by Peggy Webb
Elvis
and the
Blue Suede Bones
A Southern Cousins Mystery
(Plus bonus recipes)
“Elvis fans in need for a deep-fried farce will find this finger-lickin’ good.”
Publisher’s Weekly
Peggy Webb
Elvis and the Blue Suede Bones, Copyright © 2018 by Peggy Webb
Smashwords Edition
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Original Cover Art, Copyright © 2018 by Peggy Webb
Cover Design, Vicki Hinzi, 2018
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
WH
Westmoreland House, Mooreville, Mississippi
First Edition, April 2018
What Readers Say about Peggy Webb
The most delightful book I’ve ever read. - Joy, Brewton, AL
This (Elvis and the Dearly Departed) is just about the funniest, most riveting story I’ve read since the last Anne George. Keep up the good work and write some more along the same lines. What a talent! - Sharon, Kingston, GA
One of the best books I’ve read in a long time! - Chris Palmer, Alaska
I laughed my head off at Elvis and the gang. – Tara Shoop, Birmingham, AL
This is so good I couldn’t put it down. – Alice V. Daniel, Tupelo, MS
I was unable to put it down. Your characters are so real I just want to walk into the story and share a hug with the girls and some life advice from Victoria. - Tonya, Nova Scotia, Canada
I loved your book! Mama is a hoot! My favorite line is ‘There is a quiet place inside us where angels are whispering, and they’re saying, See?’ - Christine from Suffolk, VA
I ADORE the book. Peggy Webb tugged all my heart strings, then when I least expected it, had me howling with laughter! This gal can flat out write! - Charlotte, South Carolina
What an amazing book! I can’t wait for the next one. - Nikki, Amory, MS
I have never written a fan letter in my life, but please add me to your list of fans. Your book moved me to both laughter and tears….Pat Conroy is one of my favorite writers. He strings words together that sparkles like perfectly cut diamonds in the sun. Your writing created a double-strand necklace in my world. I eagerly await any and everything you write. - Joyce, Ontario, Canada
The book is so good I want to jump in the pages with the characters - Sue, Tupelo, MS
My family and I love the book. We’re new, devoted Peggy Webb fans. – Rebecca, Ontario, Canada
The best book I’ve read in the past year. - Sandi
The book is great! - Maxine, Birmingham, AL
It is definitely a memorable reading experience. - Mary
I loved the book. You write the best stories! - Kim, VA
Table of Contents
What Readers Say about Peggy Webb
Chapter 1, Elvis’ Opinion on Babies, Dogs and Fatherhood
Chapter 2, Romance, Loyalty and the Cat’s Out of the Bag
Chapter 3, Elvis’ Opinion on Ruby Nell’s Party, Gardens and Old Bones
Chapter 4, Bedlam, Murder and Old Scores
Chapter 5, Elvis’ Opinion on Flawed Logic, No Remorse and the Wrong Victim
Chapter 6, Hairdos, Gossip and Suspects
Chapter 7, Elvis’ Opinion on the Great Beyond, Psychic Eyes and Pickled Pigs’ Lips
Chapter 8, Mischief, Mayhem and Mud
Chapter 9, Elvis’s Opinion on Misdemeanors, Reckless Behavior and Batman and Robin
Chapter 10, Lies, Clues and Jailbirds
Chapter 11, Elvis’ Opinion on Vamps, Big Plans and Potions
Chapter 12, Narrow Escape and the Finger of Guilt
Chapter 13, Elvis’ Opinion on Funerals, Too Many Suspects and Bad Music
Chapter 14, Flowers, Disasters, and the Great Funeral Fight
Chapter 15, Elvis’ Opinion on Books, Broads and Fame
Chapter 16, Flimsy Evidence, Murderous Blueprints and Sneak Attacks
Chapter 17, Elvis’ Opinion on Dead Ends, Grasping at Straws and Pink Cadillac Killers
Chapter 18, Mayhem, Madness and Death by the Book
Chapter 19, Elvis’ Opinion on Writing, Canine Intelligence and Short Baldy
Chapter 20, Screaming, Nasty Surprises, and Rescues
Chapter 21, Elvis’ Opinion on Loving, Fiction and Being a Hero
Read More
Letter from the Author
About Peggy Webb
Bonus Soup Recipes from Lovie’s Kitchen
Chapter 1
Elvis’ Opinion on Babies, Dogs and Fatherhood
Things are back to normal since I cracked the case at the cooking competition down on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Murder was on the menu and my human mom, Callie, got up to her pretty neck in trouble. “Normal” in Mooreville, Mississippi (population 652 and growing) might not look like much to most folks, but it’s music to this famous basset hound’s radar ears.
The mayor’s wife, Junie Mae Getty, arranged a reception to show off cousin Lovie and her cooking trophy. Ruby Nell Valentine (Callie’s mama) is sporting around Mooreville like Marilyn Monroe, resurrected, in a red scarf and her new pink Cadillac with the top down. And her BFF Fayrene is doing a brisk business over at Gas, Grits and Guts, Mooreville’s one and only convenience store. She printed up flyers that tell the story of how she and Ruby Nell got kidnapped in the midst of the biggest scandal ever to hit a cooking competition. You can get one free with a purchase of three pints of fish bait or two quarts of pickled pigs’ lips. Otherwise you have to pay ten cents for the paper…or just wait around long enough and Fayrene will tell it.
As for this outstanding dog, I’ve taken back my throne from Callie’s stupid cocker spaniel Hoyt and I’m remaining my usual modest self about my part in solving the crimes at the cooking competition. While that sawed-off little upstart is sneaking around the back yard trying to find out where I bury the good bones, I’m cooling it here in my parents’ gazebo. (In case you don’t already know, that would be Jack and Callie Jones.) The wind blows my mismatched but incredible ears while I keep an eye on that silly dog in case he gets lucky enough to sniff out the ham bone I discovered in the garbage can at Mooreville’s Truck Stop, my Saturday night fine dining spot. Little does he know I’m just a coiled trap of canine muscle and intelligence waiting to spring.
That ridiculous thing in a spaniel suit also doesn’t know I’m keeping the biggest secret Mooreville has ever had.
Callie’s ready to tell her Mama but my human daddy wants to make the world go away so he can enjoy the secret a while longer. Besides, he knows that Ruby Nell will likely take out an ad to announce she’s going to be grandma.
Bless’a my soul. What’s this I hear? The sound of the powerful engine on Jack’s silver Jag as he makes the turn into our quiet little neighborhood. Hoyt keeps on digging up the yard, oblivious. So long, Dumb and Silly. This important dog has a growing family to take care of.
I put my fabulous self into high gear and squeeze through the doggie door. If Jack keeps sneaking me treats behind Callie’s back, they’re going to have to put in a new door. I stop in the kitchen to sniff if something good is cooking, but all I smell is the lemon-scented air freshener my human mom uses.
Speaking of the spectacular, Callie is all smiles as she comes down
the stairs and stations herself at the front door.
Jack breezes through, sets down so many packages you’d think it was Christmas, and then sweeps her off her feet. I’m not going to tell you what happens next. Suffice it to say, these two know the meaning of love me tender.
When she comes up for air, she says, “Hello, Daddy.”
He leans down to put his hand over her womb, which is as flat as a few so-called pop artists’ high notes. I hate to burst his bubble, but Callie’s so tall and well toned, it’s likely to stay that way for a few more months.
“Hey in there, little boy. Look what I got for you.”
Jack proceeds to dig through the bags and drag out a baseball and a mitt, an Atlanta Braves uniform in miniature, a dozen Onesies announcing things like Slugger and Daddy’s Little Man, a blue baby blanket, a soccer ball and a basketball.
“The goal’s in the Jag with a few more things,” he says. “I’m going to install it this afternoon while you’re at the beauty shop.”
Callie just smiles, though I know a secret Jack doesn’t. She’s hoping for a girl. I was with her when she bought that stash of pink blankets and Onesies that say stuff like Mama’s Little Ballerina and Baby Girl Power. Listen, I’m not taking sides on this. Either one is fine with me. I can’t wait to have my own little short-legged, red-faced, bald human who will think I’m his everything.
After she leaves to take care of her clients at Hair.Net, Jack leans down to scratch exactly the right spot behind my ears.
“How about it, Elvis? You want to be my handyman helper?”
I lick his shins to let him know I’ve got my mojo working. Then we march outside to unload Jack’s trunk.
Bless’a my soul. What’s all this?
Jack winks. “Our secret, Elvis. Won’t Callie be surprised?”
Surprise is not the word I’d use. Horrified is more like it. But there’s no use trying to tell Jack while he’s in this over-the-top mood. He may be the best undercover man the Company has, as well as a doting husband, but he’s got a few lessons to learn about being an expectant father.
It looks like this extraordinary dog is going to have to teach him. And if I want to keep my supply of dog treats coming, it’s now or never.
Chapter 2
Romance, Loyalty and the Cat’s out of the Bag
I don’t usually open Hair.Net on Mondays, but Alice Ann Street at Mooreville Video next door decided she wanted a permanent wave, and today was the only time she could schedule it.
She has this nice, shiny straight hair that always looks good – except when she takes a notion to trim her own bangs. Though I’m perfectly capable of doing a permanent wave that looks so natural everybody thinks you were born with curls, I tried to talk her out of it. But she holds nearly as many opinions as Mama.
So here I am, decked out in a cute pair of Bernardo sandals, a printed jumpsuit and a brand new daisy-printed face mask that matches. I bought a whole batch of them at Walgreen’s the minute I found out I’m pregnant. I’m not about to breathe fumes that will harm Jackie Nell. Of course, I haven’t discussed the name with Jack yet. How can I when he has his heart set on a boy?
I glance at the wall clock that adds the perfect touch to my pink-themed salon. I got it in the gift shop at the Elvis Presley Birthplace and Museum, an international tourist attraction that put nearby Tupelo on the map. It’s a cute plastic Elvis, dressed in pink, his hips swiveling as time marches by. My dog thinks I got it to please him. And maybe I did. Sometimes Elvis acts almost human.
Alice Ann is twenty minutes late. That’s not like her at all. Still, it gives me a chance to walk through my shop and decide where I can put a little nursery/playroom for Jackie Nell. I’m not about to let somebody else raise my child. Even with those new nanny cams, you still don’t know what goes on after you leave the house.
My office is too small, plus I don’t want my baby girl in there crawling around among all those cords and outlets. I grab a yellow legal pad off my desk and make a note to buy some safety covers for all the outlets in the salon as well as my house, and then I move on to the massage room.
I could convert it, but I try to offer my customers a range of beauty options. In spite of the fact that I’m about to realize my greatest dream, I’m still a business woman. Offering a massage along with a cut and style makes my little beauty shop feel like the Mooreville Riviera. If I could figure out a way to get the Army Corps of Engineers to divert the Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway to run through my back yard, I’d have the perfect atmosphere.
I eliminate the kitchen and the wash room for the obvious reasons: danger and services offered. Listen, this is the kind of beauty salon where you get advice of every kind along with spa services and genuine New York hair styles. I’m the Dr. Phil and the Iyanla Fix My Life of the hair circuit. I supply the advice while my cousin and cohort in all things both wonderful and ridiculous keeps my refrigerator stocked with the feel-good tonic. I’d hate to think of some of my more hysterical customers without Lovie’s famous Prohibition punch – light on the fruit juice, heavy on the rum.
“Yoo hoo!”
Holy cow! It’s Mama. What’s she doing here in the middle of Monday? She knows good and well my shop’s closed today except for emergencies and special occasions. I barrel toward the front door, and she’s already seated in one of my styling chairs, as big as you please. Fayrene’s with her, sitting on my pink love seat looking as self-satisfied as my manicurist’s cat Mal after he’s done something wicked to Elvis.
“Aha!” Mama says, and then winks at Fayrene, who claps her hands as if I’m a one-woman Broadway Show.
“Aha, what, Mama?”
“I knew it!”
“Knew what, Mama?” She just sits there with that maddening know-it-all look. “If you’ll care to remember it’s Monday and Hair.Net is closed.”
“The door was wide open,” Fayrene says. “We just marched right in and I had to sit down on your sexual sofa. What a day!”
That doesn’t sound good to me, but the phone rings before I can find out why.
It’s Alice Ann, who responds to my hello with, “Callie, is that you? You sound funny.”
I pull my mask down and talk with her long enough to find out she’s changed her mind about the permanent wave.
“That’s a good decision, Alice Ann. I’ll see you at your next hair appointment. And don’t go trimming your bangs.” I’ve just now got them looking good after she whacked out a chunk while I was on the road to the cooking competition with Lovie.
I leave the mask hanging around my neck and go over to lock the front door. Then I sit in a hair styling chair next to Mama.
“Since I’m here, you might as well do my hair.”
“What do you want, Mama?”
I’m hoping she doesn’t say color change. I just recently turned her into a beautiful strawberry blonde before our trip to the Gulf Coast. She changes her hair color more often than some people change TV channels. If I weren’t such a beauty expert, she’d be bald by now.
“Just a shampoo, trim and style.” I breathe a sigh of relief. For this, I won’t even need to wear my mask.
Mama marches to the sinks and I commence to scrub her hair. While her head is in the sink and her hair is sopping wet, I seize the moment to question her.
“Now, do you want to tell me what’s this is all about, or do you want to play a guessing game?”
“Pregnancy’s got you snappish.”
I nearly drown her with the wash basin’s hose. She says a word that shows she’s kin to Lovie while I march off and get a towel to swab her face.
“Who says I’m pregnant, Mama?”
“Jack.” This calls for a little talk with my husband. We were going to deliver the news together. “Now, get that look off your face. I went to your house to take him some of that leftover fried chicken from Sunday dinner and nearly fell and broke my neck over all that baby stuff.”
“Don’t you believe in knocking, Mama?”
&
nbsp; “Since when do I have to knock on my own daughter’s door?”
She rises up from the sink with all the haughty grandeur of Venus rising from the sea then prances back to my styling station. And don’t think I miss the wink she gives Fayrene, who has been all ears. I’m sure she didn’t miss a word of the exchange between Mama and me at the sinks, and if she did, Mama’s bound to fill her in later.
“I thought we’d have to give Jack artificial perspiration when he saw the cat was out of the bag,” Fayrene says. “But I told him, I’m no snatch. I can keep the elephant of surprise as good as the next woman.”
Naturally Fayrene is going to get right in the middle of my business. If she was anybody else and this was any old town, I might be miffed. But this is Mama’s best friend and Mooreville’s answer to Lucille Ball. Plus, in our little neck of the woods, your business is everybody’s business.
“When I saw you wearing the face mask, Cal, that was a dead give-away,” Mama adds.
I start laughing and can’t stop. Mama gets up to fetch a glass of water, and Fayrene grabs a tissue out of her purse to wipe my face. When I see how Mama’s anxious, hovering over me the way she did after Daddy died and we were two against the world, I sober up faster than Elvis can beg for PupPeroni.
“I’m okay. Sit down, Mama.” I run my fingers through her hair, and every bit of it falls perfectly in place. She needs a haircut about as much as I need an extra head. “You’re not going to need a trim for another six weeks.”
“I was thinking it needs shortening on the sides.”
“Mama, I’ll leave the cooking to you and Lovie if you’ll leave the hair styling to an expert.” She sits there with her mouth pursed, trying to think up a big argument, no doubt, but I grab the blow dryer and set to work before she can say pea turkey. “Jack and I were going to pick the right time to tell you about the baby, but I’m glad you know.”
“Flitter, I knew yesterday when I saw you and Jack in church.”
“Good grief! How?’
“Ruby Nell’s got ESPN.” Fayrene says.