“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 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 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.
Chapter 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 secret. 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.
By the time Harley found Sam and got him back to her bedroom, she was sweaty, bloody, and panting. As soon as she released the cat, he disappeared under her bed. She knew where he was because of his high-pitched moans. Leaning back against her closed door, she began to think this hadn’t been such a good idea. She should have nailed her doors shut and stayed home.
The unmistakable sounds of Sam hacking up a hairball under her bed confirmed that. When she had enough strength, she’d put him back in the carrier and return to her apartment. It’d be better than watching the door every moment to make sure cat and dog did not meet again.
“You’re making this difficult, you know,” she said to the cat. “You got along just fine with Cami’s dogs. King’s not so bad. Most of the time. Some of the time. You could overlook it. We won’t be here that long. I hope.”
There was no response from Sam, but that wasn’t unusual. After a moment, Harley got up and opened the door, intending to go to the bathroom to wash her face and scratches. King darted between her legs and into the bedroom, immediately finding Sam under the bed. Shouting for Yogi, Harley grabbed the dog by the tail to keep him from the cat. A scuffle ensued.
“This isn’t going to work,” Harley said when Yogi finally got King back into the hallway and Sam was on top of a tall bookshelf spitting globs of saliva at the ceiling fan. “I knew better. I’m going back home.”
Yogi looked worried. “Maybe you could just leave the cat in your apartment with lots of food and water, and I’ll go check on him every day.”
“No way. If this nut job is crazy enough to kill Elvis right in front of a van full of tourists, he’s crazy enough to hurt my cat. And you. I’m not willing to risk it.”
Diva settled it. She called Nana McMullen and asked if Harley and Sam could stay with her and for a few days. Nana was delighted. Harley was less so.
“Doesn’t she live in a nursing home?”
“Whispering Pines. It’s assisted living. Very nice. Like condos in a mall setting. Nana has a two bedroom place with a screened porch. Meals are served in the main dining room, there’s a beauty shop, doctors on staff, and buses to all the local stores.”
“Don’t forget three trips a month to the casinos,” Yogi said, and Diva smiled.
“That’s true. Nana does love the slot machines.”
“There’s always someone there,” Yogi added, “and they lock the doors at night and no one goes in or out unless they’re checked first. It’s the perfect place to be safe.”
Even though her parents sounded a lot more enthusiastic than she felt, Harley gave in. She hadn’t seen Nana in a while, and she did enjoy her most of the time. But staying in a community of elderly people didn’t sound like something she’d want to do for long.
“I’ll give it a try,” she said reluctantly. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, she’d get a lot of rest. Older people took plenty of naps.
* * * *
“About damn time you came to see me,” Nana said, dispensing with any civilities in her usual manner. At nearly eighty-six, Nana McMullen resembled a quintessential elderly Southern lady, small and white-haired, her pale skin thin and soft, and her eyes a bright blue. But there was nothing fragile or prim about her. She’d grown up during the Great Depression, borne her first child at fifteen, outlived three husbands, and lost none of her snap.
Harley grinned. “Glad to see you too, Nana. I’ve missed you and wanted to visit.”
“Bullshit. You’re only here because you’re trying to hide. What, you think I don’t read the newspapers or watch TV? Doesn’t matter why you’re here, I’m just glad to see you. Is that a cat?”
Harley set down the carrier. “His name is Sam. He and King have personality conflicts.”
“That dog is demented. Cute, but crazy. Fits right in. See if Sam likes my screened porch. There are lots of birds flying around the feeder outside that he can watch.”
“Sam is picky, but as long as there’s not a dog trying to wear him as a furry hat, he should be okay.”
Sam was better than okay. Immediately intrigued by the abundance of birds at the feeder, he crouched atop a wicker table to stare at them and make little noises low in his throat. Probably the feline version of “Come into my parlor.”
After Harley set up the litter box and put out his food and water bowls, she went inside to find Nana in front of the TV, swearing at a baseball game.
“Who’s your favorite?” she asked in a lull, and Nana looked up with something like surprise on her face.
“Atlanta, of course. Though I like our home team, too. Ever been to a Redbirds game?”
“Uh, no. I’ve been to AutoZone a lot, though. You know, with tourists.”
“Yeah, why the hell did you take that job? You’re smarter than that.”
Harley shrugged. “I hated corporate banking. And they hated me. It wasn’t something I was suited for. It was just the first job I got after leaving Ole Miss, and I was too dumb to move up in the company, anyway.”
“Hah.” Nana poked her with a finger. “You were always the smart one. You just got sick of it.”
“Maybe that too. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty damn stupid.”
“Well you’re not. You just need direction. Not like Darcy’s two girls. Dumb as sock puppets, and with personalities to match. Ha!” She leaned forward in her rocker. “That Jung Bong is pitching. He’s a leftie. Got a pretty good strikeout record. Those Cardinals better watch out.” Nana clicked off the TV. “Come on. Lunchtime. Let’s go eat.”
After sitting in the main dining room where they were served baked chicken, cornbread dressing, and green beans, Nana filched some fresh fruit and they went back to her apartment.
“Still got my own teeth,” she said with a smile of smug satisfaction, and then bit into a pear. “So, how’s it going with that hot cop you’re sleeping with?”
Accustomed to Nana’s bluntness, Harley shook her head. “Not going at all right now.”
“Did you dump him?”
“No, we’re just taking some time off for a while.”
Nana looked at her shrewdly. “Right. It’s all this murder crap, isn’t it. Doesn’t look too good for a cop’s girlfriend to run around stumbling over corpses. Bet he dumped you, didn’t he.”
“Don’t try to sugarcoat it for me,” Harley said wryly.
“You don’t need me to tell you what you already know.” Nana waved a hand in the air. “It will sort itself out. You’ll see.”
“Now you sound like Diva.”
“That girl has always been sharp. Isabel never could see it. Thought there was something wrong with her.” Nana shook her head. “When Deirdre was just a little girl, I tried to tell Isabel that she had the sight, but Isabel would have none of it. Called it hocus pocus. I can’t say I understand it myself, but my mother always seemed to know things before they happened, too. Spooky at times and downright scary at others, but not to be dismissed. But then, Isabel always wanted things to be just right. It’s not a bad trait, just
limited. I don’t think Isabel’s ever quite forgiven me for telling Deirdre to be who she is instead of what someone else wanted her to be.”
Harley thought about Grandmother Eaton wanting her little girl to fit into a preconceived mold and Diva fighting against it, a nonconformist because she couldn’t be anything else. No wonder Diva accepted whatever Harley wanted to do with such equanimity. She’d felt the sting of disapproval too often and didn’t want to pass it along.
“What did Grandmother Eaton want Diva to be?” Harley asked, sitting in a thickly padded chair across from her grandmother.
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