Elvis and the Bridegroom Stiffs (A Southern Cousins Mystery)

by Webb, Peggy

  “She’s still got to come to the station, Jack,” Sheriff Trice says, but it sounds more like a question than a command.

  “I’ll bring her. First thing in the morning.”

  Don’t they know the real killer is standing on the other side of the room? I’d march right over there and put my mark on the murderer’s shoes, but I’m getting bad vibes, so I just lie low. I may not have extrasensory perception like Bobby Huckabee, but I’d pit my canine instincts against his psychic eye any day.

  By the way, in case you’re wondering where Bobby is tonight, and why Callie’s manicurist isn’t at the party, either, let me be the first to put you in the know. Darlene’s no fool, and though Bobby lacks the social graces that come so naturally to yours truly, he’s pretty sharp. With Fayrene out of their hair for the whole evening, they seized the opportunity to spend some quality time together. Now, I’m not a dog to spread rumors, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they leaped from the very, very good friend stage straight into trying out what Fayrene calls tiramisu.

  Speaking of which, my human daddy is now telling my human mom not to wait up for him, but he will be spending the night at home. And you know home to Jack is not the tacky Magnolia Arms.

  Callie doesn’t utter a peep.

  That’s such good news, I do a little happy dance and even howl a few bars of “Pocketful of Rainbows.” Listen, hand me a microphone and give me a backup band, and I could still turn a song into a hit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Surprise Visit, Chocolate Theft and Poison Perfume

  When Sheriff Trice finally gives the all clear signal, my guests pour out of Hair.Net and into their cars faster than lemmings rushing to the sea. The coroner has already left through the back door with the body, and Lovie’s staff packed up all the food except a mile-high plate of doughnuts, which Lovie said to leave behind for a little fortification.

  With nobody in the shop except Lovie, Rocky, Jack and Elvis, I kick off my shoes and sink into one of my new pink chairs. Rocky is standing over Lovie like a benevolent bear while she’s sharing doughnuts with my dog. Elvis is going to be on such a sugar high, he’ll barely be able to move, but at the moment I’m too tired to protest.

  Jack sprawls into the chair next to mine and reaches for my hand. I guess now would be the time to tell him that I’ve got a hairpin that belongs to the killer, but I’d as soon walk on sharp rocks in my best Prada heels than say one single word that has to do with murder.

  Tomorrow in the sheriff’s office will be soon enough to reveal that I accidentally stumbled upon evidence then forgot to mention it. If I have to, I’ll wear a tight sweater and cute shoes and play the helpless female card.

  “Callie, I want you to go home, make yourself a cup of hot chocolate and put your feet up.”

  “If you’ll care to remember, I’ve been taking care of myself ever since you decided you’re rather purchase a Harley than a baby crib.”

  “I was wrong, Cal.”

  “Has my hearing gone bad? Did I hear you admit to being not one hundred percent perfect?”

  “Guilty.”

  “I’ll say.” I try to act huffy, but let me tell you, when you’ve just had another murder committed right under your nose, you’re in no mood for self-righteous indignation.

  I give Jack’s hand a little squeeze. “But the hot chocolate does sound good.”

  “Great. Save a cup for me, too. I won’t be long.”

  I don’t even ask where he’s going. Company men have more secrets than the U. S. government. Besides, I don’t even want to know. I’ve had enough skullduggery tonight to last me a lifetime.

  “Up you go.” Jack pulls me out of the chair. “It’s time for you and Elvis to go home.”

  I glance at my dog, who is scarfing down yet another forbidden doughnut.

  “You tell him.”

  “You and Lovie wait right here.” He motions to Rocky, who heads his way.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll put Elvis in the truck and then Rocky and I are going to make sure the perimeters are secure.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “And Cal, lock the doors.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Tonight was so horrible, I may never again have another open-door policy at Hair.Net.

  Jack calls Elvis, then they head outside with Rocky while I join Lovie. She’s still eating doughnuts, and I grab two. Why not? Who’s counting fat grams on a night like this?

  “Lovie, I’m glad to see you and Rocky getting along so well.”

  “It could be this new perfume I’m wearing, but I prefer to think it’s my natural irresistibility.”

  “Only you would say that.” I can always count on Lovie to make me laugh, even when everything around me is falling apart. “I’d ask you to spend the night with me, but it looks like you’ll be otherwise occupied.”

  “I’ve done everything but draw Rocky a map to the National Treasure.”

  “Forget about your treasure, Lovie, and just enjoy him. He’s a good man.”

  “I could tell you the same thing about Jack.”

  “I’m not even going to think about Jack tonight. I’m going to put on my old cozy flannel nightgown, put my feet up and listen to Elvis sing Christmas songs.”

  “Don’t forget to lock your doors.”

  “I may never leave another door unlocked as long as I live.”

  Jack breezes back in with Rocky, and Lovie’s beaming when her boyfriend escorts her out. I’m sorry to report that it take me longer to get to my truck, mainly because Jack starts kissing me and I start thinking how much fun it would be to do something kinky with him in my new pink chairs.

  Finally, we both recapture a dose of common sense, and I lock up then head home with Elvis. I secure my night latch, then head upstairs to get into my comfort clothing.

  Elvis is so stuffed with grease and sugar, he falls onto his pink silk pillow.

  “Some big, bad watchdog, you are,” I say, but he’s already snoring.

  I find my favorite pink flannel gown and fuzzy pink slippers, then head to the kitchen to make a big pot of hot chocolate using Jack’s Mayan recipe, a dash of cinnamon, a pinch of hot pepper, and lots of homemade comfort.

  Then I put on a CD of Elvis singing “Blue Christmas” and curl up on the sofa.

  The next thing I know, somebody’s knocking at my door, and I’m sitting straight up, wild-eyed and sleepy-headed.

  “Jack?” I call, but he just keeps knocking. I guess he doesn’t want to use his key for fear of startling me.

  “Coming,” I yell, then try to marshal my sleepy wits as I head to the door.

  “Callie, are you home?”

  I stare through the peephole, and there is Jewel Moffett standing under my front porch lights looking distraught.

  “Holy cow!” I swing open the door. “I didn’t mean to leave one of my customers standing out in the cold. Come on in.”

  Jewel follows me into the den and plops onto the sofa.

  “What a night,” she says.

  “You can say that again.” Elvis is still crooning Christmas songs, and I turn the volume down. “I’ve made hot chocolate. Can I get you a cup?”

  “That sounds good, Callie.”

  She’s strung tighter than a piano wire, and no wonder, after everything that has happened to her daughter.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say, then head to the kitchen and turn on the burner to reheat the chocolate. This is a slower process than zapping two cups in the microwave, but I never like the aftertaste. Chocolate tastes so much better slow-heated and pampered.

  I get a wooden stirring spoon, and soon the scent of cinnamon is mixing with the new fragrance Jewel is wearing.

  Suddenly, I stiffen and almost drop the spoon.

  That’s it! That’s the clue I was missing! Passion’s Poison, Jewel had called it, and I’d smelled that same scent around the corpses of both Jim Boy and Roy Jessup.

  My heart speeds up so much I think I might keel over,
face first into the chocolate. There’s a murderer sitting on my sofa, and I’m stuck in the kitchen without my dog, my cell phone, my cousin or my almost-ex. Plus, I’m wearing tacky shoes. I’d rather poke splinters under my fingernails than die in tacky shoes.

  “Think,” I whisper, and my mind feels like a movie reel on fast-forward. I could heat the chocolate to boiling and dump the whole thing over Jewel’s head. I could race out the back door and run through the neighborhood in my nightgown screaming for help. I could play it cool and act like nothing is amiss till Jack gets here.

  He said he was coming. But when? Knowing him, it could be any minute or it could be the crack of dawn.

  My hands trembles as I fill two mugs with chocolate and try to call up my goddess side. Lovie and Mama have it in spades. Just let either one of them unleash that imperious, take-no-bullshit attitude and they can send even the lion-hearted scuttling for cover.

  I deep breathe a couple of times, call on my inner goddess and then head back into the lair of a killer.

  “I’m sorry that took so long, Jewel.”

  My smile is bright and breezy, but my hands shake when I give her the chocolate. I beat a hasty retreat to a chair on the other side of the room.

  “I see you know,” she says.

  “Know what?” Shoot! Now my voice is shaking. As it turns out, my goddess is a lily-livered coward.

  Jewel stands up and I notice how tall she is, and how she’s kept her body in tip top shape for a woman her age.

  She whips a pair of my very own hair-cutting scissors out of her purse. I know them anywhere. I specifically ordered ones with pink handles, and then I had a rose engraved on the blade.

  My mind is screaming run, but my stupid goddess is sitting in the chair like a scared mouse. I glance up the stairs, hoping some of this commotion will wake up Elvis. Honestly, I don’t know what he could do against a killer wielding a pair of sharp scissors, but at least he could keep her busy while I dial 911.

  “Don’t even think about yelling, Callie.” She lifts the scissors into a menacing position and before I can react, she’s standing over me with the blades pointed at my throat.

  “Just do what I say, and I won’t have to make a mess all over your carpet.”

  Holy cow! She really is planning to kill me! I try to remember all those thriller movies where the good guy talks down the bad guy, but all I can think of is those cartoons where one of the characters says, “That’s all, folks!”

  “You don’t have to do this, Jewel. I don’t know anything. Really. Just leave, and I won’t say a word about this. I promise you.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. And it’s such a shame.” She shakes her head as if she really is sorry she’s going to kill me. “You’re the best colorist in Lee County, and nobody can do a French twist like you.”

  “It doesn’t have to end this way. I’ll keep you on the books as a regular. I’ll even do your styles for free. Forever.”

  “Forever is a long time, Callie.” Still holding the scissors over my throat, she reaches into her pocket with the other hand and pulls out a note and the stub of a pencil. “You’re going to sign this, all nice and easy.”

  “Or what?”

  Her smile is pure evil. “Wouldn’t it be too bad if Jack found you with your pretty face so messed up not even somebody with your talent could make the corpse look decent?”

  “He’ll be here any minute.”

  “Do you think I’m falling for that ploy?” She shoves the paper into my hand. “Sign!”

  “Can I read it first?”

  “Be my guest.”

  It takes a while to bring the note into focus.

  Dear Jack, I didn’t want to do it this way, but I have no choice. I’m so distraught over killing Jim Boy and Roy that I’ve decided to end it all. Tell Mama and Lovie not to cry for me. It’s better this way, for everybody.

  I’ll have to say this for Jewel; she knows me so well the note actually sounds like something I would write.

  “How am I going to end it?”

  Jewel sighs. “You’re going to climb into a nice, hot bath, and your hair dryer is going to fall in.”

  I’m not about to go to my own electrocution, even if I do make a mess on my carpet. I consider lunging at her, but she’s holding the scissors too close to my throat. One wrong move and I die the bloody way.

  “Why did you kill them, Jewel?”

  “If I didn’t like you so much, and if this didn’t remind me so much of our beauty shop gossip, I’d end it right now.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I don’t gossip, but while I’ve got her in a cooperative mood, I wisely decide to buy time.

  Where is Jack?

  “Roy Jessup had to die because Leonora couldn’t keep her mouth shut and he figured out I had killed Jim Boy. Then, of course, I saw him talking to you.” She gives me another of those evil smiles. “I suppose you’ve already guessed why I had to kill Jim Boy.”

  “Because he got your daughter pregnant and then was going to marry Trixie instead of doing the right thing.”

  “Do you think I’d kill for that ungrateful brat?”

  Her face contorts with rage, and for a minute I think she’s going to accidentally plunge the scissors into my neck. I don’t move; I don’t breathe. I try to disappear into the chair cushion.

  “When I found out she was pregnant, I killed the two-timing wretch.”

  “Jim Boy and you?”

  “Do you think a man of his sophistication cared a thing about young women like Trixie and Leonora? He was mine! Do you hear me. MINE!” She slaps the paper in my hand. “Now shut up before I play tic tack toe on your face!”

  I put a shaky signature to the paper and she slams it down on the table beside my chair then grabs my collar.

  “Now, march.”

  “There’s no tub in the downstairs bathroom.”

  “Don’t get smart with me. Water is water.”

  “Yes, but my only hairdryer is upstairs.”

  She says a word that rivals some of Lovie’s best. Or worst, depending on which way you look at it.

  If only Elvis would wake up! I try to make a big racket as we head toward the stairs, but these fuzzy house slippers are as quiet as snow falling.

  “Don’t try anything funny, Callie,” Jewel says.

  “I’m not. I’m just exhausted.”

  I consider lurching into the marble-topped fern stand near the staircase, but I don’t want to smash the marble, and besides, it would make such a huge crash Jewel would know I deliberately knocked it over. Instead, I snag the toe of my shoe in a basket filled with magazines and they skitter across the floor.

  Jewel side-steps and I twist out of her grasp and run toward the kitchen.

  “Elvis!” I scream. “Come here.”

  Miracle of miracles, he flies down the stairs with his ears standing straight out like the wings of a B-52 bomber. Hoyt’s right behind him, but when he sees the enemy, he stops at the top of the stairs and sits there whimpering.

  “You think that silly basset hound can stop me?”

  “I know he can! Get her, Elvis!”

  Elvis grabs Jewel’s ankle and brings her down. I grab a cast iron skillet and race back into the living room where my dog and my enemy are in a tangled heap.

  Suddenly Jack bursts through my front door and yells, “Callie,” just as I smack Jewel upside the head with my cornbread pan.

  “What took you so long, Jack?”

  “I knew you could handle it without me.”

  That’s the first time I ever remember Jack acknowledging that I can solve a murder as well as I can turn a tacky head of hair into a style worthy of the red carpet.

  The next few minutes are a blur as Sheriff Trice and his deputies arrive to cart off the bridegroom killer, and I heap praise and treats on Elvis, who preens as if he’s personally responsible for nabbing Jewel Moffett.

  What happens next is private and personal. Suffice it to say, my fuzzy house slippers a
nd a few other items of clothing are on the floor and I’m giving Jack a very warm welcome home.

  Elvis Opinion # 11 on Love, Marriage, and T-Bone Steaks

  Once again, yours truly saved the day! Listen, don’t tell me an iconic dog fueled by grease and sugar can’t take a bite out of crime. They say Jewel had to have ten stitches in her leg. She’d have needed more if Callie hadn’t beaned her with that cast iron skillet. Thank goodness her aim was good or I’d be seeing stars.

  And not the one on top of the Christmas tree, either.

  As you’ve probably guessed by now, Jack came home in every sense of the word. And Christmas morning when Callie opened a little blue jeweler’s box under the tree, my human daddy got down on his knees and asked her to marry him, all over again.

  She said yes, which I knew she would. After living with these two, I’ve become a world-class expert on love and marriage. I’m so good, I ought to hang out my shingle.

  Callie’s on the phone with Lovie now, telling her the news and planning how she and Jack will renew their vows.

  “I want it to stick this time, Lovie,” she says.

  Jack just winks at me. We boys have our secrets. It’s not the vows that will make their marriage last, but how much Jack can love Callie tender.

  And speaking of love, I hear that beagle babe is down at the truck stop having left-over Christmas dressing from the garbage can.

  Watch out, beagle baby! Your hunk’a burning love is on his way!

  Elvis has left the building.

  The End

  For more information on the Southern Cousins Mysteries and all things Elvis, visit the author at www.peggywebb.com.

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  Don’t miss…

  Jack Loves Callie Tender, a Southern Cousins Mystery

  prequel, companion guide and cookbook. Available now!

  Coming in February, 2014! Elvis and the Deadly Love Letters, an exclusive Southern Cousins Mystery short story in My Evil Valentine, a multi-author anthology.