“Apparently he knew, or he wouldn’t have been mad about it,” she said. “That’s not the point though. Jordan is behind all this. He’s the one who stole money from the firm, and he’s the one who had to find out a way to get it back to them before they killed him. That’s when he came up with the idea to kill his wife. The original insurance policy was taken out a year ago. It was increased only two months ago. So this has been going on a while. My guess is that he’s been laundering money for years.”
Mike wadded up the taco wrapper and tossed it in the sack, then opened another taco. “Okay. Say that you’re on the right track. That still doesn’t account for a couple of murders. Johnny Pomona being one of them.”
“Maybe he was in on it with Jordan. Maybe Jordan got rid of him.”
“So Jordan was the one who held you over the roof at The Peabody?”
“No.” She got a little queasy at the memory. “That wasn’t Jordan. He’s not big enough, and it wasn’t his voice.”
“Then who killed Johnny Pomona?”
“Probably the guys who are after Jordan. If Jordan is the brains behind all this, they killed Pomona to scare him into giving back the money.”
“It would make more sense if Jordan gave his associates assurances he’d get it to them by a certain date. Just so they didn’t decide to go ahead and kill him. He’d have to show them the life insurance policy, but that way, no need to leave a trail of bodies that are sure to get police attention.”
Harley flopped back against the cushions. “I hate it when I have a perfectly good theory worked out, and you ruin it.”
“We’ve been through this once today. It sounds good until you apply logic. Or experience.”
She gave him a sour look. “So what’s your theory? What do you think is going on? And just who would bug my apartment?”
He frowned. “Bug your apartment? What are you talking about?”
“You have to know. I’m sure it was the police who did it. I can’t see Jordan being the one behind it.”
“I don’t know anything about your apartment being bugged. Who told you it was bugged?”
“Sarah. Downstairs. She brought me up my mail. She said the bug man was here earlier tonight, and as he left she heard him on his cell phone saying he’d debugged the apartment. Since we know it wasn’t an exterminator, there’s only one explanation.”
For a minute Mike didn’t say anything. Then he shook his head and finished his taco. “If your apartment was bugged, no one told me. There’s a lot of red tape to get that done, even with the broader laws. Since you’re not a terrorist, that would be harder than you might think.”
“Well, I give up. I’ve considered every possibility, and while I still think I’m right about Jordan being behind all this, I can’t figure out all the details.”
Morgan nodded sympathy. “There, there, don’t take it too hard. Police work isn’t all about glamour and shoot-outs. Most of the time it’s just hard work. Talking to people. Taking statements. Tracking down tiny details that might take you to the next detail that might be the one to break the case.”
Harley closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I don’t like it when people try to kill me. It hurts my feelings.”
“It doesn’t do much for mine, either.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. All her earlier irritation disappeared. He really did care. As scary as that could be, it was nice, too.
“Want to clean off my ceiling fan?” she asked.
He grinned a slow, sexy grin that made her stomach go squishy and her heart skip a beat. “Yeah,” he said. “We can do that.”
Chapter 15
TOOTSIE THREW his hands up in the air. Two lines rang at once, and he ignored them as he looked up at the office ceiling and bad lighting. “I don’t believe this! It can’t be happening to me. Not now. Not ever, but definitely not now!”
Harley looked over at him. “Should I ask if you’re all right?”
“No. Yes. Dammit, why today of all days?”
“I’m trying to be sympathetic, but I need to know what’s happened. Did all our clients cancel at once?”
“No, if only.” Tootsie looked back at his keyboard and tapped frantically. Then he sighed. “There’s nothing I can do. What am I going to tell those poor people?”
“What poor people? What happened? I’m in the dark here. Help me out.”
Tootsie regarded her for a long moment before he said, “Remember the group from England? The ones who had their reservations canceled when the company went out of business?”
Harley nodded. “Yep. I saved the day for them.”
“Too bad you didn’t save the trip for them. Charlsie and Oliver both had wrecks within an hour of each other, and we don’t have a driver available for that large a group.”
“Is everyone all right?”
“Fortunately, yes. But both vans are undriveable, and Charlsie and Oliver are both too shook up to finish. I’ve had to reroute some of the other drivers with smaller vans to finish the clients’ tours. Only one large vehicle left, and I don’t have a driver for it.”
“What about me?”
He shook his head. “And risk the wrath of the MPD? Not a chance.”
“I don’t see that you have much choice. Unless you or Rhett Sandler drive the bus.”
Tootsie regarded her gloomily. Harley stood up, closed the laptop, and reached for her backpack. “Where’s the bus? And where do I pick up our tourists?”
Sighing, he said, “Pick-up is at The Peabody. Here’s the list of passengers, and here’s the key to the mini-bus. It’s in the back parking lot. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere alone. Stay in a group of people. Promise me that you will.”
“I promise. We hit the Elvis high spots, I take it? I can do this in my sleep.”
“Stay awake. That’s probably why two of our vans and drivers are out of order right now. Go.”
It was a relief to get out of the office, and Harley practically ran down the hall to the elevators. She was getting cabin fever staying inside. The rain of the previous days had moved east, and the sky was a scouring blue with fat white clouds, the air clean and sweet, and the sun warm on her face. A perfect day to be out. This was the part she loved best about her job, getting out with people happy to be in Memphis.
Besides, she wasn’t getting anywhere with her research. She’d hit a dead end. Morgan was right: Harvey Fine wasn’t listed anywhere among the other investors of Shadowlawn Construction. Not that she could find, and apparently, not that Tootsie could find, either. Jordan Cleveland was the main connection to the group. He was listed as their accountant. No wonder he hadn’t wanted her to show up at his office. It was all a sham.
When Harley pulled up under The Peabody’s portico off the lobby, a large group waited just outside the bank of doors. They looked happy and excited, and English accents filled the air. She smiled just listening to them. When she stepped down from the mini-bus onto the pavement, they greeted her with enthusiasm.
“Anyone here ready to visit Graceland?” she asked, and they cheered. They were a great group. As they filed onto the bus, laughing and joking, she counted heads and put names to faces. Twenty-two. Plenty of room in her twenty-nine passenger mini-bus. Thank heavens it was easy to drive. Parking was another issue. It wasn’t so easy with this long-wheelbase vehicle as with the smaller vans.
When they were all seated and belted, the doors whooshed shut, and she eased out of the parkway and made a left onto Second Street. She turned right onto Beale, under the Riverwalk and over the railroad tracks, giving her usual spiel about the street that blues great W.C. Handy made famous, and other landmarks. She pointed north to the Pyramid, a gleaming triangle glittering in the bright autumn sun, then turned south onto Riverside Drive. As they cruised past the river, she told the tourists about the annual Memphis in May barbecue and music festival held in Tom Lee Park, then the origins of the park.
“The park is named f
or an African-American man, Tom Lee, who on May 8, 1925 risked his life to save thirty-two passengers when the steamboat, M.E. Norman, capsized at Cow Bend Island just downriver from Memphis. Although he could not swim, Mr. Lee rescued those drowning in the swift currents, pulling them aboard his twenty-eight foot skiff. He made five trips, acting quickly and calmly without regard for his own safety. Mr. Lee continued to search after nightfall. Only twenty-three people died because of Mr. Lee’s courage. He was awarded a home for his actions, and after his death in 1951, the city honored him with a park and a granite memorial.”
She had the script memorized and segued from the park right into a spiel about the houses built on the bluff overlooking the river, pointing out the home actress Cybill Shepherd once owned, then gliding toward I-55. It took about fifteen minutes to get to the Brooks Road exit, and she turned south onto the wide, seven lane street, giving another spiel as she drove.
“It was named Highway 51 until January of 1972 when it was officially renamed Elvis Presley Boulevard for The King,” she said, easily blending into heavier traffic. “On our right, that old white brick building was Hernando’s Hideaway, known for hosting late night jam sessions for local musicians famous and infamous.”
As she cruised down the road toward Graceland she was reminded of Harvey Fine’s sneering commentary about the area. He wasn’t just a jerk, he was a criminal and probably a killer too. He must have killed Johnny Pomona, but she had the uneasy feeling Jordan had killed Felicia. It was all that made sense.
By the time she had the bus parked in the lot behind Elvis’s airplanes, her group was too excited to contain themselves. They began singing a medley of Elvis songs, none of them in tune, all of them loud. Laughing, she gave them a pager and the instructions on how to contact her to return to the bus. Then she followed them to the EPE ticket windows. They were still excited when they got on the passenger van that took them across the busy street. By her calculations, that gave her an hour and a half to kill.
This time she intended to be cautious. She lingered in the Rock and Roll Café a while, browsed through the souvenir shops, sat outside in plain view on one of the metal benches near the red truck, and enjoyed the warm sunshine. Just when she was getting too drowsy, her new phone rang. This time she’d loaded it with Looney Tunes ringtones that played randomly for most calls. She’d also set it for her frequent callers.
Bugs Bunny saying, “Help, help! Police!” played when Morgan called. She thought it rather appropriate.
“So what’s up, Doc?” she asked when she slid the phone open.
“Where are you, and what the hell are you doing?”
“My, my, someone seems to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” She squinted against the bright sunlight and wished she’d thought to bring her sunglasses from the bus.
“No, I got up on the right side of the wrong bed, it sounds like.”
“Well, that’s not very friendly. How do you mean that?” She heard him suck in a deep breath and sighed. “Look, it’s not that I’ve got a death wish, because I don’t. I know this seems like I’m being foolish, but I’m staying out in the middle of everything with a hundred witnesses all around me. I haven’t been alone at all. Well, except for the ride from the office to The Peabody, but I was alone in the bus, and I didn’t pick up any strangers.”
After a brief pause, he said, “Bobby was right. You’re dangerous. I don’t know why I thought you had better sense.”
“Tootsie needed me. What was I supposed to do? It’s my job. Besides, now that everything is more or less out in the open, I doubt I’m in any danger. Right? I mean, what else is there to hide? We know Jordan killed his wife, Harvey Fine is laundering money through Shadowlawn Construction company, and Johnny Pomona was one of the guys in on it. He probably got greedy, so Jordan’s business associates killed him.”
“If only it were that simple.”
“Why do you think everything has to be complicated?”
“Because nothing is ever simple. It’s always complicated. Be careful.”
He hung up, and Harley sighed again. He hadn’t sounded mad, just worried. That was a cause for concern. Even after six months, they were still getting to know each other. She knew some of his moods, but that didn’t mean she knew all of them. And lately it was like every time she turned around she was finding herself in trouble. Not a talent she had ever considered acquiring, but since she was on more than a nodding acquaintance with it now, she needed to find out how to get rid of it.
Diva would know.
“How do I stop finding dead people, and how do I get rid of people who want to kill me?” she asked when her mother answered the phone. “It’s annoying. It’s beginning to interfere with my relationship.”
For a moment Diva was silent, but Harley could hear her Reiki music playing in the background. Then she said, “Your chakras are not in balance, and you’re attracting negative energy. The third chakra is important. Do not neglect it. Personal will and power relate to this chakra. When balanced, this chakra summons vitality, strength, spontaneous actions, reason, and self-esteem. When unbalanced, it invites ego. It can create hostility, domination, blame, confusion, fear, and continual activity. You need to meditate, and all will come to you in time.”
Harley rolled her eyes. There were times she suspected her mother of indulging in Yogi’s tomatoes. “I’ll remember that,” she said. “Maybe I can meditate on the bus while two dozen English tourists sing ‘Good Luck Charm.’”
Diva laughed softly. “You can meditate anywhere you like. What’s important is that you focus on your inner self.”
“That sounds like a lot of trouble and angst. I’m not sure my inner self is in tune with anything, much less my chakras.”
There was a pause, then Diva said, “Your current journey is almost finished. You will soon be free of the negativity summoned by certain individuals, but you must be cautious. Not all is as it should be, and not all will be revealed in time. Choose wisely, or disaster will be the result. Elvis will protect you.”
“What? Elvis? What does that mean?”
“I have surrounded you with my white light of protection. That’s all I know right now.”
Harley sighed. “Okay. I’ll have to figure it out.”
When she hung up she reflected on the warning. And Elvis. Diva may have mixed up two different visions. Sometimes she did that. And sometimes Diva’s white light of protection was a little late doing its job.
She hooked the phone to her belt loop again. It was a little inconvenient but better than going through arguing with retailers about phone replacements. That often ended in frustration and tragic consequences. Like paying top dollar for another phone.
Time passed quickly despite her failed attempts at meditation. It was a lot harder to focus on chakras and chi when tourists milled about the area talking and laughing. So she ended up thinking about the murders and Jordan Cleveland instead. He was allegedly in mourning. She doubted it. For one thing, he’d disappeared. He hadn’t called Tootsie, and he hadn’t called her. Tootsie was pretty upset about the whole thing, but she had the feeling that Mr. Jordan Cleveland had gone into hiding somewhere. If he was smart, he was in the Swiss Alps.
Thinking back over the past two weeks, she wondered just why Jordan had gotten her involved at all. She’d swung from so many different theories to the next that nothing would surprise her now. Maybe he’d really thought—or known—he was on a hit list so hoped she could keep him safe if she found the killers’ identity and reported them to the police. That was one theory.
Another theory was that he’d carefully planned to kill his wife, throwing police off the trail with his claims that he was in danger from her. That didn’t explain why she’d been shot at, however, or why someone had threatened her life if she didn’t stop snooping around. And it didn’t explain why he’d filed for divorce if he meant to kill her all along. That would create even more police suspicion.
So now she was
back to square one with no good motive for murdering Felicia. Johnny Pomona’s murder could be more easily explained. He’d obviously gotten cross-wise of the wrong people, and probably the same people who were after Jordan.
That led right back to the theory that Jordan’s embezzlement from the wrong guys had put him at risk of being killed for it. His comment to her about having business in the Bahamas could only mean that he’d stashed money in some off-shore account. Maybe not the Bahamas, but the Caymans or somewhere it couldn’t be traced so easily. Then there was the half million dollar insurance policy on Felicia. Why buy double indemnity when there were no kids to send through college? That was pretty suspicious. So many theories, so few solutions. It was driving her crazy.
Her phone vibrated a second before Tweety Bird announced, “I did taw a puddy tat!”
“What’s up?” Tootsie said when she answered. “You all right? No lurking hit men around? No dead bodies?”
“Not yet, anyway. Are my tourists ready for the next stop on the Elvis train?”
“That’s the rumor. What kind of group are they?”
“The fun kind. I’m totally ready for fun, so this turned out to be a good thing. You doing okay? No run-ins with hit men?”
“Of course not. Steve thinks the intruder in my house may have been random.”
“He does? I don’t think so. Too big a coincidence. Most cops don’t believe in coincidences. He probably told you that so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you,” said Tootsie in his driest tone. “You make me feel so much better.”
“The truth often hurts. I’ve just been told that my chakras are out of alignment, and I have hostility issues.”
“Ah, you’ve talked to your mother.”
“She was trying to help. I can understand King’s comments more than I can her predictions most of the time. I’m not good at translating. It’s out of my expertise.”
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