Elvis and the Bridegroom Stiffs (A Southern Cousins Mystery)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Looks like you’re checking out more than the videos.”

  Billy winks at me, then strolls off down the aisle of horror movies and picks up Nightmare on Elm Street. Nightmare in Mooreville, is more like it. My luck has been on a downhill slide ever since somebody used my scissors as a murder weapon.

  “And what are you doing, Callie?”

  “Checking out videos” is on the tip of my tongue, but I decide this was not the right time to get on Jack’s bad side. Shoot, the way he’s been acting lately, I’m not sure he even has a good one.

  “I saw your Harley and figured I’d stop by and ask when I can get back in my shop.”

  “The sheriff makes it a practice not to keep a place of business shut down any longer than necessary. His deputies and I are going to comb through it again this afternoon. Depending on what we find, you could be back in there by Wednesday.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in days.”

  You could knock me over with a powder puff when Jack smiles. That combined with his sunglasses make me wish I had Jewel’s iced tea to cool off my neck.

  He starts toward the door, then turns back toward me, casual and bold and sexy, all at the same time.

  “Eighteen’s too young for you.” I open my mouth but he doesn’t give me a chance to show my stinger. “And I’d better not catch you again tying your shoes near the vents where I’m conducting an investigation. Got that?”

  I glare at him and snap out a salute. Believe me, he knows I didn’t mean it as a gesture of honor, either. I know body language, and I’ve got the body to speak it.

  I shoot Jack a bird behind his back, and to my mortification, Billy’s watching. “Far out,” he says. When he strolls by to check out his video, he looks me up and down as if I’m wearing a wet tee shirt and he can see clear through it.

  I’m still steaming when Billy takes off in his monster truck and Jack roars off on his motorcycle.

  “He’s cute, isn’t he?” Alice Ann’s standing behind the counter fiddling with her bangs, making them look even worse.

  “Yeah.”

  “A bit young, though they say he likes older women.”

  Shoot, she’s talking about Billy. I play along because I have enough to worry about without adding my name and Billy’s to the fodder in Mooreville’s gossip mill.

  “I wouldn’t know about that. All he was doing was tying my shoe.”

  “You’re a card!” Alice Ann rummages around in her purse till she finds a compact, then tries to pat her bangs into place. “I think they need cutting, Callie. What do you think?”

  “Just a few snips. I’ve got my scissors with me if you want me to do it now.”

  “That’d be great.”

  She drags her tall metal stool from behind the counter while I get my equipment out of the truck. This will be the perfect opportunity to find out if I heard what I thought I did.

  While I comb some of the gel out of her hair I ask her advice about a few good movies for a three-day rental. I listen while she holds forth on the therapeutic benefits of comedy. And then I casually drop in my lure, hoping to catch big fish.

  “I did Jewel’s hair this morning. I was supposed to do Leonora’s too, but she was in bed with a headache.”

  “I don’t wonder. She’s worried sick. That ex-husband of yours is grilling every woman in Mooreville. But I kept my mouth shut about Leonora. He’ll have to dig it out of somebody else.”

  “Dig what?”

  “Everybody knows she was seeing Jim Boy right up till the rehearsal dinner.”

  Everybody except me. I can’t wait to tell Lovie.

  o0o

  Elvis wants to go with me, but the theater is one place that doesn’t allow dogs. Still I have to bribe him with PupPeroni to get him to stay home without a fuss.

  I park near the theater and wave to Lovie, who is just getting out of her catering van. We like to come early, get plenty of buttered popcorn and Cokes, then find seats in the center of the theater and chat a while before they start showing the trailers.

  “Did you know Leonora Moffett was seeing Jim Boy Sloan right up to the day of the wedding?” I say and she jerks around so fast she spills part of her popcorn. It tickles me to get one up on Lovie.

  “I’d heard gossip.” She’s a little miffed. She hates to be second to know.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You know I never tell a thing unless it’s the gospel truth.”

  “Amen.” I make a praying motion with my hands.

  “Smarty pants.” Lovie crams popcorn in her mouth. “Still, I can’t picture Leonora killing anybody.”

  “I know. Especially with scissors. She’d be afraid of messing up the manicure Darlene gives her.”

  “Speaking of Darlene, how is she these days?”

  “She’s planning to invite Bobby Huckabee to her family’s Christmas dinner. The only reason Fayrene’s not having a hissy fit is because of Bobby’s psychic eye. You know how she and Mama put such store by that kind of stuff.”

  “Praise the lord and pass the Prohibition punch!”

  The theater lights dim, and we shut up to concentrate on popcorn and the screen. If anything can take your mind off murder, it’s a movie starring Morgan Freeman. That man’s voice can mesmerize.

  Afterward, Lovie and I go to Chili’s for a thick burger.

  “Lovie, I’m not so sure we ought to cross Leonora Moffett off the suspect list.”

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, she passed out in front of my beauty shop the morning of the murder.”

  “She’s the hysterical type, Cal.”

  “That’s not all. When I went to Jewel’s house to do their hair, Leonora was holed up there in bed. She’d march through Hell for a make up and a new hairdo.”

  “That’s true. She sells more Mary Kay cosmetics than anybody in Lee County.”

  “Of course, yours truly is partially to thank that she always looks like a fashion model. Listen, Lovie. I can’t imagine anything that would make her forfeit her hairdo except murder.”

  “My money’s still on Roy Jessup. A jilted fiancé can harbor lots of rage.”

  “What about a jilted lover? If Leonora was still seeing Jim Boy, knowing that he was going to marry her cousin, she must have had a powerful motive.”

  “Love,” Lovie says.

  “Exactly.”

  “We’ve got to get into her house, Cal.”

  “The funeral is the best place to observe all the suspects. The guilty party always shows up.”

  “Daddy said the body hasn’t been released yet.”

  “Neither has my shop.”

  “Didn’t you say Leonora is at her mother’s?”

  I nod at Lovie, and I don’t even have to guess what’s coming next. Sure, enough, she proposes breaking and entering with the same excitement I talk about shopping shoe sales.

  “I’m not breaking into Leonora’s house, Lovie and that’s that.”

  “You want to go to the electric chair for murder.”

  “When you put it that way…your van or my truck?”

  My truck is less conspicuous. Within minutes we’ve paid our bill and are heading from the mall toward downtown Tupelo. It’s as dead as over-permed hair on a Monday night, in spite of the fact that the New York Times once wrote the city up as one of the South’s best kept secrets.

  Except for an occasional SUV parked in front of one of the law offices on Broadway, we have downtown all to ourselves.

  “Lovie, let’s go back and get your van. I’ve got a funny feeling about this.”

  “You’ve got indigestion. That burger wasn’t cooked right.”

  “Well, indigestion or intuition, I’ve still changed my mind.”

  “It’s too late, Cal. There’s her house.”

  Lovie points to a little brick bungalow on Church Street, mostly hidden behind an overgrowth of hedges. Leonora could use some advice on gardening.

  “I don’t see how that
makes it too late to back out,” I say, and Lovie says a word I’m sure is not even in Roget’s Thesaurus. Still, I park my Dodge down the street in front of Church Street Elementary School. If anybody sees it, maybe they’ll think I’m out back, taking a late night run on the track.

  “Maybe we ought to wait until we’re in disguise,” I say.

  “Haul butt, Callie.”

  We bail out and hotfoot it down the street toward Leonora’s bungalow. We’re headed around back when a Doberman next door sets up a howling that sounds like the hounds of hell are after us. Lovie grabs my arm and drags me through a hedge full of thorns.

  It tears into my favorite sweater and tries to rip the hide off my arm. Judging by the words Lovie is using, she’s not faring any better.

  We fall to our knees on the other side of the hedge and try to assess the damage, but it’s too dark. Suddenly, I hear a noise that stands my hair on end.

  “Lovie,” I whisper. “Is that you?”

  “Is it me, what?”

  “Breathing.”

  “I thought that hedge was gong to do me in, but I’m still breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No.” I grip her arm. “Listen!”

  The heavy breathing is coming closer, and this time, it’s accompanied by footsteps.

  “Run!” I yell, and Lovie doesn’t have to be told twice. We rip around to Leonora’s front yard with footsteps pounding behind us.

  “He’s gaining!” Lovie yells.

  “How do you know it’s a he?”

  “Just shut up and run!”

  We cut a sharp angle across her front porch and to the other side of the house, barely missing a metal milk can Leonora uses to hold umbrellas. Suddenly there’s a loud crash. Our pursuer didn’t get so lucky.

  We sprint toward the back yard, hoping to escape though the gate, but it’s bolted and locked. Meanwhile, whoever is chasing us has disentangled from the milk can and is now gaining speed around the house.

  “The hedge,” Lovie yells, and I don’t need any encouragement to plunge back in and get ripped to shreds.

  We don’t stop running till we’re back inside my truck. I lock the doors and slam into gear.

  “Wait,” Lovie says. “Let’s see if anybody comes out of Leonora’s yard.”

  “Are you crazy? If I’m going to get killed, I don’t want my hair to be full of briars and leaves.”

  While we’re waiting, I asses the damage under the streetlight. My hair is a mess, my sweater is torn and my arm has a scratch that stings like a red wasp but is small enough to be covered with a large sized bandage.

  “Do you see anything?” Lovie says.

  “No. If he’s smart he’s not coming out until we leave.”

  “Or she.”

  “You could be right, though what on earth would the killer be doing at Leonora’s house in the pitch black dark?”

  “Maybe she’s the next victim,” Lovie says, which sets off alarm bells.

  “Let’s get out of here, before we’re the next victims.”

  o0o

  After we retrieve Lovie’s van, I’m only too happy to head home to Mooreville. Picturing a nice hot bath and some soothing ointment on my wound, I climb down from my truck and up my front steps.

  “Been waiting for you, pretty lady.”

  I jump a mile. A shadow rises from my front porch swing, lurches forward and drapes himself all over me.

  “Holy cow! Billy Jessup. And you’re drunk.”

  “It was fun. Do you know how to have fun, Callie, Callie, Carolina Jones?” He’s yodeling my name, and if I’ve no doubt they hear him all the way to Gas, Grits and Guts. By tomorrow morning, Fayrene will have posted the news all over town.

  “Can you stand up by yourself, Billy?”

  “More fun with you.”

  “Here.” I prop him against the wall. “Stay right there. I’ve got to unlock my door.”

  The minute I get my door open, Billy peels off the wall and launches himself onto my sofa. “Come over here, Nothing Could Be Finer Than To Be In Carolina.”

  He’s singing again at the top of his lungs, and I feel my cheeks burning. Too late, I realize I should have used my cell phone to call Roy Jessup the minute I found his nephew.

  I fling my purse in the general direction of a chair and miss. Everything in it spills onto the floor, including my favorite lipstick, which rolls under the piano.

  “Well, shoot.” Now I’ll have to get on my hands and knees to fish it out. “Don’t you move a muscle, Billy. I’m going to get my lipstick and then I’m going to make a big pot of coffee for you.”

  I’m crawling around on my all fours with my head under the piano bench and my backside saluting the breeze when I hear footsteps, followed by a voice I could pick our of thousands.

  “Cal, if this is fun and games, can I join in?”

  I rise up so fast I whack my head on the underside of the piano bench. Jerking my sweater over my wound, I put my hands on my hips. But looking stern is hard when your hair is sprouting leaves.

  “Jack, how did you in?”

  “The door was wide open.” Jack swings his glance from me to Billy, who has been a busy little boy while I was crawling around on the floor. His shirt and one of his socks are on the coffee table, and he has one foot in the air taking off the other one.

  “Put your clothes on, Billy.” Jack doesn’t even glance in the boy’s direction. As he stalks toward me, it’s all I can do to keep from dropping back down to hide under the piano bench. He grabs my elbow and marches me into the kitchen like a common criminal.

  In the morning I’ll think of a dozen brilliant but scathing remarks, but in the heat of the moment I am as flat and mousey as Fayrene’s hair before I get ahold of it.

  Jack backs me against the refrigerator, then leans down so close to I can see a muscle working in his jaw.

  “That boy is underage and off limits. You got that, Carolina Jones?”

  Nothing jumpstarts my brain cells quicker than false accusations. I put both hands on his chest and shove so hard I almost budge him.

  “Even hardened criminals are considered innocent until they’re proven guilty.”

  “The evidence is proof enough for me. Billy is half naked on your couch and you’re wallowing around on the floor flaunting that cute little backside of yours.”

  “Jack Jones, if you don’t know any better than to convict a person based on circumstantial evidence, then you’re in the wrong business.”

  He releases his hold on me, then steps back and bangs his shin on my bar stool. I escape to the sink, but have to squeeze by him. No kitchen is big enough for two angry people trying to get away from each other.

  I could set Jack’s mind at ease with the truth, but I figure he deserves to suffer a while.

  “And just what are you doing at my house this time of night, anyhow?”

  “I’m the one asking questions, Callie.” He plucks a few leaves out of my hair. “What are you doing with that underage kid?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? And for your information, he’s not underage.” I swear, Jack brings out the worst in me. I don’t know why I ever married him. If he keeps on acting like I’m Mooreville’s Most Wanted Woman I’m liable to give up all desire for him – even the desire to give him a good haircut.

  “I’m asking you.”

  We face off like two sparring politicians. If he wants to play tough cop, then I’ll play clammed-up suspect.

  “Mr. Jones?” Bobby suddenly appears in the doorway, wearing his shirt, thank goodness. “She didn’t know I was coming. And we didn’t do anything.”

  “Is that the truth?” Jack’s looking to me for an answer, but I’m not about to give him the satisfaction. Anybody who goes around falsely accusing people deserves to squirm.

  “Scout’s honor,” Billy says, and he actually raises his right hand. I could slap him. “She’s a hot chick, but I don’t think she goes for me.”

  Jack puts a hand on Billy
’s shoulder. “Go wait on the front porch.”

  “My truck’s on the street.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive. I’m calling your uncle.”

  The exchange between them redeems Jack some, but not enough to soften me completely. I stand with my back against the kitchen sink until I hear the door shut behind Billy, then I turn around to get myself a drink of water. Ordinarily I’d have offered Jack some too, but he can go thirsty for all I care.

  “Callie, I came by to tell you that we’ll be through with your shop tomorrow. You can have it back Wednesday.”

  I don’t even say thank you. There’s nothing like being a victim to make a person surly. I just hope my personality alteration is not permanent.

  Jack reaches in his pocket and pulls out a plastic bag with a small shiny object.

  “Do you know anything about this?”

  “It’s a rhinestone hair clip.”

  “Do you know who it belongs to?”

  It looks like the one I’ve seen in Lovie’s hair, but wouldn’t Jack have a field day if I told him it belonged to my cousin?

  “It could belong to any one of my clients. It’s just an ordinary hair ornament.” The fact is, I haven’t seen a single one of my clients except Lovie wear such a thing. “If you’ve finished grilling me, I’d like to go to bed now.”

  “Callie, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re the one who killed Jim Boy. For one thing, you lack motive.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “I guess so. I was out of line about Billy.”

  “Yes, you were. You ought to learn to trust people.”

  He reaches for my hand and sees the angry scratch on my arm about the time I remember that I’m trying to hide it from him.

  “What is this?”

  “What does it look like?”

  We glare at each other a while, and then Jack Jones smiles at me in a way that’s sad and sexy and sweet all at the same time. Bending over, he kisses the reddened welt.

  “Carolina Jones, what am I going to do with you?”

  Take me to bed is on the tip of my tongue. Fortunately, he gives me this look and then turns to leave.

  “I’ll see myself out,” he says, and I let him.

  I don’t even race to the window to watch him ride off on that Harley.