Authors: Virginia Brown
“Cosell,” Harley corrected. She politely refrained from pointing out that Cosell had been dead since 1995, and that Charlie Shipley hadn’t died until 1999 as she tried to guide her back to the subject. “So Mrs. Trumble didn’t have any other relatives?”
“A sister. Married twice. She moved to Michigan years ago, but her boys used to come for a visit fairly often. They were older than you two by about five or six years, I guess. Always rather scrawny young’uns, with close-set shifty eyes that reminded me of little weasels. Bless their hearts. More pie, Harley Jean?”
Harley shook her head. “Thank you, this pie is just so wonderful I could eat three pieces, but I’m about to bust. I suppose her sister is down here seeing to the funeral details?”
“She’s in ill health the last I heard, but her boys live down here. They moved back a year or so ago, I think.”
“Really.” Harley thought about her next question a moment, and then said, “That must have been a comfort to Mrs. Trumble, having relatives close by.”
“It should have been. Archie got to coming by fairly often last time I talked to her. I saw him a few times. Still scrawny and shifty-lookin’ but polite enough.”
Scrawny? Shifty? That fit. “Archie—I don’t think I remember him. What’s his last name?”
“Don’t get me to lying, Harley Jean. I do good to remember my own last name.” She paused so they could assure her that her memory was like it always was, sharp as a tack, then said brightly, “His brother’s name is Bill, I think. Maybe Bob. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. I ran into Archie not long ago, he seemed in an awful hurry. No time for conversation these days, people just running here and there and everywhere like they have good sense, but never seem to get anything done. I remember—”
“Does Archie drive a new black car?”
“Lordy no, he drives some kind of shabby piece of junk that smokes like a crop duster. I don’t think he’s doing near as well as Mavis claimed, though he always seemed to have lots of money on him. Had a wad of bills big enough to choke a mule in his pocket, she said. Not that she was given to lying, but I’m willing to bet he got that money selling drugs or something. He didn’t look the type to do an honest day’s work. Bless his heart.”
It was a bit disappointing that the nephew didn’t have a black car, but that didn’t rule him out. He could work for the warehouse where it was registered. A man who’d flash a wad of cash to his elderly aunt probably had a few character defects that might lead him to a life of crime. Like jewelry theft, for instance.
When they left Mrs. Shipley’s house, after hearing gossip about the teenage girl down the street, the Anderson’s divorce, and the various people who visited that good-looking Bruno Jett, it was nearly five in the afternoon. Douglass Street residents would be arriving home from work soon, those who still had jobs and weren’t retired. Or undercover cops.
Harley hoped Morgan didn’t look out his darkened front window and see her with Cami. He was a complication she didn’t need right now. Mrs. Shipley had given her some ideas to think about. Would Yogi have known the nephew well enough to let him leave some jewelry in his workshop? Why would Yogi still be speaking to Archie if Mrs. Trumble had a restraining order out on him? It made more sense that Morgan or someone he knew had left it there. Then again, none of this made much sense.
Her hope that Morgan wouldn’t see her died a swift death once outside. He leaned against Cami’s car, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses hiding his eyes. How unfortunate.
“God, who is that?” Cami breathed.
“Don’t ask.” Black tee shirt and tight jeans carried a powerful punch.
Morgan didn’t move when Harley reached the car, and since he blocked her access to the door, she had to speak to him. “Move, please.”
“We need to talk.”
Harley narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so, Mister Jett.”
Cami made some kind of sound halfway between a sigh and a groan. She resembled a big bug with her huge sunglasses dwarfing her face and her mouth open, staring at Morgan.
“You don’t think, period.” He had her by the arm before she could avoid it, and he pulled her to one side away from the car and Cami and possible flight. She wondered if she could do a replay of the knee in the groin thing, then decided against it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked when they stood a couple of yards away from the car, “You’re stirring up trouble.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m visiting a neighbor. When did that become a crime worthy of MPD notice?”
“Keep your voice down. I hope you kept your promise. Your friend doesn’t need to be any more involved in this than she is already. Baroni thinks you can be trusted. I’m not convinced.” How nice that Bobby had said that. She revised her earlier opinion of his faith in her. She had apparently misjudged him. Maybe she should relent and tell him about the license plate. And the threatening phone calls. She’d bet a dollar to a doughnut Archie was involved with both.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she countered when Morgan seemed to expect some kind of answer. “You’ve got your own agenda. It’s not necessarily compatible with mine.”
“I could take you in for questioning, you know.”
“But you won’t. It’d blow your cover for sure.”
“Like it’s not already blown?”
“But you don’t know that. I haven’t said anything to anyone about you, except that you’re a major pain in the ass, and your name or photo hasn’t been in the paper or on the news. You’re still an itinerant jewelry salesman, for all anyone knows.”
Morgan looked irritated. His mouth tucked in at one corner, and his jaw flexed like he wanted to say something nasty but was holding back. Such restraint was admirable. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
“Okay,” he said after a moment, “we’ll make a deal.”
“We already have one and you aren’t that good at keeping it. Why would I want to make another one?”
“There’s the Crime Stopper’s cash in it for you.”
“I’m listening.”
“Since I figure you weren’t visiting Mrs. Shipley out of the need for senile conversation, I think you’ve got a plan. Share it with me and I’ll see that you get credit for helping with the bust when it goes down.”
“I have conditions.”
“Right. What?”
“Tell me when they find Yogi.”
“You need to be making that deal with Baroni. I don’t have anything to do with it.”
“All you guys stick together like wet rice. You’ll know.”
A beat of silence went by, then he nodded. “I’ll see that you know it as soon as I do. Now tell me what you found out.”
She gave him a quick rundown of what she suspected, and she even told him about the scary phone call the night before. He didn’t like that and told her bluntly she needed to stop her damn, amateurish snooping. She disagreed.
“How’s that gonna change anything? Obviously, the guy thinks I’ve got the necklace. The only way I see out of this is to catch up with him before he catches up with me.”
“You need to be in protective custody.”
“Right. Orange jump suits aren’t a flattering look for me.”
“There’s a difference in police custody and protective custody.”
“Not too damn much. Before you get any bright ideas—I won’t go willingly or quietly, so don’t even try.”
“Figures.” Something that looked alarmingly close to a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “Baroni says you’re as stubborn as a goat.”
“Bobby has vast experience with goats, so he should know.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
She took a step back. Best not to get too close to Morgan. He could be tricky. “Cami’s waiting on me. We need to go.”
“Would it do any good to tell you to go someplace safe and stay there?”
“Probably not, but I appreciate the effort.”
“I could insist.”
“You could, but you won’t. That’d cause a scene and attract a lot of unwanted attention.”
“We’ve already done that. If Mrs. Shipley hangs any farther out that window she’ll end up headfirst in the hydrangeas.”
That was true. “She’s far enough away that she can’t hear anything, but that won’t stop her from making stuff up. She’s already dying to know more about you anyway.”
“I got that impression. Hold on—” He put out a hand when she took another step away and caught her by surprise. “Just for show,” he said, and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was, in her experience, a pretty hot kiss by any standards.
It left her a little rattled when he finally let go, so that she probably looked starry-eyed and thunderstruck. There was a hot feeling in the pit of her stomach and her knees were rubbery. Blinking at him, she wanted to say something smart but could only stare. He winked at her, then turned and walked away.
Somehow she managed to get back to Cami’s car without falling down. Cami’s eyes were popping out of their sockets, and they just looked at each other for a minute. Then Cami said, “I think we better go.”
That was a good idea.
While Cami fed cats, dogs,
and God only knew what else, Harley opted for a shower. She felt sticky, hot, and confused. Yogi and Diva were okay, just hiding somewhere and waiting for all this to blow over. That was good. Bobby and most of the MPD were looking for them. That was bad. Mike Morgan had kissed her. That was confusing. Not so much that he’d kissed her, but that she’d liked it. She really needed a boyfriend. Celibacy left her vulnerable.
“So now what?” Cami asked when they sat at her kitchen table surrounded by sated cats and dogs licking unappetizing parts of their bodies in some bizarre after-dinner ritual.
“I honestly don’t know.” She stared out the kitchen window at a weeping willow bending slightly in the wind. “I have to go to work tomorrow. I really can’t afford to miss another day, as much as I hate the thought of taking a van load of tourists down to the barbecue.”
“Memphis in May? Good God, you’re a masochist.”
“I know. And it’ll probably rain. It usually does.”
“At least once. Memphis in Mud. I can’t believe I’m even offering, but if you want me to, I’ll go with you to help out.”
“That’s very selfless of you, but I don’t know if the insurance company would like it. Of course, you could always sign a waiver releasing them from any responsibility should there be an accident or you get bit by a tourist.”
Cami’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding, right?”
“About the waiver, yes, the biting tourist, no. I once had a kid take a bite out of my arm when I tried to make him fasten his seat belt. He was a little monster. It took all I had not to bite him back.”
“I withdraw my offer. I’m not that selfless.”
“I don’t blame you.” Harley froze when a cat suddenly leaped from the floor into her lap. It sat there a moment, kinda hunkered with all four feet balanced on both her legs, and then it curled up as if settling in for a long nap. She didn’t know what to do. Cats had never seemed to like her, and she’d returned the sentiment.
“That’s Sam,” Cami said. “He was found in the middle of Union Avenue during rush hour traffic by someone who took him to one of the rescue groups. I’ll move him if you want.”
Sam had begun to purr. He looked up at Harley with slitted blue eyes. She’d always been such a sucker for a blue-eyed man. “That’s okay. As long as he doesn’t bite, that is.”
“I never guarantee anything. Cats are like men. Fickle and prone to irrational acts.”