Yogi’s eyes got wide. “Are they going to charge me with something?”
“Nothing like that. You were pretty amazing. Especially since you didn’t know if Horton was armed. He could have had a gun, or used the knife we took off him.”
Yogi went pale. “He had a knife?”
“A good-sized one. Could have done a lot of damage.”
Swallowing hard, Yogi said in a weak voice, “Well, I had to save my little girl.”
“You did a bang-up job. Horton’s going to be in the hospital a day or two.”
“Come along, officer,” Harley said, and took him by the arm. “Let’s go sit on the porch.”
One of the swinging settees was covered with flowery cushions, and they sat on that. It was a nice afternoon as long as they stayed in the shade and under a ceiling fan. Cicadas sang and crickets made chirping noises. The hum of bumblebees mixed in with the other sounds. They sat for a while in silence, until Harley got drowsy.
“This root beer isn’t too bad.” Morgan took another drink from the bottle.
She roused. “It tastes like crap.”
They both laughed at her imitation of Nana. Then Morgan leaned close.
“We could sneak out of here if we’re quiet.”
“I can’t. I brought Nana and I have to take her home.”
“Eric can do it. By the way, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
Her stomach got tight. Surely he wasn’t going to ask her to move in with him, or elope, or anything that crazy. That was something she wasn’t at all sure she was ready to do.
He didn’t. Instead he asked, “Why does your brother have a normal name and you don’t?”
“I do too have a normal name. It’s just that Harley and Davidson sound funny said together. Besides, Eric doesn’t exactly have a normal name.”
“What’s wrong with Eric as a name?”
“Nothing. But his middle name is Toke.”
“Strangely enough, that’s not very surprising. So go get Toke to take Nana home. I’ve got something I want to do with you.”
“Does it involve Mr. Happy? I’ve already seen a lot of him today.”
“Not Mr. Happy. Though you could appreciate my efforts a little better.”
“There’s always another chance for personal growth, grasshopper.”
“I love it when you talk Ninja to me. Come on.” He stood up and took her hand. “Go tell Toke he’s the designated driver tonight.”
Morgan drove his red Corvette. He stuck a CD into the player and turned it up. Then he took her to the Tom Lee Park that overlooked the Mississippi River. They parked in the lot next to the bluffs. Dusk had begun to fall. The river rushed past, as it had for centuries, and barges glided through the currents leaving cone-shaped wakes behind. Jewel played on the CD, and her husky voice sang about lost love.
“How did you know I liked Jewel?” Harley asked.
“You have her CDs all over your apartment.”
She rested her head against the back of the seat. Slowly, her earlier tension faded away and was replaced with a sense of peace. The fiery ball of sun sinking beyond the horizon made streaked patterns in the sky. In the distance, cars streamed across the M-shaped bridge that would light up the night when it got darker. It felt like the tension from everything she’d been through oozed out from her feet and through the car mats onto the pavement below.
Morgan reached over and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her wrist. He didn’t say anything and she was glad. Speaking would ruin the moment. They sat there until the sun left only a faint gleam, staining the sky red and turning the clouds blue. Lights popped on the bridge, so the M was much more visible. A few other cars had shown up. Some of the passengers got out to meander along the concrete walks edging the bluffs.
She was content to just sit there, the top down on the Corvette and a soft breeze blowing. After the last weeks, it was as close to perfect as she could get. Then Morgan handed her a glass of wine he’d taken from his small cooler in what could have been a back seat but wasn’t.
Okay, now it was perfect.
A sip of chilled zinfandel made her sigh with pleasure. “I’m officially in love,” she said.
“You mean you weren’t before?”
“Maybe.”
“Tease.”
“If it works, why change?” Harley slid him a glance. He looked back at her with such a sizzling gaze that her mouth got dry despite the wine. That tingle headed south again, and the air held heat that had nothing to do with the weather.
Morgan smiled. “Sure you don’t want to see Mr. Happy tonight?”
“Come to think of it, I would enjoy the pleasure of his company.”
“Shall we go?”
“As fast as we can.”
It was one of the best nights yet. Maybe she could fall in love. While she waited for it, she could certainly enjoy all the perks.
Until next time . . .
(Continue reading for more information from the author)
Afterword
I have, of course, taken liberties with certain dates and facts, as writers of fiction are prone to do. Images of the King is indeed the “Super Bowl” of Elvis competitions in August every year, with some very talented performers and dedicated organizers, none of whom are depicted nor resemble in any way the characters in this book. Most of the Memphis tourist attractions are accurately described, with a certain fictional license to fit my plot. If you’ve ever been to Memphis, you’ll recognize many places, and if you haven’t, I extend an invitation in the time-honored tradition of the South—“Y’all come!”
Don’t miss Harley’s next adventure!
Suspicious Mimes Page 32