by Webb, Peggy
Meanwhile, I squeeze through the doggie door and into the back yard. It’s still foggy out here, but the rain has stopped, and it’s cooled everything off. I march to the gazebo and station myself in the middle in case Hoyt or those dumb cats get any ideas about horning in on my territory. The gazebo is mine, knuckleheads.
A little breeze has kicked up and I let my ears blow in the wind. If there was a moon, I’d howl at it, but clouds obscure everything except one puny star. Que sera, sera. It’s still a nice night for a canine camp out. If I get lucky, Ann Margret will get an itch that only I can scratch, and then she’ll parade her fancy self down the street so we can head off for a little romance.
I haul myself off the gazebo and stroll over to take a look through the loose board in the back fence to see if there’s any sign of excitement. All I see is a neighborhood so ordinary they ought to be glad I’m here to lend some pizzazz. In fact, they ought to put up signs at the entrance: Elvis lives here.
I stand there a while, trying to decide whether I want to go back to the gazebo or make my escape through the fence and mosey over to Gas, Grits and Guts to see what my old friend Trey is up to. He’s always ready for an adventure, whether it’s chasing a rabbit or heading up to the truck stop to see if true love travels on a gravel road.
My body’s weary after days on the road with Ugly Face, but my feisty spirit’s longing for some good rocking tonight. I poke one paw behind the loose board and suddenly my radar ears go on full alert. I am not alone in this yard. And my incredible nose tells me the intruder is neither canine nor feline. It’s human. Female. And her temper’s so heated up she’s giving off scents that would make the devil run for cover.
Fortunately, I’m a hero. When danger calls, I’m the first to answer.
I swivel my cautious but lethal self around very slowly, and then scan the dark. There. Over by the gazebo. The intruder is bent over, all in black, creeping around toward the back porch. And she’s carrying a knife with a five inch blade.
I consider my options. Bark, and wake Jack. But that also alerts the would-be killer. Race full speed straight toward her and hope I can grab a leg before she reacts and plunges after me with that knife. I don’t like those odds.
I hunker down and crawl in her direction, staying in the shadow of the fence. So far, so good. She’s hesitating, probably trying to decide whether she wants to pick the lock on the back door or try to shimmy up the back porch railing and gain entrance through the second floor window.
I seize my advantage and run at her full tilt.
“What the heck?”
My tackle knocks her to the ground, and the knife goes skittering off into the dark.
“Get off me, you stupid dog!”
The upstairs light goes on.
That’s it, stupid. Just keep on talking.
I sink my teeth deep enough to pierce flesh and she lets out a scream you could hear clear to the casinos over in Tunica.
The porch light goes on and suddenly Jack’s at the back door in his boxer shorts. Callie’s right behind him, belting her pretty pink robe.
“Hold him, Elvis.”
My quarry struggles and kicks, but she’s met her match with this famous dog. I’m not about to let anybody else near my family. It’s time for a brilliant canine detective to take over and show these Company men how it’s done.
Jack’s got her cuffed before I can untangle my teeth. He rips off her mask and Callie yells, “Sally Riker Cunningham!”
Sally calls my human mom so many unflattering names that Jack’s face turns dark and dangerous.
Keep that up, stupid, and you’re going to get your face bashed in.
It’s to my human daddy’s credit as a seasoned Company man and a stellar human being that he doesn’t knock Sally into the middle of yesterday.
Instead he grabs her by the hair and jerks her head backward. “To what do we owe the displeasure of your company?”
She spits in his face and he just calmly wipes it off. I, however, don’t have to be restrained by civilized behavior. I take another big bite out of crime, which just so happens to be her backside, and she screams like a stuck pig.
“Let’s try this again,” Jack says. “Why are you breaking and entering with a lethal weapon?”
“Why do you think, Sherlock?” She glares at Callie, and then makes a rude gesture with her middle finger.
Some people never learn. I chomp down on her ankle. When she finishes screeching she starts blabbering about how the Valentines need to pay for all those years they stole from poor Carl Branson, and now he’s dead and can’t ever get his life back.
Callie turns pale and heads back into the kitchen, and believe me, my human daddy notices.
“Cal, call 911,” he says, and before I can wonder if Callie’s seen the PupPeroni I spilled all over the kitchen floor, our yard is lit up with blue lights and Sally Riker Cunningham is on her way to jail.
Finally, it’s just me and my human parents in the kitchen, Jack with his arms around Callie, and me standing there with my chest puffed out because they are saying I deserve a reward for saving their lives.
Well, bless’a my soul. That’s what I’m talking about.
“What a day,” Jack says.
“I know. And you never did tell me how you managed to trek all over Alabama catching criminals with your friends while you kept the baby in such great shape.”
“About that doll…” Jack gives her this grin that both of us know she can’t resist, and then he comes clean about Ugly Face.
Like I said. He’s a stellar human being and a man a dog can be proud of.
Callie pretends outrage for about two seconds and then she forgives him and suggests they go back to bed.
There goes my dream of spending the rest of the night on my silk pillow. I grab a piece of PupPeroni that has rolled under the kitchen table, then mosey into the living room and heft my heroic self onto sofa for a little late snack followed by a long snooze.
Chapter 10
Tell-All, Show Down and Beauty Miracles
I’m both surprised and not when I wake up and find Jack’s not in bed. His voice drifts up the stairs, and it doesn’t take this Company Man’s wife long to realize he’s on the phone with Unce Charlie, discussing business.
I stretch and yawn and am about to head for a good hot bubble bath when my cell phone rings. It’s Lovie.
“Callie, I just remembered what I was trying to think of last night.”
Considering all that happened here last night, I can’t get too excited about Lovie’s recovery of an illusive memory. Still, I pride myself being an example of good manners as well as beauty.
“What did you recall?”
“You remember when we broke into Sally’s apartment?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“Well, that stuffed bear scared me so bad I forgot what I saw in her bedroom…” Sometimes I want to shake Lovie for her dramatic pauses. “She had a baby bed in there, Callie. She’s never had children and she’s not even married!”
I sit straight up. “This means she’s probably connected to the kidnapping gang. I’ll tell Jack.”
“You’re going to tell him we were breaking and entering?”
“Oh, shoot. I’ll think of something.” I proceed to tell Lovie all about Sally’s late-night foray into my back yard with intent to kill.
“That heifer! It’s a good thing she didn’t show up here. I’d have diced her and put her in my funeral casserole.”
“I never would have expected her to be involved in something as horrible as taking little children.”
“That just goes to that it’s hard to really know people.”
“That’s exactly right, Lovie. So, how was your night?”
“Good.”
“What are you not telling me?” My cousin treats me to this big silence. “Lovie, you didn’t let Britt near your National Treasure, did you?’
“I’m not a bus stop that men can just get on a
nd off as they please.”
“I know. But you didn’t say no, Lovie.”
“I didn’t say yes, either. When are you and Daddy going to remember that I have a brain?”
“I’m sorry, Lovie. Of course, you have a brain. It’s a brilliant one. And I ought to be ashamed. I just worry about you. That’s all.”
“Forget it. I’m headed to the funeral home to finish cooking the death feast.”
“Good grief, Lovie. Could you be any more morbid?”
“Come to the kitchen and I’ll feed you a big breakfast before you have to patch up the flying clown.”
“Holy cow!”
She just giggles and hangs up, and I get out of bed to face a day that begins with death. I just hope it doesn’t end that way.
After my bath, I head downstairs to tell Jack about the baby bed in Sally’s apartment. Considering his confession about the doll, I even ‘fess up about breaking and entering.
“What am I going to do with you, Cal?” He puts on his stern face, but it just comes off as looking fondly indulgent.
“Go to the funeral home and sit with me while I fix up Carl Branson?”
“That’s a given.”
Two hours later, both Jack and Uncle Charlie are in my basement makeup room while I use every skill in my book to repair the damage to the clown. Though neither has much to say, I find myself grateful for the technological age that allows them to conduct business with computers while they drink coffee and keep me company.
Later that evening, I’m grateful for even more, especially the feeling of contentment I have with Jack lying beside me, both of us safe and sound.
“Did Sally say anything about other members of the kidnapping gang?”
“No, Cal. But don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not. I just hope the rest of them don’t show up tonight with knives and no telling what at all.”
He gathers me close and kisses me.
“What was that for?”
“To make you forget.”
“It didn’t work, Jack. I guess you’ll have to do it again.”
He does. Thank goodness.
*
Funeral day turns out to be clear. It’s so much easier on the bereaved not to have to deal with bad weather as well as loss. Still, as we gather in Uncle Charlie’s office, I’m wondering if anybody will come to grieve the loss of the clown.
“We expect all the major players to be here,” Uncle Charlie says. He’s sitting behind his desk looking completely unruffled. He’s not fooling any of us with his poker face. It hides a deep love and concern for his family.
All of us are here, and all of us are wearing black except Fayrene. Her pants suit is a deep forest green that just misses being black. The coat is way too big, which immediately arouses my suspicions. What’s she hiding under that coat? For that matter, Mama has ditched her usual caftan for a dress with a voluminous skirt. She could carry a whole artillery under there. And probably is.
“Since Elvis distinguished himself so brilliantly catching Sally Cunningham, I’m stationing him at the organ with Ruby Nell.” My dog preens and even gives this goofy canine grin. I wouldn’t put it past him to be planning which song to howl during the services. “Of course, the chapel will be covered with plainclothesmen, and both Jack and I will be there. He’ll be at the front and I’ll be at the back close to the organ.”
What he means is close to Mama. He turns toward me as if he’s read my mind.
“Callie, I want you and Fayrene to stay in the kitchen and help Lovie. Britt will be your bodyguard.”
Lovie’s grin looks suspicious to me, like she’s happy about more than being safe. As soon as all this is over, I’m having a serious talk with her. For one thing, I want to know when she’s seeing Rocky Malone again. I know he’s on an archeological dig in Arizona, and furthermore, I know he’s been asking her to come out there. A little vacation would do her good.
“Does anybody have any questions?” Uncle Charlie looks around the room, but nobody says a thing. That’s respect for you. Everybody here loves Uncle Charlie, including Jack, who is clearly the most dangerous and capable person in this room. Still, I’m proud that he defers to my uncle. “That’s it, then. Stay safe, dear hearts.”
“Uncle Charlie’s going to be right there watching after you, Mama.” I give her a big hug.
“Flitter, Callie. I can take of myself.” Still, she pats my face. “What I want you to do is concentrate on getting pregnant so I can have a grandbaby.”
“Holy cow, Mama. That will have to wait.”
Jack winks at her. “But not too long, Ruby Nell.”
She sashays off like she’s won the lottery. He winks at me too, and then heads off after her.
Lovie links arms and drags me off to the kitchen. “Come on. I’ve got chickens to hack.”
Fayrene trots along behind us, calling, “I hope you’ve got an electric girdle.”
“Don’t worry, Fayrene. I do.”
I poke Lovie in the ribs and she pokes me back. That’s how we get through every bad thing, and I don’t why I suddenly feel like crying. Besides, I’m starving.
Britt is already in the kitchen, both hands full of Lovie’s cheese straws. He smiles when he sees us, but mostly, I notice, he’s smiling at Lovie. I can see how they’d be attracted to each other. Both are bold and colorful and larger than life.
“You just sit over there by the cheese straws, Britt.” Lovie wraps her ample charms in an apron then tosses a couple to Fayrene and me. “The dead chickens await. Start hacking, ladies.”
Sounds filter from the viewing room. It sounds like a large crowd is gathering. By the time Lovie pours oil into several large cast iron skillets, Mama is already in the chapel playing the old favorite, In the Garden. It’s a sweet song so at odds with the way the clown died that I wonder if anybody notices. Particularly whoever killed him.
By the time the oil gets hot and the fried chicken starts filling the platter, the crowd has moved to the chapel. The clock on the wall shows it’s time for the funeral to begin. That’s why I’m totally shocked when Betty Sue Simmons shows up in the kitchen. She’s done something different with her hair, but I can’t say it’s much of an improvement.
She points to her throat then says in this whispery voice. “Laryngitis.”
“You can cure that by gagging with salt water,” Fayrene tells her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Much to Betty Sue’s credit, she doesn’t even crack a smile. “I just wanted to stop by and say how much I appreciate the fine job the Valentines are doing with poor Carl’s funeral.”
Britt turns to stare at her, and something about his face sets off my internal alarm.
“My, don’t those cheese straws look delicious.” Betty Sue is moving toward the table.
“Help yourself,” Lovie tells her.
Suddenly Britt reaches for his holster, but Betty Sue sidesteps and jabs something into his neck. The next thing I know, he’s slumping over the table and she has leaped on me. Before I can react, she gets me in a choke hold and pokes a gun into my back.
“Don’t anybody move or I’ll kill her.” Betty Sue is no longer whispering. And she’s not even female. This is the voice of a man. And a killer, at that.
“Not if I can shoot you first.”
Holy cow! It’s Mertis, standing in the kitchen doorway with a gun pointed straight toward me.
“Have you lost your mind?” The former Betty Sue keeps his voice to an evil growl.
Lovie’s hand is inching toward a skillet, but I shake my head at her. Good grief! That’s all I need: Lovie throwing hot grease and Mertis’s gun going off and shooting me in the head. Even Uncle Charlie couldn’t repair the damage.
“Didn’t you think I’d find out what you did, Daddy?” Mertis shouts.
Daddy? Who is this behind the Betty Sue mask?
“Carl screwed up one too many times,” my captor says. “He was a liability.”
“He was my husband
. And now he’s gone.”
Mertis raises the gun and there’s this awful explosion as the bullet heads my way. Everything seems to go into slow motion. Fayrene is screaming and Lovie’s got a good grip on a skillet full of hot grease and any minute I’m going to be dead.
It comes as a great surprise to me when the bullet whizzes past my head and the killer loosens his grip and slides to the floor behind me. Then all bedlam breaks loose. Lovie’s skillet hits the bull’s eye, and Mertis goes down in a river of hot grease and outrage. Fayrene is on her in an instant, holding a two-pronged fork at her throat and daring her to move. But Mertis is putting up a fight.
“Grab her gun, Lovie,” I yell, and my cousin hits the floor, slides in the grease, grabs the gun and keeps on going. She hits the wall and the gun discharges.
“Duck,” she yells, and I don’t have to be told twice. The bullet pings against a copper pot, then ricochets and explodes into the platter of fried chicken. Thighs and legs fly every which way.
Suddenly Uncle Charlie and Jack are there followed by a whole swarm of undercover cops. Mama is right behind them, carrying a Baptist hymnal like it’s a lethal weapon.
Mertis is carried off in cuffs; Betty Sue, who turns out to be the duck man wearing one of those realistic masks, is carried off wrapped in a sheet, and Britt is carried off on a gurney. He’s already coming around and protesting that he doesn’t need medical attention.
Jack helps me off the floor and smothers me in a hug. “Are you okay?”
“Not a scratch.”
“Good. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice, Jack.”
After the shooting and shouting are over and there’s nobody in the kitchen except Mama and Fayrene and Lovie and me, I grin at my cousin, who is still sitting against the wall in a puddle of grease.
“I could have told you that chicken was already dead, Lovie,” I tell her, deadpan.
“I could have told you I changed my mind about fried chicken, Cal,” she says, equally deadpan. “But I wanted to surprise everybody with chicken fricassee.”
“You did.” I offer my hand and haul her out of the grease. “Let’s not have any more surprises today.”
