Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble

by Webb, Peggy

  Inside, he introduces me to Juanita, the housekeeper, who barely looks up from her dusting. A pretty, plump woman I’d guess to be about thirty, she seems extraordinarily shy. I’m going to enjoy getting to know her so she’ll be more comfortable around me.

  We leave the cottage, and Rocky, still with one arm around Lovie, takes my elbow. “Watch your step. Lots of loose rocks around here.”

  “Where are Mama and the rest of the gang?”

  “They’re already exploring.” Lovie winks at me. “Fayrene wanted to see the female difinities.”

  Rocky roars with laughter. “Fayrene has her own unique way with words. It took me awhile to catch on that she meant divinities.”

  “Around Mooreville, we call it Fayrenese. To her, a divinity is a candy.” I glance at poor Elvis, who seems miserable on his leash. “Is it all right if I turn him loose and let him run a bit? He’s been cramped up a long time.”

  “Sure. Let me call Seth to keep an eye on him.” Rocky motions for a young man, as tall and robust as Rocky himself, probably in his late twenties with longish blond hair, then introduces him as Bennett Seth Alford, his second-in-command.

  Alford grins when Rocky says, “This is Elvis. Give him some freedom, but make sure he stays out of the roped-off sites.”

  “You’ve got it, Rocky.”

  I instantly like Seth. He has a quick smile and an easy stride that makes you want to pat him on the head, take him home, and invite him to stay for a chicken and dumpling dinner. With his blond good looks and easy manner, he reminds me a bit of Champ.

  “Be careful,” I tell him. “Elvis is an escape artist.”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle him.” Seth takes the leash and walks off whistling. Elvis surprises me by putting his hackles up. Usually, he makes friends with everybody. He’s probably out of sorts over the plane ride.

  I follow Rocky and Lovie to the Temple of the Frescoes. While Rocky is pointing out the inset panels over the doorways, Uncle Charlie emerges with Mama and Fayrene.

  “I’m glad you made it, dear heart.” Uncle Charlie gathers me in a paternal hug. “How was the trip?”

  “Great.” No use telling the unvarnished truth, that I thought the bumpy plane ride was going to dislocate my uterus and totally derail my long-range plans for giving birth. Uncle Charlie worries if anybody in the Valentine family is not happy and well situated.

  I always feel better in his company. He’s Daddy’s only brother, and has been a father to me since I was ten years old—the year my daddy went on to glory land, as folks around Mooreville like to say. Which is nice, when you think about it. The old-fashioned euphemism somehow takes the sting out of death.

  “Did you see the driving gods?” Fayrene is in her element, with a green Panama hat to match her cabbage-colored Bermuda shorts and shirt. I mean that in the nicest way. I like cabbage. If it’s prepared right.

  “The Mayans didn’t have cars, Fayrene,” Mama says. In a nod to the rocky terrain, she has opted out of her usual rainbow of caftans in favor of denim walking shorts and a fireengine red tee shirt that I’ll have to say sets off her newly brunette look. She reminds me of a seasoned version of one of the glamorous classic movie stars. “Charlie said they’re diving gods.”

  “That doesn’t make a lick of sense, Ruby Nell. Just look at the size of those cliffs.” Fayrene adjusts her hat. Miffed. “You’d have to be a stark raving lunatic to dive around here. You’d break your neck.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard of cliff divers, Fayrene? I’ll bet you haven’t even opened your guide book.”

  “I resemble that remark, Ruby Nell. If I’d needed a lecture, I’d have stayed at home with Jarvetis.”

  “Now, now, dear hearts.”

  Mama totally ignores Uncle Charlie. She hates to be told what to do. And she won’t let a subject drop.

  “When I travel to foreign soil, I always try to learn about the culture. I’ve read my guide book from cover to cover.”

  “What do you want from me, Ruby Nell? A standing ovulation?”

  Rocky’s going to wish he’d never invited the Valentines to his dig. I’m about to have a heart attack, but Lovie’s eyes are brimming with her effort to hold back laughter.

  “I’m fixing to wet my pants.” Ordinarily, Lovie would have said pee, but it looks like she’s cleaning up her language in deference to her gentleman lover-to-be. “And I think I’m already having a standing ovulation.”

  I wish she wouldn’t encourage Fayrene and Mama. If I had a violent bone in my body, I’d snatch her bald-headed.

  Suddenly Fayrene screams. I move to stand in front of Mama in case it’s a prelude to some kind of primitive catfight. Or she has spotted a jungle snake.

  Instead, Fayrene points behind me. “That basket hound’s toting human remains.”

  She faints dead away. While Mama and Uncle Charlie bend over to revive her, I whirl around to see Elvis prancing toward me with a huge bone in his mouth.

  “Holy cow!” If Elvis has destroyed Rocky’s archeological site, there goes my welcome.

  Bennett Seth Alford is nowhere in sight. So much for watching my dog.

  I squat so I can look Elvis straight in the eyes. “Come here, boy.”

  Instead of obeying, Elvis turns and races toward some old crumbling building that’s probably going to cave in any minute and bury him alive. Tulum suddenly loses its glamour.

  “Usually he drops anything in his mouth at my feet.” Here I am, apologizing for my dog. “Of course, I don’t have any treats in my pocket.”

  Rocky and Uncle Charlie don’t hear me. They’re already racing off to catch the culprit. The only good thing I can say about this situation is that it broke up a brewing argument between Fayrene and Mama.

  What has gotten into them? They might spar a bit, but I’ve never seen them go this far.

  “Lovie, how much Prohibition Punch did Fayrene and Mama have?”

  No need to ask if she made any. No matter where Lovie is, she always makes a batch of the punch she calls “the sure cure of everything.”

  “They wanted to try the tequila.”

  “Did you forget how Mama acts when she’s had tequila? One little drink turns her belligerent.”

  “Loosen up, Callie. You’re in a tropical paradise.”

  “I’m reserving judgment.”

  Uncle Charlie returns with Elvis in tow. And right behind him is Rocky, holding onto my dog’s prize bone.

  “Somebody’s going to have to explain this.” Rocky holds the bone out for Uncle Charlie’s inspection. “Take a look at this femur.”

  Uncle Charlie takes his time inspecting the bone, and then hands it back to Rocky. “It’s too big to be Mayan.”

  “That’s just it, Charlie.” Rocky examines the bone more closely. “On a cursory examination, I’d say it’s no more than thirty years old.”

  Relief washes over me. “You mean my dog didn’t mess up your dig?”

  Rocky pats my shoulder. “Your dog did no harm to the site, Callie. On the other hand, how do you explain this bone?”

  “Looks like murder’s afoot among the ruins,” Mama says, coming over to inspect the bone.

  “You don’t know that, Mama.”

  “Did you say murder?” Fayrene, still looking a mite peaked, wobbles over to gander at the bone. “Somebody call the highway control.”

  Uncle Charlie’s already talking on his cell phone to the Mexican authorities.

  Listen, I don’t care if my dog did dig up the bone. I’m staying as far away from this case as I can get. I’ve had it with murder. All I want is some peace and quiet and a future baby girl with my dark eyes and Champ’s blond hair.

  Or black.

  Why does Jack always have to ruin my dreams? I’m standing here firmly trying to put him out of my mind when the authorities arrive and drag me right into the middle of the case.

  “Señorita, would you mind letting your dog lead us to the site where he found the bone?”

  “It’
s all right, dear heart. I’ll take the rest of the ladies inside.”

  I watch with envy as Uncle Charlie leads Mama, Fayrene, and Lovie into the main cottage, a cool-looking stucco structure where I’m sure Lovie will break out a big pitcher of Prohibition Punch and they’ll all sit around retelling this story until it loses its terror and becomes something they can manage, something with a bizarre twist of humor, maybe even something they’ll tell next month around the Thanksgiving dinner table.

  Laughter through tears: it’s the Southern way.

  Thank goodness, Rocky stays behind. Having him present is like hiding in the lee of the Rock of Gibraltar.

  He pats my shoulder. “I’m right here, Callie.”

  “Thanks.” I kneel beside my dog and rub his ears to let him know finding the new bone is not his fault. “Okay, boy. Show me where you found the bone.”

  He gives me this basset hound look that says, You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve done my job, let them do theirs.

  “Come on, boy, you can do it. Please. For me.”

  One of the authorities, a tall man in a tight uniform and a hat that’s too small for his big head, rolls his eyes. I’d like to tighten his hatband a notch. That would teach him to disrespect the bond between a good basset and his human mom.

  With further coaxing, Elvis finally leads us to a remote spot near the edge of the jungle, far away from the dig. It’s creepy here. And the sinking sun doesn’t help matters. It’s a wonder a big snake didn’t pop out of that dangerous-looking jungle growth and swallow my dog whole. Even if he is getting a mite portly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Seth coming toward us through the dusk. His color is high and he has the good grace to look apologetic.

  “I’m sorry. The dog got away and I couldn’t find him.”

  “That’s okay, Seth.” Apparently, Rocky is the kind of man who reassures everybody. A wonderful trait in a lover. Or a husband. I make a mental note to tell Lovie.

  If I can ever separate myself from murder.

  “Is it okay if I go now?”

  The man in the too-tight hat nods, and Rocky says, “Do you want me to escort you back, Callie?”

  “No, thanks. You stay here. I have Elvis.”

  When I get back to the cottage, everybody starts talking at once. I sink into a rattan chair and the comfort of familiar voices and beloved faces, grateful that the investigation afoot has nothing to do with me.

  Dinner is served alfresco by a tall, skinny woman Rocky introduces as Rosita, Juanita’s twin. They’re nothing alike. While Juanita is all curves, Rosita is all sharp bones with a face like a hatchet. And she’s so taciturn, she won’t even answer when you ask her a direct question.

  Where did Rocky find this woman? She gives me the creeps.

  It’s a relief when the long day finally ends and I can head toward my bedroom.

  The Mexican authorities have taken the femur as well as the rest of the human remains they dug up, Uncle Charlie is out for an evening stroll with Mama, and Fayrene is on the phone with Jarvetis.

  “The bone was as big as my leg, hon, and the head honcho heading up this infestation looked like General Cluster.”

  For once, Fayrene hit the nail on the head. Infestation is exactly how this entire investigative mess feels. Though how Fayrene has a clue about General Custer’s looks is beyond me.

  I wave good night, then proceed down a narrow, tiled hallway to my room. Tomorrow I’m sure Fayrene’s version of Murder Among the Ruins will be all over Mooreville’s grapevine.

  I could be sad that I don’t have anybody to call but I pride myself on being independent. To tell the truth, though, I do have somebody, but if I call Champ, he’ll worry and want to hop on the next plane. Part of the reason I’m down here is so I can do some heavy thinking about having a future with him.

  When I push open the door to my bedroom, I startle Juanita.

  “Sorry, señorita.” She blushes. “I was doing the dusting.”

  Before I can say thank you, she scuttles out.

  “That’s strange,” I say, and Elvis thumps his tail in agreement. “She was dusting when I met her hours ago. How long does it take to dust?”

  My dog’s grisly discovery has me spooked. I’ll feel better after I’ve showered and put on my pajamas. There’s something about the end of the day that always soothes me.

  Grabbing my toiletries and pajamas, I head across the hall, take a long soak, then return to my guest room. It’s little more than a cubicle with tiled floors, sparsely furnished with a bed, a nightstand, and a slatted wooden bench with three hooks for my clothes. Somehow this minimalism comforts me. Nothing excessive to clutter the mind.

  “Good night, Elvis.”

  He’s already sprawled on his pink satin doggie pillow. Call me silly, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him having to sleep on a bare floor so I packed his pillow. Loyal companions deserve the best.

  He thumps his tail and makes a series of grunts, dog speak for I love you.

  At least I tell myself that’s what he’s saying. Listen, I know he’s only a dog, but one thing I can be sure of: he’ll never leave me for a Harley. Or for any other reason.

  The moon coming through my window is gorgeous, but even the lure of a romantic Mayan moon can’t entice me out of this bed.

  “Callie?” I nearly jump through the ceiling. Lovie’s standing in my doorway in a nightgown that would barely cover a sneeze. “Are you awake?”

  “I am now.”

  “Good.” She switches on the light, and plops onto my bed. “I need to talk.”

  “Good grief, Lovie. You walked across the compound like that? Why didn’t you put on some clothes?”

  “I want to be ready when Rocky comes back.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Off with that awful old man who guards the digs. Morgan something or other. They found some ancient pottery pieces today.” She says a word shocking enough to cause earth tremors. “I wish he’d get that excited about my piece.”

  “Good grief, Lovie.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “Give him time. He strikes me as the kind of man who likes to move slowly.”

  “I’d prefer not to be in a wheelchair and Depends when he finally locates my Holy Grail.”

  “Forget about your Holy Grail. Just enjoy getting to know him.”

  “That’s not what Fayrene and Aunt Ruby Nell told me.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “How did you know you were in love with Jack?”

  “You’re deliberately changing the subject. That makes me nervous, Lovie.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m not in love with Jack.” I don’t think. Am I? What a disaster.

  “You were once. How did you know?”

  I wish I could roll over and pull the sheets over my head. But this is my cousin who plies me with chocolate because she thinks I’m too skinny, brings me I Love Lucy reruns when she thinks I need to laugh, arms us with tissues and buttered popcorn when I need to cry, and never, ever tells me I’m foolish or cowardly or silly no matter how foolish or cowardly or silly I act.

  I get up, take a six-pack of Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses with almonds out of my suitcase, then climb back into bed. Lovie grabs a handful and starts peeling golden wrappers.

  “It started with his smile, Lovie. And the way he laughs. And his hands. He has these incredibly beautiful hands, smooth olive skin with curved thumbs. I never tired of touching his thumbs.”

  Lovie nods and unwraps more chocolates while I keep talking. No matter how painful it is to remember.

  It’s not the easy things you do that make a friendship. It’s the hard ones.

  Chapter 4

  Sandy Beaches, Small Umbrellas, and Big Problems

  The next morning I join Mama, Uncle Charlie, and Fayrene in the little courtyard at the back of the main cottage. Though Mama’s looking chipper in a bright yellow tee shirt, and Fayrene’s neon green ou
tfit lights up everything within six feet, I can tell something is amiss. Even Uncle Charlie looks a little flustered.

  “What’s wrong?” I pull out my chair, pour myself a big glass of orange juice, and put a flaky looking croissant on my plate. Thank goodness Rosita is nowhere in sight. If there was ever a person who can spoil your appetite, she’s the one.

  “Nothing to concern us, dear heart. But I think it best if we leave for Cozumel today. Rocky’s going to be busy trying to carry on his work while the Mexican authorities are here.”

  Does Uncle Charlie know something about the bones Elvis discovered that he’s not telling us? That would be highly likely. When we were in the middle of the Bubbles Caper, and even the Elvis impersonator fiasco, I used to wonder how Uncle Charlie could find out important information even before the police. Now I know. He was once an operative in The Company, and he’s the main reason Jack’s there today.

  A lesser woman might resent him for that, but this is my Uncle Charlie we’re talking about—the heart, soul, and backbone of the Valentine family, the quiet, steady man who dispenses hugs, great advice, and wisdom couched in quotes from Shakespeare. As far as I’m concerned, he can do no wrong.

  “We’ll leave today,” he adds.

  “It can’t be soon enough for me.” Lovie marches into the courtyard, snatches up my juice, and drinks it in one gulp.

  “Holy cow, Lovie. I’d have poured you some.”

  “I’m looking for instant gratification. And Rocky’s too busy digging up old bones to jump mine.”

  “Now, now, dear heart. You should stay here and help your nice young fellow.”

  “Rocky doesn’t need my help, Daddy. With anything.” Lovie grabs my croissant, and proceeds to eat it like I’m not sitting there with an empty plate.

  While I’m serving myself again, Mama, Uncle Charlie, and Fayrene head inside to pack.

  “What in the world is wrong with you, Lovie? Uncle Charlie’s right. Rocky needs you.”

  “Not enough to find the national treasure.” She helps herself to another croissant. Thankfully not from my plate. “Besides, distance makes the heart grow fonder. I’m going to give him a few days to pine for me.”