"I just stopped by to pick up a book I forgot," Sheila said, taking my side. "I do not cut school!"
"Stand by it if you want," Carlucci said, still smirking. "But I bet you wouldn't want your mama to check up on you." Sheila's face said all I needed to hear. I'd deal with her later.
Carlucci's plate was nearly clean. "I guess you'll be going now, huh?" I said, snatching the plate away. "I know you're busy with your investigation."
Sheila had stalked off to her room and was rooting around in search of something. I doubted it was a textbook. In this one instance, I figured Tony was right: Sheila had planned on cutting school and not getting caught.
"I'm not so busy that I can't help you do the dishes," he said. "My mother raised me right and I've got all day." He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of me. When he smiled, as he was doing now, without the smirk, he seemed almost human.
"You're not from around here, are you?" I asked.
"Philadelphia," he said. "South Philly." He shifted in his chair and I stared at his shoes. He wore motorcycle boots, rounded toe, black, scuffed leather. His arms were crossed, the muscles cording like thick bundles of wire. I thought I caught a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from his shirtsleeve, but when he moved, it vanished.
"Mama!" Sheila said, sticking her head into the dining room. "I'm leaving." Her backpack was slung across her shoulder and she was moving fast toward the front door.
"You are going straight to school?" I asked, ignoring the smirk that had returned to Carlucci's face.
"Bye, Mama!"
"I'll be talking to the attendance officer later," I warned.
Sheila spun around, glowered at Carlucci, and took a deep breath. "You see what you've done?" she asked him. "Making my mama doubt me!" She straightened her shoulders and looked right at me. "Mama, in psychology class they say that if you let someone come between you, it's called splitting. Mr. Carlucci is trying to split us. He should know better than to try and corrupt our relationship!"
She was gone without another word, stomping off down the front porch steps. I went to the living-room window and watched her hop into a car full of her girlfriends. She was gesturing wildly, obviously filling them in on the ruination of her day and the realization that now she had to report to school. Carlucci was right. I kept my eyes on the street in front of the house, not wanting to turn around and face him.
I heard him get up and take the dishes out to the kitchen. Then the water started in the sink. The domesticated biker-private eye was cleaning up. First he threatened my family, then he invaded my home, and now he was doing my dishes. What in the hell was going on?
I stayed there for a few minutes, just staring out the window at the college students walking by and the cars that jockeyed for a parking place within a mile of the campus. It all looked so normal, but my world was going crazy a piece at a time.
I didn't hear the water cut off. I was lost in thought, figuring out how I was going to get to the bottom of things, when I heard Carlucci's voice behind me.
"I said it was a woman."
I didn't turn around. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"A woman what?" I said finally.
"That hired me. That's all I'm gonna tell you. I shouldn't even have told you that much, but I'm starting to feel sorry for you. You got a teenager out running the streets, a husband leading a life you don't even know the half of-"
"Ex-husband," I snapped.
Carlucci ignored me and went on. "-no money and two black eyes. Somebody oughta take pity on you."
That got me to turn around, but he was watching the street, his eyes narrowed to wary slits. I opened my mouth to tell him he didn't need to feel sorry for me, but how could I? Everything he'd said was apparently true.
"I don't need your pity," I said. "What I need is something to go on. How can I help you or Vernell or my family if no one will tell me anything? Why don't you just shoot straight? Tell me what it is you're trying to say about Vernell."
Carlucci stared at me until I felt myself go cold with worry. His eyes flickered past me, out onto the street, and then back.
"Don't you ever wonder how Vernell can just start up a new business? Don't you ever ask him where the money comes from?"
"He started up the satellite dish company with the money he got from the mobile home business. It was going well."
Carlucci shook his head. "A mobile home business, a satellite dish company, a mansion, three vehicles, money, money, money. It don't grow on trees."
Carlucci was looking back out at the street. "I'm gonna tell you one thing, and I shouldn't probably, but it's time you grew up. There's a motel on Battleground Avenue, the Twilight Motel. It's been there for years, next to the Your House Diner. Why don't you go there sometime and drive around the back of the place?" He glanced over at me. "You might take it into your pretty little head to wonder how come it's so full of Volvos and Mercedes in the middle of the day."
Carlucci smiled softly. "Of course, you wouldn't be that type, would you?"
"What type?"
He didn't answer. Instead his shoulders tightened and he was frowning at something outside.
"Looks like your bad day's about to take a downward turn," he said.
I looked to see what he meant and found Marshall Weathers climbing out of his unmarked car. If anyone would get the straight facts out of Carlucci, it would be Weathers. I moved to the door, turned the lock, and swung the door wide open.
"We'll see who knows what now," I said, looking back at Carlucci. But he was gone, and the slamming of the back door was my only answer.
Chapter Nine
Marshall Weathers was in a foul mood and maybe that's why I didn't tell him anything. Maybe if he'd made it easy, I would've told him about Carlucci, but as it was, I didn't get a chance. At least, that's how I chose to see it.
"I thought you might be here," he said. "I need your signature on a search warrant so we can go through the books and other stuff in Vernell's offices." He was whipping out the papers as he spoke.
"Come inside," I said. The curtains fluttered across the street and I knew the unmarked patrol car, with its antennae and state plates, was drawing the attention of my neighbors. It wasn't the first time they'd seen police cars in front of the house, but I didn't want them to start speculating on my lifestyle.
Weathers stepped into the living room and sniffed. He smelled breakfast. He looked past me at the dining-room table and I saw his eyebrow twitch. The radar was on. Two coffee mugs sat out on the table. Two crumpled napkins.
"Company?" he asked.
There was something in the tone of his voice, a hint of sarcasm or suspicion that I didn't like one little bit.
"Sheila. I always make her breakfast," I lied. I don't know why I did it, except I didn't like the insinuation.
"I thought you said she stayed at her friend's house and was going to school from there." He had me and we both knew it, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
"She forgot her science book." My neck was starting to flush red, spreading across my chest, burning its way up to my ears. I never was a good liar, but pride made me continue to try. "You know young'uns," I said, "always hungry."
He looked at me, his eyes zeroing in on my neck. He took his time folding up the search warrant and pushing it slowly into his jacket pocket.
"Yep," he said at last, "I know young'uns, and I know Sheila. She just don't strike me as the breakfast type." Before I could argue, he turned away. "Guess you learn stuff about folks every day. Next time I see you, maybe you'll catch me up on why Sheila drinks black coffee instead of juice. And how come she's started carrying pieces of motorcycle chain around with her."
I looked back at the table and saw Carlucci's mug. It was half full. My mug was easy to tell. It had a lipstick-stained rim. A few pieces of metal lay next to Carlucci's mug. I hadn't noticed them. Weathers was out the door and down the sidewalk without a backward glance.
; "Damn," I said, "damn, damn, damn!" I'd lied to Weathers for no other reason than stubborn pride and he'd caught me. "Okay," I said out loud, "it's time to make a move. Forget those stupid men!" I grabbed the cordless phone from its stand by the front door and punched in the number I knew by heart. It was time to call in backup. It was time for brains over brawn. In short, it was time to do the job myself, without relying on a Prince Charming.
"Curly-Que Salon and House of Beauty," a familiar voice rasped.
"Bonnie," I said, "what are you doing?"
There was a snort, and then the sound of a long exhale as Bonnie blew out a stream of cigarette smoke.
"Honey, what the hell do you think I'm doing? I'm doing hair, that's what. I know you've been gone from here a while, but I didn't figure singing would make you forget about the business totally. What am I doing!" She laughed again, her deep voice rumbling through the phone. "You must be having one hell of a time if you can't remember your partner's occupation!"
"Bonnie," I said, breaking in before she took off again, "I need you."
That was all it took. "All right, sugar, what you got going on? I reckon Velmina can take over my customers for a while. You need me now?"
Bonnie never asks why. When Vernell walked out and left us, Bonnie never asked the obvious questions, the ones everyone else asked over and over. She's raising six young'uns on her own, she doesn't have to ask why. Why doesn't matter when you've got to go on. When I told her I wanted to take a leave of absence from our shop and go be a country singer, Bonnie smiled and said, "Go for it, girl!"
"I'm coming to get you," I said. "Vernell's gone, his money's gone, and I've gotta find him."
Bonnie started to say something and stifled herself. I figured it ran along the lines of "don't look for something what needs to stay lost."
"Come on then, honey. I'm just puttin' the blue rinse on Neva Jean. Chances are the old bat won't know whether it's me or Velmina what does her comb-out. I'm good to go."
Fifteen minutes later, I rounded the corner onto Exchange Place, drove slowly down the short side street, and found a parking place in between the bail bondsman's office and the karate studio, directly across from the intensive parole offices and down from the IRS building. The way Bonnie and I figured it, we were in a prime location.
The Curly-Que was humming with the midmorning blue-hairs, all in for their rinse and sets. Bonnie met me at the door, spun me around, and shoved me away from the front desk.
"Get out! Neva Jean sees you and that'll be the end of it! You know how she is! She only wants you to do her. I've finally got her to where she'll let me do it. Don't spoil things."
"But I thought Velmina was doing her comb-out. How'd that happen?"
Bonnie sighed, closed the door to the salon and squinted into the bright sunlight. "Neva dozes off in the chair. What she don't know won't hurt her. Besides, Velmina's almost a spitting double for me."
I looked at Bonnie. She was fifty, had brassy blond hair cut short, and never wore makeup. Velmina was twenty-three, made up like a Barbie doll, and a good six sizes smaller than Bonnie. Denial is a wonderful thing.
As we made our way through the downtown traffic, I caught Bonnie up on the details of Vernell's disappearance, the death of Nosmo King, and the arrival of Tony Carlucci.
When I'd finished, Bonnie leaned back in her seat, and looked over at me with a big smile on her face.
"Man," she said, "some people just have all the luck. Look at you. Your husband leaves you, you become a country and western singer, meet a hunk of a detective, and get stalked by another hunk, all courtesy of your low-life, scuzzball husband!" She shook her head. "Honey, I just don't know how you do it. Rodney walked out on me and all I got were the kids and a pile of bills."
It was edging up on eleven a.m. I was flying up Battleground Avenue heading for the older strip of businesses that housed the Twilight Motel and the Your House Diner.
"You know why he wants you to look in the parking lot, don't you?"
Bonnie was staring at me with this curious half-smile that she seems to wear most of the time. To some folks, it might seem she was being smug. To me, it merely meant she was about to say something I wouldn't want to hear, and was trying to cushion bad news with a smile.
"No, why?"
"Baby, the Twilight Motel is centrally located to Irving Park. Them tennis ladies drop their kids at the preschool and then they're right over here taking lessons from the pro, or whoever else is the flavor of the month. Sugar, they rent these rooms by the half-day or the hour. See what I'm saying?"
I did. And so help me, I thought of Vernell in the same breath. This would've been where Vernell took his skunk of a girlfriend back when we were still married. Centrally located, all right. The Twilight Motel was also less than a mile away from the Satellite Kingdom, Vernell's newest endeavor.
I pulled into the parking lot and followed the narrow driveway around to the back. Carlucci was right. Three Volvo station wagons sat in front of motel room doors. The rest of the lot was taken up with pickup trucks and assorted other cars, but it was the upscale models that stood out.
"All right," I said, swinging back around to the front, "here's where we get creative."
I pulled right up to the motel office and stopped the car under a portico. The way I saw it, there was nothing to do but hit the situation head on. I got out of the car, with Bonnie right behind me, and walked into the fifties-time-warp of an office. A pimple-faced young man, somewhere in his early twenties, was behind the counter, his black hair slicked to the side of his head. His lips were too thick for his face, making him look somewhat like a fish.
He slid a pad across the desk to me and smirked. "You want it by the hour or the day, ladies?"
I reached into my purse, pulled out my wallet, and stuck my fingers down into a side slot. Vernell's picture, the worse for wear, and about ten years old, came sliding out.
"Do you know this man?" I asked. I stared hard at the kid, trying to look important or official, but he snickered.
"Yeah, right," he said. "Lady, we work the same as the government here: Don't ask, don't tell. Just like I'd do for you two."
He leered at Bonnie and that was all it took. She reached across the counter, snatched the boy up by his shirt collar, and yanked him halfway across the registration desk. She had a cigarette leaning out of the left side of her mouth, and for a moment, I thought the guy was in danger of being branded.
"Listen here, you little punk," she rasped, smoke billowing out into the boy's face. "This ain't the movies and we ain't playing. I've got young'uns at home older than you and I can whip their asses with one hand tied behind my back." The guy wanted to struggle, but Bonnie uses her hands and arms all day long. There was no prying loose from her grip.
I reached back into my wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. I stepped behind Bonnie and waved it where the kid could see me. He coughed, eyed the money, and looked back at Bonnie.
"All right, all right," he whined, "turn loose of me!"
"Do you know that man?" Bonnie asked, drawing out each word so that it seemed to slap Junior right between the eyes.
I pulled out another bill and added it to the twenty.
"Yes, I do," he said. Bonnie released him with a shove and he fell back, grabbing at his collar.
"Start talking," Bonnie said.
"Mr. Smith's been coming in here semi-regular for the past few months. He used to come in all the time, a couple of years ago, with this knockout, but now he's got him a new one."
I slid a twenty across the counter and it was gone instantly. "Keep talking," I said.
"What do you want to know?"
"When was the last time he was in, and who was he with?"
Bonnie blew smoke across the counter and glared at the boy.
"He was here, um"-the kid looked at the ceiling, thinking-"Friday." The day Vernell vanished.
"You're sure?" I said, my heart beating hard against my chest.
"Y
ep," he said slowly. "It was payday. And it must've been his too, on account of he tipped me fifty bucks." The kid eyed me like maybe I was going to cough up a fifty.
"Who was the woman?" I asked.
"I don't know," the kid said, shaking his head impatiently. "They don't introduce them to me, they just rent the rooms. Ain't you never done it before? The man gets the room while the woman waits in the car."
"Don't get smart, boy," Bonnie said, stepping a little closer to the counter.
"All's I could tell was, she didn't look like the one he used to bring. This one was closer to Mr. Smith's age." I thought about Jolene the Dish Girl, twenty-four, bleached white-blond, and stacked.
"What color hair? What did she look like?"
The clerk thought a moment. "Um, brown hair, you know, dark hair. Kinda cut short, maybe curly. Had a pretty smile. That's all I could tell."
A Mercedes pulled up behind my VW under the portico. An older businessman stepped out of the driver's side door and started toward us.
"Are you done?" the clerk said.
"You ever seen that woman come in here with another guy?" Bonnie asked.
"Nah," the kid answered. "And she wasn't pro material, either."
Bonnie nodded, satisfied. "Just wondering," she muttered to me. "I just can't figure how Vernell keeps coming up with pretty women, as dog-butt ugly as he is!"
We reached the door at the same moment the businessman did. He held the door and I walked out, but Bonnie stopped, looking from him to the young woman waiting in his car.
"Go on back to work, you old fool," she said. "You got a wife and young'uns, don't you?"
The man's face reddened and he walked right on past her, into the office. Bonnie stepped out into the driveway and glared at the blonde in the Mercedes.
"Hussy," she said. "Rodney would've loved this place. Would've saved him taking his pickup out to High Rock Lake and fooling around in the broad daylight!"
I wasn't listening. I was thinking. Vernell had been coming to the Twilight Motel for the past few months with a woman. Vernell, single again, had no need of a motel. He had a mansion. For some reason, this woman wouldn't come to Vernell's stone palace. Why?
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