Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis

by Virginia Brown

  A green canopy had been erected over the gravesite to shade the family, and folding chairs covered in heavy twill lined one side of the casket which sat on the metal contraption that would lower it into the ground. Fake grass tactfully covered mounds of earth that would be pushed back over the grave once everyone left. A skirt of roses draped Lydia’s coffin.

  Harley hated funerals. They weren’t so much for the dead as for the living, a reminder that the person was gone. Diva said death was just a door into the next world, that nothing was ever really gone, not even flowers and trees. If that was true, Harley figured the next world had to be pretty crowded by now.

  When she bowed her head as the minister offered a prayer, Harley kept her eyes open and looked around at the mourners. It was a fairly large crowd. Lydia would be so pleased. Poor thing. It was really infuriating that someone had stolen her life. She’d never hurt anyone, just done her best with what she had. Mr. Penney probably felt guilty that he hadn’t given in to her requests to work in the office, and he should. If he’d listened to her, she might be alive today.

  The brief service ended and Harley stepped back from the crowd with Tootsie and Nana to look around casually, as if searching for someone. The killer should be here. Hughes would want to come and gloat, try to disguise himself so he could feel powerful. But there was no one here who looked like him. She couldn’t even tell which ones were the undercover cops. Of course, the cops would recognize Hughes, too. After all, his picture was on the Elvis impersonator website, and they had a way of knowing that kind of thing even without her help. So why hadn’t they already arrested him? They had to have collected enough evidence by now to make a case. Her identification would only be one more part of it. Bobby had always been careful about that kind of stuff, not wanting to falsely arrest a suspect until he had hard evidence. Even his arrest of Aunt Darcy had been more protective custody than an actual arraignment, and he’d turned out to be right about that. Maybe he just needed her to confirm what they already knew, and the more she thought about it, the more certain she became it’d been Hughes on her van for the first murder. All he had to do was show up today.

  Family mourners remained under the canopy, saying their last good-byes. Lester Penney got up and went to the casket for a moment. When he turned back around, his cheeks had tear tracks. It surprised Harley, and then she felt bad about being surprised. Just because he was a hard-ass at work didn’t mean he had no emotions. Being an ogre had little to do with being an uncle, after all. And maybe he felt bad about making Lydia do something that frightened her.

  That was confirmed when Mr. Penney approached her and Tootsie. “Thank you for coming,” he said, the ritual phrase at all funerals. “It means a lot to the family.”

  After their sympathetic murmurs, he took a deep breath and said, “I should never have kept making her drive. I just ... I just wanted her to learn the business from the ground up, that’s all.” He made a helpless gesture with his hands out. “Lydia would have inherited my portion of it, you know. She was so smart. If she’d just believed in herself, had more confidence, I think she’d have done a wonderful job.”

  Harley said, “I always thought you’d bring your son into the business.”

  Mr. Penney’s mouth tightened and his bushy caterpillar eyebrows lowered in a scowl. “No. I wouldn’t. He has no desire to work with me anyway.”

  With that, Mr. Penney turned around and walked away, and Nana said, “Uh oh. I smell a family feud.”

  “Hush, Nana,” Harley said.

  Nana just smiled.

  Tootsie said, “I’ll explain later. Hey. Isn’t that Hughes over there?”

  Harley’s heart skipped a beat and she turned in the direction of Tootsie’s gaze. Hughes had come. He hadn’t been able to resist. Did the undercover guys see him? She fumbled at the strap of her borrowed purse and then paused. Something wasn’t right. He looked different. Maybe the dark silk suit instead of white spandex studded with fake jewels made the difference. Still, he had the long sideburns, same height, weight, and the profile looked very familiar...

  She leaned down to say softly to Nana, “Is that the guy we chased the other day?”

  “Where?”

  “Standing by that tree.”

  “Damn, Harley, be specific. There are hundreds of trees around here.”

  Harley pointed. Nana lifted the delicate net that hung down from her black pillbox hat, with tiny flowers sewn around the crown and peered across the grass and gravestones. “Yep. Looks like him even without the tight pants. Get him to turn around and run. A good look at his ass, and I’d know for sure then.”

  “That’s a possibility.” Harley shifted her purse to her other shoulder and looked directly at Hughes.

  Immediately, Hughes was surrounded by men in suits. He looked up in surprise, then with anger. Harley could hear his protests grow louder when she got close.

  “Is this the guy?” one of the men asked, holding Hughes by the arm, and she nodded.

  “Yes. It’s got to be him.”

  “Is that a positive identification, Ms. Davidson?” the officer asked.

  “Positive is a little strong. He looks different in an expensive suit than he does in spandex or tights, but it has to be—yes, I’m sure it’s him.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Hughes demanded.

  A cop obliged with, “Preston Hughes, you need to come downtown with us. We’ve got some questions for you about Lydia Free’s murder.”

  Furious, Hughes resisted, so the officers got out their cuffs and prevailed after only a brief struggle. Panting, Hughes Hinky, dinky, parley-voo glared at Harley. “I didn’t murder anyone! I just came here because of Lydia. I met her at the competitions last year and she was a sweet girl.”

  Sweat popped out on Hughes’s forehead. Dark blue eyes narrowed. “You did this, didn’t you? Accused me of something I didn’t do just so your father has a chance at winning? Well, it won’t help him, I’ve seen his act and he doesn’t have a chance in hell of ever winning. He’s a big joke! I’ll still beat him—I’ll get you for this, you dumb little bitch!”

  The cop turned him toward the road. “Time to go, Mr. Hughes.”

  Hughes wailed, “I didn’t have anything to do with murder, I tell you!”

  “Tell it walking,” the officer said, and pushed him across the grass toward one of the cars lined up along the road.

  Everyone was staring. Harley looked at Tootsie. “Well, that was tacky. How dare he say that about Yogi?”

  Tootsie just rolled his eyes. “You have no sense of self-preservation at all.”

  “Well, at least he’s going to jail. I don’t have to worry anymore.”

  Nana looked up at her, squinting against the bright sunlight coming through oak leaves. “I guess that means you’re not playing poker tonight?”

  “I suck at cards.”

  “I know. But you’re good for a laugh. I thought Gerald was going to pee himself when you thought a full house meant four of the same cards.”

  “So I get confused. I won that pot, didn’t I? Besides, it explains why I never did that well at poker with Bobby. He didn’t even have to cheat.”

  As they drove out of the cemetery, Harley saw a man standing with his back against a big oak. He must have been watching the funeral. For some reason, he looked strange. It gave her a creepy feeling and she didn’t know why. She nudged Tootsie.

  “Do you see that guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The one standing under that oak across from Lydia’s grave.”

  Tootsie looked that way, but the man had disappeared. Only empty space remained where he’d been standing.

  “That’s so weird.” Harley stared at the tree. “He gave me a funny feeling. Why wouldn’t he come to the funeral instead of just watch?”

  “A lot of ghouls turn out for funerals. I’ve never understood that. When my cousin died—she had muscular dystrophy—some guy no one knew kept sobbing and hugging people.
It really was odd.”

  “It’s amazing what some people do.”

  “That’s why they have insane asylums,” Nana said from the back seat. “It’s where they keep the crazy people.”

  “I think they’re called mental health institutions now, Nana.”

  “Doesn’t matter what they call them, it’s the same thing. It’s where the crazy people stay.”

  No use arguing with Nana. She was always going to get the last word in.

  Thankfully, Tootsie suggested they go out to eat somewhere, adding, “Not Taco Bell!” when Harley opened her mouth. They ended up at Corky’s Barbecue not too far down Poplar Avenue. Nana was in hog heaven—literally. She ordered and ate a rack of ribs that looked like half a pig, while Tootsie ate a barbecue sandwich big as a dinner plate. Harley ordered baked beans, slaw, and fried onion rings.

  “There’s something the matter with someone who doesn’t eat meat,” Nana said halfway through her ribs.

  “I eat meat,” Harley replied. “Just not that often. You have barbecue sauce on your nose. And your chin. And eyebrows.”

  Nana didn’t even try to wipe it off. “That’s for later. So what’s wrong with you? Deirdre’s idea?”

  “Diva’s a vegetarian. She encourages it, but doesn’t try to push it on us. Except maybe for Yogi. She expects him to follow her diet. She says it’s much healthier.”

  Nana snorted. “What’s wrong with a little meat? When I was a girl—and don’t roll your eyes like that, they’ll get stuck—we ate everything off a pig. Snout, feet, brains, balls. We had to. If we were lucky enough to get meat in those days, we sure as hell made good use of it. Rendered fat is good for you. Look at me. I’ve eaten it all my life and I’m as healthy as a horse. Which, by the way, I’ve also eaten. Raccoon, possum, mule, squirrel, rabbit, deer—oh yeah, and fried rat.”

  “Nana!”

  “Just kidding about the last one. Jeez, where’s your sense of humor?”

  “Speaking of,” Tootsie said, and Harley saw from the glazed look in his eyes that he’d had enough of the conversational topic, “did they drop the charges for horse theft?”

  “Mr. Griffin said he took care of it all.” Nana nodded happily. “He always knows what to do. Smart as a whip, even if he does cost too much. Lawyers.”

  “My fingerprints are now on file,” Harley said with a sigh. “And they’ve got my mug shot in the system. Not exactly a recommendation for future employment or my credit history.”

  “You’re thinking of leaving Tour Tyme?” Tootsie sounded surprised.

  “No. Not anytime soon, anyway. I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. I can’t be a tour guide forever.”

  “Tell that to Carlton Chambers.”

  Carlton Chambers had to be pushing ninety, but his employment records claimed he was only eighty-three. Wizened but tough, he’d been driving for Tour Tyme since the company had been established. Before that, he’d been at one of the other companies until they went under.

  Once, he’d driven for MATA, the city buses that were rarely full these days and had to be losing money annually. It was the only form of public transportation Memphis had, however, other than taxis or Nikes. And the downtown trolley that didn’t go very far, but now streets were being torn up to extend the rails farther. Nana had said she remembered when they tore up the streets to remove the rails, spending too much taxpayer money when they were just going to lay them back down fifty years later.

  “I can’t see myself still hauling tourists around when I’m in my eighties,” Harley said. “I’ll have snapped by then. One too many Elvis weeks.”

  Tootsie grinned. “You’ll make it. I have faith in you.”

  “If only I had that much faith in me. I guess you can put me back on the schedule.”

  “Now that the murderer’s been arrested, it should be safe for you to work. Not that we’ve got that many clients left.” Tootsie looked discouraged.

  “Things will pick up. After all, like you said, a Tour Tyme employee is responsible for the apprehension, and that’ll play big in the papers. And on the news. Too bad a news crew wasn’t there to catch it on video. That would have helped.”

  Nana leaned forward, over the now bare ribs on her plate. “Alex and Marybeth should have been there.”

  “They’re not reporters, Nana. They’re anchors on that morning show, Live at Nine.”

  “Don’t care. I like the way they talk. And that Alex is a cutie.” She made a clicking noise with her teeth. “Why do you think Hughes was arrested for only one of the murders?”

  “They’re probably still gathering evidence,” Tootsie said. “Just an eyewitness account isn’t enough for an arrest. They need other things, like the murder weapon, fingerprints, opportunity and motive.”

  “So they must have all that stuff, huh, or they wouldn’t have arrested him?” Nana asked.

  Tootsie nodded. “They must.”

  “Good. Let’s hope they keep him in jail and don’t let him out. Wonder why he did it?”

  Harley answered Nana’s question. “He wanted to win the contest.”

  Nana shook her head. “Now he’s lost everything. The idiot.”

  “Hey,” Harley said to Tootsie, “what’s the story with the ogre’s son? Family feud? Drugs? Bad seed?”

  “Some of the second, mostly the last. Larry’s given Penney a pretty rough time. He’s smart enough, just hates his dad.”

  “Normally, I’d say that’s understandable, but I saw a side of the ogre today I didn’t know existed. He never seemed to have a soft side, but he’s really broken up about Lydia. So is Larry an only child?”

  “No, just the only son. Penney tried to give him everything growing up. Best clothes, new cars, best schools—somewhere around twenty-three he decided his dad owed him all that and he shouldn’t have to work for it. Penney disagreed. Junior got pissed, took off for Europe on his father’s credit cards, and came back with an even worse attitude.”

  “Kids today.” Harley thought about Larry Penney and wondered just how badly he hated his father. Enough to try to ruin him?

  She looked up at Tootsie and knew he was thinking the same thing.

  Nana said bluntly, “I’d be looking at that kid, if I were you two. Kids brought up with that sense of entitlement rarely turn out well. Sounds like a sociopath to me.”

  Harley blinked. “What do you know about sociopaths?”

  “What, you think I lived this long without learning anything? Take John Dillinger, for instance. Sociopath. Al Capone. Sociopath. I wouldn’t rule out most of Congress, either.”

  Tootsie laughed. “You are such a darling.”

  “So are you, princess.” Nana winked and clicked her teeth. “Too bad you don’t swing our way.”

  “If I did, you’d be first on my list.”

  “And I’d give you a run for your money, baby doll.”

  Harley looked at them with her hands on her hips. “Please, your mutual love-fest is leaving me nauseous.”

  After they left Corky’s, Harley went back to Whispering Pines and packed her few clothes before tackling Sam. She’d need a rest before attempting to wedge him into his carrier.

  “Sure you want to leave? You can stay another night or two,” Nana said.

  “I’ve paid my rent this month and hate to waste it, but thanks. Now that Hughes is in jail, it’s safe for me to go home. And it’s a lot closer to work. Maybe business will pick up again since the murderer’s been caught. Tootsie’s pretty worried about it. Job security isn’t something to take lightly.”

  “Well, I hope it works out. That Tootsie is a nice girl.”

  “I’ll pass along the compliment.”

  “Time for my shuffleboard tournament. Think this looks all right?” Nana turned for Harley to admire her outfit. She wore a soft blue sweatshirt under her pearl necklace, a long jersey skirt, and rolled down athletic socks with her running shoes. Atop her head perched an Atlanta Braves baseball cap.