by Webb, Peggy
Take down! And I’m off like a rocket. Ugly Face can fend for herself.
I grab Hillary’s leg while Ruby Nell grabs her face.
Well, bless’a my soul. Hillary’s face comes off in Ruby Nell’s hands.
“Rubber mask,” Ruby Nell shouts, and then she just goes into some kind of stupor. Refrigerator boy is still yelling at her to get out of the way, and I don’t even want to know what’s going on at the other side of the parking lot with Bill Clinton. Judging by the screams, it’s a free-for-all.
“Move!” Refrigerator guy yells again. “I can’t get a clean shot.”
Ruby Nell pays this order no more attention than she did the first. This fearless detective is still hanging on by the teeth to the pants leg of Hillary Clinton; but sans mask and manners, she’s turning the air blue with bad language.
Well, bless’a my soul. She turns out to be a he.
I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. Or his pants, either one. Ruby Nell snaps to, reaches into her knife holster and pulls out a wicked blade. It would be glinting in the moonlight if we could see the moon. As it is, I have to imagine the glint.
Meanwhile, the former Hillary Clinton apparently imagines the pain. He jerks free and bound off, disappearing over the wooden fence behind Eternal Rest.
Refrigerator man grabs Ruby Nell by the shoulders.
“Put that knife away, find a safe spot and don’t move!” Then he’s on the chase, scrambling over the back fence with a spryness that belies his size.
Still, I could have told him pursuit is useless. Our culprit is long gone, but the ruckus behind us is getting louder.
My famous hips swivel around, but I’m not putting on a show in Las Vegas. I’m checking out the hullabaloo.
In this murky weather it’s hard to tell who is who, but it looks like Fayrene is smacking the top of somebody’s head with a mop while Lovie stands nearby waving her butcher knife.
“Back off,” a man’s voice yells, but it’s hard to be authoritative when you’re at the business end of a mop. It’s also hard to tell whether or not he is Bill Clinton. His mask is lying in the parking lot, half buried under Fayrene’s feet, and his face is obscured by the rain.
“This’ll teach you to mess with us.” Fayrene swings the mop around and whacks his backside.
He draws his gun faster than one of the cowboys I watch in late night movies with Jack. Then, he changes his mind and just stands there letting Fayrene flail away with her makeshift weapon.
That’s my first hint that she’s cornered the wrong man. The next comes when Charlie plunges through the front door yelling, “Stop!” He’s followed by Bobby Huckabee, who is holding a Colt .45. I guess he thinks toting a gun makes him look dangerous, but I’ve got news for this would-be cowboy. If he wants to look lethal, he’s got to point it somewhere besides his ostrich hide boots. If that thing goes off, he’s liable to rip into an ostrich.
“What did you say, Daddy?”
“See if you can’t put a stop to that, Lovie. Fayrene’s got the wrong man.”
Lovie says a string of words I’ll bet her daddy hasn’t heard since he left the Company. Fayrene backs down, but she’s still holding the mop as if it’s a baseball bat and she’s just itching to use it.
Her victim nods toward Charlie, then races toward the fence and goes over faster than a scalded cat. Probably in pursuit of the former Bill and Hillary Clinton.
“Daddy, what’s going on?”
“First, let’s get everybody out of the rain, Lovie.”
That gets my vote. If it gets any wetter out here, somebody’s going to have to build a bridge over troubled water.
Chapter 9
Sex, Lies and Hot Water
Being with Jack in the dark is always cause for temptation, but if anybody thinks I’m going to make reunion love with my husband on the same floor that holds a dead clown, they’re sadly mistaken.
I have babies on my mind, all right, but not making them. Especially after Jack says, Cal, about that doll…”
“What about our little girl? And don’t you leave out a single detail, Jack.”
“Let me fix the lights, first.”
“Not without me, you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t think of it, Cal.”
He hauls me up and tucks me into the shelter of his broad chest and then guides me in the dark straight out the door. I can’t say I’m sorry to leave Carl Branson behind, even if he is going to need more work than before he flew off the table. I feel some guilt about leaving him splattered all over the floor, but it’s short-lived. If he were a nice man with law-abiding acquaintances, he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess in the first place.
Jack and I wind around the bowels of the funeral home. He’s like a cat. Stealthy and able to see in the dark. Plus, he’s got his gun out and pointed, and he doesn’t take a step until he’s swept the area for lurking villains and judged it safe.
“Here we are.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and positions me right by the breaker box. “Now stay put.”
“Might I remind you I’m not a petunia you can just plant and expect it to be there till you come back with a watering can.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.”
“Jack Jones, you know good and well that’s not what I meant.”
“Hmmm,” is all he says, and I’ll have to content myself with that.
I’ll also have to content myself doing exactly what he says because I’m not about to go wandering about in the dark while my would-be killer is on the loose with that dreaded plastic bag. If I have to leave this earth before I can conceive and bear fabulous children, I certainly don’t want to be smothered to death by a plastic bag. They’d never get my hair fixed right again. Plus, it would take some kind of minor miracle to get the terror off my face. I’d rather go out with a bullet to the heart. It’s quick and leaves no time to contort the face into something ugly. I’d hate for Jack’s last memory to be that death did not become me.
“Aha,” Jack says, and I jump like he’s just read my mind.
“Aha, what?”
“Somebody cut the wires. If I can just splice them…” He wanders off and suddenly I’m left standing here in the pitch black.
“Jack?”
There’s this long silence that makes me wish I could have found my .38 on the floor.
“Right here.” He comes up behind me, and I jump a mile. He runs his hand through my hair and at that very moment I don’t have the least bit of interest in knowing what he did with a latex doll. I just know he’s a sweet guy and I’m glad I didn’t give in to my foolish side and divorce him over his Harley with the heated seats.
“Hang on, Cal. We’ll have lights in a minute.”
He goes back to using that magic know-how men use with all things electrical, mechanical and digital. The light comes on and I fully appreciate that I married the best-looking man in the South. We lean toward each other as naturally as trees bending in the wind. There’s no telling what all we would have done if his cell phone hadn’t gone off.
“It’s Charlie,” he says, and then proceeds to nod his head to whatever my uncle is telling him. Finally, he slides the phone back into his pocket, wraps an arm around my waist and says, “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Upstairs. Britt and Holmes would have caught the criminals if Lovie and Ruby Nell and Fayrene hadn’t tried to do it first.”
“Holy cow! Is anybody hurt?”
“Ruby Nell claims she stabbed Hillary Clinton with her Bowie knife.”
“That sounds just like Mama.”
“Fayrene claims she beat up Bill Clinton with her mop.”
“Good grief! Where’d they get the idea the Clintons were here?”
“I guess we’ll soon find out.”
Jack pushes open the door at the top of the stairs and we walk straight into bedlam. Mama’s hair is sticking out all over and she’s got something red on her sleeve that I’m hoping is not blood. Fayrene
’s cowboy hat is molting sequins and mashed so low I can barely see her face. Lovie and Elvis are the only two who came through the fracas looking like themselves.
Elvis barks a greeting that I swear sounds like Blue Suede Shoes. Plus, he’s got the attitude to go with it. I drop to my knees and he races over to lick my face. Now, that’s what I call happy to see me.
“I’ve missed you, too, boy.”
“Who wants coffee?” Lovie says, and we all say I do at the same time.
My cousin leads the motley crew into the kitchen, which is state of the art and looks like it ought to be featured in Southern Living. Not every funeral home has a set-up like this. But Uncle Charlie foresaw the importance of turning funerals into social events and gave Lovie full authority over the kitchen design.
We grab coffee and seats around the oak table, everybody except Jack, who stands behind my chair. Nobody can get to me unless they go through him, and let me tell you, you don’t want to mess with Jack Jones. I drink my coffee with a new appreciation for being married to a Company man.
Uncle Charlie is at the head of the table, a natural position for the Valentine family’s own godfather.
“First,” he says, “I want everybody here to put their weapons on the table.”
Fayrene gives up her mop and her equally lethal toilet plunger. But Mama has other ideas.
“Flitter, Charlie. It’s just a little ole knife.” She pats her holster. “And it’s right here in plain sight.” Uncle Charlie doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand till Mama forks over the Bowie.
Good grief! There’s blood on the blade.
“Mama, what in the world did you do out there?”
“I got Hillary in the arm. Only she was a man.” Mama throws a mask onto the table, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear I was looking at the face of Hillary Clinton.
“Did you get a good look at him, Ruby Nell?”
“I most certainly did, Charlie. I can describe him to a tee.”
“Well, go ahead, Mama,” I tell her.
“He has blond hair. Wait a minute… Maybe it was brown. For Pete’s sake, who could tell in that monsoon?”
“That’s all right, dear heart.” Uncle Charlie reaches over to pat Mama’s hand. “Just see if you can remember whether he had any distinguishing features.”
“He had a mustache. And he was bleeding in the left arm. Or was it the right?”
“In any case, he was injured. And that’s a good thing.” Uncle Charlie favors Mama with one of his really charming smiles. He’s not the kind of man who goes around grinning, which makes his smiles all the more special.
“You ought to see Bill Clinton after I whipped him with the mop,” Fayrene says. “I thought he was going to have a Cadillac arrest.”
“Actually, it turned out you were beating one of the good guys.” Lovie gets up from the table to fetch brownies.
“Que Sarah Sarah,” Fayrene says, and I don’t dare look at Lovie. Sometimes when we’ve had this kind of day, she and I can crack up over practically nothing. Fayrene’s malapropisms top the list.
“You have the mask, don’t you, Fayrene?” Lovie sets the platter on the table then nabs two brownies for herself.
“No. I just took it for granite you had it.”
“Don’t worry about it, dear hearts,” Uncle Charlie says. “Bobby, see if you can find it. We might be able to pull a print.”
Jack leaves me long enough to grab a couple of plastic bags for Bobby’s hands, and then he’s back.
“We’re dealing with some very dangerous career criminals here.” Uncle Charlie looks everybody around the table straight in the eye and not a single one of us doubts his word. “While I appreciate that the women in my family – and you, too, Fayrene – have a lot of moxie, it’s time to stop your investigation and let the professionals handle it.”
“Flitter, Charlie…” Mama says, but he holds up his hand and she goes still.
“I’m going to let Jack take over now.” He nods in our direction and I feel the increased heat coming off Jack. When his adrenaline gets going, his body temperature raises five degrees. It’s like being in the vicinity of a forest fire.
“The clown was part of a kidnapping ring that targets children. He took the fall for the leaders, and for reasons we don’t yet know, we think one of them killed him and intended to pin it on Lovie. We also think they are the ones who tried to run you down, Ruby Nell…”
“I knew I was nearly murdered!”
“…and someone tried to kill Callie tonight.” Mama turns six shades of pale, and Lovie looks like she’s about ready to murder somebody. “That’s too much to be coincidence. We believe the entire Valentine family is at risk. Therefore, you will all stay put and under guard until this case wraps up.”
“And when might that be, Jack Jones?” Nothing gets my dander up than being told what to do, even by a husband I adore.
“You know I don’t read crystal balls, Cal.”
“Bobby does,” Fayrene says, just as he comes back with the Bill Clinton mask. “Tell them what you told me and Ruby Nell.”
If he says we’re all in danger from a dark eyed stranger, I’m going to scream. I might scream anyhow. It’s not every day a girl gets a plastic bag shoved over her head.
“There’s trouble from three.”
“Three what?” Lovie asks, and she has this strange look on her face that I can’t decipher.
“A man and two women.”
“And how do you know all this, Bobby?” Jack wants to know.
“He called the clown up from the never after,” Fayrene says. “Today. In my séance room.”
“Can you describe them?” I ask this gently because I think Jack’s question has rattled poor Bobby, who has always been in awe around him.
“There was too much fog to see.” Suddenly Bobby’s psychic eye twitches, and I get the oddest sensation. It’s not every day you see a green eye looking steadily at you while the blue one seems to be spinning in circles. “Beware the fog.”
“Holy cow, Bobby. Are you all right?”
“Water,” he gasps, and Fayrene trots over to fill a glass for him.
Everybody starts talking at once. When Jack walks over to Charlie, I join Lovie, who has gone to the kitchen sink.
“What was that all about, Lovie?”
“What do you mean?”
“That look you got when Bobby was talking about the séance.”
“I don’t know. Something started niggling at my mind, but I couldn’t ever figure it out.”
“Was it something you heard? Something you saw?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was something I saw at baby boot camp when I was in my Dimples disguise.”
“Something about the duck man and Mertis?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“That’s okay. It’ll come to you.” I slide my arm around her. “You need to stay with Jack and me till all this is over.”
“No. You two go home and have fun. Daddy’s sending Britt to guard me.”
“You asked for him, didn’t you?”
“What if I did?”
“I swear, Lovie. You know Rocky’s crazy about you. Why would you want to jeopardize that?”
“Who says I’m going to jeopardize anything?”
“I know you. You’ll put on something sexy and invite Britt in for brownies, and before you know it, he’ll be discovering your national treasure.”
“You think too much, Callie. Just go home and concentrate on making a baby.”
“Not till I find out what happened to the first one!”
She rolls her eyes and says a word I don’t want to repeat. “It’s just a doll, Cal.”
“Maybe so, but it represents little Jackie Nell, and I’m not about to let Jack get off Scot free till I find out where she is.”
I feel arms closing around me from behind.
“Did I hear somebody calling my name?”
“You most certainly did, Jack Jo
nes. We have to talk.”
“Yes, we do. But not here.” He hustles me toward the door.
“What about Fayrene and Mama?”
“Holmes will be watching Fayrene’s house and Charlie’s going to the farm tonight to watch after Ruby Nell.”
It’s not the first time Uncle Charlie’s stayed at the farm, but for some reason this time feels different. Or maybe it’s just me, thinking with my heart because Jack is home.
He’s in a hurry to get there, too. Elvis has to trot to keep up with us. We burst through the front door into a murky night. The rain has stopped but it has turned foggy. With Bobby’s warning fresh on my mind, I get the creeps.
Still, the minute we get to the motorcycle, I spot little Jackie Nell in her pretty baby carrier, looking as good as new.
“Oh, my goodness, Jack. You did a wonderful job!” I strap on my helmet and the baby carrier then climb aboard and wrap my arms around his waist.
“Cal, about that doll…” He revs the Harley, and it sounds like fifteen big trucks are getting ready for a drag race.
“I can’t hear. You can tell me when we get home.”
We ride in fog all the way, and it’s different when you’re exposed like this. More personal, somehow. Scarier. If it weren’t for Jack I’d have the shivers.
Actually, I do have them, but in a very different way. In fact, when we get home, he grabs me up and takes the stairs two at a time. And we never do get around to talking about Jackie Nell.
Elvis’ Opinion #8 on Heroes, Love and Canine Camp Outs
There’s nothing that beats seeing your human parents love each other so much they don’t even notice that you don’t trot up the stairs behind them and climb into your very own pink satin pillow for some well-deserved snooze time. I’m not that kind of dog. Discreet is my middle name. I’m just plain classy. I’m not about to be a canine voyeur while Callie and Jack have a couple’s reunion.
I sashay my elegant but portly self into the kitchen, stand on my hind legs and knock a box of PupPeroni onto the floor so I can scarf down a well-deserved treat. It should be a T-bone steak for putting up with Ugly Face, but Jack will see that I get one when all this is over.
