by Webb, Peggy
Elvis’ Opinion #4 on Hair Pins, Bubble Baths, and Almost Paradise
Jack and Callie are making a mess of things faster than I can straighten them out. Don’t think I didn’t pick up where she’s been the minute she walked through the door. I’ve been to Leonora’s cottage with my human mom enough to know the scent of that stinking hawthorn hedge. Add the ripped sweater and the scratches, and any dog worth his weight in PupPeroni would do exactly what I do, race up the stairs and keep a sharp lookout while Callie tries to soak away her troubles in a bubble bath.
Listen, I picked up the scent on that hair pin the minute Jack pulled it out of plastic. Don’t tell me Callie’s not in trouble. If you do, you’re liable to end up in the Promised Land. I may be a short dog in a splendid basset suit, but I’ve still got what it takes to get the job done.
“Elvis, this is just awful.”
I thump my tail to let Callie know her best dog loves her tender even if Jack Jones is too stubborn to admit his true feelings. He thinks anyplace with her is paradise.
“What am I going to do?” she says.
I tell you one thing she’s not going to do: be lonesome tonight. I howl a few bars of “Love Me Tender,” and then lay my handsome head on the cool porcelain rim of the tub.
Callie rubs my ears, and I decide that life doesn’t get much better than this. If I had that good T-bone buried in the back yard and Jack Jones was waiting in the next room, I’d be in dog heaven.
Chapter Six
Leonora, Lycra and a Stroke of Good Luck
I’m having breakfast and watching the seven o’clock news when Lovie calls.
“Callie, have you got the TV on?”
“Yes.”
“Does the release of Jim Boy’s body mean they’ve caught the killer?”
“Shhh.” I tell her “I’ve got to hear this.”
Cody Lacey, our local TV celebrity, is saying, “The family of the deceased said funeral arrangements are being made with Eternal Rest in Tupelo.” Uncle Charlie’s funeral home. This means I’ll be doing Jim Boy’s hair, after all. “Now we go to Lee County’s Sheriff Trice.”
The camera pans to Sheriff Trice. “Nobody is in custody at this time,” he says, “but we have a number of suspects.”
“Including me,” I tell Lovie, who is still on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Somebody’s beeping in.”
It’s Uncle Charlie, telling me Jim Boy’s funeral is scheduled for Thursday afternoon at two.
“I’ll be there tonight, Uncle Charlie.” Even before the words are out of my mouth, my call waiting signal beeps again. This time it’s Leonora, wanting to know if I can do her hair.
“I can do it this morning. Is nine all right?”
“Yes.”
“Great. The sheriff’s got my shop closed till Wednesday, so I’ll have to come to you. Are you still at your mother’s house?”
“No. I’m at mine.”
I call Lovie right back to tell her the news.
“A stroke of luck, Callie. You’ve got to case Leonora’s house.”
“I won’t have much time. These next two days are going to be very busy. Everybody will be wanting a smart hair style for Jim Boy’s funeral. And speaking of hair, did you lose a rhinestone hairpin at my shop?”
“I haven’t worn a rhinestone pin since I’ve been trying to get Rocky to discover my National Treasure.”
“You’ve lost me, Lovie.”
“When you’re in the heat of the moment, you don’t want to have to slow down and take out a hair pin.”
“Holy cow! Any progress on that front?”
“No. I’m thinking of going out with somebody else, just to make him jealous.”
“That sounds sneaky to me.”
“Stress is making you testy, Callie. I don’t care if it’s illegal, as long as it gets the job done.”
“Just play it from your heart, Lovie.”
“Like you’re doing with Jack?”
“If I weren’t such a lady, I’d say a word. I’m hanging up now, Lovie.”
I don’t even wait for her to say goodbye. By the time I get dressed and load my truck for another day of beauty on the road, Mama has called on my cell phone to invite me to supper, a prospect I view with the enthusiasm of a worm in a can going fishing. She’s sure to grill me about Jim Boy, and she might even be thinking up another medical emergency. Even when she can’t get over to Tunica, Mama can find a card game.
It’s raining by the time I’m ready to leave, and I decide to leave Elvis at home.
“Bye, boy. Watch after the house while I’m gone.”
He shows his miff by turning his back on me. I grab my umbrella, climb into my truck and head to Tupelo.
I’m feeling frazzled by the time I get to Leonora’s yellow brick bungalow. Still, I strive to be my own best advertisement. In other words, I always try to look good in front of my clients.
When Leonora opens the door, I can see she’s still on her crying jag. Her eyes are red and puffy. Grief or guilt?
“I need to freshen up a little, Leonora. May I use your bathroom?”
“Of course. You know where it is.”
I’ve been here before, most recently to the bridal tea she held for Trixie. Which brings me right back to murder and the possibility that she’s the killer.
When your cut’s as good a mine (I do my own hair with a little help from Lovie in the back), it doesn’t take long to whip it back into shape. That leaves me some time to snoop. I open the linen closet first. It’s full of sheets and towels folded with military precision – a sure sign of a woman with time on her hands. Now why would a beautiful woman like Leonora have time on her hands unless she’s waiting around for the phone to ring, taking leftovers from her cousin’s fiancé?
Next I check out her medicine cabinet which is laid out in the same precision – lipsticks in a plastic holder with their labels turned outward so you could see the colors (all Mary Kay, of course), makeup brushes in a burnished silver holder, blush and mascara, eyeliner in shades of navy and gray, makeup base in ivory, the usual aspirin and vitamins.
But wait a minute… I pick up the vitamins for a closer look at the label. Prenatal. Why would you take prenatal vitamins unless you’re pregnant?
“Callie?” Leonora knocks on the door. “Is everything all right in there.”
“I’m almost finished.” I reach over and flush the toilet. “Be right out.”
When I open the bathroom door I search for a telltale bulge, but in spite of the fact that she’s wearing tight jeans and a sweater with body-forming Lycra, I don’t see any evidence of pregnancy. Still, some women don’t show until they’re practically ready to deliver. Tall, lean and fit, Leonora would be that type.
“Let’s get started. It’s a good thing you called me at home, because I’m booked solid today and tomorrow.” I’m such a good actress that I sound genuine, even to myself.
“You’re the best, Callie.”
“Why thank you. I guess that’s why everybody’s calling me to make them look good for Jim Boy’s funeral.”
That sets Leonora to crying, which just about breaks my heart. If this poor girl really is pregnant with Jim Boy’s child, she’s facing some tough times. Maybe people in big cities don’t blink an eye over illegitimate children, but here in Mooreville, some folks take a different view.
I get some tissue out of my purse, then pat her on the shoulder while she dabs at her eyes. “Everything’s going to be all right, Leonora.”
“Oh, Callie, I don’t see how it can.”
“I know everything seems bleak right now. Your cousin has lost her husband, and you’ve just lost a good friend.”
“You….just….don’t….know!” Leonora’s sniffles turn into wails.
“Maybe this is not such a good time to do your hair. I’m not sure you’re up to the funeral.”
“I’ll be there.” She honks her nose. “You won’t tell anybody about me acting this way, will you
, Callie?”
“Of course not.” I take out my brush and start brushing her hair, which can be very soothing. “If you ever need to talk…about anything at all… you know you can come to me.”
“I know that, Callie. Thank you.” She hugs me and holds on for a long time.
If this woman killed Jim Boy Sloan it was done in the heat of the moment, and she’s paying a terrible price. I’m ashamed of myself for attempting to break and enter her house last night.
By the time I finish cutting her hair, I’m behind schedule, which some people might view as a bad start to a busy day. I choose to view it as an opportunity to help somebody in need.
Poor Leonora. If it turns out she killed Jim Boy, her baby will be born in prison. The thought is so upsetting, I have a little cry. By the time I got to my next appointment (Fayrene, at her convenience store), my makeup is a mess.
I see Jack’s motorcycle parked outside my beauty shop across the street. As much as I’m dying to go inside and see what I can find out, I’m not about to let him see me before I touch up my lipstick and mascara.
I do some hasty repairs, then stick my head in the convenience store and yell, “I’ll be right back, Fayrene. I’ve got to run across the street to my shop.”
Let her think I’m getting beauty supplies.
I cross the yellow tape without one iota of guilt. After all, my motive is to help solve the crime. Besides, after the way Jack acted last night, he deserves some sass. When I march into my shop he comes out of the spa area so fast you’d think he’s conducting a high speed chase.
“I thought I told you to ask the deputies to get what you need.”
Being sexy flies right out of my mind. Lipstick and mascara are wasted on him.
“The deputies aren’t here. Just you, Jack Jones, and I’m not speaking to you.”
“I’ve already apologized for last night.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t grovel.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Callie.”
“That’s not sucking up I hear.”
He stalks over and tries to intimidate me with his size, but given my present mood, you couldn’t intimidate me with an eight-foot, on-the-rampage grizzly.
“If you’re not out of this shop in two minutes, I’m going to show you over my shoulder and carry you out. Is that clear?”
“My, my. You do say the most romantic things.” My voice says come hither but my body language said you’ve crossed the line, buster.
“Don’t push me, Callie.”
I poke my finger in his chest, then march past him and jerk up a bottle of Persian Pink nail polish. Though I don’t need a darned thing, I putter around a while just so I can defy his two-minute deadline then watch the back of his neck turn red.
When I pass him on the way to the door, I priss and twist, and believe me, I know how to swing that thing. Let him put that in his pipe and smoke it.
At the door I swivel around and wave two fingers at him. “Taa taa.”
If he hadn’t acted so macho, I might have told him my suspicions about Leonora’s pregnancy. After all, I’m a law abiding citizen. But I’m not about to share evidence with an undercover agent who acts like a caveman. Let him dig up his own.
Meanwhile, I have to find a way to help poor Leonora.
When I get back to the store, Fayrene has already dragged a stool to the storage room where I commence cutting her hair among the jars of pickles and cans of peaches.
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Fayrene. Because you’re such a good sport about it, I’m giving you a bottle of Persian Pink fingernail polish.”
“How did you remember it’s my favorite? The last manicure I had was Thanksgiving. I swear, Callie, you have a pornographic memory!”
I’m still chuckling over my pornographic memory when I drive to Mama’s for supper. The sight of Uncle Charlie’s white van parked by Mama’s magnolia tree lifts my spirits even more. I adore my uncle. Besides that, my pocketbook will be safe for the evening. Mama’s not about to ask me for a loan in front of daddy’s only brother. For one thing, she has too much pride. For another, he’s the closest thing to Daddy she has, and she likes to promote the myth with him that she’s perfect.
Uncle Charlie meets me on the front porch and grabs me in a bear hug that I didn’t know how much I needed until that very minute. He doesn’t look a thing like my daddy, who was tall, handsome and jovial, with dark hair and blue eyes. (Everybody says I’m just like him. Thank goodness. Nobody would describe Mama as jovial.)
Uncle Charlie is a silver-haired, male version of Lovie. He loves to laugh and he loves to eat, two more traits he passed on to his daughter. Though as a former Company man, he keeps fit with exercise.
“Where’ve you been, dear heart? Ruby’s got hot cornbread ready.”
“I’ve been making everybody in Mooreville beautiful for Thursday evening’s funeral.”
“I’ve got the body ready. I thought we’d go right over after supper so you can do the hair and makeup, if you’re not too tired.”
Most people wouldn’t like working on the deceased in the dead of night, but as I said, I’ve been doing it for so long I’m immune.
“That’ll be fine, Uncle Charlie. Did he have lots of family?”
“Nobody except his father and his stepmother.”
“What’s she like?”
“Young. I’ve got tennis shoes older than she is.”
Could she be the Memphis woman? It has happened before: the son has a fling with daddy’s cute young Barbie doll second wife. The only thing that doesn’t fit is her age. Jim Boy’s mysterious lover was rumored to be an older woman.
“That figures,” I tell Uncle Charlie. “Men with lots of money attract women like that.
“‘Cunning past man’s thought’.”
“Shakespeare?”
“Yes. Anthony and Cleopatra.” Uncle Charlie has a Shakespearean quote for almost every occasion, one of the many things I love about him. “Let’s get some cornbread.”
I link arms with him and we go inside.
“I thought Lovie might be here.”
“Your cousin is occupied with that nice young archeologist. I have high hopes for this match.”
I don’t want to burst Uncle Charlie’s bubble. He had a happy marriage, and I know he wants the same for his daughter, but at the rate my cousin is going, she’s liable to lose the only man she’s ever dated who is worth keeping.
We go inside where Mama is swooping around the kitchen in a purple print caftan that features huge yellow and lilac colored orchids. In honor of Uncle Charlie’s visit she’s wearing the whole nine yards of makeup – soft pink blush, light purple eye shadow, deep rose lipstick, all applied with a subtle hand. I’ll have to say this about Mama; she knows her business when it comes to makeup. She ought to: I taught her everything I know.
“What smells so good, Mama?”
“Besides my perfume, you mean?” She gives me an arch smile. Mama can be really engaging when she tries. “It’s pot roast. I made it especially for you.”
Now there is a bald-faced lie, if I ever heard one. Pot roast happens to be Uncle Charlie’s favorite food. Before Aunt Minrose died, she made it for him every Saturday night.
Not that anything’s going on between my Mama and Uncle Charlie, though both Lovie and I have wondered if someday they wouldn’t discover that they have more in common than my daddy and two daughters who view each other more as sisters than cousins.
“Are Rocky and Lovie coming over later?” I’ve been so busy, I haven’t talked to her since morning, and I’m feeling the loss. A day without taking to Lovie, is a day with some fun missing.
“She said she had several cakes she wants Rocky to help her deliver,” Uncle Charlie says. “I expect she’s taking them to the Moffett’s.”
“I carried a tuna casserole this afternoon.” Mama passes seconds of roast beef to Uncle Charlie. “There was hardly any place to put it in Mabel’s kitchen.”
That�
�s the Southern way: let somebody die and enough food is brought in to feed the starving of China. I like that custom. Sometimes events are too heavy for words, and food is a comforting substitute.
Mama has made peach cobbler for dessert, the kind where you start with a stick of melted butter, then add peaches and let the milk, sugar and flour make its own crust. I eat two helpings, and then Mama puts the rest in a Tupperware bowl for me to take home. The way I figure it, fixing up the victim I’m accused of murdering is going to take all energy I can muster.
o0o
Uncle Charlie and I go in separate vehicles to Eternal Rest Funeral Home. He has a little apartment above it, which makes it easy for him to be accessible to the bereaved.
It’s nice to see the parking lot empty. The Valentine family does the best it can to send the dearly departed off in grand style and comfort the bereaved with a reception catered by Lovie, but it’s a bit harder to pull that off during a holiday.
Uncle Charlie takes my arm to escort me inside.
“I thought I’d come down and sit with you while you do Jim Boy.”
I’ve never been skittish about making the deceased look good for their final journey, and he knows it.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Uncle Charlie?”
“Jack thinks the sheriff hasn’t even come close to finding the one who murdered Jim Boy. I just don’t want you to be down there by yourself with a killer on the loose.”
“I’ll be fine, and you look tired. Why don’t you go on up to your apartment and relax with a nice cup of hot chocolate?”
“I am a little tired. What if I make two cups and bring one down for you?”
“It’s a deal.”
We set off in different directions, Uncle Charlie upstairs and me, down. Uncle Charlie has left on the lights over the stairwell and in the makeup room. Bobby Huckabee’s office across the hall is dark.
Jim Boy’s laid out in his wedding tuxedo. Thanks to Uncle Charlie’s magic, he looks so much like the heartthrob who had women lifting their skirts all over Mooreville, I half-way expect him to sit up and put the make on me.
In spite of the fact that he’s the cause of me being under suspicion for murder, I decide on the spot to put all unkind thoughts aside and turn my skills to making him the best looking corpse outside of Hollywood.