“Snake.”
“Ah. Original. You’d think it’d be the other way around.”
“Yeah. We’re from the early eighties era.”
“Not the Roth and Hagar reunion then.”
Eric grinned. “You know more old music trivia than you pretend.”
“Not willingly. So you’re playing drums or guitar?”
“Chick. Guitar—oh damn.”
“What?”
“I left my guitar at Tootsie’s house.”
Harley shook her head. “Can’t play very well without it. If you want, I can help Tootsie while you go get it.”
“Look, you don’t mind going after it, do you? I think it’s in the kitchen.”
“Dude, I don’t want to go over there. Why can’t you?”
“I’m supposed to be hooking up the speakers. Come on, chick. It’s not that far. You can be over there and back before you know it. You want me to play, don’t you?”
“How do I say this—no, not really.”
“Chick.”
She sighed. “All right. I’ll go get your damn guitar. Is the house locked?”
“Probably. Tootsie has the keys. Tell him I left my guitar.”
Harley went in search of Tootsie and found him overseeing the placement of a big metal tub full of water. “Is that a moat for the dragon?” she inquired, and he rolled his eyes at her.
“What do you want, mystery woman?”
“I still can’t believe you don’t recognize me.”
“I’ll figure it out before the evening is over. Hand me that towel, please. No, the black one.”
Harley gave him a black tea towel embroidered with orange pumpkins. “Is your house locked?”
“Of course. Why?”
“Eric forgot his guitar. I’m going to get it for him.”
“Oh, good. I forgot the sauce for the mushroom pilaf. It’s in the cooler where I keep the birds’ veggies. Will you bring it?”
“You’re serving pilaf? A bit fancy for an outdoor party. Yes, I’ll get the sauce. Who puts sauce on pilaf, by the way?”
“I do. Don’t judge me.”
After showing her which key opened which door and instructing her on how to turn off the alarm system, Tootsie went back to his tub of water, and Harley headed for her bike. By the time she got back, there wouldn’t be a close place to park, she was sure. People kept showing up, some on foot, many in cars, a few on bicycles, and one on roller blades. Most Midtown Memphis residents were all about fitness.
A bevy of buxom beauties no doubt intending to be the Kardashian sisters passed by, giggling, and she started her bike with a satisfying vroooom! Rocking forward, she headed down the street toward Cooper. Once in the Cooper-Young district of quaint houses and refurbished neighborhoods, she pulled up in front of Tootsie’s house and cut her engine. A light gleamed on the front porch, swaying a little in the rising wind. It’d probably rain again before the night was over. Good thing Tootsie found a huge pavilion, because she had a feeling it’d be pretty crowded when the rain started.
Her Toyota sat in Tootsie’s driveway, rain still beaded on the silver finish. They must have used the band’s panel van to haul party stuff to the park, because Tootsie’s BMW sat just outside the small garage at the rear of the house. She stepped up on the porch with house key in hand. A pair of skeletons sat on a bale of straw, illuminated by the porch light. One wore overalls; they both wore hats and held banjos. Trust Tootsie to put out weird Halloween decorations. Just as she reached the front door, a banjo riff sounded, and a spooky voice said, “Come on, let’s play a song.”
She jumped about three feet to the left, heart pounding. The skeletons ignored her. “What, are you afraid of a little competition?” asked the skeleton on the right. “Yeah, that’s the one.” Red eyes flashed, their heads turned, and as the unmistakable tune from Deliverance twanged, she thought about strangling Tootsie. He should have warned her he had animated skeletons on the front porch. She’d nearly wet herself; too much excitement lately had shredded her last nerve.
Her hands were still shaking, and it took her two tries to unlock the door. The key stuck or something as she turned it and somehow relocked the door. She said a few cuss words. Once inside, she punched in the security code, and the beeper made a shrill sound. She punched it in again, and the noise stopped. Damn. Getting into this house was like trying to get into Fort Knox, or Area 51 where the government kept the alien spacecraft and bodies. Yogi was an expert on government conspiracy theories. She’d heard them all her life. He was also an equal-opportunity protester, disliking both main political parties and whoever was in the Oval Office with the same fervor.
It felt spooky being in Tootsie’s house without Tootsie there. Not trusting there weren’t any more booby-trapped skeletons, she moved warily through the dimly-lit living room to the kitchen. Eric’s guitar was supposed to be in there someplace. The only light hung over the huge gas stove, a restaurant size and quality appliance that had six burners and a grill. Who needed that big a stove unless directing a soup kitchen?
Just as she saw Eric’s guitar case leaned up against the island, the hanging light went out, plunging the kitchen into darkness. Great. The bulb must have blown. What next—man-eating plastic spiders?
“Dammit,” she muttered as she felt her way along the wall toward a light switch. She flipped it, and nothing happened. That didn’t make sense. It hadn’t stormed, and there weren’t any tornado warnings. An electrical outage? Just her luck it happened when she was here alone. Tootsie would blame her if anything went wrong. So now what?
Harley edged toward the dining room. There were lots of windows there, and she could look outside to see if the neighborhood had gone dark or it was just this house.
“Why me?” she asked aloud as she felt her way along the walls, through the small breakfast room that had once been a butler’s pantry, until she reached the double doors leading to the dining room. She pushed, but it didn’t move. Then she remembered that the doors were pocket doors that went into the wall, and she slid one open. Light fell into the dining room from outside streetlamps and the neighbor’s house. Damn. Not everywhere, just here. She considered her options. She could go ahead and get her brother’s guitar and go back to the party to tell Tootsie all his lights were out, or she could go down into the basement and find the breaker box to see if the circuits had tripped.
Neither option was pleasant.
A steady beep sounded in the living room. If the electricity was out, so was the security system. Bummer. Okay, that made up her mind. She’d have to go down into the basement and find the breaker box. She’d only been in Tootsie’s basement once, nearly a year ago, and hadn’t found it a particularly nice experience. Not only were basements usually musty and damp, most of them hosted spiders in all the corners and unexpected places. Just thinking about it made her shudder.
Harley forced herself to go back through the breakfast room to the kitchen; she needed a flashlight. The door to the basement was situated under the staircase that led to the second floor. It was dark as pitch away from any windows. Every noise in the old house seemed magnified a hundred times. A strange rustling sound made the hair stand up on the back of her neck and along her arms. She shivered. It was stupid, but she felt like she was being watched. Faint patches of light through the kitchen windows flickered with shadows from nearby trees, casting eerie patterns on the floor. Nothing stirred, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
It felt like she was in an old black and white detective movie. Sherlock Holmes. Something from public television or Antenna TV, cheesy and cheap. Why did this kind of thing always happen to her? When had she become some kind of magnet for trouble and danger? Right around the time she’d met Mike Morgan. That was when her life had begun to take on this strange new direction. Maybe it’d always been possible. Lately it had been probable. She figured there had to be a connection.
About the time she reached the kitchen, something
grabbed her by the hair and yanked. She shrieked, but whatever had her only tightened its grip. She was swung around, banged up against a door frame, then shoved toward the kitchen. Everything happened so quick that all her reflexes kicked in. Somehow she managed to get one foot up and against the door casing, bracing herself as she shoved her body backward. A grunt of pain sounded next to her left ear as she slammed her attacker against immovable oak. Unfortunately, he didn’t let go of her hair. Fortunately, that didn’t help him.
Harley twisted out of his grasp, leaving him holding a ponytail that she’d clipped into her own hair. Maybe his surprise gave her just enough time to escape, but she was down the dark hall before her attacker gave chase. Heart pounding, she skidded into an open doorway and slammed the door shut behind her. If there’d been time, she would have tried to make it to the front door, but there was too much space between her and the exit and too much time for him to catch her. After switching the lock on the door, she felt around for something heavy to put in front of it. A chair, chest, table—anything would do to slow down whoever was out there. She shoved what felt like a small table against the door, her breath coming in harsh gasps for air.
Harley fumbled at her waist for the cell phone she kept clipped there then realized she’d left it in the storage pack on her bike. There were no belt loops on the pants, and she hadn’t thought she’d need it for any reason. Now that she needed it, it was outside, and she was inside. That figured. Another small decision that had enormous consequences.
She crouched on the floor, listening. Obviously, she’d arrived at Tootsie’s in time to catch a burglar in the act. She had great timing, as usual. Any sensible burglar would pass by a house with two cars out in the driveway, but this one . . . oh damn. Maybe this wasn’t a burglar. Maybe it was a far more dangerous intruder. Apparently someone hadn’t gotten the memo that she wasn’t helping Jordan anymore. They must have seen her talking to him. She frowned. Maybe, but that didn’t explain how they got here before her or even knew where she was going. No, whoever was here had arrived long before she did. Who were they waiting on?
Harley pushed what felt like an upholstered chair in front of the door. Footsteps sounded loud in the hallway. The usual noises in an old house were silent except for heavy breathing, and that came from her. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, and that was scary too. She crouched by the chair, fingers dug into the upholstery as she waited. Why was this guy after her?
A loud thud shook the door and made her yelp in surprise and fright. The door knob rattled, and another blow made the solid oak door groan. Frantically, she felt around to find something else to put in front of the door. She hauled a small chest to add to the chair and table, then made her way to the window at the far end of the room. Light seeped through cracks, dim and hazy, not really illuminating anything but giving her direction. Another harsh thud against the door and a sound like creaking hinges. He’d be inside in only a few seconds. Damn! She had to get out the window before he was on her again.
The window sill was wide, wooden blinds lowered completely, and when she found and yanked the cord to lift the blinds, two things happened at once: The door came open with a horrific crash, and Al Pacino said, “You wanna play rough? Okay. Say hello to my little friend!” That was immediately followed by bullets from an automatic weapon that made a thundering racket in the small room.
Harley instinctively hit the floor. The guy at the door made a high-pitched sound and abandoned his efforts. She heard him hit the front door on his way out, then heard the twang of dueling banjos erupt from the skeleton duo. She still wasn’t quite sure what had happened. No bullets had hit her, none had smacked into anything that she knew while she lay on the floor quivering with her hands over her head.
It wasn’t until she heard, “I’m Popeye the sailor man, I live in a garbage can,” that she realized what had happened. Tootsie’s birds. It had sounded so real! She started to laugh, rolled over on her back to flop bonelessly against the floor, relieved and giddy at the same time. One of the birds shrieked, “Earthquake! Run!” then laughed maniacally for a few seconds before saying, “What’s up?”
Harley got to her knees to peer through the deep shadows at the huge cage in the far corner. “Good Scarface,” she said, and smiled when one of the birds responded, “Hey, good-lookin’!”
Saved by birds that watched too much television. Tootsie would never believe it. She wasn’t even sure she believed it. Just one more implausible event in her life that had become a series of implausible events.
The first thing she did after moving the chair, chest, and table away from the door was go out to the front door and lock it. She checked the back door and the windows just to be sure she didn’t get a nasty surprise again. Then she hesitated. Should she call the police? It was possible the alarm company had already done so when the power went out. It was also possible they hadn’t. She didn’t want to leave without turning on the alarm, but if the guy had bypassed the alarm system, it wouldn’t help anyway. Indecision batted about for a few seconds before she gave in to the inevitable. It had to be done. She couldn’t leave the house completely unprotected, and she had no intention of hanging around any longer than necessary. First, she went out to her bike and retrieved her cell phone and an emergency flashlight. Going back into the house took more courage than she knew she had, and she tiptoed across the wood floor toward the basement door.
After what had just happened, Harley wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go down into the basement, but she forced herself. It took five minutes just to find the breaker box, but a flip of the main switch turned on the lights. When she went back upstairs she gave the birds extra food from the cooler for their part in her rescue, watching as they jumped around inside the cage like excited red hats. They were growing on her. Maybe. At least, she didn’t dislike them anymore. Of course, she wasn’t the one who had to clean their cage, so that made it easier.
She retrieved the long auburn ponytail from the floor where it had been dropped and refastened it to the back of her head. The guy had taken some of her scalp with it, she was pretty sure, since the pins that held it had been tight. She checked all the buttons on her pink silk shirt and smoothed any wrinkles from the snugly fitting rust-colored slacks she’d bought at Goodwill. While Birkenstocks weren’t in supply at Goodwill, she hadn’t liked the thought of wearing the clunky shoes anyway and substituted a pair of her own shoes. Unfortunately, during her struggle with the intruder three of the fake fingernails she’d painted hot pink were lost somewhere on the floor. The spray-on hair color she’d used to turn her blonde hair auburn made her scalp itch. It could be that one of the fake fingernails was lost in her hair. She had no intention of looking for it. Getting rid of this costume couldn’t be quick enough for her. Why had she ever thought dressing like Tootsie was a good idea?
Pausing in the kitchen, she thought about phoning someone, but who? The police would show up, but that wasn’t always a good thing. It was certainly never a quick thing. Tootsie was at the party, Morgan was off somewhere doing his undercover thing, and no way would she call Bobby. Cami was an option, but she hadn’t even wanted to come to the party, so for sure wouldn’t show up at a house where a killer had just been.
She picked up Eric’s guitar case and slung it over her back, positioning the strap across her shoulder the way she’d seen him do. It wasn’t that comfortable, but it’d get to him in one piece.
By the time she reset the alarm and let herself out the front door, her nerves were a lot steadier. Even the dueling skeletons didn’t bother her. Now that some of the shock had worn off, she focused on who and why had been in that house. Obviously, it was someone who had planned the attack. Both cars were there, yet the intruder must have known no one was home. That could be anyone who had gotten an invitation to the Halloween party. So was it someone looking for something in the house, or waiting for whoever showed up? Or waiting for someone specific? And if he had been waiting for her, why? She hadn’t
even known she was going to Tootsie’s, so no one else could have known, either.
It suddenly hit her that maybe the intruder had been waiting on Tootsie, not her. That was a startling theory. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt him.
Had they mistaken her for Tootsie because of her costume? Another possibility. Shivering from the cold as well as aftermath of disaster, Harley flicked the switch to start her bike. It made a satisfying roar, and she buckled her helmet. Her brother’s guitar case banged against her elbows, and she shifted it to one side. She throttled some gas and cruised down the driveway and onto the street. Damp air chilled her to the bone. Mist hit her bare face and hands almost like rain. The thin silk shirt did nothing to keep her warm. Good thing she’d added a short, boxy jacket. It looked a lot like the one Tootsie wore to work on occasion. Even had the big cloth-covered buttons and padded shoulders. Vintage style was his newest thing. Next he’d be wearing hoop skirts and corsets.
Despite the fact that no one seemed to be following her, Harley could not escape the sense that someone was watching. It was eerie and unnerving. All the way back to the party she kept looking in the bike’s side mirrors for a sign she was being followed. It was an awful feeling to think someone wanted to kill her. She could almost sympathize with Jordan. Almost. The suspicion that he was lying kept her from too much sympathy.
Tootsie looked up when she found him under the pavilion fussing over food bowls and a towering ice sculpture shaped like a vampire bat. “You’re back at last. Did you bring it?”
“The guitar? Yes, that’s this big ugly thing on my back. Listen, I have to tell you something—”
“No, I meant the mushroom sauce for the pilaf.”
“Oh. That. No, I forgot it. Listen, there’s something you should—”
“What am I going to do without it? I saved it so the pilaf would be fresh and the dish just right. Now it’s going to be ruined. You should have remembered it. Or I should have remembered it. Damn. Someone should have remembered it.”
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