Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (21 page)

“Oh please. I can’t leave Sam alone, and King would be delighted to have a new toy. That wouldn’t work at all. Sam might hurt him. Imagine Yogi’s horror.”

“Any other relatives? Your grandparents? Your aunt?”

“I’d rather take on Elvis. Look, I’ll be fine here. Really.”

“I’m sure you won’t be surprised if I disagree.”

Harley sighed. “I’ve got Mace and a cell phone. I have deadbolts. And I can’t identify the killer.”

“He may not know that. He’s already tried to kill you once. He did kill Lydia.”

She shuddered. That was very true. “Excellent point. All right. I’ll go stay with family tomorrow.”

“Out of town would be best.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

Morgan smiled. “Only for a little while.”

When he stood up, Harley tried not to focus on distracting things like the way he looked in a tight tee shirt and jeans. Or the way his eyes lingered on her a little bit longer than necessary, as if he was remembering their nights together. Lord. She’d been planning a hot bath, but maybe she should make it a cold shower instead. That crooked smile of his always did her in.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, “and lock the door behind me.”

“Right. You, too.”

Well, she thought when he was gone, she’d really sounded lame. Her shoulder hurt and her head had started to throb right behind her eyes. Maybe she should take an aspirin. And chase it with a bottle of wine. This day had been too much.

Instead, she took a cold shower, chased an aspirin with Coke and went to bed. Tomorrow always seemed to come before she was ready.

Chapter Ten

“
Hey
, Harley Jean! I haven’t seen you in a while. How you doing?” Mrs. Shipley called across the street from Harley’s parents’ house on Douglass, and Harley managed to wave back.

“Just fine, Mrs. Shipley. You sure do look nice today.” That was code for “not as bizarre as usual” when it came to Sadie Shipley. A widow in her sixties, she preferred flamboyant hair to match her clothes, a style that often drew startled glances from the uninitiated. Neighbors were accustomed to it, however. Today she was almost subtle. Bright yellow hair complemented her bright yellow long tee shirt and knee-length knit capris, and she wore plastic sandals with big yellow daisies atop each foot. She made Harley think of marshmallow Easter Peeps.

“You home to stay, Harley Jean?”

Not wanting to drag out the conversation, Harley shook her head and kept walking up the sidewalk to the front porch. “Just staying a few days.”

“You’ll have to come over for some Karo pecan pie while you’re here, Harley Jean.”

Actually, that didn’t sound bad. Mrs. Shipley made the best pie around. “I will,” she called as she got the front door open without dropping Sam’s cat carrier. He’d been very vocal during the fifteen minute drive, and had ruthlessly expressed his displeasure with her efforts to get him into the carrier.

Cami had made it seem so easy. Of course, she’d had much more practice.

Once inside, Harley set the carrier on the coffee table next to half-finished necklaces and dream-catchers while Sam kept up a yowl loud enough to peel bark off trees. Diva came from the kitchen to greet her.

“While you’re here we can cleanse your aura and make you feel better with Reiki,” she said calmly, somehow able to be heard even over the cat’s howling.

“Aura cleansing is fine, but no Reiki. That’s too much like torture. I can’t believe it does any good for anyone but orthopedic surgeons who charge big bucks to put people back together after they’ve had it done.”

“You’re thinking of Shiatsu.” Diva smiled. She never took offense at Harley’s skepticism. “I know something that will relieve your tension and help your headache. Here. Give me your hand.”

After putting her backpack on the coffee table next to Sam, Harley held out her hand. Her mother’s cool fingers found the pressure points on her hand and wrist. Using her thumb and fingers, she pressed gently, and oddly enough, after a few moments Harley’s headache eased.

“I don’t know how you do that,” she said.

“It’s not a secret. Anyone can do it. For instance, I apply pressure to move the body’s energies along established pathways, or meridians. Facial pain or headaches can be relieved by applying pressure to the hand, because at that point a meridian connects the two areas. Each meridian links a number of areas of the body. By applying pressure, you direct the energies to heal the body.”

Harley uncrossed her eyes. “Right. I’ll try to remember that.”

Diva released her hand after another gentle squeeze. “Yogi’s in his workshop. He’s nearly through with the bigger windmill he’s been working on.”

“I’ll go out and see him after I take Sam up to my bedroom. Maybe he’ll stop screeching once I get him out of this carrier.”

“Animals are like people. They don’t like being imprisoned.”

After setting up his litter box and putting out his food and water, Harley opened the carrier door. Sam burst out like a cream and brown rocket. He streaked past the litter box, full food bowls and water, and out her open bedroom door. For a startled instant, she crouched beside the empty carrier with her mouth still open, the soothing words she’d started to say still unuttered. It hadn’t gone at all like she’d planned. Cami had assured her he’d hide under her bed or a piece of furniture before he got brave enough to come out for his food. Apparently, Sam had not been informed of that.

There wasn’t any sign of him in the hall or upstairs bathroom. Her brother’s and parents’ bedroom doors were closed. That meant he’d gone downstairs. A crash from below confirmed it.

Harley arrived in the kitchen just in time to see that Yogi had fixed King’s pet door. King pushed through it at about the same time Sam bounced off the kitchen table and headed for the opening. They met nose to nose.

King was delighted.

Sam was not.

He performed a series of intricate cat karate moves with slashing claws and guttural snarls that startled King and sounded like something out of the Exorcist. Then he was gone, back into the dining room. A little late, King started to yelp. Chaos ensued as Yogi arrived to rescue his dog.

By the time Harley found Sam and got him back to her bedroom, she was sweaty, bloody, and panting. As soon as she released the cat, he disappeared under her bed. She knew where he was because of his high-pitched moans. Leaning back against her closed door, she began to think this hadn’t been such a good idea. She should have nailed her doors shut and stayed home.

The unmistakable sounds of Sam hacking up a hairball under her bed confirmed that. When she had enough strength, she’d put him back in the carrier and return to her apartment. It’d be better than watching the door every moment to make sure cat and dog did not meet again.

“You’re making this difficult, you know,” she said to the cat. “You got along just fine with Cami’s dogs. King’s not so bad. Most of the time. Some of the time. You could overlook it. We won’t be here that long. I hope.”

There was no response from Sam, but that wasn’t unusual. After a moment, Harley got up and opened the door, intending to go to the bathroom to wash her face and scratches. King darted between her legs and into the bedroom, immediately finding Sam under the bed. Shouting for Yogi, Harley grabbed the dog by the tail to keep him from the cat. A scuffle ensued.

“This isn’t going to work,” Harley said when Yogi finally got King back into the hallway and Sam was on top of a tall bookshelf spitting globs of saliva at the ceiling fan. “I knew better. I’m going back home.”

Yogi looked worried. “Maybe you could just leave the cat in your apartment with lots of food and water, and I’ll go check on him every day.”

“No way. If this nut job is crazy enough to kill Elvis right in front of a van full of tourists, he’s crazy enough to hurt my cat. And you. I’m not willing to risk it.”

Diva settled it. She called Nana McMullen and asked if Harley and Sam could stay with her and for a few days. Nana was delighted. Harley was less so.

“Doesn’t she live in a nursing home?”

“Whispering Pines. It’s assisted living. Very nice. Like condos in a mall setting. Nana has a two bedroom place with a screened porch. Meals are served in the main dining room, there’s a beauty shop, doctors on staff, and buses to all the local stores.”

“Don’t forget three trips a month to the casinos,” Yogi said, and Diva smiled.

“That’s true. Nana does love the slot machines.”

“There’s always someone there,” Yogi added, “and they lock the doors at night and no one goes in or out unless they’re checked first. It’s the perfect place to be safe.”

Even though her parents sounded a lot more enthusiastic than she felt, Harley gave in. She hadn’t seen Nana in a while, and she did enjoy her most of the time. But staying in a community of elderly people didn’t sound like something she’d want to do for long.

“I’ll give it a try,” she said reluctantly. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, she’d get a lot of rest. Older people took plenty of naps.

* * * *

“
About
damn time you came to see me,” Nana said, dispensing with any civilities in her usual manner. At nearly eighty-six, Nana McMullen resembled a quintessential elderly Southern lady, small and white-haired, her pale skin thin and soft, and her eyes a bright blue. But there was nothing fragile or prim about her. She’d grown up during the Great Depression, borne her first child at fifteen, outlived three husbands, and lost none of her snap.

Harley grinned. “Glad to see you too, Nana. I’ve missed you and wanted to visit.”

“Bullshit. You’re only here because you’re trying to hide. What, you think I don’t read the newspapers or watch TV? Doesn’t matter why you’re here, I’m just glad to see you. Is that a cat?”

Harley set down the carrier. “His name is Sam. He and King have personality conflicts.”

“That dog is demented. Cute, but crazy. Fits right in. See if Sam likes my screened porch. There are lots of birds flying around the feeder outside that he can watch.”

“Sam is picky, but as long as there’s not a dog trying to wear him as a furry hat, he should be okay.”

Sam was better than okay. Immediately intrigued by the abundance of birds at the feeder, he crouched atop a wicker table to stare at them and make little noises low in his throat. Probably the feline version of “Come into my parlor.”

After Harley set up the litter box and put out his food and water bowls, she went inside to find Nana in front of the TV, swearing at a baseball game.

“Who’s your favorite?” she asked in a lull, and Nana looked up with something like surprise on her face.

“Atlanta, of course. Though I like our home team, too. Ever been to a Redbirds game?”

“Uh, no. I’ve been to AutoZone a lot, though. You know, with tourists.”

“Yeah, why the hell did you take that job? You’re smarter than that.”

Harley shrugged. “I hated corporate banking. And they hated me. It wasn’t something I was suited for. It was just the first job I got after leaving Ole Miss, and I was too dumb to move up in the company, anyway.”

“Hah.” Nana poked her with a finger. “You were always the smart one. You just got sick of it.”

“Maybe that too. Thanks for the vote of confidence. Lately I’ve been feeling pretty damn stupid.”

“Well you’re not. You just need direction. Not like Darcy’s two girls. Dumb as sock puppets, and with personalities to match. Ha!” She leaned forward in her rocker. “That Jung Bong is pitching. He’s a leftie. Got a pretty good strikeout record. Those Cardinals better watch out.” Nana clicked off the TV. “Come on. Lunchtime. Let’s go eat.”