by Webb, Peggy
“You could have asked me. I give better advice than he does.”
“You’ve been in such a snit lately, I can’t even discuss anything with you.”
“I’m not going to argue over this, Lovie. He’s a pain in the rear. You can have him.”
“If I wanted him, I certainly wouldn’t need your permission.” Lovie flounces off toward the door. “Just remember this: I’m the best friend you’ve got. When you decide to come to your senses, let me know.”
She slams the door, but I notice she’s left the brownies behind. Lovie never forgets a thing, so I have to view the chocolate as a peace offering. Or knowing Lovie, a bribe. I might as well eat one.
Or two.
Or three.
Principle prevents me from eating the fourth one. I know where to draw the line.
I go into my kitchen and pour a big glass of sweet tea to wash down the brownies then I decide to call Billy while I’m still stirred up about Lovie. In my opinion sweet tea and anger can get you through all sorts of calamities.
After I gulp down half the tea, I dial Billy’s number but my luck is running low because all I get is voice mail. I’m not about to leave a message that anybody can listen to and build a whole different bunch of false assumptions.
I decide to postpone my Come-to-Jesus meeting with Billy and go to Wal-Mart and stock up my empty refrigerator as well as my supply cabinet. Though I hate the concept of miles of aisles containing everything from toe nail polish to motor oil, all stacked higher than my head, I’m not above joining the throngs who bow to the gods of convenience.
Not wanting to turn into my Mama, who would go anywhere including to visit the president of the United States in her caftan, I change into a peach colored sweat suit that reminds me of ice cream sherbet.
Guess who’s waiting for me downstairs with chocolate all over his mouth?
Elvis’ Opinion #6 on Forbidden Brownies, Cons, and Catching a Killer
If I didn’t have such killer looks, Callie would kill me.
“Holy cow, Elvis! You ate all the brownies, didn’t you?”
I did, and I’ve got the belly ache to prove it.
Callie whips out her cell and places a panicked call to my vet. If she thinks I’m going to take a wild ride to Mantachie to see Luke Champion, she’s living in La La Land.
In order to show her who’s the boss around here, I prance my handsome self across the room and stick my head under the sofa.
“Don’t go off pouting, Elvis. Luke said you’ll be okay.”
Callie plops onto the sofa and gives a big sigh. This is the time I shine bright like Jimmy Kimmel’s diamond. I know Callie’s moods and I know just when to come out from under the couch to lick her ankles. She reaches down to scratch behind my ears.
“I guess you heard. Lovie’s moved to the enemy camp.”
I suspect most of the neighbors heard, too. The Valentines never do anything discreetly.
“I’ve got to tell somebody about finding Jim Boy’s killer.”
Now Callie’s talking! When it comes to solving crime, nobody is better than a basset with a nose for trouble.
“You should have been at the funeral, Elvis. Roy Jessup was skulking behind the ficus tree, Leonora fell all to pieces, and the second Mrs. Sloan’s grief was all out of proportion for a stepmother who’s only been in the family three years. To top it all off, Vern Luckett put a rose in the casket.”
I smell a road trip, and if I play my cards right, I’ll be front and center.
“I’m driving up to Memphis Saturday to pick up some new chairs for my waiting room. I thought I’d drop by Forever Fit and have a little chat with Vern. Maybe I’ll pay a condolence call to the Sloans.”
My money’s on Vern. If you’re wondering how I know, my human daddy paid a little visit to me right after the funeral, and he and Charlie had quite a phone conversation while he was here. According to Jack, Vern is built like a brick outhouse and wouldn’t have the least bit of trouble burying Callie’s scissors in Jim Boy’s neck. Besides all that, if she was having an affair with Jim Boy, she’d have motive.
Charlie had other thoughts on the matter, every bit of which yours truly picked up with radar ears.
“My instincts are still pointing toward Leonora and Roy,” he told my human daddy. “Both had motive, and both are too wimpy to do the deed alone.”
“What about Alice Ann?” Jack told Charlie. “She seems to know every move Leonora makes.”
“Friendship is hardly a motive for murder.”
“Lying always throws up a red flag.”
“Lying is not murder, Jack, even when she was lying to the law.”
If I could tell Callie about that conversation, she’d know Jack and Charlie were working around the clock to catch the killer. All I can do is comfort her, and put on such a cute face, she loads me up in her truck and takes me to Wal-Mart.
The parking lot is crowded with Christmas shoppers, but Callie manages to snag a place.
“Lovie calls this the back forty,” she says. “Well, shoot. I’m going to make up a new name for it.”
Callie gathers her purse. “You’ll have to stay here, Elvis. They won’t let dogs inside unless they’re seeing-eye.”
Seeing eye, my hind foot. Don’t they know having the King on the premises is good for business?
“I’ll just be inside a little while, Elvis.”
I do a little happy dance which is my way of telling her not to forget the PupPeroni, but I think she’s too upset over her quarrel with Lovie to notice. She bails out of the truck, and heads toward the store.
If anybody needs yours truly, I’ll be hunkered down on the front seat taking a little nap in the sunshine.
Chapter Ten
Clues, Enemies and Grand Central Station
I head straight to the fresh produce section. It’s my favorite part of the store – all those bright colors and rich, juicy smells. I making a beeline for the strawberries when I spot Lovie squeezing the plums. Wouldn’t you know it?
I duck around the bin where Irish potatoes are stacked higher than my head then lean way down and began filling a sack.
“Expecting a famine?” Lovie has me trapped, and she knows it. I would never in a million years make a scene in a public place. For one thing, it’s bad for business. For another, I’m a steady, unflappable person.
Usually.
Until lately.
“Since when is it a crime to buy potatoes?”
“I can see you’re still mad at me, so I guess you don’t want to hear about Leonora and Roy.”
Lovie is wearing this tacky multi-colored shawl that makes her look larger. I told her two years ago, she ought to give it to the Salvation Army. It flaps behind her as she sweeps off, and the fringe gets caught in a nail. Otherwise I might never have caught up with her. She can move fast for her size.
“What about Leonora and Roy?” I ask.
“I thought we weren’t speaking.”
“We’re not, except about the case.”
“It’s all or nothing with me.” She starts trying to untangle her shawl.
“Holy cow, Lovie. I’m suspected of murder.”
“Well, I’m accused of boyfriend snatching.”
Lovie is no match for the stubborn fringe and the tenacious nail. She jerks her shawl off and leaves it hanging there while she stalks off. Maybe somebody without a sense of fashion will discover it and take it home.
“Wait.” I grab Lovie’s arm. “If I go to the electric chair it will be on your conscience.” I can see her weakening. Lovie’s a sucker for threats. “Tell me about Leonora and Roy.”
“You can see for yourself. They’re sitting back there at the deli canoodling over a couple of hot dogs.”
Thank you sounds too stiff to use with Lovie, so I don’t tell her anything as I hurry toward the deli. Before our big blowup, she’d have been racing along right beside me, and I feel her loss. Acutely. Two people always make a thing better.
; When I get to the meat counter I think about going back to say, “Let’s forget everything, Lovie, and go back the way we were,” but capitulation is not my style. I press on without her.
Sure enough, Leonora and Roy are leaning across a booth, not quite holding hands, but almost. And from the earnest looks on their faces, I’d guess they are discussing a serious subject. Maybe murder.
I put on my perky personae as I stroll by the booth. “Oh…hi,” I say, and they jump apart as if they’ve been caught having sex beside the salami.
“Do you mind if I join you? I’m just dying for a Coke.” Ordinarily I’m not a pushy person, but what’s a little rudeness compared to being a prime suspect?
“I’ll get it for you, Callie.” Roy jumps up and hurries off, looking too relieved for the situation, if you want to know the truth.
“Thanks, Roy.” After he leaves, I lean toward Leonoa, who is not looking too happy to see me…especially considering that she wrapped herself in one of my towels last night and bared her soul. “Where did you go last night, Leonora? I waited for you.”
She crumples her napkin into a wad, then unfolds it and crumples it up again.
“I had to leave, Callie. I’m sorry.”
I try to read her face to see if she knew I’d been left to die, but I can’t tell.
“Somebody locked me in the sauna.”
“Oh, no!” She covers her face with her hands, then doubles over the table.
“Leonora?” I shake her shoulder to see if she was all right. “Leonora?”
I probably shocked her into a miscarriage. I’m not the kind to panic, but believe you me, I start scrambling for my cell phone, slinging stuff out of my purse and not caring where it lands.
“Leonora!” Roy races back, sloshes the lemonade onto the table and it spills all over me.
About that time I find my cell phone and start punching in 911, but he grabs the phone and turns it off.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Leonora rouses enough to stand, wobbly-legged, then Roy escorts her off. But not before giving me a look that leaves no doubt in my mind I’ve dropped to his list of Mooreville’s Undesirables.
My lipstick and car keys are on the table getting sticky with spilled lemonade, so I grab a napkin and wipe them off. I wish I had Lovie to discuss things with, but since I don’t have anybody except myself, I said, “What was that all about?”
“I wouldn’t know, dearie.” I look up to see a dwarf-like man leering at me. “I believe you dropped this.” He winks, then opens his fist and holds out my rescued possession. Wouldn’t you know it’s a tampon? And wouldn’t you know the first man who has flirted with me, besides my almost-ex and my underage admirer, looks like Dopey from Snow White?
Believe me, it takes lots of moxie to say thank you, and make a dignified exit. The wet clothes don’t help. Fortunately, I’m equal to every occasion. Grabbing my purse and cramming my stuff inside, I hurry off to the opposite side of the store. I’ll get food later. Right now, I want to be anywhere except the grocery/deli section.
“Yoohoo! Callie!”
Fayrene is barreling my way like this is Grand Central Station and she’s about to miss the last train. The good thing about Wal-Mart is that when you’re depressed, you can come here and socialize with at least fifteen people you know, and a maybe even a few you don’t. But that’s also the bad thing. There’s no way you can ever be anonymous in Wal-Mart.
Out of breath from her sprint, Fayrene puts her hand over her chest. “My goodness, I haven’t run like that since Jarvetis chased me around the fast food rack at the store.”
While I’m struggling with the mental image of hen-pecked, lackadaisical Jarvetis getting up enough energy to chase anything, let alone Fayrene, she races on to her next topic.
“Jarvetis had to go to the vegetarian, and I said, ‘Jarvetis, why don’t you drop me by Wal-Mart first?’“
“Jarvetis’s seeing a vegetarian?”
“Yes, his bird dog’s sick.”
Mrs. Maloprop strikes again. I have to put my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Fayrene.”
My clothes are beginning to dry, and I’m eager to get on with my shopping so I can get back home and cogitate on Leonora and Roy. I’m thinking up a gracious way to excuse myself when I happen to glance into Fayrene’s shopping cart. It holds a tube of toothpaste that’s supposed to whiten your teeth while you sleep but not so you can tell it, a can of cheap hairspray that will set up like cement in her hair and take me three washings to get out and a set of rhinestone hair clips.
All of a sudden I’m in no hurry to leave.
“Those rhinestone hair clips are lovely, Fayrene.”
“Jarvetis’s got a fortieth class reunion coming up and I thought I’d pimp a little.”
I have a coughing spell behind my hand.
“I’m sure you’ll look lovely, Fayrene.”
Everybody loves a compliment, and fortunately I enjoy giving them because I’ve discovered it’s one of the quickest ways to put a person off guard.
“Have you worn them before?” I ask her.
“Just every now and then.”
“When you want to primp?”
“Exactly.” She pulls the clips off the card and holds them up to her hair. “How do you think these will look? When it comes to beauty, you’re a common sewer.”
It takes me a while to arrive at the conclusion that Fayrene is not insulting me but is paying me the supreme compliment that I am a connoisseur.
“Fabulous.” I glance at my watch and say, “Oh, dear, I have to run.”
I race off and gain safety behind a huge rack of sale hats before my laughter rips loose. Wouldn’t Lovie get a kick out of my new title? I can’t wait to tell her.
Halfway back to the grocery section, I spot Lovie’s shawl still hanging on the nail by the plums. I hurry out and try to forget my quarrel with my cousin by thinking about the case.
The rhinestone hair clip is significant, though who in his right mind would consider Fayrene a suspect? Her quarrels with Jarvetis are legend in Mooreville, but their disagreements are usually good-natured and sometimes humorous. Everybody in Mooreville loves to laugh over their marital spats, even Fayrene and Jarvetis. She loves to tell about the time Jarvetis woke up in the middle of the night and told her to get his hemorrhoid ointment.
“He’d been waking me up every night for a week,” is the way she tells it, “and so I thought I’d fix him good. I handed him the Ben Gay, instead. Icy hot. “
No, Fayrene is hardly a likely suspect. Still, I want to check out the hair ornaments. After I unload my groceries, I head to the sheriff’s office. But not before I change into cowboy boots and a cute pair of jeans with rhinestones on the pockets. I even change underwear, which is something Mama drilled into my head.
“Always put on nice underwear when you go somewhere in case you have a wreck,” is the way Mama always puts it. I like to think of it in a different light: it never hurts to be prepared.
Driving with the setting sun at my back and Elvis crooning “Here Comes Santa Claus” puts me in a good mood. Sunsets and great music do that to me. The only way it could get better would be to have a fabulous man share the pleasure. Be that as it may, I’m not the kind to let circumstances get me down.
You’ll never guess who’s coming out of the sheriff’s office just as I pull into the parking lot. The last thing I need is for Jack Jones to see me messing around in the murder case. I duck down hoping he won’t notice the truck. But that’s like hoping that pigs will fly.
He opens my door and taps me on the bottom, which sets me off good, I can tell you. Nobody touches my private parts without my permission. Not even somebody who looks as good as Jack.
Besides, scrunched down here reminds me of being locked in a sauna, and I’m about to smother from panic.
“Of all the nerve. Do you always go around embarrassing people?”
“Only when
they get in my way.” He blocks the door and leans so close I can smell his soap. Irish Spring. Which doesn’t help matters a bit. I’m a sucker for anything Irish, even potatoes. “You’ve been getting in my way, Callie Jones.”
“I have not. I’ve been taking care of business.”
“The sheriff’s business. I had a long talk with Leonora. Seems the two of you were talking about more than clothes and makeup in the sauna last night.”
“What I say to anybody in the privacy of my sauna is my business.”
“Not when it stirs around in this murder investigation.”
“What did Leonora tell you?” He looks at me as I’ve asked him to hand over his Harley. “Is she a suspect?”
“Callie, let it alone. Whoever locked you in the sauna doesn’t like your meddling any more than I do. You could get into real trouble.”
“Did you find out who locked me in? Was it Leonora or Roy?”
“What do you know about Roy Jessup?”
“Nothing.” Why should I tell him about the cozy scene between those two at Wal-Mart? Maybe it had nothing to do with the murder. Besides, poor Leonora has enough on her mind without Jack following her around asking nosy questions.
His stare would parch peanuts, and I’m beginning to feel the heat.
“But I do have something important to tell you, Jack.”
“This had better be good. What is it?”
“Are you going to move out of my way so I can go inside and flirt with the sheriff, or do you plan to hold me captive in my truck while I melt?”
“Are you melting, Callie?”
I take his remark personally. How could I not, with him turning up the heat and looking like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, only ten times better?
“Yes, we’re having a December heat wave in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Follow me.”
If Jack Jones thinks I’m going to trail along after him like a cat in heat, he’s sorely mistaken. I catch up with his long strides and grab hold of his arm as if I’m the Queen of Mooreville and he’s my paid flunky.
It’s a relief to get inside the sheriff’s office, even if Sheriff Trice is not there. When Jack offers me a cola, I don’t refuse. I take my time drinking it, but if there’s one thing about Jack I understand, it’s that he can out-wait, out-stare, out-do just about anybody I know. Except me.
