Harley waved her arms in agitation. “Forget the damn pilaf! I was assaulted in your kitchen by a madman!”
That got Tootsie’s attention. His tone was sharp. “Are you all right? What do you mean, you were assaulted in my kitchen? Who was there?”
“Damned if I know. Whoever it was, he was waiting for me. I don’t know why. I don’t know if he meant to kill me or scare me, or if he wanted something else. All I know is that it was damned scary, and if not for your birds I might be floating in the Wolf River about now.”
Tootsie stared at her blankly. Then he said, “My birds? Harley, I wish I knew what you’re talking about. Are you sure you’re all right? Did you get hit in the head?”
“I’m all right, and yes, I got hit in the head but not that hard. I think I’ve been pretty plain. Someone was in your house and attacked me when all the lights went out.”
“All the lights are out?”
“Is there an echo out here? Yes, all the lights were out. They’re back on. Are you grasping anything I’m telling you?”
Tootsie set down the casserole dish he held and sucked in a deep breath. “I get it. Call the police. Right now. Tell them what happened, and then get someone to guard you until we find the maniac who’s after you. Was it the same guy from The Peabody roof?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed me. I’m not calling the police. For one thing, with my luck they’d send out Bobby or Morgan. So I’m going to take a rain check on that.”
“Fine, I’ll call. This has to be about Jordan.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’m beginning to think it’s a lot more complicated than that. Think about it. Jordan is here. I was here. You were here. The intruder was at your house. If we were all here—who was he expecting?”
Tootsie stared at her for a long moment. Then he said, “I have no idea.”
“Both cars are there. Yours and mine. Is it possible there’s someone in Memphis who wasn’t invited to this party and doesn’t know we weren’t there?”
“Possibly. But if so, they aren’t doing too good a job keeping track. Anyone would see that it was your brother in your car if they were watching.”
“True. I don’t know then. This is too crazy. Make your phone call. I’m going to find the original target and ask him a few questions. Where is he?”
“Jordan? He’s rehearsing with the theater group.”
“Rehearsing? For what?”
Tootsie hesitated, then said with a faint smile, “For the murder.”
“Murder? Are you insane?”
“No, no, it’s part of the Halloween party. I told you I had something different planned. Well, I planned a murder.”
“I’m assuming you mean pretend.”
“Oh, please, girlfriend. As many people as I have on my hit list, I still haven’t done anything about it. Prison orange is not a good look for me.”
“Am I on your hit list? Don’t answer that. How ironic that you’re planning a murder for entertainment, and Jordan is obviously on someone else’s hit list for real. Where is this rehearsal?”
“Over by the bathrooms.” Tootsie pointed to a concrete block building behind the pavilion. “Rather fitting if one considers the screenplay, I think.”
“Screenplay? Are you kidding me?”
“Well, there has to be some kind of script,” Tootsie replied testily. “I should have written it myself. Too late for that. This is a crazy night—are you sure you’re okay?”
“Better than I was a half hour ago.”
Harley left to find the outside restrooms. The concrete block building was clearly built for function and not beauty. Several actors grouped just off the men’s side of the structure and were obviously having a creative difference of opinion. Jordan stood close by, his glittering gold gown a beacon in the dim light.
“You make a bright target,” observed Harley as she went to stand next to him. “I hear you’re part of the play.”
“I volunteered to be the victim,” he replied with a faint smile. “I’m a last minute substitution, and no acting credits are needed. Don’t you think I’ll be a nice corpse?”
“You’re a little scary. So—any news from the people who would like to make you a real murder victim?”
“Not since I was run down in front of Graceland. Maybe they’re backing off since you’ve been involved.”
“Right. That would be a first. No cast? I take it your arm is healed. Listen. There’s something you should know if you don’t already. First I want to ask you if you’ve talked to your business partner lately.”
“Which one? Why don’t I like the tone of your voice?”
“Johnny Pomona, and I have a feeling you know why you don’t like the tone of my voice.”
Despite the pancake makeup and rouge on his cheeks, Jordan turned a pale shade of gray. “What about Johnny?”
“He’s dead. Bullet to the head. I have to admit I misjudged you. I thought you were blowing smoke at first, getting me involved as some kind of cover-up for whatever you were mixed up in. Now I think you better get hidden and stay hidden.”
Jordan sucked in a sharp breath and looked around the area. So many people, and it would be far too easy for a killer to be hidden in plain sight. He nodded. “You’re right. I should have stayed home tonight. I just thought being in costume would be safe.”
“Please. You’re always Diana Ross. A real costume might have been showing up as a Grunge rocker. Nirvana. Pearl Jam. Kurt Cobain. You know.”
“I know. I was around in the eighties. I should have thought this through better.”
“I’d say. If you’re going to be the murder victim, you better hope there’s no one here who gets any bright ideas about making it permanent.”
Warning given and heard, Harley went off to find her brother. He’d set up some equipment and speakers on a platform at the edge of the pavilion and was hooking cords into sockets when she slid his guitar off her back and to the concrete floor.
“Is that your music playing?” she asked as a particularly loud cat screech zinged through a speaker.
“Chick,” he said reprovingly. “We haven’t done our first set yet.”
“Sorry. Easy to get confused sometimes. Are you part of the theater group?”
“What theater group?”
“Never mind. You have no idea what I went through to get your guitar, so I hope you appreciate my help.”
“Chick.” Eric finished plugging in a few cords, then stood up and grinned at her. “You’re wicked cool.”
Harley rolled her eyes and left the platform. Her nerves were on edge. The close call at Tootsie’s left her wired and expecting trouble from all directions. She should leave. She wasn’t really in the party mood anyway, and wrestling with a killer hadn’t helped.
Instead of leaving, she perched at the edge of the pavilion and tried to keep an eye on Tootsie. She couldn’t escape the feeling that he may be in danger, but she couldn’t figure out how or why. Someone had attacked her, thinking she was him. She was sure of it. Or not. Too many options, too many conflicting theories. Nothing made sense.
Harley was still sitting on the concrete ledge of the pavilion when she heard the shot. She leaped to her feet, heart beating crazily. Someone screamed, and people started running in all directions. It was chaotic, pandemonium, bedlam—and she didn’t know if she should run or stay in one place. For a moment she just stood indecisively, then she heard someone cry out, “He’s been shot!” so she found herself running in that direction.
Whatever or whoever she had expected to see sprawled on the ground, it wasn’t enough to prepare her for the sight that met her eyes. Not far from the pavilion, lying on the ground with face turned toward the sky and horrified witnesses, Tootsie lay lifelessly.
Chapter 12
SOMEONE SCREAMED again. It took a moment for Harley to realize it was she. With her heart beating fiercely and the breath caught in her throat, she knelt beside him. A dark red stain blossomed on his lef
t side, ugly against the glittering blue material of the gown. Sobbing, she reached for him. Then a hand grabbed her shoulder.
“Don’t touch anything,” a voice said calmly.
“But he might still be alive!”
“He took a bullet to the heart. It’s not likely.”
Harley shrugged free of the hand and glanced up angrily. The man who stared back at her wore a brown trench coat and flashed a badge in her face. That didn’t stop her from touching Tootsie. She had to be sure. Sometimes people lived even if they’d been shot at close range. She just had to be sure.
Hot tears streamed down her face and clogged her throat when Tootsie didn’t move or make a sound, and the cop pulled her forcefully away. “Don’t anyone move,” he ordered the crowd. “You’re all witnesses. Did anyone see what happened?”
“I did,” said a distraught woman dressed as one of the Kardashian sisters. “There was a man standing next to him. They seemed to be arguing about something. The man walked off, but then I heard a shot, and Tootsie fell to the ground. It was awful!”
“What did the man look like?”
The Kardashian hesitated, then said, “Jay-Z.”
For a moment Harley thought she hadn’t heard correctly. She just stared at the woman. The cop brought out a pen and a small notebook and started scribbling in it. It was all surreal. She couldn’t think, could only stand there frozen in shock and confusion.
Then it hit her—Jay-Z. Felicia Cleveland had dressed as the rapper. She blurted out, “I know who shot him!”
The cop turned to look at her. “You know the identity of the murderer?”
“It was Felicia Cleveland. She came dressed as Jay-Z tonight. She’s got to still be close. Don’t just stand there, call for backup and find her!”
“Why would she shoot him?” the cop asked, frowning at her. “We need a motive. There has to be a good reason for her to kill him.”
“No, there doesn’t! Well, maybe there should be, but we can worry about that later. We need to spread out and find her, dammit! Why are you just standing there?”
“First we need a detailed description.” The cop turned to the female witness. “Can you describe him, ma’am? Just the facts, please.”
“Yes, he was wearing a dark pinstripe suit, a fedora, a red vest with brass buttons, and a red scarf in his breast pocket. He’s about five-ten, dark complexion, and a stocky build.”
Shivering with reaction and the chilly breeze that blew her fake hair around her face, Harley shook her head. “She’s going to get away if we don’t find her. I’m calling nine-one-one.”
The cop grabbed her hand when she pulled out her cell phone. “I’ve got to ask you not to do that.” He looked around at the crowd. “There are undercover officers here who are helping handle this case, so please don’t make any calls for emergency vehicles. We have it under control.”
Disbelief filled Harley. “You’re crazy. Are you a rent-a-cop? You’re letting the killer escape!”
“My name is Sergeant Joe Friday, and I’m a Homicide investigator. Stand back, please. You’ll destroy any evidence left by the killer.”
Why was that name familiar? Maybe he was one of the cops she’d met in the past year. Harley watched as the sergeant knelt next to Tootsie’s body and used his pen to lift a spent shell from the ground. Then he picked up a shiny round object. He stood up and looked around at the crowd.
“This is a shell from a twenty-two pistol. We know the weapon used by the killer and that they argued before the murder. A witness says the murderer is dressed as Jay-Z. This”—he held up a brass button—“was possibly worn by the killer. We have a witness who says she knows the identity of the person in the disguise. What else do we know?”
A man dressed as President Washington stepped forward. Or maybe he was Ben Franklin. It was hard to tell. “I overheard the victim tell the person dressed as Jay-Z that he knew all about his secret business deal with Senator Frisbee, and he intended to expose him. They got into a shoving match.”
“Aha!” said Sergeant Friday. “Now we have a suspect, the weapon, and a motive. Is this murder solved?”
“No,” said one of the other Kardashian sisters. “Jay-Z is innocent. He was with me when Tootsie was shot.”
Sergeant Friday looked around at the crowd. “So our suspect has an alibi. Then who is the real killer?”
Harley’s ears buzzed, and she felt lightheaded. Had she stumbled into an alternate universe? What the hell was going on?
“I know,” said an excited little man dressed like Tweedledee. Or Tweedledum. It was impossible to tell the difference. “The senator is the murderer!”
A commotion behind the pavilion drew their attention, and a uniformed cop dragged forward a man in a suit. “I caught Senator Frisbee trying to escape.”
“Ladies and gentleman,” said Sergeant Friday with a dramatic flourish, “we have our murderer!”
Harley finally caught on to what had happened. So she wasn’t that surprised when Tootsie sat up and said, “A round of applause, please, for our players!”
Despite her relief, she felt like giving Tootsie a swift kick. Instead, she helped him off the ground, and as he wiped wet dirt and grass from the metallic blue gown she said, “I hope you know you scared the shit out of me.”
“Girlfriend, don’t you remember me telling you I’d planned a murder?”
“Yes, but Jordan was supposed to be the victim.”
“He left early, so I filled in for him. He took off so quick I didn’t get to ask why, but I know the reason. I hope the fake blood doesn’t leave a permanent stain. This is one of my favorite gowns. Excuse me while I introduce all the actors, please.”
While Tootsie made the introductions to applause from the crowd, Harley went to the pavilion and sat back down on the concrete bench near the band. Eric was still busy hooking up electrical equipment, and now Arnie and Snake were tuning instruments. Or not. Arnie’s bass made weird noises. Snake’s drums were jarring.
A loud blast of speaker noise made her jump. With everything that had happened tonight, her nerves were raw. She was ready to go home. When she stood up, Tootsie came over to her and handed her a glass of champagne. She took it, drained it, then handed him the empty glass. He lifted a brow.
“So you thought I was really dead?” he asked.
“Yes I did, you terrible little troll.”
“Honestly, the least you could have done was have hysterics. I’m disappointed. A few more tears would have been nice. More screaming. Throwing yourself on my lifeless body.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “We can do an instant replay.”
“That’s all right. I think I see murder in your eyes.”
“So what happened to our first suspect? Did Jay-Z leave with Jordan?”
“I imagine so. A pity. I think she would have enjoyed seeing him as a corpse.”
“That’s cold. And too close to the truth.”
Tootsie smiled. “I know.”
Arnie looked over at them. “I saw Jay-Z go toward the cemetery.” He gestured to the gravestones only a hundred or so yards away. “He looked like he was in a hurry.”
“That was a while ago, right?” Harley asked.
“Nah, that was just fifteen or twenty minutes ago. Right before all that play-acting stuff started.”
“Am I the only one who didn’t know it was an act?” Harley muttered. Arnie gave her a sympathetic smile.
“So maybe she didn’t go with Jordan,” said Tootsie. “Odd. She should have taken her bow with the rest of the cast.”
“How long ago did you plan your little theatrical?” she asked.
“It’s been in the planning for a month. Why?”
“So Jordan’s been in the cast that long?”
Tootsie nodded. “That was before all this other stuff started happening to him, of course. After the accidents started I asked him if he wanted me to get someone else, but he said he’d still do it. I guess he got scared at the last minut
e.”
“Really.” There it was again, that little worm in the back of her brain telling her something wasn’t right. What was it Jordan had told her? Something about filling in at the last minute? Another lie. Why?
Just as she opened her mouth to ask Tootsie what he’d started to tell her earlier about Jordan’s business dealings, a piercing noise from the speakers crashed right behind her. She nearly jumped out of her skin. Then the familiar crescendo of heavy metal bass, guitar, and drum beat drowned any rational thought or spoken word. If not for the pained expression on Tootsie’s face, she would have been tempted to pull a speaker plug. It gave her a small bit of satisfaction to know that he suffered the same as she did, however.
With the party taking off, Harley knew talking to Tootsie alone would be nearly impossible. She left the pavilion for the quieter racket of the wet grass and gravestones that studded the park. Beyond the iron picket fence the real cemetery was hazy with mist and fitful moonlight. Light from the lamps and strings of Halloween fiber-optics flickered over the ground, making it just bright enough to see obstacles but dark enough to disguise the identities of anyone who wanted to continue their masquerade. The Kardashian sisters were keeping company with some guys dressed as firemen. Rather appropriate under the circumstances, since it’d probably take a fire hose to keep the guys off them tonight. One of the firemen had bumped into her trying to get to them and didn’t even apologize.
Harley snagged a glass of wine off a tray and wandered toward the street. She was really jumpy. The loud music didn’t help. More people arrived, streaming across the walk to the park. Someone bumped into her and almost knocked her down, muttered, “Sorry,” and kept going. Good thing no houses were too close, or the neighbors would have the police out by now. Not necessarily a bad thing in her opinion. There were times police presence was a plus. She finally ended up standing next to the fireplace to stay warm.
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