Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (36 page)

Ferret and cat both looked relieved. Eric looked worried. Harley looked at her panties.

“Damn. Ruined.”

“Do ferrets get rabies?” Eric asked.

“Probably. You should get the shots just in case.”

“Chick!” He sounded so alarmed that she sighed and shook her head.

“Cami would make sure he had all the shots he needs to have, so I’m sure you’ll be just fine. There’s some hydrogen peroxide under the sink. And pull your pants up when you’re through looking for wounds, if you don’t mind. SpongeBob is winking at me.”

Life, she decided a half hour later, when they had the Jackie Chan movie on TV and bowls of microwave popcorn with extra butter in their laps, was returning to normal. Tomorrow she’d worry about the killer. Tonight, she’d let Jackie Chan handle that kind of thing.

Chapter Sixteen

The
finals for the Elvis competition were in just a few days. Yogi had made the last cut and was beside himself with joy. Not only that, the finalists were to be allowed a special place in the Candlelight Vigil this year, a ceremonial parade to the gravesite with their lit candles, a solemn procession to pay respects to the King of Rock and Roll.

“You’ll be there, won’t you, Harley?” he asked.

She looked at him, unable to refuse but wishing she could. It was always so crowded. “Yes. I’ll be there, since I’m working that night anyway.”

Yogi’s smile stretched across his face. “Good. I want my family to be with me to share in the moment. It’s always so emotional.”

That’s what she was afraid of. It always made her a little squeamish to see her father weep, and every time he went to Elvis’s grave, he became very emotional.

“It’s not just the loss of a great singer,” he’d once explained to her, “it’s the loss of the man himself. Elvis touched so many lives. Maybe most people saw him as a celebrity, but he was always that shy Mississippi boy with enormous talent being wasted in third rate movies and songs. I really think that’s what killed him in the end, his disappointment.”

Diva always said Elvis had just decided to go home.

Whichever it was, Harley dreaded being caught up in an emotional whirlpool. No matter how festive the crowd, once they reached the gravesite the mood immediately changed to sorrow. Very few were unaffected. Even her. Like Yogi said, it was such a waste of promise.

Tootsie, it seemed, had second thoughts about Harley attending the candlelight vigil.

“Are you sure you want to take that run?” Tootsie asked doubtfully when she went in to work.

“Of course not. But the police are watching Hughes very closely.”

“So I hear.”

She tapped her foot thoughtfully. “I can’t help wondering how he managed to show up at the cemetery with helium balloons and a bowler hat, though.”

Tootsie pointed out the obvious. “No one can prove it was him. His fingerprints weren’t on the balloons, the grotto’s too damp, and concrete doesn’t show fingerprints well. Besides which, they’d have to match them with the thousands of people who pass in and out of the cemetery, and that’s nearly impossible.”

“So you’re saying they aren’t even looking? And how do you know all this technical stuff, anyway?”

“I didn’t say they aren’t looking. They’ll check for fibers or prints on the coffin you were in. Sorry about that,” he said when I flinched. “Sore subject, I see.”

“Only when I think about it. Do you know all this kind of stuff from listening to Steve, the invisible man?”

“He’s not invisible, just rare. Okay, let’s work this out another way. I’ll list the pros and you list the cons.”

“Easy enough. I’m sure Hughes is an escaped murderer.”

Tootsie blew out a heavy sigh. “You want to try this or not?”

“Sure. Your turn.”

“He was wearing white gloves.” Tootsie paused. “And he was out on bail. He had time.”

“But how would he know where I was going? He’d have had to be in his costume following me around. He might have been able to get to the cemetery across the street and then stand out front to catch my attention, but it would have to be close timing. What if I’d gone to The Peabody? Or the Hilton? Or just stayed there at Graceland?”

“Apparently, he’s very flexible.” Tootsie paused to take a call, and Harley rocked back and forth in the office chair next to his desk. The chair squeaked an annoying rhythm.

It just didn’t make sense. It left too much up to chance, and Hughes seemed to be more organized than that. Now that the police were watching him very closely, as well as Williams, they had to be nervous. If they were working together, why try to destroy the very business that gave them the most access to their victims? It’d seem much more sensible, if killing an Elvis impersonator could be called sensible, to kill one of the contestants in the confusion and noise of a contest, not in a tourist van. Especially when the least thing could delay or prevent the victim from even getting on the van.

None of it made much sense to her.

“Tootsie,” she said when he had a break between phone calls, “is there anyone who might hold a grudge against the ogre? A personal grudge?”

He thought a moment. “Well, there is the guy who went to prison for embezzling several years back. He got ten to twenty. Penney prosecuted him, even though he’d been his partner.”

“I remember you mentioning that a time or two.” She frowned. “Think he’d try to get back at Mr. Penney?”

“It’s a moot point. He’s still in prison.”

“Maybe you should check and see if he’s still there. Remember the last guy we thought was safely tucked away? States have a bad habit of paroling criminals before they finish serving their time.”

“It is a problem,” Tootsie agreed. “I’ll check. Meanwhile, you see if Bobby’s following up that angle already.”

“Oh no. You call him. Lately, we don’t seem to get along that well.”

“Bobby’s just worried about you.”

“Of course. That’s why he keeps threatening to put me under the jail. His concern isn’t very comforting.”

Tootsie’s lips pursed. “Maybe he just has a funny way of showing it.”

“You’d think I’d be used to that by now.”

“Wouldn’t you? Okay. I’ll call Bobby. Meanwhile, why don’t you forget the candlelight vigil and just stay home? I’ve already given your run to Jake anyway.”

“Give it back.”

“Darling, are you never happy? I seem to recall you begging me to give you any run but the candlelight vigil not so very long ago. Now I’ve given it to Jake and you’re still unhappy. ‘Perversity, thy name is woman.’ It’s no wonder I have alternate preferences.”

Harley stood up. “You have alternate preferences because you’re narcissistic. Don’t look at me that way. You just think men are prettier. Which I understand, because I think they are, too.”

Rolling his eyes, Tootsie said, “Please do us all a favor and don’t go spouting that theory to anyone else. You’re liable to set back any progress by at least a hundred years.”

“Live in fear.” She made a face at him. Another idea had occurred to her while watching Tootsie talk on the phone and schedule tours on his computer.

“Just how secure is the MTT computer these days?” she asked. “I’ve been watching you enter the driver’s name, times, destination, number of passengers, estimated return time. Actual return time is entered later, after we punch in at the garage and the card registers time and driver. This new method is pretty thorough. Would anyone else be able to access this information?”

Tootsie stared at her. Then he nodded. “Yes. A good hacker could get in without too much trouble. Especially this older computer that Penney insisted on using instead of a new one with all the firewalls. God, why didn’t I think of that? I’ve been so preoccupied with everything, I haven’t even thought about checking for hackers. Damn, I’m so stupid! Of course, that’d be a perfect way to find out where the vans are going to be and who they’re picking up, and where they’re going. I log all that info in here. It helps with payroll. I probably need to check with Rhett, too, to make sure no hacker has accessed the financials.”

“So, if changes are made, like my trip to the airport and the Ridgeway Inn, and you put it in the computer, a hacker would be able to find that out?”

“All he needs is a laptop and wireless Internet. He could do it from his own car.”

“Or from under his rock, I presume. Well, that’s a start. Another angle for the cops to check out.”

Tootsie nodded slowly. “Maybe they’ve already done that. They asked a lot of questions after the first murder, you know, schedules, how we keep track of our vans, guides, and all that.”

“And of course you told them about putting it all into the computer.”

“But if the police suspect that’s how the killer is accessing information, why haven’t they done something? Oh, wait. Of course. I’ve been so rattled I didn’t even think about it, but they must be gathering evidence, trying to track him before he kills again.” Tootsie looked disgusted. “I should have already thought about that. And Steve should have mentioned it, the bad boy.”

“Oh please. You know cops never tell secrets. Not even pillow talk works.”

Tootsie arched a brow. “Then you just aren’t doing it right.”

“Let’s not go there, since I’m not doing it at all right now. So there’s a way to trace who’s getting information from your computer without you knowing it?”

“Oh yeah. They leave fingerprints. No, not that kind. I just need a little time to find out.”

Harley nodded. “Meanwhile, I think I’ll go visit Nana. I’d like to ask a few more questions about the Elvis who showed up that day.” When she reached the office door, she turned and said, “And don’t forget to ask Bobby about Claude Williams. There’s just something about that guy that really bothers me. Maybe he figures into this somehow.”

Tootsie, already on the phone, gave her a wave to indicate he heard her, so Harley went to her car. Heat saturated asphalt and bounced off metal vehicles, reflecting sunlight like microwaves that made Harley feel like a baking potato. This was the time of year the Mid-South lived up to its reputation of Sunny South. Savagely sunny. Northern visitors found it difficult to breathe, while Southerners stayed inside. Most residents felt that if Mother Nature really wanted to sauté civilization, there wouldn’t be such things as swimming pools and margaritas.

Harley thought that an excellent philosophy. Both sounded good right now.

Nana wasn’t in her room, but Harley hadn’t really thought she’d be. Maybe the secret to living forever had something to do with not wasting time thinking about it. One thing about Nana—she wasted little time sitting around.

The assistant director of Whispering Pines sat at his desk, and he looked up with a pleasant smile when Harley stepped into the main office. “May I help you?”

“I hope so.” She took the cushioned chair in front of his desk without waiting to be asked, giving him her brightest smile. “My great-grandmother is a resident here, and the family is very pleased with all the extra activities planned for them. Would it be possible to get some information on just how these outings are arranged? I know some of them are planned by your office, such as inviting entertainment, but others, such as baseball games, must take a great deal of planning. Am I correct?”

“Indeed you are, Miss—?” He obviously didn’t remember her, odd in one way, considering her participation in chaos at the ball game, but a relief in another.

“Davidson.”

“Harvey Wiltshire.” Harvey blinked rapidly behind his glasses, pale eyes shining. He had brown hair, with the kind of hairline men often got that looked like soil erosion on both sides, and a narrow strip of thinning hair stranded in the middle. Thin, with an occasional nervous tic in one eye, his nice smile made up for any other deficiencies.