Harley Jean Davidson 03 - Evil Elvis (37 page)

It didn’t take long for Harley to find out that the Elvis had just shown up out of the blue and presented the director with what had seemed to be a Paid in Full invoice for his services. The donor, of course, was supposed to be H. J. Davidson. Though it was unusual to allow an impromptu act to perform, since the Elvis had already gathered a crowd, they let him continue. As for the Seniors’ Day at the Redbirds ball game, that was a regular outing, posted on bulletin boards and printed on the backs of monthly menus given to the residents. The names of all residents leaving on outings on their buses were entered into a computer and printed out for drivers and chaperones.

“Would you have entered my name as well?” she asked. “Since I was just a visitor?”

“Of course. We at Whispering Pines do like to be scrupulously careful with our residents, and return with everyone who goes on our outings.”

“Thus the GPS bracelets, I guess. Handy.”

“Davidson,” Wiltshire mused slowly as if just remembering her temporary residence and the stir she’d caused, “it’s you, isn’t it?”

Time to go. She stood up Harley thanked him nicely for his time and went to look for Nana. Wide halls were quiet, the framed paintings and copies of the masters on the walls deliberately chosen for their soothing, peaceful subjects. Lots of tall windows let in daylight at the ends of the halls, cozy chairs arranged for comfortable seating. She noticed little of it, mind busily mulling over possibilities.

So it would be easy for anyone who came to check out the facilities or visit a resident to know about scheduled activities. It seemed like a lot of work to go to when it’d be easier to just show up at Memphis Tour Tyme or the garage and shoot her. It kept coming back to one thing. The killer wasn’t that worried about risky situations or he wouldn’t have killed three Elvises in vans full of tourists, not to mention poor Lydia living in a rented room in someone else’s house.

Nor was he timid about trying to choke her to death while in a public restroom. Or wait in a cemetery across from her destination, knock her out, then bury her alive. She shuddered. That was a memory she wouldn’t be able to escape for a long time.

This killer was bold, an opportunist as well as organized, and with a firm goal in mind. He went out of his way to publicly kill. For thrills? A challenge? Or was he deliberately trying to ruin MTT business. If he was, he was doing a pretty fair job at it. No telling what he’d do next.

Suddenly, Diva’s warning popped into her mind: You might want to skip the candlelight vigil.

Most of the time she did her best to ignore her mother’s frequent warnings and enigmatic comments. Nearly thirty years of experience had taught her that she’d go crazy waiting for it to happen, look for the worst behind every daily event, and then when it happened, she still wouldn’t expect it. Clear predictions would be very nice. Diva just never had any. Her “visions” always seemed to come in odd fragments.

But since her mother was often uncannily right, maybe particular attention should be paid to the candlelight vigil. If the killer meant to strike again and Diva was right, it’d be then.

“Harley, what are you doing here?” Nana looked surprised and pleased. “Come to play poker again?”

“You mean lose at poker. No, just dropped by for a minute. Do me a favor, all right?”

“That depends. I might have a hot date later.” Nana made a clicking sound with her teeth.

“Just keep your date here, will you? I don’t want to worry about you, and it’s too risky for you to be running around town.”

“Wouldn’t be so damn risky if I still had my gun. When is Bobby Baroni going to give that back to me? I’m about ready to call his mother.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I have her number. Meanwhile, just promise me you won’t leave these grounds for a while, even with your new boyfriend.”

Nana studied her face a moment, and then shrugged. “Sure. We’ll just fool around in my room instead of go to the casinos.”

Harley hugged her. “That’s a girl!”

“Anything for you, kiddo. Ah, there’s my new guy now. Want to meet him?”

Even if she’d wanted to, there was no time to say no. Harley turned to meet Nana’s newest conquest. Not much taller than Nana, Rico Alvarez reminded Harley of Cesar Romero, the Latin star of the fifties—if Cesar had lived to be a hundred and twenty. Slightly shriveled, with dark skin and eyes and a broad smile, Rico’s grip was strong when he took her hand and bent over it, a move that startled and concerned Harley in case he couldn’t straighten back up. Yet he did pretty well, she thought, as he stood straight again and spoke with the slightest trace of an exotic accent.

“It’s very nice to meet you at last, Miss Davidson. Your grandmother has told me so much about you.”

Nana nudged him with her elbow. “I’m her great-grandmother.”

Rico’s eyes widened as if in surprise. “It cannot be! But, you are so fair and lovely, I never dreamed you to have been a child bride.”

“Bride at fifteen, mother before sixteen. We worked quick back in those days, too.” Nana winked at him, and it was obvious they shared a close secret. Maybe even an intimate secret.

Harley blinked. Was that kind of thing possible at their age? Since it wasn’t a topic she wanted to think about, much less pursue, she said, “Mr. Alvarez, I trust you’ll take good care of Nana for me. She’s a family treasure, you know, and we want to keep her safe.”

“But of course. It is my great pleasure to watch over so lovely a lady. Anna is a special person. Are you not, my dove?” He slid his arm around her waist and winked.

Nana got all giggly, transfixing Harley. It seemed she wasn’t immune to masculine charm either, a family trait that could be very disturbing.

Leaning close, Nana said to Harley in a loud whisper, “I like the ones with a bit of the devil in them.”

“Apparently we have a lot in common.”

After Nana made that clicking noise with her teeth again, Harley left Whispering Pines. It was going to be a hot time in the old folks’ home tonight, she bet.

Since her Toyota had been so cruelly treated, an old friend of hers was trying to put it back together in his shop. Sammy had always been good at fixing things as long as they had pistons and plugs. Other talents might elude him, but he could rebuild a carburetor and replace struts in half the time it took most mechanics. And best of all, he was honest. Didn’t charge for what he didn’t do, didn’t overprice his parts and charge out the wazoo for picking them up from the auto supply just down the street like other garages did. The Toyota was in good hands, and she knew if it could be put back together, Sammy would do it.

Meanwhile, he’d given her one of the cars he loaned to customers, a Chevy Malibu that had seen better days, but with an engine that purred like a tiger. There was no loss of power, even though the car was the color of rust and primer. A definite incentive to quickly pay your mechanic bill and retrieve your own car, probably part of Sammy’s strategy. He may have quit high school, but he was no dummy.

“I’ve got an idea,” she said to Tootsie when she got back to the MTT offices.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but what is it?”

“If the killer—I think it’s Hughes, but it could be the ogre’s bad son—is tracking my schedules through the computer, set me up for a run where he might try again.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. Listen, the cops can be waiting for him with me. Or instead of me. At this point, I don’t care which. It’s getting nerve-wracking waiting for some guy with a knife and a grudge to jump out at me from behind the hedges.”

Tootsie looked thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll talk to Steve about it. It might work. What did you have in mind?”

“The candlelight vigil.”

“You’re crazy. That place is always chaos, and you want to add to it? No cop would agree to that.”

“No, wait, see, it’d be perfect. There’s a huge crowd there every year, and I’ll be up at the front with Yogi, since he’s been chosen to lead off the line. The head candle, so to speak. I’ll be visible, the guy will make his move, the cops can hide behind the door that looks over the pool and grave area, or even in that little crescent-shaped thing where mourners sit. The killer jumps me, and the cops jump him, bam! It’s over.”

“And if the killer jumps you, the cops can’t find him when he blends in with the crowd—bam! You’re dead.”

“You have no imagination, girlfriend. Yogi will be there with me, and believe me, for a pacifist, he can get very vicious.” She paused. “Look, the guy won’t be able to resist. He’s the kind who obviously likes a challenge. Why else would he be so bold about the murders? They’re always in public places, except for Lydia, and even her murder was committed in a house full of people who didn’t hear a thing. And Lydia must have known this guy. She called me right before he killed her to tell me that she remembered him from somewhere. It could be Hughes, Williams, and yes, sad though it might be, even Larry Penney. Some sons are so ungrateful.”

“Or just the opposite. My cousin Andy used to beat up people who insulted his dad.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re dealing with a good son here. So, what do you think? Should I do it?”

Tootsie thought about it for a moment. “Only if I go with you.”

“Do you really think that’s wise? Remember Diva’s warning?”

“Yes, and she also said it’d turn out all right.”

“I don’t remember that part.”

“You were stuffing pie in your mouth. Besides, I can get vicious myself when needed.”

She didn’t need Tootsie’s reminder about the karate. “Okay. Just don’t wear a nightlight again. Wear something low-key.”

“I will be the very soul of discretion.”

Chapter Seventeen

It
was a really good plan. Bobby didn’t like it at all, but that wasn’t unexpected. She’d been a willing lure before, so he got overruled. When Graceland’s gates closed for the evening, they tested the wire and gave Harley detailed instructions on how to get out of harm’s way when it went down. If it went down. They ran through every possibility with her.

“Remember, you don’t know this guy,” Captain Baker said, “so keep on your toes. Suspect everyone.”

“Don’t worry, I already do. I’m set to go. Shouldn’t I have a weapon?”

Baker looked at her, an expression in his eyes like he wondered if she might be a little unbalanced. “No.”

“It might come in handy, just in case.”

“The wire is enough.”

“Oh yeah, I can always use it to strangle him if things don’t go well.”

It was a joke, but Baker didn’t understand the humor. Lights from the house reflected in the pool and off his glasses. Tall, a little bit chunky, with a square jaw, big nose, and thin lips, he looked like he didn’t laugh much at anything.

Bobby, standing near the fence around the Perpetual Garden where Elvis and his parents rested, said, “I told you this isn’t a good idea. She’s a magnet for disaster.”

Baker turned to look at him. Bobby wore an expression that didn’t bode well for Harley. He’d just have to get over it.

She was tired of looking over her shoulder. It made her nerve-ends buzz. She wanted this guy, whoever he was, behind bars.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said to Captain Baker as she removed the wire from around her neck and gave it to him. “He’s just mad because he’s not running the show.”

Bobby looked dangerously close to an explosion. Belatedly, she remembered his Italian temper. Best to beat a swift retreat.

“I’ll be running along now, Captain. I still don’t know if it’s a good idea not to tell my father about this, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing. See you here at six tomorrow night.”