That was when someone smacked her on the side of the head and she saw stars explode in front of her eyes. A veritable meteor shower of them. She hit the ground in the alley hard, felt her palms scrape on asphalt, and heard bells ringing and drums thumping loudly.
Music? How lovely . . . Unable to move, she just lay there staring up at the stars rotating in the sky like pinwheels.
Then someone bent over her, squeezing her cheeks together and peering into her eyes. “Hey, are you all right? Talk to me, honey. Focus . . . that’s right, both eyes looking in the same direction at once, now.”
A face slowly came into focus. She blinked. Diana Ross? “Why’d you break up the Supremes?”
Diana laughed and said to someone else nearby, “She’s coming around. She’s just not making much sense yet.”
“Trust me, she doesn’t make much sense when she hasn’t been hit in the head,” a familiar voice said. “I’ve never met anyone who can’t even go to the bathroom without getting into some kind of trouble.”
That would be Morgan, Harley thought hazily. He sounds upset.
While Diana Ross helped her sit up, Tootsie came back from the mouth of the alley. He was breathing hard like he’d been running. “I couldn’t catch him. She okay?”
“Except for being hit in the head, she’s just fine. Maybe it knocked some sense into her, though that’s not likely.” Morgan knelt in front of her, examining her head.
Sounding sympathetic, Tootsie said, “I can’t believe someone tried to kidnap her. That’s never happened here before.”
“It was only a matter of time with her running loose. Look at her. She’ll have a huge lump on the side of her head. She’s lucky that’s all she got.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Harley said crossly. “I can still hear, y’know.”
If Morgan hadn’t looked so worried, she might have been really mad at him, but the look he gave her said a lot more than his words. “Can you get up?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I think.”
But she was so wobbly he had to grab her before she hit the pavement again. He slid an arm around her back and held her against his side, while Diana Ross fluttered around with his hands outstretched saying, “She looks like she’s going to pass out.”
“I’ve got her. She won’t fall.”
That was the good thing about Morgan. She could depend on him to hold her up when things got really shaky.
“Until I’m ready to drop her on her ass, that is,” Morgan added, and Harley revised her opinion to reflect that he could certainly be unpredictable.
Once back inside, with a Coke in one hand and a bag of ice held to her now throbbing head, Harley eyed Morgan warily when he pulled up a chair right in front of her and sat down.
“So what happened, Harley?”
“I don’t know. I went to the bathroom and the lights went out. When I came out, this guy was there with a bag that he pulled over my head. Then he dragged me outside and tried to get me into his car. I, uh, managed to get hold of his goods and he let go of me. I didn’t get far before I got hit in the head with something. And the next thing I know, Diana Ross is telling me to focus.”
Morgan just looked at her for a moment, and then he grinned. It was unexpected and a relief. “You grabbed his crotch?”
“Well, I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Not that I’m sorry.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
She started to shake her head, then winced at the stabbing pain and thought better of it. “No. But he spoke a foreign language.”
“Did you recognize it?”
“Spanish, I think. Maybe Italian. I’m not really up on that kind of thing.”
“How about his car? Did you get a good look at his car?”
“No. It was dark. Blue, maybe. Or green. Maybe black. Well, it all happened so fast and all I could think about was getting away—but the motor was noisy, like it was missing, or had bad gas. A kind of ka-chink ka-chink sound, like rocks rattling around.”
“That only applies to three-quarters of the cars in Memphis.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. It was probably the car that I made earlier.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Uh, what does that mean?”
“Earlier, I thought we were being followed. I made—identified—someone behind us.”
“Tonight?”
“Yep. Dark blue Pontiac, older model, bashed-in left front fender, vanity plate in the front that said Hombre in purple glitter.”
“And you didn’t think it worth mentioning to me?”
“You gotta be kidding. All I needed was you playing detective tonight. Besides, I thought it’d work out better if I called it in and had him checked out.”
“Apparently, it didn’t. Did you get his plates?”
“Expired plates registered in Ohio.”
She perked up. “Cincinnati, maybe?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Maybe. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. No reason at all.”
If only her head didn’t hurt so badly, she could think this through. It was a wonder her brains weren’t scrambled, having been knocked around three times in only a few weeks. There was definitely something to be said for wearing helmets. From that thought, she leaped to the related connection with motorcycle helmets, to the motorcycle in her parents’ garage, to having been followed. Of course. If she was being followed, they’d expect her to take her car. And she knew just the thing to throw them off.
That was the reason she had Morgan drop her off at her parents’ house that night, instead of taking her home where she knew she’d be more comfortable and happier. It was a price she was willing to pay to find out what she could about Cheríe Saucier. She just knew Cheríe was behind this latest assault. Now it was personal. The bitch had cost her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mike asked again when she had his car door open in front of her parents’ bungalow-style house on Douglass. “I can take you to the Minor Med for an x-ray if you’re feeling bad.”
“No, I’m fine. Or will be once I’ve had a good night’s sleep. Honest. I’d just feel better if I didn’t stay alone at my apartment tonight. Besides, you have to be at work early and I’ve been neglecting Diva and Yogi lately. I promised I’d spend some time with them, and this seems like as good a time as any.”
All of that was true, except for her motivation. And he didn’t need to know that. No point in worrying him unduly. He obviously tended to fret about things.
“I don’t know why,” he said slowly, “but I have an uneasy feeling about this.”
“Don’t. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to me here.”
“My past experience leads me to believe otherwise.”
“An anomaly. Murderers don’t often show up at my parents’ door, I promise. And King the Wonder Dog is here. He’s a great burglar alarm and deterrent to crime.”
“He’s a one-dog demolition crew.”
She smiled. “You know him so well.”
“I’ll call you in the morning to see how you’re feeling.”
“Not too early. I’ll probably sleep in.”
With Morgan watching, she stepped out of the car and closed the door, then went up the sidewalk to the front porch of the darkened house. Diva’s wind chimes tinkled in a light breeze, and the air smelled of magnolia blossoms and wisteria, redolent with the suggestion of lemon and grape. As usual, the front door was unlocked, and King—contrary to her assertion he was a great burglar alarm—was nowhere to be found as she let herself into the house.
She found aspirin in the kitchen, and took two with a glass of water, then went upstairs to her old bedroom. It was much as it had been when she’d lived here, save for remnants of Diva’s craft-making scattered on the dresser and on top of the bookshelves. Her brother Eric’s room was across the hall, and her parents’ room was at the end of the house. A big bathroom separated the bedrooms. The
comfortable house was Yogi’s childhood home and inheritance, safe and secure, a place Harley knew and loved. Not that she wanted to live with her parents. She just liked knowing that some things hadn’t changed, as irritating as that might be at times.
As if conjured up by the word irritating, Eric poked his head in her bedroom door. “Hey, cool chick. Thought I heard somebody in here.”
“You thought right.” She eyed him. His hair was jet black this week, with a wide stripe of vivid purple down the middle. “Dude, you look like a psychedelic skunk,” she said, and he grinned.
“Exactly the look I was going for. So why are you here in the middle of the night?”
“Homesick for Diva’s cooking.”
“Riiight. You’ll have to come up with a better lie than that. I don’t think even Diva likes her cooking.”
“King seems to like it all right.”
“King,” Eric pointed out, “also likes to eat out of garbage cans. His taste buds can’t be trusted.”
Because that was so obviously true, Harley took the conversation in another direction. “I guess you’ve got class in the morning?”
“No, chick, it’s summer. I’m out of class.” He came in and perched on the edge of her bed. He wore a black Slayer tee shirt and baggy black pants with about a dozen silver zippers in the wide legs. “I’m teaching guitar to a few students for some extra cash.”
“You’ve gotten a job?”
“Well, don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a complete slug.”
“Dude, I’m speechless.”
He grinned and blinked his sleepy blue eyes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. So, I guess you’ll be here for breakfast.”
“Probably not. I’ve got a few things to do. Besides, I’m not sure I could stomach Diva’s idea of breakfast. At least, not before noon.”
“Do what me and Yogi do—eat enough to make her happy, then go to McDonald’s for a sausage biscuit.”
“I knew he’d been cheating. I found hamburger wrappers in his workshop a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell Diva. She thinks he’s just eating bean sprouts.”
“She probably knows better. It’s not easy keeping secrets from her.”
Eric shrugged. “Yeah, but she doesn’t let on. It’s like one of those secrets we all know but we all ignore, y’know?”
Because she did know, and because it was uncomfortably eerie that Diva far too often had the power of knowing what she was thinking, Harley decided to try to leave before her mother got up in the morning. It’d be so much easier than making explanations.
She’d have managed it, too, if King hadn’t decided to belatedly do his burglar alarm duty and bark ferociously at her. He grabbed the hem of her old jeans she’d found in the closet and tugged like she’d come to steal the family heirlooms.
“Nice doggy,” she whispered in an effort to get him to shut up, but despite gripping the frayed hem of her jeans in his teeth, he still managed to make such a ruckus that her father came out of his bedroom into the upstairs hallway.
“Harley,” he said with a sleepy but pleased smile, “it’s you.”
“Yep, it’s me. Hope I didn’t wake you. It’s early, almost the crack of nine.”
Yogi nodded. His hair stood on end atop his head, his usual ponytail loose and touching his shoulders, his tee shirt and baggy boxer shorts a familiar sight. “That’s all right. I should be up early anyway. Got a few things to finish up before the flea market this weekend. Then I have to go jogging.”
“Jogging?” Harley stared at him. “You? Why are you going jogging?”
“King, stop that,” Yogi said, and the dog finally released the leg of her jeans and sat down to stare adoringly up at her father. “Well, I’ve put on a little weight, and when I tried on my Elvis costume yesterday, I couldn’t get it fastened across my stomach. Besides, King needs the exercise so he won’t try to get out so often.”
“I seem to recall saying that myself. Did you talk to the Border Collie Rescue group?”
Yogi nodded. “They said if he gets enough playtime, he’s not as likely to try to roam.”
Harley thought that was a bit optimistic of them, but anything that made Yogi feel better was certainly worth a try. She said, “That’s nice, Yogi. Is it Elvis week already?”
“No, but I’ve only got two months to get ready. Want some breakfast?”
The good thing about her father was that he often took what she said at face value and didn’t ask too many probing questions. So when she told him she’d decided to take her bike out for a spin in the nice weather, he just smiled and told her to have fun.
Diva, however, who got up and came downstairs to the kitchen before she could ease out the back door, fixed her with one of those riveting gazes that always made Harley feel like she knew all. “Be careful,” she said. “Things are not what they seem.”
“They rarely are. I don’t suppose you have any specifics you’d like to share?”
Yawning, Diva shook her head. “You’ll do what you feel you must anyway. It’s your nature to be independent. It’s one of your strengths.”
That was nice, Harley thought, and smiled. It sounded much better to be independent than obstinate or stubborn, both of which had been applied to her far too frequently lately.
“Thanks, Diva. No, I don’t want breakfast, I’m in a hurry. I’ll be back later, and we can visit. I’ll catch you up on everyone.”
It was indicative of her mother’s familial detachment that she didn’t ask about her sister or parents, just commented vaguely that everything would turn out all right.
As Harley started for the door, Diva added, “Avoid geese, Harley. They nip.”
Another obscure observation from the Sage of Douglass Street. “I will,” Harley promised, and went out to the garage. Her bike was under a tarp and surrounded by paint cans, various PVC pipes, metal cabinets, ladders and old chairs, as well as car parts. A tricked-out Harley-Davidson Softail Deuce with over/under dual exhaust lurked beneath the tarp, and when she pulled off the heavy cover, she sighed with pleasure. There it was, gleaming with chrome, gold and black and all hers. Twin 88 cams made it purr like a kitten or roar like a lion.
She took her helmet off the buddy bar and fired up the bike, fastening the straps under her chin while it idled. Yogi met her in the driveway.
“Give me a quick ride? It won’t take long.”
Eying him, she nodded. “Jogging to McDonald’s?”
“Don’t tell your mother.”
“Are you kidding? And lose any leverage I might have for the future?”
Yogi grinned and straddled the bike behind her. McDonald’s wasn’t far, and by the time they’d cruised through the drive-out window and back down Highland to Douglass, he’d finished his sausage biscuits. How he ate with a forty-mile an hour wind in his face, she had no idea, but he managed just fine.
“You’ve got sausage grease on your mouth,” she said when she dropped him off at the end of the driveway, and he did a quick, guilty pass of his hand over his lips. “Diva probably knows anyway,” she added, and he shrugged.
“As long as I don’t give her proof, she’s happy.”
“I never thought my father would have to hide a love affair with a hamburger.”
“Cheeseburger and sausage biscuits.” Yogi grinned when she shook her head and gave the bike gas. Really, dealing with family peculiarities could be interesting and amusing.
Next stop was the design shop. It’d reopened for the employees to tidy up this morning. The only obvious evidence of the murder was a shred of yellow crime tape that had come loose and been blown into the top of a tree where it fluttered like a banner. Several cars were parked in front. She recognized none of them. A Closed sign still hung on the door, but she went in anyway.
A thin woman wearing a brown pantsuit with a coral scarf draped around the neck met her three steps into the showroom. Her brown hair had been pulled back into a tight bun on the nape of he
r neck, and she had a look on her face like she’d just stepped in dog poop.
“I’m sorry dear. We’re closed . . . for inventory. May I help you?”
“It’s possible.” Harley smiled, aware that her jeans and tee shirt marked her as a customer unable to afford so much as a pillow from Designer’s Den. “My aunt is Darcy Fontaine.”
“Oh?” She sounded slightly incredulous.
“Yes. I’d like to ask a few questions of the employees.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. They’re all rather busy.”
“Too busy to keep dear Aunt Darcy out of prison?”
Miss Dog Poop hesitated. With a little coaxing—and a show of ID in case she’d come to rob them—she was given limited access to the employees who’d shown up for work. Three had quit. Fortunately, by process of elimination that took a half hour, she finally found the designer that Cheríe claimed had heard Darcy threaten Harry. In her early twenties, Linda Moore looked defiant but honest.
“Where did you hear her threaten to kill Harry?” Harley asked. “And when?”
“I didn’t want to make any trouble for Mrs. Fontaine, but the police asked me if I’d heard anything odd between them and I had to say what I heard. I won’t lie.”
“I understand. Really I do. As long as it’s the truth, it can only help.” She hoped. Since it was out anyway, she might as well know exactly what had been said.
Linda hesitated, then said, “It was Thursday afternoon. I’d gone to get a pair of crystal candlesticks from the buffet in the Victorian Room. They were in the hallway just outside, before you get to the Edwardian Room. They got a bit loud, and I overheard them.”
“What was said?”
“Mr. Gordon had come in with some kind of carved box in his hand. I didn’t see it clearly myself, but Mrs. Fontaine stopped him. She said if he was endangering her business with that kind of thing, she’d see him dead. He laughed at her, and she said, ‘I mean it, Harry. I’ll kill you myself if I have to!’ and he just laughed again and said, ‘You don’t have the guts to do it. Besides, you need me.’ That’s when I bumped into the case clock and they heard me.” Flipping a lock of light hair from her eyes, she said, “That’s it. That’s all I heard.”
Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries) Page 16