Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (12 page)

“What’s new, Detective?” she asked as cheerfully as she could manage.

“I was going to ask you that.” Bobby did not sound cheerful. He sounded mad. “What’s this I hear about you visiting the families of the victims? Mrs. Jenkins was really upset.”

Oh. Maybe Morgan hadn’t been the one to rat on her. She’d reserve judgment on the vengeance thing. And fortunately, she’d had enough time to think of a reasonable response to likely questions.

“As a Memphis Tour Tyme representative, we wanted to extend our deepest sympathies to the families in their time of bereavement,” she said primly.

A moment of silence was followed with, “When did you start talking like a Hallmark card?”

“Right after I found a dead Elvis in the back of my tour van.”

“Well stop it. You didn’t go out there to console anyone. Admit it. You’re messing around in our investigation again.”

“Bobby, you wound me.”

“Don’t give me any ideas. Look, we’ve been friends a long time, but you know I can’t let you go around getting in the way and possibly contaminating evidence or interfering with a witness, not to mention an ongoing investigation. To you, this is just one big game, but to the police, it’s serious business. You’re going to end up in trouble. Big trouble. You’ve been damn lucky so far, but that’s bound to run out. Then you’ll put officers in the position of endangering themselves and others to protect you. It’s not right, Harley, and besides that, it’s illegal.”

Guilt replaced indignation. He had a point. She stared out the windshield of her car at the hedgerow that provided a barrier between the parking lot and the next yard, and thought that maybe the days of her amateur sleuthing should end.

“Okay,” she said, “even if someone is murdered in front of me, I’ll stay out of it. I’ll just be Harley Jean Davidson, tour guide extraordinaire. That make you happy?”

“Delirious with joy. Do I have your word on that?”

She hesitated. Anything could happen. Breaking her word to a friend was serious stuff. If something beyond her control happened, it’d hurt their friendship. She’d rather make him mad now than risk irreparable damage later.

“No. Look, Bobby, I don’t intend to get in trouble. I promised Tootsie I’d help out all I could, but I’ll tell you everything I’ve found out and you do with it what’s necessary. Of course, the way things have been happening around and to me lately, I can’t promise I won’t get involved at all. The best I can do is say I’ll do my best to stay out of police business.”

After a short silence, Bobby said, “If you weren’t my friend, you’d probably have already faced charges. Next time you obstruct or interfere in a police investigation, you’ll be treated like any other Memphis citizen. You’ll be arrested.”

Gulp.

Chapter Six

“
So
what did you say when he said that?” Tootsie’s expression was part fascination, part concern. Harley sat in the office chair across from him, bare legs crossed, swinging one foot and debating her future.

“I just said ‘Fine’ and then told him what I’d found out. We hung up, but it wasn’t on the best of terms.”

“I’m sorry, baby. This is my fault.”

“How is it your fault? You’re not the one committing murders. The only thing you’ve killed lately is a little time listening to me whine. I’m done now. You can go back to work.” She stared glumly at the chewed tips of her fingers. Not a nail left. They’d been growing out pretty well before all this happened. Now it looked like rats had been gnawing at her hands.

Tootsie sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked you to investigate for me. If I hadn’t been so desperate, I’d have known better.”

“Desperation seems to be contagious lately.”

“Look, let the police handle it. Don’t risk more trouble. It’s not worth it.”

Harley looked at him. “Then I guess those bags under your eyes are the newest fashion? It’s worth it, girlfriend. If for no other reason, so you won’t keep looking like a reject from a Salvation Army sale.”

Tootsie’s gasp of horror as he put a hand to his mouth made her immediately feel guilty. His eyes got big, and his lips quivered. “Salvation Army?” he echoed in a high voice.

“No, no, not really,” she said hastily, “I used the wrong words. You just don’t look like your usual snazzy self, that’s all. It’s nothing a good night’s sleep and peace of mind wouldn’t fix quick enough. I swear it.” She got up to put an arm around him, patting his shoulder to soothe his ruffled nerves.

He put his face in his palms. His voice was muffled. “I can’t sleep. All I can think about are those dead men and some vicious beast running amok on our vans. It’s not just business I’m worried about, it’s the danger to our clients. Is it just our company that’s the target? Why is it happening only to us?”

The last came out in a kind of wail, and Harley didn’t know quite how to react. This was a Tootsie she wasn’t used to seeing. She kept patting his shoulders, covered by a wrinkled blue silk shirt. This was so unlike him and indicative of his distress.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, “but I intend to find out. Maybe it’s just coincidence it’s always Tour Tyme vans, or maybe there’s a reason for it. Look, I know the police are a lot better than I am at doing this kind of thing, but I can talk to people who might not talk so freely to the cops. If it’s okay with you, I’ll keep on asking questions and digging around. All right?”

“You’d do that?” Tootsie looked up at her, spreading his fingers across his face to stretch away the weariness and doubts. “And you’ll be careful?”

“You bet. So don’t keep stressing about it. The MPD is one of the best in the country at tracking down criminals, and hey—they’ve got me to help.”

“Oh God.” Tootsie laughed a little shakily. “Don’t tell them that. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be in your best interest.”

“And I have a feeling you’re right. Now here.” Harley dug in her backpack and pulled out a new tube of lipstick. “Estée Lauder. I was saving it for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies.”

Tootsie opened the box and pulled out the tube. “Ooh, scarlet red! You sure you don’t want this?”

“It’s not my color. Actually, I got it for you anyway. Free with my purchase of mascara. It’s you. Really.”

The phone console lit up with a call, and saved her from any further lying. Happier now, Tootsie answered the phone with his Memphis Tour Tyme spiel and took down a message. As another call came in, he handed it to Harley. “Put this on Rhett’s desk for me, will you? He should be back soon.”

“Ah, the charming Retch Sandler. Has he found his missing personality yet?”

“Still missing. But he’s a good accountant and hasn’t stolen anything yet, so don’t make him mad, okay?”

“I’ll do my best. As long as he still hands out the paychecks, anyway.”

Harley went down the hall and put the pink message slip in the middle of Rhett’s desk, on top of a neatly stacked set of ledgers that sat atop a spotless desk, in a small office that was more like a hospital room than most hospital rooms. Sanitary, hygienic, and sparse. Just like Rhett. No personal photos, no sports souvenirs, no plants. Just stacks of ledgers and a computer. It looked a lot newer than the one Tootsie had at his desk. Sandler had a new computer to use in his work, while Tootsie still used an older computer. It was most likely a thorn in Tootsie’s side that he didn’t have a new one at the office, but he did have a state-of-the-art computer at home.

Sandler’s computer hummed, the monitor still on. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, Harley said to herself, and took a peek at the screen. Accounting had never been her forté. Even though she’d worked for the bank, it had been in the marketing department, where creativity counted a lot more than spread sheets. They’d been about to outsource all the marketing when she’d decided she couldn’t stand another minute of her bosses, and a transfer to one of the branches was her idea of hell. Thus began her sojourn into the world of tourism.

And murder. Who would have thought it?

Now she reflected that she should have paid more attention to the accounting class she’d taken at Ole Miss, because all this looked like hieroglyphics to her. A few things stood out, not the numbers but the initials. LOP. TAR. What on earth were those for? Tar she could figure out, probably something to do with repaving the parking lot, but LOP? What was a lop and why did it cost so much?

Footsteps slogged down the hallway, and she headed for his office door. Sandler met her in the hall, his eyes narrowing a little when he saw her come out of his office. He was the kind of man you’d never really notice, ordinary, with sandy hair he kept short, slight build, and regular features. He always wore a suit, black in the winter, tan in the summer, and bow ties that still didn’t hide his prominent Adam’s apple.

Black glasses with thick lenses balanced on the bridge of his quite ordinary nose. His only distinguishing feature was a mustache that he clipped short and curved, so that when he talked it looked like a brown caterpillar riding his upper lip.

“May I help you?” He spoke in a nasal monotone, like the guy on TV who did the commercials for eye drops.

“Just leaving a message on your desk. That’s all.” She gave him a bright smile and a little wave of her fingers as she passed by, certain he suspected of her snooping. She didn’t mind. She had been snooping, so it seemed fair.

Tootsie was on another call, speaking persuasively into the headset he wore over his right ear. It was a skinny piece of plastic that curved around to his mouth, and every so often he’d reach up to adjust it, like the person on the other end just wasn’t understanding him.

“Yes, I know,” he said calmly, “but the police are working on it. There’s no indication this is anything other than sheer coincidence, perhaps a personal grudge between two of the—I see. Of course, I understand that this is just business, but with it so close to the anniversary date, I think you’ll find it quite difficult to book—you have? I agree your first responsibility is to your clients, but Memphis Tour Tyme has an impeccable record of service and reliability. This is just an aberration—I understand. Certainly. Perhaps next year.”

He pushed a button and sat for a moment with his shoulders hunched, then looked up at her. “Fifth cancellation in two days. Not just the hotel groups we get, but agencies that book well in advance.” Slowly, he bent forward until his forehead rested against the desk surface. “We’re ruined,” he said in a moan. “Ruined.”

“No, not yet. People are just nervous. They get that way around dead bodies and murder. Just as soon as the guy who’s doing this is caught, business will pick up again. Hey, there’s no shortage of tourists who want to see Graceland and Jerry Lee’s house, not to mention Victorian Village and Beale Street. It’ll work out. Besides, the taxi and limo service are still going strong.”

Tootsie perked up. “We have had increased business with Elvis week so close. Too bad we didn’t get our licenses in time for prom season. We could have made a killing. Oh. Bad term to use, I guess.”

Harley gave him a pat on the arm. “See? It’s going to be just fine. I’ll do what I can, and you know the MPD is doing what they can. Two murders so close together have put them into high gear.”

“I know. Steve’s working long hours.”

“Ah, the mythical Steve. In a year, I’ve seen no sign of him. Are you sure he’s not a ghost or figment of your imagination?”

Pursing his lips, Tootsie gave her a sly glance. “Anything but, darling, anything but.”

With Tootsie in a much better mood, Harley took off for the main library down Poplar Avenue. The bank of computers there came with help, and she didn’t have to waste Tootsie’s time or listen to his exasperated comments about her being technologically deficient. Here, they expected it and had a couple of geeks to help out.

The main library had recently moved to Poplar from its longtime location at Peabody and McLean, the old brick building demolished to make way for high-priced condos. This library was modern and sleek, with lots of glass, concrete, and a wide-open spaciousness to it. Somehow Harley missed the former one even though it’d seemed dark and dusty and had that scent peculiar to old wood and years of use. It’d had character. As beautiful and efficient as this one was, it felt cold and impersonal.