“Come on in,” Harley said and opened the door wider.
Sarah looked at Harley’s hair and paused. “Have you grown horns?”
“Practicing for Halloween. I’m harmless. Really.”
Sarah hesitated outside the apartment as if there were lions waiting to attack. Her brown eyes darted from side to side, and her hands shook.
Harley thought she must have agoraphobia. Sarah had the classic signs, her fear of being in public and a need to stay hidden. It had to have taken great courage for her to leave her apartment and walk upstairs.
“Nothing will hurt you,” she assured Sarah. “I’m here alone except for Sam.”
Sarah inched inside so slowly Harley felt like taking her arm and pulling her in. When Sarah finally stood inside by the breakfast counter, Harley breathed a sigh of relief and shut the front door.
“So what’s on your mind, Sarah?”
“Murder.”
Harley’s mouth opened, and she made fish faces for a moment. She couldn’t say anything. Then she roused herself. “Do you mean like in a magazine, a book, or on TV?”
“No.” The single word came out in a whisper. “Someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Ah. Must be something in the city water. What makes you say that?”
“He comes and peeks in my window. He wears a mask over his face so I can’t see him.”
“You need to call the police, Sarah. It’s probably a burglar casing your apartment for possible entry. Do you have anything valuable?”
“My mother’s jewelry. I suppose it’s valuable. And of course, I have the money I inherited from my parents. I don’t like to go to banks, so it’s hidden.”
“You and Yogi would get along very well.”
Sarah looked confused. “A dead baseball player?”
“No, Yogi is my father. He doesn’t like banks either.”
“Oh. I don’t want to call the police. They intrude.”
“Don’t you think you should? They can provide security and catch whoever’s peeking in your windows at night.”
“No. They’d come inside my apartment and start messing up everything. I like to have it where I can find it.”
Harley had been in Sarah’s apartment. Magazines were stacked higher than her head, forming a maze. Sarah did have a big screen TV in one corner and a nice chair set right in front of it. She’d also rescued Sam when he’d jumped over Harley’s balcony and hid in the bushes for a while. In gratitude for her rescue of him, Harley had sent Sarah a two-year subscription to a tabloid. Then she’d felt guilty for enabling her hoarding.
She tried again. “If you tell the police not to knock over your magazines, I’m sure they won’t.”
“They made a big mess in your apartment. I heard it. Glass breaking, stomping their feet, and loud noises. What is it you do for a living?”
“The police didn’t do that. It was—” She stopped. Sarah wouldn’t want to be reminded that Harley and a killer had made that mess, not the police. “I haul around tourists,” she said instead. “Nice ones, obnoxious ones, occasionally dead ones. It pays the bills. So, maybe you could have a family member come stay with you.”
Sarah blinked. “I don’t like the family I have left. They say mean things to me.”
“I understand. I have some family with the same problem. Why do you want me to help? I’m not very good at it.”
“Yes, you are. You were in the newspaper again. It said you helped catch a murderer for the third time. If you can do it for others, you can do it for me.”
Sarah actually sounded firm instead of scared. She posed with a resolute set of her chin and stared at Harley.
She sighed. “I can’t promise anything. It’s, uh, a little hectic right now. You know, the Zoo Boo starting next week, Fall Festival out at the Agri-center. Some of it’s really fun. I’m also driving tourist vans and limos, so I stay pretty busy. And Halloween parties have already started. Some people like to arrive in limos.”
“But you’ll help me, right?”
Harley surrendered. “Yes, I’ll help. First, you need to give me some information, like how many times he’s been at your window, has he tried to break in, or is he just a peeper? Do you have locks on your doors and windows? Is there anything familiar about him? How many people know you keep valuables in your apartment? Who are they? Does anyone have a grudge against you? Are you armed?”
The last question was more for Harley’s safety than some criminal’s. She didn’t like being shot at, even if it’d be a mistake. Guns were always loud and scary.
Sarah stared at her. She looked dumbfounded. After a moment, she drew in a deep breath. “Can you write down all those questions?”
“As many as I remember.”
When Harley handed Sarah a list of the questions, she looked over them. “I’ll have to think about it, but I’ll do the best I can to answer these.”
“I’m sure you will. If he shows up again or you hear any strange noises, just call me. Do you still have my card with the number? No? I’ll give it to you again. If I’m here, I’ll come right down. If I’m not, dial nine-one-one.”
“I don’t know about nine-one-one.”
“Trust me, it’s better than someone breaking into your apartment. I’ve had a lot of experience with that, and it’s never very pleasant.”
“Okay.” Sarah didn’t really sound convinced, but she moved slowly toward the door. “I’ll write down the answers to your questions and put them in your mailbox.”
The mailboxes were downstairs next to Sarah’s apartment. There were only four apartments in the large brick building, so it was pretty quiet. A married couple had lived on the second floor across from Harley, but they’d moved out in September. They cited the reason for breaking their lease as fear of their next door neighbor’s apparent lure for criminals. Not quite fair, Harley thought. After all, it wasn’t as if she invited maniacs to visit. They just showed up anyway.
Harley walked Sarah down to her apartment, where she immediately unlocked the door. Then she looked at Harley, and her face expressed the obvious. Harley caved.
“I’ll check out your apartment just to make sure no one broke in while you were upstairs talking to me, all right?”
Of course, that was fine with Sarah. She slid just inside the door to wait until it was safe and Harley didn’t get murdered. Harley took a deep breath and stepped farther inside the apartment, praying no psychopath lurked inside. Lights were on but didn’t do much to illuminate the room. Shadows cast from stacks of magazines kept it dim.
It occurred to her that if one of the stacks fell over, she’d be flattened into a pancake. Nevertheless, she stuck her head around a magazine tower. A maze greeted her. How could any murderer or burglar find his way around? Unless he dropped bread crumbs behind him, he’d be lost forever. Luckily for Harley, Sarah had once escorted her through the maze, so she had a fifty-fifty chance of making it through without dialing 911 for a rescue team. Cell phones could be convenient. When she remembered, she kept hers chained to a belt loop. Cell phones also had a bad habit of unexpectedly breaking. Using it as a defense weapon could be one reason.
Fortunately, no killer lurked behind magazines, a big screen TV, or in the tub. Closet doors were pretty much blocked by years of TV Guide, Redbook, Better Homes and Gardens, and various tabloids depicting alien babies and two-headed snakes. Sarah obviously had eclectic tastes, since volumes of Shakespeare sat on the floor next to her TV chair. The only room not littered with magazines was the kitchen. It was clean and even pretty, appliances gleaming and lush plants in the window. It looked completely out of place in the clutter.
“Everything looks fine,” Harley announced after peering into all the corners she could reach. “I don’t think anyone can get in your windows. You have them secured with locks and sticks.”
One-by-two boards had been braced so the windows could not be raised. Sarah was obviously taking the initiative in her determination to stay safe.
�
�But you’ll help me find out who’s trying to get in?” Sarah asked anxiously. “It happens in the daytime. A face at the windows. He’s scary looking.”
Harley glanced again at the windows. Magazines had been stacked on either side of living room windows to let in daylight. Mini-blinds were at half-mast. “Could it be just shadows? The streetlights are on. Maybe you’re seeing shadows from the trees.”
“No. He scratches at the window. Like your cat did. Only he doesn’t go away. He wears a mask, and he keeps trying to get inside.”
Sarah’s shudder was real, so Harley nodded. “Okay. I’ll look around. Maybe you should lower your blinds in the meantime, though. And remember that you’re pretty safe here. It’d take a lot to get inside. Uh, you don’t have a weapon, do you?”
“Yes, I have a shovel next to my chair. It should work, don’t you think?”
“It may help, but I meant another kind of weapon. Like a gun. Rifle. Bazooka.”
Sarah looked at her oddly. “You already asked me that. And no, those things are dangerous. What’s a bazooka?”
“I’m not sure. I think it’s some kind of hand-held cannon. Until I figure out what’s going on, lock your doors and try not to worry, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
Sarah shut the door behind Harley. There was the immediate sound of a deadbolt shooting home, then two chain locks. For a moment Harley stood indecisively in the small lobby area. Mailboxes were set in one wall, a door to another apartment on the opposite wall. A back door led to the rear parking lot, and at the other end of the short dark hall, the front door was kept locked. Harley went out the back.
Vapor lights hummed in the dark, illuminating the covered parking area and the open lot where Harley’s car sat. Mr. Diaz’s car was in the assigned spot in the covered area; he lived in the other downstairs apartment. Sarah’s car was in its slot next to his. Harley wondered if she ever used the car. The only time she’d ever seen Sarah out of the building was one night when she took her garbage out to the Dumpster.
Bushes lined the brick walls of the building, and the driveway curved to the street. Poplar Avenue, a main Memphis corridor, was half a block away. The Overton Park Zoo and grounds were across from the apartments. Sometimes from her balcony she heard lions roar and peacocks screech. The apartment grounds were well-kept, grass trimmed and any flowers tended. Automatic sprinklers turned on at dawn in the summers.
Harley made her way around the front of the building to Sarah’s windows. Thick hedges crowded against the brick. Anyone trying to look in would have to fight through the prickly branches of boxwoods to peer in the windows. Even at night with the blinds only halfway down, Harley could barely see through window screens into the apartment. So who would be skulking around, and why pick Sarah?
She went back around the building and inside and then knocked on Mr. Diaz’s door. He answered quickly, and when he saw who it was, he looked startled. Then he looked annoyed. “Yes?”
Harley smiled in what she hoped was a pleasant manner. “Hello, Mr. Diaz, I just want to ask if you’ve had any problems lately with prowlers. Or if you’ve seen anything odd around here.”
“No prowlers, and the only odd things I’ve seen lately are the police in and out your door. Along with criminals falling off your balcony. When did you start living like a drug lord?”
It was Harley’s turn to be startled. “Drug lord? Me? I don’t even eat my father’s tomatoes. Why would you think I do drugs?”
Mr. Diaz shrugged. “Maybe you don’t do them. Maybe you just sell them. All I know is that my quiet apartment has turned into the center of criminal activity.”
Harley sighed. “I know. It’s not my fault. People just show up uninvited. Sorry to bother you. But if you do see anyone peeking into the apartment across the hall, will you let me know? Or call the police?”
“If I call the police they would probably arrest you.”
“Then that’s a yes, right? Thanks for your cooperation.”
Mr. Diaz didn’t reply to that; he just shut his door. She heard the deadbolt click. So much for remaining on good terms with the neighbors.
When Harley got back upstairs, Mike Morgan was sitting in her big comfy chair. Sam sat in his lap.
“You’re back so soon,” she said as she closed her apartment door. She’d stopped asking how he got in so easily and had given him a key. It saved her time and breath. “My luck is improving.”
“So, tell me again about this guy named Jordan you’re supposed to be helping.”
She paused. He sounded a bit stressed. “Why? Oh lord—he didn’t get killed, did he?”
“Not that I know about. Baroni called me. He said you’re getting mixed up in an investigation that should be police business. He wants me to tell you to stop. So stop.”
She tossed her door key to the bar separating the kitchen from the living room. “I told you about that already. Why is Bobby mixed up in it now? Police didn’t seem to take Jordan too seriously before.”
“Someone contacted Baroni about your involvement. It was suggested that you may be a complication.”
“Complication? You mean, like measles or something?” She planted her hands on her hips and lifted her brows.
“No, that’s a contagion. Complication is what always seems to happen when you get involved in anything remotely resembling murder.”
“Tootsie. I bet it was Tootsie who called him. He doesn’t like me trying to help his friend. I don’t know why, when he’s the one who arranged for us to meet. And I haven’t done anything yet except ask a few questions of some residents in the apartment complex where Jordan is staying. How can that be interfering with police procedure?”
“Is that a new hair style?” Morgan asked, his gaze suddenly focused on the top of her head. “It’s—different.”
“If that’s supposed to be a tactful way of saying it looks like I’ve grown horns, it’s not.”
“Not tactful or not right?”
“Both. Neither. I was headed for the shower when I got sidetracked.”
Morgan unfolded his body from the chair, dumping Sam on the floor as he stood up. “By all means, don’t let me slow you down. Need any help washing your back?”
Harley folded her arms across her chest. “I won’t. And no. Did you just drop by to deliver a message from Bobby? Because if you did, you’ve done your job and can go.”
“Well, that was only part of the reason I came by.” He hooked a finger in the neck of her tee shirt and gave it a tug. “The other part of the reason is purely selfish.”
She batted his hand away. No point in making this easy for him. “Really. Do tell.”
“I missed you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. It’s been at least four hours since you were here.”
“Four long, long hours.”
“During which you somehow managed to communicate with Bobby Baroni. I’m not sure I want you talking to each other about me.”
“It’s inevitable, baby. You’re the kind of girl who gets talked about.”
“Don’t call me baby.”
Undeterred, Morgan slid his hand down her arm to grab her wrist and lift her hand to his mouth. He said against her palm, “So what do you want me to call you?”
“Annoyed. Stop that.” She pulled free of his light grasp. “I won’t be distracted so easily. Why were you talking to Bobby?”
“I told you. He called me. Do you have any beer left?”
“Drinking on the job?”
“I’m off duty. I need beer if I’m going to be interrogated by a woman with horns on her head.”
“So why were you talking to Bobby?”
Morgan sighed. “Are you going to keep asking me that?”
“Quite possibly. Are you ever going to answer me?”
“Where’s the beer?”
Harley went to her small refrigerator and opened it. Half a six-pack of domestic beer sat on the top shelf. An unopened bottle of Zinfandel chilled next to the beer
, and leftovers in plastic cartons from various take-out restaurants filled the bottom shelf. One imported beer was in the rack on the door. She pulled it out and handed it to him along with a bottle opener. He popped the top and tossed it into the trash can against the wall. Then he tilted the bottle and drank a third of it in just a few swallows.
“You have your beer,” she pointed out, “and now I want my answer. Why did you talk to Bobby?”
“You’re such an inquisitive little thing.”
“I’m going to be such a mad little thing if you don’t stop stalling and answer my question. I know it wasn’t a random call. Bobby called you for a specific reason. What?”
“I told you. He wants you to butt out of police business. He wants you to let the boys in blue do their jobs. It gets more difficult when you get mixed up in it. Then you end up having to be rescued. Makes it complicated.”
“No, there’s more to it than that. What is it?”
Morgan eyed her for a moment. Then he said, “Damn, you’re persistent. Okay. I can’t tell you anything.”
“Can’t tell me anything, or won’t tell me anything?”
“A little of both. Come on, Harley. You know how it is. A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.”
“I thought that was too much knowledge can be a dangerous thing.”
“In your case, both apply.”
“Sorry you have to leave so early.” She walked to the door and opened it. “Stop in again sometime. Preferably when you have more answers than you do tonight.”
Morgan sighed. “All right. See you around.”
He gave her a last glance as he left, and Harley closed the door behind him. Then she waited to see if he’d come back. When he didn’t, she went out to her balcony just in time to see his car pull away from the front curb. Damn. Why did he have to call her bluff again? She hated it when he did that.
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