Hound Dog Blues (30 page)

“No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t have anything to gain by it. Master Bates, however, had a lot to gain by shutting her up. Isn’t that what happened?”

“Shut up,” Bates snapped. “I don’t like bein’ called Master Bates.”

Archie turned back toward him. “Did you kill her? Did you kill Aunt Mavis?”

“You’re so damn stupid.”

“Don’t call me that,” Archie snarled. “I don’t like being called stupid. You did it, didn’t you. You killed her because she was threatening to go to the cops to report Yogi!”

Harley realized suddenly that it had to be true. When it became clear Mrs. Trumble could blow everything, she had to be eliminated. Panic set in. So Bates would think nothing of killing her and Cami next.

“No, you dumbass, I didn’t kill her,” Bates said impatiently. “I should have. The old bat drove me crazy the one time I met her. But I didn’t kill her. I only saw her that one time.”

“But your car was there,” Harley said without thinking. “The day she was killed.”

Bates flicked his eyes toward her. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.” Archie was glaring at Bates, and if she could just get them focused on each other instead of her . . . . “I saw it. GR8LIFE, right? It was in her driveway that afternoon. I went to talk to her, but you were there so I didn’t knock on the door. Listen to me, Archie, he’s lying. He was there. He had to be the one who killed her.”

Bates stared at her, and something flickered in his eyes. He nodded. “Right. My car may have been there. But I wasn’t.”

Harley blinked. “So who—?”

“Isn’t this cozy,” a voice said from the open doorway and they all glanced to see a bulky, balding man standing in the opening. He wore black glasses and had a rather pleasant face, but the gun he held in his hand detracted from his harmless appearance.

Christ
. Harley gulped, shifted her feet, and felt the ties around her ankles fall away. It was a miracle. Not that it’d do her any good. Not with him waving a gun around. Just who was this guy?

“Neil,” Archie said, and the mystery was solved. “I thought you’d never get here.”

“Got here as quick as I could. You never do listen when I tell you what to do. I figured you’d get into something over your head.” Campbell’s eyes flicked to Bates, who had bent to scratch his leg again like he had chiggers. “Sit up. Open your coat. Slowly. Then your shirt.”

Archie looked startled and Bates looked resigned. He slowly opened his coat and then unbuttoned his shirt. “You think I’m wearing a wire,” he said, and Campbell nodded.

“Just want to be sure this isn’t one of your setups.”

Archie blinked rapidly in obvious surprise. “But why would he wear a wire, Neil? He’s been in on everything with us. If we go down, he goes down.”

“But maybe not as hard. Someone tipped off the cops and they’re all over the shop.” Neil leaned forward, flipped up the tails to Bates’s shirt, and then nodded when he didn’t see anything. “It pays to be careful.”

Harley thought she should subscribe more freely to that outlook on life. It paid to be careful, indeed. Excellent philosophy. If she got out of this in one piece . . . well, no point in going in that direction. She’d end up paralyzed with fear and that wouldn’t help. She was already getting lightheaded. There were too many people in this tiny office, sucking out all the oxygen.

Apparently, Neil Campbell thought the same thing. He looked at his brother.

“Archie, go get that girl and bring her in here. The one you’ve got in your car.”

“But Neil—”

“Now.” The single word came out like the crack of a whip, and Archie scuttled out the door and disappeared into the shadows of the warehouse. That left just Harley and Bates looking at Neil.

Bates sat down in the chair, and it squeaked slightly under his weight. He stared at Neil with wary regard, one hand inching toward the open drawer. Neil waggled the end of his pistol.

“Both hands on the desk, Bates. You and I have a little business to tend to while Archie’s away.”

“I don’t think so.”

Campbell smiled, only it wasn’t a real smile. “You ratted us out. To that undercover cop. I know you did, so don’t bother lying. It’s time to take care of some loose ends around here. You and the motorcycle mama first.”

Harley tensed. Her hands were free. Her feet were free. But she’d never make it across the office before a bullet got her if she rushed him. And that damn paper shredder kept snarling on the floor, sounding way too loud and distracting.

“What are you saying, Neil?” Archie appeared in the doorway, staring. “You aren’t gonna shoot anybody, are you? Not for real?”

Neil looked disgusted, and Harley spoke up before he could lie some more. Speaking loudly so she’d be heard over the paper shredder, she said, “He’s going to shoot both of us and Cami, too. Just like he shot your Aunt Mavis.”

She wasn’t sure about the last, but suddenly it was the only thing that made any sense. Bates’s denial had held the ring of truth.

Archie looked at her and laughed, but he didn’t sound too certain. “He didn’t do that. Tell her, Neil. Tell her you’d never have killed Aunt Mavis.”

Campbell lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “She’s just flapping her gums, Archie. What are you doing back here? I told you to go get that other one.”

“I left my car keys in here.”

Archie walked over by Harley, and she said, “He’s lying to you, Archie. He killed your aunt, and he’s going to kill us.”

Archie unplugged the paper shredder and picked up his keys from the floor where he’d dropped them earlier, then turned to look at his brother. “Neil, where were you the day she got killed?”

The office was suddenly quiet, the abrupt absence of the noisy shredder leaving a wake of heavy silence.

Bates spoke up. “He borrowed my car that day. The one Blondie here saw in the driveway right before your aunt was killed. You figure it out, Archie, since you think you’re smart.”

Anger flitted over Archie’s sharp features, and Harley could almost see the wheels in his head slowly turning.

“Neil? Did you borrow Bates’s car?”

“Shit.” Campbell shook his head, irritation recognizable. “Yeah, I borrowed the car that day.”

Archie staggered a little, and put out a hand to grab hold of the table. “You did, Neil? But you wouldn’t have shot Aunt Mavis.”

“Not if she’d been smart enough to keep her mouth shut. Going on about that damn dog and Yogi—I was about ready to strangle her anyway. Then she said she’d called the cops to report Yogi for violating the restraining order, and she intended to tell them all about him stealing a diamond necklace from us. I had to shut her up. There was no other way.”

Archie let out a howl, and then everything happened so fast Harley had no time to think, only react. Bates grabbed for a gun in the open drawer just as Archie leaped for Neil, hands out like he intended to go for his throat. Two shots rang out, deafening in the small space, and the smell of cordite hung thick and heavy in the air as she flung herself from the chair to the floor. Seconds later, a body fell on top of her.

She pushed it off frantically, flipping to one side. Someone kept screaming but it wasn’t until Neil Campbell told her to shut the hell up that she realized she was the one doing the screaming, and she stopped.

Neil knelt down to where Archie lay sprawled on the floor, felt his neck, and then shook his head. “Damn.
Damn it!
Ah, Archie. You stupid bastard . . . damn.”

When he stood up, Harley stared at Archie, lying still and quiet. His mouth was open, his eyes staring but empty. Like windows into an abandoned house. Blood spread in a bright crimson blossom on his shirt. She shuddered and got to her feet somehow, stood there swaying, her knees wobbly. Neil blocked the way to the door, but then he turned toward the desk.

Bates lay face down on the desk. A pool of blood spread beneath him. He still held a pistol in his hand, fingers loose around it. Neil bent over him, checking for a pulse in his neck, and Harley took the opportunity to edge toward the door. Her ears rang, fear beat a swift pulse through her body, and her feet felt like heavy concrete blocks.

Neil straightened up and turned to grab her by the shirt. “Oh no, you ain’t going nowhere. I got to make this look like it was between all of you somehow . . . .” His fist tightened in the cotton fabric as he held on to her, and he chewed on his lip while he thought about it.

Harley had no intention whatsoever of hanging around to participate. Twisting agilely for someone scared half out of their mind, she ducked out of her shirt and left him holding it. She was free of Neil but not yet home free. Leaping forward, she grabbed the office door, slammed it shut on him, and shoved a heavy garbage can in front of it to slow him down.

Then she headed for the warehouse doors at top speed. Only she had no idea where the doors were located. The warehouse was huge, one of those gigantic metal structures with rows and rows of shelving and pallets of wooden crates stacked up ten or twenty feet high.

She was halfway to the back when she heard the office door smack open, and she ducked down a narrow aisle between metal shelves cluttered with merchandise. She shivered, glad she’d worn a sports bra. At least she wasn’t completely naked from the waist up, though the damn thing didn’t do much to keep her warm. Cool air made her nipples pucker. Neil coming after her made something else pucker. She tried to blend into the shadows.

Fuzzy light from hanging fixtures lit up the main part of the warehouse, but back in the storage area metal shelves soared up twenty feet or so, darkening the wide aisles between. It was like hiding in a briar patch. Merchandise like statues, tin suits of armor, vases and rolled up rugs clogged the shelves and aisles. She darted down the closest aisle when she heard Neil yell at her to come out or he’d start shooting. Like he intended to do anything else anyway. If she could just lose him in this maze . . . .

Running wasn’t as easy as if she’d had both her shoes. She’d lost one somehow, so she had a lopsided gait, one athletic shoe clomping, her sports sock sliding on slick floors. Easy enough to fix. Hopping along on one foot, she wrenched off the shoe and stuck it on a shelf out of sight. No point in leaving a trail for Neil to follow. She heard him out there, his feet slapping hard against concrete, but apparently he hadn’t seen which way she went. A definite point in her favor.

Panting for breath, she paused to get her bearings. Her hands were shaking and her knees quivered like jelly. This wasn’t nearly as much fun when it happened to her as when it happened on TV. Huge porcelain vases lined one aisle, barely visible in the deep, dusky shadows that were both advantage and curse. Neil would have a hard time seeing her in the dark, but she would have a hard time seeing him, too. There should be another door back here somewhere, a cargo door or a back exit marked with a light and one of those red signs. If she could just get through this maze of shelves and kitsch before he caught up to her, she had a chance.

She put a hand on one of the shelves to lean out and peer around a corner. Her fingers struck something cool and smooth and slick. She jerked back in surprise, and then turned to come face to face with a snarling Chinese pug that teetered dangerously forward. Unbalanced, it rocked toward her on ceramic feet, threatening to crash into her head and, worse, onto the floor. Diva’s warning about Chinese pugs flashed through her mind. Just in time, she caught the heavy ceramic dog in her arms. Good God, it weighed a ton.

Puffing with effort, she lowered the pug to the floor in one piece. Sweat dampened her face but she was shivering. Time for a bathroom. She’d never been so close to peeing on herself. Her mouth was dry, her teeth chattered, and goose bumps rivaled her nipples in size. And she was willing to bet her hair stood straight up on her head even without gel.

Feeling her way along in places, especially at the very back where the light from the front didn’t reach at all, she edged slowly around shelving, pausing to peer around the corners before moving on. The only thing she could hear was her heart pounding, sounding like native drums in her ears. Neil probably skulked around the next corner, waiting to pounce. Or shoot.