“Why is it you always want to sit on my newspaper or writing pad when I’m busy, and ignore me when I’m trying to get you to play?”
Sam’s reply was a tap on her pencil. Then he bit the eraser, going into some kind of feline ecstasy at the taste of rubber, while his expensive cat toys remained untouched in the basket.
She leaned close to him.
“You’re being a pest,” she said, and he only purred louder.
“Apparently that’s part of your charm. I seem to prefer difficult blue-eyed males with absolutely no hope of being civilized.”
Dixie began to play, and she abandoned Sam to dig her cell phone out of her backpack. It was Lydia.
“Harley, I just remembered something about the Elvis on my bus,” she said with a note of excitement in her voice. “It’s possible that I’m wrong, but I don’t think so, as it really did look like him. Do you think I should mention it to the police?”
“Of course. What did you remember?”
“It’s the oddest thing, and it was so long ago it’s taken me forever to think of it, but then I just did. It came out of the blue, just a thought, you know, and then I knew it had to be him since who else could it be?”
A little impatient, Harley said, “Well for heaven’s sake, Lydia, who is it?”
“Well, I’m not positive, but—Harley, hold on a minute, will you? The utility guy is here. We’re still having problems with our electricity.”
Harley could have screamed with frustration, but instead chewed on her nails. This could be something that’d lead to the killer. Unless Lydia was off on one of her “TV turns into reality” moments. That had happened before. Once she’d related an entire story of someone being killed by a falling stone gargoyle, only to say later it was an episode of Sherlock Holmes.
Pacing, Harley went to the French doors looking out over her balcony and Overton Park. Lights marked the roads that were closed at night, and in the distance, a lion roared. She heard Lydia speak to the utility guy but didn’t catch the words. It sounded like she picked up again, and Harley said, “Lydia? Lydia?” Then her cell phone went dead. Damn. Of all times! She probably needed to recharge it. It took her only a short time to plug it into the charger and bring up Lydia’s number and redial. Lydia’s phone rang. And rang. She might be trying to call her back, so Harley hung up and waited. Five minutes passed before she tried again. Still no answer. No answering machine. Just the ringing that went on until the phone company cut it off. She looked down at her cell phone and saw that it was fully charged. Maybe it hadn’t cut her off after all.
That annoying prickling on the back of her neck urged her to call Morgan as she grabbed her car keys and headed out the door. “Lydia’s not answering her phone,” she said when he answered. “Someone needs to check on her.”
“So maybe she’s in the shower.”
“No. I was talking to her and she said she’d remembered something about the Elvis on the bus. Then she said the utility company was at the door and we got cut off.”
“I’m on it.”
The line went dead. Harley jumped the last three stairs to land in the foyer and ran out the door to her car. She didn’t like what she was thinking and hoped she was wrong. Oh God, let her be wrong.
When she got to the spacious house on Audubon, police cruisers were in the driveway and on the street with flashing blue lights. Her stomach dropped. Maybe they were just checking things out. Lydia would be on the front porch shivering and saying silly stuff in her squeaky voice while the police looked for a prowler that didn’t exist. Maybe everything was all right.
Then she saw the crime scene unit and knew. Nausea sat in the back of her throat, and she couldn’t move. She sat there at the curb for what seemed an eternity and just watched. It didn’t seem possible. Police coming and going, lights set up, uniformed officers investigating, looking in bushes, fingerprinting doors. It was a surreal nightmare.
A tap on her driver’s door window startled her and she jumped. Then she saw Bobby. She let down the window and he bent to talk to her. “You okay?”
She nodded yes, but suddenly tears were streaming down her face and she felt stupid. He handed her a cloth to use as a hanky and she took it. Bobby looked sympathetic. “I didn’t know you two were that close.”
“Neither did I.” She shook her head and said, “We weren’t close, really. I was just worried. She was so upset and scared. Did . . . did she suffer?”
“It was quick.”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “Morgan told me the police were watching her. How did it happen?”
“They were watching the sides and front of the house. The back is fenced, opens up onto a drainage ditch, lots of brush back there.”
She remembered the open French doors the day she’d gone to visit Lydia. “I should have said something. I saw the back doors open . . . I should have told her to make sure they were locked up.”
“Don’t start blaming yourself. Harley—”
“I know. I know what you’re going to say. You’re right. Morgan’s right. But now she’s dead.”
“That doesn’t mean you killed her, or could have done something to stop it.”
She thought for a moment. “Two witnesses who might identify the killer—Lydia and me. The killer just got rid of one, and I’m next.”
Bobby didn’t say anything, and Harley knew he recognized the truth as well as she did. After a moment, he asked, “Did Lydia say anything important to you?”
Harley shook her head. “She was going to, but then the knock came at her door. She did say she’d remembered something about the Elvis on her bus, but it’d been a long time.”
“That’s all?”
“Except that it looked like him, so it had to be him. Something like that. I should have listened more closely.”
Bobby nodded. “We’ll need to get a formal statement from you. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”
“Have you noticed it’s only Elvis impersonators he’s targeting? I think he’s mad at the contestants. Or organizers. Maybe it’s someone who’s been disqualified. Like Preston Hughes.”
“Maybe. We’ve got our theories.” Bobby straightened. “There’s nothing you can do here tonight. Go home, Harley. I’m sending a unit to make sure it’s safe. Don’t bother arguing with me.” He paused. “The killer could be watching us now, watching the investigation, disguised as an average spectator.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say something tacky when he bent and leaned in the window again. He smelled like aftershave and coffee as he chucked her under the chin. “Hey, as much as you piss me off, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Her smile felt wobbly as she said, “Yeah, who would you have to complain about if I was gone?”
The unit he sent with her checked out her apartment, opening closet doors and cabinets, even checking behind the shower curtain and on the balcony. Then they told her to use the deadbolt before they left. She locked up behind them and leaned against the door. Poor frightened Lydia. Poor foolish Lydia. She hadn’t taken the simplest precautions of keeping all the doors locked. If she had, Harley wouldn’t have been able to scare her in the shower that day. That must be how the killer got into the main house. What had Lydia remembered about him? Whatever it was, it’d gotten her killed.
Harley shivered. Sam, who’d stayed hidden while the police officers checked everything out, emerged from his hiding place with a soft miaoow. Or what passed for soft with him. Harley picked him up, and for once he didn’t try to get away but let her hold him.
Cami had been right when she’d said having a cat could be nice. Sam must sense how upset she was and was trying to comfort her in his own way. He rubbed his head under her chin and purred so loudly his entire body vibrated. She stroked his back and went to her chair to sit down, holding him against he
r chest as she tried not to think about anything at all.
A knock at her door sent Sam bolt upright. He leaped from her lap, leaving claw marks on her arm, and disappeared behind the TV.
“So much for sympathy,” she muttered as she went to her door. She peeked out the hole in the middle and then slid back the deadbolt. “Come on in. You can help me pour hydrogen peroxide over my wounds.”
“How did you get wounded again?” Morgan shut the door behind him.
“Sam-sympathy gone bad. The knock on the door scared him.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The scratches weren’t bad. Taking care of them took just enough time for Harley to recover from her surprise at seeing Morgan at her door again. It felt awkward.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked once they were back in the living room and he had refused her offer of a Coke. He perched on the arm of a chair and crossed his arms.
“Just thought you might need a friend.”
She nodded, a little irritated by the tears that stung her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Lydia wasn’t a real friend, just an acquaintance, but it still hurts to think of the way she died. She was always so frightened and didn’t even want to be a tour bus driver, but her uncle wanted her to learn the business from the ground up. I felt bad for her then and even worse now.”
“What do you think she wanted to tell you when she called?”
Harley narrowed her eyes. “Wait a minute. Are you here on a friendship basis or just trying to get more information out of me?”
“Friendship.” Morgan met her gaze steadily. “Don’t answer if you don’t want to. It’s just the cop in me trying to figure out what she knew that got her killed.”
“Okay. I believe you.” Harley plopped into her chair and ran a hand through her hair. It probably stuck up like railroad spikes, but she didn’t care. “She said she’d recalled something about the Elvis on her bus, that it’d been a long time but she’d just remembered.”
“And she didn’t say what had been a long time?”
Harley shook her head. “She didn’t have a chance to. All the other victims have been Elvis impersonators,” she said after a moment. “Lydia is the first one who isn’t. Could it be a random murder, a burglary gone bad or rape or some other horrible crime, or is it linked to the Elvis murders? That thought keeps going through my mind. And of course, Bobby pointed out that we were witnesses who might remember the killer, too. How could the maniac think no one else might have noticed him on that bus? The vans were full of tourists. Any one of them could remember him.”
“The descriptions they gave are basically the same as the one you and Lydia gave. Maybe the perp thinks you have more reason to remember him. Could it be someone you work with?”
That thought hadn’t occurred to her. She stared at him. “Why? If it ruins the company, we’re all out of a job.”
“That doesn’t always matter. Maybe it’s a former employee. Anyone leave on bad terms? Was there an argument with management?”
“Not that I know about. You’ll have to ask Tootsie that question. He’s been there a long time and he’d know. I’ve always thought Rhett Sandler has the personality of a biscuit, but he’s not the kind to kill someone. Of course, not many of us like Mr. Penney, but it’s not so bad that anyone would want to kill people over it.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“So you’re checking out all the Tour Tyme employees?”
Morgan shrugged. “Just theories. Look, I don’t want you to stay here alone. Think you could stay at your parents’ awhile?”
“Oh please. I can’t leave Sam alone, and King would be delighted to have a new toy. That wouldn’t work at all. Sam might hurt him. Imagine Yogi’s horror.”
“Any other relatives? Your grandparents? Your aunt?”
“I’d rather take on the Killer Elvis. Look, I’ll be fine here. Really.”
“I’m sure you won’t be surprised if I disagree.”
Harley sighed. “I’ve got Mace and a cell phone. I have deadbolts. And I can’t identify the killer.”
“He may not know that. He’s already tried to kill you once. He did kill Lydia.”
She shuddered. That was very true. “Excellent point. All right. I’ll go stay with family tomorrow.”
“Out of town would be best.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
Morgan smiled. “Only for a little while.”
When he stood up, Harley tried not to focus on distracting things like the way he looked in a tight tee shirt and jeans. Or the way his eyes lingered on her a little bit longer than necessary, as if he was remembering their nights together. Lord. She’d been planning a hot bath, but maybe she should make it a cold shower instead. That crooked smile of his always did her in.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, “and lock the door behind me.”
“Right. You, too.”
Well, she thought when he was gone, she’d really sounded lame. Her shoulder hurt and her head had started to throb right behind her eyes. Maybe she should take an aspirin. And chase it with a bottle of wine. This day had been too much.
Instead, she took a cold shower, chased an aspirin with Coke and went to bed. Tomorrow always seemed to come before she was ready.
Ten
“Hey, Harley Jean! I haven’t seen you in a while. How you doing?” Mrs. Shipley called across the street from Harley’s parents’ house on Douglass, and Harley managed to wave back.
“Just fine, Mrs. Shipley. You sure do look nice today.” That was code for “not as bizarre as usual” when it came to Sadie Shipley. A widow in her sixties, she preferred flamboyant hair to match her clothes, a style that often drew startled glances from the uninitiated. Neighbors were accustomed to it, however.
Today she was almost subtle. Bright yellow hair complemented her bright yellow long tee shirt and knee-length knit capris, and she wore plastic sandals with big yellow daisies atop each foot. She made Harley think of marshmallow Easter Peeps.
“You home to stay, Harley Jean?”
Not wanting to drag out the conversation, Harley shook her head and kept walking up the sidewalk to the front porch.
“Just staying a few days.”
“You’ll have to come over for some Karo pecan pie while you’re here, Harley Jean.”
Actually, that didn’t sound bad. Mrs. Shipley made the best pie around. “I will,” she called as she got the front door open without dropping Sam’s cat carrier. He’d been very vocal during the fifteen minute drive, and had ruthlessly expressed his displeasure with her efforts to get him into the carrier. Cami had made it seem so easy. Of course, she’d had much more practice.
Once inside, Harley set the carrier on the coffee table next to half-finished necklaces and dream-catchers while Sam kept up a yowl loud enough to peel bark off trees. Diva came from the kitchen to greet her.
“While you’re here we can cleanse your aura and make you feel better with Reiki,” she said calmly, somehow able to be heard even over the cat’s howling.
“Aura cleansing is fine, but no Reiki. That’s too much like torture. I can’t believe it does any good for anyone but orthopedic surgeons who charge big bucks to put people back together after they’ve had it done.”
“You’re thinking of Shiatsu.” Diva smiled. She never took offense at Harley’s skepticism. “I know something that will relieve your tension and help your headache. Here. Give me your hand.”
After putting her backpack on the coffee table next to Sam, Harley held out her hand. Her mother’s cool fingers found the pressure points on her hand and wrist. Using her thumb and fingers, she pressed gently, and oddly enough, after a few moments Harley’s headache eased.
“I don’t know how you do that,” she said.
“It’s not a secr
et. Anyone can do it. For instance, I apply pressure to move the body’s energies along established pathways, or meridians. Facial pain or headaches can be relieved by applying pressure to the hand, because at that point a meridian connects the two areas. Each meridian links a number of areas of the body. By applying pressure, you direct the energies to heal the body.”
Harley uncrossed her eyes. “Right. I’ll try to remember that.”
Diva released her hand after another gentle squeeze. “Yogi’s in his workshop. He’s nearly through with the bigger windmill he’s been working on.”
“I’ll go out and see him after I take Sam up to my bedroom. Maybe he’ll stop screeching once I get him out of this carrier.”
“Animals are like people. They don’t like being imprisoned.”
After setting up his litter box and putting out his food and water, Harley opened the carrier door. Sam burst out like a cream and brown rocket. He streaked past the litter box, full food bowls and water, and out her open bedroom door. For a startled instant, she crouched beside the empty carrier with her mouth still open, the soothing words she’d started to say still unuttered. It hadn’t gone at all like she’d planned. Cami had assured her he’d hide under her bed or a piece of furniture before he got brave enough to come out for his food. Apparently, Sam had not been informed of that.
There wasn’t any sign of him in the hall or upstairs bathroom. Her brother’s and parents’ bedroom doors were closed. That meant he’d gone downstairs. A crash from below confirmed it.
Harley arrived in the kitchen just in time to see that Yogi had fixed King’s pet door. King pushed through it at about the same time Sam bounced off the kitchen table and headed for the opening. They met nose to nose.
King was delighted.
Sam was not.
He performed a series of intricate cat karate moves with slashing claws and guttural snarls that startled King and sounded like something out of the Exorcist. Then he was gone, back into the dining room. A little late, King started to yelp. Chaos ensued as Yogi arrived to rescue his dog.
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