Elvis and the Rock-A-Hula Baby Capers

by Webb, Peggy

  Jack lifts me into a bear hug and waltzes me around the room. When he kisses me senseless, I don’t miss the wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Oh, shoot! He’s playing me.

  “I’ll do no such thing!” I say it with such asperity he puts me down and takes a step back. “You made a commitment and I’m not letting you back out, old buddy or no buddy.”

  “What do you expect me to do, Cal?”

  “Stay here.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Okay, then. Take the baby with you. I’ll pack her bag.”

  While he’s shocked into silence, I march up the stairs and pack Jackie Nell’s things. Then I march back down with her in the baby carrier and proceed to strap it onto Jack while he’s still speechless. I step back to survey the effect.

  “Yellow is your color, Jack.” Elvis, who suddenly appears on the staircase, barks his approval. “See, he agrees with me.”

  “Did I tell you I’ll be going on my Harley?”

  “Then be sure to put on Elvis’ helmet. He can help you baby sit.”

  Jack mutters a word that sounds suspiciously like it came from Lovie’s vocabulary. But I’m undeterred. Doing a job for the Company is one thing, but strolling off in the middle of the night just because somebody I don’t even know called for help is quite another.

  I stand on tiptoe and kiss Jack and Jackie Nell on the cheek. Then I lean down to ruffle Elvis’s fur.

  “Be good, boy. Watch after your daddy.”

  Jack can’t possibly protest when I’m being so nice. Two can play this game.

  Congratulating myself, I go to the door and wave until Jack’s Harley is out of sight, then I lie down on the sofa to catch a few winks before I call Lovie.

  Elvis’ Opinion #2 on Harleys, Rubber Babies and Boys’ Night Out

  The minute we get out of Mooreville, Jack pulls over and calls Charlie to tell him about Ruby Nell and the black Cadillac. Listen, I could have told Callie that Jack never takes anything lightly, especially an attempt on the life of his mother-in-law.

  Thanks to my radar ears I hear Charlie say, “I’ll take care of it,” and you can bet your Pup-Peroni, he will. He may be a funeral director in his retirement, but he’s still a Company man, through and through.

  After the call, Jack takes off the baby carrier and stuffs the rubber doll in the sidecar with yours truly. She’s awful, and nothing like the beautiful child my human parents will have someday.

  I’m going to call this fake baby Ugly Face. But not out loud so Callie can hear.

  “The dude’s all yours for a while, Elvis.” He winks at me. “Just between us boys.”

  I’d like to return this ugly doll to the sender, but I’m a dog with scruples, not to mention loyalty. Listen, if Callie’s got her heart set on taking care of this mess of wall-eyed latex, you can count me in. I lift my front paw and give Jack the high five. The gesture might have come off as looking cool and suave if my doggie helmet hadn’t slipped over my eyes.

  My human daddy chuckles then gives it a shove, and we’re back on the road, laying down some rubber. Jack didn’t have to tell me this trip is top secret. Most of our missions are fraught with danger, and he’s packing heat. But I’d be the last one to spill the beans and worry Callie about it. My personal mission is to make her feel good.

  That’s one of the reasons I got sent back from that big Graceland in the sky in a dog suit. Laugh all you want to, but nobody knows how to make Callie feel better than yours truly. A little love me tender lick on her ankles, a deep gaze from my soulful eyes, and my handsome basset head in her lap – that’s all it takes to make her forget about Ruby Nell’s restorative trip to the gambling casinos and Lovie’s insistence on playing the field. Ruby Nell’s just fanning the flames of her wild streak, and Lovie is coping with fear of commitment, especially to somebody as steadfast, loyal and true as Rocky Malone.

  Callie keeps hoping her cousin will see that Rocky is the best boyfriend she’s ever had and finally settle down. But I could tell her that Lovie’s not ready to trot to the altar, no matter who does the asking.

  The fake baby pokes me in the ribs, and I wiggle my ample but sexy backend so I can scoot that hideous lump of latex out of my way and have some fun. If I weren’t scared of concussion, I’d rip off this helmet and let my ears blow in the wind. But I’m not about to risk a head injury that would take away my ability to remember words to every song I ever put on the charts when I was a heartthrob in a sequined jumpsuit. I have to content myself to let the tips blow while we cruise toward the state line. Destination, Hamilton, Alabama.

  It won’t take us long to get there. It’s just over the state line and Jack’s driving like a real daredevil. I guess I would, too, if I thought this might be my last chance to sow a few wild oats. Not that he’d ever be disloyal to Callie, but I can picture the two of us kicked back with a couple of beers while some crying song plays on an antique juke box. Let me tell you, something wonderful went out of this world when they did away with juke boxes.

  We whiz through Fulton, and even though it’s still dark, the moon’s full and the sky looks like it’s hole-punched with stars. I check both sides of the road to see if any of my admirers are lined up to wave at me. I had plenty of them when I had two legs and a full head of black hair. But let me tell you, I’ve got my share of babes lusting after this hunk’a burning love in a four-legged basset suit. Ann Margret, for one.

  I don’t know why I can’t get that two-timing French poodle out of my mind. I guess it’s because she showed up at the truck stop a while back begging, baby, let’s play house. The moon was full and I’d just dined on a perfectly good mess of black-eyed peas and cornbread somebody left in the garbage can, so I played house till the sun started coming up. Then I told that Frenchie I was just shoppin’ around and hightailed it back home to my guitar-shaped pillow.

  When Jack turns off the main drag, we’re only minutes from Hamilton, Alabama, which barely qualifies as a town. What could be so wrong in this little burg that it requires the skills of the Company’s best operative?

  I’m not long finding out. We pull up in front of this house trailer ablaze with lights, and out steps a man who looks like he belongs on Duck Dynasty, full beard, head rag and all. He’s a hearty sort and claps Jack on the shoulders several times before Jack can get in the introductions.

  “Chip Cunningham, meet Elvis.” I show my good breeding with a courtly bow that drags my ears on the ground. “Elvis, Chip’s a former Company man turned private eye.”

  Chip laughs, showing a gap between his front teeth.

  “That explains me, Jack. What I can’t figure out is why you’re toting around a baby doll.”

  “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it over a couple of cool ones.”

  We follow Chip inside to a living room so clean even a picky dog like that silly cocker spaniel could eat off the floors. Listen, if Hoyt would stick with me, I could teach him a few things – like escaping through the loose board in the back fence to the truck stop, scavenging through garbage can for some gourmet leftovers, practicing the art of seduction and baying at the moon.

  Jack throws Ugly Face onto the coffee table and the two men kick back over beer and Hardee’s sausage and biscuits. Jack hands one to me, and I scarf it down in two bites then set out to reconnoiter the place. Chip seems like a stand-up guy, but if he’s keeping secrets, I’ll be the first to sniff them out. I start with the living room, all the while keeping my ears tuned to Jack.

  It seems Chip’s latest case, spying on a man’s cheating wife, has turned up a third-rate thug who needs some convincing to leave the wife alone and get out of town.

  That won’t be a problem for two tough guys like Jack and me. Listen, I learned karate in my other life as an iconic crooner, and I’ve still got the moves.

  I saunter over to the bookcase where Chip keeps his photos. There’s a good one of him with my human daddy, both of them wearing aviator sunglasses and backed b
y a jungle. No telling where they were.

  Well, bless’a my soul. The next photo makes my hackles stand straight up.

  Jack’s instantly alert, and sees the same thing I do: Chris in a wedding photo with none other than one of the baby boot camp ladies.

  “Chris,” Jack says in this casual way of his. “I didn’t know you had a wife.”

  “Ex. And doggone glad of it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That Sally could suck the life out of anybody. She’s a vampire.”

  I knew something was up with that woman when everybody was crawling around looking for Harley Boo’s pacifier. I could smell deceit coming off Sally Cunningham so strong it made me want to take a long hot shower with Irish Spring soap.

  Chris changes the subject back to his current problem, and I saunter off in gum-shoe mode to case the house. There are no pictures of the ex in the bedroom, no sentimental items like a perfume-scented scarf or a dog-eared love letter. Ditto, the bathroom.

  Still, I’m going to keep my eye on vampire Sally at the next baby boot camp. My instincts and her ex-husband’s bad opinion make her a prime suspect.

  I saunter back to the boys and flop down like a dumb dog who would never think of searching the premises for clues.

  “We’d better hit the road while it’s still dark,” Chris says, and we all strap on helmets. If you want to get picky about the details, Jack straps on mine. But let me tell you there’s not anybody else in the world who could look both suave and tough in a dog helmet. Think, Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.

  They made me leave my real digits in dog heaven. Not to mention my golden pipes. But listen, this dog knows how to compensate. I’ve still got the swiveling hips. If my human family will ever turn me loose in Charlie’s Eternal Rest, I’ll give the family of the deceased something to really cry about. I still know my way around a gospel song. I can make my best friend Trey turn on the waterworks every time I howl Peace in the Valley. He may be only a redbone hound, but he’s a doggone good music critic.

  Chris wisely refrains from comment when Jack grabs Ugly Face and stuffs it back in the sidecar with me. I know what he’s up to. When Callie asks if he watched the baby, he’ll tell her he never took his eyes off it.

  We pull up in front of the Crooked Rooster, and let me tell you, we’re not in Las Vegas. This place is a dive. If Callie knew her baby was here, she’d have a hissy fit, even if Ugly Face is nothing but a no-brain lump of rubber.

  “Stay here, Elvis,” Jack says and I give him this bad-boy look that says where would I go? This dive is so far beneath the King, they’ll be lucky if I even set a paw on their nasty parking lot.

  I amuse myself by turning my back on Ugly Face and looking at the stars. It’s not long before star-gazing takes a back to seat to a brawl.

  Jack and Chris are back, and they’ve got a man the size of a refrigerator between them. Furthermore, he’s not happy to be here. He’s kicking and punching and saying stuff that’s so bad I attempt to cover the ears of Ugly Face.

  “Look out, Jack!” Chris yells. “He’s got a knife!”

  Listen, Jack Jones is a match for anybody, with or without a weapon. Still, this loyal dog can’t sit by and let his human daddy do all the dirty work.

  I leap out of the sidecar, streak toward the culprit and take a big bite out of his leg. It’s the finishing touch, and when all the dust settles, the human refrigerator high tails it out of the Crooked Rooster parking lot, never to be seen again, according to Chris’ prediction.

  I believe him. I lift my leg for a victory pee and discover something attached. Well, bless’a my soul! It’s Ugly Face.

  And she’s missing an arm.

  Jack scoops her out of the dirt and grime before I can christen her. He brushes her off, but I could tell him it won’t do a bit of good. Ugly Face just got uglier, and it looks like the scratches and stains are permanent.

  “It’s okay, pal.” He winks at me. “When the stores open, I’ll just look for a replacement.”

  In this town? I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s just articulated the impossible dream.

  Chapter 3

  Suspects, Bad Ideas and High Rise Mistakes

  When my cell phone rings, I scramble around for it, disoriented, and fall off the couch. Finally, I manage to dig it out of my purse, but I’m too tired to get off the floor. The clock on my iPhone says six a.m.

  “Rise and shine, Callie!”

  “Good grief, Lovie! Do you know what time it is?”

  “That’s what I told Aunt Ruby Nell and Fayrene.”

  “What? Have they already called you?”

  “No. They showed up at the door about fifteen minutes ago, all aflutter about some crime scene at Elvis Presley Lake.”

  “Good grief! They don’t even know if there’s been a crime.”

  Lovie says a word that makes my eggs shrivel. Still, I can’t help but giggle. Mama and Fayrene love nothing better than plunging straight into the middle of an investigation. At least, it will take Mama’s mind off her so-called brush with death.

  Might I add that playing detective gives me a kick, too?

  “Get yourself over here, pronto, Callie. I’m making breakfast.”

  Thank goodness it’s Saturday and my hair salon is closed. I take beauty seriously. In all the years I’ve owned Hair.Net, I’ve never let a customer down. My dedication has not gone unnoticed. Some of my most loyal customers make appointments with me to fix their hair when they’re dead, whether or not they end up at Uncle Charlie’s funeral home. One of them, Alice Ann Street’s mother to be exact, wants to be made up to look like Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I’ll do my best, even though Mrs. Street is now older than God and gray as a goose.

  I hurry upstairs to take a quick shower and put on a cotton candy pink sundress with Bernardo sandals to match. After I feed Hoyt and the seven stray cats I’d meant to find homes for but never even tried, I climb into my Dodge pickup and make the fifteen-minute drive into Tupelo for breakfast with Lovie.

  When I get to her house, the first thing I see is Fayrene’s hearse parked at the curb. Still, the sight of Lovie’s pink cottage always gives me a lift. It looks like a doll house, more like something I’d choose. My cousin is this outrageous redhead, a slightly fluffy bombshell who is her own best customer. She runs Lovie’s Luscious Eats, the most popular catering service in northeast Mississippi, and when I enter her cottage I nearly swoon over the delicious scents coming from her kitchen.

  “It’s about time you got here, Callie.” Mama is sprawled on the sofa in one of her silent screen movie star poses, wearing a neon colored caftan, this one a shade of yellow that will almost blind you. All she needs is a tiara and she’d pass for who she claims to be – the Queen of Everything. “I’m starving.”

  I spot a platter of sausage balls sitting on the coffee table in front of her and Fayrene.

  “Mama, how can you possibly be starving? You barely left any sausage balls for me.”

  “You know I can’t think on an empty stomach.”

  “Ruby Nell’s right,” Fayrene chimes in. “I thought I was going to have to give her artificial perspiration on the way over.”

  Holy cow!

  “Why is that, Fayrene?”

  “We were trying to come up with a plan to comprehend the baby boot camp thief, and her blood sugar got so low I thought she’d pass out.”

  I study Mama in case there’s a grain of truth in that. After all, both of she and Fayrene are getting up in years, and as Mama always says, “You never know when your number will be called.” This is a dark reference to her close call at the mailbox. Thank goodness, she’s not harping on it. Also, thank goodness, she looks healthy to me, and I breathe a little sigh of relief. I’d hate to bring Jackie Nell into this world without a grandmother.

  “Breakfast is ready!” Lovie’s standing in the kitchen doorway dressed all in black, every bit of it formfitting. She’s got a bright red sash tied around her middle and
she’s wearing lipstick to match. My cousin has class, pizzazz and plenty of fashion know-how. Plus, she’s the best friend I have on this earth, and I don’t even want to think what I’d do without her.

  We all troop into Lovie’s fabulous kitchen. Every time I come here, I have to stop in the doorway just to let it all sink in. Polished brass pots and drying herbs hang over her kitchen island, and cinnamon-scented orchids decorate her deep windowsills. Add to that the smell of buttermilk biscuits and country fried ham with red-eye gravy, plus her famous chocolate cherry cake and I’d love to wrap my arms around this room and simply inhale it.

  We sit at Lovie’s maple table where she’s piled platters high with the best breakfast in the state. She’s also put a notebook and pencil at each plate without being told. The Valentine women plus Fayrene have solved so many crimes we automatically go into amateur sleuth mode anytime something bad happens.

  We light into the biscuits while I tell about my discovery on the baby boot camp list.

  “Hold your horses,” Mama says. “Let’s get to important things first.”

  “Mama, what could be more important than finding out who the thief is?”

  “Finding out whether Jack got you pregnant last night.”

  “Holy cow!” Judging by the heat in my cheeks, my face is turning every shade of red. “I’m not about to discuss private bedroom matters.”

  “Callie’s right, Ruby Nell.” Fayrene digs into the butter and slathers two biscuits. “There’s no point in her going pubic with that information.”

  Lovie nearly chokes on her ham, and I reach for another biscuit. Usually I only eat half of one, but for some reason, I’m hungry as a horse this morning. My cousin is still trying to get control when I kick her under the table. Then I give her a look that says help me out, here.

  “Aunt Ruby Nell, you’ll be the first to know when Callie’s pregnant. Now, let’s get on with this baby thievery. I’ve got a wedding to cater this afternoon.”