Suspicious Mimes

by Virginia Brown

  Cami stood just inside the door and looked at the mess in the living room. Frank’s tank tilted oddly, but that was because the coffee table did, too. “Your housekeeping skills really need some work, Harley.”

  “I know. But at least my Tiffany lamp is all right. We just have to find Sam. I’m going to make my appearance for Yogi, then come back as quickly as I can to help look, okay?”

  “He’s probably not far, maybe in the bushes or on another balcony. Don’t worry about him, Harley. He’ll be just fine. Sam knows how to hide.”

  “A skill I haven’t quite mastered, it seems.”

  “But at least you fought off the killer.”

  “That’s right, I did. Without needing to be rescued.” She turned around, found Bobby standing by the balcony talking to a uniformed officer, and smiled. “Hey, Bobby, I didn’t need rescuing!”

  He looked over at her. “What the hell do you call this?”

  “Late. By the time you guys got here, I had it all under control.”

  “The hell you did. We found you cowering on the floor.”

  “Did you find the killer? I thought not. Maybe he got away, but he didn’t kill me.” She turned back to look at Cami. “I feel better now. Thanks. Just find Sam for me and my night will be complete. Oh, and please keep Frank out of my panty drawer, will you? He’s grown too fond of red lace bikinis. He and Tootsie would get along very well.”

  Harley got to the contest just in time to see Yogi perform.

  Instead of the white jumpsuit, he wore fifties-style trousers and jacket. A guitar was slung across his body, and he grabbed a microphone on a stand, his posture reminiscent of one of Elvis’s first concerts. He belted out the lyrics to Heartbreak Hotel. Smiling, she leaned against the bar and watched. Really, he did quite well at sounding like Elvis. No one would ever be able to duplicate Elvis’s distinctive voice and style, but that wasn’t the point anyway. This was more homage than imitation.

  “He’s pretty good,” a low masculine voice said in her ear, and she didn’t even have to turn around to recognize the voice.

  “Yes, he is. Did you make the finals?” She took a deep breath and leaned back against the bar to look up at Morgan.

  He had a mustache and beard, but it’d never disguise those electric blue eyes or that killer body. A blue pullover shirt molded to his broad chest and tucked into his black shorts. Long, bare legs were muscled and hard.

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “Someone blew my cover.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said with all the innocence she could muster.

  “Yeah. What happened to your face?”

  “A little accident.”

  “And your hair?”

  “Even bigger accident. So why are you here if your cover’s been blown?”

  “It’s the damnedest thing. I got assigned to keep an eye on you for the next two nights.”

  “I’ll just bet. You should have been on the job a little earlier. You might have caught the killer.”

  “I’d heard that.”

  “Which explains your presence here, of course. And I thought it might be my charm.”

  Morgan’s mouth tilted. “So who rescued you this time?”

  “Well now, it’s the damnedest thing. No one. The killer got the worst of the deal and took off for parts unknown.”

  “So now you think you can take care of yourself just fine, I see.”

  “I don’t do too badly.”

  He blew out a disgusted sigh that was far too reminiscent of those she heard from Bobby. “Riiight. Never mind,” he added when she put her hands on her hips, “just think of me as your temporary bodyguard, here to guard your body.”

  “Guard my body? I assume you don’t mean in the more familiar manner.”

  “That part’s up to you.”

  “Odd, I don’t remember being given that option before.”

  Morgan just looked at her. A tingle went to her toes. She tried to think of something smart to say, but all that came out was, “What happened to my other bodyguard?”

  “He’s off-duty. I’ve been assigned to keep you safe.”

  “So who’s going to keep me safe from you?”

  “You’re safe. For now.”

  That could be either ominous or promising, and as she was trying to decide which, music crashed in the room, people clapped appreciation, and up on the stage Yogi caught a pair of what looked like panties flung at him. Harley stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled loudly a few times. Maybe he heard her, since he looked in the direction of the bar and grinned. Really, Yogi certainly knew how to have a good time. In fact, she couldn’t recall when her parents worried a lot about life events, though they did protest those they disliked. Often vehemently.

  She looked back at Mike.

  His attention was no longer on her. Something across the room had caught his eye, and he looked suddenly intent, muscles taut. He said, “Don’t go anywhere yet,” and disappeared into the crowd that surged back and forth toward the stage like ocean surf.

  Harley put her hands on her hips. So much for watching out for her. Any bodyguard who got distracted so easily needed to be guarding someone else. She headed toward the right side of the stage, where Diva should be. Her mother’s shining pale hair stood out in the crowd, swinging from the crown of her head down her back in a French braid. Stray wisps framed her face when she turned to look at Harley.

  “I knew you’d make it here in time.”

  “Then you were the only one. I probably broke ten traffic laws getting here.”

  Diva put an arm around her shoulders. “And now you’re here.”

  “Is Yogi going to win?”

  “Yes, but not the competition. Don’t worry. It really will be all right.”

  “Okay. Uh, did you notice my face, by any chance?”

  Diva smiled. “Don’t you feel better knowing that you didn’t need to be rescued?”

  “Actually, yes. I do. Not only did I get to say an In your face to Bobby as well as Morgan, I feel like I finally managed to redeem myself.”

  “The ways of the universe are many and mysterious.”

  At times, Harley expected her mother to add Grasshopper at the end of her sentences. But she only replied, “They must be.”

  “Would you like to come to a yoga class next week? We’re having it in the living room.”

  “No, thanks. Turning myself into a human pretzel has never been one of my favorite activities.”

  “A pity. You were very limber as a child. It would do a lot to relax you. And I’m serving willow bark tea.”

  Ugh. “That’s just aspirin in its liquid form. You may need it after the class.”

  Diva smiled her serene smile, and then turned as Yogi reached them. Elation put a big grin on his face. “That was my best performance ever!”

  “It certainly was,” Diva agreed. “Soon, everyone will remember you.”

  Yogi looked pleased and Harley had an uneasy flash of memory. Diva had said that before, and it hadn’t exactly sounded like a good thing. But maybe it’d be all right. Or maybe not.

  “Don’t go to the vigil,” she said abruptly to her father.

  Yogi blinked. “Why not? It’s an honor, all five finalists leading thousands to the garden. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

  Harley honestly couldn’t say why she felt a sense of foreboding. That was more Diva’s specialty. But Diva devoutly believed in good karma and the universe. Harley didn’t.

  “I don’t know,” she said when it seemed like Yogi really did expect an answer.

  He came close and patted her on the shoulder.

  “That’s all right, sunshine. I don’t have to win. This has been my best performance ever, and I’m happy
.”

  Harley looked to her mother for confirmation, but Diva wasn’t much help. Even in the dim lights of the club, with all the din and chaos around them, Diva looked serene and beautiful. It was easy to see her as she’d always seen her mother, beautiful, almost mystical, with a graceful way of moving confidently through the world, as if nothing or no one could rattle her. Maybe that’s what Harley should strive for, that sense of peace with herself and her world. So far, it eluded her. But that didn’t mean it always would.

  “Yogi,” Eric said, shouldering his way through the crowd, “you’re the king, dude. You’re the king.” He and Yogi did that hand thing Harley never could quite figure out, not that she had the least desire to do so. Then Eric looked over at her. “Cool chick. Who’s been chewing on your hair?”

  “I can’t believe you have the nerve to say anything to me about my hair. Especially when you look like you’ve been peed on by a rainbow.”

  Eric stroked a hand across his hair, bright blue and yellow streaks vivid against his natural dark brown. “You don’t like it? It’s only temporary.”

  “Keep dying your hair and it’ll be only temporary, too.” Harley looked over at her father. “I can’t stay long, only until they announce the winner. Sam’s gone and I have to find him.”

  If anyone would understand the urgency about looking for a lost pet, it was Yogi. After all, it’d been the abduction of the larcenous King that had first sent her entire family into the world of jewelry thieves and murderers.

  “Sam is fine,” Diva said. “He’s with the groundhog.”

  “Groundhog? You mean, like the animal?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Diva frowned slightly. “It just popped into my head so I said it. I’m not sure why.”

  “Good thing I don’t always say what just pops into my head,” Harley muttered, then said, “I’ll see what I can figure out. I’m glad he’s okay.”

  A microphone crackled and popped, and the contest organizer announced it was time to count down to the winner of this year’s competition. All attention turned toward the stage.

  It occurred to her as the tension in the room grew palpable that this was rather like the flip version of Miss America competitions, only without the bathing suit contests. Morgan could have won on looks alone, although he’d probably have been eliminated when it came to the congeniality portion. Yogi would have won that.

  Thinking of Morgan, she wondered just where he’d gone. he’d lost track of her body and she was almost ready to go. Not that she was nervous about leaving alone.

  Okay, she was nervous about leaving alone. Recent events suggested it was a bit risky to run around by herself. Whatever this killer’s identity, he had to be certifiably insane. The fact that he’d waited for her in the dark privacy of her apartment wasn’t at all what he was supposed to do.

  Either he was changing tactics or getting desperate. Neither of those options made her feel any better.

  Thankfully, her attention was diverted from grim speculation by the excitement from Yogi as only he and Preston Hughes were left as contestants. Hughes had been pitch-perfect, but didn’t have the heart Yogi did. Maybe that was just her opinion—like the opinion she had that the man was probably a bold, vicious killer. He should still be in jail. She hadn’t a clue why he was here as if he had no problems at all, when he should be wearing an orange jumpsuit in a cell with a big guy named Bubba as his significant other.

  Then the announcer named Yogi as the first runner-up, and he gleefully went up the stairs to the stage and took his bow as if he’d just been named Leader of the Free World. It never ceased to amaze Harley that Yogi let few disappointments bother him. The crowd roared its approval of his shimmy, shake, and curl of his upper lip, so that Hughes’s acceptance of the trophy and title of King was almost overshadowed.

  “You were wonderful,” she told her father when she’d finally made her way through the crowd to his side, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “If Hughes hadn’t made bail, you’d have won this one.”

  Yogi’s broad grin acknowledged her faith in him. He looked jubilant. “Next year, the title. Tomorrow night, the candlelight vigil. Don’t forget.”

  “I won’t.” As if she could. She’d already set herself out as bait once, but caught the wrong fish. Maybe this time she’d get it right.

  Eighteen

  Morgan followed her home, driving an undercover car police used to escape notice. Until he showed up at her side as she got ready to leave, she hadn’t seen him since he’d blown her off. He’d had some lame excuse that he’d been watching over her the entire night, but he must have hidden really well.

  He parked the battered gray Pontiac right in front of her building. Not exactly what she’d consider unobtrusive, but maybe that was the point. Harley parked in back next to Cami’s Saturn, and by the time she cut off her headlights and locked the car Morgan stood by the back door.

  “Looking for anyone special, sailor?” she asked breezily, and he shook his head.

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He opened the door for her. “I’ll be out here all night, in the heat with the mosquitoes.”

  “Is that a hint to be invited inside?”

  He just smiled.

  So much for that. Not that she wanted him to come inside. Really. Okay, so she did, but it had nothing to do with lust, just security. Mostly, anyway.

  “Better move your car if you don’t want to be seen,” she advised. “Or is that the idea?”

  “It might be a deterrent. Run along inside like a good girl so I can skulk back to the car to watch over you.”

  “I feel so safe.” Prompted by an inner devil that usually got her into trouble, she stepped closer to him and playfully ran her fingers down the front of his shirt. “And I’m much more fun when I’m a bad girl,” she added huskily, and saw heat flare in his eyes. A muscle leaped in his jaw and just when it seemed as if he was about to say something, she ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip and stepped back. “‘Night, copper.”

  If he answered, she didn’t wait to hear it but scooted inside and up the stairs. One more second standing on the stoop with him, and she’d have said something she’d probably regret.

  The door to her apartment was locked and she used her key. Cami stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by wreckage that looked as if she’d attempted to tidy up. Her short blonde hair had damp streaks in front of her ears and on the nape of her neck, and she looked completely frazzled. She turned to Harley.

  “I’ve looked everywhere for him. It’s dark now, but I went out looking while it was still light. I guess I could again. I have this flashlight, and should be able to see him in the dark. It’s the eyes, you know, they shine like flat circles—if he’s gone across the street to the zoo, he might end up as a snack for the lions. Oh, I can’t stand this.”

  Harley said quickly, “Diva assures me that Sam is just fine. He’s off somewhere with a groundhog.”

  Cami blinked. “A groundhog? Like the animal?”

  “She doesn’t think so. You know Diva. All her messages are so cryptic. I keep thinking I should know, but the only thing that comes to me right now is the mole that King’s been after in Mrs. Shipley’s yard. There’s something else I’m supposed to be remembering, but it’s not coming to me. God, what a mess. Sam could be hiding somewhere in here, for all we know.”

  Broken glass, shards of a lamp, and something she didn’t want to look at too closely on one of the chair cushions, turned her usually-neat apartment into a rubbish dump. It was obvious Cami had done what she could, but it needed a complete overhaul.

  “You know,” Harley reflected aloud, “if I’m going to keep getting involved in situations where people feel compelled to try to kill me, I really need to get indestructible furniture. Or a maid.”

  “Or a security guard stationed at your
door.”

  “Even better. How very practical of you.”

  “Where can we look next?” Cami ran a hand through her hair, and sweaty strands stuck out like Dagwood Bumstead’s hair. “I’ve searched every cabinet, drawer, under your bed—by the way, that’s not a good place to store Old Faithful.”

  “Old Faithful? Ah. Yes. Well, I haven’t really needed it in a long time, and forgot about it being there. The batteries are probably run down by now. I should get some more in this time of need, I suppose.”

  “Better clean it first. It’s pretty dusty. But much more discreet than that wooden penis you keep on your dresser.”

  “That’s a souvenir, a reminder to duck when people are shooting at me.”

  “You need a reminder for that? Jeez, Harley. But back to the problem at hand. Do you still think Sam went over your balcony?”

  “I’m fairly sure. He was really spooked. We’ll look outside.”

  Cami glanced doubtfully at the French doors, now closed and locked. “I don’t know . . . ”

  “It’s safe. Morgan’s hiding out there waiting to pounce on any evil Elvis that comes by. Pretend you don’t notice him. I think he’s sensitive about getting his cover blown.”

  After searching inside, they went outside and searched in the bushes again, each armed with a flashlight. Privet hedges stretched on one side of the yard, and bushes next to the building were kept neatly trimmed at waist-high level. The front yard gas lamp put out enough feeble light to barely see the green and white caladiums thriving in scalloped flowerbeds, but it was too dark to see the vivid hues of red and pink begonias. Dark shadows made a huge pool beneath the low, spreading branches of the magnolia tree. Sam could be anywhere.

  After crawling under the bushes next to the building, calling kitty, kitty, kitty as softly as she could so no one would call the cops on her at midnight, Harley sat down on the bricked front stoop. She cut off her flashlight and blew out a frustrated breath.

  Over at one side of the house, Cami still made her cat noises, strange sounds she interspersed with “Here Kitty” calls.