Hound Dog Blues (18 page)

“
The necklace
. I’ll give you twenty-four hours. Next time I call, you better be ready to tell me where it is or you won’t like what happens next.”

That sounded entirely possible. Her ears rang. Black dots danced in front of her eyes. It was just as well he’d hung up, because she couldn’t think of anything coherent to say.

“Harley? Harley?” Cami was kneeling in front of her, looking worried. “Is it Yogi?”

“No.” She let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and tried to shrug. “Some crank call. That’s all.”

No point in alarming Cami. Maybe she should rethink the amateur detective thing.

“What kind of crank call makes you look this green?” Cami asked, still looking worried.

“One of those nasty ones. I’m okay. Really. Just—surprised. It’s been a bad two days.”

“God, it sure has. Okay. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

She shook her head, and in a few minutes, Cami had popped a couple of frozen dinners in the microwave and uncorked a bottle of wine. They ate cold Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups while waiting on their healthy meals of low-fat manicotti, stuffed with three cheeses, to finish zapping. By the time dinner was bubbling and on plates ready for the table, the wine and chocolate had relaxed and mellowed Harley enough to function.

In a very short time they’d both scarfed down the manicotti, three glasses of wine, and the rest of the bag of Reese’s. Unsnapping the top button of her stonewashed jeans, Harley sat back in the kitchen chair and ignored the beady eyes watching her plate for leftovers—two cats sat on the ledge of a maple china cabinet right behind her, and three dogs hovered under the table.

“I’ll put ’em up if they’re bothering you,” Cami said, “I forget most people aren’t used to animals.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind. But maybe that’s just the wine talking.”

“Or the chocolate.”

“That’s possible.” They took a new bag of Reese’s to the den and curled up on the couch. A cat minced across the back, eying Harley warily and staying a safe distance away.

“So tell me the plan,” Cami said when they’d made a nice dent in the chocolate. Her eyes looked a little too bright.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. Maybe Bobby’s right and I should let the police handle this.”

Cami looked disappointed. “No. When will we ever have another chance to solve crime?”

“There’s no guarantee we’ll solve this one. I just have a little idea I’d like to make sure is reasonable. I’m hoping it’ll help clear Yogi.”

“Then we should do it. C’mon, Harley, remember how we used to pretend we were the old Charlie’s Angels?”

“No. I just remember when we used to dress up like Stevie Nicks. Until you wanted to be The Bangles. We gave concerts on your back deck and frightened the neighborhood dogs.”

“We weren’t bad.”

“Oh please. We were wretched. Neither one of us could carry a tune in a bucket.”

“None of the boys cared as long as we wore short skirts and halter tops.”

Harley’s cell phone interrupted their stroll down Memory Lane, and she hesitated before answering cautiously. It was Tootsie, and he said he had the info she’d wanted.

“Already? Damn, you’re good.”

“That’s the rumor, baby. Here’s what I got. Able Alarm Company installed Freeman’s security system, and he got his necklace appraised at Jernigan Fine Jewelers. It’s on Madison.”

“I owe you.”

“Yep. Bring the dress to work tomorrow.”

“Oh God. Can you get someone to take my group? I want to see what I can find out and need the day off.”

“Sure. No problem. I’ll call in Simmons. He’s always bitching he doesn’t get the good ones. A trip to Tupelo with an Elvis fan club in their eighties ought to cure his whining.”

She grinned. “I’ll bring the dress, the shoes, and a black and silver scarf to you Friday.”

“I see me as a young Liza Minnelli . . . what do you think?”

“You’ll rock.”

She hung up and looked at Cami. “It’s on. Are you sure you want to do it?”

“Try and stop me.”

Okay. Now she was committed. She just hoped she wasn’t stupid.

“Okay, tell me one more time just what you want me to say.” Cami looked determined but nervous. She was dressed in a conservative black pantsuit that made her look like a lawyer. A lawyer on speed, since her eyes were wide and dilated and looked like two Oreo cookies in a bowl of milk.

They were standing in a parking lot near Jernigan’s Jewelers on Madison. It was in an old building with a discreet burgundy awning stretched over the sidewalk and shading the windows. Once the area had been thriving, but now it looked rundown and seedy, many businesses having moved to the suburbs along with city residents looking for less crime and taxes and more room. A few stores down from Jernigan’s sat a vacant lot with spiky weeds and a chain link fence around it. A truck could easily drive through one of the holes in the fence. It looked like one already had.

“Just be yourself, Cami, but you want to get some jewelry appraised. Tell him you’ll bring it back in, that you’re worried about the rash of thefts in East Memphis. Get him talking. Be your charming best. Most of all, relax. You look like a deer caught in headlights.”

“Relax. Okay. I’m relaxed. Some.”

“Right. I’ll wait out here. Just in case I’m, uh—recognized.”

It wouldn’t do to tell her that she didn’t want to run into the guy who’d hit her in the head and threatened her on the phone. In fact, she intended to tell Bobby about it once he stopped acting like a jerk and could talk to her without yelling. The last call of the night had been him, and he’d been mad that she hadn’t hung around her apartment waiting on him. So mad, she hadn’t felt like telling him where she was staying and ended up hanging up on him.

Scrunching down in Cami’s car, a dark green Saturn coupe blessedly free of cats if not cat hair, she put on a pair of big sunglasses and tried to look unobtrusive. She wore a Memphis Redbirds baseball cap to cover her hair, the pair of jeans she’d been wearing the past twenty-four hours, and a shirt borrowed from Cami that had a Confederate flag and slogan, Dixie, Old Times There Are Not Forgotten. No doubt inspired by the Eaton family, who’d never figured out that some times should be forgotten.

Sitting in the hot car with the sun beating down and making a glare on the windshield, she squinted at a black car that pulled up behind Jernigan’s. A Lincoln, maybe, or a Cadillac. Something long and expensive. She remembered a very similar car parked in Mrs. Trumble’s driveway. Hair stood up on her arms, and she was sure her eyes were bugging out like a cartoon character’s. If a skinny greaser got out, she was going to drag Cami from the shop and they were going to get the hell out of there and go straight to the West precinct.

But a tall man in a dark, expensive suit and narrow sunglasses emerged from the car. He went in the back door of the jewelry shop. Harley sat still and sweated for several heartbeats. The license plate on the car in Mrs. Trumble’s driveway had been one of those personalized ones and had started with GR8. She should have paid more attention, but it hadn’t meant anything to her at the time. Now it did.

Before she chickened out, she opened the Saturn door and got out, walking in the shadow of the narrow alley between buildings. If it was the same car, she’d tell Bobby. She’d give him the plate number and let him apologize for being such an asshole. Humility would be good for him, as he had never, in her experience, had a humble moment in his life.

Gravel and crumbled concrete crunched beneath her feet, sounding much too loud. The alley stopped in the small parking lot that held only one other car besides the black one. It was a new Lincoln, she saw when she got closer. Acting as if she was just taking a shortcut between Madison and Monroe, she ambled leisurely past. A few houses squatted dispiritedly on the other side of the street, some with windows boarded up, two undergoing remodeling. She had the eerie feeling that someone was watching her, so she tried to look inconspicuous when she glanced toward the rear of the Lincoln at the plate.

GR8LIFE jumped out at her. Her heart thudded like a jackhammer. Hot damn. It was the car she’d seen in the driveway, even if it wasn’t the greaser who’d attacked her. She somehow made it the rest of the way down the block, turning on Willett to make a complete circle. When she rounded the corner, the Saturn was gone. That couldn’t be right. Cami wouldn’t leave her. Maybe she had the wrong parking lot.

Yep. Right lot. No car. Oh shit.

Now what?

She squinted down the street. Cars passed in a steady stream, none of them a dark green Saturn with Cami behind the wheel. Oh God. What if somehow she’d cracked and they’d done something terrible to her? If the Lincoln guy had killed Mrs. Trumble, which was likely, he was capable of killing Cami. She should never have involved her. That was dumb.

Just as dumb, she’d left her backpack and cell phone in the Saturn to be inconspicuous. A great idea that had turned bad, as so many did.

A car horn honked behind her and she jumped nearly halfway across the sidewalk. If it had been anything other than a dark green Saturn she’d probably have needed to change her panties, but fortunately it happened to be Cami in the familiar car.

“Jesus, you scared me shitless,” she griped, slinging herself into the front passenger seat before a guy in an SUV ran over them. Cami floored the Saturn and they sped down Madison.

“Take a right at the next street,” Harley instructed, “and we’ll cruise past my apartment.”

Cami slid her a sideways glance. “Aren’t you going to ask me any questions?”

“As soon as I recover from being stranded.”

“I didn’t leave you stranded. I thought you were waiting in the parking lot. I looked for you, and when I didn’t see you, I drove around the block and there you were.”

“So what happened?”

“There’s a card in my purse. The guy’s name is Neil Campbell and he recommended an alarm company I could hire to, quote, ‘protect my valuables,’ unquote.”

“Jackpot. Did you see a tall guy come in wearing dark glasses and an expensive suit?”

“No. But Campbell went into the back to talk to someone. When he came out, he gave me a quote on the appraisal and said he’d work with my insurance company, if I preferred, but it was usually cheaper to do it on my own.”

“I think I see how they do it.” Harley turned in the seat and lifted her sunglasses to peer at Cami. “They know who’s got the expensive stuff and they tell employees of the alarm company. The guys who install the alarm know how to get past it. Then they wait until the owners aren’t home, go in and steal the jewelry, sell it, and only the insurance company loses.”

“That sounds logical. But how would Yogi be involved?”

Harley slumped back against the door as far as the seat belt would allow and shook her head. “Damned if I know. Maybe he wanted to buy Diva some jewelry and they recommended an alarm to him, too.”

“But then wouldn’t Yogi have an alarm system? And expensive jewelry?”

“Of course. And thieves would have stolen the necklace and not left it behind,” she replied. “For Yogi to have a necklace worth two hundred grand, he’d have to steal it. Unless he’d been holding it for someone. Who did he know who would leave him with such a valuable piece of jewelry? That narrows the choices down to zero.”

“Gee, what a mess,” Cami said.

“That’s an understatement,” she replied, looking at the business card Cami had gotten. It said Able Alarm Company and gave a phone number and website address. Oh yeah. She had to be right. Now to call Bobby and tell him what she knew. This was not going to be easy. He’d make it hard for her and enjoy doing it. He could be such a jerk.

Not quite happy about it, she called him. He answered on the second ring.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, this is Harley.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got some info that might be useful.”

“Meet me at Newby’s in an hour. We’ll talk.”

The line clicked and she sat for a heartbeat or two listening to dead air. Then she turned to Cami and said, “Feel like a late lunch?”

It was dark and gloomy
in Newby’s and almost empty. The in-between lunch and college classes crowd had thinned to three people. They ordered fried vegetable sticks and Cokes, and then went to a table set against the far wall. There was no sign of Bobby yet.

“So tell me about this guy Jett,” Cami said, licking grease off her fingers. She had a dab of horseradish sauce on her upper lip and half a fried zucchini strip still clutched in her other hand. “Is he dangerous?”

“You promised not to ask too many questions, remember? I can’t tell you much, mostly because I don’t know too much.” Cami looked disappointed. Harley ate a fried mushroom and tried not to notice. “It’s a bit complicated. Just ride it out.”

“Sure.” Cami dipped the rest of her zucchini into the sauce. “No problem. Ohmigod, is that Bobby?”

Harley didn’t have to turn and look. Cami looked like she was about to wet herself. “It is. Jeez, Harley, he’s even hotter than in high school.”