Charlaine Harris (41 page)

MANFRED
Bernardo called us from the lobby about three o'clock, asking if he could come up. I smiled when I imagined what the staff was making of Manfred, with his metallic face.

“I wonder what happens when he goes through airport security detectors?” I said to Tolliver. He'd been reading a Robert Crais mystery, one of the earlier ones featuring Elvis Cole, and he'd been smiling to himself from time to time.

“I don't think that's a problem Manfred confronts often,” Tolliver said, but not as if he cared one way or another.

Manfred enjoyed touching people. When I answered the door, I observed that he was perhaps only an inch or two taller than I, but even as I was registering that, he leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

I didn't give him one in return, because casual kissing's
not my way. But I think I was smiling as I showed him into the room.

“Hello, Tolliver,” he said, as Tolliver rose to shake his hand. Tolliver just goggled at Manfred for a second. Manfred was wearing all black again; this time he was encased in leather pants, a sheer black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He was wearing heavy boots and a small fortune in silver on his hands, face, and neck. His platinum hair had been touched up, and his goatee matched. I wondered if all this was for my benefit, or if Manfred just loved looking remarkable for its own sake.

“Please, have a seat. I hope your grandmother's well?” I asked. I sat on the love seat, expecting Manfred to take the wing chair next to Tolliver's, but he sat down beside me.

“She's not doing real good,” Manfred said. His smile faded, and I could see he was worried. “She's having bad dreams about people in graves they weren't supposed to be in.”

“Have you been watching the news? I don't know how close you live to Memphis, but you get the Memphis news in the evening?”

“We don't watch television,” Manfred said simply. “Grandma thinks it interferes with her brain waves. If I want to catch a program, I go over to a friend's.”

“Then let us show you what an FBI agent brought us today,” Tolliver suggested, and after he turned on the television, he ran the tape.

Manfred watched silently. He had taken hold of my hand, which was odd, but it didn't seem sexual. It seemed as if he was trying to connect with some emanation I was giv
ing off. The Bernardo family must have some very interesting family reunions if they were all as sensitive as Xylda and Manfred.

“No, we're the only ones,” Manfred said absently, still focused on the television. His many silver rings were just now warming to room temperature after his walk into the hotel.

My eyes widened for a moment, and Tolliver glanced at me as if to ask me what was wrong, but I shook my head. He looked at Manfred's hand on mine, and raised his eyebrows to ask if I was uncomfortable. I shook my head, letting him know it wasn't a problem.

After the tape had run, Manfred said, “The man in the grave was the man who asked you to come here to do the reading?”

“Yes,” I said.

“So there was an old burial first, when the church was still open, am I right?”

I nodded. Manfred's eyes were very blue, and though they were focused on me, they weren't seeing me.

“And then the little girl was in there?”

“Right.”

“Then you found the man last night, when you were in the cemetery?”

I jumped, but Manfred's hand kept mine prisoner, gently but firmly.

“Yes,” said Tolliver slowly. “We found him last night.”

“My grandmother was doing a reading for you, at the time you found him, and she knows you saw the visitor,”
Manfred said. I had the uncomfortable feeling his eyes were looking right through me.

“Visitor?” I asked.

“That's what she calls ghosts,” Manfred said, and suddenly he was just a very young man again, holding hands with a woman he thought was cute, and giving her a big grin. The stud in his tongue winked at me. “Grandma uses a lot of her own terminology.”

This was a most interesting boy. He seemed not to have had much experience of the world, and yet he knew some unexpected things. I had the feeling Manfred would not be overawed or even impressed by riches or sophistication.

“Not a boy,” he said, smiling, looking directly into my eyes. The sexual tone was back with a roar. “I'm definitely a man.”

I didn't know if I was a bit excited, or if I wanted to run screaming into my room. I smiled at him.

“Grandma wanted me to tell you you'll see Tabitha's first grave,” he said. “I didn't understand when she gave me the message. Her hip is acting up too bad for her to leave home today, so she asked me to come see you. She likes you a lot, you know. She wanted to warn you. Watch out for that grave.”

As he had in the coffee shop, he bent and kissed my hand, making sure I got the gamut of sensations for the second time. He looked up at me from his bent posture. “Makes you think, doesn't it?” he said softly.

“Thinking isn't doing,” I said practically.

“Not yet,” he said. He stood, shook Tolliver's hand, and left as suddenly as he'd arrived.

“What was all that about?” Tolliver said, looking distinctly suspicious.

“Evidently, when he's touching you, he can read your mind, sort of,” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable that some of my thoughts had been fairly graphic. “I don't know if that applies to the populace in general, or to people who have some kind of psychic talent, or what.”

“But Xylda is the only one who makes predictions,” Tolliver said. “And she's added to them today. You'll be happy in the time of ice, whatever that means, and you'll see Tabitha's original grave.”

“I don't think I want to hang around Xylda anymore,” I said. “And if she reads the cards for me, I don't want to know about it. It just creeps me out.”

“What about Manfred? You want to hang around him?” At least Tolliver was smiling when he said it.

“Oh,” I said deprecatingly. “You know, he's more than a little different. I mean, you can't help but wonder, when you see someone so extreme…” Then I couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence.

Tolliver had mercy on me. “If I knew a girl with that many piercings, I'd wonder, too,” he said.

“Well, it's already mid-afternoon, and we've had a helluva day. What could we do next that would make it just one round of fun?”

“I could balance the checkbook.”

“Big whoop.”

“We could see what the in-room movie service has to show.”

“I'm sick of this room, and I'm ready to do something a little more active than watch a movie.”

“You got an idea?”

“Yeah. Let's go down to the riverfront park to run.”

“What about the reporter?”

“We'll sneak out the back.”

“It's cold and it looks like rain.”

“Then we better run fast.”

WE
avoided the reporters, but not the Memphis police. Detectives Young and Lacey were less than thrilled at our choice of activity when they tracked us down. I'd been wondering when we'd be hearing from them. I was only surprised they hadn't called the hotel and told us to get our asses down to the station.

They had on their London Fogs, their gloves, and their scarves. Lacey looked morose but resigned. Young looked resentful. Come to find out when we jogged over to them, Young had a cold. In the middle of her narrow face, her reddened nose stood out like a reindeer's, and she had a tissue clutched in the hand not occupied with an umbrella.

“Are you nuts?” she snarled. “Out here in your skintight whatevers, when it's freezing!” She made a vague gesture toward my running pants. I ran in place for a minute, slowing
down gradually. I felt cold and wet, but I also felt exhilarated, as if the chilly damp air had blown away some of the cobwebs in my head.

“I guess you want to talk to us about something?” Tolliver was doing some stretching, and I saw that Detective Young's eyes had strayed to his ass. Lacey said quickly, “Yes, ma'am, we sure do. Do you two want to come down to the station with us? At least it's dry and warm.”

“I definitely don't want to go to the station,” I said. “Isn't there a coffee shop somewhere close? Unless you're going to arrest us, going to a cafe would be a lot nicer. Maybe they'd have hot chocolate?” I was deliberately tempting poor Young, who sneezed twice in succession and applied her damp wad of tissues to her raw nose.

“There's that place on Poplar,” she said to her partner, who looked indecisive. “Remember how good their pie is?” she said, in a heavy-handed attempt at a bribe.

It worked like a charm.

Thirty minutes later we were in a restaurant so warm that the windows were steamy, with coffee in front of the men, hot chocolate in front of Detective Young and me. Lacey was happy as a pig in a wallow with a piece of pecan pie with whipped topping on a plate in front of him, and Young was almost weeping with relief at being indoors.

“Agent Koenig tells us you've heard the news about Clyde Nunley,” she said, her voice sounding nasal but at least human.

We nodded. “He came by our room this morning and
told us,” I said, wanting to be as honest as possible. I always try.

“Rick Goldman came by the station, too,” Young said, after he swallowed. He looked blissful. “Rick was telling us that he had a run-in with Nunley in the lobby of your hotel, Ms. Connelly.”

“Yes, that's true. He ended up propelling Dr. Nunley out the door. Truthfully, I think Dr. Nunley was drunk. He was very belligerent.” I hoped I looked as frank and open as I was trying to be.

“You're not the only person who's commented on that. We'll find out what his blood alcohol level was. What beef did he have with you?” Young asked. Maybe her cold medication was making her blunt, or maybe she was just tired of do-si-doing around.

“He thought that somehow, despite all his precautions, I'd gotten into his precious private records and memorized the COD on all the burials. Goldman accused me of the same thing.”

“And did you do that?”

“No, I don't need to. I'm the real deal.”

There was a moment of silence, while the detectives either thought that over, or dismissed it as another piece of chicanery on my part.

“Did you two go out again last night?” asked Young directly. “After Mr. Lang here came back from wandering Beale Street?” Detective Lacey put down his fork and gave us a look that might have penetrated steel.

“Yes, we did,” Tolliver said. After all, we'd gotten the car from the valet. There was no way we could deny it.

“Where did you go?”

“We drove down to look at Graceland,” Tolliver said. I blinked. What a good lie. Almost any tourist in Memphis would want to at least drive by Elvis's home. And since we'd just told Koenig we'd been looking at the sights of Memphis, this tied right in. Actually, we'd looked up Graceland on the laptop this morning after Koenig had left, so we'd at least have an idea what we were supposed to have seen.

“At night?”

“Yeah, we didn't have anything else to do. And we weren't sure if we'd ever be back this way again. So we drove down to Whitehaven, and we took a couple of passes in front of it. That's some place. You gotta love the gates.”

“And you're not going to go back and see it in the daylight, tour the house?”

“He's buried on-site, right?” I asked.

“Uh…yeah. And Vernon and Gladys, his mom and dad, and Minnie May, his grandma.”

“No.” I shook my head definitely. “I really, really, wouldn't want to do that.”

Detective Young sucked at her teeth. She looked as though she were feeling a bit better, now that she was warm and had finished her hot chocolate. Her short brown hair still looked lank and tired, but her eyes were showing a spark of spirit. Her partner had that happy look that sugar-loving men get after they've had something especially rich. But the pie hadn't made him smarter.

“Why not?” he asked now. “Why not go see the place they're buried?”

“You know, I connect with bodies. It might kind of ruin the Graceland experience for me.” On the other hand, it might answer a few questions. Tolliver was looking amused.

“So you see why we just drove by,” Tolliver said, picking up the thread of the narrative. “We'd already cruised around the Pyramid and Beale Street. So, we went back to our hotel.”

I was glad I'd washed my shoes off this morning, and that the hotel laundry had our jeans.

“And the Fibbie came to see you first thing this morning,” Detective Young said. I was glad we'd mentioned it, since it seemed Young already knew about Koenig's visit.

“Yes. He wanted us to know right away about the body found in the grave. I'm guessing he wanted to get our first reaction.”

“And what reaction did he get?”

“Well, of course, we were sorry Clyde Nunley had been killed, or had fallen into the grave and hit his head, or whatever really happened to him. It's never good to hear someone's dead.” Though with some people it's less bad than with others. “But it's not like we had any reason to want him dead.”

“You might have been a little upset, Mr. Lang, him man-handling Ms. Connelly like that. Specially in a public place. Specially since someone else had to help her, since you weren't there.”

Oooh. Low blow. But I thought Tolliver could stand up
to it, and he seemed to be coping, if his slight smile was any indicator. “Harper can take care of herself,” he said, which pleased me. “Even if Goldman hadn't been there, she would have been okay.”

Since that hadn't worked, Lacey tried something else. “Agent Koenig says he wants your reading of Nunley's body, and that you would like access to Tabitha's body.”

“That's not exactly what I said,” I told him. “It wasn't my idea. He thought I might get more of a reading if I tried again, and I agreed that might be so. Of course I don't want to be around the child's body again—but if you have any idea I'd be a help, I have to make myself do that.”

“I have no idea what to believe about you,” Lacey said, his small blue eyes examining me again for maybe the twenty-fifth time. “I never met anyone like you, and I swear I don't know if you're a fraud or a—I just don't know what you are.”

“Lots of people feel that way,” I said, because he seemed so uncomfortable. “Don't worry about it. I'm used to it.”

“You two have kids?” Detective Young asked suddenly.

Tolliver and I stared at her blankly.

“Us?” he said, after a long pause.

She seemed to realize she'd put her foot in it. “Sorry, I just assumed you two…”

“We've lived together since we were teenagers,” I said. “Tolliver's dad married my mother. He's like my…brother.” For the first time, I hesitated before I said those words.

“I have two,” she said, obviously wanting to get off the subject as quickly as possible. “I have a boy and a girl. If my
child went missing, I'd want every stone turned to find that child. I'd deal with the devil if I had to. I'll ask the Morgensterns how they feel about you…visiting Tabitha's body again. We'll see what they say.”

I wondered what the two cops would say if I told them I'd talked to a ghost the night before. I wondered how fast they'd write us off as charlatans. I thought again of the hard hand gripping my arm, and I had to close my eyes for a minute. How could it be that Josiah Poundstone's ghost was there? I had thought I had the whole thing straight in my mind, the whole life-after-death procedure, but now I stood on shaky ground.

I noticed the traffic outside was getting heavier, and the sky was getting darker. As we sat in the diner with the two detectives, the afternoon had drawn to a close. I had an almost irresistible urge to go back to the cemetery, to see if the ghost was still there, what it was up to. What did ghosts do? Were they there when a human wasn't there to react to them? Did they materialize when they wanted to communicate, or were they always…

“Harper,” Tolliver said gently. “Are you ready to go?”

“Oh, sure,” I said, hastily pulling my jacket back on. The detectives were standing, their coats zipped and buttoned, and from their expressions, they'd been waiting for me to respond for some time.

“Daydreaming,” I said. “Sorry.” I did my best to look alert and normal, but that's not always my best thing anyway, and I don't think I was very successful. “Maybe our run tired me more than I thought.”

Given a valid-sounding reason for my distracted state, the two cops looked a bit happier, though Lacey would never be my best friend. “You need to go back to the hotel and get some rest,” he said. “Don't go getting into any more trouble while you're here in Memphis. We'll get back with you after we've talked to the Morgensterns.”

“Right, thanks,” Tolliver said. After their car had left, we paid our part of the bill and left the diner. “What was that all about?” Tolliver asked when we were in the car and trying to make a left turn into traffic to go back to the Cleveland.

I told him the questions I'd been asking myself.

“I can see where that's interesting, and I would like to know the answers, too,” he said. “But from now on, you should have your thinking sessions when you're safe in bed, or something. You had a pretty strange expression on your face.”

“Did I look weird?” I asked, oddly hurt.

“Not strange-ugly,” he said instantly. “Strange, as in, ‘not there.'”

“Oh,” I said.

Finally, he took advantage of a hole in the ever-swelling traffic going out of downtown. We were headed back toward the river before I spoke again. “You know who I'd like to talk to again?”

“Who?”

“Victor. But you talk about peculiar, it would seem real peculiar if we called him and asked him to come to see us.”

“Yeah. No way we can do that.”

“You think since they treated us to a meal, we could invite them to a meal at a restaurant?”

Tolliver thought it over. “They're in mourning right now, and they've probably got all kinds of arrangements to make. Plus, what reason would we give? Yeah, we could insist we owe them a meal, but what are we gonna talk about? The only connection we have is the death of their daughter. That's just not enough to carry an evening, Sis.”

He hadn't called me that in a long time. I wondered if Young's comment had shaken him up, too.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But as long as we're stuck here, and I guess we are…hey, I wonder what would happen if we left?” There was a moment of silence. “We'd probably get called right back,” I concluded, “until they've decided what happened to Clyde Nunley. Why would he get killed? I just don't understand. The only thing he knew was—what could he have known?”

“What's the only connection between Clyde Nunley and Tabitha Morgenstern?” Tolliver asked. He was definitely guiding me to a conclusion. I hate it when he does that.

“They shared a grave.”

“I mean, besides that.”

“There was no connection.”

“Yes, there was.”

It was almost full dark now, and the mass of lights in the eastbound lanes was almost bumper-to-bumper. We had much easier going in the westbound lanes. It began to rain again, and Tolliver turned on our windshield wipers.

“Okay, I give.” I threw up my hands in exasperation. “What was the connection?”

“You.”