I slid into the car and cranked the engine. Bonnie was still going on about Rodney leaving her and his history of seducing women. Rodney, never too proud to show his ass when he was drinking, apparently showed it off regularly to the bass fishermen of High Rock Lake. The idea of getting sweaty on the underside of Rodney while lying on the bed-liner of a pickup truck did nothing for me, but Bonnie seemed to think Rodney never lacked for partners.
"Bonnie," I said, "Vernell's new honey must be married to someone he knows or someone who lives in the neighborhood. Why else would she come here every Friday?"
Bonnie, in the middle of her monologue about Rodney, stopped talking and stared at me.
"Guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," she said. "Of course." Bonnie looked out the window as I pulled out into traffic. "Guess we're going to the Satellite Kingdom, huh?" she said.
"Why?"
Bonnie snorted. "On account of that's where he met up with his last honey," she said. "Men ain't free thinkers, you know. They're creatures of habit. Betcha five dollars she's the new receptionist. That's how Rodney got his out at the dealership. Just you wait and see."
We headed north on Battleground, homing in on the Satellite Kingdom. Bonnie was humming to herself now, something that sounded like "Faded Love."
"Bonnie," I said, not looking over at her. "What do you think it means when a man tells you he doesn't want to get involved and then kisses you?"
Bonnie snorted. "Baby, just let me tell you one damn thing: Men are like fish. You can't just plop your line in the water and think they're gonna see it for what it is and run with it."
She was looking at me now, I could feel it. I focused on the traffic, which in a town where everyone feels entitled to having it their way, is a good idea. Vernell's kingdom was straight ahead, just outside of the main business drag, across from Wal-Mart and next to a lot where a guy sat in a truck and sold rocks to wealthy gardeners.
"Naw, a man's gotta mouth the bait a little," she said. "I take it we're discussing your detective fella." I nodded ever so slightly. "Honey, he's a big 'un. Them kind slip up, try and take the bait off your hook, then run if you ain't watchin'. You gotta wait 'em out. Don't go yanking on the line and trying to reel him in. He's got a lot of fight in him. You can tell that, just by the way he walks."
I couldn't let that one go. "How can you tell what a man's gonna do by the way he walks?"
"Your boy walks slow like he's prowling," she said. "Remember, I've met him. He came into the shop when Jimmy got hisself murdered. Thought he could get to you by going through me. Huh!" she snorted. "Yeah, right, like I'd talk about you to the police." Bonnie reached in her purse for a cigarette, remembered I didn't like smoking in the car, and dropped the pack back into the leather pouch. "That detective can't keep his eyes off of you, that's another sign. You got him, but you gotta give him room to run."
I had no idea what Bonnie was going on about. The way I had it figured, it was hopeless. My head knew this, but my heart and a few other parts of my anatomy didn't want to throw in the towel quite yet.
I pulled into the gravel lot of the Satellite Kingdom and stopped in front of the doublewide Vernell used for a sales office.
"Now here's where the rubber meets the road," Bonnie said, and opened the car door. "Five dollars says it's the receptionist." And with that she marched up the stairs and into the building.
By the time I reached the door, Bonnie was stomping out. "Clever ruse, that Vernell has," was all she said as she walked past me and down the steps. She was fumbling with a cigarette and a lighter and apparently had no intentions of returning. "Just make it snappy. I need to get back to the shop as soon as possible. They can't keep the place going more than an hour without me there to watch 'em." She gave me a sharp glance and touched my arm. "I mean, unless you need me to whip that one inside into shape." She looked back toward the door and shook her head. "There's more to all this than meets the eye, honey."
I had no idea what she was talking about and Bonnie wasn't sticking around to explain. She walked off across the parking lot, headed for the car and her smoke break.
I pulled open the glass door and stepped inside. The receptionist looked up and smiled, her gray hair piled neatly on top of her head.
"Can I help you?"
"You're new," I said.
The woman adjusted her thin framed glasses, pushing them back up her nose and squinting through them to see me better. Her face was a maze of wrinkles and laugh lines. She was the double for Vernell's grandmother.
"Oh dear," she sighed, "now just tell me you're someone important and I'm supposed to know you." She shook her head. "I told Bess I didn't need a job, but she had to have it her way."
"Bess who?" I asked.
The woman stood up from behind the desk and walked around to stand in front of me.
"Bess King, my daughter. She's the one told me I needed something to do now that Guthrie's gone. She said Mr. Spivey needed help, and here I am." She smiled and I couldn't help smiling back, but inside my heart had skipped a beat. Bess King. Nosmo King.
"Don't mind me," she said, "I wander on." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Eugenia Price. Welcome to the Satellite Kingdom. I'd be glad to help you with all your satellite needs but as you can see, I don't know a thing about newfangled technology. Our salesmen are, um"-she looked around-"out in the field today."
Out in the field, indeed. With Vernell gone, and paychecks missing, it meant the sales team hadn't shown for work.
"How about Andy Little?" I asked. Eugenia Price looked puzzled. "The manager."
"Oh yeah, him." She shook her head. "I think he's in the field, too." Eugenia was looking around, her gaze flitting back and forth from one vacant office to another. "I just started Thursday. To tell you the truth, I'm just not the one to help."
"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Price. I reckon you don't know, but I'm Mr. Spivey's ex-wife and I'm worried about him." There was suspicion in Eugenia Price's eyes now. Concern and ex don't always run together.
"He's missing," I said. "He hasn't been seen since Friday. He and I are co-owners of his other business, the Mobile Home Kingdom. I'm just plain scared something's happened."
Eugenia's eyes widened. She folded her arms, her fingers running up and down the silky material of her sleeves, as if she were trying to warm up.
"Missing?" she repeated.
I nodded. "You know, if your daughter is a friend of Vernell's, she might know where he is."
Eugenia shook her head slightly. "Oh, I don't think so. Vernell Spivey is the last thing on her mind. Bess's husband died this week." Eugenia's face seemed to crumple a little as pain slowly filled her eyes. "I was only here this morning to tell the boss man I can't stay." She looked around the empty trailer. "I guess there's no point in waiting around anymore. I was supposed to start at twelve, but I can't stay. Bess has got so much on her."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said automatically.
Eugenia Price's head went up. "Oh, sugar," she said, "that weren't no loss. Nosmo King was the meanest man alive. I've been after Bess for years to leave him. I'm only sorry he died and left things in such a mess. No will. No instructions. And her with them two kids and Nosmo's gas station to run."
I could see Bonnie outside leaning on the hood of my car, a cigarette in hand and a scowl on her face.
"That's terrible," I said.
Eugenia nodded. "Yeah, but at least she won't be hurting for money. That gas station is a gold mine. Sits right out at the corner of Summit Avenue and Wendover. I never knew there was so much money in gasoline!"
Eugenia shook herself and looked back at me. "I'm sorry, here you are worried about your husband, and I'm running on about my own worries."
I smiled again. "Vernell'll turn up," I said, "he always does. You know," I said, "I think I may've seen your Bess around here before. She have short brown hair, kinda curly, and a real pretty smile?"
Eugenia Price smiled. "That's her," she said. "Prettiest smile in
Guilford County, I always say."
Chapter Ten
There was a crown on the sign in front of King's Gas and Go, but that was the only thing golden or regal about the place. The gas station was packed tight into a corner that had to see traffic all day and night long. In years gone by, Summit Avenue had been the hub of the cotton mill village that took up the southeastern edge of town. But now the mill was closed and the houses and businesses that had flourished with mill money were falling into disrepair.
Fast-food restaurants and used car lots had moved in. Summit Avenue was now a stopping point in a journey to somewhere else. Folks just didn't stick around to find out what was going to happen next, because something bad was always happening next on Summit Avenue. The cops had even set up a field station there so they wouldn't have so far to go between calls. At night, Summit became a drug-dealing, whore-peddling, one-stop-shopping opportunity. By day it merely looked dirty and hung over.
King's Gas and Go had been celebrating. Grimy red and white triangles like dragon's teeth spun their way down a thick white tape, framing the entrance to a new car wash that sat on a little hill to the right of the station. Nosmo King had packed every bit of his corner lot with money-making opportunities, leaving his customers to fend for themselves when it came to parking and maneuvering their way off of the tiny lot and back into oncoming traffic.
I pulled my VW up to the pump and took the opportunity to fill it up while I studied my approach. Bonnie was back at the salon, so I couldn't rely on her to bulldoze her way inside and run the interrogation. Anyway, this situation probably called for a softer approach. Nosmo King was dead, but the station still stayed open. I figured whoever was running it had to be a minor peon, but still, they might know something. I looked up at the dirty white building. The bay doors were open and an ancient pickup sat high atop a lift receiving some kind of care. The front window was mirrored with tinted glass making it impossible to see inside. On the whole, you couldn't tell that the owner had just been murdered.
Mama always said, "A potato's just a potato, until you start peeling." I figured that was true of King's Gas and Go too. I walked across the tiny lot and pulled open the tinted glass door. A bell tinkled and the dark-haired woman behind the cash register looked up for a second, then went back to poring over a huge black notebook.
My heart started beating faster, my skin prickled, and I just knew it had to be her. Dark hair, kind of curly. I walked down the aisle, looking at the potted meat and saltine crackers. I stepped to the window and pretended to study the rows of trophies that stood on display.
They were huge gold and silver monuments, the kind they give out to sports teams when they win championships, only these weren't sporting trophies. They were made out, in most cases, to Bess King. Grand Champion, Maggie Valley Clog-off, 1999; First Place, Georgia Nationals, Town and Country Cloggers. There wasn't a second place among them, and there were enough to completely fill the ledge. I began to peel the potato.
"Those trophies," I said, stepping up to the counter, "they're amazing. What is clogging?"
The woman looked up and favored me with a faint smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as if she'd maybe been standing in the same spot for days. Her white cotton shirt was rumpled and stained with blue ink marks. Her hair fell in ringlets around her face. The little lines that women get in their late thirties had deepened with fatigue, and she looked almost relieved to see a stranger.
"You on pump one?" she asked softly. I turned and looked out the window. I was the only one at the pumps.
"Yep," I answered. She wasn't going to talk to me.
"Okay, that's eight dollars even," she said. "That gets you a free car wash. Here's your token."
She slid the brass coin across to me and I picked it up and turned to go.
"Oh, you wanted to know about the trophies, didn't you?"
I spun back around. "Yeah. I've heard of clogging, but I'm not sure I know what it is."
Bess King ran her hand through her hair and sighed. "Clogging is a form of dance, brought over to the Appalachians by our English and Irish ancestors. It looks a little like tap dancing."
I pointed to the biggest trophy, the Grand Champion, 1999. "Is that yours?" I asked.
"Yeah. Clogging's what keeps me going," she said. "You've probably seen my team, the Town and Country Cloggers? We dance all over Greensboro."
The potato was unraveling. "Hmm," I said, pretending to think, "I don't know." I looked up at her, as if an idea was slowly dawning in my head. "You dance to country music, don't you?" She nodded. "You know, I sing for the house band out at the Golden Stallion. How come y'all haven't been there to dance?"
Bess King grinned quickly. "Haven't been asked," she said. "It's not like we charge a whole lot, either. We dance for donations, we dance for food, sometimes, we just flat-out dance!" Her eyes sparkled, and for an instant I saw why Vernell had been drawn to her. She looked alive and happy. But the curtain of fatigue and pain quickly dropped back into place.
"My name's Maggie Reid," I said, and watched her reaction. Her head shot back up, and her eyes studied me, a startled expression on her face.
"Maggie Reid?"
Vernell had told her about me. I could see that as plain as day. I decided to hit it head on.
"Vernell's my ex-husband," I said. "Your husband was found in his car last night."
Bess King made no more pretense of looking at the papers in front of her. "You're Vernell's ex?" she asked.
"That's why I'm here. I need to find him."
Bess's eyes narrowed. "Why did you come to me? What makes you think I'd know where he is?"
I hated to do it. She seemed like a nice woman under an incredible amount of strain, but I didn't know her. What if she'd done something with Vernell? What if she were lying to me and hiding him? Worse yet, what if she'd killed her husband?
"I'm coming to you because you were the last one to see him, Friday morning, at the Twilight Motel." I said it hard, like maybe she had some explaining to do.
Bess King's face crumpled. "Go away," she said softly.
"Where's Vernell?" I demanded. "Your husband's dead. You were fooling around with Vernell, and now he's gone. So far, honey, you're looking like the missing link."
Through the door leading out to the bay, I could hear the sound of the impact wrench, loosening tires. She wasn't alone on the lot. If she needed reinforcements, all she had to do was call out.
"You don't know anything," Bess said, her voice tight and angry. "Vernell Spivey is the kindest man to ever walk the face of this earth. If it weren't for him…" Her voice trailed off and tears filled her eyes. "If it weren't for him, my life would've stayed the living hell it's been since I met Nosmo King."
I stepped back toward the counter. Her hand jumped instinctively to a shelf just beneath the cash register. She was reaching for a gun.
"Hey," I said, softly, raising my hands, palms up. "I don't think you understand. I'm just worried about Vernell." I smiled a little. "I guess I'm like his second big sister nowadays. I worry about him. His daughter is worried sick about her daddy. Vernell didn't make payroll this week, and that's just not like him." I edged a little closer. "I just want to know if you've seen him, but I guess you haven't."
I dropped my hands slowly and looked at her. "I don't know what you and Vernell had going on, and frankly, I don't really care. If you're good to him, that's fine. But you gotta admit, finding your husband dead in Vernell's car looks bad for you and Vernell."
Bess stood there, watching me, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.
"I was hoping you'd be able to help me, or at least talk to me woman to woman, but I guess you're not the kind, and I'm sorry for it."
With that I started to walk away. My hand was actually on the door handle when she called out.
"Wait! I just didn't…" Her voice trailed off and I turned back. "I wasn't sure I should talk to you, that's all. I wasn't sure how you'd feel, or what you'd think."
Bess closed her thick notebook with a sigh. "I'm trying to make heads or tails of what's going on with this place," she said. "I need to know if I can cover the funeral, but I guess that's a joke. From the looks of it, I could buy Nosmo his own cemetery. Who knew a gas station in this part of town could make that much money?" She looked past me, out at the pumps. "Shoot! Look at that! Now that's just what I don't need. That man's turning into a real pest." A familiar unmarked sedan was pulling into the parking lot. Marshall Weathers was rolling in on us like a thick fog. If he found the two of us talking, there'd be no telling what he'd think.
"Well, he sure doesn't need to find me here," I muttered.
Maybe he wouldn't notice my car. Old white VWs were common. Maybe if I slipped out the side door and drove around to the car wash, he'd come and go.
"Listen," I said, "I'll go wash the car and check back. If he's gone we'll talk, if not, I'll ride back by in a few minutes."
Weathers was getting out of his car, staring right at me, as if he could see my face through the tinted windows. I turned and fled just as he stepped up onto the stoop and put his hand on the door.
I could hear the bell on the door tinkle as I made a quick dash to my car. I slunk down into the driver's seat, started her up, and pulled up the incline and around back, out of Weathers's sight, to the car wash entrance. I pushed my token into the slot, hit the button, and lined the car up with the automatic tracks.
The lights came on, water started squirting out from every possible surface of the interior walls, and the brushes began to whir. I reached up to crank the handle and close the sunroof as the car began moving forward. I turned and turned, moving the panel slowly forward, but just as the hood touched the front water jets, the handle came off in my hands.
"No!" I yelled. I tried furiously to reattach the handle, but there was nothing for it. The screw was stripped. I was headed into a deluxe hot wash and wax with my sunroof open a good four inches.
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