Elvis and the Rock-A-Hula Baby Capers

by Webb, Peggy

  I can’t shake Bobby, either. When I pass by Gas, Grits and Guts, I see his baby blue car idling in the parking lot. Since my shop is across the street and my house is around the corner, that gives him a good view of my comings and goings.

  I consider waving at him then decide it might embarrass him since he’s supposed to be incognito. When I get home, I see Fayrene’s hearse still there. I park beside it and sit in my Dodge Ram a while, sucking up my courage. The last thing in the world I want to do is drive to Tupelo in the dark and hole up with a murder victim. But that’s my night job, and if I can’t handle it I need to resign and tell Uncle Charlie to get somebody else to do it.

  I expect to be greeted by Mama and Fayrene, but they are nowhere in sight so I just head upstairs and cheer myself up by changing into a pair of cute floral leggings with a yellow tank top and sandals that match. As the owner of Hair.Net I have a beauty standard to uphold, and I’m not about to let murder get in the way. My shiny bob only needs a quick brushing, and then I put gardenia perfume on all my pulse points. The bedroom mirror shows a woman who looks like she can handle anything. Which, of course, I can.

  Still, I reach for my pint-sized flashlight and my gun then drop them into my big yellow straw tote with the daisy closure. Anybody looking would never guess that I’m carrying more than lipstick.

  When I head down the stairs, what do I see? Mama and Fayrene standing in the middle of my living room looking like outcasts from High Noon.

  “Holy cow, Mama!” She’s dressed in a black cat suit cinched with a tooled leather belt that holds a holster with a Bowie knife. Fayrene’s wearing Bermuda shorts the exact color of broccoli and a green sequin studded tee shirt that clashes. Plus, she’s toting a mop in one hand and the toilet plunger in the other. To top it all off, she’s wearing a Stetson with a green sequined band. You can see her all the way from Mars. “What in world is going on?”

  “I talked to Charlie, and we’re riding to the funeral home, shotgun,” Mama says.

  “No, you’re not. For one thing, we won’t all fit in the cab of my truck, and for another, you can’t just go around toting a knife in plain view.”

  “Give me one good reason why not.”

  “You don’t even know how to use it, Mama.”

  “There’s always a first time for everything, and besides, who you think will be in charge of the music at the clown’s funeral? That’s my final say, Caroline.”

  Mama’s about half-way right. With my beauty expertise, Lovie’s knack for feeding the bereaved, Mama’s enthusiastic but sometimes questionable taste in music and Uncle Charlie’s skill in making the dead look like they’re about to resurrect, the Valentines have death covered.

  “We’re all going in my hearse,” Fayrene chimes in, “and that’s my final say. These criminal types put out testicles that reach in every direction. If Ruby Nell and I hadn’t been at your beauty saloon yesterday, there’s no telling what would have happened.”

  Holy cow! I ought to march back upstairs, shut the door and just quietly have a nervous breakdown. Or I could point out that I won’t be alone at Eternal Rest.

  Still, there’s no telling what kind of trouble Mama and Fayrene will get into if I leave them here.

  “Come on, then.” I head outside to climb into Fayrene’s hearse like I’m not popping all over with goose bumps and premonition.

  No sooner are we on the highway than I spot Bobby pulling out of the parking lot at Gas, Grits and Guts. After all this is over, I’m going to see if Jack will give him some lessons in the subtleties of surveillance. When we get close to Eternal Rest, Bobby drops back in the vain hope that we won’t know he’s been following us.

  Eternal Rest is lit up like a display of Roman candles, and I’ll have to say it looks beautiful in the dark. It’s this grand old Victorian home, converted to the kind of place you’d want to send off your dearly departed.

  Fayrene parks the hearse close to the entrance, but I say, “Wait right here,” and then climb out to reconnoiter the parking lot. You never know what might be waiting behind the bushes.

  There’s supposed to be a full moon, but you wouldn’t know by looking. Dark clouds obscure the moon and most of the stars, making it the kind of murky evening you see in movie scenes that show murder and mayhem.

  I make a quick circuit, staying far away from the bushes so nobody can reach out and grab me.

  Is that a shadow behind the hydrangea bush? I shine my flashlight in that direction and see a branch moving. The wind has picked up, and it could be nothing more than nature showing a bit of temper before a storm. Still, I step as close as I dare, but don’t see a thing except a few mop-head blooms stirring.

  I trot back to the hearse.

  “All clear.” Mama and Fayrene bail out in their gosh-awful getups and we troop inside. Uncle Charlie’s office door is closed, but there’s a light showing under the door. “Uncle Charlie’s here.”

  Mama and Fayrene both ignore me and trot straight toward the kitchen. You can already smell the good cooking coming from that direction. They are either starving to death or don’t want Uncle Charlie to see their get-ups. I vote for the latter.

  I head to his office where he’s bent over a file folder. The lamp light shines in his silver hair and he looks like he’s wearing a halo. That would be appropriate for Uncle Charlie. I think he practically walks on water.

  “Hello, dear heart.” He comes around his desk to kiss me on the cheek. “How was your day?”

  “Better than yesterday, Uncle Charlie. How about you?”

  “Fit as a fiddle.”

  “Do you have any leads on who killed the clown?”

  “Nothing yet.” He offers his arm. “I’ll escort you to the body.”

  I think it’s sweet that Uncle Charlie always does this. He’s a true Southern gentleman who didn’t lose a single bit of his charm while he was working for the Company. I’m hoping Jack can be just like him.

  We head through a reception area that is designed to look like Graceland without the gold shag carpet. Elvis feels right at home here, and so do the bereaved. The surroundings – plus the funeral reception catered by the best Mississippi has to offer – give them the feeling that they’re sending their loved one off with a posh affair their neighbors will be talking about for months to come.

  “Did Ruby Nell come with you?”

  “She and Fayrene both came. They’re back in the kitchen with Lovie.”

  “I’ll go back there later and chat with Ruby Nell about the services.”

  “Be prepared.” I describe her outfit and the weapon she carrying, and Uncle Charlie laughs so hard tears roll down his cheeks.

  “She’s incorrigible. No wonder Michael adored her.”

  Might I add that Uncle Charlie does, too? Sometimes I wonder if his affection extends beyond that he’d give a sister-in-law. I’ve even discussed it with Lovie, but both of us are mystified. Here’s the way she puts it. “If they’ve harboring a secret love then they’re such good actors they ought to be in Hollywood.”

  I guess time will tell.

  “Uncle Charlie, did anybody come forward to make arrangements for the clown?”

  “No. But I received a cryptic letter along with a bank draft to cover expenses.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “He didn’t deserve it, but give him the best.”

  “Do you have any idea who sent it?”

  “No. It was computer generated on standard equipment, and there was nothing to distinguish it.”

  My guess is that the letter is somehow connected to the murder. This gives me the shivers. Plus, we’ve come to the staircase, and I know what’s waiting for me at the bottom. For the first time in all the years I’ve been working here, going down these stairs gives me the creeps.

  Maybe I’m missing Jack. Or maybe I’m pregnant and my hormones have changed and I’m undergoing some sort of transformation that will make me a better mother. Sort of a Jekyll and Hyde change, except
reverse and much, much nicer.

  Uncle Charlie escorts me into my makeup room and I try not to focus on the sheet-covered body. Instead I concentrate on the soft lighting coming from the wall sconces and matching lamps. They have pink plastic shell-shaped shades and they give everything in the room a rosy glow. Silk cushions in gold, red and hot pink are strewn across a mushroom colored velvet sofa. This room says welcome, though I’ve yet to have one of my clients rise up from the dead and appreciate it. Still…I’m proud to say I designed the décor, right down to the small coat closet and the French style makeup table tucked against the opposite wall.

  I hear a door slam across the hall, and Uncle Charlie says, “Bobby’s here.”

  I don’t tell him I already knew he was coming. I also don’t spill the beans that I know his assistant undertaker has been following me around in such an obvious manner he might as well be atop a circus elephant.

  “Good,” I say. “It’s always reassuring to have him across the hall.”

  “Why don’t I go upstairs and speak with Ruby Nell, then I’ll come back down with my coffee and keep you company?”

  “That sounds great, Uncle Charlie.”

  I hope he doesn’t know hear how nervous I am. He has enough on his shoulders without worrying about a niece coming unraveled.

  He goes out the door and suddenly I’m alone with a murdered man. Not that I haven’t done this before. It’s just that tonight, I have a gut feeling something is terribly wrong. That, plus the fact that my horoscope is issuing warnings.

  I set my bag on the sofa. Ordinarily, I’d put it in the coat closet, but I want my gun in easy reach.

  “Well, Carl, I guess it’s just you and me.”

  I almost expect Carl to sit up and agree with me. It’s that kind of night.

  I pull back the sheet and study his face so I can select just the right shade to make him look natural. He’s olive skinned, something I couldn’t have known from seeing him at the park behind all that clown makeup.

  I head to my makeup table to grab the perfect base and a good quality sponge. Suddenly all the lights go out. A scream bubbles up but I’m not about to give in to hysteria. I can do this. All I have to do is stand here a while until my eyes adjust to the dark then find my way across the hall and ask Bobby to check the breakers.

  Suddenly there’s a loud thud coming from the first floor, followed by an ear-splitting scream.

  “Mama?” I yell. “Are you all right?”

  She screams again, and I’m standing in the pitch black dark with nothing but a makeup sponge to defend her. Yelling for Bobby to get upstairs and see what’s going on, I blunder around in the dark, trying to find the sofa so I can grab my gun. My leg bangs against the gurney, and Carl goes air-born. I duck just in time to keep from being hit, but the unfortunate flying dead lands with a sickening thump on the floor at my feet.

  It’s going to take a miracle to get him presentable for burial. But I can’t think of all that right now. There are footsteps racing all over the first floor and Fayrene is yelling, “Comprehend that criminal!”

  At least I know one person’s alive up there. I swallow the nausea rising in my throat then creep around the gurney. I bang into something hard and unforgiving – the end table, I think. Then I lunge in what I hope is the direction of the sofa. I feel the cushions, thank goodness, and scramble around for my purse.

  There it is! I grab for it, and there’s this sickening explosion that could mean only one thing: my gun has gone off, hitting no telling what.

  Oh, shoot, that also means I forgot to put the safety on. Jack’s going to kill me…if I don’t do the job first.

  I scramble onto the floor for my gun, and my left knee crashes down on the metal tube of my lipstick.

  “Holy cow!”

  “If that’s your final prayer, it’s a bad one.”

  “Who…” Suddenly, I’m wearing a plastic bag on my head and anything I’d thought to say is buried under a thousand layers of terror. Plus, I have the disadvantage of being pinned on the floor with the attacker sitting on my back.

  I try to suck in air, but there’s very little left in the bag. I’d better think of something while I still can. Clawing his eyes is impossible at this angle. But I do have one advantage: the muscle tone of an athlete.

  I’ll only get one chance at this. Sending up silent pleas to Mother Earth and Mother Teresa and every other mother I know, I use the strength in my forearms to lift my torso upward. And then I roll sideways.

  There’s a thumping sound followed by a string of words even Lovie doesn’t know. And I’m free! I rip the plastic bag off my head and gulp air. But my assailant is scrambling around on the floor, and suddenly large hands grab me. I haul off and land a left hook to the eye.

  Before I can get in another shot, I’m pinned down again. And it feels like my attacker has gained fifty pounds. I thrash and try to roll sideways, but this time, it’s useless.

  “Cal…Cal. Be still. It’s me.”

  “Jack?” I feel his hands searching my face.

  “Are you all right, Cal?”

  “Holy cow! I’m fine. Get off me and grab that killer!”

  “Don’t worry about that right now.”

  He pulls me upright and into his arms, then leans against the sofa and holds me as if he’s never going to let go. If this is a plan, I’m happy to go along with it. Except for one thing.

  “We’ve got to get upstairs. I think they took Mama.”

  “Shh, shh. She’s all right, Cal.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The last time I saw her, she and Fayrene were in the parking lot.”

  “But they’re armed and dangerous!”

  “They can’t do much damage. Holmes and Britt are out there.”

  “That would the Incredible Hulk and the cold-eyed man Uncle Charlie sent to my shop yesterday?”

  “The same. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  “Yes, I do. Where’s the baby, Jack?”

  “Cal, about that doll…”

  Elvis’ Opinion #7 on Pot Shots, Bad Shots and Crack Pots

  I’m sitting in the Eternal Rest parking lot on the Harley staring at Ugly Face Two while there’s a whole herd of hideous latex babies stashed at my feet in Jack’s duffle bag. It’s enough to give me fever.

  To top it off, it has started to rain. That’s all I need, a wet coat that will bring out my eau de canine.

  But Jack said, “Watch the dolls, Elvis,” and what’s a noble dog to do?

  He took off like a streak of greased lightning. I know where he went and what he’ll do when he gets there. And let me tell you, he’s not going to the funeral chapel to have a little talk with Jesus.

  Just minutes ago, we were on Main Street in front of Tupelo Hardware where I got my first guitar when I had two legs instead of four, and the call came in from Charlie that something big was going down at the funeral home. Callie was trapped in the basement with the dead and the wicked while Charlie was trying to locate the second intruder and herd Mama and Fayrene and Lovie to safety.

  You talk about flying! Jack went so fast I thought the Harley was going to levitate. We burned rubber in the Eternal Rest parking lot, and he was out of here almost before we came to a stop.

  And he’s packing enough heat to take down half of Tupelo.

  Still, I swiveled my handsome self so I could watch my human daddy a long as possible. This eagle eye spotted two huge shadows materialize out of the bushes, but Jack barely paused then nodded his head and kept on going.

  Suddenly there was a terrible howling, and three banshees rushed out of the funeral chapel and crashed into Jack. Without checking his speed, he raced around the corner and out of sight.

  The outside entrance to the basement is around there. He was headed straight to my human mom.

  Which brings me to this canine detective, trapped with a bunch of stupid latex dolls while the banshees turn out to be none other than Ruby Nell and Fayrene and Lovie
. They are now standing in the rain near the lampposts that decorate Charlie’s front entrance. I’d know Lovie’s famous red hair anywhere.

  “Look,” Fayrene yells and points at me. “Jack left the basket hound, and he’s getting wet.”

  As news flashes go, that one’s a bust. Any fool can see that we’re all getting wet.

  If this were anybody else, any other time, I’d take umbrage. But tonight, there’s a whole lotta shaking going on, and I’ve got to be at my doggone best. Besides, Ruby Nell is armed with a Bowie knife and Lovie’s toting a butcher knife big enough to gut a hog. Lovie knows how to use a knife, but I’m wouldn’t want to get between Ruby Nell’s Bowie and whoever she’s after.

  I just keep my cool and do my job, menial as it is. I’ll be glad when baby boot camp is over and all these criminals are behind bars and the clown is planted six feet under. Then I can go back to the good life of digging up the back yard and gnawing on a bone seasoned with some Mississippi mud.

  “Reckon we ought to rescue the dog?” Fayrene adds, and I shudder to think of the possibilities.

  Much to my relief, Lovie comes to my rescue.

  “Elvis will be fine. Are we going to lock ourselves in the hearse like Daddy said, or not?”

  “Flitter,” Ruby Nell says. “When have I ever taken orders from Charlie?”

  “Besides,” Fayrene says, “There’s a crack pot on the loose. He nearly got Ruby Nell back there, and I’m not about to let him have a shot at me. Jarvetis would be devastating.”

  All of a sudden Bill and Hillary Clinton rush out from opposite sides of the funeral home and all bedlam breaks loose.

  “There they are,” Ruby Nell shouts and takes off in the direction of Hillary, while Fayrene and Lovie barrel toward Bill.

  Suddenly, the shadows come alive, and the one as big as a refrigerator yells, “Stand down!”

  My educated guess is that the shadows are the Company men, Britt and Holmes, which would explain why they don’t know you can’t tell these three women anything. Not only do they ignore the order; it just spurs them on.

  “Stand down, my foot,” Ruby Nell says, right before body-slamming Hillary.