by Peggy Webb
“I don’t recall his name. But he was sprawled all over the sand drunk as Cooter Brown.”
“Mother,” the elephant says, but I’m almost beyond hearing.
I can’t get out of this elevator fast enough to find Mama. Thank goodness the door slides open before I can let my anxiety show in front of people I don’t care to know my life story. I hurry out, leaving the elephant and the misguided Beauty to struggle along behind. The ballroom is packed but I know just where to find Lovie. It takes a while because I’m constantly stopped by people congratulating me on my cousin’s win. Finally, I get to the refreshment table, which is laid with a white cloth and every food known to man, and decorated with brass candlesticks and vases of red roses.
Lovie is nowhere in sight, and neither are Mama and Fayrene, the best I can tell. With everybody in costumes and masks the only person I recognize is Tootie, all decked out in red, the Queen of Hearts. I start to wave at her, but she has spotted the elephant and is heading his way.
She grabs him into a bear hug and he drags her toward an alcove surrounded by potted palms. Good grief! Why on earth would Cole Shackley and Tootie Ransom be getting cozy? Everybody knows he can’t get loose from his mama’s apron strings long enough to find a girlfriend. And his straight-lace mama would never stand for him consorting with a married woman.
It’s anybody’s guess what Tootie’s up to. She’s awfully jealous of George’s string of lovers, both real and imagined. Is this some sort of petty revenge? Since George went missing, her actions have roused every one of my detective instincts.
I’m just glad Jack is not here to see me sleuthing. The last thing he said before he left for the great unknown was, “Cal, don’t you get into trouble while I’m gone.”
Well, that’s not the last thing he said, but I don’t go around telling my private life. My motto is intimate matters are nobody else’s business. Except Mama’s, of course. At least, she thinks my secrets are her business. She asks me with the regularity of the rising sun if Jack and I are still “working on” making a baby.
Be that as it may, I hurry in the direction of the elephant and the red queen, but the crowd keeps pushing me off course. Still, I can see over most of them, and might I add that Cole and Tootie are looking mighty intimate?
I see an opening toward the alcove when I get hit by a passing alligator’s tail and end up going in the exact opposite direction, right toward Lovie. The Little Mermaid is in a fury, both hands propped on her hips, facing a couple of pirates whose dark beards and authentic-looking swords make them look dangerous.
“Come on, babe,” the taller of the two says to her. “Just one little dance.”
“I told you no. Now back off!”
Both pirates start closing in…and so do I.
“Stop right there.” I whip out my wand and point it, pistol-like, at the tall one’s chest.
“What are going to do, Cinderella? Turn me into a frog with that magic wand?” The two of them laugh uproariously. Major mistake! Lovie can’t move fast in her fishtail, but I can.
Executing karate moves exactly the way Jack taught me, I come in low. And holy cow! What’s this coming from the opposite direction but Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, armed with the candlesticks I saw on the refreshment table?
The pirates are close enough that I can grab both of them by the privates. One yank and they’re down, hurling words even Lovie doesn’t know.
“Don’t you talk like that in front of my pregnant daughter!” Mama whacks one on the head.
“I didn’t know Cinderella was pregnant,” Fayrene shouts as she crowns the other.
Good grief. Everybody in the ballroom turns to stare. Wouldn’t you know Mama and Fayrene seize the moment to blow the ends of the candlesticks like they’re smoking guns? They even give each other a high five.
Laughter rolls through the crowd then they go back to their dancing and drinking and gossiping. Mostly about my so-called pregnancy, I’m sure.
“Holy cow, Mama!” I don’t know what to say first. What are you doing in that X-rated outfit or what are you doing toting a brass candlestick?
“Thank you would be appropriate, Callie.”
The Little Mermaid can’t stop laughing long enough to say thank you, and the mood I’m in, I’m not about to start off by plumping up Mama’s ego.
“Come on.” Lovie links arms with me and Mama. “Let’s leave these two low-lifes to lick their wounds.”
As we walk off, we skirt around the downed pirates. But Fayrene attempts to step over them. Pirate one howls bloody murder when her foot crunches down on his prized possession that I’ve already twisted sideways. I don’t think her misstep was deliberate, but I could be mistaken.
“What did they say to you, Lovie? All I heard was the tall one asking you to dance.”
“Trust me, Cal. You don’t want to know.”
“Should I go back and step on the other one?” Fayrene says, and I glance back at the pirates, holding themselves and walking all bent-over toward the exit. The sight is so gratifying (two presumptuous idiots who wouldn’t take no for an answer) I almost forget to ask Mama the question that’s been burning me up ever since I got into the elevator with Beauty and the elephant.
“Mama…”
“Guilty!” She giggles then gives me a sideways glance.
“I’m not about to be sidetracked by your shenanigans. Doris Shackley said you were in some kind of trouble at the beach.”
“Flitter. She was probably talking about the sand I got in my bikini. To some people, that’s big trouble.”
Good grief! I’m not even going to ask about the bikini.
“She also said Jarvetis is here.”
“You can’t believe a word she says,” Mama tells me. “That woman’s crazy.”
“Right,” Fayrene says. “Belongs in a Looney Tune bin.”
“Why does that not make me feel better?” If I could wave my magic wand and make this evening start over, I would. Shoot, I’d made the whole trip start over.
Something cold nudges my foot and I squat beside my little Elvis Prince Charming. “Where’ve you been, boy?” I ask, and I swear he swivels around and tries to howl “All Shook Up.”
Or maybe it’s a warning, because here comes Doris Shackley, bearing down on us like a freight train.
“I thought that was you, Ruby Nell. And don’t you look…charming!”
“I could say the same for you.”
Good grief, what is this? Battle of italicized speech? I don’t have time to wonder, because Doris drops a bombshell.
“How’s Jarvetis?”
“He’s at home,” Mama says. “Just cooling it.”
“That’s what I call my little beach cottage, too! Tell him I’m coming over tomorrow to see about him, and he’d better lay off the sauce!” Doris cackles like the wicked witch of the west, then float off in a billow of bad taste.
“Mama!”
“’Bye, Cal. See you later.”
Mama waves her Tinkerbell wand at me and scoots off, dragging Fayrene with her. They can’t outrun me. I’m a woman with long legs and a bad attitude.
“You come back here. I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t. Got things to do.”
Mama never misses a stride, but if she thinks that’s going to stop me, then the Tinkerbell outfit has cut off circulation to her brain. We’ve attracted the attention of the Cowardly Lion and the Tin Man, but I’m not about to be dissuaded by the court of public opinion.
“What things, Mama?”
“Souvenirs.”
“If you’ll care to remember, you’ve got two more days to buy souvenirs.”
“Yes, but not at this shop. It’s going out of business, and it closes at nine.”
“It does?” Fayrene says, narrowly escaping Mama’s magic wand.
Mama beats me to the door, and she races through like her coattails are on fire, dragging Fayrene with her. Elvis turns to give me this look over his shoulder, and I’d swear he�
��s trying to telepath a message to me: Find out what’s happening.
“You might as well go on.” I hold the swinging door to make it easier for him to get through and he lopes off down the hall to catch up with Mama. “Try to keep them out of trouble, Elvis.”
I yell this loud enough for Mama to hear, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“I didn’t know Elvis was here!”
I turn around to see Snow White and Prince Charming a.k.a. Melinda and Jeff Taft.
“Elvis is my dog, Melinda. I don’t think he’s been to a cooking competition with you before.”
“How cute! Jeff, don’t you think that’s cute?”
“What?”
“Callie’s dog. Don’t you think Elvis is a cute name?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. My mind’s on George Ransom. Have you heard anything else about him, Callie?”
“Only what Tootie told me this afternoon.” I repeat what George’s wife said. In cases like this you never know when sharing something might lead to more information that will crack the case.
“If they haven’t found him by now, it’s probably a kidnapping,” Jeff says.
“Or murder,” Melinda says, and Jeff immediately makes some excuse to drag her off.
Why in the world would Melinda even say such a thing? I’m still mulling over the problem when Lovie walks up.
“Did you find out about Jarvetis?”
“Not a word. I could pinch Mama.”
“Just be glad Aunt Ruby Nell has taken her Tinkerbell outfit back to the cottage.”
“I can’t even imagine why she decided on such a getup.”
“She’s just having fun. Relax, Cal.” Lovie drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day and I need my sous chef in tiptop condition.”
“I know you’re right. I’m just glad they’re at the beach. If she were staying here, she’d be up to her neck into that business with George Ransom.”
“Speaking of which, did you see his wife with Cole Shackley?”
“The elephant? How did you know it was him?’
“I’d recognize that voice anywhere.”
“Good grief, Lovie. What did they say?”
“I was just passing by.”
“But didn’t you hear anything?” Lovie says words so hot they’d fry chicken.
“Holy cow, Lovie.” I lean down to whisper. “I think Tootie knows something she’s not telling about George’s disappearance.”
“Every time you say something like that, I end up breaking and entering.”
“Just this once.” I glance across the room to see the elephant and the red queen still canoodling in the corner. “While they’re busy.”
“No. I’m here to cook.”
“This might be our only chance. And somebody’s got to find out where George is.”
Lovie heads toward the ballroom exit, and I grab her arm so she won’t trip on her fish tail.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this every time.”
“Shoot, Lovie. A little breaking and entering can’t possibly be worse than that scene on the dance floor with Tinkerbell and the brass candlestick.”
I shove open the door. Major mistake. Who should be in the hallway but Sol Kennedy?
“Hi, Callie. Congratulations to you and your husband.”
“Thank you.”
What else can I say? It would take ten minutes to explain to Sol that I’m not pregnant but Mama’s monitoring the situation every five minutes so she can be the first to announce it to the whole wide world. I give him a Madonna-with-child smile, and drag Lovie toward the elevators as fast as I can.
“You just can’t wait to break the law, can you, Cal?”
“It beats wiping the floor with two sleazy pirates.”
“You go, girl!”
We high five it then hotfoot into the elevator. Thank goodness, it’s empty, and there are no stops till we got to our floor. We step off into an equally empty hallway.
“This is going to be a piece of cake, Lovie.”
“Stop that. You’re making me hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” I heard straight to Tootie’s door.
“Aren’t we going to change clothes first?”
“No. I don’t know how much time we have.”
Fortunately Lovie learned more than a few tricks from pretty thief, Slick Fingers Johnson, one of her ex-boyfriends. After she picks the lock, we slide into Tootie’s room and start the search, Lovie on one side and me on the other. We’ve done this so many times we don’t even have to discuss the method beforehand.
Tootie has replaced her clothes and stowed her red luggage back in the closet. Fortunately, she’s unpacks neater than she packs. It doesn’t take long to go through her things.
“Bingo!” I grab the note from Tootie’s lingerie drawer and start reading aloud. “Glenda Swift, Georgia Kelly…”
“She keeps a list of female judges?”
“I don’t think so, Lovie. The next one is Melinda Taft.”
“Rumor has it she slept with George in order to win the hot cross buns trophy. That’s a list of George’s lovers.”
“Probably. The next name is yours.”
“I wouldn’t touch George Ransom if he was made out of gold. Wouldn’t you know she’d put my name on there? Tootie hates my guts, and it’s all because that Doris Shackley couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”
“What did she see?”
“George, trying to grope me at the Kentucky Bakeoff. What Doris didn’t see was me giving him a black eye.”
“You socked him?”
“Yeah. I was holding a cast iron skillet at the time. The black eye lasted all through the cooking competition. It took longer with the jaw. They had to wire it back together.”
“Good grief, Lovie. That’s why you should never go anywhere without me.” She doesn’t even dignify that with an answer, and I read the rest of the list aloud. There are three more names, all female chefs Lovie knows.
“This list is motive, Lovie.”
“For a divorce, maybe. But a disappearance?”
“Maybe it was more. Maybe…” Lovie tackles me in mid-sentence and covers my mouth with her hand.
“Shhh. Somebody’s at the door.”
It’s Tootie, talking to herself. And she’s coming in.
We scuttle backward and end up hiding behind Tootie’s red luggage and her multitude of silk dressing gowns. Just our luck, they’re trimmed with feathers, and Lovie’s allergic.
She’s desperately holding back a sneeze while Tootie comes into the room, prancing and skipping, it sounds like, making enough racket for a whole party of people.
“Alone at last!” she says, and I squelch the urge to tell her, “Not entirely.”
“Come here, sugar pants.”
Holy cow! She’s brought a man with her. I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Oh, you big ole elephant, you.”
Tootie just confirmed my suspicion. The man with her is Cole Shackley. Calling Tootie sugar pants! Doris Shackley will be to bury.
Lovie’s sneeze escapes around the corners of her hand. Fortunately, Cole and Tootie are so busy they couldn’t hear a stampede of wildebeests.
The new sounds filtering through the sliding doors make my ears burn. Shoes dropping to the floor. Probably clothes, too, because I definitely just heard the bedsprings protest and enough giggling and pillow talk to make me wish I was anywhere in the world besides hiding in Tootie’s closet.
Lovie whispers a word that is perfectly appropriate for the occasion. “See what you get for making me break and enter.”
I poke her in the ribs and whisper back, “Look on the bright side. If you can time your sneezes, we’ll be okay.”
Elvis’ Opinion #6
Elvis’ Opinion #6 on Hawaiian Shirts, Bermuda Shorts and Katie Bar the Door
There are dozens of souvenir shops along the beach road, but Ruby Nell doesn’t stop until we find one far away from th
e main drag. When she pulls the distinctive pink Cadillac into the parking lot, I get a knot in my stomach that nothing can fill, not even PupPeroni. Not because I hate shopping. Millions of visitors to Graceland can see firsthand that I used to enjoy buying things, the flashier the better.
No, it’s that black car that has been tailing us ever since we left the convention center this afternoon. I saw who’s behind the wheel, too. The pirates Callie took down and Ruby Nell and Fayrene finished off. Still, I wasn’t close enough to catch their scent, and I couldn’t see their faces.
As Ruby Nell and Fayrene barrel into the shop, I’m close behind. Somebody has to protect these two. I glance behind to see the pirates sitting in their car at the Shell station across the street. They’re back in the shadows of a tree, but I’m sure they didn’t count on having to match wits with a smart dog whose eyesight is as keen as his hearing.
Oblivious to the danger lurking under a live oak tree on the ocean side of the street, Ruby Nell picks up a pair of Bermuda shorts in a dizzy shade of orange, and a Hawaiian shirt printed with red and green parrots.
“What do you think about these, Fayrene?”
“I don’t think that’s your style.”
“They’re not for me. They’re for Jarvetis.”
“He’s more preservative in his taste.”
“Not him. The other one.”
“Oh. Well, of course.” Fayrene leans close to whisper. “Something bright and flashy. Hiding in plain sight. Like the perfumed letter.”
“You can pick out a book.”
“What do you want to read?”
“It’s not for me.” Ruby Nell winks then trots off to get a pair of aviator sunglasses and some pancake makeup while Fayrene grabs a much-used book from a bin at the back of the store.
I wonder if either of them thought that a man wouldn’t be caught dead reading Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. But then, this particular male reader is already dead.
We head back to the cottage with our purchases, and arrive to find our unexpected guest turning a cool shade of blue in a puddle of melted ice.
