Cami caught on quick. After a glance toward Bobby and Morgan, she nodded. “Yep, I really have to go, too.”
“Ladies room,” Harley called over her shoulder, “we’ll be right back.”
“Uh, where do we need to go?” Cami asked once they were outside, and Harley hurried her along before Bobby and Morgan caught on to the fact they were going farther than the closest bathroom.
“We’ve got to find Yogi before Neil does. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
Thirteen
“What are you looking for?” Cami’s teeth were chattering, and she hopped from one foot to the other while Harley got down on the wet pavement by her bike. Police cars crowded close to the warehouse, but it was empty out here by the fence. They just hadn’t gotten this far yet.
“The extra key. I hide one in the fender for times like this.”
“You mean times when we’ve been kidnapped, tied up, nearly arrested and almost killed? Does that happen often?”
Cami sounded dubious. Harley found the magnetic key case and stood up. “No. This is the first time. I just wanted to be prepared. Like a Girl Scout.”
“You were never a Girl Scout.”
“Even more reason. Look, Bobby and Morgan are liable to be out here any minute. Let’s go.”
“Morgan?” Cami asked as she straddled the bike behind Harley, “who’s that?”
“Bruno Jett’s alter ego. The legal side of his personality. I’ll explain it all later. Right now, we have to find Yogi. I’ll start with Eric, since he was the last one to see them.”
The University of Memphis campus, formerly known as Memphis State and still called that by most alumni and much of Memphis, sprawled over eleven hundred acres of prime real estate at four different sites. Red brick buildings spiked the main campus skyline between huge oaks, a maze of them, confusing to anyone not a student or teacher.
“So where is he staying?” Cami asked when they stopped on Central at the light. “One of the dorms?”
“No, a friend’s house, but it’s right behind the campus. I’m just not sure which street.”
“Great. You’d think we’d know everyone, seeing as how we grew up here, but nothing’s the same anymore.”
Cami had said aloud what Harley was thinking. It was an area in flux, always changing. And the chance of finding Eric if he didn’t have the van parked out front somewhere was slim to none.
“Can’t we call?” Cami asked when they took off from the light, and Harley shook her head.
“Even if I had my cell phone, it was new and I didn’t have his friend’s number entered in it yet. Just look for Vanna. It’s bound to be in a driveway. Unless the police found him and have it impounded or something.” But Bobby would have mentioned that, even if Morgan didn’t.
They cruised up and down the streets as quietly as possible, but there was no sign of the van. Since they were in the area, Harley decided to drive by her parents’ house in case Eric had gone home to get clean clothes. Or more weed. Most likely, the latter.
What she didn’t expect to see in the driveway was her own car. Wait—didn’t Eric switch vehicles with Yogi? Excitement made her hands shaky, so that she barely got the bike killed and put the foot stand down without laying it down on the curb. Fortunately, Cami knew by now to jump off pretty quickly, and stood on the narrow strip of grass between the curb and sidewalk.
“Do you think they switched vehicles again?” Cami asked, peering doubtfully toward the house. It was dark, with what looked like only a single lamp left on in the front room.
“Possibly. Either way, we have to find them quickly. Come on. If it’s Eric, that means he’s seen them, and if it’s them . . . well, we can get Yogi a lawyer before he talks to the police.”
To her surprise, the front door was locked. It was never locked. Not in all the years she’d lived in this house, nor since she’d left. Diva said it was too much like telling people they were untrustworthy. Even Harley pointing out that most people weren’t trustworthy hadn’t changed her mind, and since they’d never been burglarized—except for Archie—Diva was convinced she must be right. She knocked and rang the bell, but no one came to the door.
“It’s locked?” Cami sank down on Diva’s wicker couch. “Maybe your brother locked it.”
“Right. Like Eric would remember to even close it. I’ll see if the back door’s open. I can always use the dog door if I have to. You just stay here and I’ll open the door when I get in. No point in both of us tromping through the weeds.”
“Gladly. I may just nap while you visit.” Cami sagged back into the cushions with a sigh.
Navigating the windmill, metal Tower of Pisa, whirligigs, and menagerie of plastic and plaster rabbits, gnomes, and toads scattered under sunflowers and wild Vinca vines, she went in the back door that led to the screened porch. The porch held an assortment of furniture and other items, usually stacked fairly neatly to one side, but cluttered now, probably from Archie’s search. And then the police investigation afterward. Neatness wasn’t exactly a professional requirement.
The back door opened easily and she stepped into the kitchen. A chair was overturned. Archie had really torn stuff up. Diva was probably horrified, and Harley was surprised she wasn’t already cleaning up, armed with rubber gloves and herbal-based cleansers. Sometimes Diva was more like Grandmother Eaton than she wanted to admit, preferring cleanliness if not organization in her life.
“Hey,” she called as she went toward the front door to let Cami in. “Where are you all? Eric? Diva?”
They could have just left the car here and gone off with friends, of course. She hadn’t thought of that. The house was still and quiet, no music playing, only the one lamp on in the living room, no rowdy dog, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt—
A light snapped on suddenly and she turned, blinking against the bright glare. “Eric?”
“Not even close, Blondie.”
Neil Campbell. She knew that voice, recognized the slightly raspy, wheezy sound of his breathing. She froze in place. As her eyes adjusted she saw Diva and Yogi sitting on the slipcovered couch, looking out of place and bewildered in a bed of rioting pink peonies.
“Do you know what this idiot’s talking about?” Yogi asked, sounding afraid and angry at the same time. She understood completely. Having a loaded pistol waving around was enough to create that sort of emotional stew.
“Let me guess. He’s asking about a necklace.”
“How did you know that?” Yogi started to get up, but Campbell pointed the pistol at him and he eased back into the soft cushions. Diva didn’t say anything at all, just gazed at Neil Campbell with opaque blue eyes that remained serene. Maybe she was reading his aura. Or trying to send him telepathic demands to put down the weapon.
Harley tried to convey a sense of confidence. “Because he’s killed three people for it.”
Yogi made a strangled sound, and Campbell wheezed angrily. “I didn’t kill Archie. Bates did that, the bastard.”
“But you killed Mrs. Trumble. And you killed Bates.”
“And you’re liable to be the next one. You know so much, so tell me where the necklace is, or I’ll shoot the old hippie first.”
“You can’t shoot us. You can’t afford to risk the noise,” Harley said.
While she was talking, Harley tried not to look out the windows at the porch, hoping that Cami wasn’t really napping and had noticed what was going on and gone for help. Surely she’d seen the light come on. All she had to do was look through one of the windows. Even if she didn’t recognize Neil, she’d see that he had a gun. If she could just stall for time, keep Campbell talking . . . but then he waggled the gun.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t afford. Just tell me where Yogi put that necklace or I’ll shoot him.”
When Yogi started to say something, Harley cut him off. She took a step forward and that brought Neil’s gun swinging toward her. She put up her hands like she meant to surrender. Her mouth went dry, but she managed to
speak steadily enough.
“I know where he puts stuff. Yogi, uh, smokes a lot. You know. Weed. His memory is bad. He really has no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Harley,” Yogi said irritably, “my memory is just fine. Is this idiot with the CIA or the IRS? He’s with one of them, isn’t he? A damn government lackey, out to undermine American values and conspire with the enemy, and—”
“Shut the hell up,” Neil said, his words rattling, like he was having a hard time getting them out. “I don’t have time for this shit. If you know where it is, Blondie, tell me.”
“I’ll have to show you. You’ll never find it. It’d be quicker if I got it for you.”
“Right. Like I’m letting you walk out that door.” His hand tightened on the pistol grip. He looked nervous, edgy, impatient. She couldn’t stall him much longer.
“Okay, okay. Since you’re in a hurry, and since I don’t want to end up with a bullet in my head or have you shoot my parents, I’ll make a swap with you—the necklace for letting us go.”
Before Neil could agree or refuse, Yogi said in a tone that indicated he’d just now figured out what they were talking about, “Necklace? You mean that piece I did for Archie? He got his real one back, so the copy’s mine, ’cause he never paid me for it after all that trouble with King and Mrs. Trumble. I stuck it in a coffee can. Is that what this is all about? A fake necklace? Damn, that’s the dumbest—”
Diva put a hand on his arm, shushing him. “Remember what I told you? It’ll be all right.”
Harley wished she had her mother’s confidence. Or the ear of the universe.
Neil glanced back at Harley and seemed to be making up his mind. Then he nodded.
“Yeah, yeah, fine. It’s not like the cops haven’t already made me anyway. Hurry up. I just need that piece.”
He must need money really badly, Harley thought, but as long as she could get him out of the house and away from Yogi and Diva, that was all that mattered. If only there was a necklace she could give Neil once she got him out of the house . . . something to trick him into leaving.
Neil wasn’t quite as trusting or hurried as she’d hoped. He made her tie up Yogi and Diva before he’d leave them alone, and he ripped out the phone line from the wall. It took several minutes to do all that, and by then he was really jumpy. He kept twitching, the gun in his hand moving back and forth from her to her parents and back again, snapping orders at her when she took too long. Harley couldn’t help wondering where Cami was, and if she’d fallen asleep out there on the front porch. She’d looked pretty comfortable sitting on Diva’s wicker couch.
They went out the back way, Harley a few steps ahead of Neil. If there was any such thing as help from the gods, he’d trip over a whirligig or the windmill. She should have known better than to hope for that, though. Her luck ran along the lines of bad to abysmal.
Yogi’s workshop was dark. Next door, the light over Morgan’s garage shone down on an empty driveway. He was still out at the warehouse on Jackson, of course. Along with Bobby, and all the cops looking for Neil Campbell in Dumpsters and along the railroad tracks.
“Where the hell is it?” Neil snarled, and she pointed just ahead of them.
“In his workshop. That’s the last place I saw it. It’s hidden in plain sight. You could look right at it and not see it.”
Maybe she could catch him off-balance somehow, grab his gun and start screaming. If she could wake up Cami, or if Mrs. Shipley wasn’t too far under the influence of her Benadryl and vodka nightly libation. Where was Cami? She had to have seen what was happening by now.
“Harley, what’s going on?”
As if conjured up by her thoughts, Cami appeared on the driveway by the chain link fence that was supposed to keep King in the back yard but only gave him climbing exercise. Harley came to an abrupt stop and Neil bumped into her, nearly knocking her into a spinning metal whirligig shaped like a flamingo.
“Get over here,” he snarled at Cami, and she looked first confused, then terrified, her eyes getting really big and gleaming in the murky glow of the vapor lights. “Hurry it up!”
“Who . . . who are you?”
“The man with the gun. Get your ass in here. Now.”
Cami pushed open the gate and scurried through it. Neil grabbed her arm and shoved her ahead of him, jerking his head toward the workshop to indicate impatience. Harley understood. And now she had to worry about two of them escaping instead of just herself. This wasn’t at all helpful. She should have conjured up a cop. Bobby. Morgan. Even Delisi. Any cop would do right now.
“Wait, I know you,” Cami was saying as they reached the workshop. “You’re the jeweler. I met you in Midtown.”
“Shut up.”
Neil had taken the words right out of her mouth, Harley thought, and reached for the long string that dangled from an overhead light. Light swayed over the mess of Yogi’s workbench. Bins of screws, pieces of metal, wire, cans of loose crystals, soldering irons, and the flotsam of his hobby née career lay scattered about. Three pound coffee cans were stuck here and there.
“It’s in one of these cans,” Harley said, gauging the odds of flinging a heavy can at Neil and then running. Not feasible right now. He still had Cami by the arm and stood nervously in the doorway, watching her with narrowed eyes.
“Just find the damn thing and give it to me.”
Harley made a show of looking in cans, dragging out crystals, half-finished necklaces, bracelets, dangly earrings, and a dream-catcher with colored crystals and feathers. Yogi’s solder iron lay on the table. It had one of those really long cords on it, and she had the thought it’d make a decent weapon if she had to use it. Maybe if she plugged it in . . . .
“All these coffee cans look alike,” she said when Neil snarled at her again to hurry up. Tension made her jumpy, and her stomach hurt. Acrid fumes wafted up from the soldering iron she’d plugged in as it heated. “Wait. Is this it? The necklace you want?”
Neil stepped closer, pushing Cami ahead of him, so that Harley couldn’t get a clear shot at him with the heated iron.
“What? That thing? Those are crystals, and cheap ones at that. You better not be dicking me around, Blondie.”
“No, no, I’m just not sure which coffee can. It’s out here. I promise this is where he put it.” Her voice should have the ring of truth since Yogi had, indeed, stuck the necklace in one of these cans. That was where Morgan had found it.
Morgan. She concentrated fiercely on him, trying to conjure him up, feeling stupid but rationalizing that it worked for Diva on occasion. And it might not help but it couldn’t hurt.
“You’ve got two minutes. Then your little friend here gets hurt.”
He sounded serious. Cami looked terrified. Harley felt sick.
“Gotcha. Looking.”
This hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Now she had Cami in trouble. And she really did feel sick. With shaking hands, she reached for another coffee can. It tipped over and crystals and wire and beads went everywhere, pattering on the table and floor like hard rain. She knelt to pick some up, and Neil snarled at her to forget it, just find the necklace.
“Right. Right. Wait . . . I think this might be where it is.” Yogi had a system of glass jars that held different size crystals, screwed into lids nailed to a board. A mayonnaise jar held what looked like a necklace, and she started to unscrew it from the lid with one hand, while reaching for the soldering iron with the other. “Is this it, do you think?” she asked, leaning forward to peer at the jar and hoping Neil would come closer.
He did.
Blinking owlishly in the glare of the bare bulb overhead, Neil leaned closer to look at the jar, and Harley took the opportunity to seize the hot iron and stab it into the hand holding the gun. He screamed, Cami screamed, and Harley yelled at her to run. She did, breaking free with a sudden twist. Neil lunged for Harley, the gun still in his hand, cussing a blue streak as he grabbed a fist full of her hair and shoved her to the floor.
She was eye-level with his chubby knees.
“You stupid little bitch . . .”
Harley bit him. He let out a howl. Then he hit her on the side of the head with the gun and stars exploded in the back of her brain. Somehow his hands were around her neck, and he choked her while she clawed frantically at his pudgy fingers, with a loud buzzing sound in her ears and blackness encroaching on the light. So this was it. This was how she’d die, on her knees gasping for air.
As quickly as it had started, it stopped. Neil suddenly released her and screamed, louder this time. Someone was snarling and growling. Neil kept screaming.
As her vision cleared, Harley saw a black, white, and pink creature tug fiercely on baggy pants and, apparently, generous amounts of skin. King had a good grip on Campbell, and he didn’t seem disposed to let go despite the blows to his head and back. Then Neil grabbed a length of iron pipe, and at the same time, Harley saw the gun he’d dropped. She grabbed it.
“Hit that dog and I’ll shoot,” she croaked, her voice painful and sounding raspy. “And I’m not worried about anyone hearing it.”
Neil yelped louder. “Get him off! Get him off!”
“Drop the pipe and I will.”
Neil dropped the iron pipe and Harley reached for King’s collar. The dog didn’t seem inclined to release his victim, and while she tried to pull him away Neil screamed louder as strips of flesh and denim pulled loose.
“You move and I’ll sic him on you again,” Harley got out when she succeeded in pulling King away from Campbell, but he was so busy moaning and whining she wasn’t certain he heard her. King looked rather pleased with himself, and he kept a predatory eye on Neil.
Who would have ever thought the dog could be useful?
Then, just as Harley was thinking how to get Neil out of the workshop so she could call the cops, Morgan appeared in the doorway. He sized up the situation rather quickly, and took Neil into custody, putting him on the ground outside the workshop. Then he snapped cuffs on his wrists while he reminded him of his rights.
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