Tootsie looked at him. “You do realize that may not be until after you get killed, don’t you? My advice still stands: Call the police.”
“I already tried that. They talked to me like I’m crazy. No, I’d rather see what she can find out first. Then we’ll go to the police.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Harley.
“Sounds like suicide,” said Tootsie.
Harley squinted at him. “You promised me something to drink. I’ll take white wine.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Tootsie asked with one brow lifted and his hands on his hips.
“Yes. Is it working?”
“Only because I’m tired of talking to brick walls.”
When Tootsie had disappeared into the kitchen, Harley looked at Jordan and asked, “Who hates you enough to try to kill you?”
“Besides my ex-wife? Maybe a neighborhood bully when I was six. Other than that, I can’t think of anyone.”
“So tell me about your ex-wife. Is she, uh, a she?”
“Yes, of course she’s a she—oh, I get it. You think because I like to dress up in women’s clothes I’m gay. Well, I’m not. Although lately it does sound attractive.”
“I had to ask, you understand. So tell me about your ex.”
Jordan rolled his eyes and expelled a huge sigh before saying, “Filly—that’s short for Felicia—is a bitch from Hell. She made my life miserable while we were married, and she’s making it miserable now. If I live until the divorce is final, I’ll be surprised.”
“Ah. So you’re still legally married?”
“I’ve filed. We’re still working out the details. She wants alimony. Alimony! She quit her job so she can sit back and make money off me. I told her I’d rot in Hell before she gets one penny.”
He sounded agitated, so Harley steered the discussion in another direction. “When was the first incident? Did you report it?”
“Almost a month ago. A heavy concrete planter barely missed me when I walked under an archway at the apartment complex I’m staying in with a friend. I didn’t report it because I didn’t think anything about it at the time except that it was a freak accident.”
“And the next incident?”
“About a week after that, my car wouldn’t stop on the way to work. I nearly rear-ended a semi. If I hadn’t run up on the sidewalk and plowed into a hedge, I’d probably have ended up decapitated. The mechanic said it looked like the brake line had been cut.”
“Cut? Deliberately? Not another freak thing?”
“Cut. With something sharp. Once the brake fluid drained out, no brakes.”
“Hmmm,” said Harley. “That certainly sounds suspicious. Anything else? Other than tonight’s near miss?”
“Two other incidents. Both within a week. Walking from my work parking lot up to the entrance I was nearly run down by a pickup. I had to jump into a big fountain to escape.”
“Did you see the occupant?”
Jordan shook his head. “Tinted windows, no license plate. I gave the police the information, but of course they haven’t found the truck. There are a lot of black trucks in Memphis.”
“And the next incident? Was it the same day?”
“No, two days later. I was on my way to lunch across the street from the office and stopped at a crosswalk. My office building is on Poplar, and the traffic is always pretty fast and heavy. I was waiting for the light to change, and someone shoved me from behind. I nearly fell right in front of a bus. If it had hit me, I’d have been toast.”
Harley nodded. “I’m familiar with the traffic on Poplar. So what saved you?”
“Some guy standing next to me. He thought I’d fallen.”
“So he didn’t see who had pushed you?”
Jordan shook his head. “No. For a minute I thought it might have been him who pushed me, but he seemed kinda shaken up since the bus barely missed me, so I don’t know.”
“Did you get his name? Was he familiar?”
Again Jordan shook his head. “No, I’d never seen him before, and I haven’t seen him again. I really don’t think it was him, though.”
“I’ll still need a description, anything you can remember about him. Maybe he is just an innocent bystander, but if I can find him and talk to him, he may have seen more than he remembers. You just have to ask the right question sometimes.”
“And you know all the right questions?”
“No,” said Harley. “I don’t always know the right questions to ask. And I don’t always get the right answer, either, but sooner or later it all comes together. I don’t know how it happens.”
“I do,” said Tootsie as he reentered the living room carrying a lacquered tray with wine glasses and canapés. “It happens because fate often smiles on crazy people.”
“Now, Tootsie,” she said, “you shouldn’t call Jordan crazy. It’s impolite.”
“I wasn’t. I referred to you, as you very well know. Here. Have a shrimp puff.”
He’d set the tray next to the other one on the Japanese coffee table. She sniffed suspiciously at the puff he handed her on its own little napkin. It smelled fishy.
“What’d you say these are?”
“Those are shrimp puffs. Salmon canapés are on this plate, and California roll and quiches on this plate.”
She eyed the plates warily. “No real meat, right? I think you must be Diva’s love child. You’re too much like her.”
“If only, darling. Taste your wine. It’s a Riesling I think you’ll like.”
Jordan reached for a wine glass and sipped a bit. “Chateau Ste. Michelle?”
“Yes. American, but very good.”
Harley muttered into her wine, “Snobs.”
“Excuse me?” Tootsie inquired, and she shook her head and smiled.
“Sorry. I almost sneezed.”
Tootsie started to say something but was interrupted by a loud screech from the dining room. The screech was quickly followed by a demand to “Stick ’em up! You’re all under arrest!”
Her brief experience with the birds left Harley unruffled, but Jordan let out a screech very similar to the birds and dropped his wine glass.
“Hey!” she said when wine splashed over her, the Japanese coffee table, and the appetizers. “It’s okay. It’s just Tootsie’s parrots.”
“Chattering Lories,” corrected Tootsie as he retrieved the wine glass from the rug under the coffee table. “They listen to too much TV. No, stay seated. It won’t take a minute to clean up the mess.”
Jordan apologized for the spill, but his hands trembled, and his voice shook. It took a few moments for him to calm down enough to ask Harley, “So you’ll help me find out who’s trying to kill me?”
Harley nodded. “Sure. Piece of cake.”
Tootsie groaned. “I hate it when you say that. It always seems to tempt fate.”
“Doesn’t it?” Harley agreed. “And yet it always seems to work out okay.”
“So far.”
“Don’t be a hater. You’ll jinx me.”
“Sweetie, you were born jinxed.”
There wasn’t much she could say to that. It did seem to be true at the most inconvenient times.
Chapter 4
HARLEY LOOKED again at the address Jordan had scribbled on a sheet of paper. It was in a midtown apartment complex where he was staying with his friend. The Gilmore Apartments were an upscale complex located on South McLean Boulevard a couple miles from downtown. It wasn’t too far from where she lived, near Overton Square and the Overton Park Zoo. The Square had trendy little restaurants and shops; while not as popular as it once was, it was undergoing a revival and drew Memphians and tourists. When driving the limo, she frequently took groups to Paulette’s, a French restaurant on the Square with haute cuisine and the best crème brûlée she’d ever eaten.
She parked her car down the street and walked up the sidewalk to The Gilmore. This was a reconnaissance mission. She wanted to see if it was possible for Jordan to have a concrete planter fall o
n him as well as if any of his neighbors had noticed anything suspicious. It wasn’t that she doubted him at this point; she just wanted to check up in case his imagination was on overload.
Like a lot of other apartments and areas in Midtown, this complex had been recently remodeled. It still retained the 1930s in outward appearance, with arched brick windows and small terraces. It took her a moment to find the right address. Everything looked neat and was surprisingly quiet despite the street traffic. It was on the second floor, and she went up the wide steps two at a time. A light breeze carried the scents of nearby restaurants. She found the right apartment and rapped on the door. Jordan may be at work, but she hoped his roommate was home. When no one came to the door, she stepped to the end of the breezeway and looked down on the common ground. To her left lay a small terrace with a wide concrete planter on the ledge. To her right lay another terrace with no planters or decorations. She peered over the side to the sidewalk below. So it was possible to have a planter pushed over the edge. She mentally checked off a point on her list of possibilities.
Then she went back to the apartment door and knocked again. This time the door opened quickly, and a man looked out at her. He wasn’t that tall, but he was muscular, with dark hair, eyes, and a cheap suit. He didn’t sound friendly. “What do you want?”
She took a step back. “Uh, do you live here?”
“What does it look like, sister? Who are you, the Welcome Wagon?”
“The what?”
“Never mind. Wha’d’ya want?” Now he sounded unfriendly and impatient.
“Is this where Jordan Cleveland lives?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yeah. What do you want with him?”
“Uh, nothing. I mean I was just stopping by. For a visit. You know.”
“Yeah? What kind of visit?”
Harley sucked in a deep breath. “The regular kind. You know. Talking. A beer. Listening to music. Say, you haven’t seen anything odd around here, have you?”
She didn’t add, Other than you, although she was thinking it.
“Odd like in how?” He leaned against the door frame, looked her over from head to toe, and said, “You ain’t no friend, sister. What are you really doing here?”
“Just leaving. Jordan obviously isn’t here. Sorry to bother you. Later.”
She backed away from the door, and it looked for a minute like he was going to reach for her or follow her, but then an apartment door across the hallway opened, and he took a step back. She took the opportunity to get the hell out of there.
By the time she got back to her car, Harley was convinced Jordan wasn’t telling her everything he should have told her. Like the fact that his roommate was scary. That info would have helped a lot. She hated scary. Scary was never fun. It could be a bit informative, however. Maybe Jordan was being stalked by his own roomie. The guy had the personality for it. He looked, sounded, and acted like a cheap thug. It wouldn’t take a big stretch of the imagination to see him pushing a concrete planter off a balcony.
She put that on her list of questions for Jordan. There was a lot he’d left out. Like his roommate’s name. It’d help to find out those details.
On the way back to her apartment, Harley stopped at Taco Bell for a bean burrito and an order of nachos and cheese. She sipped on a Coke as she drove home, juggling the cardboard cup with shifting gears. The first part of the day had been spent driving some tourists to all the Elvis destinations. It was a small group of ladies from Milwaukee, and they’d kept her laughing with their wisecracks and silly jokes. Groups like that were fun to drive around. She’d finally let them off at the Radisson and took the van back to the parking garage where she’d left her car. It hadn’t taken long to clean out the smaller van and refuel it for the next group and driver. A small courtesy that not all of the drivers did for the others. That was one of her life’s lesser irritations.
A larger irritation was defending herself when unjustly accused. Or even justly accused. To be fair, not all her recent decisions had turned out well. That didn’t mean she wanted to be reminded of that, however.
“I don’t believe it.” Sitting on Harley’s couch with a half-empty bottle of beer on the table next to him, Morgan put a hand to his head like it was hurting. “After all that happened this past August, you’re going to do it again?”
Harley threw away her empty Taco Bell wrappers and protested his reminder.
“This isn’t at all like what happened in August. This time someone wants this guy dead and doesn’t want me dead. He claims his ex-wife is trying to kill him. And he gave me five hundred dollars up front and will pay an hourly fee for my investigation.”
“You’re not a licensed investigator, Harley.”
She waved a hand. “Minor detail.”
Mike groaned. “I’m not at all sure why I’m keeping company with someone who’s obviously insane.”
“Insanity has its good points. Besides, you’re just hanging around here to see my new collection of sexy panties. Victoria’s Secret. I bought several in case another ferret gets into my panty drawer.”
A grin eased his frown. What a sexy devil he was, one of those guys who made women’s heads turn. Dark hair, killer blue eyes, buff body. Yep, delicious. Over six feet of muscle and danger. Not dangerous just to women, but to the bad guys he pursued in stings and other undercover stuff. He didn’t talk much about his job as a cop, and that was just fine with Harley. The less she knew, the less she’d worry.
“Not that I’m inviting over another ferret,” she added.
Morgan did the equivalent of a cop’s eye roll. “The ferret made things interesting around here, I have to admit.”
“Not according to Eric. He complained for two weeks after Frank climbed up his pants leg. It was funny seeing him jump around like his feet were on hot coals. I do enjoy seeing my brother punked. But despite Frank’s occasional charms, I don’t want to host another ferret for Cami and her animal rescue league.”
Camilla Watson was Harley’s best friend since junior high school at St. Anne’s. They had been partners in crime, so to speak, during their school years. Their friendship had endured into adulthood, and they still got together whenever time allowed. Cami knew all Harley’s secrets, and Harley knew all hers. It made for a symbiotic friendship.
Mike got up and stretched, his navy tee shirt rising over washboard abs in the most intriguing way. It made her heart beat a little faster and a tingle rush to her stomach, while heat settled a bit farther down. Exciting and scary at the same time. Who’d have ever thought she’d meet a cop over a corpse? Or that’s what she liked to tell people. She’d actually met him when he had moved in next door to her parents’ house. The corpse came later.
“Gotta go,” he said, then came to lean over her, putting one hand on each arm of the chair. “Don’t get into any trouble. Don’t investigate any murders or almost murders. Leave that to the professionals. Stay safe. Stay alive.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Anything for the man with the big gun.”
His voice lowered to a sexy murmur. “I can show you my gun later tonight.”
Harley wanted to say that sounded great, but all that came out was, “Ummm.”
He smiled and leaned closer, his lips brushing over hers, the back of his fingers stroking from her cheek to her chin. She gulped. How could he still do this to her after six months? Some of the magic should have disappeared by now if she went by her personal experience. After all, her former relationships had always been brief and disappointing.
Before she could move, he straightened up and went to the door of her apartment, said, “See you later, green eyes,” then was gone. She sucked in a deep breath. Man, he left her breathing hard and tingling in unexpected places when he did that.
While she thought about getting up and sitting out on her balcony for a while to cool off, Sam the Siamese cat decided she should give him some attention.
He leaped onto her lap, found a place he liked between her sto
mach and thighs, then curled into a ball of fur and started to purr. It was rather soothing. Even though the hairy little beast ejected hairballs onto the floor and didn’t like visitors, he was good company. And territorial. He only liked three people: Harley, Cami, and Mike. Now he was doing that thing Cami said meant he was contented, kneading his front paws into her jeans like he was making biscuits.
She put her head back against the plush, white-striped chair and closed her eyes. Just for a minute. The day had been pretty hectic. Carting tourists around could be tiring. Maybe a power nap would help.
When she woke up, it was nearly dark. Sam was gone. She turned on a light next to her chair, and the stained glass lamp cast a jeweled glow in the room. It was pretty, but not an original Tiffany like Tootsie’s. It had belonged to Yogi’s mother. Most of her furniture was yard sale bargains or hand-me-downs. Yawning, she tidied up, threw away the half-empty bottle of beer Morgan left, and replaced the plastic tray of doody in Sam’s litter box with a clean tray. It was one of those electric litter boxes that scooped up his night deposits and dumped them into a plastic tray. Short of making Sam go outside, it was the best option when it came to feline doody duty.
Harley went to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she looked in the mirror she said, “Eeeek!”
Instead of sticking up in short gelled spikes, her hair had flattened in the middle, leaving two spikes on each side of her head. They looked like steer horns. Or maybe a goat’s. All she felt was an overpowering need to get rid of the spikes. She spent five minutes working with the horns but finally gave up. The only thing to do was to shower and wash her hair.
Just as she came out of her bedroom with clean shorts and tee shirt, a knock on the door broke the lovely silence. Harley debated. Someone annoying could be on the other side. The knock came again, a little louder and insistent. It was definitely someone annoying. She sighed. As she went to the door she tried again to flatten the hair spikes. It was futile. The gel had dried pretty hard.
Harley opened the door, and Sarah Simon stood on the other side, looking rather distressed. She must be to emerge from her downstairs apartment. She rarely came out. Now she stood at Harley’s door, wearing loose clothes that looked like a cross between hospital scrubs and a karate outfit, and although it looked like she cut it herself, her short auburn hair was neatly combed.
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