by Peggy Webb
“Fine.” Lovie sputters some more. “Frog in my throat.”
“Gargle with saltwater. That’s the best.”
Fayrene purses her lips the way she does when she’s standing behind the checkout counter at Gas, Grits, and Guts, getting ready to find out juicy tidbits she can pass along to her customers. I hold my breath and ask the gods of wacky women to intervene.
“Well, you two get back to whatever you were doing. I’ve got to get back to the duck carpet and put on the rest of my show.”
Thank goodness she’s gone. When I get home I’m going to thank the universe by lighting a white candle under a full moon.
Fayrene trots a few steps, then turns back to me. “Hon, I don’t like to criticize, you being a beauty operator and all, but gray’s not your color.”
“Thanks for being honest, Fayrene.”
Lovie and I stand there like two barber poles till she’s out of sight, then Lovie cracks up.
“Hush. We’re going to attract attention and somebody’s going to call the Highway Control.”
“She’s right, you know.” Lovie inserts her hairpin into the lock.
“About what?”
“Gray’s not your color.”
“I may have to kill you.”
“Stand in line.”
The lock springs open and we cross crime scene tape. Thank goodness, nobody sees us enter.
“Lovie, you check out the drawers while I check the closet.”
For a competitive dancer, Gloria packed light. Mama and Fayrene shop for weeks before they attend one of these competitions, then spend days planning their dance costumes as well as their clothing for the other fancy occasions.
Did Gloria expect to go on a spending splurge here with a sugar daddy (maybe Thomas) to foot the bill? Or do all these drab dresses mean she was trying to blend into the wallpaper? If so, what did she have to hide?
Even her shoes are unexciting, low-heeled beige pumps. Not very colorful clothing for a woman who was killed in a Technicolor outfit.
This Gloria was a woman of mystery. It looks like she was a woman who sought to dazzle onstage but didn’t want to be noticed in her everyday life.
“Find anything, Lovie?”
“Nothing but underwear and a bag of candy.”
“What kind?”
“Hershey’s kisses.”
“I meant the underwear.”
“Bikini thongs. Black lace. Why?”
“If we know more about the victim, it might help us find the killer.”
Lovie holds the thongs in front of her uniform. “Looks like she’s my kind of woman.”
She tosses the lingerie back into the drawer, then peels the wrapper from a piece of chocolate and pops it into her mouth.
“Good grief. You’re eating evidence.”
“Evidence of what? The bag was open. And I took only one.” She reaches in again. “Okay, three.” She rolls the bag up and tosses it back into the drawer. “Nobody’s going to miss them. Besides, I think the cops have bagged and tagged all the good stuff.”
I think she’s right. If the police have removed evidence, they’ve been thorough. Still, we check the bathroom in case they missed something.
Gloria has used only one towel and one washcloth, and they’re hung neatly over the shower rod. The real surprise here is her stash of cosmetics. Showgirl stuff. Heavy pancake base, glitter eye shadow, long-lasting lipstick, and false fingernails and eyelashes.
“What do you make of it, Callie?”
I defer to Lovie about food and she defers to me about beauty. If I know anything, I know my beauty products. Ask anybody in Mooreville.
“She was either making the mistake of trying to hide her age under too much makeup, or she was in show business.”
“If she was a showgirl, Thomas might have known her.”
“That’s possible. Now all we have to do is figure out why he killed them.”
Chapter 10
Surprise Visitor, News from Home, and Family Quarrels
The “William Tell Overture” nearly sends me through the ceiling. Lovie says a word that could get us permanently barred from polite company. It’s Uncle Charlie calling.
“Hello, dear heart. I’m in Memphis.”
“I’m relieved, Uncle Charlie. You heard about the murders?”
“Yes, and Ruby Nell’s narrow escape.”
“Did Mama call you?”
“No, Jarvetis did. Fayrene told him everything. I’m here to take Ruby Nell home.”
“Good. It’s getting dangerous here. With all the threats to Mama, Lovie and I are trying to see what we can find out.”
“You and Lovie be careful. I’ll get a report later.”
“Where are you now, Uncle Charlie?”
“Parking. Which room is Ruby Nell’s?”
“It’s l034. We’ll meet you there in case you need a support team. Mama can be stubborn.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, dear heart.”
“How are Hoyt and the cats?”
“In good hands. I left them in Champ’s care. See you later, dear heart.”
I’m glad to hear that a vet with Champ’s credentials and love of animals is looking after my pets. And not just because I care about them. As long as Champ has responsibilities in Mooreville, he won’t be driving to Memphis to clip my wings.
Not that he’d want to curb me in any personal way, but I don’t think he’d be too happy with my amateur detective activities, especially if he knew the whole truth. He’s the kind of man who likes to keep people and animals safe—a wonderful quality in a potential daddy. Unless “safe” means “under your thumb.”
Mama and Uncle Charlie (Daddy, too, from what I remember) let me explore all over the farm without supervision. Never once did they tell me not to climb a tree for fear of falling or investigate a bird’s nest for fear of snakes. The only thing they did say was, “Stay out of the lake.”
If Jack had children, he’d be like the Valentines. He’d encourage adventure.
See, that’s why I’m in such a dilemma about my future. I have this Champ-versus-Jack daddy-argument with myself all the time. Not that Jack has expressed any interest in being a daddy.
I swear, this internal tug of war is wearing me out.
“Why was Daddy calling?” Lovie asks. I could hug her for sidetracking me. When I tell her, she says, “Aunt Ruby Nell won’t go.”
“I don’t know. Uncle Charlie can be stubborn, too. Let’s change clothes and find out who wins. Besides, I have to get Elvis.”
As I head toward the door, Lovie yells, “Wait.” Reaching into the cart, she retrieves Babs’ purse and the photograph.
“I had forgotten about those. Now what?”
“Take evidence now, deal with it later.”
“I don’t like it, but you’re right. We can’t risk going back to Babs’s room. Grayson might not be so congenial this time. We’ll just have to add another theft to our growing list of crimes.”
Since our uniforms leave no room to hide evidence, Lovie drops the picture in the purse, slings it over her arm, and sashays down the hall acting natural, while I ditch the cart looking furtive. I never was much of a performer, even as a second grade petunia.
We’re almost to the elevator when two women see us and yell, “Yoohoo.” I punch the elevator button again, but it’s stuck on the fifth floor. And they’re coming at a fast trot.
“Busted,” I say, and Lovie says, “Buck up.”
They catch up with us, panting. It’s pink foam rollers and beige housecoat, the two ladies I heard giving evidence after I fished Gloria from the fountain.
Foam Rollers taps my arm. “We need some more shampoo in room 1020.”
Lovie punches me and I grunt. “We’re off duty.”
“What would one little shampoo hurt? I saw the cart.”
I punch Lovie and she says, “It’s against the rules.”
“If you ask me, there are too many rules in this w
orld and not enough common sense.” Foam Rollers pulls her glasses down and peers over the top. “Say, don’t I know you?”
“No ma’am. I don’t do your room.”
Fortunately, the elevator arrives. Unfortunately, the two women get on, then stand there expectantly like naughty puppies, waiting their chance to pounce.
I punch Lovie and nod toward the fire exit.
“Aren’t you getting on?” Foam Rollers asks. For a minute I think she’s going to grab my arm and drag me into the elevator.
“I forgot my toothbrush.”
The doors shish shut on two puzzled eyewitnesses.
“For Pete’s sake, Callie. Your toothbrush?”
“I don’t function well under stress. Speaking of which…I’m going to have a heart attack if we don’t get out of here.”
I dash toward the stairwell and take the stairs two at a time with Lovie puffing along behind me. She’s saying words I don’t want to ever hear again.
“It’s only six floors, Lovie, and it’s all downhill.”
“I don’t care if it’s two and the stairs are slicked with pig grease. If I wet my pants before we get to the room, it’s all your fault.”
Lovie’s all bark and no bite. If she thought anybody was placing blame on me (whether it belonged or not), she’d be the first to pick up her baseball bat and threaten a walloping.
“Why didn’t you go in Gloria’s bathroom?”
“Hush up, Callie. I can’t talk and hold it in at the same time.”
We make it back to our room on the fourth floor without encountering anybody else, which is a very good thing. Judging by the “forgot my toothbrush” remark, I’ve used up my last good lie.
Lovie bursts toward the bathroom while I shed my maid getup and change into a pair of Audrey Hepburn skinny pants, a cute pair of Michael Kors ballerina flats, and my favorite yellow cotton turtleneck that brings out the highlights in my brown, shoulder-length bob.
Trust Lovie to get into a pair of outrageous cowboy boots and her usual low-cut getup that bares a mind-boggling amount of cleavage. She flops onto the bed, boots and all.
“We have to go, Lovie.”
“Why?”
“Because…”
Elvis needs me? Mama needs me? I’ve spread myself all over everybody’s needs today except my own. Kicking off my shoes, I plop onto the covers beside Lovie.
“You’re right. Uncle Charlie’s here. Let him take care of everybody for a while.”
“I wish I had some potato chips.”
“You’ve got enough in the closet to feed a small third world country.”
“Yeah, but I’m too tired to get them.” Lovie gives me a smile nobody can resist. “Pretty please?”
I unfold my long legs and go over to rake through her stash of junk food in the closet.
“Barbecue or plain?”
“Both.”
I toss her two bags, then get one for myself. Ordinarily I snack on carrots and apples and strawberries and yogurt. Since I’ve started sleuthing, I’ve developed an appetite for food that is not good for me. Or maybe the craving developed about the time Jack left.
“Lovie, do you think I’m making a mistake with Jack?”
“You mean divorcing him or still sleeping with him?”
“Both, I guess.”
“No, on both counts.”
“Yeah, but shouldn’t a woman planning to divorce a man not have these urges?”
“Cut yourself some slack, Callie. The day I don’t have those urges, you can put me six feet under.”
“I need you to be serious, Lovie. My personal life is so chaotic it’s driving me crazy.”
Lovie sits straight up, cross-legged, her boots making a wild red statement against the bedspread. She wraps her hands around mine, and I feel like a baby bird being enveloped in its mother’s wing. This is the thing I love most about Lovie. When it really counts, she always comes to your rescue.
“You listen to me, Cal, and you listen good. Nobody is perfect. Nobody makes the right decisions all the time. But if you listen with your heart instead of your brain, nine times out of ten, everything will turn out okay.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
The way Lovie says it, I believe her. We lean against the pillows, finish our chips, and breathe. Simply breathe.
Without saying a word, we both know when it’s time to go. We get off the bed, dust off the crumbs, and head to the door.
“I feel like a better human being,” Lovie says.
“I do, too.”
“Potato chips will do it every time.”
Trust Lovie to make light of her part in smoothing balm on a wounded cousin.
By the time we arrive at Mama’s room on the tenth floor, the fireworks have already begun. The sound of angry words between Mama and Uncle Charlie halts us in our tracks.
We stand outside the door like little children caught with our hands in the cookie jar. And we don’t even need a glass at the door to hear every word.
“I’m taking you home, Ruby Nell.”
“Over my dead body, Charlie Valentine.”
“In that case…” We hear a big clatter that sounds like bricks being chunked against the floor. “…I’m staying.”
“The hotel’s booked.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“Not in this room, you don’t.”
“I promised my brother I’d take care of you, and nobody’s going to stop me.”
“You’re a stubborn old jackass.”
“You think you can get around me with sweet talk?”
Holy cow! What has happened to my family? First Jack leaves, then true love comes to Lovie and she’s too stubborn to see it, and now this.
Until Mama took up with Mr. Whitenton, Uncle Charlie and Mama rarely argued. Even when they did, it was more like an exchange you’d see on a TV sitcom, a mild-mannered disagreement you knew would turn out all right in the end. She’d pout and he’d say, “Now, now, dear heart,” and she’d end up doing things her way anyhow and then inviting him to a reconciliation Sunday dinner of fried chicken.
I’d like things to be the way they were, but I guess change comes whether you want it or not. The trick to survival is to be resilient enough to bend with the winds and swim with the tides.
“It sounds like Armageddon in there, Lovie. What are we going to do?”
“You tell me. I’ve never heard Daddy like this. He never gets upset at me, even when I give him good cause.”
“We’d better get in there.”
My hand is already lifted to knock when Mama and Uncle Charlie start laughing.
I can’t take much more of this roller coaster Memphis visit. If things get any more complicated, I may have to jump off the top of the Peabody.
Elvis’ Opinion #5 on Gossip, Family, and Soul Dogs
Things were getting boring around here till Charlie showed up and chunked his bags into Ruby Nell’s closet. She was painting her toenails and I was trying to think up a way I could finagle my way off the floor and into the middle of her comfy bed when he burst in. Bursting in is not Charlie Valentine’s usual style. He’s the laid-back type who strolls and quotes Shakespeare and builds bridges over everybody else’s troubled waters. (Listen, I know my Simon and Garfunkel. Talented guys, but they couldn’t hold a candle to me.)
Turns out, Charlie heard about the murders on TV and he was trying to decide whether to drive to Memphis. Then Jarvetis called to report Fayrene’s version of her brush with death as well as the attack on Ruby Nell, and Charlie charged north like General Robert E. Lee.
There’s nothing like the power of gossip to stir things up.
Ruby Nell acts like she’s not happy to see him, but don’t let her blustery act fool you. He’s been her anchor ever since Michael Valentine went to that big Graceland in the Sky. (I was there myself before they sent me back in this suave dog suit.)
If Ruby Nell would ever sit still long enough for a little self-exa
mination, she might be surprised at what she’d discover.
Big changes are afoot with this family, and I’m not talking about Luke Champion. Don’t get me wrong. I like him. He’s a good vet and he’s going beyond the call of duty to keep Callie’s silly strays, especially Hoyt. But if he wants me to put in a good word for him, he’d best be finding ways to keep that dumb cocker spaniel in Mantachie. Permanently.
If Callie had her way, every stray cat and dog in Mooreville would end up on little satin doggie-and-cat pillows beside her bed. She can’t say no to anybody, including the women who sit in her beauty shop chair, spill their sob stories, and walk out the door with fresh haircuts and interest-free loans.
One of my missions in life is to keep the coast clear of free-loaders and animal riffraff so I can work in peace. Listen, I’m here for a lofty purpose—to teach my human mom to love herself. It’s all well and good to be Mooreville’s answer to Mother Teresa and Oprah, but Callie’s got to learn to draw the line so she can make room for her own dreams.
I know it looks hopeless right now, but that’s where yours truly comes in.
I sashay over and plop my philosophical self right in front of Ruby Nell’s door. When Callie comes in, she’ll see me first. I’ll do a few “Hound Dog” moves and she’ll smile and scratch behind my ears.
And for a little while, my human mom will experience the sheer joy of a true heart connection. Listen, I know it’s just a connection with her soul dog, but you have to start somewhere.
Chapter 11
Separate Beds, Bad News, and Latoya LaBelle
When Lovie and I walk in, Uncle Charlie’s bags are in Mama’s closet and he’s turning down her other bed. I’m glad to see he’s staying here. Believe me, as long as Charles Sebastian Valentine is in this room, Mr. Whitenton won’t get within ten feet of Mama.
Still, Uncle Charlie has always been a sort of benevolent godfather, protecting Mama and me from a distance with the lines clearly drawn. Now the lines are blurring between him and Mama, and I don’t know what to make of it.
The only thing normal about this scene is Elvis waiting for me with his usual sweet doggie grin and his tail thumping. Sometimes, if it weren’t for the simple pleasures and uncomplicated connections with my basset and my other dear animals, I think I’d shatter into small pieces.
