Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries) by Virginia Brown Page B

at their mother with something like dread and fascination. Time to find out just where she’d been that night, but not in front of them. She put a hand on Darcy’s arm.
    “I think we need to speak privately, Aunt Darcy.”
    She half-expected her to refuse, but instead her aunt nodded brusquely. “Yes.”
    Harley followed her into the kitchen, then out onto the sun porch. Bright squares of light gleamed on the tile floors, and the air smelled faintly of flowering plants she couldn’t name. But her grandfather no doubt could. His new hobby since retirement gave him far too much free time.
    Darcy turned with her back to the light, arms crossed in front of her as if she was cold. “I didn’t kill him, Harley, but I’m glad he’s dead.”
    “Well, let’s not bother with small talk. Okay. What did you tell the police?”
    Waving an impatient hand, Darcy turned to look out the glass windows into the wooded grounds beyond. “The truth, of course.”
    “Uh hunh. All of it?”
    “All they need to know.”
    “Yeah, well I hate to be the one to tell you this, but if you lied or left out important stuff, it’s not going to look too good for you.”
    When her aunt turned back to look at her, Harley was struck by how vulnerable she appeared. There was a panic in her eyes that Harley had never seen there before, not even during her most dramatic tantrum.
    “Harley, if I told them everything it’d look so much worse than it is.”
    “So letting them find it out on their own is going to be better? Look, Aunt Darcy, they’re not stupid. And they have a way of getting to the truth that can be very unsettling if you’re not expecting it. I can talk to Bobby for you, explain that you were frightened and that’s why you didn’t tell him you were at the shop right after Harry was killed, but that you didn’t have anything at all to do with killing him, and he can—”
    “What on earth are you talking about, Harley? I wasn’t at the shop Thursday night.”
    “Aunt Darcy, I saw you. Or your car, anyway. You were leaving the back way as I came in the front way.”
    Darcy went pale. Her eyes widened, and for a moment she didn’t say anything. Then her words came out in a choked whisper. “You . . . saw my car? Oh dear God. This is—what am I going to do ?”
    Just as Darcy collapsed in a boneless heap on the tile floor, the British housekeeper Janet appeared in the doorway to announce that lunch was served. Harley looked up at her.
    “Better keep hers warm. She’s a bit indisposed at the moment.”
    The unflappable Janet nodded. “Shall I ring for the doctor?”
    “That might be good.”
    There were times, Harley reflected as she took a stuffed pillow from the wicker chair to put under her aunt’s head, that she felt as if she were living in a very bad English play. All she needed now was a fussy Belgian detective to show up and solve the case. It’d certainly be preferable to the reality of her aunt being a possible murderer.

Five
     
    “Stress,” the doctor said, one of the few in Memphis who made house calls, which explained the shiny new red Porsche sitting in Grandmother Eaton’s driveway. “Mrs. Fontaine just needs bed rest and quiet for a few days.”
    “So why are you giving her a shot?” Harley wanted to know.
    He smiled as he filled a syringe. “It’s a sedative.”
    “Got any extra?” She batted her lashes innocently when he gave her a startled glance. “It seems there’s a lot of what she’s got going around.”
    The doctor looked like he wasn’t certain if she was serious or joking, and Harley didn’t offer any reassurance either way. Any man who looked like an Abercrombie & Fitch model and drove an eighty-thousand dollar car could figure it out for himself. Where did Aunt Darcy find these guys? She was like a magnet for the Smart and Shallow.
    Grandmother Eaton appeared in the doorway of the sitting room where Aunt Darcy had been taken and announced that she’d made arrangements for