by Webb, Peggy
“Wait a minute!” She puts her hands on her face as if she’s just had a bad fright. “Did you hear something outside?”
I give her the all clear signal, which makes my dog tags shake, rattle and roll.
“I need a weapon, Elvis.”
Callie sidles into the bathroom and grabs the first thing she can find. I don’t know how she thinks she can defend herself with the toilet plunger. Thankfully, she won’t have to find out because yours truly is on the job.
She hefts it a couple of times.
“I can do some damage with this.”
The only damage I can figure out is the criminal might laugh himself to death.
Suddenly there’s a noise outside. Callie shuts off her flashlight and tiptoes to the window. I trot right along behind, but there’s nothing outside except an owl landing in the top of the pecan tree in the backyard. I could have told her that. My nose misses nothing.
At the rate we’re going, we’ll be here all night and then still come up empty handed. While she’s still searching out the window, I trot my ample self into her office, stand on my hind legs and try to retrieve the object of my obsession. No luck. It’s time like this I wish I’d been sent back as a long-legged redbone hound like Trey instead of a short, handsome basset.
There’s nothing to do but heft myself into her chair, which takes some doing, let me tell you. Finally, I grab the crucial clue with my mouth.
Satisfied with a clever night’s work, I trot back to the tanning room and drop Callie’s appointment book at her feet.
“Holy cow, Elvis. How did you get this?”
I twirl around and give her a bow as courtly as anything I ever did onstage or off. Never let it be said that Elvis has lost his magic touch, even if I did have to swap my snazzy sequined jumpsuit for a dog suit full of wrinkles.
“Check to see who came in early that morning to the tanning bed,” I tell Callie.
She gives me such a look, I swear she knows every word I said.
“Listen, Elvis, I hate to disappoint you, but this appointment book isn’t going to tell me a thing except who’s getting haircuts and styles for the next few weeks. The tanning bed is strictly on the honor system. Whoever wants can just walk in and use it, then put money in the cash box. I know it sounds like that’s not very good business, but actually it’s just the opposite.”
Callie’s in her lecturing mood. I lie down and cover my amazing, mismatched ears with my front paws. She probably thinks I have a short attention span.
“Women around Mooreville like to brag that they went down to Biloxi or Gulf Shores to get their tans. If they don’t have to sign up for the bed, nobody knows the difference. The way I see it, their harmless little fantasies don’t hurt a soul, and if it makes my customers happy, then I’m happy.”
Callie heads back through the murder scene and puts her appointment book back on her desk. I trot along behind trying to keep her as far away from the yellow tape as possible. No sense in spreading around fresh DNA that will have Jack reminding Callie, “What’d I say?”
We let ourselves out the back door then hot foot it back across the street to Gas, Grits and Guts. Praise the lord and pass the ammunition, Callie heads straight for the junk food aisle. Hoping she’s forgotten about putting me on a diet, I grab a bag of potato chips and drop it at her feet, then stand there looking so adorable she pats my head.
“Well, all right, Elvis. You deserve a little forbidden treat. But just this once.”
Callie grabs a Hershey’s bar, her junk food of choice, and then we stroll toward the cash register as if we’re thinking of nothing more serious than milk chocolate versus dark.
Fayrene’s at the front. “Callie! Jarvetis said your car was out front, but I didn’t hear you come in. Why didn’t you give a yell?”
“Preoccupied, I guess.”
“Good lord, I reckon. What with finding poor Jim Boy dead over there in your shop. They say Leonora can’t quit crying and Trixie’s prostate with grief.”
Callie has to hide her smile behind the bag of chips. Fayrene regularly slaughters the English language.
“I suppose I’d be prostrate too, if my groom had been killed on my wedding day.”
“I hear the sheriff was over at Mooreville Feed and Seed questioning Roy Jessup, but if you ask me, they won’t find his NBA anywhere near the crime scene.”
“Why not, Fayrene?”
“That boy’s so timid he’d try to be unanimous at his own wedding.”
Callie hands her the chips and candy bar, hoping for a quick escape, but there’s no such thing with Fayrene.
“What are you doing out this time of night, hon? I thought you were spending the night with Ruby Nell?”
“I am. I just got an urge for a snack.”
“That’s not like Ruby Nell not to keep snacks.”
The next thing you know, Fayrene will be telling Ruby Nell she ought to stock up on pickled pigs lips for emergency midnight snacks, and Callie’s mama will be asking all kinds of questions that I know good and well my human mom doesn’t want to answer.
“Oh, she had plenty, Fayrene. Just not what I wanted.”
“Why didn’t you bring her along? That way you could help her stock up on the right things?”
“I would have, but she was watching TV and I didn’t want to disturb her.” Finally Fayrene rings up our items. “Don’t tell her I was running all over the country this time of night. You know how she worries.”
“You’ve got that right. She can go into wisteria faster than any woman I know.”
Callie gives Fayrene a smile that would melt the entire frozen tundra.
“I knew I could count on you. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you to help me take care of Mama.”
Finally, we make our escape. When we get back, we climb through the window, and Callie peels off her sleuthing outfit while I sink down to enjoy my forbidden snack.
I would save half the bag to bury in the back yard in case Callie carries out her threat to put me on a diet, but I’m not that kind of conservative dog. I eat the whole thing, and then spend considerable time tearing the bag apart and licking the crumbs.
You never know when another opportunity like this will some along.
Chapter Four
Pillow Talk, Green Thumbs, and Motives
“Now let me get this straight.” Lovie is standing at her stove stirring up a couple of omelets, still wearing her neon pink nightshirt that declares kiss the cook, in spite of the fact that it’s already ten o’clock on a Monday morning. “You went breaking and entering without me?”
“Technically, I wasn’t breaking and entering, Lovie. It’s my own shop.”
She slides the omelet onto a plate for me, then turns back to the stove and makes a quick scrambled egg for Elvis. “If anybody else had gone sleuthing around without me and my baseball bat, I’d say they were crazy.”
“I may be colorful, but I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say you are. You’re the sanest person I know. Besides, who knows what’s out there? The government covers up all the interesting stuff.” Lovie dumps another omelet on a plate, pours two cups of coffee, then sits down at the table and eats with relish. “Still, you need to stay away from that shop in the pitch black dark.”
“You might as well save your breath, Lovie. Besides, I wasn’t alone. Elvis went with me.”
“Elvis is not exactly a vicious watch dog. Sorry, old boy.” She leans down to pet him. “A killer’s on the loose, Cal, and he picked your shop for murder. It could happen again.”
“That’s my point, exactly. Why my shop? That means the killer had to know that Jim Boy would be there early Saturday morning.”
“Who else knew?”
“He didn’t want Trixie to know about his dye jobs, so I’m guessing she didn’t. And if she didn’t know, then how would Mabel or Hank know?”
“In spite of her dislike of Jim Boy and the things she said, I don’t think Mab
el has the guts for murder. Or Hank, either, for that matter. Somebody’s always getting the best of him in a used car deal, and he just shrugs and goes on about his business.”
No need to ask how Lovie knows. If she says a thing is true, it’s as good as gospel. One thing my cousin does is get around. She’s the busiest caterer in northeast Mississippi: it’s considered a mark of prestige to have Lovie Valentine cater an event.
I shove my half-eaten omelet aside and reach for my coffee.
“I think Roy Jessup is the likely one, Lovie. But still, the way Jim Boy tomcatted around, I’ll bet plenty of women knew where he’d be.”
“Pillow talk.”
“Exactly. I’ve got to find out who he was seeing on the sly, then go from there.”
“Alice Ann Street, for one.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. She came back to the kitchen last Tuesday when I catered Trixie’s wedding shower and said she just had to get it off her chest. I swore I’d never tell a soul.”
“That doesn’t include me.”
“Naturally not. Besides, I had my fingers crossed behind my back.”
As I sip my coffee, pondering the list of suspects, I decide it’s a crying shame to steal the holiday joy with murder.
“Let’s talk about something fun, Lovie. How’s the courtship with Rocky?”
Lovie says a word that curdles the cream in my coffee.
“I can’t get him within shouting distance of my National Treasure.”
“He’s a gentleman, Lovie. Probably the first one you’ve ever dated.”
“I’m beginning to think he wouldn’t even know his way around a voluptuous body like mine.”
“Give him time.”
“If this dilly dallying keeps up, I’m going to give him the boot.”
“You don’t mean a word of that.” The clock on her wall, which features jungle animals to herald the hour, roars eleven o’clock.
“Oh, shoot. I’ve got to get going.”
“Where to?”
“Jewel’s house. She needs her roots colored and Leonora wants a cut. I was supposed to do them Saturday morning.”
“Leonora’s staying at her mother’s?”
“Looks that way. Fayrene says she can’t quit crying and Trixie’s prostate with grief.”
Lovie laughs so hard she has to race to the bathroom.
“You nearly made me pee my pants. Oh, lordy, I shouldn’t be laughing at a time like this. Poor Trixie.”
“I know. I talked to her last night, and she seemed to be holding up pretty well. I’m going to pay her a condolence call after I talk to Alice Ann.” I carry my dishes to the dishwasher. “Do you want to go to the movies tonight? There’s a new Morgan Freeman film I’m dying to see. I can pick you up.”
“I’ll meet you there. I’m catering an afternoon Christmas tea in Parc Monceau.”
After I leave Lovie’s, I’m dying to drive to Mooreville Video and talk to Alice Ann Street, but I have to take care of my customers first. You can’t be as successful as I am unless you know how to set priorities.
It’s suddenly turned off hot, the way these capricious Mississippi winters will do, and I power down the windows. I’d turn on the air, but something’s wrong with the system. It spits out enough air for the balmy days of spring, but by the end of summer I might as well have been trying to cool myself with a cardboard fan from Uncle Charlie’s funeral parlor. I’d get it fixed today, but since I floated a loan for Mama, I’ll have to wait.
Elvis sticks his head out the window and lets the wind blow his ears back. It’s kind of pleasant driving along this way, dispensing beauty on wheels, so to speak.
This first thing I see at Jewel Moffett’s house is her Don Juan climbing rose, a sight to behold, the red so dark it looks like blood.
That just goes to show you, I’ve got murder on the brain. I park beside Jewel’s Jeep Grand Cherokee, then Elvis follows me up the sidewalk. He’s a fixture around my beauty shop, and thank goodness, every one of my regulars welcome him into their homes.
I’ll have to say this about Jewel’s house: it’s the most charming one in Mooreville besides mine and Mama’s. Pink - which says it all - with a small front porch. Smaller than Mama’s. But she has the same nine-foot ceilings and hardwood floors favored by all the builders around the turn of the last century.
Jewel herself meets me at the door with her roots showing. “This is so clever of you to make house calls. I’ve made iced tea. Do you want lemon?”
“Yes, please.” I follow her into the kitchen and set my supplies on the table. “This will be the best place to work.”
“That’s what I thought. The sink’s stainless steel.”
She hands Elvis a Milk Bone then pours the tea, and I glance around for Leonora. There’s not a sign of her.
As if she’s read my mind, Jewel says, “Leonora changed her mind about the cut today. She’s in bed with a sick headache. I hope you don’t mind.”
Actually I’m glad. This gives me more time to spend questioning Alice Ann.
“Of course not.”
“This has all been so upsetting to her. Well…to all of us, really. Leonora and Trixie are so close, you know.”
That statement strikes me as a little odd. I’ve been doing the Moffett girls’ hair ever since I got out of beauty school, and my impression is that they’ve always been a bit jealous of each other, especially after Leonora won a beauty title. And then Trixie got engaged, when everybody in Mooreville knows Leonora is the oldest and wanted to be first.
They’re cousins, but not at all like Lovie and me. Lovie and I have our differences, but nothing that can’t be patched up over a box of popcorn at the movies.
Jewel leans in close to hand me the tea.
“Is that a new perfume you’re wearing, Jewel?”
“Yes, don’t you just love it?”
I don’t, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve got sense enough to know when to tell a little white lie.
“It’s absolutely divine. Now, let’s get started on your roots.”
Chapter Five
Love Triangles, Secrets and Suspects
You’re not going to believe who’s parked in front of Mooreville Video. Jack Jones. This could be viewed as a stroke of bad luck or good, whichever way you want to look it. Since I always see a glass as half full instead of half empty, I choose to view it as a good sign. Obviously Jack and I are on the same page regarding suspects.
Still, it’s odd that a Company man would be wasting his time on a small town murder investigation. I believe Jack is taking a personal interest because I’m the prime suspect.
Pumped up by that revelation, I freshen my lipstick (I believe in being prepared), then prime myself to act cheerful and nonchalant as I unload Elvis and go inside. Usually Alice Ann yells, “Be right with you,” the minute she hears the shop bell. But today, Elvis and I go down every aisle before she sticks her head out of her office.
“Oh…Callie. Are you in a hurry? I’ve got….business back here.” With her hands waving about and her bangs sticking straight up, she looks like a distracted porcupine. She’s used too much hair gel.
“Take your time, Alice Ann. I’ll just browse.”
I know exactly what her business is, and believe me, the minute she’s out of sight I make a beeline toward her office, then squat down and put my ear close to the floor vent. Say all you want about snooping: sometimes it’s the only way to discover the truth.
Thank goodness, the store is empty. Of course, what would you expect early on a Monday afternoon? Contrary to Fayrene’s opinion, Mooreville’s not exactly the center of the universe.
I can hear Jack and Alice Ann just as plain as if I were in the room with them.
“Alice Ann, were you seeing Jim Boy Sloan?”
“Absolutely not! He was fixing to get married.”
“According to witnesses, the two of you were pretty cozy at Booger Bill’s in Tupelo three weeks before J
im Boy died.”
There’s such a long silence, I got a cramp in my knee. I’m wiggling it around to find some ease when she starts talking again.
“I didn’t mean to lie to you. Honest. It’s not what you think. We were just talking, that’s all. A bunch of people were seeing him, but after he got engaged to Trixie most of it stopped.”
“Who else was seeing him?”
“I can’t say for sure, because I didn’t actually see him with anybody else. I don’t want anybody to think I’m trying to get them into trouble.”
“This is a murder investigation, Alice Ann. My sources are confidential. Let’s try this again… is there anybody else you can think of who might have been involved with Jim Boy Sloan?”
“I know there was always talk about an older woman. Somebody up in Memphis, I think. I never heard her name. And then there was…”
Another long silence. I can picture Alice Ann biting her fingernails. It’s impossible to give her a good manicure. Even when my manicurist, Darlene, put tips on her nails, she gnaws them off like a rabbit.
I sit down on the floor and stretch my legs to get the circulation going. Just my luck, the shop bell rings. I untie my shoes then bend down toward the vent and pretended to be tying them.
“Who?” Jack asks Alice Ann.
“Callie!” I look up to see Billy Jessup with his perfectly disheveled blond hair and his earring in the wrong ear. “What are you doing down there on the floor?”
Well, shoot. Alice Ann said a name but I could barely make it out because of the untimely interruption.
“Tying my shoe.”
“Here, let me help you.” Billy kneels down and grabs my leg, and I swear, if he weren’t a mere baby compared to me, he’d have rung my chimes. Let me tell you that boy knows his way around a pair of ankles.
“Billy…Callie…what are you doing?”
I jump a mile. There is Jack, scowling at me like I’m a cradle robber while Billy hangs onto my leg grinning from ear to ear.
“Cool it, dude. I’m checking out the videos.”