Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (29 page)

“Well, let me run something by you. No one can really give a decent description of the evil Elvis. Yesterday didn’t help. First he was a giant bird, then he was a mime—stop laughing, dammit—it’s not enough to describe him or be sure it’s Hughes. If I go home, and you have men stationed around my apartment, he’s bound to show up sooner or later.”

Bobby stopped laughing. “No. It’s too risky. We had men posted outside Lydia’s house, and look what happened to her.”

“I know.” Harley shivered. “Her funeral’s tomorrow. Maybe I should go, after all. If you have some cops pretend they’re family members or friends, maybe he’ll make his move then.”

“You’re offering to be bait?”

She nodded. “This guy’s killed four people, and plans to make it five, if he can catch me. Nana had a good point when she said it’s much better to be the fox instead of the rabbit.”

After a moment, Bobby said, “Okay, attend the funeral. I’ll set it up. But don’t do anything on your own, you hear me? Just go to the funeral, do what you’d normally do, and let us take care of the rest. If you definitely recognize the guy who was in your van, signal.”

“And the signal should be?”

“Switch your purse to your opposite shoulder.”

“I don’t usually carry a purse. My backpack is much more efficient.”

“Then buy a purse. Or borrow one from your Nana. Someone will be watching.”

It sounded simple enough.

Except for Tour Tyme employees who managed to attend, and Mr. Penney of course, there wasn’t anyone in the chapel Harley recognized. Tootsie came, and Nana too. After the service, during which Harley learned that Lydia had graduated from college magna cum laude, they followed the hearse on the winding roads through the cemetery. Huge oaks shaded the quiet roads that wound through the grounds. Their cars passed a grotto built by a famous Italian sculptor a few decades ago. Inside the cave were carved depictions from the Bible, and glittering crystals studded the walls. Outside, a huge pond filled with fish spanned both sides of a small fieldstone footbridge. Flowers and balloons marked some of the graves they passed, and scattered mourners paid their respects. People often visited just to walk through the quiet grounds, though Harley had never understood that. Even with trellises, roses, stone benches made in Scotland, and the gigantic waterfall and fountains at the entrance, it wasn’t like they could talk to the residents.

A green canopy had been erected over the gravesite to shade the family, and folding chairs covered in heavy twill lined one side of the casket which sat on the metal contraption that would lower it into the ground. Fake grass tactfully covered mounds of earth that would be pushed back over the grave once everyone left. A skirt of roses draped Lydia’s coffin.

Harley hated funerals. They weren’t so much for the dead as for the living, a reminder that the person was gone. Diva said death was just a door into the next world, that nothing was ever really gone, not even flowers and trees. If that was true, Harley figured the next world had to be pretty crowded by now.

When she bowed her head as the minister offered a prayer, Harley kept her eyes open and looked around at the mourners. It was a fairly large crowd. Lydia would be so pleased. Poor thing. It was really infuriating that someone had stolen her life. She’d never hurt anyone, just done her best with what she had. Mr. Penney probably felt guilty that he hadn’t given in to her requests to work in the office, and he should. If he’d listened to her, she might be alive today.

The brief service ended and Harley stepped back from the crowd with Tootsie and Nana to look around casually, as if searching for someone. The killer should be here. Hughes would want to come and gloat, try to disguise himself so he could feel powerful. But there was no one here who looked like him. She couldn’t even tell which ones were the undercover cops. Of course, the cops would recognize Hughes, too. After all, his picture was on the Elvis impersonator website, and they had a way of knowing that kind of thing even without her help. So why hadn’t they already arrested him? They had to have collected enough evidence by now to make a case. Her identification would only be one more part of it. Bobby had always been careful about that kind of stuff, not wanting to falsely arrest a suspect until he had hard evidence. Even his arrest of Aunt Darcy had been more protective custody than an actual arraignment, and he’d turned out to be right about that. Maybe he just needed her to confirm what they already knew, and the more she thought about it, the more certain she became it’d been Hughes on her van for the first murder. All he had to do was show up today.

Family mourners remained under the canopy, saying their last good-byes. Lester Penney got up and went to the casket for a moment. When he turned back around, his cheeks had tear tracks. It surprised Harley, and then she felt bad about being surprised. Just because he was a hard-ass at work didn’t mean he had no emotions. Being an ogre had little to do with being an uncle, after all. And maybe he felt bad about making Lydia do something that frightened her.

That was confirmed when Mr. Penney approached her and Tootsie. “Thank you for coming,” he said, the ritual phrase at all funerals. “It means a lot to the family.”

After their sympathetic murmurs, he took a deep breath and said, “I should never have kept making her drive. I just ... I just wanted her to learn the business from the ground up, that’s all.” He made a helpless gesture with his hands out. “Lydia would have inherited my portion of it, you know. She was so smart. If she’d just believed in herself, had more confidence, I think she’d have done a wonderful job.”

Harley said, “I always thought you’d bring your son into the business.”

Mr. Penney’s mouth tightened and his bushy caterpillar eyebrows lowered in a scowl. “No. I wouldn’t. He has no desire to work with me anyway.”

With that, Mr. Penney turned around and walked away, and Nana said, “Uh oh. I smell a family feud.”

“Hush, Nana,” Harley said.

Nana just smiled.

Tootsie said, “I’ll explain later. Hey. Isn’t that Hughes over there?”

Harley’s heart skipped a beat and she turned in the direction of Tootsie’s gaze. Hughes had come. He hadn’t been able to resist. Did the undercover guys see him? She fumbled at the strap of her borrowed purse and then paused. Something wasn’t right. He looked different. Maybe the dark silk suit instead of white spandex studded with fake jewels made the difference. Still, he had the long sideburns, same height, weight, and the profile looked very familiar...

She leaned down to say softly to Nana, “Is that the guy we chased the other day?”

“Where?”

“Standing by that tree.”

“Damn, Harley, be specific. There are hundreds of trees around here.”

Harley pointed. Nana lifted the delicate net that hung down from her black pillbox hat, with tiny flowers sewn around the crown and peered across the grass and gravestones. “Yep. Looks like him even without the tight pants. Get him to turn around and run. A good look at his ass, and I’d know for sure then.”

“That’s a possibility.” Harley shifted her purse to her other shoulder and looked directly at Hughes.

Immediately, Hughes was surrounded by men in suits. He looked up in surprise, then with anger. Harley could hear his protests grow louder when she got close.

“Is this the guy?” one of the men asked, holding Hughes by the arm, and she nodded.

“Yes. It’s got to be him.”

“Is that a positive identification, Ms. Davidson?” the officer asked.

“Positive is a little strong. He looks different in an expensive suit than he does in spandex or tights, but it has to be—yes, I’m sure it’s him.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Hughes demanded.

A cop obliged with, “Preston Hughes, you need to come downtown with us. We’ve got some questions for you about Lydia Free’s murder.”

Furious, Hughes resisted, so the officers got out their cuffs and prevailed after only a brief struggle. Panting, Hughes Hinky, dinky, parley-voo glared at Harley. “I didn’t murder anyone! I just came here because of Lydia. I met her at the competitions last year and she was a sweet girl.”

Sweat popped out on Hughes’s forehead. Dark blue eyes narrowed. “You did this, didn’t you? Accused me of something I didn’t do just so your father has a chance at winning? Well, it won’t help him, I’ve seen his act and he doesn’t have a chance in hell of ever winning. He’s a big joke! I’ll still beat him—I’ll get you for this, you dumb little bitch!”

The cop turned him toward the road. “Time to go, Mr. Hughes.”

Hughes wailed, “I didn’t have anything to do with murder, I tell you!”

“Tell it walking,” the officer said, and pushed him across the grass toward one of the cars lined up along the road.

Everyone was staring. Harley looked at Tootsie. “Well, that was tacky. How dare he say that about Yogi?”

Tootsie just rolled his eyes. “You have no sense of self-preservation at all.”

“Well, at least he’s going to jail. I don’t have to worry anymore.”

Nana looked up at her, squinting against the bright sunlight coming through oak leaves. “I guess that means you’re not playing poker tonight?”

“I suck at cards.”

“I know. But you’re good for a laugh. I thought Gerald was going to pee himself when you thought a full house meant four of the same cards.”

“So I get confused. I won that pot, didn’t I? Besides, it explains why I never did that well at poker with Bobby. He didn’t even have to cheat.”

As they drove out of the cemetery, Harley saw a man standing with his back against a big oak. He must have been watching the funeral. For some reason, he looked strange. It gave her a creepy feeling and she didn’t know why. She nudged Tootsie.

“Do you see that guy?”

“What guy?”

“The one standing under that oak across from Lydia’s grave.”

Tootsie looked that way, but the man had disappeared. Only empty space remained where he’d been standing.

“That’s so weird.” Harley stared at the tree. “He gave me a funny feeling. Why wouldn’t he come to the funeral instead of just watch?”

“A lot of ghouls turn out for funerals. I’ve never understood that. When my cousin died—she had muscular dystrophy—some guy no one knew kept sobbing and hugging people. It really was odd.”

“It’s amazing what some people do.”

“That’s why they have insane asylums,” Nana said from the back seat. “It’s where they keep the crazy people.”

“I think they’re called mental health institutions now, Nana.”

“Doesn’t matter what they call them, it’s the same thing. It’s where the crazy people stay.”

No use arguing with Nana. She was always going to get the last word in.

Thankfully, Tootsie suggested they go out to eat somewhere, adding, “Not Taco Bell!” when Harley opened her mouth. They ended up at Corky’s Barbecue not too far down Poplar Avenue. Nana was in hog heaven—literally. She ordered and ate a rack of ribs that looked like half a pig, while Tootsie ate a barbecue sandwich big as a dinner plate. Harley ordered baked beans, slaw, and fried onion rings.

“There’s something the matter with someone who doesn’t eat meat,” Nana said halfway through her ribs.

“I eat meat,” Harley replied. “Just not that often. You have barbecue sauce on your nose. And your chin. And eyebrows.”

Nana didn’t even try to wipe it off. “That’s for later. So what’s wrong with you? Deirdre’s idea?”

“Diva’s a vegetarian. She encourages it, but doesn’t try to push it on us. Except maybe for Yogi. She expects him to follow her diet. She says it’s much healthier.”

Nana snorted. “What’s wrong with a little meat? When I was a girl—and don’t roll your eyes like that, they’ll get stuck—we ate everything off a pig. Snout, feet, brains, balls. We had to. If we were lucky enough to get meat in those days, we sure as hell made good use of it. Rendered fat is good for you. Look at me. I’ve eaten it all my life and I’m as healthy as a horse. Which, by the way, I’ve also eaten. Raccoon, possum, mule, squirrel, rabbit, deer—oh yeah, and fried rat.”