“Oh my ... let me see. About five years. Just a part-time occupation, of course, but once a year I throw myself into it.” He smiled genially.
“Do you ever perform? I notice you’ve got the Elvis sideburns.”
Williams chuckled. “On occasion I’ve been known to get on stage, though most of the time I’m better at taking photographs and promoting.”
“What’s your favorite Elvis costume?”
“Um, I’d have to say my favorite is the black leather of his sixty-eight tour, but it’s not the most flattering for me, so I usually wear the white jumpsuit. I even have the eagle one. A reproduction, of course.”
Williams wasn’t quite six feet, but close. He looked a little under a hundred seventy-five pounds, but in an Elvis outfit, that might easily be misjudged. Harley put him on her short list of possibles.
Just as she opened her mouth to thank him for his time, Eric grabbed her elbow. “Chick! You’re not gonna believe this—Bruno’s here in an Elvis outfit! Can you believe it?”
Harley tried to cut him off, but Eric paid no attention. He just kept talking.
“Man, that beats everything I’ve seen, an undercover cop playing Elvis. Did you know he did this kind of stuff?”
Gritting her teeth, Harley got out, “No, I’m sure you’re mistaken. You probably just saw someone who looks like him.”
“Oh no, I’d know that dude anywhere. It’s him. His pants are too tight to stash a gun, though. You gotta come see this.”
Williams looked shocked, and Harley wondered if that was a flicker of anger she saw in his eyes. Or fear? Damn. She’d known better than to let Yogi talk her into bringing her brother.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Williams,” she said calmly.
She waited until she was several yards away before she grabbed Eric by the arm. “You idiot! Why’d you have to say that out loud?”
Eric looked surprised. “Say what?”
“That there’s an undercover cop here, you moron!”
“I didn’t say that, I said Bruno—oh. Guess I did. Sorry, chick. I was just so surprised to see him decked out in black leather and Elvis hair I didn’t think that he might be ... uh ... working.”
Harley sighed. “I understand. I had the same reaction. It’s just that it was a bad time to say that when I was talking to a possible suspect.”
“That bald guy? He doesn’t look like he could kill a can of Coke.”
“It’s guys who look like that who’re the worst. Let’s go. I got the information I came for, so I don’t have to torture you any longer.”
Eric shrugged. ‘That’s okay. I’ll wait until Yogi does his bit onstage. It’d make him happy for me to stay.”
“You know, sometimes you act human.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
While Eric joined their mother, who was fussing over Yogi’s costume and hair to get it just right, she went out into the hall and pulled out her cell phone. Three kids came screaming by as she dialed, and she cupped her hand over the phone. She got Morgan’s answering service, as she’d expected.
“Hey. Sorry about this, but your cover’s been blown. Claude Williams knows you’re an undercover cop. Just wanted to let you know.”
She hung up and stared at the ugly wallpaper for a moment. He’d be mad about it, and so would Bobby, but at least they’d been warned. And at least it hadn’t been all her fault.
After the concert ended, Eric walked her to her car. The vapor light was burning brightly over it, and he said, “If you’re okay, I’ll ride home with Yogi and Diva.”
“I’m fine. It saves me a trip.”
Once out of the parking lot, she breathed a sigh of relief. Stupid to get so nervous, but the last week hadn’t exactly been the most reassuring time of her life. Her shoulder still ached, and she wondered what it would have been like if the cut hadn’t been so shallow, if it had been deeper than just a slice across her upper arm and shoulder.
When her cell phone rang, she knew who it was before answering. She let Dixie play a moment before giving in to the inevitable and pulling over into an empty parking lot to answer.
Morgan sounded calm. “Would you mind telling me who blew my cover?”
“Is it that important? I’d rather not be a tattletale.”
“Probably not, but humor me.”
“Eric came with me tonight. He recognized you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Morgan said, “I should have known. Diva and I agreed that we wouldn’t tell Yogi, but we never thought about your brother.”
“Diva knows? Wait. That was a stupid question. Of course she’d know. She always does. She’s very observant, not to mention her special talents. So I take it Yogi doesn’t know?”
“Apparently, he’s not very observant.”
Harley sighed. “True. I don’t fall far from his genetic tree.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to say it. I recognize my limitations. I just can’t do much about them.”
“Work a little harder at it. So who did Eric tell?”
“Claude Williams, who promotes these concerts leading up to the big competition next week. Williams is on my short list of possible suspects, by the way, since he had opportunity and his name was on the postcards sent to the first two victims.” She paused. “But you probably know all this.”
As usual, he didn’t confirm or deny. “I take it you’re still poking around in this despite your promise to Baroni.”
“I didn’t promise him I’d stop. I just promised I’d be careful, and anything I found out I’d share with the police. I’m doing that.”
“Do you have a death wish? You’ve already been stabbed. Whoever is doing this isn’t playing around, Harley.”
“I know that. Why do you think I’m taking precautions? But I’m already involved in this whether I want to be or not. I’m an eyewitness, remember? Lydia and I are the only ones left who might be able to identify this guy, and he’s already tried to get rid of me. I hope you’re keeping a close watch on Lydia. I’m worried about her.”
“Unlike you, she doesn’t leave her house these days. Why don’t you try that?”
“Maybe I should, but I don’t like the thought of just sitting and waiting for some killer to show up at my front door. I’d rather be unpredictable.”
After a moment of silence, Morgan laughed softly. “Well, I can’t say you aren’t that. I’ve never met anyone as unpredictable as you.”
“I’d say thank you, but I’m not at all sure that was a compliment.”
“Neither am I. Look—be careful, Harley. If anything happened to you, I couldn’t stand it. Okay? Just ... be careful.”
Mike hung up before she could respond, and for a moment she just sat there. It almost sounded like he cared. Really cared. Damn him. Why’d he have to go and be confusing like this? She didn’t want to think about him. She had to think about these murders, and not let herself get distracted.
And then she thought about him saying almost the same thing and got really irritated. She didn’t want him being right. She preferred righteous indignation. Being wrong was the pits.
* * * *
When she got home she pulled out a yellow legal pad and drew a line down the middle of the paper. She headed one column Williams and the other one Hughes. Then she listed beneath each one the opportunities and possible motives. It was a very short list.
Williams had opportunity, being involved in the concerts, but Hughes had motive. She’d have to dig into their backgrounds, find out what she could about each now that she’d narrowed it down to those two as possible suspects. And of course, find out the identity of the third victim and if he’d received a postcard as well. For these things, she’d need Tootsie’s help.
Sam jumped up on the counter where she sat with her legal pad, and plopped down atop it to look up at her with slitted eyes and a soft purr. She tried to move the pad from beneath him but he wouldn’t budge.
“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 her 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 in. 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 her 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.
Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis Page 14