Elvis and the Pink Cadillac Corpse (A Southern Cousins Mystery, Plus Bonus Recipes)

by Peggy Webb

  “Now, settle down, girly. All I want is for you to sign this little piece of paper.”

  His voice is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. Lovie outdoes herself in creative language.

  “I take it that’s a no?” Good grief, what is he? Who is he? He dodges her bat, which put him two steps closer to yours truly. “Come on, now. Be cooperative. It’s just a little old confession.”

  “To what?”

  “Don’t be dense, girly. The cops have the knife you used in two murders. This will cinch the deal.”

  Holy cow, we’re cornered with the killer! He didn’t come through the door: the night latch is still on. I glance around the room and spot the window standing wide open.

  Suddenly the intruder’s cell phone rings, and Lovie seizes the distraction to take another swing. There’s a sickening crunch as bat meets bone.

  He grabs his upper arm and I move in fast behind a lethal cloud of Hold and Shine, right to his eyes. He howls and Lovie clocks him again.

  He’s down now, on one knee. Elvis goes wild.

  “Get him, Elvis,” I yell, and my little canine protector chows down on a thigh. The killer screams bloody murder, while Elvis sinks his teeth deeper and Lovie whales the living daylights out of him with her bat. I grab one of my Christian Louboutin shoes from the closet and take dead aim at his ear. The stiletto heel connects and he covers his head, screeching.

  “Who’s the girly, girl now?” Lovie shouts.

  “You tell him, Lovie.” I take another whack at his head with my high heel and hear the satisfying sound of bone against…whatever. If he gets out of this alive, he’s going to have knots the size of goose eggs all over him. Not to mention, he’s going to be limping for quite some time from that dog bite.

  “I hope you’ve had your rabies shot!” Lovie yells, and pounds the fire out of his shins.

  Now, he’s going nowhere, and he knows it.

  He says several words that I wouldn’t repeat to a skunk and then flattens himself on the floor, face down, his hands covering his head. “If you gals will leave me alone, I’ll turn myself in.”

  There’s so much commotion, I barely hear the pounding on the door. It comes again, followed by my husband, yelling my name. I race over to throw the night latch, and Jack bursts into the room followed by the Company’s famous clean-up guys, Britt and Holmes. I was never as glad to see so much muscle-and-gun power.

  “What took you so long?” Lovie stands up and sweeps her arms wide to indicate the hurting, crying, desperate killer on the floor.

  “He’s all yours!” I march over to stand by Lovie while Jack cuffs and then unmasks our intruder. It’s none other than Jeff Taft.

  His point of entry should have been my tip off. There are little balconies outside every room on the upper floors. Somebody in top physical form with a circus background, to boot, would have very little trouble cat-walking from balcony to balcony to get to our room.

  He also would have had no trouble jiggling the window enough to get inside. Even Lovie can do that. I’ve seen her, but if I told you where, I’d have to kill you.

  Britt smiles in our direction, particularly at Lovie. He’s had a crush on her ever since Uncle Charlie brought him to clean up one of the messes Lovie and I made. Holmes, too, of course. But it’s six delicious feet of bulging muscle and beautiful black, bald head that rings Lovie’s chimes.

  I make a mental note to see that she gets to spend some time with Rocky Malone very soon. I’m pulling for everybody’s favorite archeologist to win Lovie’s heart.

  Right now, though, I’m content to be the object of Jack Jones’ affection. As Holmes and Britt lug off the criminal, my husband says, “I’ll be downstairs in a minute.”

  Jack’s holding me close and studying me as if I’m a fine diamond he’s willing to pay a fortune for.

  “I’m all right, Jack. I promise you. Not a hair on my head is out of place.” I grin at my cousin. “Nor Lovie’s either.”

  “I don’t even plan to let this interfere with my beauty sleep. If you want to know anything, ask Callie.” Lovie pulls her mask back over her eyes, plops into bed and pulls up the covers. Then she lifts the mask and gives me this one-eyed look. “Make it quick, Cal. I need my sous chef to be tip top in a few hours.”

  “I’ll have her back in a minute, Lovie. I just need to ask a few questions.”

  I grab my room key and the ice bucket and Jack follows me down the hall to the empty service room.

  “How did you know about Jeff?” I ask him.

  “We found the .22 in the garbage dumpster near the tennis courts and traced it back to its owner, Melinda Taft.”

  “I saw her with Jeff near the dumpster earlier this evening.”

  “What were you doing out in the dark by yourself?”

  “Taking Elvis to do his business. And I wasn’t by myself. I had Lovie, and she had her baseball bat.”

  “She sure knows how to use that thing.”

  “Yes, she does, and if you’ll care to remember, I was pretty doggone good with my designer shoes.”

  Jack chuckles. “I’ll have to hand it to you, Cal. Every time I think I’m roaring in to the rescue, you’d already rescued yourself.”

  I stand on tiptoe and reward him with a kiss. He needs no further invitation to steam up this tiny room and set every nerve in my body tingling. Finally, we both come up for air.

  “I still have a few questions about tonight, Cal.”

  “So do I. How’d you know where to find Jeff?”

  “It took some urging, but Melinda finally told me he went to Lovie’s room to invite her to a post-competition celebration.”

  “Holy cow! He was trying to get her to sign a confession and pin a murder rap on her. Not to mention, take her out of the competition.”

  “Britt’s got the note. I’ll find out soon.”

  “I heard what he said, Jack! And so did Lovie.”

  “Okay. Tell me in your own words what happened tonight in that room.”

  I start with waking up from a bad dream and describe every detail, including the phone call, right before we attacked, that can probably be traced back to Melinda warning Jeff to get out because the law was on its way. I’m proud to say I don’t leave out a thing. My memory is almost photographic.

  “Great. I may have few more questions later.”

  “So who shot George with the .22, Melinda or Jeff?”

  “She says somebody stole her gun the first day of the competition, and she knows nothing about any of the murders.”

  “She’s lying. I’d say that last phone call to Jeff proves it.”

  “We’ve still got to untangle that puzzle, Cal.”

  Jack escorts me back to my room and then does his famous vanishing act.

  Grateful for all things, small are large, I lock the window, push a chair against it for good measure then fall into bed.

  Chapter 13

  Desserts, Trophies and True Love

  When Lovie and I enter the cooking hall, Uncle Charlie is waiting for us with Mama and Fayrene. Mama grabs me and proceeds to act as if I’ve just risen from the dead.

  “I didn’t sleep a wink after Jack called Charlie and told us what had happened.”

  “Mama, you look rested.”

  “Flitter. I’ve got enough pancake makeup to make me look like Marilyn Monroe. You know a woman’s face can lie.”

  “You said a mouthful, Ruby Nell. I nearly went into wisteria over what happened, and look at me now.” Fayrene’s in sea turtle green from head to toe. She even finished off her makeup with a bit of green sparkle. I don’t even want to know where she got it.

  “You look rested, too, Fayrene.”

  “That’s all due to you, Callie. I slept like a logger after Charlie said they’ve got a great case on Jeff Taft, thanks to your pornographic memory.”

  “We’d best get settled, dear hearts.” Uncle Charlie to the rescue, as usual. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for the competition, but I’ll ta
ke Elvis so you two can concentrate on winning the trophy.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Charlie.”

  I watch him escort Mama and Fayrene to their front row seats before heading out of the hall…and in the direction of Jack, I’m sure. True to form, Uncle Charlie will personally oversee this case until Lovie is off the hook.

  Lovie and I set to work laying out ingredients and cooking utensils.

  “Cal, do you notice who’s missing?”

  I glance around, clicking off names on my fingers. “Cole Shackley, Melinda Taft, and Tootie Ransom.”

  “This is not at all like Cole.” Lovie whips out her cell phone. “I’m going to call and see if he needs any help.”

  She’s got this expressive face I can read like a book. But I can’t keep up, now. Her emotions are changing faster than a colored wheel on a tinsel Christmas tree.

  “Lovie, what’s wrong?”

  “His number has been disconnected.”

  “Holy cow! That’s major.” I whip out my iPhone and text Jack, just in case he doesn’t already know.

  “Did you tell him Tootie’s not here, either.”

  “Shoot.” I send him another text. Who knows what little thing will break this case wide open.

  The clock on the wall shows we’re only minutes from time to start this competition. And Melinda’s booth is still empty.

  “I thought Melinda would be the first in the hall,” I say. “I wonder if they’re questioning her?”

  “Questioning, my foot. I’d love to see the heifer in handcuffs.”

  I brought Lovie up to speed this morning when we were dressing. Like me, she thinks Melinda was lying her head off to Jack last night. We both believe she’s knee-deep in murder.

  “Speak of the devil.” I nod toward the door.

  Melinda enters the room looking like a woman who didn’t sleep a wink after every one of her evil plans went awry. She’s got bags under her eyes, her hair is half combed and her blouse is buttoned crooked. If she hadn’t caused Lovie so much trouble, I’d want to go over and tidy her up a bit. She has a little girl lost look about her that makes women want to protect her and men want to give her the moon.

  She hurries to her booth and slides in without a word to Lovie. As a matter of fact, she won’t even look in this direction.

  With her old nemesis in place, Lovie tenses up.

  “Relax. Ignore her.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’ve got this, Lovie, and Uncle Charlie and Jack have your back.”

  She settles down while Jet Caulder marches to the podium and takes the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the grand finale! It’s a beautiful day on the beautiful Gulf Coast… Even better, there are no new bodies!”

  I feel as if the bottom of my stomach just dropped out. There’s a collective gasp from the audience and the chefs, followed by a nervous twitter. Thank goodness, Jet realizes that his joke was in the worst possible taste, and hurries on to read the list of rules for the dessert cook-off. The audience finally calms down, grateful to have something good to think about for a change.

  “Chefs,” Jet yells. “Get cooking!”

  For a while, I lose myself in the closely choreographed dance of a master chef creating magic with a handful of ingredients and just the right utensils. Soon, scents of cinnamon and chocolate with hints of violets and roses waft through the convention hall, adding to the magic. This is a world separate from stress and murder, separate, even from the joys and heartbreaks of everyday living.

  Communicating in ways beyond the spoken word, Lovie and I soon have a dessert for the gods rising to golden perfection in the oven. I’m so overcome with pleasure and a delicious sense of accomplishment that I don’t even notice Jack until he’s two feet from our station.

  Suddenly, every part of me is tingling. I glance up straight into the blackest of black eyes. He winks then slides into Melinda’s booth and locks on the cuffs. Then he vanishes as quietly as he appeared. And along with him, the only other chef in this hall who might have beat Lovie in today’s competition.

  Jack stops at the judge’s table to consult with Jet Caulder, and after a brief conversation with the rest of the judges, Sol Kennedy walks over and shuts off Melinda’s oven.

  Lovie and I exchange this look, but we can’t say a word. This competition is not over yet, and too much is at stake.

  Out in the audience, Mama and Fayrene are about to stretch their necks into giraffe-like proportions as they eavesdrop on the judges.

  The clock keeps ticking, and soon chefs all over the hall, including Lovie, are displaying an array of sweets for the judges’ inspection. They start tasting at the back this time, which means Lovie and I have a long time to act as if we’re not jumping out of our skin.

  They judges are only three stations away from us when Uncle Charlie strides into the hall with Elvis and slides into the chair beside Mama. He gives her this amazing smile.

  Holy cow! That could only mean one thing. I lean close to my cousin and whisper, “They’ve got him, Lovie.” I nod in the direction of Uncle Charlie. “It’s all over.”

  “But the shouting,” she says.

  And that comes twenty minutes later after Jet Caulder stands on the podium and says, “And the winner is…Lovie Valentine!”

  Lovie’s trophy is big and shiny and gorgeous, and I’m so happy I could be a small part of her triumph. But the most amazing thing is the love that pours over us as our family swarms the podium and we wrap each other in a group hug.

  Everybody is there except Jack. But I’m not about to show any kind of disappointment that will ruin Lovie’s big day.

  “Take this, dear heart.” Uncle Charlie slides a room key into my hand. “Jack’s waiting for you upstairs.”

  I don’t need any urging to slip away. But not before I shout, “Lovie!” and hold the key aloft. She grins and winks at me, then returns to a celebration she so richly deserves. She’ll tell me all about it on the drive home.

  But I’ll keep my celebration under my hat. There are some things that should be kept private. Even from Lovie and Mama.

  Elvis’ Opinion # 13

  Elvis’ Opinion # 13 on Confessions, Reunions and Babies

  * * *

  It wouldn’t be a proper Valentine caper unless yours truly was there when they cracked the case. Here’s how it all went down: Jack grilling the suspects, Charlie standing by like the Godfather, and an array of local police officers in total awe of the heroes in my human family.

  It didn’t take Jack long to crack Jeff Taft like an overripe watermelon.

  “It wasn’t me that shot that dude,” he says. Referring, of course, to the cadaver who wouldn’t stay put, George Ransom. “Melinda thought he was going to swing the cooking competition her way, and then the two of them were going to run away together. When he told her he was seeing somebody else, she pulled out her .22 and shot him.”

  “Nice try, Taft,” Jack tells him. “But we caught you red-handed trying to pin your crimes on Lovie Valentine.”

  “I swear on my mother’s grave. Melinda shot George with her .22. I saw the whole thing.”

  Jack gives Britt a signal and he moves in like he’s going to tear Jeff Taft from end to end.

  “Okay, okay. So Melinda didn’t kill him. I was the one stuck the knife in his gut.”

  Suspicious minds want to know the whole story, and Taft starts singing like a bird.

  “The minute we arrived I knew Melinda was up to something. She was acting funny, so I started following her and saw the whole thing. She aimed for George’s heart, but she never could hit the side of the barn with that little peashooter of a gun. The dude was just lying there looking shocked, and she started crying and couldn’t stop. What was I to do? In spite of everything, I love her. I told her to go on and I’d take care of everything. That’s when I hit on the idea of knifing the dude and pinning the crime on Lovie. Kill two birds with one stone so to speak. Get rid of Melinda’s lover and
her competition all at the same time.”

  I’m starting to feel sorry for the fool. He’s just a puppet on a string. Didn’t he know there was no way he could murder somebody then patch it up?

  “So you stole Lovie Valentine’s knife?”

  “Yeah. It was easy. She and that doll of a cousin were running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

  That comment about Callie being a doll doesn’t sit well with Jack, but he holds it all together. And then, things get really complicated.

  “When I got back, George was right where I left him. But somebody had shot him with a .38. Right in the groin.”

  “So he was dead when you returned?’

  “Naw. Dude had nine lives. I had to finish him off with the knife.”

  “Then you took the knife, cleaned it off and put it back in Lovie’s cooking station?”

  “Naw. I left it there for the cops to find. Then George comes up missing and Melinda tells me Lovie’s got her knife back.”

  “So you figured, what the heck, I’ll just use it on Doris Shackley?’

  This is Jack’s shot in the dark. The Doris Shackley murder has flummoxed them from the very beginning. Mainly because of the mysterious comings and goings of Lovie’s knife.

  “It was all Melinda’s idea. That Shackley broad had her nose into everything. We figured we’d shut her up and pin that one on Lovie, for sure. Melinda took the table cloth and the knife and I did the rest.”

  Charlie signals to Jack that he’ll take over, and my human daddy disappears long enough to nab Melinda and bring her to the hot seat. Jeff had been hauled off by then, and she had no idea her husband hadn’t remained steadfast, loyal and true.

  She said only one thing. “I want a lawyer.” And then she clammed up.

  She was hauled off to sing the “Jailhouse Rock” anyhow, while two of the greatest minds in law enforcement pieced together the rest of the puzzle. Melinda fired the first shot then Tootie came along with her .38 and seeing her two-timing husband already down, took a revenge shot straight to the groin. Jeff finished George off and left him there thinking he’d be found and Lovie blamed. But then…Diamond’s thugs came along, twisted his neck for insurance and dumped him the easy way, into Ruby Nell’s car instead of the Gulf.