“The rest of the bank account numbers. Bernie was too smart to keep everything in one place. He hid stuff at the shop, in his home office, and a few other places. Apparently Julio got hold of some account numbers and told Bernie he’d given them to his brother for safekeeping while he negotiated a bigger piece of the take. Bernie objected, and that’s when he killed Julio with your aunt’s gun. So Cheríe, or Frieda, only had part of what she needed to withdraw money from some offshore bank accounts.”
“So did you find the missing bank account numbers?”
Bobby shook his head. “We’ll find them eventually. I hope.”
“And names of clients? Did you already find those?”
“Found those first. There are going to be some mighty unhappy people when this gets out, as it will soon enough.”
Harley nodded. “Keep my name out of it, or I’ll have to leave town for a while.”
“Don’t worry. Most of the buyers are in St. Louis and Cincinnati.”
“My head’s beginning to hurt,” Harley said. “I feel a vacation coming on.”
“I thought all you did was vacation. Don’t you ever work?” Bobby asked, rather unkindly, she thought.
“It’s time I leave,” she said with as much dignity as she could manage.
Bobby looked at her innocently. “Was it something I said?”
Harley said something rude that made Cami laugh and Bobby scowl, then made her way around police still in the den digging the bullet out of the ceiling and freaking out the cats, and went home. There was a hot bath ahead of her, and if she was lucky—a hotter man.
Seventeen
This time, Harley’s luck was good. The hot bath with a piña colada candle burning and a nice margarita in her hand was only the prelude to sweaty sheets and the dark-haired guy with the killer bod. Some things were worth waiting for, Harley mused sleepily when she woke the next morning. Life could be just fine.
When her phone rang, she started not to answer it, then thought better of that and reached for the cordless on her bedside table before it woke Morgan. She mumbled a hello, and Diva said in a cheerful tone, “The universe has blessed you.”
“I know. Can we discuss that later? I’m a little sleepy right now.”
“Tell Bruno his aura needs cleansing.”
“Mike Morgan. Bruno was just his alias while he was working on a case, remember?”
“Of course I do, Harley, but when he’s undercover, he has to play a part. Did you catch the dead man?”
It was too early to try to follow Diva’s mercurial switches in conversation, but she did her best. “He caught me, but it turned out okay. Now he’s in police custody. Aunt Darcy is off the hook.”
“Tell the police to check out the armoire in her shop. You know the one. There’s some kind of papers or numbers taped to the bottom of a drawer.”
Harley perked up. “I had a feeling there was something I should do about that armoire. I just never got around to it.”
“You have more of a gift than you think, Harley. Perhaps you should open your mind to it and embrace it instead of resisting it.”
“It’s not a gift. It’s a curse. You never know enough to really help me, just enough to get me confused.” Silence greeted that comment, and she sighed. “All right, I know—I need to learn how to listen.”
“That would help.”
Maternal guilt was much more powerful than any psychic ability. Harley ended the conversation by promising to visit later in the day. Yogi was in training for his annual Elvis contest in August. Maybe she could arrange to be out of town that month. It was always a source of great embarrassment to her to see him stuffed into an Elvis jumpsuit and gold necklaces.
“I’m doomed,” she muttered to the ceiling, and Mike rolled over to look at her.
“Why?”
“My parents.”
He nibbled on her right ear lobe. “They aren’t that bad.”
“You’ve met them, right?”
For a moment he paused in the nibbling, then shrugged. “Well, at least they’re interesting. It could be worse.”
“Right. I could be living with them again.”
“They can’t be too bad. Look how good you turned out.”
She smiled. “You’re only saying that because it’s true.”
“Modesty is such a turn-on.” His lips began to work down her throat.
She sighed. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you’d never get down to business.”
Morgan always knew just the thing to take her mind off whatever she was thinking about. There was just something about a blue-eyed man with dark hair and great pecs and abs . . .
After a visit with her parents—during which Yogi coerced her into going jogging with him and Diva insisted upon cleansing her aura—Harley headed for Cami’s house. She needed a bit of sanity before calling Tootsie to have him put her back on the schedule next week.
“It would have been nice,” Harley said to Cami, “if Bobby had told me that the dead man wasn’t Harry Gordon, instead of keeping that information to himself. It might have saved us both a lot of trouble.”
“You know police can’t compromise their cases by giving out that kind of information. And look at it this way—you got a big reward for your efforts. Still taking that cruise?”
“I decided to save the money. For emergencies. Taxes get a lot of it anyway, so what’s left goes into savings.”
“I’m impressed. That’s very responsible of you, Harley.”
“Right. How depressing. Pass me the bag of Reese’s.”
Halfway through the bag, Cami said, “Angel moved back in with Bobby.”
Harley looked at her. “You all right?”
“Of course. I told you, we’re just friends. Well, all right—I guess I was beginning to like him a little too much. Maybe this is best.”
“Don’t worry. Angel won’t stay long. They never do. I told you, Bobby has a history of temporary relationships. One of them will file a restraining order on the other soon, then it’ll all be over and if you really want him, you can be there to sweep up the pieces.”
“I’m not sure I want to be the janitor in his life, thank you. And I’m not unhappy, really I’m not. It hadn’t gotten to the point where I cared too much yet. At least I’ll still have him as a friend.”
“Yeah, Bobby can be a good friend. Even if he has been rather upset with me lately.”
Cami laughed. “I know. You should have heard him.”
“Oh no, what I did hear was enough for me. One of these days I’m going to learn to speak Italian so I can understand what he says when he’s really mad. Or maybe I won’t.”
“That’d probably be best,” Cami said with a grin. “What he says in English is bad enough at times.”
“Do you know if he found what Cheríe and Harry were looking for in that armoire? He basically told me to butt out when I called him this morning to tell him what Diva said, but I know he’ll check it out.”
“When he called to say he wouldn’t be making our cookout tonight because of Angel, he said they’d had another development at the design shop, so I imagine so. He sounded very happy about it.”
“The missing offshore bank account numbers, no doubt. Sometimes Diva is uncanny.”
Cami looked thoughtful. “Maybe I need to have her read my palm or cards again. She said life changes with every decision we make or don’t make.”
“That’s truer than I’d like to think about. So what’d you do with the dogs you took from Anna Merritt’s place?”
“Fostered them out. One of our rescue members has a farm in Fisherville. She took the goose and her goslings, too.”
“Lucky her. Gladys bites. And poops indiscriminately.” As Harley unpeeled the wrapper around another peanut butter cup, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and looked around. A pair of blue eyes looked back at her, slitted a little, and whiskers in a triangular face twitched.
“He loves you,” Cami said, and Harley had to admit it seemed to be tru
e.
“What can I say? I’m devastating to the male gender.”
“Take him, Harley. Sam has never liked anyone else but me before. You’re his only choice.”
“I don’t want a cat. I don’t like cats.”
“He likes you.”
“Which only proves that he’s mentally unstable. Cats never like me, and I return the sentiment.”
“He saved our lives, Harley.”
Damn. “And I appreciate it, though I’m not fully convinced he didn’t do that for reasons that had nothing to do with me.”
“Cats are different from dogs. They choose who to like. Dogs are indiscriminate. They like anyone who’ll feed them.”
“Cami—”
“Besides, maybe he’s some reincarnated soul mate from a former life. Diva says King has that kind of connection to Yogi.”
“Diva says a lot of strange things. And besides, King is most likely the reincarnation of a crime boss, not Yogi’s lost love.”
“Even John Gotti had to have love in his life. Look at Sam. He loves you, Harley.”
“I’m not taking him. I don’t want to clean litter boxes. I don’t want the responsibility of a pet. No. I’m not taking him.”
Cami just smiled. Sam rubbed against Harley’s shoulder, looked up with slitted blue eyes and made a purring sound. She shook her head.
“It’d never work. I like living alone.”
She thought about that when she got home and pulled her Toyota up under the shade of the oak tree in the back. Sarah Simon’s car was in its parking slot, but the Spragues’ was vacant. Peace and serenity settled around the brick house, welcome and comforting. She must be crazy.
When she opened the car door, she saw Sarah peek out her window. Maybe being alone too much could lead to insanity. Not the good kind, like artists, writers, and actors, but the kind where she’d sit at the window and gibber, or stay locked in her apartment, afraid to come out. Just great. She’d have to go and apologize for almost running over her, if she could get Sarah to come to the door. Later would be soon enough. Now she had things to do.
Harley opened the back door of her Toyota and reached inside for the day’s shopping. It was heavier than she’d thought, and she staggered a little under the weight of the plastic bag. A bell jingled and cans clanked. She set the sack on the pebbled ground, then leaned back into the car to grasp the handle of a soft-sided carrier. As she pulled it toward her, slitted blue eyes stared at her through the mesh holes and a loud purr rattled the sides. She smiled.
At least cats didn’t bark.
Not yet the end . . .
(Continue reading for an excerpt of Virginia’s next book)
Harely’s Next Adventure
SUSPICIOUS MIMES
The Blue Suede Memphis Mysteries
Book Three
Excerpt
“Elvis lives.” Harley Jean Davidson didn’t really mean that, but what else could she say when her father was looking so expectant, waiting for her to comment nicely? “I’m sure he’d be pleased if he could see you dressed up like him,” she added.
Yogi grinned and twirled so that his jeweled white cape flashed in a glitter of green, red, and blue stones her mother had carefully sewn into what looked like eight yards of satin. Sunlight coming through the front window gleamed off the stones, almost blinding her. Good Lord.
“This year, I’ve had to turn down gigs. I’ve been practicing.” Yogi struck another pose, this time with one leg behind him, the other bent at the knee in a half-crouch, his arm flung out in front like he was trying to hail a taxi.
Harley barely kept from rolling her eyes. She dreaded Elvis Week. It came every year in August, the momentum building up to a climactic frenzy of Elvis-related activities downtown and at Graceland. Perhaps she wouldn’t dread it so badly if Yogi hadn’t made a habit of tugging on a white jumpsuit and impersonating The King, whom he still admired more than twenty years after Elvis’s death. It’d been greatly humiliating when she was younger and more concerned with the opinion of her peers. Now it registered a lesser blip on her radar screen.
Over the years, she’d learned there were far worse humiliations her parents could generate than an unnatural attachment to a long-dead celebrity.
When she looked over at Diva, her mother said to Yogi,
“This is the year you’ll be famous.”
Strong accolade, considering Diva’s uncannily accurate predictions. She might miss some of the details, but lately she’d been right more times than not. That should please Yogi.
“Of course,” her mother added, “it won’t be quite as you expect, but your name will be linked with Elvis’s in a spectacular way.”
That was a little unsettling. In light of the past few months of unwanted publicity, Harley would have preferred anything but spectacular. “Our family has been in the news quite enough, thank you verra much,” she said, her accent on the last phrase a really bad imitation of Elvis. It made Yogi smile, as it always did.
“This is the year I’ll win first prize,” he said jubilantly.
“Always a runner-up, but now I think I have a real shot at it. Preston Hughes dropped out.”
Preston Hughes was Yogi’s archrival in the Elvis impersonator contests. His rendition of Love Me Tender brought down the house every time. The judges loved him.
While Yogi could imitate Elvis fairly well, he didn’t have the vocal range Hughes did.
“I’ll do what I can to be there,” Harley said, “but August is our busiest month, you know. All those tourists wanting to do Graceland means we have every van full. It’s still July, and I did eight runs yesterday in twelve hours. I’d take a load out there, drop them off, go back for another one, bring another group back, take another one. I don’t know how Tootsie kept it all straight, who went where, and when, but he did. He’s amazing.”
Diva smiled. “The candlelight vigil this year will be interesting. Perhaps you should skip it, Harley.”
Harley looked at her. “I’d love to, but that’s our busiest night. All drivers are needed. Mr. Penney would fire me if I missed it. And I’m on shaky ground as it is after all that’s happened.”
“I know. But I have a feeling that you should miss it anyway.”
“I wish you hadn’t said that. I’m already committed. Tootsie would get into a snit if I tried to change on him now. I’d really like to keep my job”
“You seem very content these days. I’m glad.”
“I am content. While I admit driving a tour bus isn’t the best-paying job around, it does pay my bills. I like doing it. The hours are flexible, the people are usually nice, and when they aren’t, I soon get rid of them and never have to see them again. Look in your crystal ball again. Are you sure that warning isn’t meant for someone else? I’d hate to bail on Tootsie now.”
“Whatever you think best, Harley.”
Harley hated it when her mother said things like that. It always felt like she’d made a bad decision when Diva tranquilly agreed with her.
“Okay. I have to ask. Why do you think I shouldn’t go?” By now Diva was headed to the kitchen and Harley followed along behind her, something she could have done even in the dark since her mother liked wearing tiny bells sewn into her loose, flowing skirts. Diva still dressed much as she had in the late sixties and early seventies, with her pale blond hair long and down her back, tunic tops and skirts to her ankles, sandals and bracelets and necklaces that she made herself out of crystals and beads and leather. Diva and Yogi lived in their own era, and it didn’t much matter to them that time had moved on.
Diva’s reply drifted back over her shoulder. “It’s your choice, Harley.”
“Yes, I know it’s my choice. That doesn’t mean I’ll make the right choice. Come on. Give me a clue here. You know something I don’t, apparently.”
“Rama and Ovid are concerned.”
Harley couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes. “What do Rama and Ovid have to do with me? They’re your spirit guid
es, not mine.”
“What you do affects me. You’re my daughter. But perhaps it’s best that you do go. It will help your father feel so much better.”
“Oh good Lord. That sounds ominous. I’m not going to have to get up on stage at one of his shows and throw my panties or anything like that, am I?”
Diva laughed. “I’m sure not. Oh, will you let King in? The pet door is broken.”
Recognizing she wasn’t going to learn anything else until her mother chose to tell her, Harley went to the back door and opened it. King, her father’s black and white Border Collie named for Elvis, trotted inside. His paws were muddy, and seeing as how there’d been no rain lately, that no doubt meant he’d been up to mischief again.
“I thought the higher fence Yogi put up kept King from getting out,” she said as she gave the dog a pat on the head that promptly elicited an ecstatic wiggle of his entire body.
“It does. Why?”
“His feet are wet. I’ll bet he’s been fishing in Mrs. Erland’s pond again.”
“Perhaps he’s just been in the garden. Yogi hooked up a watering system. King likes to go back there and sample tomatoes on occasion.”
That explained the glazed look in King’s eyes. Yogi’s illegal tobacco grew right next to the tomato plants, and the crop of both had a relaxing effect on those who indulged. Since King couldn’t roll his own and smoke, he’d obviously found eating the tomatoes a nice substitution. Well, whatever kept him from being the neighborhood scourge had to be an improvement.
“He seems much better behaved now,” she remarked. “Maybe he’s settling down.”
“The obedience classes helped, I think. How kind of the Border Collie Rescue to help out.”
“They just didn’t want to get stuck with him. But I’m grateful for anything that keeps me from having to go looking for him at three in the morning.”
“You have an affinity for animals, Harley. I don’t know why you resist it. That’s a lovely talent to have.”
“Right. If you don’t mind pet hair over all your clothes, on the floor, on the furniture, in your food—”
Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries) Page 25
