Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble

by Webb, Peggy

  I don’t even want to know. Or maybe I do want to know, and that’s part of the problem. Once again, where Jack’s concerned, I’m sitting squarely in the middle of ambiguity.

  Uncle Charlie suggests everybody meet in an hour at the Turquesa. Apparently, he sensed my growing agitation, and thank goodness he didn’t say the NoMoHeHaHo, which I couldn’t find again, even if I’d dropped breadcrumbs. The Turquesa is poolside and has a huge breakfast buffet until eleven o’clock.

  Everybody leaves my room except Uncle Charlie. Not a good sign. Something else is on his mind. As the level head in the Valentine bunch, I’m usually the one he confides in.

  “You think Lovie is tied in with the bones my dog found?”

  “I don’t have enough information to make that call, but, yes, I do. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “Neither do I.” Just the opposite. I’m always looking for signs and wonders to help me steer my leaky boat through life’s choppy waters without wrecking on a reef or capsizing and being eaten by sharks. “Do you think Fayrene’s conversation with Lulu Farkle is tied into Lovie’s disappearance? Alvin Farkle was crazy about her.”

  “But surely not crazy enough to kidnap her. Let’s wait till Jack gets here before we make that call. He’ll have more information.”

  “How?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that, dear heart. You must trust me. And him.” Uncle Charlie hugs me and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find Lovie and Elvis. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit.”

  After he leaves, I head straight to the shower. I’d love to take a long soak, but knowing Jack, he’ll come barging in here any minute. Never mind that everybody else is waiting for him downstairs.

  I don’t recommend bathing while glancing over your shoulder. By the time I finish, there’s a kink in my neck that I’m sure is going to take a big application of Biofreeze to get out and maybe even a heating pad.

  I grab a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, then slide my feet into a pair of Keds. These last few months—plus a few broken heels on some of my favorite shoes—have taught me that sleuthing and glamour don’t mix.

  Thank goodness, my hair is the good kind that requires nothing except a shake of my head and a quick run-through with the brush. A definite plus for an enterprising woman who makes a living steering others toward beauty.

  Also a plus if you’re trying to hurry out of your hotel bedroom before your over-the-top sexy almost-ex waylays you.

  I find my way poolside with only one unplanned detour—to the “monumental” breakfast room where a group of undertakers wearing nametags with every state from Florida to Maine are hogging the doughnuts. One of them says, “It’s about time you got here, Sylvia.” Then he pinches me. Hard.

  I’m happy to tell him I’m not Sylvia. As I leave, I jab a sharp elbow into my pincher’s gut, then put a bunch of magnolias and molasses into my drawl as I apologize for being so clumsy. Whoever Sylvia is, she could take lessons from me.

  Retracing my steps and heading in the right direction—I hope—I rub my hip. The pinch is sure to leave a bruise. Even more reason to keep out of Jack’s reach. He has a list of faults a mile long, but he’s the world’s best protector. If he saw that bruise, he’d go looking for trouble.

  By the time I get poolside, everybody else is there, including Jack. Spotting the back of his head—and all that dark, always-mussed hair—I wait till I can get my breathing back to normal before I join them.

  Unfortunately, the only empty chair is beside him. Mama’s machinations, no doubt. Or Jack’s. When it comes to sneaky tactics, those two have cornered the market.

  I slip into my chair. Without even looking at me, Jack puts his hand on my knee and says, “Cal,” then continues telling the rest of the gang that he is heading to Tulum because he has reason to believe Lovie’s being held somewhere near there.

  “Then you think she’s alive?” Rocky asks.

  “If this is a kidnapping, and I believe it is, I always go into the search with the assumption the victim is alive.”

  The victim. I’m glad Jack’s hand is still on my knee. I’d like to hide underneath it. I’d like to wrap myself in him and go to sleep and not wake up until Lovie prances in saying, Get up lazybones, let’s eat chocolate, let’s party, let’s get wicked.

  “We can use my men for the search.” Rocky whips out his cell phone. “I’ll call Seth and get him started.”

  “Wait.” Jack lifts his hand from my knee. But only briefly, thank goodness. “The last thing we want is to have everybody thrashing through the jungle spooking the kidnapper.”

  “Why?” Fayrene pipes up. “I’d think a spoofed hijacker would hightail it.”

  “Jack knows what he’s doing.” Mama is getting hot under the collar, Rocky looks ill, and Jack bites back a chuckle. Only Uncle Charlie remains unflappable.

  “Jack and I will go back to Tulum with Rocky. Callie, you can stay here to hold down the fort with Ruby Nell and Fayrene.”

  “Charlie Valentine,” Mama says, “since when do you think I’m going to let you go off looking for my niece without me?”

  “If Ruby Nell is going, so am I. After all, I’m the one who found out about the gentleman with Lovie on the ferry,” says Fayrene.

  “Fayrene, he was no gentleman,” I say. “Besides, my dog is missing, too. He needs me.”

  “Elvis?” Jack’s black-eyed stare makes me squirm. For more reasons than I’m fixing to talk about. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d lost my dog?”

  “He’s not yours. If you care to remember, you’re the one who left.”

  “All right, dear hearts. We’ll all go to Tulum.”

  Jack stands up. “That’s probably best. That way I can keep an eye on everybody.”

  He’s looking straight at me when he says that. I don’t know whether to slap him or kiss him.

  As it turns out, I don’t get to do either. Jack, Rocky, and Uncle Charlie hurry off to interview anybody on the island who might have seen Lovie and Elvis, leaving me to keep Mama and Fayrene out of trouble.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter 7

  Folly, False Clues, and Farkles

  As soon as the men are out of sight, Mama and Fayrene make a mad dash to the pier for some last minute shopping—interpret that, tequila purchases. I’m not opposed to another chance to shop for shoes. Suffice it to say, they don’t have to hog-tie me and drag me along.

  One hour, six bottles of tequila, and two new pairs of shoes later, we head back to the hotel where Fayrene calls home to give Jarvetis a blow-by-blow report on Lovie’s hijacking.

  After she hangs up, Fayrene says, “I told Jarvetis to call Bobby.”

  “Good idea,” Mama says.

  Those two believe Uncle Charlie’s assistant is a true clairvoyant, but I’ve never seen evidence. I keep my mouth shut, though. If believing in Bobby Huckabee’s psychic eye makes them feel better, who am I to burst their bubble? I pride myself on being the kind of woman you come to for comfort. Listen, this world’s hard enough as it is without adding a bunch of pessimism to the mix.

  “There’s no use hanging around here waiting for the men to do all the detective work,” I say. “Why don’t I try to find Alvin Farkle while you two try to find Lulu and see just what she knows?”

  “I’ve already told you.” Fayrene is miffed, which is just what I need. On top of everything else.

  “You did a good job, too, Fayrene, but it never hurts to dig a little deeper.”

  “Good idea, Cal. Come on, Fayrene. We’ll separate and see if we can track her down.”

  “That won’t be too hard, Mama. Everywhere the Arkansas folks go, the decibel level rises.”

  Mama sets off in the direction of the lobby, and Fayrene heads toward the pool. I guess I ought to be worried about letting Mama and Fayrene out of my sight, but I’m more worried about Lovie and Elvis. Who would want to kidnap them?

  I decide to start my search on the beach. After
all, that’s where Lovie was last before she vanished. Besides, it’s a gorgeous day, the view is spectacular, and any tourist in his right mind is going to be outdoors. Especially Alvin Farkle. If I remember correctly, his biggest worry about being an undertaker was losing his tan and looking as pale as his poor, unfortunate clients. Lovie said he spent more time in the tanning bed than I spend at shoe sales.

  The beach is dotted with tourists sitting in beach chairs underneath the shade of umbrellas. I hardly give these a second glace. I’m looking for a very big beach towel with a well-oiled, hairy body. Not that I ever saw Alvin Farkle in the nude.

  Thank goodness, Lovie kisses and tells. When she had her fling with Farkle, I learned more about him than I ever wanted to know. According to Lovie, he has as much body hair as an ape and his legs are so long he could wrap them completely around her (which makes them considerable, believe me). She gave me a blow-by-blow description of his other charms, too, but I’m too much of a lady to repeat what she said.

  It doesn’t take me long to spot Farkle, slick with suntan oil and spread out on a tropical-themed towel. Lovie was right. He’s so hairy it’s hard to find the turquoise toucans on his towel. I try, though. I can’t look at him without blushing.

  If I ever find Lovie alive, I’m going to kill her.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” I say. As interrogations go, it’s lame, but it’s a start.

  He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his bald head. I’ll bet he wishes he could redistribute some of that chest hair. I’d advise him about hair implants, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it.

  “Callie Jones?” He leaps off the towel and grabs me. It feels like being hugged by a gorilla. Holy cow! I’m glad Lovie has finally found her prince and quit trying to transform all these frogs. “Is Lovie with you?”

  Is he sincere or is he trying to throw me off by hiding the fact that he knows where she is?

  “Yes. She’s around here somewhere.”

  “Great. Tell her I’d love to get together and talk about old times.”

  He sounds sincere, but he could merely be a very good liar. I decide to dig a little deeper.

  “Lovie was at the beach yesterday. I’m surprised you didn’t see her.”

  “I didn’t come to the beach yesterday.” Alvin shoves his sunglasses back into place. “My sister’s never been to Cozumel, so the whole Arkansas group toured the island. We didn’t even check into the hotel till late.”

  Is he talking so much because he’s just told a lie or is he merely chatty? Lovie never mentioned his conversational skills, so I wouldn’t know.

  I try for puzzled innocence. “I saw Lulu at breakfast this morning.” I’m not above lying if it’s for a worthy cause. And I sincerely hope Lulu is his sister. Lovie never mentioned her. “I thought she said she had taken the ferry to Tulum yesterday.”

  “The island. Tulum. What difference does it make? If you want to book a tour, go see the hotel tour director.”

  Farkle flops onto his towel, turning his back, which is just as hairy as his front. I hate to be the one to disillusion him, but his tan does nothing to camouflage all that ugly black body hair. I’d recommend a hot wax treatment, but I don’t intend to stand here in the middle of a foreign beach consorting with a possible kidnapper.

  Without even saying goodbye, I jerk my cell phone out of my pocket and hurry back to the hotel.

  “Mama, I’ve found Farkle. Where are you?”

  “At the pool. We’ve found Lulu. Hurry.”

  Mama hangs up before I can ask her why. Her cryptic message chills me. Knowing Mama, something disastrous is afoot.

  I take off running. Thank goodness for long legs and discipline and regular runs in my neighborhood. I’m not even winded when I reach poolside.

  It doesn’t take long to find out why Mama wanted me to hurry. She and Fayrene are chasing a skinny woman with sagging knees and crows’ feet, yelling at the top of their lungs. Wait, whoa, stop, slow down.

  If they’d spread out, they could flank her. They’re so busy huffing and puffing, they haven’t even seen me.

  I set out in the opposite direction, hoping to hem Lulu Farkle in.

  The woman needs some fashion advice. She’s wearing a yellow bikini that washes out her complexion and does nothing for her figure. Plus, she has too much hair to be wearing a blunt bob. If I didn’t intend to shake the truth out of her, I’d invite her to my room and cut some cute layers that followed her natural curl.

  All that bushy black hair is a dead giveaway. She’d bound to be Lulu Farkle.

  And I’m closing in. Victory is within sight when Lulu notices me and streaks toward the pool.

  “Wait!” Fayrene yells. “We just want to integrate you.”

  “Are you broads crazy? Leave me alone.”

  Lulu jackknifes into the pool with hardly a ripple, then races toward the other side in a crawl worthy of Olympic contenders.

  I’m almost close enough to plunge in after her, but Fayrene beats me to it. Her leap into the water sends a tsunami wave over a couple sunbathing on the rim. Saying words they must have learned from Lovie, they grab their soaking beach towels and storm off threatening to call the management.

  Finally I’m close enough to dive in, and I’m proud to say I slice the water. Listen, I grew up on a farm with my very own lake. It was available any time I took a notion to swim and could convince the bullfrogs to get out of my way.

  Unfortunately, Lulu must have grown up swimming, too. She’s so far ahead of me, it’s going to take every bit of skill I have to catch her.

  “Quick, Mama. Intercept her on the other side.” Just in case. Listen, I haven’t been in the lake on the farm since Jack left. And I don’t even want to talk about what we were doing. I’ll say this much: not swimming.

  Mama hasn’t budged. What’s wrong with her? All of a sudden, she yells, “Fayrene!”

  Holy cow! Where is Fayrene? She went in but I never saw her come back up.

  About that time, her head surfaces briefly, then goes back under.

  Good grief. She’s drowning. I alter course and head toward the green blob now rapidly sinking to the bottom.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lulu clambering out of the pool and streaking off. If I ever get Fayrene off the bottom, I’m going to throttle her.

  Fortunately, I have some help—a young man with enough muscles for the job. Together we get Fayrene onto the concrete apron. She sputters, sits up, and goes into complete Fayrene mode.

  “I thought you were going to have to give me artificial perspiration.”

  “What did you mean, jumping into that water? You can’t swim a lick.” Mama helps Fayrene up and leads her toward the hotel to change clothes.

  “I wanted to comprehend the criminal.”

  The man who helped rescue Fayrene looks a little startled, but he doesn’t ask questions. I do, though. It turns out he’s an undertaker from Dallas, Texas, who put himself through school working as a lifeguard.

  I thank him, then hurry into the hotel for my own change of clothes. I sincerely hope Jack doesn’t hear of this little episode. He’d have me on the next plane to Mooreville in less time than it takes me to shop a shoe sale.

  Inside, I stop by Fayrene’s room to check on her and Mama. Fayrene is on her cell phone telling Jarvetis about her “near death” experience. Mama is sitting by the window puffing on a cigarette without her movie star holder. She must really be upset.

  I sit beside her, never mind that the smoke will pollute my lungs and do no-telling-what to my unused eggs.

  “Flitter, I could wring her neck, jumping in the pool like that.” Mama glares at Fayrene, who glares right back. “We might have found out something useful if she’d waited for you.”

  “I don’t know, Mama. I didn’t get much out of Alvin except to find out he lied about where he was yesterday.”

  “You think Alvin and Lulu are hiding something?”

  “Maybe. But why kidnap Lovie? It’s not as i
f she lied to him about her feelings or intentionally broke his heart.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t his heart she broke; it was his ego.”

  “Or maybe he has it in for her over something we don’t even know about.”

  Mama stubs out her cigarette. “We’ll keep digging.”

  “Not today. We’ve got a ferry to catch.”

  Fortunately, it’s getting dark by the time we board the ferry. I know Jack is already on here somewhere, but it’s easy for me to lose myself in the crowd. I don’t want to have to lie to him about our afternoon sleuthing fiasco. I want some time alone so I won’t have to think about anything except finding my cousin and my dog.

  Contrary to the ownership claims of Jack Jones.

  Elvis’ Opinion #5 on Tight Ropes, Jack’s Socks, and Revenge

  About the time that sleazy low-down skunk who kidnapped Lovie is vanishing into the jungle, I imagine Rocky is moaning, “Bring my baby back.” Never fear. Elvis is on the job and taking care of business.

  As soon as the coast is clear, I stroll into the shack, announcing my presence with a platinum-worthy rendition of “You Better Run.” Then I prance over to the low-slung bunk and nuzzle Lovie’s hand.

  “Elvis? Is that you?”

  Who does she think it is? Michael Jackson? Listen, they keep you longer than that before they let you come back down here in a dog suit—or any other kind of suit—and start messing around in the lives of humans.

  Humans are fragile creatures. You have to know how to handle them before they turn you loose on terra firma with the kind of power I have.

  Of course, to give Lovie credit, she’s wearing a blindfold.

  In case she might possibly mistake me for a jungle stray that wandered in, I do a little “Long Tall Sally.” That snaps Lovie out of the doldrums and back into her sassy self.