Hound Dog Blues (28 page)

Scuffling noises distracted her from that line of thought. She froze. God. Not rats. She had a thing about rats. Memories from childhood involving rats as big as raccoons running around the commune where they’d lived for a brief time still had the power to turn her into a gibbering idiot. It was one of her phobias. Along with a fear of heights. And spiders. Can’t forget the spiders. Big hairy spiders. Jesus, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about right now, she had to think about all that scary stuff.

A shadow fell across the window in the door, and she had just time enough to brace herself before the door opened and a light flicked on. She squinted against the sudden glare. Archie gave her a disgusted look.

“You finally awake, cookie? ’Bout damn time. Where’d you hide the necklace? It ain’t in your pockets or that luggage you’re carryin’ around with you.”

He’d been in her backpack. That meant he’d found her stun gun. And no necklace.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to bring it with me?”

The door slammed shut. Disgust changed to mad. “You damn well better have it with you, bitch. We had a deal.”

“And I don’t see Cami. How’d I know you’d keep a deal if I brought it with me? I’ll tell you where it is once I see Cami.” That was true. It might be in the police evidence room by now.

Archie kicked a chair. It scraped across the floor and fell over. “I gotta have that necklace now,” he screamed. “Don’t you get it? If I don’t have that fuckin’ piece of shit within the next hour I’m as good as dead.” He pushed a hand through his hair. It stood up in greasy strands like black spaghetti. He had suspicious red smears on his chin. “And I ain’t goin’ down alone, I swear I ain’t.”

Her eyes narrowed on the red smears. Then she smelled sauce. “You ate my barbecue.”

“Damn straight. Where’s my necklace? I gotta have it
now
, chickie.”

“So you don’t have the necklace yet. What’s the big deal?” She’d started working at the ropes tying her wrists together, scrubbing her palms together and twisting. It gave a little, but not much. It was some kind of cord, like a drapery tieback. Soft and not abrasive. She kept her knees close to her chest to hide what she was doing.

“What’s the big deal?” he repeated, his voice going up at least two octaves. “The
big deal
, cookie, is that I’ve got to hand it over in an hour and I ain’t got it yet. It isn’t supposed to be like this. Shit shit shit.”

“You’re upset.” She ignored the amazed look he gave her. “I understand. Just explain to your . . . er, client . . . that delivery has been unavoidably delayed.”

He laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You’re somethin’, you know that? Your whole fuckin’ family is
nuts
. I should’a known better. But no, I had to do it anyway. Aunt Mavis warned me. I didn’t listen. Jesus H . . . I should’a listened.”

He shoved both hands into his hair and clenched his fists like he intended to rip it out by the roots. He looked frantic. There was a lot more going on here than just hocking a necklace.

Archie dragged his hands over his face, fingers leaving red marks. He looked like Barney Fife on drugs. He laughed again, sounding a little hysterical.

“I knew Yogi was goofy, but I thought he was harmless. I never thought he’d steal from me—shit, never thought he’d figure it out, much less try to pass off the fake on me. And I sure as hell didn’t know he’d shoot Aunt Mavis.”

Harley started to shiver. “You’re overwrought. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Overwrought?” he shrieked, suddenly dancing around like a puppet. “
Overwrought
? I ain’t overwrought—I’m so far past wrought I’m ready to hurt somebody.”

She tried to shrink against the side of the metal desk. He looked like he was very capable of hurting someone. Maybe he already had. There was no sign of Cami.

When he finally stopped jerking aimlessly around the tiny office, knocking papers off the desk to the floor, kicking chairs, and stomping his feet, she asked, “What’d you do with Cami?”

He stared at her. His nostrils flared out and he really did resemble a weasel, like Butch had said. “You’re somethin’, you know that? Maybe you need to worry more ’bout what I’m gonna do with you than your friend.”

“I’m a loyal kind of person. I worry about my friends. Where is she?”

“Waitin’ on you to cough up that necklace and save her ass. Where is it? I’m tired of this shit, dollface. You give me that damn necklace right now or I’ll make you wish you had.”

“I told you—”

“Now.” He got an ugly look on his face and loomed over her. She worked frantically at the cords around her wrists, hands tucked between her knees so he wouldn’t notice. He stuck his hand in her hair, jerked her head back so that she had to look up at him. “It ain’t in your bag or pockets. So where is it? You got it hid somewhere, don’t you? Tell me where it is and we’ll get it. Once I got it in my hands, I’ll let you go.”

“D-do I get a guarantee on that?”

“You just gotta take my word for it. Like I gotta take your word you have it.”

“And . . . and if I don’t actually have it in my possession, what happens then?”

He reeled. His face had gone all red while he was yelling. Now it went a pasty white. His eyes were narrow and close-set. Now, they bugged out like they were on stalks.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?”

She hesitated. He looked like he was on the edge. No telling what he’d do if she told him she couldn’t get it, but she couldn’t stall him much longer. Some creative fiction was in order. She ended up with a half truth.

“I intended to give it to you, but someone stole it from me.”

He stared at her. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed a few times. He staggered back a step or two, clutched at the surface of the desk for balance.

“Jesus. You stupid—I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe it. I’ve wasted all this time when you don’t even
have
the damn thing?”

She had an irrational impulse to comfort him, but she quickly stifled it when he lurched toward the door and gave it a kick. Silence seemed the best course of action for the moment. He muttered something about running out of time, then turned back to look at her.

“Who took it?”

“Bobby Baroni,” she said without a qualm. “Know him?”

“No.”

“Too bad. I have his cell number if you want to call him. He’ll tell you he’s got it.”

“Right. You want me to believe that, you must think I’m dumb as dog shit.”

That pretty much covered it.

She’d managed to work one hand free. If she kept her hands close to her chest and knees up to hide what she was doing, she could get the ropes off and then work on freeing her legs. No telling how soon she’d have to make a break for it. Archie looked about ready to evaporate in a puff of smoke. She could almost see steam rising from his oily black hair.

He paced the small floor, muttering things she’d rather not hear, then finally whirled to look at her with his small, narrow eyes. His nose even twitched like a weasel’s.

“I’ll just let you explain where it is, chickie.”

“Fine by me. To who?” It was amazing how calm she sounded, when inside her heart raced like Jeff Gordon’s souped-up NASCAR Chevy and her stomach did flip-flops.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

That sounded ominous. She inched back a little bit on the cold concrete floor.

“Where’s Cami?”

“You keep askin’ me that.”

“And you keep not answering.”

“Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

Oh yeah. Archie seemed calmer now that he’d decided she’d take the heat for the missing necklace. She tried not to shiver, and wondered what had happened to Cami’s sweater.

“So tell me, Archie—you are Archie, aren’t you?— just what’s your connection to Yogi?”

“Like you don’t know.” He gave her a dark look. “I never should’a done business with him. He’s a flake. A fuck-up.”

“Your Aunt Mavis warned you.”

“Yeah. I should’a listened to the old bitch. She may have been bitchy, but she wasn’t stupid.”

Unlike her nephew. “But you know Yogi didn’t kill her.”

“Sure he did. Who else would it’a been?”

You
, she started to say, but then knew that wasn’t right. Archie hadn’t killed her. He was too pissed at Yogi about it. Maybe Bates, who was probably on the way right now to get the necklace she didn’t have. Oh boy. She slid a free hand down to pick at the satin ropes binding her ankles and cutting off circulation. Her feet were numb. She had to distract him.

“You don’t think it was a home invasion? Someone who wanted to steal from her?”

“Hell, she didn’t have nothin’ worth stealing. A TV from the eighties. A car from the fifties. She got Social Security and a widow’s pension that barely paid for prescriptions. Barely enough money left to plant her in the ground.”

“There’s the house. It’s worth something, maybe. You and your brother should inherit.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t go there. We didn’t have anything to gain by killin’ her. It was Yogi. Had to be. He’s the only one had anything to lose or gain.”

“Just how do you figure that?”

“That damn stupid dog. Yogi’s crazy about that mangy mutt. If he’d just done what we said and given it back, we’d a given him his dog and none of this shit would be like it is now. Why the hell didn’t he just give it back?”

“The necklace?”

“What the hell you think we been talkin’ about the last five minutes, chickie? Hell yes, the necklace.”

She shook her head. “If Yogi had your necklace, he’d have traded it for King. Nothing’s worth more to him than that dog. Except maybe Diva.”

“That’s what I thought. Aunt Mavis said he went nuts when he couldn’t find his dog that time it got locked in her garage. I thought for sure he’d make the trade.”

“Why’d you give him the necklace if you wanted it back?” She shifted on the floor, still sitting up, her butt nearly numb from the cold concrete.

“Don’t play games. You know damn good and well he kept it, swapped that worthless crystal shit and probably thought we’d never notice until it was too late. Joke’s on him. We did notice. Or Neil did, anyway.”

It began to make a little bit of sense. It wasn’t very encouraging, but at least it wasn’t as confusing.

“So, Yogi made a copy of the real necklace, then gave you the copy instead of the real thing?”

“Ain’t you bright. I can’t figure out how he thought he’d get away with it. Greedy bastard should’a known a jeweler would see right off it wasn’t the real piece.”

“Maybe it was a mistake.”

“Right. A mistake. He could’a kept on gettin’ paid to make copies if he and Aunt Mavis hadn’t gotten into it about that damned dog. I should’a sent the dog back to him in a paper bag instead of leaving it with her. She bitched the whole time anyway, hated that dog and said she didn’t want it in her house, didn’t want anything to do with Yogi ’cause he’s crazy.”

This didn’t look good for Yogi. He’d made copies of necklaces and quarreled with Mrs. Trumble about the dog. Making copies to defraud was definitely illegal, and last she’d heard, murder was on the illegal list, too.

“So just what did you do with the copies Yogi made, anyway?”

Archie’s mouth snapped shut. He gave her a narrow, squint-eyed look, then went back to stare out the window in the door.

“I think I can guess,” she said after a couple of minutes’ silence. “You swapped them for the real pieces customers brought in to get appraised.”

Archie snorted. She frowned, thinking. It didn’t really make much sense and was too risky. A simple appraisal would reveal the truth. Unless . . . she thought about what her grandfather had said about Charles Freeman getting his wife’s jewelry appraised to sell after he lost money in stocks. There had to be a connection with the appraisals and recent rash of jewelry thefts.

She eyed Archie a long moment, then said, “So when they wanted to sell their jewelry, you stole the fakes, using your own alarm company to get into their houses.”

Archie didn’t turn around.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Archie? So, how did you manage to keep customers from getting too suspicious? Why not just steal the real stuff in the first place instead of going to all the trouble to make copies and then steal them?”

He turned back around to look at her. “Those kind of people think they’re so smart. They all got insurance up the ass, but can’t tell crystals from diamonds. Always wantin’ a bargain, to get somethin’ for nothin’. It felt good to give ’em nothin’ for somethin’ sometimes.”

“But if somebody noticed they had a fake, they’d come back to you with it.”

“Nobody never did. Neil knew who to pick. Then the economy went bust, and we had people wanting a current appraisal so they could sell the stuff. Needed money to pay for the Ferrari or a junket to Las Vegas. Shit. We took care of it. Insurance paid up on their claims, nobody ever figured out it was for crystal and not real stones, and everybody was happy.”

“Except the police.”

“Cops are never happy.”

“And the insurance companies.”

“Insurance companies are bigger thieves than we ever thought about being.”