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

by Webb, Peggy

  “All right, Lovie. I’ll meet you there at eight. But I’m not wearing a disguise!”

  Chapter Two

  Bad Hair, Bad Luck, and Busted

  My false mustache itches, my wig looks like a cow pile on top of my head and my natural assets are hidden under a baseball cap, a pair of slouchy jeans and a Mississippi State Bulldog tee-shirt that makes me look more like an orphan than Lovie’s tall, sexy date at the Stables.

  The only good thing I can say about this evening is that I didn’t have to tell Jack a little fib and sneak out of the house like a thief. He got a mysterious phone call at four then gave me a wink, a kiss and a promise to be back by Valentine’s Day.

  “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, Cal,” he said, and naturally I told him I would. But I had my fingers crossed behind my back so it wouldn’t count. I pride myself on being the kind of woman who keeps her promises.

  Jack left in his silver Jag, a sign he was on business. I didn’t even ask where he was going. He’s a Company man, the most dangerous undercover agent they have; and if I’m going to marry him all over again, I’d better get used to staying home while he’s God knows where getting shot at.

  Now, I’m standing in this tiny bar/restaurant tucked into the alley across from the courthouse in downtown Tupelo, impersonating a skinny man and wishing I could strangle Lovie.

  “Do you see anything, Cal?” She leans in to whisper, and I nearly pee my pants.

  She wearing this awful disguise she calls hot to trot – too much makeup, a really bad bleached blonde wig and a blouse that shows everything she’s got, which is plenty, believe me. To top it off, she’s holding a baseball bat in the folds of her big Gypsy skirt.

  “How do I know, Lovie? I don’t even know who I’m looking for.”

  “I think he’s going to be a tall, well-built man with his hair a little long over the ears.”

  “You’ve just described half the men in Stables.”

  She says a word that parches the peanuts on the bar.

  “Of course, I could be wrong,” she adds. “He could be that short guy crying in his beer over by the bandstand.”

  “The one that’s nearly bald?” I’m astonished Lovie ever looked twice at him. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling with that thin wisp of hair combed over the top of his head. If I weren’t planning to question him about sending Lovie anonymous letters, I’d hand him my card and give him some fashion advice.

  “That’s the one. Gavin Blascomb. When I left him, he swore he’d get even.”

  “Then I suggest we get over there and find out what he’s up to.” I give her a little nudge toward Gavin, but for all the good it does, I might as well be trying to move a Peterbilt rig.

  “Wait a minute. What will I say to him?”

  If I were Lovie, I’d say a word that would remove the rest of Gavin’s hair.

  “Good grief! Just follow my lead.”

  I’m skinny enough to weave through the crowd with hardly a ripple, but Lovie leaves a wake of crushed toes, bruised ribs and bad language. It’s a good thing I’m waiting to get pregnant until after Jack and I are re-hitched. I’d hate to think my unborn baby would hear words like that. When the time comes, I may have to wear a muffler over my belly.

  Of course, I haven’t even talked to Jack about children yet. Let him get used to marriage again, first. As Mama says, the wise spring only one trap at a time.

  Lowering my voice about two octaves, I say to Gavin Blascomb, “Do you mind if we sit here?”

  Without waiting for an answer, I slide into the seat beside him and watch as he gives Lovie the once over. She bats her Hollywood fake eyelashes at him, then winks.

  “How’re ya’ll doing?” she drawls, and I swear that foolish little man with his silly hair combed wrong actually giggles.

  “Better now that you’re here.” He punches me in the arm, one good old boy to another. “I envy old muscles here.”

  He’s just insulted my lack of physical prowess. I start to take exception the way any under-endowed man would, but Lovie kicks me under the table, and I remember that I’m just a trim hairstylist up to her neck in trouble.

  Hiding my equally slender and feminine hands under the table, I introduce myself as Calvin Black, private investigator.

  “And this is my fiancée, Lolita.”

  Lovie kicks me under the table again. Just wait till I get her in my hair styling chair again. I’m liable to pull a few red hairs out by the roots. But not so many folks would say her hair looks tacky. I have my professional pride.

  “Lolita?” He leers at Lovie again, and I can guarantee he doesn’t recognize her. Who would? I might not have known her myself if she hadn’t been stepping down from her catering van with Lovie’s Luscious Eats painted on the side. “That’s a name to live up to.”

  “My mama wanted to name me Lovie,” my cousin says, deadpan, and Gavin goes white around the gills. A sign of guilt if I ever saw one. “Fortunately, the nurse at the hospital told her some woman named Valentine had already used that name.”

  Gavin reaches for his beer, but his hand is shaking so much, he spills half of it across the table.

  “The two of you sort of resemble each other, sugar plum,” I say to Lovie, who affects a pout.

  “How would you know, Calvin?”

  “Lovie Valentine’s my new client. Didn’t I tell you? Came in this afternoon right before closing.”

  As Gavin follows our conversation, he goes from pale to flushed.

  “I’m not sure I want you taking on a client who has my obvious charms, Calvin. What did she want?”

  “You know I can’t divulge my client’s secrets, honey bunny,” I tell her, and Gavin has a coughing spell.

  Lovie blackens my shins again, and I kick her back. She ought to know I have sense enough to figure out we’ve caught her man. I tuck my feet under my chair and glare at her, but she just winks and makes kissing noises in my directions.

  “Oh, just look at the time, honey bunny,” she says, then turns a simpering glance toward her over-wrought former lover. “I’ve got to get my sweet honey bunny home so he can practice.”

  “Practice?” Gavin is now wall-eyed.

  “Target practice. Calvin was the best sharpshooter in the FBI before he became a PI.” She punches Gavin in the arm hard enough to knock him sideways in his chair. “But we’ll be practicing that, too, you silly old romantic.”

  She sweeps out of her chair, and we leave Gavin with his crushed romantic notions while visions of bullets dance in his head.

  When we get outside, we join hands and jump up and down like teenagers.

  “We did, it Cal! He won’t be bothering me again.”

  I’m about to agree when I spot something white on the windshield of Lovie’s van.

  “Not so fast, Lovie.”

  I pluck the note off and unfold it. The first thing I notice is the little string of red hearts pasted all around the border. The next is that the note is handwritten, exactly like the first one. A big difference is that the salutation and the signature are missing.

  “What does it say?” my cousins asks, and I read the letter aloud.

  “You can’t hide from me, Lovie, no matter how you try to disguise your beauty. Did you think I’d keep our tryst when I saw that nosy cousin? I said come alone! Now, I have to dispatch her before I can carry out my plans for you. Shame on you! See what you’ve made me do.”

  Lovie says a word that would wake the dead, and I turn to see all four of my tires slit.

  Chapter Three

  Secrets, Sleepovers and Sleuthing

  The sight of my Dodge Ram truck sitting on the rims of four flat tires is almost enough to make me give up sleuthing.

  “What are you going to do, Cal? You can’t call Daddy.” Lovie whips off her awful wig and shakes out her long red hair. “He’d take one look at us and know we’ve been sleuthing.”

  “Thank goodness for backup plans.”

  I whip out my cell pho
ne and dial Billy Jessup. The only consolation to losing poor old Roy Jessup to the Christmas bridegroom killer was that his nephew Billy moved to Mooreville to take over Roy’s feed and seed store. You might not think an eighteen-year-old bad boy with an earring in the wrong ear would but be much of an asset to society, but you’d be wrong. The teenager who flunked every subject over in Birmingham took to business like Elvis (the famous singer, not my dog) did to the stage. Besides that, he has a knack for rescuing damsels in distress (that would be me, more often than I care to think about). The best part is this: he knows how to keep his mouth shut.

  After I make arrangements with Billy to change and patch my tires tomorrow, I climb into Lovie’s van and ditch the facial hair and the horrible wig. She gets behind the wheel and stashes her baseball bat over on my side of the van within easy reach.

  “Sleepover,” I say.

  “My house or yours?”

  “Mine. I need to be with Elvis.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Smarty pants.”

  Lovie doesn’t even stop at her house in town to get pajamas. We spend so much time at each other’s houses, there’s no need.

  “Cal, I thought Gavin was guilty as sin of writing that letter, but I don’t see how he could have slit your tires. He was already in Stables when we got there. “

  “I know. And we went straight to his table, so he didn’t have time to sneak out then sneak back in.”

  “Maybe he had an accomplice.”

  “That last letter was threatening, Lovie. I can’t imagine a man out to do harm would want anyone else to know.”

  “If he comes near you, I’ll bash his brains out.”

  She would, too. Lovie doesn’t take very good care of herself, but she’ll go to any lengths to take care of her family. Still, the thought of being dispatched makes me shiver. How does my cousin’s jilted lover plan to do that? Will he torture me first or will he kill me with one bullet?

  It starts raining, which exactly matches my mood.

  “I can tell you one thing, Lovie! If anybody suspicious comes within a country mile of me, he’d be better be prepared for a fight. I don’t intend to die before I’ve walked back down the altar and had five kids with Jack.”

  Lovie says a word that would traumatize the unborn.

  “Five? If I were you, I wouldn’t spring that number on Jack Jones.”

  “Well, maybe three.” Lovie gives me this look. “Okay, I’d settle for two.”

  Talking about children perks me up considerably. I can’t wait for Jack to get back so we can plan our second wedding and get started on Project Baby. That is, if I live to see his return. And if my ovaries don’t shrivel up first. And if I can convince Jack, he has daddy written all over him.

  “Listen, Lovie, if we put our minds to it, I think we can figure out who’s sending you evil Valentines. Did you see any signs of bad temper on any of your pre-Rocky dates?”

  “Only mine.”

  “Holy cow! Get serious. There’s a jealous lover out there planning to murder me and do no telling what all to you.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  “Don’t even say that, Lovie. Just put on your thinking cap.”

  “How can I think when I’m starving?”

  “In that case, you’d better wipe off some of that Las Vegas makeup then pull in at Gas, Grits and Guts for supplies. Currently, my cupboard is almost bare.”

  “It’s always bare, Cal.”

  “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

  “Well, while Other Things is out of town, I’m staying with you. And I can guarantee you’ll eat well.”

  The four-way stop on Highway 178 heaves into view, and Lovie wheels her van into the parking lot of Jarvetis and Fayrene Johnson’s Gas, Grits and Guts, Mooreville’s one and only convenience store.

  Fayrene herself is at the cash register. She’s wearing a turtle neck the exact shade of money and green slacks that don’t match.

  I point her out to Lovie, and she says a word that singes my eyelashes.

  “The Godzilla of Gossip,” Lovie says, but she means it only in the best of ways. How would we ever know what was going on if we didn’t have Fayrene and Mama to tell it?

  Lovie turns to face me. “Did I get it all?”

  “You missed a spot.” I grab a tissue from the little box she keeps in her glove compartment and wipe a smear of lipstick off the side of her face. “You’re good to go. Get whatever you want.”

  “Haul your backside, Callie. I’m not facing the gossip grapevine all by myself. Especially tonight.”

  “Holy cow! Where’s a cute pair of shoes when I need them?”

  I try to make hasty repairs to my hair, but it’s hopelessly flattened. I end up tucking the strands back under my baseball cap, and then I follow Lovie inside.

  Fayrene has strung red hearts all around the entrance and added so many bells to the door that I jump at the sound. Fayrene jerks her head toward the door, then barrels our way.

  “Lord, help us! As I live and breathe!” Fayrene grabs my arms and gives me the once over. “No wonder Ruby Nell is about gone into wisteria. Just look at you! Like something Darlene’s cat dragged in.”

  “Lovie and I were just out bumming around.”

  “Well, you ought to have told your mama first. You know what a futile mind she has. She’s been calling all night trying to find you. It’s a wonder she didn’t go into Cadillac arrest.”

  I nudge Lovie, and she heads toward the grocery aisles and starts slinging food into a basket. No telling what my bill will be. At this point, though, I don’t care. I just want out from under Fayrene’s scrutiny.

  “Do you know what Mama wanted?”

  “Well, of course, I know! Ruby Nell and I don’t catch a breath the other one doesn’t know about.”

  “I know that. You’re her very best friend.” Fayrene loves flattery. Unfortunately, it does nothing to speed her along. She’s the only woman I know who uses a thousand words when three would do. Besides Mama, of course.

  “We love each other like sisters. Tight as two ticks. That’s what friendship is all about. The preacher ought to do a Sermon on the Mound about us.”

  “The next time I see him, I’ll suggest that. Now, about Mama…”

  “She called your house six times!”

  “I don’t doubt it.” She does that even when I’m home. There’s just one more little thing I want to say, she’ll tell me.

  “I told her, any more of those calls, Ruby Nell, and the doctor will have to put you on meditation.”

  “Thank goodness, she has you.” Where is Lovie when I need her? I peer over Fayrene’s head, but my cousin is nowhere in sight. What if the crazed Valentine lover has sneaked in the back way and taken her? “Fayrene, you have to tell me what Mama wanted.”

  “Lord help us, just listen to me. Going on like I’m delivering somebody’s urology!”

  I am about to strangle Fayrene. And it would be justifiable.

  “Was Mama sick?”

  “Ruby Nell sick? I should say not, though there is a lot of commentary going around.”

  She can say that again!

  “Anyway, what I was trying to tell you, Callie, is that there was a strange man down at your mama’s house looking for you!”

  I think I’m going to collapse, and have some of Fayrene’s commentary, to boot.

  “Did she say what he looked like?”

  “Tall, dark…no, wait a minute. He was blond.”

  “Are you sure, Fayrene? This could be very important.”

  “I’m sure of it. Ruby Nell said he was Iris.”

  Holy cow, I’m going to commit murder with a blunt instrument.

  “Did he have an Irish brogue?”

  “No, she said he sounded like an Italian. Or was that German?”

  Or maybe he had wings and was planning to fly. I’m sinking fast into wisteria, and even the sight of Lovie doesn’t help. She’s coming back with enough food to see Washingt
on’s troops through the winter at Valley Forge.

  “Did the man tell Mama what he wanted with me?”

  “He didn’t, but my ESPN tells me it was something very important.”

  That’s what my ESPN is telling me, too. I can’t pay for my groceries fast enough. The minute I get home, I’m going to dig the name of that vile ex-boyfriend out of Lovie if it takes all night.

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

  Well, bless’a my soul, Lovie’s with my human mom, and she’s toting enough grocery bags to have me throwing back my head and howling “Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear.” There’s going to be some good eating tonight!

  Even that silly spaniel is excited. He comes barreling down the stairs with his tongue hanging out. Listen, Dumb and Ugly. If you think you’re going to get the first petting from Callie, you’ve misjudged the King. I put it in high gear and block Hoyt’s path with my substantial but handsome backside.

  True to her nature, Callie leans down to scratch behind my ears. “Elvis, have you been good to Hoyt while I was gone?”

  I prance around looking cute and acting like he is my everything, which earns me another scratch behind the ears. That’s all well and good, but Lovie’s the one with the food. Dumb and Ugly is already headed toward the kitchen.

  Callie goes straight to the phone, and I’m torn between streaking toward the kitchen and cutting Hoyt off so I can get there first, or hanging out with my human mom to see why she’s looking so upset.

  Naturally, being the loyal, faithful companion I am, I perk up my incredible ears and plant myself close to Callie. The phone at the other end rings four times, and then Ruby Nell’s answering machine kicks in.

  “This is Ruby Nell Valentine. If you’re looking to send your dearly departed off in style, call Everlasting Monuments.” She gives the number. “If you’re looking for fun, leave your name and number, and I might just call you back! Taaa, taaa!”

  “Good grief,” Callie mutters, and then she leaves a message. “Mama, I heard a strange man was at your house looking for me. Call me immediately! And whatever you do, don’t let a stranger in your house. You hear me now, Mama? This is very important. He could be dangerous.”