got finished, it appeared that Jesus was beckoning from outer space. Jimmy must've known something about retail, because those dishes sold like hotcakes.

  I moved toward the desk, slipped into Vernell's chair, and settled in for some serious snooping. Vernell was a packrat and I just knew that somewhere, under all the piles of papers and envelopes, I would find the piece of information that would unlock the entire puzzle.

  Vernell owed money to everyone, and apparently hadn't been paying his bills on time. There were second and third notices from the mortgage company, the utility companies, almost every store in town, and every major credit card company. Vernell was no better at paying his bills rich than he was at paying them poor. There was even a letter from the attorney for VanScoy Mobile Homes, offering to buy Vernell out for half a million dollars. But Vernell had scrawled "better in the red than VanScoy dead" across the
top of the page, crumpled it up and stuffed it in the middle of a pile of mail.

  I was working away, tossing irrelevant papers onto a pile on the floor, when I heard the squeak of the floorboard behind me.

  "Find anything, sweetie?" I called absently, not turning to look at her.

  "Maybe that's what I should be asking you," a deep voice whispered. "Now don't move and keep those pretty little hands out where I can see them."

  "Wait just a minute," I started, then stopped as a cold ring of metal bit into the back of my neck. Whoever he was, he obviously had a gun and the odds were now in his favor. In the same instant I thought of Sheila, blissfully rummaging through her father's belongings on the second floor. What if this man took Vernell, or hurt him? What if he was here to get us?

  My heart started banging away in my chest and I felt lightheaded for a second. How had he gotten in? I would've sworn that Sheila had locked the door. Had he been here all along, waiting?

  "Whatever you say," I said. "But there's no call for gun-play."

  "Who's playing?" he answered, his voice harsh and clipped.

  The gun slipped a little, trailing an icy path down my neck, slipping just beneath the collar of my shirt. It wasn't an accident. This man was in complete control.

  "Where's Vernell Spivey?" he asked.

  "If I knew where my ex-husband was, would I be here? And if he owes you money, take a number." My hands were shaking but I managed to keep my voice from cracking. My brain was working overtime. Who was this guy? If he hadn't taken Vernell, then what did he want? What was he doing here? And better yet, how could I get rid of him?

  The gunman laughed softly. "I don't care who he owes or how much he had or hasn't got. I'm just doing my job." I stiffened as the gun nuzzled the back of my ear.

  "Does your boss know you're over here threatening Vernell's wife?"

  The laugh again, throaty and cruel. "The people that pay me don't care how I get the job done. They want results. So how about you tell me everything you know about your ex and his business."

  "Mama?"

  Sheila's voice broke through the darkness. She was heading for the office. In a minute my daughter would come face to face with an armed gunman.

  "All right," I said, staring at Vernell's cluttered desk, not daring to turn around. "Let me get rid of my daughter and I'll tell you everything you want to know. Just don't drag her into this." Please, God, don't let him get to my baby.

  "Mama, are you in the office or where?"

  "Just hide and let me get her to leave. Please. There's a bathroom right beside that Jesus picture. Get in there. Please!"

  "Mama!"

  I heard his voice, moving behind me toward the bathroom. "You try anything at all," he said, "and your kid'll have automatic ventilation." The door opened just as Sheila made it to the edge of Vernell's office. I was praying he made it in time.

  "Were you talking to someone?"

  I looked up at her, my eyes flickering over toward Jesus. My chest was tight and I wanted to cry, but I had to get her away from the gunman.

  I sighed and frowned, bending forward ever so slightly. "Yeah, I guess I was talking to myself. I can't make heads or tails out of his financial stuff without my reading glasses."

  "Well, put'em on!"

  I stared up at her, my "nice" face on. "That's just it, baby. I left them back at the house. Be a sweetie and go get them for me? Please? And why don't you stop at Wendy's on your way back and pick us up something good?"

  Food did it every time for Sheila. "I don't have any money," she said, her hand automatically reaching out toward the Bank of Mom.

  "My purse is on the front seat. Make sure you get a dessert too."

  "No way!" Sheila frowned. "Mom, at your age weight gain is very hard to take off."

  "Will you just go?"

  Sheila looked hurt. "No problem. You don't need to, like, go postal." She flounced off, her footsteps dying away through the garage, the security sensor beeping as she opened the door and walked out to my car. A moment later she was back.

  "I've got something in my contact," she announced and headed straight for the bathroom door.

  "Wait! Don't go in there!"

  Sheila stopped dead in her tracks, whirled around and favored me with a one-eyed glare. "Is it hormones, Mama, or PMS? Whatever it is, you are not holding up well under the. stress. My psychology teacher says…"

  "Sheila, I don't give a rat's tail what your teacher says." I could feel my head starting to spin and little dots flashed before my eyes. I was going to have a heart attack or go crazy, one. "I just want you to go get my glasses! Time is of the essence here! Let me look at your eye."

  Sheila turned sullen. "No, I'll do it myself." She walked straight into the bathroom, flicking on the light as she entered. My voice choked on her name. He had us both now. I waited for him to confront her, to march her out at gunpoint, but there was only the sound of Sheila running water and muttering under her breath.

  In a few minutes she switched out the bathroom light and returned to the study. She glared at me with both eyes, humphed, and marched out of the room. I listened as she crossed the garage floor, opened the door again, and walked outside. This time I heard her slam my car door and a moment later the engine caught and Sheila peeled off out of the driveway. So much for her advice about keeping a low profile.

  There was a sound from the darkened bathroom. The gunman was stepping out of his hiding place in the shower. He stood in the semidarkened room, hidden by the shadow of the door, watching me.

  "Good job," he whispered and stepped out of the bathroom. He was huge, much taller than I had guessed, over six feet. Everything about him was dark. Black hair, long and unruly, curling around his collar, dark, faded black jeans and a leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and dark black boots. His eyes were obsidian pools that were staring as hard at me as I was at him. But I was memorizing him for the cops, assuming I would live long enough to tell them: tall, dark complexion, and built like he worked out, over and over again.

  The gun hung at his side, not forgotten, but no longer pointed in my direction. A scar ran from the corner of his left eye and down along the top edge of his cheek. It was the only spot of light on his face.

  "Talk to me," he said, his voice again thick and husky, like a whisper across a football field.

  I leaned back in my chair, swallowed, and tried to think up a wild goose chase to send him on.

  "Have you talked to Jolene, his other ex-wife?" I asked. He was looking me over, studying me, his face unreadable.

  "She's in Raeford. Why would I talk to her?" He hadn't moved from his spot by Jesus. So, he knows about Jolene. What else does he know?

  "Maybe she hired someone."

  This brought him a step closer. I wanted to shrink down in the chair but I forced myself to look back at him, right down into those huge black eyes.

  "You watch too much TV," he said, and smiled softly. For a moment he almost looked friendly, but the smile vanished. "Jolene doesn't have money, or access, or any friends crazy enough to take a whack at her ex-husband. Maybe we should ask Sheila when she gets back."

  My heart started banging against my chest. My palms were sweating. Bastard!

  "All right. All I know is that Vernell vanished two days ago, without any belongings but his truck. He took all the money he could grab and didn't do anything to let me know where he was going." I never looked away even though I couldn't stand the intensity of his gaze. "Would I be here if I knew where Vernell was?"

  "Maybe he sent you back to get something he needs?"

  He walked over and squatted down in front of the chair where I sat. He put his hands on each armrest, pinning me back and keeping me from leaving. A small smile crossed his face again, but this time there was no warmth behind it. I knew in that one instant, that this man expected to get what he wanted and would stay in my face or on my back until I gave him everything he was looking for.

  "I don't know," I said softly. "Vernell's
missing. That's all I know. I'm his ex-wife, for Pete's sake!"

  He frowned and reached a finger out to touch my cheek. I winced. "Ouch!"

  "Sorry," he said softly. "You need to put some ice on that. What in the hell happened to you?"

  I glared back at him. For all I knew, this man was going to kill me. What did black eyes matter? "I ran into a door," I answered.

  "Uh-huh." He didn't seem to believe me.

  He dropped his hand down onto the arm that rested in my lap and I froze. His face was now mere inches from my own. My skin prickled with adrenaline, my face was starting to flush. All I wanted to do was run, or maybe not run. Something in the way he moved made him both terrifying and mesmerizing in the same instant.

  "I know all about you, Maggie Reid," he said. "I made it my business to know. I know where you live. I know where you work, and I know what you do when you think no one is watching you." My heart was stuck in my throat. How did he know anything about me? What had he seen? Where had he been hiding and watching? And for how long?

  "Vernell will contact you," he said. "Because I know he still loves you. Wherever he is, Vernell will try and get word to you. Now here's the easy part." His voice had a hypnotic quality that drew me in as it swirled around me. "When Vernell calls, I want you to let me know immediately. I want you to set up a meeting with him." He leaned back slowly and focused on my face.

  "You know why you want to help me? Because bad things will happen to everyone you care about if I don't find Vernell Spivey. If he isn't already dead, he could wind up dead. I'm not the only one looking for him, you know. I'm just the guy who's going to find him and straighten a few things out. The others are going to kill him."

  Another jolt of alarm shot through me. What kind of trouble was Vernell in?

  "What has Vernell done?" I asked.

  "He's left a very important person in a very embarrassing position," he said.

  I raised my eyebrow and gave him a dose of my mama. "Now why should I believe one word of what you're saying? Vernell Spivey wouldn't run out on anyone!"