Authors: Virginia Brown
Morgan nodded. “On his leg. How do you think we got here so quick?”
“You didn’t get here quick. You took a helluva long time to get here—and Bates is dead, so you didn’t get here quick enough.”
“Thanks for pointing that out,” Bobby said irritably. “The wire stopped working after we heard Archie incriminate himself pretty good. We got enough to take him down. Neil too. Bates would’ve done less time since he cooperated. Too bad the wire failed.”
“Or he got it off somehow. He figured Neil would check him, and he did.” She bit her lip and thought for a moment. “I think Bates pulled the wire. He planned to run. Or worse. He pulled his gun about the same time Archie went for Neil’s throat.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll find out just what happened when the crime scene unit is through with their investigations. You’ll have to give your statement. Delisi can take it here, or you can come downtown. I know you’re pretty shook up.”
Bobby was being really nice. That was so . . . unlike him. She narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? Why are you being nice? Has something happened—Yogi. Where’s Yogi?”
“We were hoping you’d tell us.”
“But he’s cleared, right? Right? Bobby?”
“Look Harley, I’m not going to get into specifics with you. Yogi’s mixed up with these perps somehow, and it may not work out so well for him.”
“He’s an innocent dupe!”
Bobby glanced at Morgan, who was being very quiet. Neither of them said anything. She hopped off the stack of pallets, panic mixing with irritation.
“You can’t be serious. Didn’t you hear what Archie and Bates said? Yogi didn’t know he was committing a crime. He was just making jewelry copies for Archie. Yogi accidentally gave him back the fake one instead of the real one. That’s all.”
Bobby rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t look at her, and Morgan seemed to find the concrete floor fascinating.
“But didn’t you hear—” No, they hadn’t heard. Her conversation with Archie had been before Bates showed up. And now both Archie and Bates were dead, and Neil wasn’t likely to want to clear Yogi. He struck her as the type who’d be more than willing to share the blame with someone, whether they were guilty or not. Just great.
“So, happen to know where he is?” Bobby asked a moment later, and the look he gave her betrayed nothing but mild interest. Like she’d be fooled by that.
She shook her head. “Not the slightest.”
“Right.”
“So where’s Neil? Why isn’t he in custody? He was right here. He killed Bates. He shot at me. Where is he?”
Bobby scowled. “We’ll find him.”
“Really? How’d you manage to lose him? I’ve never seen so many cops in one place. Except maybe at the Krispy Kreme.”
“Funny, Harley. And while you’re being so amusing, we can discuss what the hell you’re doing here when I expressly told you—”
“Ah. Here comes Cami.” Harley moved away from Bobby and toward Cami, who’d come in the warehouse door with a uniform at her side. She looked pale but otherwise unhurt, and ran toward Harley. An officer she recognized as Delisi followed close behind her.
Cami hugged her tightly. “You okay, Harley?”
“Just fine. How about you?”
“Bruised, cramped, and I’ve got to pee, but other than that, no problem. What’s going on here?”
“They’re looking for Neil. The jeweler you met. I’ll explain later. I think we need to get out of here right now. You know. Find the bathroom?”
Cami caught on quick. After a glance toward Bobby and Morgan, she nodded. “Yep, I really have to go, too.”
“Ladies room,” Harley called over her shoulder, “we’ll be right back.”
“Uh, where do we need to go?” Cami asked once they were outside, and Harley hurried her along before Bobby and Morgan caught on to the fact they were going farther than the closest bathroom.
“We’ve got to find Yogi before Neil does. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“What are you looking for?” Cami’s teeth were chattering, and she hopped from one foot to the other while Harley got down on the wet pavement by her bike. Police cars crowded close to the warehouse, but it was empty out here by the fence. They just hadn’t gotten this far yet.
“The extra key. I hide one in the fender for times like this.”
“You mean times when we’ve been kidnapped, tied up, nearly arrested and almost killed? Does that happen often?”
Cami sounded dubious. Harley found the magnetic key case and stood up. “No. This is the first time. I just wanted to be prepared. Like a Girl Scout.”
“You were never a Girl Scout.”
“Even more reason. Look, Bobby and Morgan are liable to be out here any minute. Let’s go.”
“Morgan?” Cami asked as she straddled the bike behind Harley, “who’s that?”
“Bruno Jett’s alter ego. The legal side of his personality. I’ll explain it all later. Right now, we have to find Yogi. I’ll start with Eric, since he was the last one to see them.”
The University of Memphis campus, formerly known as Memphis State and still called that by most alumni and much of Memphis, sprawled over eleven hundred acres of prime real estate at four different sites. Red brick buildings spiked the main campus skyline between huge oaks, a maze of them, confusing to anyone not a student or teacher.
“So where is he staying?” Cami asked when they stopped on Central at the light. “One of the dorms?”
“No, a friend’s house, but it’s right behind the campus. I’m just not sure which street.”
“Great. You’d think we’d know everyone, seeing as how we grew up here, but nothing’s the same anymore.”
Cami had said aloud what Harley was thinking. It was an area in flux, always changing. And the chance of finding Eric if he didn’t have the van parked out front somewhere was slim to none.
“Can’t we call?” Cami asked when they took off from the light, and Harley shook her head.
“Even if I had my cell phone, it was new and I didn’t have his friend’s number entered in it yet. Just look for Vanna. It’s bound to be in a driveway. Unless the police found him and have it impounded or something.” But Bobby would have mentioned that, even if Morgan didn’t.
They cruised up and down the streets as quietly as possible, but there was no sign of the van. Since they were in the area, Harley decided to drive by her parents’ house in case Eric had gone home to get clean clothes. Or more weed. Most likely, the latter.
What she didn’t expect to see in the driveway was her own car. Wait—didn’t Eric switch vehicles with Yogi? Excitement made her hands shaky, so that she barely got the bike killed and put the foot stand down without laying it down on the curb. Fortunately, Cami knew by now to jump off pretty quickly, and stood on the narrow strip of grass between the curb and sidewalk.
“Do you think they switched vehicles again?” Cami asked, peering doubtfully toward the house. It was dark, with what looked like only a single lamp left on in the front room.
“Possibly. Either way, we have to find them quickly. Come on. If it’s Eric, that means he’s seen them, and if it’s them . . . well, we can get Yogi a lawyer before he talks to the police.”
To her surprise, the front door was locked. It was never locked. Not in all the years she’d lived in this house, nor since she’d left. Diva said it was too much like telling people they were untrustworthy. Even Harley pointing out that most people
weren’t
trustworthy hadn’t changed her mind, and since they’d never been burglarized—except for Archie—Diva was convinced she must be right. She knocked and rang the bell, but no one came to the door.
“It’s locked?” Cami sank down on Diva’s wicker couch. “Maybe your brother locked it.”
“Right. Like Eric would remember to even close it. I’ll see if the back door’s open. I can always use the dog door if I have to. You just stay here and I’ll open the door when I get in. No point in both of us tromping through the weeds.”
“Gladly. I may just nap while you visit.” Cami sagged back into the cushions with a sigh.
Navigating the windmill, metal Tower of Pisa, whirligigs, and menagerie of plastic and plaster rabbits, gnomes, and toads scattered under sunflowers and wild Vinca vines, she went in the back door that led to the screened porch. The porch held an assortment of furniture and other items, usually stacked fairly neatly to one side, but cluttered now, probably from Archie’s search. And then the police investigation afterward. Neatness wasn’t exactly a professional requirement.
The back door opened easily and she stepped into the kitchen. A chair was overturned. Archie had really torn stuff up. Diva was probably horrified, and Harley was surprised she wasn’t already cleaning up, armed with rubber gloves and herbal-based cleansers. Sometimes Diva was more like Grandmother Eaton than she wanted to admit, preferring cleanliness if not organization in her life.
“Hey,” she called as she went toward the front door to let Cami in. “Where are you all? Eric? Diva?”
They could have just left the car here and gone off with friends, of course. She hadn’t thought of that. The house was still and quiet, no music playing, only the one lamp on in the living room, no rowdy dog, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt—
A light snapped on suddenly and she turned, blinking against the bright glare. “Eric?”
“Not even close, Blondie.”
Neil Campbell. She knew that voice, recognized the slightly raspy, wheezy sound of his breathing. She froze in place. As her eyes adjusted she saw Diva and Yogi sitting on the slipcovered couch, looking out of place and bewildered in a bed of rioting pink peonies.
“Do you know what this idiot’s talking about?” Yogi asked, sounding afraid and angry at the same time. She understood completely. Having a loaded pistol waving around was enough to create that sort of emotional stew.
“Let me guess. He’s asking about a necklace.”
“How did you know that?” Yogi started to get up, but Campbell pointed the pistol at him and he eased back into the soft cushions. Diva didn’t say anything at all, just gazed at Neil Campbell with opaque blue eyes that remained serene. Maybe she was reading his aura. Or trying to send him telepathic demands to put down the weapon.
Harley tried to convey a sense of confidence. “Because he’s killed three people for it.”
Yogi made a strangled sound, and Campbell wheezed angrily. “I didn’t kill Archie. Bates did that, the bastard.”
“But you killed Mrs. Trumble. And you killed Bates.”
“And you’re liable to be the next one. You know so much, so tell me where the necklace is, or I’ll shoot the old hippie first.”
“You can’t shoot us. You can’t afford to risk the noise,” Harley said.
While she was talking, Harley tried not to look out the windows at the porch, hoping that Cami wasn’t really napping and had noticed what was going on and gone for help. Surely she’d seen the light come on. All she had to do was look through one of the windows. Even if she didn’t recognize Neil, she’d see that he had a gun. If she could just stall for time, keep Campbell talking . . . but then he waggled the gun.
“Don’t tell me what I can’t afford. Just tell me where Yogi put that necklace or I’ll shoot him.”
When Yogi started to say something, Harley cut him off. She took a step forward and that brought Neil’s gun swinging toward her. She put up her hands like she meant to surrender. Her mouth went dry, but she managed to speak steadily enough.
“I know where he puts stuff. Yogi, uh, smokes a lot. You know. Weed. His memory is bad. He really has no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Harley,” Yogi said irritably, “my memory is just fine. Is this idiot with the CIA or the IRS? He’s with one of them, isn’t he? A damn government lackey, out to undermine American values and conspire with the enemy, and—”
“Shut the hell up,” Neil said, his words rattling, like he was having a hard time getting them out. “I don’t have time for this shit. If you know where it is, Blondie, tell me.”
“I’ll have to show you. You’ll never find it. It’d be quicker if I got it for you.”
“Right. Like I’m letting you walk out that door.” His hand tightened on the pistol grip. He looked nervous, edgy, impatient. She couldn’t stall him much longer.
“Okay, okay. Since you’re in a hurry, and since I don’t want to end up with a bullet in my head or have you shoot my parents, I’ll make a swap with you—the necklace for letting us go.”
Before Neil could agree or refuse, Yogi said in a tone that indicated he’d just now figured out what they were talking about, “Necklace? You mean that piece I did for Archie? He got his real one back, so the copy’s mine, ’cause he never paid me for it after all that trouble with King and Mrs. Trumble. I stuck it in a coffee can. Is that what this is all about? A fake necklace? Damn, that’s the dumbest—”
Diva put a hand on his arm, shushing him. “Remember what I told you? It’ll be all right.”