Viva Lost Vegas

by Melanie Jackson

“If they did, it was when I was a baby. I’ve always been different,” I said honestly. “But I’m not psychic. I just… recognize patterns and know what happens next.” Elvis looked confused. “I can see how a puzzle goes together and what it looks like even I have only a few pieces to look at.”

  “Can you tell me something about me?” he asked.

  “Okay.” I looked him over. “You like soft pretzels with mustard. And you are right handed but you’ve been trying to learn how to do stuff with your left hand.”

  “That’s right! I had a soft pretzel this morning when I went for a walk. How did you know?”

  “Rock salt and mustard on you shirt pocket where you stashed the last bit. And you are still exuding yummy pretzel smell. Where did you get it?”

  “There’s a shop down the street. They do bagels too. I forgot about the buffet when I smelled the bread cooking. And my hand?”

  “It’s still a little swollen. Did you shut it in a car door?”

  “Truck. I was out getting firewood and shut the tailgate on it. I’m doing pretty good with my left except for shaving. I had to get me an electric razor before I lost my nose.”

  “And what patterns do you see with this case?” Hawaii asked.

  I couldn’t tell if he was being ironic or really wanted to know.

  “We need to check all leads, of course, but my gut says Living Dead, Jail House and Millennium are okay. Heroine is a question mark. BB gives me the creeps. He’s violent and my dog doesn’t like him. I don’t know if he’s a murderer though.” I looked at Alex. “Will you see what you can find about Archie Mobley and Andy Dickerson too.”

  “You suspect them particularly?”

  “No, but a room key was probably used to get at Herbie Meyers. I can’t imagine he’d let in a killer while he was naked and getting ready for a shower. Not even if someone said they were room service.”

  He would especially wonder about someone in sequins. Though with so many costumed Elvises around, no one else would notice one more walking the halls, so it might be a good disguise at that. Even at the costume shop, the killer would be just one more Elvis.

  “The maids all have keys too,” Alex pointed out.

  “They’re teenage girls, at least the ones I’ve seen. Too small and weak to have done anything to Dana or to Elvis. I guess someone could have stolen a key from them though. It would be nice to know if any keys have gone missing. I’ll talk to Gretchen. We’ve bonded over housework. Elvis, do any of the other Elvises like costumes with silver sequins?” I asked.

  “Hadn’t noticed particularly.”

  That was a shame, but not unexpected.

  “Anything else I need to hear?” Hawaii asked.

  “I’m betting you’ve bulked up since you last did your Elvis thing. You better try on your costume and see if it still fits. If not, the nearest costume shop is in Reno.”

  His lips twitched.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Chapter 8

  Gretchen found her voice, but it didn’t help me much. She hadn’t lost a master key and no one else was reporting losses either, so there went the obvious solution.

  Though Alex wouldn’t like it when I told him, I did rounds with Gretchen. I wasn’t technically searching rooms and I wasn’t alone either. Gretchen didn’t question why I did the rooms with her, accepting my help with making beds and laying out towels in the second floor with touching gratitude, not even complaining about my humming Highway Patrol while I worked. I learned that Maria had the third floor this week where Heroin, Jailhouse and BB had rooms and where I really wanted to search. However, Maria was smarter than Gretchen and would probably wonder why I was helping. She might even say something to the manager.

  I wanted to take Blue with me on our rounds but that would have been a bit conspicuous, and I don’t suppose that Blue could actually sniff out sequins if they were hidden somewhere clever. It’s just that I feel a lot safer when Blue is with me.

  Convinced by afternoon that I didn’t even want to work as a maid, I went back to our room around one and asked Alex what he had found with his brand of snooping.

  Alex wasn’t alone. Hawaii was there in a chair next to Alex with Blue’s head resting on his knee. His presence in the room suggested that we had been checked out and approved as good guys. Blue’s position said that she approved of him as well.

  “Oh sharper than a serpent’s tooth,” I began, but Blue jumped up and came to me with tail wagging at full force. We hugged and vocalized, and only then did I ask the boys what they had found so far.

  “I am so glad I never had the urge to go on stage. The critics are vicious. And the people who write in to these social sites are often worse,” Alex said and started reading the hateful drivel out loud. A few paragraphs and I’d heard enough.

  One of Elvis’ reviews suggested he was the King of Idiots rather than the King of Rock-n-Roll— and he had won that competition! Heroin, BB, Living Dead, Millennium, they had all been excoriated. One review of Jailhouse in an Arizona paper was positively racist. Even Elder Elvis caught flak from supposed Christians that thought the former minister was going to burn in Hell for turning his back on Jesus.

  “Judge not lest ye be judged— but that never stops anyone, does it?” Hawaii said.

  “I’m afraid our Elvis spent some time in a hospital for the poor and delusional as a guest of the state”, Alex said.

  “Which state?” I asked.

  “California.”

  “Maybe the weather was nice.”

  “That would have been the only nice thing.”

  I nodded agreement with Alex. The poor don’t get sent to nice places.

  “What about Archie Mobley?” I didn’t have a nickname for him. Should I call him Has-been Elvis? No, I decided. That was too mean. It was also unnecessary because he wasn’t one of the Elvises. Not anymore.

  “He has no good press. None. Here is one of the fairer reviews,” Alex said, calling up another website and turning the portable so I could see the screen.

  I read the old critique of Archie Mobley’s performance after he started his brief career in Vegas. He and other impersonators had been performing to raise money for a food bank. The reviewer, an ungrateful pig who probably hated widows and orphans, had hidden behind Anonymous.

  “…he looked like a stork with a broken neck and sang like one too… This is fair? I am so glad we live in a kinder place,” I said to Alex. “Our paper would never print anything like this. Even if it were true.”

  “Especially if it were true.”

  “I may have to visit Hope Falls,” Hawaii said. “Once in a while I get to craving kinder and gentler too.”

  “So, you didn’t find anything to narrow the search down. No smoking guns?”

  “None. And the competition begins tomorrow. If this is somehow related to this Elvis tryout and not the mob or feuds with a violent casino owner— and frankly, it doesn’t seem to be— then I don’t know what to do. We can’t stop the competition. The coroner hasn’t even declared either death a homicide.”

  “Then you feel it too?” I asked. “That the killer hasn’t finished and left town?”

  “Two murders and an attempt earlier? No. If it’s Elvis stuff driving him, then he’s still here.”

  “And I think we are looking for one killer. Not two or three different ones. That just seems improbable in a town of this size.”

  “I agree.”

  “Well, I checked all the rooms on the second floor. Heroin, BB and Jailhouse are up on three and I don’t know that maid.” Alex was frowning at me. “I wasn’t alone. Gretchen and I did the rooms together. She invited me, I think because she is afraid of finding another dead Elvis.”

  “And so you helped her?” Hawaii asked.

  “Of course. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. Anyway, the poor kid was really scared that first morning. It would have been cruel to leave her on her own.”

  “I have really got to visit Hope Falls. I didn’t kno
w any place like this still existed,” Hawaii said.

  Alex shook his head but in resignation. He had quickly adapted to our way of life and that included looking out for neighbors. He knew that I wouldn’t just turn my back on a scared kid.

  “Gretchen also says none of the maids has lost a key or is admitting it if they did, so there goes that theory. Are rooms like these hard to break into?” I asked Hawaii.

  He didn’t take insult at the suggestion that he would know about breaking and entering.

  “Not very. If you know what you’re doing.”

  “Alex, could you make a master key?”

  “Well— probably. Yes. But I’m not going to,” he said sternly.

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m just trying to figure out if it would be hard for someone else to do it.”

  “They couldn’t do it without a computer and a card machine.”

  “Both of which could be picked up at a pawnshop,” Hawaii said. “Or they could make a key if they had a couple minutes behind the counter in the lobby or in the managers’ office.”

  “There is always someone at the desk,” I said. “Is there a pawnshop in town? Wait— there was one in Do Not Disturb. Maybe we should ask there about recent purchases.”

  “I think I’ll do that,” Hawaii said, rising. “It seems I also need a new Elvis costume. I had hoped to figure this all out before Friday so I wouldn’t have to compete, but it looks like I am renewing my career after all. I better get on the road.”

  “We’ll record you for YouTube,” I said helpfully.

  “Thanks.”

  “And speaking of costumes,” Alex said, “Chloe, I still don’t have a suit. I was talking to Elvis and he suggested that I borrow one of his outfits instead of buying a new one. We are pretty much the same size.”

  “Which one?” I wasn’t fussy but I didn’t want wedding photos of Alex in a stretchy white jumpsuit.

  “He has real suit— black, fifties, string tie. Only a little fringe, no spangles.”

  “Okay. That sounds good. It will go well with my dress.” I grinned, wondering if that would alarm him. Apparently it didn’t. He appeared to have a lot of faith in my taste.

  “Yep, I gotta visit Hope Falls. It has to be one special place,” Hawaii said to himself as he left the room.

  A moment later there was a tap on the door.

  “I just talked to Hawaii,” Elvis said when I answered. “The boys and I were thinking that we should have a tribute to Herbie and Dana on Friday night. After the wedding,” Elvis said. “If you don’t mind. We’d do it before the start of the competition.”

  “Not at all. That would be nice. Were you thinking of singing their favorite songs?”

  “Yeah. And wearing costumes Dana made.”

  “I think that would be wonderful. I’ll be wearing my dress too.”

  “I’m going to go talk to Archie about it. It would be nice if we all sang a number together. That’ll mean setting up extra microphones and such. Hope he won’t be annoyed.”

  “I’m sure he won’t mind,” Alex said.

  “Just didn’t want to do it if it cast a shadow over your wedding.”

  “It won’t,” I assured him. The deaths had cast a shadow. Honoring the dead men’s memory wouldn’t darken the day.

  “You are a remarkable woman,” Alex said after Elvis had left.

  “Remarkable good, or remarkable bad? I mean, could this wedding get any weirder?”

  “But it’s still better than fruitcake and pooping birds, right?”

  “Right. Murders and Elvises— but yes, way better.” Alex chuckled and I found myself smiling. “You know, This was bound to happen. I was a weird little kid who knew too much about other people’s secrets. Now I’m a weird adult who still sees too much for most people’s comfort. I don’t know why anyone loves me, but I am always grateful when they do.” That you do, I meant.

  “People love you because, while you could hold a grudge against life for making you different, you don’t. And you love them and help them in spite of their flaws. In spite of my flaws.”

  Alex took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I squeezed back.

  “I think Blue would like a walk,” I said.

  “Okay. Let’s go get some pretzels. Then I better try on my borrowed suit. Is it bad luck for the bride to see the groom’s clothes before the wedding?”

  “I think we better risk it,” I said. “In case the cuffs need a bit of hemming or something.”

  “Good point.”

  Chapter 9

  It didn’t rain on my wedding, but Friday’s wind was of the lion rather than lamb variety. From our window we could see actual tumbleweeds rolling through town. We decided to celebrate our wedding by not doing the buffet with the hordes off the bus and having room service instead.

  I am not a nervous, micromanaging kind of bride, but I felt it behooved me to make sure that someone had actually thrown a tablecloth over the ore cart in the small ballroom and set out some flowers, so we went downstairs after breakfast to inventory.

  The hotel had done everything as promised, and the bright starbursts of yellow made the room look festive and even beautiful. I began to feel hopeful.

  Since I am not entirely stupid, and have some understanding of how The Chief thinks and reacts, it wasn’t all that shocking when my parents arrived at the hotel around noon. More shocking was to see several of the Lit Wits— Mr. Jackman, Mrs. Graves and Mrs. Everett— arriving along with Alex’s aunt, Mary Elizabeth and my cousin, Althea.

  “Randy wanted to come,” Dad said between group hugs and exclamations. “But the mayor and the chief of police can’t both leave town on the same day. Who would anyone complain to? Since I’m the father of the bride, I pulled rank.”

  Dad didn’t need to add that if there was a killer hanging around that he wanted to be there to look after me.

  Drawn by the noise, curious Elvises came out of the bar where they had been rehearsing their group song— I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You. Hawaii was among them so I guess he really could sing.

  Everyone except my father was looking a little dazed at all the leather and sequins filling up the lobby. Dad had probably been brought up to speed by The Chief and knew what to expect, but the others were facing it cold. Mr. Jackman and Mrs. Graves were amused, the rest were a bit bug-eyed.

  Alex, already dressed in his borrowed suit, started making introductions between check-ins. Andy Dickerson was beaming as he tapped on the computer keyboard. I guess he had reason to be pleased— more guests helped the bottom line. They were doing pretty well for a hotel that wasn’t officially open.

  It could have been awkward, but my friends and family did what they always did when confronted with something different and just accepted the weird situation with their usual good manners. That in turn put the Elvises at ease. I watched their similar faces carefully as they talked, but none looked worried or guilty. If our killer was there, he wasn’t feeling any pressure at the added company. And why would he? Or she? They were going to a wedding. Presumably even killers like a party.

  “It’s time to dress, Chloe,” Mom said, draping a garment bag over her arm. “I can’t wait to see your gown.”

  Uh-oh. The moment of truth.

  Though I didn’t really want any help dressing, I nodded and we headed for the elevator. Blue came with me. She needed to garb-up too.

  “My dress,” I began. “It is a little different. It was made by the costume designer here in town. He used to do all the big shows in Vegas.”

  Mom gulped but smiled valiantly.

  “We are all wearing his clothes today as a kind of memorial because he passed away this week. And don’t worry. There aren’t any sequins. My dress isn’t a costume.” Not really.

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” Mom said supportively.

  It turns out that she actually did like the dress, though it was not at all what she had wanted or expected her daughter to wear on her wedding day.

&nb
sp; “But then you have never done the expected,” she said, giving me a hug. Just like that, I was forgiven for running away. I just hoped Alex parents were as kind when he confronted them with the news.

  Blue looked lovely in her scarf. The fringe was jaunty and the western look rather suited her.

  And Mom looked very pretty in a soft yellow linen suit. I had worried that she would be overdressed since she had expected a church wedding, but Mom has always preferred the understated and looked just right.

  “We need to go down, I guess,” I said, glancing at the clock. “Will you keep my key in your handbag?” I asked.

  Suddenly I was feeling nervous. Until that moment I had had no bridal jitters, but waiting for the elevator I began to get light headed.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you, dear,” Mom said. She handed me a small white Bible with a new blue satin ribbon. “It was your grandmother’s. And it is something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.”

  Blue woofed, reminding us that I already had something Blue. I grinned, my panic dying away. After all, my dog was there. My parents were there. And I had Alex.

  “Is there a penny for my shoe?”

  “I don’t think a penny would stay in those sandals. Anyway, what an uncomfortable tradition. That and rice— so messy and silly,” Mom said, stepping into the elevator.

  Our party was small, but the faces that looked at me were happy ones and many I loved. Mom and Dad were beside me along with Alex and Blue. We all went into the ballroom together and Elvis— our Elvis— cleared his throat and began speaking in his wonderful, deep voice.

  “It is the fortunate person who finds their best friend for the rest of their life. After that it is easy to make the promise to love and cherish, to keep close and be faithful, to be a prop and helpmate in times of need, to make them laugh and to be there when the hard times come— as hard times often do. It is easy to hold them in the highest respect and honor them as they deserve for the rest of their life. Chloe and Alex are two of the fortunate ones who are no longer alone.

  “Dear beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and family and friends….”