Stand By Your Man mr-2

by Nancy Bartholomew

  Poor Vernell. If it were possible, he seemed to be changing his ways, or at least considering it. A piece of paper fluttered out of the Bible as I turned the pages, falling into my lap. It was scrap paper, and on it Vernell had written "The Satellite Kingdom," then scratched that out. "The Mobile Home Kingdom," and scratched that out. This was followed by a series of names: "Vernell's Palace of the Future," "Millennium World," "Divine Accommodations," and "Seek and Ye Shall Find It All World," all scratched out. Finally Vernell had arrived at something that worked for him. "The Promised Land Kingdom of Earthly Transportation and Accommodation."

  I shook my head and looked away. What scheme had Vernell concocted now? I looked across the room at the bed and saw a piece of wood sticking out from underneath the dust ruffle.

  When I pulled the dust ruffle aside and looked, I found Vernell's master plan. It was a balsa wood model, carefully constructed and delicately laid out, a two-foot-by-two-foot square. Vernell's "Promised Land Kingdom." There, in miniature, was his plan to take over Greensboro's transportation and accommodation needs. An entire village of mobile homes, satellite dishes, and used cars that would sit on a huge plot of land just beyond the water park on South Holden Road.

  I picked up the miniature mobile homes and saw crosses carefully engraved on the rear panels of the trailers. Each used car bore a tiny cross. Each satellite dish was carefully painted in black, with an image of Jesus, stretching out his hands to better receive the signal.

  "Oh, Vernell," I sighed. "What have you done now?"

  I had to admit, Greensboro had nothing like it. One-stop shopping for those of us living paycheck to paycheck. The used car lot was huge, bigger than any I'd ever seen. I'd heard tell of used car superstores in Atlanta, but Greensboro had nothing of this magnitude. And Vernell had plans to more than double his mobile home inventory. How had he intended to pull it all off?

  Nosmo King. That's why Vernell had been talking to Nosmo. So what stopped him? What had changed his mind? I looked back at the Bible. "Wealth is a ransom for a person's life, but the poor get no threats." What was that all about?

  "Okay," I whispered, "let's get to the bottom of all this."

  I turned out Vernell's bedroom light and left the room, closing the door behind me. It was time to find Pauline Conrad and make her talk to me. I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven thirty. In three more hours I had to be back at the Golden Stallion, ready to face down three men and one angry teenager.

  I walked back through the darkened house, mulling it all over. Vernell always seemed to have money, but the piles of bills on his desk seemed to say otherwise. The fact that he'd put together another outrageous business scheme didn't surprise me at all. Vernell always had something up his sleeve. But going to illegal ends to get the money, now that surprised me. What would make him do a thing like that? And what would make him decide against it?

  I walked into the kitchen, headed for the back door and stopped as I was walking by the wall phone. I could hear Tony Carlucci's voice in my head. "He's got someone who cares about him. He's got Bess."

  I looked at the pad of numbers Vernell kept beside the phone, mounted on a tacky little floral pad that had to be a Jolene leftover. Bess King's number was sitting right there.

  "Why not?" I murmured. "Maybe two heads would be better than one."

  I dialed the number and waited. After three rings I heard her voice, tired but not sleepy.

  "Hello?" she said.

  "Bess, it's Maggie. Listen, you want to help me get Vernell out of this mess?"

  "What do you mean?" She sounded suspicious.

  "I'm about half out of my mind trying to figure out what all's going on here. Maybe, since you've been with him lately, you can puzzle out some of the pieces that I can't figure. Maybe we'll get to this quicker if we both work on it."

  She was thinking about it. She was quiet for a minute and then strong. "All right, let's do it."

  I made it from Vernell's house to hers in fifteen minutes. She was waiting at the foot of the driveway, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, a female version of Tony Carlucci.

  "I'm thinking we should drop in on Pauline Conrad," I said. "I'm thinking seeing you might shake her up a little."

  Bess smiled softly and looked out the window. "Now that's a conversation I might enjoy having. The widow and the girlfriend, together at last."

  "Precisely," I said. "What do you know about the Promised Land?"

  Bess looked startled, glanced at me then away. She knew everything.

  "The Promised Land? Why, I guess I know no more than the next person," she said, but her voice cracked.

  "Look," I said, speeding up and flying down the back road into town, "if you're with me on this, you've gotta be honest, no matter what you think Vernell would want you to do. I'm his ex-wife, Bess, not his enemy. I don't want him back, I just want him out of jail."

  Bess sat with that for a minute, thinking and mulling it over.

  "You know, I've been jealous of you a long time, Maggie. Vernell just can't seem to turn loose of trying to do it right for you." Her voice had a bitter edge to it. "He's got you up on some pedestal, just like he does his mother. You're the saint, the one who can never do any wrong, and he's your bad boy."

  I started to say something and stopped. Let her say her piece.

  "He's spent most of his life trying to fit in and be successful. He's been so busy impressing others, he's forgotten about living right. He wants everybody to think he's Mr. Greensboro, and to do that, he created a castle and married a trophy wife, and built up a mountain of debt."

  She turned in her seat and I could feel her staring at me. "You didn't even know that, did you?"

  "Bess, Vernell's money was of no consequence to me. All I wanted was for Sheila to be able to go to college. When her Uncle Jimmy died, I figured she was set on the half of the Mobile Home Kingdom he left her. I let Vernell do his thing and I tried to stay out of it, until he made it to where I had to become involved."

  Bess sighed. "Vernell's been fighting the banks and just about everybody else trying to stay afloat long enough to make the businesses pay off. He was fighting a hostile takeover by VanScoy Mobile Homes on account of they smelled blood and were looking to clean him out. The Promised Land is Vernell's only hope."

  I was back in town, rolling down Elm Street, two blocks away from Pauline Conrad's condominium.

  "So, he was looking to borrow the money to finance the Promised Land from Nosmo?"

  Bess shook her head. "No, not at first. When I met him, all he was looking to do was buy out Archer VanScoy, kind of a reverse takeover. But he didn't want to lose anything to do it. He wanted his image and the power of being the mobile home king. Do you know what a stupid thing it would've been to borrow three million from Nosmo? Twenty percent interest rate, impossible terms, and Nosmo just waiting to repo the whole deal."

  "Why didn't he go through with it?" I pulled up into the condominium parking lot, killed the engine, and turned to face Bess.

  She looked me right in the eye. "Because we fell in love," she said simply. "And Vernell decided to walk in the path of righteousness."

  "But he was still drinking!"

  Bess shrugged. "I didn't say he was walking in the path of perfection. Vernell was new to doing things the right way. Every now and then, he fell back. But Maggie, he kept trying. That's what was new about Vernell."

  Part of me wanted to set her straight, and part of me wanted to believe her. Was it possible that Vernell Spivey had found what I hadn't been able to provide? Was it true that he was growing up at last? I looked up at the tenth floor of the condo building and shuddered. Maybe Pauline Conrad had taken it all away from him. And if she hadn't, maybe she held the key to figuring it all out.

  "Okay," I said, "let's go. There's the small matter of the doorman, and then we're in and up the elevator."

  Bess stepped out of the car, her lips tightened into a firm, straight line. "Don't worry about him," she
said. "I can get us inside."

  Bess squared her shoulders and walked across the parking lot. I followed her, doing my best to match her long strides to my own shorter ones. When she reached the front door, Bess fumbled in her purse, produced a flat, plastic card, and stuck it into a slot by the doorway.

  When she saw my mouth gape open, she smiled. "I hired a private detective to find out all about Nosmo. Like I said, I've known about his little love nest for years. He kept his passkey right out on his dresser. I guess he thought I was stupid."

  She breezed inside, walked right up to the elevator and punched the button.

  "Excuse me," the doorman said, "I don't believe I know you."

  Bess favored him with a regal glare. "No, I don't believe you do," she said, and sailed into the open elevator. I stepped in behind her, my heart pounding, and watched as she hit the button for the tenth floor and then the button to close the doors.

  "All you do," she said, "is act as if you belong and they don't. Another little trick my husband taught me. I'm not saying it's right, I'm just saying I learned it from him."

  We rode up in silence. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I was trying to figure out the best way to get to Pauline Conrad. When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Bess King was across the hall and ringing the doorbell without me having to direct her. Her eyes were hard and her entire manner had changed. Gone was the country girl, and in her place, a hard-nosed, all-business woman.

  Footsteps scuffed across the foyer on the other side of the door. Someone peered out through the peephole, and then the door swung open on its chain.

  Pauline Conrad wore bunny slippers and flannel pajamas. Her hair was pulled back from her face by a soft pink headband, and all the makeup had been carefully scrubbed away. She looked ten years old, with an early onset case of acne.

  "Bess," she said, stuttering slightly and obviously startled.

  "Hello, Pauline. Mind if we come in? I need to talk to you." Bess spoke softly, but like my old school principal, with authority and strength that simmered just below the genuine warmth and kindness. I didn't know how she was pulling it off. This was the latest in a string of women who'd slept with her husband on a regular basis, eroding her marriage into the sham it had become when she met Vernell.

  Pauline closed the door, removed the chain and then swung it wide to admit her late-night visitors. As Bess stepped through the door, Pauline started offering her tea and coffee and all manner of drinks and hospitality, but Bess shook her head and waved her away.

  "Let's go sit in your living room and have us a little talk," she said. She smiled, but I was reminded of the old tale Mama used to tell about the mongoose and the snake. I was willing to bet that the smile on Bess King's face matched the smile the mongoose gave the snake, right before it killed it.

  Bess sat down on a white overstuffed sofa and glanced around the elegantly appointed room. It was all done in shades of white and cream, with rich textures and fabrics that screamed of money. A beautiful oil painting of a naked woman hung over the marble edged fireplace. The frame was thick with gold leaf covering its ornate scrollwork.

  "My," Bess said, looking around. "Nosmo did have taste. Or did he hire a decorator?"

  Pauline turned bright red, then began to pale. "Bess, it isn't…"

  "Shut up, honey," Bess said. "It is exactly what it looks like. And don't think I'm especially offended by you. You're just the latest in a string of women that Nosmo installed here in his little love nest. I've known about it for years, so don't feel special."

  Pauline started to cry and this only irritated Bess.

  "Now listen," she said. "Don't waste your little crocodile tears on us, we really don't have time for them. I want you to start by telling me what happened to my husband."

  Pauline choked off a sob and started to cough.

  "Get her a glass of water," Bess said to me. As I headed for the kitchen, Bess continued. "I know you were with Nosmo at breakfast the morning he disappeared. I know you went off with him and Vernell Spivey. I know Vernell was drinking. Now, when you can pull yourself together, I want to know how my husband died."

  I walked back into the room with the glass of water a minute later and found Pauline blowing her nose and Bess staring at her with an unrelenting gaze that would've made me confess to any manner of sins.

  Pauline took the glass from me with a hand that shook so hard it threatened to spill the water over the edge.

  "All right," she said. "Here it is, but you're not gonna like it." She tried to look spiteful, but it came off more like she had something stuck in her eyes.

  "I know about them other girls," she said, "but Nosmo loved me. We were gonna get married."

  Bess snorted. "I could care less about that. Tell me the facts, not your dreams."

  Pauline tossed her hair back over her shoulders and went on. "That morning we had breakfast at Tex and Shirley's, just like always. We sat at a big old round table in the back, Nosmo's table they call it, on account of he sits there every morning, with me, and whoever else shows up. It's tradition. Vernell Spivey was there because he was due to get some money from Nosmo."

  Bess leaned forward slightly. "Then what happened?"

  Pauline cocked her head and closed her eyes for a second. "Well, a bunch of other folks stopped by and we ate."

  "Who?"

  Pauline frowned. "Um, Christine Razuki and her boyfriend, Archer. Um, Bill Leon and his 'friend,' Robbie. I guess that's it. I mean, the table was full, we were all packed in there. I guess some other people stopped by, but they were just saying hello. You know, like the city manager, a town council guy, Nosmo's barber. I don't know! What does it matter, anyway?" Pauline looked like she was getting impatient with all the interruptions. "So where was I?" she asked.

  "Wait," I said, "I have a question. Where was everybody sitting?"

  Even Bess looked puzzled by that question.

  "Okay, it's a big circular table with chairs around one half of it, and like a half-circle, booth-seat-type thing around the other half, so it's built into the wall. Nosmo sits in the smack dead center against the wall. I sit to his right. Vernell was on his left." She closed her eyes, thinking again. "Christine's boyfriend sat next to Vernell 'cause they knew each other. Christine sat next to him. When Bill and Robbie came, they took the chairs that were left, across from Nosmo. Okay? Can I go on now?"

  Bess and I nodded. But anything that came after this was going to be gravy. I had what I needed. I knew who took Vernell's gun.

  "So anyway, after breakfast, Nosmo and Vernell had business to do, so they dropped me off at the condo. Nosmo was getting his oil changed and he said he wanted to look at some property with Vernell, so they took his truck."

  "Was Vernell drinking?" Bess asked.

  Pauline shrugged. "Well, he told Nosmo he was on the wagon, but Nosmo said they needed to celebrate. We were all sitting in the front seat of Vernell's truck. Nosmo brought out a bottle of Jack and said Vernell should take just one hit, you know, to signify their friendship."

  I was having an awful feeling. I was beginning to see all the pieces of the puzzle fall into place and I didn't like it at all.

  "So then what happened?" Bess asked.

  Pauline shrugged. "I don't know. Nosmo told me to leave so him and Vernell could talk. I came home." She began to cry, real tears this time, that rolled down her face and dripped off her chin in big fat drops. "That was the last time I ever saw him," she sobbed. "The very last time!"

  "Would you like to see him again?" a cool voice whispered. "Because I think it can be arranged."

  The three of us turned, our heads whipping toward the sound of the voice. Christine Razuki, Pauline's guard dog, stood at the entrance to the living room, an ugly silver gun in her hand.

  "I thought I told you not to talk to her," Christine said, her voice hard and angry. "I go out for cigarettes and this is what I find when I come back?"

  Bess didn't miss a beat. She looked up, looked Chr
istine straight in the eye and said, "Chris, don't go cutting the fool. You know me. Sit down and talk with us, that's all we're doing, talking about Nosmo."

  Christine stepped into the room and walked across to a chair by the fireplace, but the gun stayed in her hand, out where it could easily kill any one of the three of us.

  "We go way back, Chris," Bess said. "You and Nosmo are part of the business, the Family, if that's what you want to call it. I think the Family owes me a little respect."

  Christine inclined her head, nodding slightly. "The Family lost a good man in your husband," she said, "but it was business. It was time to move on, and I can say this to you, Bess, because I know you didn't love Nosmo." Bess started to say something, but Christine held up her hand to silence her. "Respect? Were you going to say respect? Because you didn't respect him either, Bess. Not when you were screwing Vernell Spivey. That's not respect."

  The gun came up a little higher, aimed more directly at Bess's chest.

  "So what are you trying to tell me, Christine, that you've gotten a promotion? You no longer book the jobs, now you run the bank?"

  Christine smiled slightly and Bess had her confirmation. Christine reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out a tiny cell phone, and hit a button.

  "Come over to the condo," she said. "We've got some unfinished business." She flipped the phone shut and smiled at Bess.

  "You killed Nosmo so you could run the money? You did that?" Pauline shook her head like she'd been hit and was trying to clear it. She couldn't grasp the concept.

  Christine frowned, looked at her friend, and waved the gun a little as she spoke. "No, I didn't do that! That's ridiculous. I just took advantage of a situation, that's all."

  Pauline wasn't through. "But you're talking so mean about him, Christine. He was nice to you. He was good to us. You shouldn't talk that way about the dead."