“I put the socks in my underwear drawer in that empty chest of drawers. My pink slippers are at the side of the bed. Don’t get the blue or orange ones. I’m pink today.”
Yogi dutifully headed for the staircase to the second floor, Mrs. Shipley’s added instructions following until he was out of sight. “I have a magazine up there on the table by the bed. Oh, and a puzzle book and pen. Don’t forget to bring down my medicine. It’s on the table by the magazine. And could you see if the TV Guide is up there?”
She looked over at Harley, who had the sudden urge to escape before she was sent on errands as well. “It’s getting cold out there. Shouldn’t you be wearing a coat, Harley Jean?”
“Yes. I didn’t know the temperature would be dropping instead of rising. Can’t trust those weathermen.”
Mrs. Shipley nodded. “I’ll knit you a thick sweater. What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh, I’m leaving in a minute. I don’t think you have enough time.”
“Don’t be silly. Christmas is in a couple months. I bet your favorite color is red.”
“Close. Blue.”
“Lovely. I have lots of blue yarn. Do you like turtlenecks?”
Instead of replying, Harley said, “You should make one of your pecan pies, Mrs. Shipley. Or Mississippi Mud Cake. Yogi would love something that isn’t organic. He’s always said you’re the absolute best at pies and cakes.”
“Well, really? He said that?” Mrs. Shipley looked very pleased. “You know, I may feel like getting up and doing some baking later.”
Harley smiled. With her good deed for the day done, she went out to the garage. The front part held her bike, while the rest was dedicated to years of junk collected by her father’s rambling through the neighborhood. The workroom at the back of the garage held his workbench and supplies to make crystal jewelry and dream-catchers, as well as the metal windmills in shapes of birds, towers, and anything else that caught his fancy. A couple times a month her parents loaded up the lime green van they called, appropriately, Vanna, with all their projects and went to local flea markets.
After she pulled the canvas cover off her bike, she folded it and put it up on a shelf. Maybe her bike would be less noticeable than her car. Whoever was after Jordan had seen her car. As far as she knew, they’d never seen her bike. And it could go places big cars couldn’t if she was spotted.
Damn. She hated feeling like she was on the run when she hadn’t done anything. She’d never admit it to either of them, but Bobby and Mike had been right. She was in over her head.
By the time she arrived at Memphis Tour Tyme, her hands and face were cold and chapped by the wind. She was shivering, but not just from the cold. Diva had spooked her with all that talk about darkness and graves. In a way, she was glad she’d decided to let the boys in blue handle it. Besides, it wasn’t worth all the crap she had to listen to from Morgan and Bobby if she kept on. Their offer to partner was a sham, and she knew it. It was just their way of keeping tabs on her. That was okay. Hiding from assassins wasn’t something she enjoyed that much.
Tootsie looked up when she came in the office door. As usual, he was on the line with a client. He waggled his fingers at her. Neon green nails looked rather nice in the dim lights. She leaned on the reception desk and plopped her chin in her palm. When he took another call, she reached for the bottle of nail polish he’d left on the desk. Poison Green was the color, and it had flecks of glitter in it. She usually bit her nails down to the quick, but lately she’d let them grow so she had enough nail to try the polish.
By the time Tootsie had a break between calls, she’d managed to paint her nails. And a small area of the desk. “This stuff doesn’t come off easy,” she muttered, swiping at the polish and succeeding in smearing it.
“Is that what you’re wearing to the party? Give me that, darling, before you have half the office painted, and I’m out of polish.” He held out his hand for the polish, and she put the bottle in his palm. It smeared green and glitter over half his palm and two fingers.
“What party?” she asked, blowing on her nails to dry them.
Tootsie slammed a hand on the desktop, startling her. “What party? What party do you think? Agh!” He slapped his palm against his forehead, forgetting the nail polish. A wide swathe of glittery green smeared above his eyebrows. “My Halloween party! It’s tonight. Don’t tell me you forgot. You’re still coming, aren’t you? Everybody will be there.”
“I won’t tell you I forgot. I guess I’ll be there, and who’s everybody?”
“I knew you’d forget. I should have written it on your hand. Why are you staring at me like that?”
“You’re turning green. So what time is the party?”
“Eight, and it’s not at my house, remember. Didn’t you read the invitation?”
“I would have read it if I had it, I’m sure. I haven’t seen it.”
“I sent out the invitations three weeks ago! What do you mean I’m turning gr—oh. Damn. Now where did I put that polish remover?”
While he rummaged around in his desk, Harley thought about all the mail that must be stuffed into her apartment mailbox. Really. She should check it more often. She just didn’t get that much mail. The only bills she had were rent and utilities. Everything else she paid in cash. It made her life much simpler.
“Here,” said Tootsie and handed her the polish remover and a cloth. “Wipe down that counter before Mr. Penney sees it. He still hates me polishing my nails at work.”
As she wiped off the polish, Harley said, “He just hates knowing that you wear nail polish. There. I think that got it all.” She handed him back the cloth. “So where is this party, anyway?”
“There’s a small family cemetery off Southern. It’s—”
“A cemetery? You’re giving a party in a cemetery? Isn’t that rather disrespectful of the dead?”
“I don’t anticipate any complaints from them. Besides, it’s not in the cemetery. It’s next door. I’ll give you one of my extra invitations. It has a map.”
“You sent out invitations with a map? You’re too organized. So what’s the agenda for the party?”
“Well, of course the theme is Halloween—”
“It has a theme?”
“Yes, Harley, pay attention. It has a theme. Not just Halloween. No monsters. Just dress like a famous character from a movie, TV, or music videos—and everyone will try to guess who you are.”
“Oh, great. You know I’m no good at that kind of stuff.”
“You’ll manage. I have faith in you.”
Harley sighed. “Gloom. I’m not a costume kind of person.”
“Of course you are, darling. You wear a costume every day you come to work.”
“I thought that was a uniform.”
“Honey, the way you wear it, it’s more of a costume.”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll stay home.”
“You can’t. You have to bring your brother.”
“Eric? You want me to bring Eric?”
“He’s part of the entertainment.”
Harley was aghast. “You’re not getting him to play music, are you? That’s insane. He only plays train wreck music, and you hate train wreck music.”
“It’s perfect Halloween music. All those shrieks and groans.”
“Damn. I’m going to be in Hell.”
“Then wear something appropriate, and we’ll all try to guess which one of the dearly departed you’re supposed to be.”
“I’m not going to make it easy for you. I’ll dress as a politician, and you have to figure out which one.”
Tootsie shook his head. “Unfair. There are too many in Hell to choose from.”
Harley smiled. “I know.”
Chapter 11
HARLEY SWITCHED off her bike. There was almost no place to park. Tootsie always gave terrific parties, whether large or small. This was the first one she’d been to that wasn’t held at his home. Now she knew why. There was no way all these
people could have fit into his house.
Cold air brushed across her bare skin, and she pulled her short coat more tightly around her. Earlier rain had ushered in a cold front. From tee shirt weather to heavy coat weather within a few hours. Welcome to Memphis. She pulled off her helmet and patted her hair. At least she hadn’t had to bring her brother. He’d decided to meet Tootsie at his house, so he’d taken her car to help with decorations and hors d’oeuvres. God only knew what kind of food Tootsie had decided appropriate for a Halloween party. As long as no snails were involved, she figured she’d be all right.
Car lights flickered over her as she locked down her bike, and she glanced up. It was a BMW and looked familiar. When it slowly passed, she recognized Jordan sitting in the passenger seat. At least she thought it was him. The streetlights were fuzzy and the air misty. A perfect night for a Halloween bash but not that great for seeing much past the end of her arm. Still . . . would he be dumb enough to show up at a Halloween party? After nearly being killed every time he left home?
Yes, she answered her own question a couple seconds later as the BMW nosed into a parking space next to a fire hydrant. Apparently Felicia was driving, because the passenger door opened, and Jordan got out and shut the door. Then the BMW pulled out and went down the street. Harley stuck her helmet under her arm and went up on the sidewalk at the same time as Jordan reached it.
“Feeling safer?” she asked, and he turned to look at her. She frowned. There was something really off about him . . . she narrowed her eyes. Then it hit her. Jordan wasn’t Jordan—he was Felicia.
Felicia put both hands on her hips. “So what are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too. I’m here for the same reason you are, I imagine. It’s a party, and I was invited.” She scanned Felicia’s costume. She wore a man’s suit complete with a tie and shoes. Her curly hair was skimmed back from her face and tucked under a black fedora. The suit was black with gray pinstripes. A red vest sported brass buttons. “Who are you supposed to be?” she asked, and Felicia shrugged.
“Jay-Z. This was Jordan’s idea of a costume. I wanted to be Rihanna.”
“You would have made a nice Rihanna. So who is he dressed as, or should I ask?”
Felicia smiled. “I’ll let you figure it out when you see him.”
It didn’t take much imagination to figure out Jordan’s impersonation. From the curly wig down to the stiletto heels, gold lamé gown with slit up the front, and all the bling any decent rock star would wear, Jordan just oozed Diana Ross. He even had a bit of cleavage going on.
“Diana,” said Harley as she passed him on her way up to the pavilion, and they did a fist bump.
“Harley,” Jordan responded, then paused. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“That’s what you’re supposed to guess.”
“Beyoncé?”
“Not even close.”
Lights had been strung around the huge pavilion; orange pumpkins, black cats and white ghosts gleamed in the small park. The cemetery next to the park was an old one. It had probably been in use since the 1800s when Midtown was the outskirts of Memphis. It was bordered by a wrought iron fence on all four sides. A massive tomb sprang up from the ground, reminiscent of the Parthenon in style, no doubt housing an entire family. Some of the headstones tilted to the side, and in the middle of the headstones sat an old tree that looked as ancient as the cemetery. It had huge gnarled branches with only a few leaves left. Someone had strung thin, gauzy spider webs from branch to branch. It looked like Spanish moss dripping from the tree. Tootsie really had gone all out for this party.
“Harley, darling,” said a voice behind her and she turned to see Tootsie gliding toward her. He was beautiful. If she didn’t know it was him she would have thought it was a movie star attending a red carpet premiere.
“You look good as a blond,” she said, and meant it. His hair was Jennifer Aniston, his body Jessica Alba, and his face exquisite. “Keira Knightley?” she guessed, and he smiled.
“You know me so well. I’m afraid you have the advantage. I have no idea who you are tonight.”
“Seriously? No idea?”
Tootsie put one hand on his hip and studied her for a moment. His false lashes lowered, then swept up, and finally he shook his head. “No idea. Is it someone famous?”
“Locally famous maybe. I can’t believe you don’t know.”
“Well, you can’t be Senator Steve Cohen because you have too much hair. He’s the congressman for the ninth district.”
“I know who he is, but thank you.”
“And he’s still alive, so if you’re doing the politicians in Hell theme, that’s not going to work out, either.”
Harley rolled her eyes. “I’m not doing a theme. I leave that to the experts.”
“I’m so grateful. Have you seen Jordan yet?”
“I have. He’s Diana Ross again. Kind of a one trick pony, isn’t he?”
“It is his favorite character. And he does her so well. Come on up to the pavilion. I’ve been decorating.”
“So I see. Where’s your significant other? And my brother?”
“Steve is at work. Eric is unloading his equipment, Arnie is setting out food, and Snake is filling the cooler with wine and champagne. Such an evocative name. Perfect for the night’s festivities. You can help me set out the champagne flutes and wine glasses if you like. My helpers haven’t returned with the rest of the stuff yet, and the band is busy.”
Harley lifted her brows. “I don’t see my brother or any of his band members being that into wine and champagne anyway. They’re more into beer and pizza. This should be an interesting night.”
“They’re playing music, not drinking. And not smoking, either.”
“A metal band without a buzz? Unheard of.”
“You’re very annoying, darling. Come tell me how you like my decorations. I need an untrained eye.”
“I’m always annoying. I work hard at it. Is that a fireplace? Jeez, it looks like half of Midtown is crowded into the pavilion. How many people did you invite?”
“A little less effort at being annoying, please. Yes, it’s a fireplace. A few business contacts and some of the theater troupe from the Playhouse were invited. Not to mention random guests I just happen to enjoy. Like you.”
“I’m flattered.” Harley followed him to the pavilion. A fireplace stood at one end, flames sending sparks up the brick chimney. Long tables ranged down the middle; they were covered with black linen tablecloths. Glittery fiber-optic skeletons danced from the ceiling. Ghosts, goblins, scarecrows, and resin tombstones littered the grounds around the pavilion. A thin mist was churned out by a fog machine. A recording of cat screeches and ghoulish laughter burst out of speakers placed at discreet intervals. “It looks very—Halloween,” she said.
“I know. Predictable. But I have entertainment planned that will take it above and beyond the level of mere elementary school décor. I think you’ll be most intrigued.”
“You scare me.”
“Then my goal is halfway met already. Come along. I have some people I want to introduce you to before you wander off. Who did you say you are again?”
“I didn’t. You’re supposed to guess, remember?”
“Honestly, Harley, you’d think I could at least tell who you are.”
“I’m amazed you haven’t figured it out yet.”
He leaned closer to her, and his voice dropped. “By the way, I have some more information that might interest you. Remember when you had me look up the records on Jordan’s divorce? Well, I ran across some intriguing references to his business dealings so I did a little more digging.”
“How intriguing?”
“Intriguing enough to get him in big trouble.”
Harley grabbed his arm. “Like what?”
“Darling, I can’t get into it here or now. I printed it off, and I’ll give it to you later. Only if you promise not to go off on your own, though. I’m not about to be responsible for yo
u getting in trouble.”
“Why do you think I’d get in trouble? What’s it about? Can you tell me that?”
“Cooking books is the least of Jordan’s problems. I’m so disappointed in him. He’s working for Shadowlawn Construction. Not exactly a good thing. Tunica land deals can get tricky. I’ll give you the details later. Ah, here we are. Mr. Fine, I believe you’ve met our best tour guide and limo driver, Miss Davidson?”
Harley was a little shocked when Harvey Fine turned to look at her in the dim flickering light. He wore a fedora and suit with wide lapels, and had a thin mustache over his upper lip. It looked like he’d drawn it in with a crayon. He nodded at her.
“Yeah, we met. How’s it going?”
“Uh, good. And you?”
Harley was mystified as to why he was back in town and apparently on Tootsie’s best client list. Until a week ago she’d never heard of him. Yet here he was back in her space. For some reason it made her a little uneasy. He hadn’t made a very favorable impression on her the last time they met.
Fine shrugged. “Doing okay.”
Harley glanced at Tootsie, who didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable she felt. He flitted around the group, glamorous in his form-fitting gown. It was a bright metallic blue, and in his blond wig and stilettos he could have fit right into a Hollywood scene. Eat your heart out, Ru Paul, she thought to herself.
“Harley,” said a familiar voice at her shoulder, and she turned to look at her brother. He wore a blond wig, long hair waving around his face and looking fried, and his jeans had big gashes in the legs, his shirt was fishnet, his jacket denim, and he wore leather wrist cuffs. Boots hit just below his knees.
“Dude, who are you supposed to be? Or what?”
Eric looked faintly insulted. “Can’t you tell? David Lee Roth.”
“Oh. Retro. Guess I can see that. So where’s Eddie Van Halen?”
“That’s Arnie. Who are you?” He stepped back, looked her over from head to toe, and then grinned. “Sweet.”
“You would be the only one who gets it,” she said. “Arnie is Eddie Van Halen? That’s just weird. So who’s Sammy Hagar?”
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