Heartache Motel: Three Interconnected Mystery Novellas (Henery Press Mystery Novellas) (17 page)

He turned back toward the empty case and I followed a few paces behind, still admiring his technique with the little kid. What were the odds he’d talk to me? Without a connection, probably not good.

He had a short conference with the guards that I didn’t dare creep close enough to overhear, then glanced at his iPhone and walked back outside toward the main house.

I turned back to Savannah and her mother, who were standing alone about halfway down the hallway, looking at a jumpsuit.

I fished my pad and pen back out as I wandered toward them. The woman glanced at me and I smiled.

“Interesting day,” I said.

She shook her head. “Not at all what I had in mind when my momma said she wanted to come to Graceland.” She gestured to an older woman who was snapping photos of every gold record on the opposite wall.

I offered a hand. “I’m Nichelle,” I said. “I’m a reporter. Who’s supposed to be on vacation, so I can relate. What was all that about, if you don’t mind me asking?” I waved toward the guards.

She shook my hand. “Bonnie. Bonnie McCracken. It was the craziest thing. Savannah banged the glass on that display case to get me to look down, and alarms started going off and security came out of the woodwork and hustled everyone back and took the belt out of there.”

“Belt?” I jotted notes as she talked.

“One of the big gold and jeweled ones he wore onstage,” Bonnie said. “One of the jewels fell off when Savannah hit the glass, and the whole place went bat-shit. Er, crazy.”

I grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I didn’t mean to break it,” Savannah said in a small voice, and I knelt down.

“You didn’t,” I said, smiling at her. “More than that, I’m sure you’re not in trouble.”

“Santa will still come to see me?” she threw a glance at her mom, who patted her shoulder.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t miss it, sweetie,” I said, standing up.

My brain sped through the possibilities for a lockdown because of a broken costume piece and came up with exactly bupkis. Which meant there was more to the story.

I thanked Bonnie for her time and patted Savannah’s head when she smiled up at me, jotting down their hometown before I tucked my notepad back in my bag.

My Blackberry buzzed again.

“I’m working on it, chief,” I sighed, clicking it on.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” the text read. I smiled. Not Bob. Joey. It was still a little weird to get text messages from my sexy Mafia boss friend. And weirder still to feel electricity shoot from my neck to my toes just seeing his name on my phone screen. I wasn’t sure what Joey and I were doing. It wasn’t like I could settle down and pick out china with Mr. Mystery. But he sure was a good kisser, and he wasn’t asking for a commitment.

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” I tapped. “I’m locked in at Graceland with a breaking story. I must’ve been a good girl this year.”

While I was at it, I shot my mom a text to tell her I was running late. I left off the “criminals present” part so she wouldn’t worry.

Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I walked out into the sunshine, looking for Dale the security guard, and mentally rehearsing an introduction that might not get me stonewalled—or worse, tossed out.

FOUR

Stonewall

After a trip through the garden and one lap through the main floor of the house, I finally spotted Dale talking to a woman in a housekeeping uniform. She was gesturing wildly, and he was nodding and taking notes. I hung back and waited for them to finish, wishing I could hear what she was saying, but not wanting to annoy him just before I asked him for a comment.

When he dismissed her and pushed his little notepad back into his pocket, I stepped into his line of sight and smiled.

“Excuse me,” I said, putting out one hand. “I know you’re busy, and I know you don’t know me, but I’m a reporter, and I’m wondering if I might be able to ask you a couple of questions about what’s going on here?”

His smile faded, and he stared at my hand for a second before he shook it. “A reporter?” He gave me a once-over. “For who? I don’t recognize you from the TV. And how did you get in here?”

“I cover cops and courts for the
Richmond Telegraph
,” I said, handing him my press credentials. “I’m on vacation, actually, and stopped to see the mansion on my way home for Christmas. Or, I was on vacation. I seem to be unable to get away from the news.”

“That’s unfortunate timing,” he muttered, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

“Listen, ma’am, I can appreciate that you’re trying to do your job, but I also have to do mine. Elvis Presley is more than an icon. And we have very strict policies about security and media folks here.”

I grinned. “Mostly that you don’t talk to us, right? No one likes bad PR, and I get that. But so far, whatever this is doesn’t sound to me like anything that’s going to make the mansion look bad.”

He smiled back, though he looked like he didn’t really want to. “That’s not for me to decide, and my boss is on vacation this week,” he said. “I’m going to have to follow policy and say ‘no comment.’”

I nodded, clicking out my pen. “Can I get your name and title to go with that ‘no comment,’ officer?”

“Dale. Dale Leonard. I’m acting head of security this week.”

I jotted that down and smiled at him. “I’m Nichelle. Thanks for your time. You were good with the little girl out there, too. Nice, getting the high five to see how hard she might have hit the case.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You might not need me to talk to you,” he said, turning toward a back hallway that looked like it led to offices. “But thanks. Sweet kid. I’m sorry she got caught in this.”

“I don’t suppose you have any idea when we might get out of here?” I asked, stepping back.

“Not a good one, no.” He tipped his hat and walked away.

I sighed as I watched him go. He wasn’t an asshole, which was always a consideration when dealing with cops who didn’t know me. But he wasn’t going to be any help, either.

As I pondered who might be, Teresa’s voice came from my elbow.

“What in the name of
Blue Hawaii
is going on here?” she shook her head at me. “I was down in the Jungle Room and some woman came running in and said we’re being kept here. I thought she was crazy, but three other people said the same thing and then the little security guy in the dining room confirmed it. Why on God’s Earth would they lock five hundred people in Graceland Christmas week? Is somebody dead? You see anything, Richmond?”

“I did, actually,” I said. “The problem is, I don’t know what it means. It doesn’t make any sense, why they’d freak like this over a jewel coming off a belt. No one’s saying anything, really, but that’s what I have so far.”

“What kind of belt?” she asked.

“It was in a case out in the trophy hall.” I waved a hand toward the back doors. “The case is empty now. But the lady who saw what happened said they came and took the belt out.”

“And then locked the place down?” Teresa asked.

“Seems extreme, right? I don’t have all the pieces to this puzzle yet. I’m trying to find them.”

“You a cop or something, honey?”

I laughed. “A reporter. I cover cops, when I’m at home. Turns out, news breaks in the strangest places. But I don’t have a lot on this yet. You come here pretty often. You know of anyone I can talk to?”

“Hmmmm. Security?”

“Strikeout.” I shook my head.

“Housekeeping?”

Dale had been talking to a woman in a housekeeping uniform. Hmmmm. “You think?”

She nodded. “Oh, honey. The maids know everything. My sister’s been a maid at the Plaza for thirty-five years. She can tell you which celebrities are all-designer and which wear knockoffs, and who sleeps with who, and who’s on a crazy diet—the trick is getting housekeeping to trust you.”

I nodded, her words and the memory of another story tickling the back of my brain.

What if the panic wasn’t over a broken belt?

What if the belt in the case broke because it was a knockoff? And if so, where was the real one?

“Teresa, you just gave me a great idea.” I patted her arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do, but I’ll talk to you in a little while.”

“Good luck, doll. I’ll be interested to see what you find out.” She wandered toward the dining room and I went back out into the December sunshine, looking for a place to sit and think. I found a porch off what looked like a basement exit, a little bench along one side. The odor and cigarette butt litter told me it was a smoking porch for the staff. Sitting down, I took out my notes, flipping to a fresh page and writing myself a bullet-pointed list.

Dale had told Bonnie and Savannah they’d wandered into something much bigger than a “falling sparkle.”

Dale told me I had “unfortunate timing.” Which could mean he was irritated by my presence. Or, coupled with the other comment, it could mean I’d happened into the middle of a bigger investigation.

Of what, though?

The whole place had gone nuts over a broken costume piece. Which seemed stupid. Why would something getting damaged cause a lockdown?

I underlined that, because I thought I had an answer. It wouldn’t. No way an outfit like Graceland panics paying customers and risks lawsuits or God knows what else over something simple like that. Most of the pieces are around fifty years old, after all. Things break.

But a stolen one? That could cause this, especially if Dale and company had reason to believe it was still on the property. My inner Lois Lane chirped I should follow that trail.

What if someone took a belt that Elvis actually wore, and replaced it with a replica that fell apart when an excited little girl banged on the glass case? I jumped from there to the idea that the lockdown would only happen if security thought the real one was still on the property.

That was a pretty sexy story. But I needed more than my gut to send it to Bob. How could I get proof when security was freezing me out?

I tapped the heel of one boot on the concrete, so lost in thought I almost jumped out of my skin when the door to my right opened. My bag dumped onto the ground, and I bent to pick up the jumble of papers, loose change, pens, and lip gloss that bounced across the concrete.

“Missed one.” The drawl was naggingly familiar. I paused, trying to place it before I met the dark eyes of the man in the coveralls I’d almost run over that morning in the hallway. Still nothing.

“Thanks.” I smiled, stuffing a lip gloss tube back into my bag.

“You wander off the tour?”

“Just looking for a quiet place to think,” I said.

“Some kind of mess goin’ on here today.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest.

“There is that,” I said. “I was kind of trying to figure it out.”

“You a cop or somethin’?” He tilted his head to one side.

I laughed. “Not in these shoes. I’m a reporter.”

“You don’t say? Where you from?”

“Richmond. What about you?”

“Born and raised in Tupelo.” He flashed a dazzling grin, his angular face lighting up.

I eyed his gray-green coveralls. “What do you do here?”

“Groundskeeping. Not as much work in the winter as in the warmer months, so we run a smaller crew. I was s’posed to get out of here at noon. Goin’ home for Christmas a few days early. Now I’m stuck for Lord knows how long.”

“Have you heard anything about what’s going on?”

He stared at me for a long minute. “Not really. Somethin’ missin’, I think. People are whisperin’. Security haulin’ people in for questionin’.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, the coveralls pulling around his midsection.

“I see.” I stood up, smiling again. “I hope you get home soon. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

I walked laps around the fence outlining the meditation garden. “Something missing,” he’d said. I was increasingly sure someone had stolen a valuable piece of music history from that empty case. But an offhand comment from a gardener wasn’t confirmation enough. At home, I’d find a way to wheedle it out of someone at the PD. But I didn’t know anyone at the Memphis PD. Did I know anyone who might?

“Damn, Nichelle,” I muttered, fishing out my Blackberry. “Slow today, aren’t we?”

I opened my contacts and found Kyle Miller’s cell phone number. My long-ago ex was a federal agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. He was already at his parents’ house in Dallas, which I knew because they’d invited me over for caroling the following night. But he had law enforcement contacts all over the country, and the Christmas spirit might put him in the mood to share one with me.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he said when he picked up. “You on your way yet? How’s Elvis?”

“I am not,” I said. “I’m working on a story and I need a favor.” Beating around the bush with Kyle usually didn’t get me anywhere.

“Working? Come on, Nicey! It’s Christmas! I thought you were coming over tomorrow night. My mom is making white chocolate cookies and fondue, and she’s so excited to see you she hasn’t talked about much else since I got here. You know my folks love you.”

I smiled. “I love them, too. I intend to get there, but I have to finish this. I’ve found crime doesn’t respect the calendar, Mr. Federal Agent.”

“It does wait, though.”

“Not today. I’m locked in at Graceland. I’m pretty sure something’s been stolen from the trophy hall. There’s an empty showcase that used to house one of Elvis’s stage belts. Now, the people who saw what happened said a jewel fell off it and security whisked it away, but my money’s on the idea that the jewel coming loose tipped someone to the fact that it was fake, and they locked the gates to try to keep the real one here ‘til they can find the thief. Mostly because it’s the only scenario that makes sense, given what I’ve seen and heard. Of course, I can’t get confirmation of that. Security’s not talking and the Memphis PD isn’t here yet. That I’ve seen, anyway. I’m hoping you know someone who can help me out.”

“Locked in? Like, they sealed the grounds?” Kyle couldn’t keep the curiosity out of his voice.

“Hard to keep that vacation mindset when there’s an interesting case, isn’t it?” I teased.

I could practically see his ice-blue eyes roll skyward. “I just don’t want to disappoint my mom. We have an office in Memphis. Let me make a couple calls and see if I can come up with anything.”

I pumped a fist in the air. “Thanks, Kyle. I owe you.”

“Ten years worth of Christmas gifts, right?” He laughed, and something tingled in the pit of my stomach. I’d once thought Kyle Miller was the love of my life, and he’d walked back into it at the craziest time. I was looking forward to seeing him more than I wanted to admit, even to myself.

I thanked him again and clicked off the call, crossing my fingers and perching on another concrete bench, opening an email to Bob. I wanted to get the story ready to send if I could find someone to confirm my theory.

A priceless piece of music history was stolen from Graceland mansion in Memphis Friday, prompting a lockdown of the property while the investigation unfolded.

“Cop quote here,”

I typed the space-saver after the lead and paused. The only reason for the lockdown was if they thought the belt hadn’t left the grounds, right?

So either I was right and the one in the case was a fake, or someone had made off with it after they’d pulled it out of the case, while security was scrambling to seal exits and find witnesses.

“Security haulin’ people in for questionin’,” the gardener, whose name I hadn’t gotten, had said.

I’d seen Dale talking to a woman in a housekeeping uniform. And I’d heard someone shouting that morning, before everything went nuts. What had that woman said? Something about firing people if something didn’t stop.