Nana could be really sharp.
“The first two were sent postcards inviting them to a special TV interview. I imagine the last one was, too.” Harley thought a moment. “I gave that information to Bobby, so I’m sure he’s already checked up on it.”
“Bobby? That skinny Italian kid I used to see hanging around your house all the time?” Nana pronounced Italian as “Eye-talian.”
“That’s the one. He’s a detective now, and he isn’t skinny anymore.”
“Still cute?”
Harley thought a minute and nodded. “Most women think so.”
“Who knew there were so many hot cops in Memphis? I bought one of their calendars a while back, you know. Those six-pack abs and bulging biceps made me want to lick their photos.”
“You’re a dirty old broad.”
Nana smiled. “I know. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?”
“You’ve never been quiet.”
“But I do look like a sweet little old lady, and that fools people into thinking I am. Works every time.”
Harley braked to avoid hitting a Mercedes that cut in front of her. “I didn’t know you could be so devious, Nana.”
“It’s one of my best virtues. Don’t let anyone tell you that life’s fair and you should always play by the rules. You’ll get your ass kicked if you do.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Make your own rules. Be fair, objective, kind, and as generous as you can afford to be. If someone tries to hurt you or yours in any way, take them down hard.”
“Good God. My Nana is really Dirty Harry.”
Nana only smiled.
Maybe Nana still went by pioneer justice, but there were pesky little things like rules of conduct in the modern world that frowned on that sort of thing. Not that it wasn’t tempting.
There just had to be a compromise between the two.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Harley said. “You keep Smitty tucked away, and we’ll make a stop or two just to check some things out.”
“Sounds good,” Nana said with satisfaction. “Just let me know if you need Smitty.”
“I will.” Harley rolled her eyes. Like that would ever happen.
“The library?” Nana demanded in disgust when Harley parked in front of the big library on Poplar Avenue. “This isn’t detective stuff.”
“Sure it is. There’re some things I have to look up on the Internet. You can go in a dark corner and read dirty books while I do my work.”
Still disgruntled, Nana followed her inside, after their brief discussion about the wisdom of taking a loaded pistol into the library where children were had ended in the gun being locked safely in the Toyota’s glove compartment. At least she’d won one battle with Nana. A red-letter day.
It didn’t take too long to find out what she needed to know—if an hour and a half wasn’t too long. Tootsie could probably have found the information in less than ten minutes, but she didn’t know how to hack into web sites like he did. Just about the time Nana turned rebellious and threatened to go into the music room and do a hootchy-kootchy dance to Ragtime Gal, Harley slid off the seat and said, “All right. I’m done. On to the next adventure.”
“If this is your idea of adventure,” Nana muttered, “I’d be better off playing strip poker back in the dining room.”
“You frighten me, Nana.”
That seemed to please her and she smiled. To those who didn’t know better, she could be an old darling, one of those elderly women that sang choir in church every Sunday morning, and baked cookies and knit sweaters for the homeless. Right down to her pretty lace collar beneath the string of pearls. No one would ever suspect Nana was Outlaw Annie in disguise.
“So who lives here?” Nana asked when they pulled up in front of a nice East Memphis home, a gray stone sixties modern with a red door and sharply angled roof. “The perp?”
“A suspect. I see you keep up with Law and Order.”
“And CSI. I take turns watching one and taping one. So? Is this where the perp lives?”
“Suspect. Maybe a suspect. Let’s just say, a person of interest.”
“Ha!” Nana looked gleeful. “Give me your car keys a minute.”
“You’re not thinking of driving, are you?”
“Of course not. My license expired. Wouldn’t want to break any laws.”
Harley handed her the keys, then immediately regretted it when Nana unlocked the glove compartment and took out her pistol.
“Oh God. Put that thing away. We’re not going to a shootout. We’re just going to talk to this guy a little bit.”
“You never know. Better safe than sorry. A penny earned is a penny saved—” She paused and frowned. “Wrong cliché. Well, you know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I do. Look, Dirty Harry, put up the pistol. You’re going to get us in trouble.”
Nana stuck the pistol into her wicker handbag and snapped it shut. “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when we go bird hunting. Put the gun back.”
“That wasn’t the right cliché at all. Damn. Maybe my meds are wearing off.”
Harley felt faint. This was insane. She should never have let Nana talk her into leaving the home. Now she was in a car in front of Claude Williams’s house, stuck with a fully armed senior citizen off her medication. She smacked her forehead with her palm. What was I thinking?
“Stop being so dramatic,” Nana said calmly. “I’m all right. I just get a little confused at times. Nothing to worry about.”
Before Harley could grab her, she had the door open and one foot on the curb. “Come on. Let’s go grill him.”
Ordinarily, now that she’d regained her senses, Harley would have insisted Nana get back in the car and would have taken her straight back to the home. But the red front door of Williams’s house opened and out stepped Preston Hughes. Or a man who looked very much like the Preston Hughes in the Elvis competition photos she’d found on the Internet. Since he was dressed in jeans and a shirt instead of black leather, there was a chance she was wrong, but it certainly did look like him.
Might as well forge ahead, hit two birds with the same stone. Lord. Now she was thinking in clichés like Nana.
Williams looked surprised to see her again, and Hughes looked angry, but that could have been because of the conversation he’d been having with Williams. They’d seemed to be arguing.
“I hope I’m not intruding, Mr. Williams,” she said as pleasantly as possible, “but I had a few more questions I wanted to ask you on behalf of the company. This is my great-grandmother, Mrs. McMullen.”
That left the way open for Williams to introduce Hughes, which he did. Just as Harley had hoped, her suspicion was confirmed. Nana smiled sweetly and bobbed her head just like an old darling would do. The fraud.
“So very nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. My granddaughter has told me all about you.”
Since she’d done nothing of the kind, Harley stepped in quickly. “I was very impressed with your photos I saw on the website—wait a moment. Preston Hughes? Aren’t you always one of the winners in the big Elvis competition every year?”
Hughes nodded briefly. “Never the big winner. Not yet. I’d hoped to correct that this year.” The look he gave Williams was scorching.
Williams began to sweat, beads popping up on his forehead and bald crown. “As I’ve explained to Mr. Hughes, I have nothing to do with event rules and regulations. Those are left up to the contest organizers.”
“Regardless of long friendships,” Hughes said softly, and Williams looked distressed.
Interesting. Harley ruled out Williams as a definite suspect, but now her suspicion of Hughes was stronger than ever. He looked absolutely furious. The tension was so
thick between the men that Harley poised to grab Nana and run before fists started flying. And before Nana showed them Smitty.
“Good friendships are like spring flowers,” Nana piped up brightly, “needing lots of rain to bloom.”
Both men looked at her. Harley wondered how many pills she’d missed.
Reaching out, Nana patted Hughes on the arm. “You’ll see, young man. There’s not much in this world that matters more than family and good friends. A quarrel shouldn’t change that.”
Hughes took a deep breath, and some of his tension visibly eased. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just that this is something I’ve wanted for so long that I’ve been willing to do almost anything to get it. I won’t give up until I win.”
He gave a short nod at Harley and Nana, a glance at Williams, and walked to his car in the driveway.
When they were back in her car, Harley looked at Nana. “You were great. A reminder of their friendship kept them from fighting. That was really sweet.”
Nana snorted. “It was all crap. But whatever works, I always say.”
“An excellent philosophy.” Harley started the car and headed for Whispering Pines. She’d had just about all the fun she could handle today.
Williams lived on Shady Grove not far from the Racquet Club. The neighborhood had big, older homes, stately trees, and an air of comfortable if not lavish living. It wasn’t too far from the Eaton home. Harley took Mendenhall south. The street turned into Mt. Moriah when it crossed Poplar, confusing new residents and even longtime Memphians not used to the area. The Half-Shell seafood restaurant was on the southeast corner, not far from a health food store and cat rescue. The Tobacco Shop on the southwest side sold newspapers from all over America and across the Atlantic, and a few from across the Pacific.
“Where are we going?” Nana asked when they got close to Park Avenue. “I feel like some pizza.”
Damn. “I thought you’d be tired by now so I’m taking you back to the home.”
“Retirement community. I’m retired, not crazy, dammit.”
“Sorry. Retirement community. Don’t they serve pizza at Whispering Pines? We can order takeout.”
“Got my mouth all set for Memphis City Pizza. It’s on the corner of Park across from the Eastgate Shopping Center. Isabel took me there once.”
While Harley was trying to imagine Grandmother Eaton sitting in a pizza place with a pitcher of beer and a pepperoni slice, something bumped them from the rear. It knocked her little Toyota forward and she barely missed hitting the car in front of her.
“What the hell?” She looked over at her grandmother. “Nana, are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right. That’s what seat belts are for.”
Harley started to pull the brake and turn off the ignition to get out and assess the damage and maybe swap licenses with whoever hit her, when another bump shoved them forward so that she hit the car in front. Dammit! She looked in the rearview mirror. The car behind was black and had tinted windows, so she couldn’t see who was inside. Weren’t tinted windows supposed to be illegal now?
Before she had time to dwell on that, another hard hit from behind threatened to make a sandwich out of her car, and wouldn’t do too much for the passengers inside, either.
Nana, holding on to the dash with both hands, looked at her. “That guy’s deliberately hitting us!”
Her heart thudded so hard against her ribs it hurt.
“Where are the cops when you need them?” Nana grumbled. “Probably at that doughnut shop we just passed.”
Harley only half-listened. The black car revved its engine and she braced for another hit. They were hemmed in by traffic on both sides. The vehicle in front was a big Ford truck that had a trailer hitch sticking out on the back. If the cars in the turning lane moved, she could make a dash for the tire place on the corner. Fortunately, she already had plenty of experience dodging cars on Poplar.
Then a loud explosion blew out her back windshield. Instinct made her duck and grab for Nana to push her down in the seat. The Toyota engine whined.
“Dammit, you’re messing up my aim,” Nana said crossly, and Harley looked at her. She had her gun in both hands and was taking aim again.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, give me that!” Harley grabbed for the weapon just as it went off again. This time, the bullet took out their attacker’s windshield. It was safety glass and cracked all the way across. It looked like crushed ice and when she looked, she couldn’t make out the driver at all.
Other drivers honked, yelled, ran red lights and up on curbs, and the black car took off around a Taurus and headed down Park. Even if she’d wanted to follow him with Nana in the car holding a pistol that had probably belonged to Al Capone, her car bucked, groaned, and died. It was probably best. What would she do if she caught him?
Nana looked over at her. “If he didn’t have that tinted glass, I’d have got him. I can shoot a squirrel at twenty yards.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Nana looked pleased.
Eleven
Something kept tickling her nose. She couldn’t breathe. A steady weight pressed down on her chest, and Harley came straight up in the bed gasping for air and ready to fight her assailant.
Sam, dislodged and disgruntled, held on to the quilt with claws firmly attached. He yowled a complaint that registered in Harley’s sleep-fogged brain and she peered at him blearily. “Don’t you ever sleep late?”
Apparently not. Sam leaped to the floor and stalked toward the closed door, then looked at her over his shoulder and gave another loud yowl. Food and doody time. Yawning, Harley gave in and staggered into Nana’s small kitchenette that consisted of a refrigerator, microwave, and one of those heavy-duty coffee pots that looked like it came from the fifties. After letting Sam out onto the screened porch and feeding him, she started toward the coffee pot, determined to figure out how to work it.
To her surprise—and relief—it was plugged in and the coffee brewed. Nice. That meant Nana was already up. So where was she? There was no sign of her in any of the rooms. It wasn’t that big of a place, just two bedrooms, a large bath, the living room and kitchenette. Maybe she was already out visiting or having an early breakfast. Or doing a hit for the Mob. Yesterday hadn’t been that much fun. Especially when Bobby showed up. Apparently he’d heard about it on his police radio and decided to add to the joy. At least they hadn’t been charged with anything, though Nana was pretty upset that they’d taken her gun. There was an ordinance against firing weapons in the city limits it seemed, though that didn’t seem to slow the gang-bangers much. Nana said it was age discrimination and she was going to sue.
Harley had gone to bed with a headache and the intention of sleeping until noon.
But it was nice outside this early, she had to admit when she took a cup of coffee out onto the porch to sit in one of the lounge chairs and watch Sam watch birds. The tip of his tail twitched in perfect harmony with the odd little noises he made.
A lovely, fresh breeze came in through the screens, smelling of recently mowed grass. Leaning back, she just enjoyed the fragrant coffee and tranquility for a moment, letting her mind drift. As it seemed to do lately, it eventually drifted toward death and murder. She’d become a ghoul. How interesting. She wondered exactly when this change in her personality had shifted from just being a little out of synch to being completely bizarre. It must have been sudden. Maybe finding Mrs. Trumble dead in her own dining room had put her over the edge. Whatever it was, she had no idea how to get rid of it. Might as well do the best she could until it went away.
So she began to try to piece together the fragments of information into some kind of pattern. It was like constructing the quilt on Nana’s guestroom bed. Sooner or later, all those random scraps of details should come together into something recognizable.
For t
he moment, Williams was at the bottom of her suspect list. Hughes was at the top. He had motive, means, and opportunity. He was furious about being disqualified from being an Elvis competitor this year, he’d know the other contestants and be able to dress up and blend in with them, and he lived and worked in Memphis so would have opportunity. Also, he fit pretty closely with the descriptions from tourists and drivers, and even though she couldn’t say with certainty it was him, he could be the extra Elvis on her van, too. And the guy who’d hit her car yesterday.
There was something else, a vague memory of something familiar . . . it had importance, she just knew, but what was it? Someone had said something familiar that passed her at the time, but triggered a warning bell. Damn. What was it?
“You look lost in thought,” Nana said, opening the door onto the porch and stepping out. “Unfamiliar territory?”
“Well, aren’t you just precious this morning.” Harley tilted her head back to look at Nana. “What is that getup you’re wearing?”
“My jogging outfit. Like it?”
Nana turned like a runway model, holding out the edge of her flowered skirt that was so transparent no one could miss the flesh-colored leotards beneath, nor what looked like knee-length drawers. A light gray sweatshirt, rolled down white tube socks, a sweatband around her forehead, and expensive running shoes completed the picture.
“It’s adorable. Why not wear jogging pants, though?”
“A lady of my age just doesn’t do that. It isn’t seemly.”
Harley looked at her. Apparently, wearing flesh-colored leotards and carrying a loaded .38 was considered seemly.
She shook her head. “I’d hate to see the men’s dress code here.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” Nana sat in the chair next to Harley. “Breakfast is at seven-thirty. Want to join us?”
“Isn’t there a late breakfast?”
“Only for the slugs. You’re young. Deal with it. We’ve got work to do.”
Oh no. Harley narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
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