Elvis and the Buried Brides (A Southern Cousins Mystery, plus bonus short story)

by Webb, Peggy

  ELVIS AND THE BURIED BRIDES

  A Southern Cousins Mystery

  by

  Peggy Webb

  Elvis and the Buried Brides by Peggy Webb

  Published by Westmoreland House

  Copyright 2014 by Peggy Webb

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover original art, 2015, by Cecilia Griffith

  Cover design by Vicki Hinze

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States by Westmoreland House, Mooreville, Mississippi.

  Table of Contents

  ELVIS AND THE BURIED BRIDES

  Elvis Opinion #1 on Bachelor Parties, Beer and the Girl in the Cake

  Chapter 1

  Elvis’ Opinion #2 on Wedding Singers, Tuxedos and Zen

  Chapter 2

  Elvis’ Opinion #3 on Tea Leaves, Bad Predictions and Prohibition Punch

  Chapter 3

  Elvis’ Opinion #4 on Carousing, Kidnapping and Séances

  Chapter 4

  Elvis Opinion #5 on Suspects, Sleuthing and the Art of Geriatric Seduction

  Chapter 5

  Elvis’ Opinion #6 on the Dead, the Ridiculous and the Ought-to-be Dead

  Chapter 6

  Elvis’ Opinion #7 on Criminal Minds, Psychic Eyes and Fried Chicken

  Chapter 7

  Elvis’ Opinion #8 on Wedding Singers, Wedding Bells and Happily Ever After

  Elvis and the Deadly Love Letters

  Elvis’ Opinion # 1 on Love, Chocolate and Fleas

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Elvis’ Opinion #2 on Bedtime Snacks, Girl Talk and Ex-Lovers

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Elvis’ Opinion #3 on Swaggering Teenagers, Foolish Lovers and T-Bone Steak

  Yummy Recipes from Lovie’s Kitchen

  If You Enjoyed This Book…

  About Peggy Webb

  Other E-Books from Peggy Webb

  Letter from the Author

  Elvis Opinion #1 on Bachelor Parties, Beer and the Girl in the Cake

  Well, love me tender, love me true! Not only am I a dog of stellar talent, but I’m a genius at figuring out how to patch up two broken hearts and get the people I love best in this world headed back to the altar. You guessed it! My human mom, Callie Valentine Jones, and my human dad, Jack Jones, are getting ready to waltz down the aisle at Wildwood Baptist Church to renew vows they never should’ve ignored in the first place.

  If you got that part right, you’re bound to figure out that the best man will be none other than yours truly. Not surprising, considering I’m the most famous person ever brought back in a basset hound suit. I wanted to sing at the wedding, too, show my platinum-record chops, but Callie said dogs don’t sing at weddings, even famous ones like me.

  I guess I’ll have to content myself with being the best-dressed male there. I’ve got my own little four-legged tuxedo and my own pink bow tie. It’s a credit to my status as top dog in the Valentine/Jones household that Callie picked my signature color for her wedding.

  She’s going to wear pink, too. Her mama, Ruby Nell, wanted her to wear white again, but Callie said that was just plain tacky for the second time around, even if it is to the same man. Naturally, Fayrene sided with her best bud Ruby Nell, going so far as to say, “It’s your wedding. You can do what you please, and I don’t care how many people go into wisteria.”

  Life in beautiful downtown Mooreville wouldn’t be half as exciting without our own Mrs. Maloprop.

  And speaking of excitement, I’m up to my mismatched ears in it ever since Jack moved back into his apartment at the Magnolia Arms. Naturally, I went with him. Bachelor solidarity and all that. He wanted to stay in Callie’s cottage and just slip off to Las Vegas for a quiet private renewal ceremony in the Chapel of Love, but Ruby Nell put her foot down. And where Ruby Nell’s foot goes, so does Fayrene’s.

  Ruby Nell said she wasn’t about to be left out.

  “Furthermore, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. And besides all that, Mooreville needs a big wedding to recover from losing all those bridegrooms last Christmas.”

  Fayrene chimed in with an offer to do the reception at Gas, Grits and Guts.

  “Free of charge. It’ll draw a crowd and be good for business. But the ceremony will have to wait till I can spiffy up the place. I want to plant some more Canadians.”

  Praise the Lord and pass the PupPeroni, she wasn’t overheard by the couple who’d come from Montreal to visit the King’s birthplace (that would be me, back when I had two legs and a head full of black hair). The couple had ventured out to try the famous pickled pigs’ lips you can only get in this neck of northeast Mississippi at Gas, Grits and Gus.

  Pickled pigs’ lips might not sound like much, but if there’s a better treat this side of PupPeroni, I really don’t want to know.

  Now, Jack’s bachelor party is in full swing, compliments of Charlie Valentine, Callie’s uncle and godfather to the entire Valentine clan. The groom to be, who is as handsome as he is dangerous in his black turtleneck Cashmere sweater, looks like something that would make my human mom swoon. But let me tell you, I’m the star of the show. I’ve already howled two encores of Hawaiian Wedding Song, though as far as I know the bride and groom aren’t going anywhere near the islands for the wedding or the honeymoon, either.

  One more helping of pickled pigs lips and beer, and I’ll be doing the bossa nova on top of Jack’s ugly kitchen table and asking that sexy beagle babe who hangs out at the gourmet garbage cans behind Mooreville’s Truck Stop to wear my ring around her neck. If I can find her.

  Last I heard she was cutting quite a rusty with that no account Lhasa Apso who stole Ann Margret, from me. I’ve got news for that useless Lhasa and the two-timing French poodle, too. You don’t want to mess around with this dog. Back in my life as a singing sensation in a sequined jumpsuit, I learned karate. I can still put on the moves if I have to. Treat me nice. That’s all I’ve got to say.

  I polish off another plate of pigs’ lips. If I fall over from an overdose of pork grease, all I have to do is trot into Jack’s bedroom, hold my nose against the smell of dirty gym socks and sink onto my silk pillow. Guitar shaped. And pink. Naturally.

  Well, bless’a my soul, look what just came through Jack’s front door. A cake the size of Arkansas. Chocolate. My favorite. And I don’t have to worry that Jack won’t give me a heaping plateful, either. My human mom is always looking for ways to trim down my handsome but portly body, but my human dad has no such foolish ideas.

  I sashay over, expecting a heaping helping of sugar, when this woman pops out of the cake.

  “Surprise!” everybody yells, and then lo and behold, this Las Vegas stripper type unfolds legs longer than the Eiffel Tower and steps right off the cake cart.

  Jack does a double take, like he’s laying eyes on the last person in the world he ever wante
d or expected to see. His ears turn red even before she sashays his way. It’s rare to see Jack all shook up over anybody except my human mom.

  What’s with this dame?

  Who is she and what’s she got to do with my human dad, that’s what suspicious minds want to know? She’s got her torpedoes aimed and locked in on the target. It doesn’t take a dog of my intellect to know he’s the target and she’s the heat-seeking missile.

  She makes a grab for him, and though he does a little side-step, she manages to lay a screen-worthy kiss on my human dad.

  Everybody claps except me. And I wouldn’t, even if I had two hands.

  If she’s not careful, I’ll march over there and take a bite out of her bad intentions. Her scrawny legs too, if I can get up enough courage to put her low-class fishnet stockings into my mouth.

  Putting my hackles up to a level that spells danger that’s not yet lethal, I sashay over to this floozy and lift my leg. Jack scoops me up before I can let loose a good pee.

  “Elvis, no,” he says, but it’s not his commanding voice. It’s not even his irritated voice. If I know my human dad - and Cake Girl can bet her slutty bustier on it - he’s relieved to be off the hook and out of her clutches.

  Holding me in front of him like a shield, Jack makes the introductions.

  “Hey, little buddy. This is Linda LeLane.” If she’s expecting a paw shake, she’s sadly mistaken. Still, out of respect for Jack I curb my baser instincts and act like I’m the best mannered dog in Mississippi.

  “Linda, this is Elvis, top dog in the Jones household.”

  This Linda Lelane has the fake smile down to a science. She even coos and reaches out to scratch my ears.

  “What a darling little dog. Jack, you didn’t tell me you owned such a cute pet.”

  Pet, my crooked hind leg. If she’s dumb enough to think a dog of my stature falls into that lowly category, she deserves whatever I dish out. Jack’s got a hold on me right now, but believe me, I’ll find a chance to get even.

  I’m so mad, I almost miss the implication of what she’s just said. Jack, you didn’t tell me… Meaning these two go a way back. How far or to what extent is anybody’s guess. Being the canine detective extraordinaire that I am, I can tell you with certainty that she pre-dates my human mom. Jack may be a man of mystery when it comes to his dangerous doings in the Company, but when it comes to Callie, I’d bet my PupPeroni he’s a one-woman man.

  “No use letting all this go to waste,” Billy Jessup says, and then Mooreville’s latest heartthrob, this handsome stud of a teenager with his earring in the wrong ear, comes to the rescue by bending Cake Girl backward in the kind of heroic kiss I used to spread around on a Hollywood movie set.

  Jack winks at me and ruffles my fur.

  “Narrow escape, pal.”

  I lick his face all over, my way of showing how much I respect a man who knows he’s already got the sirloin steak among women so why bother with left-over hamburger.

  “How about we sit the rest of this party out, buddy. That okay with you?”

  I do my shake, rattle and roll happy dance, and then we settle into Jack’s La-Z-Boy recliner with a beer he occasionally shares with me. Life doesn’t get much better.

  Chapter 1

  Girls, Giggles and Happily Never After

  I’m sitting in the middle of cousin Lovie’s living room rug, up to my ears in wedding wrapping paper and naughty nightgowns, and up to my gills in Prohibition Punch. This is my third cup. Oh, shoot, it might be my fourth. I’m not about to count drinks at my very own bachelorette party. Never let it be said that Callie Valentine Jones is a party pooper.

  I’m wearing a yellow dress with matching sweater for the occasion and the cutest Donald Pliner low-top boots you’ll ever see. Well, I’m wearing one boot. The other is across the room dangling from a lampshade.

  Don’t ask. Suffice it to say, that’s the kind of party my cousin Lovie throws.

  “Ladies! Listen up!” Lovie takes center stage, an easy thing for a 190-pound bombshell in pair of tight blue jeans, a come hither sweater and killer high heel boots. Plus, she’s wearing the pink fingertip veil she’ll don as maid of honor at my wedding. Thanks to many tastes tests while she made the Prohibition punch, plus a glass or five at the party, she’s got the veil on lopsided and it’s barely hanging onto one ear. I hope she gets it on straight tomorrow.

  “Is everybody having fun?” she yells.

  There’s a chorus of cheering and clapping and foot stomping. Mostly the foot stomping is coming from Mama and Fayrene, who wrote the book on drinking Prohibition punch and letting loose to have a good time.

  Though I’ll have to say that Darlene, my bridesmaid and the manicurist in my beauty salon I call Hair.Net, is having her share of fun. She’s as unconventional as they get – she won’t paint your fingernails till she does your horoscope - but I’ve never seen her wear a bustier, much less decorate it with cherries and whipped cream. If I had my guess, I’d say she’s meeting Bobby Huckabee after the party.

  Mama has already consulted Bobby and his psychic eye about my wedding. As usual, his prediction was danger from a dark-eyed stranger. I wish Mama hadn’t told me. Listen, I’m the kind of girl who lights candles under full moons and wishes on falling stars. You never know where you might find a certified miracle. Or see a mirror right into your future.

  Every now and then, I glance over my shoulder to see if a dark-eyed stranger is lurking around.

  “I have a big surprise for the bride.” Lovie sashays over and plops my wedding veil on my head then grabs the remote control to her CD player.

  The theme song from Raiders of the Lost Ark blares forth, and suddenly Lovie’s delicious looking and otherwise sedate boyfriend bursts through the front door, topless and cracking a whip. If the level of squeals and laughter is any indication, Rocky Malone is a huge hit as a younger, more handsome version of the Raiders of the Lost Ark star digging through ancient artifacts in the jungle. Rocky really is an archeologist, and the only man Lovie has ever dated who treats her like the queen of everything she professes to be.

  “Let’s hear it for the sexy Raider’s guy!” Lovie yells, and he pops his whip so close behind her butt you can practically see the sizzle of static electricity.

  Thank goodness, he’s a patient man, because Lovie is keeping him guessing. I hope my wedding will give her a few ideas. Good ones, that is. Lovie’s so full of bad ideas I wouldn’t even know where to start talking about it.

  Still, she’s my best friend in all the world and I don’t even want to think what I’d do without her.

  Rocky is heading my way, grinning like a big teddy bear. I brace myself for him to pop the whip around me a couple of times. When he starts swiveling his hips, you could knock me over with a powder puff.

  Rocky keeps on coming, no long a teddy bear, but a big, sexy handsome man who looks like he knows his way around a bedroom.

  Holy cow! Rocky is fixing to do a lap dance for yours truly. The next time Lovie complains that he won’t even try to find her National Treasure, I’m going to remind her of this.

  I just sit back and smile and try to look a girl who’s not blushing all the way down to her designer boot. Everybody’s clapping and egging Rocky on.

  Fayrene jumps up and blares out, “That man deserves a standing ovulation!”

  Good grief, I hope not! Amidst all the commotion, Rocky winks and says, “Sorry about that, Callie. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re talking to the girl who hangs out with Mama and Lovie.”

  “I’d do anything for Lovie.”

  “I keep reminding her of that.”

  Rocky winks again then goes over to stand with his arm around my cousin. The party is breaking up, and I overhear her asking him to drive Mama and Fayrene home.

  Fayrene trots over to me, wearing so many green sequins I’m nearly blinded.

  “We’re headed home, Callie, but I want you to know I’ve got everyt
hing ready for your wedding deception.”

  “Thanks, Fayrene. Jack and I really appreciate it.”

  “I’ve got his favorite German chocolate cake and Jarvetis had such good luck on his hunting trip to Missouri I’m serving peasants under glass!”

  Thank goodness I’m not eating a second helping of the red velvet cake Lovie is handing out to departing guests, or I might choke to death trying to hold in laughter.

  Mama prances up and gives me a big hug. “I’m so happy I’m about to die!”

  “Ruby Nell Valentine, wash your mouth out with soap!” Fayrene says. “The mere thought of another death at a wedding makes me want to fall into heart dropsy on my sexual sofa.”

  “Flitter, Fayrene. I was just kidding around.” Mama puffs up her hair that doesn’t need a thing, thanks to my expertise with scissors and blow dryer. “What do you think about my hair, Cal?”

  “You know perfectly well what I think about your hair, Mama. It’s gorgeous, even if I do say so myself.”

  “I’m not sure this color will look right with my rose colored mother-of-the bride dress. Don’t you think the red might clash?”

  “Holy cow, Mama! It’s too late to change hair color before the wedding.” Mama changes hair color more than I change my bathroom air freshener. “Besides, if I change your hair color one more time, it’s going fall out in clumps and I’ll have to add Elmer’s glue to my list of beauty supplies.”

  “You look gorgeous, Ruby Nell,” Fayrene says. “Come on. Let’s get out of here so this bride-to-be can look ravenous tomorrow.”

  My cell phone saves me, and I scramble around to find it in my purse. It’s Jack calling. I hug Mama and Fayrene then make a quick round of the room saying goodbye to everybody and thanking them for the sassy lingerie.