Elvis and the Bridegroom Stiffs (A Southern Cousins Mystery)

by Webb, Peggy

  His roots are showing, which I knew from the get-go, so I set about doing a little touchup that’s so natural, even Trixie will never notice she was about to get hitched to a gray-headed man past his prime. Was that why he tried to seduce every woman in sight: he was trying to prove to himself that he was still a young stud?

  I turn my back on the corpse to get the pancake makeup, and hear a tapping that sends me straight up. I whirl around and glare at Jim Boy as if he’s playing tricks, but he’s lying there peaceful as can be.

  “Uncle Charlie, is that you?”

  The tapping comes again, louder this time. I peer out and notice a sliver of light under the door across the hall. What’s Uncle Charlie’s assistant doing here this time of night? It’s not as if the funeral home is overrun with clients.

  The loud tapping comes again, followed by a woman’s muffled scream. I grab my curling iron, and barrel into Bobby’s office yelling, “I’m armed and dangerous!”

  Bobby Huckabee twists around, but it’s not the look of surprise on his face that has me backing toward the door: it’s his bare butt and the pair of naked legs slung over his shoulders. I’d know those pink high heels anywhere. They’re the favorites of my manicurist, Darlene Johnson Lawford Grant. Obviously, she’s spreading around Christmas cheer and aiming to add Huckabee to her long list of married names. Over Fayrene’s dead body, according to the latest tidbit from Mama, though she did say Fayrene was weakening since both of them swear by Bobby’s psychic eye.

  “Carry on,” I say. “At least somebody’s having fun!”

  I shut the door and hustle back to Jim Boy. I ram my hand over my mouth and shake so hard trying to hold back my laughter I’m about to burst a bladder. Holy cow!

  I hurry into the bathroom, and when I get back there stands Lovie, holding two cups of hot chocolate. I jump straight up.

  “What’s wrong with you, Cal?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” I grab a cup of hot chocolate and we both sink onto the sofa. “Where’s Uncle Charlie?”

  “In his recliner. I said I’d bring the chocolate.” She takes a big slug. “I need this. I’m at a complete standstill with Rocky, and I don’t have a clue how to proceed.”

  “Just let it unfold, Lovie. He’s a quiet, old-fashioned man.”

  “If you tell me that one more time, I’m going to scream.”

  “Go right ahead. I’m good with it, and Jim Boy won’t say a word.”

  “Cute, Cal. What I need is a man’s advice.”

  “Could be. Ask Uncle Charlie. He’s fond of Rocky.”

  Lovie says a word that would bleach Jim Boy’s newly darkened roots.

  “Did you find out anything today, Callie? Tell all.”

  With Jim Boy lying there only half done, I proceed to give Lovie a blow by blow account of the day, including Leonora’s pregnancy bombshell. I tell her everything except what I saw across the hall. Some things just ought to remain sacred.

  Chapter Seven

  Too Many Confessions, Too Much Wine, and Too Little, Too Late

  It’s raining again Wednesday. Not that I have time to notice. With my shop finally open again and Jim Boy’s funeral one day away, not to mention that everybody wants to look good for the holidays, I’m so busy I hardly have time to look out the window.

  If rumors are correct, every one of Jim Boy’s mistresses (I won’t name names in order to protect the guilty) troop through my shop to get a fresh style for the funeral. Most of them go back to use the tanning bed, too, as if he’s going to sit up and take notice. I’m good with the deceased, but I’m not that good.

  When I take a ten-minute break around one, I shut myself up in my office and call Lovie.

  “Lovie, Jim Boy’s mistresses are trotting in and out like I’ve got a swinging door.”

  “Did you pump them for information?”

  “I didn’t get a chance. It’s been Grand Central Station here today. Everybody’s coming in for cute hair and nails and the latest horoscope reading.”

  “Maybe I ought to come out and let Darlene read my horoscope.”

  “Get serious, Lovie.”

  “All right. I’ve got news on the murder front.”

  “What kind of news?”

  “Oops! My oven timer just went off on. I’ve got to go before I burn the funeral reception cheese straws. I’ll tell you this evening.”

  She hangs up and leave me standing there dying of curiosity.

  When I leave my office I notice Alice Ann coming out of the tanning bed wrapped in her towel. She reaches for her clothes.

  “Are you leaving already, Alice Ann?”

  “I’m in a hurry. I’ve got something very important to do before tonight’s visitation at the funeral home.”

  I guess that explains why she forgot to turn over in the tanning bed: everybody has Jim Boy on the brain. Or does she have more on her mind, such as not getting caught for murder?

  “‘Bye, Callie. See you tomorrow.”

  Normally I’d call her back and point out her error, but under the circumstances I let her go out with a tanned front and a pale back. Maybe her zebra appearance is just the clue Jack needs to crack the case.

  And speaking of Jack, I’m still wrestling with whether to tell him about Leonora’s prenatal vitamins – among other things. Of course, they aren’t proof of pregnancy, but they came mighty close.

  Maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow at the funeral. If he doesn’t get my hackles up first.

  o0o

  By the time I get back home, I’m starving. When I park, my mouth is already watering for some of Mama’s leftover peach cobbler. I race inside and start toward the kitchen when I hear voices.

  Grabbing a fireplace poker, I inch toward my kitchen without saying a word. If somebody’s stealing my Christmas cobbler, he’d better get ready to pay the consequences.

  “Mum’s the word, Elvis. Callie’s liable to be mad over this.”

  Holy cow! It’s Lovie and Elvis, caught red-handed. No need to ask how she got in. Lovie has a key to my house. In case I die too young in my sleep, I don’t want the coroner to have to break down my door to get in.

  “What will I be mad about?” As if I have to ask. Remnants of Mama’s peach cobbler are all over Elvis’ muzzle, and Lovie’s not looking too innocent, herself.

  She glances at the table where Mama’s Tupperware dish sits, empty as last year’s bird nest.

  “You ate all of Mama’s peach cobbler? How could you eat every bite?”

  “It was delicious, and I was starving.”

  “I seriously doubt that, Lovie.”

  “So was Elvis. Poor guy. Home alone all day with nothing but that dumb spaniel to talk to.”

  “Don’t encourage him. His ego is big enough already.”

  I stomp to the refrigerator and take out some ham that’s iffy, a nearly empty jar of mayonnaise and a head of lettuce on its last legs.

  “Looks like it’s time to go grocery shopping.”

  “Hush up, Lovie. I’m still mad at you.”

  “You won’t be when you hear what I found out today.”

  I put my pitiful food remnants on some bread going stale then sit down at the table.

  “Okay, you’re got my curiosity aroused. What did you find out today?”

  “Leonora’s pregnant.” Lovie beams as if she’s just discovered a cure for split ends.

  “Holy cow, Lovie. I’ve already told you that. I saw her prenatal vitamins.”

  “Yes, but did you see her go to the ob/gyn today, and do you know who drove her?”

  “Who?”

  “Alice Ann Street.”

  “How do you think that’s significant?”

  “Don’t just sit there eating stale bread and overripe ham,” Lovie says. “Let’s get to Daddy’s funeral home for the visitation and see if we can find out.”

  o0o

  Eternal Rest Funeral Home is on Jefferson Street, one of the loveliest old streets in Tupelo. Most of my favorite
buildings are on it – the library, an amazingly beautiful old Presbyterian church, some charming 1930’s homes that were turned into business establishments such as restaurants and a bed and breakfast inn. Uncle Charlie was lucky to get such a fine location.

  Lovie and I are among the first to arrive, which is only natural considering she’ll have to set up for the reception after the funeral and I’m in the one responsible for a beautiful presentation of the newly departed. Mama’s already here, too, probably passing out brochures for her Everlasting Monuments, hoping the family will come by for a stone that says, Jim Boy’s breaking hearts in heaven.

  The sheriff’s car is there, too, along with the silver Jag Jack drives when he needs to ditch the bad boy on a Harley image.

  I’m not about to be daunted by Jack. Dressed in a blue wool suit with a short skirt and a black pair of Stuart Weitzman boots with four inch, kick-ass heels, I waltz in with a trail of Jungle Gardenia wafting behind me. I hope it melts Jack’s badge. If he has one. I don’t even know if Company men carry them, which is one of things I worry about. How could I have married him in the first place, knowing so little about him? And even if the sight of him makes me go up in flames, how can I ever tie the knot with him again?

  I try to sashay right past him, but he puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t go listening at vents tonight, and don’t get in my way.”

  “You stay out of my hair and I’ll stay out of yours. Though, to be frank about it, you need a good haircut. Stop by the shop sometime and I’ll fix you up.”

  “That might be dangerous.”

  Is he kidding me? It’s hard to tell. But I have more important things on my mind than sparring with him, namely finding out exactly how much Alice Ann knows. If she knows Leonora is pregnant, will she also know if her best friend killed Jim Boy?

  Or maybe Alice Ann helped her do it. It’s the sort of thing Lovie and I would do. Plus, Jim Boy was a big man, not all that tall (he was only five foot eight), but barrel-chested and thick through the shoulders. Could one woman have overpowered him, or would it have taken two?

  “I could get scalped,” Jack adds.

  “It might be an improvement.” I wink at him, deliberately playing with fire, and then follow Lovie toward the back to find Uncle Charlie. And believe me, I swivel my hips all the way. I’m not above a little flirtation when the opportunity presents itself. And lord knows, it rarely presents itself in Mooreville, Mississippi. Or Tupelo, either, for that matter.

  I find Uncle Charlie in the break room with Lovie. She’s already eating the cake she made for the reception.

  She cuts a slice and hands it to me on a paper napkin. “Here have some.”

  “It’s the least you can do, considering you ate all my peach cobbler.”

  Besides, after the supper I’ve had, the cake is manna from heaven.

  “I had an extra cake and carried one by Jack’s apartment.”

  “You were at Jack’s apartment and are just now telling me about it?”

  “Yes. I went before I came to see you. Of course, I knew you wouldn’t approve, so I waited till I had witnesses before I told you.”

  Only the guilty prattle on like that, and believe me, Lovie has guilt written all over her face. What was she doing over there? Helping him hatch a plan to get me back? Or laying some groundwork for herself in case I ditch Jack once and for all? Holy cow! Lovie knows how I feel about Jack. Heaven knows, I’ve sat on her couch extolling his virtues plenty of times.

  Though from what I’ve seen lately, he could use a crash course in charm school. And speaking of charms, Lovie’s just took a powder.

  I throw my uneaten cake into the garbage can, and then leave my former best friend standing there in a blue dress that doesn’t do a thing for her complexion.

  I hurry to the bathroom so I can regain my composure in private.

  Just my luck, somebody’s in the stall, and judging from the Crystal Angel polish on her toenails, I think I know who it is.

  She confirms my suspicions by saying, “Who’s out there?”

  “It’s just me, Leonora.”

  She bursts out of the stall and throws her arms around me, not sobbing, thank goodness, but obviously shaken.

  “I’m not doing so well.”

  “I’m not doing too hot, myself.” I dig into my purse for one of the moist towelettes every woman who believes in being prepared carries (that would be me), and then dab my flushed face.

  “What’s wrong, Callie?”

  “Nothing that can’t be cured with a good long sweat in my sauna and a glass of Prohibition punch.”

  “I wish that’s all it would take for me.”

  In spite of the fact that I’ve just lost my best friend and my almost ex-husband in one fell swoop, I get a bright idea that could save Leonora and me both.

  “Look, Leonora, if you’re not doing anything later tonight, why don’t you go back to the beauty shop with me? We’ll sit in the sauna and sip wine and solve the world’s problems.”

  I know this is an offer almost too good to resist. Nothing bonds women faster than mutual problems and the prospect of talking about them. If I use the right amount of finesse, I might coax Leonora into confessing the murder. Wouldn’t it be better for her if she turned herself in, than if she waited around to be arrested?

  “That would be good, Callie. I really need to talk to somebody smart like you.”

  “Great. I’ll see you at the shop around nine. That’ll give us time to go home and change first.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Chin up, Leonara. Go out there with your head up, and we’ll figure something out this evening. Okay?”

  “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.”

  It’s nice to know that some people feel that way. I spot the two notable exceptions down the hall in the break room, Jack with his back to me, bending way over to laugh at something Lovie said. Far be it from me to go and find out. I have other fish to fry. Namely, the Memphis woman.

  I can just picture her – long hair dried out with too much bleach in the wrong color, collagen enhanced lips, lipo-suctioned hips and breast implants. Somebody with the IQ of a summer squash. If she has anything to tell, it won’t be hard to trap her into talking.

  Jewel is standing at the door to the viewing room with her freshly colored roots, talking with her sister-in-law Mabel, while Trixie stands in front of the casket between a man leaning on a cane and a mousey looking woman wearing glasses too big for her skinny face and a pair of ugly shoes. Brown with clunky heels, which says it all. The only thing stylish about her is her expensive silk suit.

  “Who’s that at the casket with Trixie?” I ask Mabel.

  “That’s Jim Boy’s father and his second wife.”

  The Barbie doll. Boy was I wrong! I glance around the room looking for a strange face, another Memphis woman, but all I see are friends of Trixie. The twins from Atlanta are sitting side by side on the sofa wearing matching outfits in taupe that wash out their faces; Alice Ann is standing by the lamp looking like she’s waiting for somebody (probably Leonora), and Roy Jessup, who is trying to blend in with the potted ficus tree, is checking out his ex-fiancé.”

  “Are any more of Jim Boy’s friends here from Memphis?” I make my remark in an off-hand sort of way, but Mabel and Jewel have more on their minds than my skullduggery.

  “They’ll be here tomorrow for the funeral,” Jewel tells me, and then she spots Leonora and goes off to join her daughter.

  Mabel takes my arm.

  “Come on, Callie, let me introduce you to Trixie’s in-laws.” When she catches her error, her face turns pink. “Oh dear…What if Trixie had heard that?”

  “She didn’t.” I pat Mabel’s hand. “You’re going to be all right.”

  My prediction comes true, because she sails through the introductions like the Southern lady she is, which lets her off the hook for murder, as far as I’m concerned. I’d discuss it with Lovie if I were speaking to her.

  It turns out wife number two, Sylvia Si
mms Sloan, is a brain surgeon. But I was right about the personality. After three minutes we both run out of steam, and I excuse myself so I can circulate and watch the suspects. Preferably as far away from Lovie and Jack as I can get.

  I ensconce myself in a wing chair in quiet corner of the room and make mental notes as the crowd mills about. Which one killed Jim Boy?

  “Eavesdropping?” Jack has sneaked up on me, as usual.

  “Yes. Snooping, too. You can’t keep a bad girl down.”

  “Find out anything interesting?”

  “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Is that so?” He lifts an eyebrow, which I would have considered sexy BLPV (before Lovie’s perfidious visit). Then he gives me the once over, spending enough time on my legs to make me sweat. Of all the nerve! Conspiring with one woman on the sly, then flirting with another (namely, me). If he thinks I’m going to flirt back, he has another think coming. I’m not that kind of girl. I’ll leave the back-stabbing to Lovie.

  “Would you excuse me, I have to go take a count of ugly hairdos.”

  I’ve seen all I need to see at the funeral home. It’s nearly closing time anyhow, and I want to get back home and into sweats before my meeting with Leonora.

  I go looking for Uncle Charlie, being careful to avoid Lovie. She’s back in the break room presiding over the cake in that dress that’s the wrong color. Ordinarily she’d have been all over the funeral home talking to everybody. She’s outgoing that way. No doubt she’s trying to keep out of my way as much as I’m trying to keep out of hers.

  “Callie, let me explain,” she says.

  “I don’t care to listen.”

  I hurry off and find Uncle Charlie in his office with his shoes off and his sock-feet propped on his desk.

  “I just popped in to say goodbye.”

  “Sit down, dear heart. Talk to me.”

  “I can’t, Uncle Charlie. I’m meeting somebody at the beauty shop.”

  “It’s probably better this way. You and Lovie will work things out without an old man’s interference.”