by Webb, Peggy
Why would Uncle Charlie be talking about calling Jack on such a short absence, anyhow? It can mean only one thing: he knows stuff he’s keeping from us. Probably stuff that would give me nightmares and make Lovie say a word that would get her on the prayer list at Wildwood Baptist Church back home.
If she were anywhere around to say that word.
I sink into my chair. “Elvis is missing, too.”
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starved.” Mama signals the waiter. “I’m ordering dinner.”
“That’s callous, Mama.”
“All of you are overreacting.” Mama orders a carafe of Pinot Grigio, then sends the waiter off to give us time to study the menu. “It’s not unusual for Lovie to go off to enjoy a small diversion without telling anybody. If she doesn’t show up tonight, she’ll probably show up in the morning wondering why we all made such a fuss.”
“You’re right, dear heart. Let’s enjoy our meal.”
“Bobby predicted this.” Fayrene takes a fortifying sip of her wine. “When I talked to Jarvetis today, Bobby was there checking out the séance room. He predicted danger from a dark-eyed stranger.”
“He always predicts danger from a dark-eyed stranger,” Uncle Charlie says. “Now, here comes the waiter. Let’s enjoy the meal. ‘All’s well that ends well.’”
I don’t know why, but when Uncle Charlie quotes Shakespeare, we all feel reassured. Plus, he keeps the talk away from missing persons and turns it toward the size of the undertakers’ convention.
“It’s going to be a big one this year,” he says.
Mama agrees. “On the way to dinner, I met Lovie’s old boyfriend checking in.”
“Who?” I ask. It’s hard to keep up with Lovie’s old boyfriends. She has as many ex-lovers as I have satisfied customers at Hair.Net. And believe me, that’s a lot.
“Alvin Farkle. The undertaker from Arkansas.”
If I remember correctly, that relationship ended badly, which is totally unlike Lovie’s other breakups. She’s such a lively, charming, and forthright woman, it’s hard for anybody to have hard feelings for her, even the men she used to dump with the regularity of a Greyhound bus on its daily run to Memphis.
“I’ll bet undertakers will be here from every one of the contingency states.”
Trust Fayrene. You can always count on her for laughs and plenty of gossip. But, I have to say that by the time I leave the NoMoreHeHeHe, I’m feeling much less stressed about Lovie and Elvis. In fact, I fully expect to see them waiting for me in the room.
Alas, the lights are off and the room is empty. I try Lovie’s cell phone again, but this time I don’t even get voice mail, just that awful message that the person I’m trying to reach is unavailable, a surefire guarantee that I’m in for a sleepless night.
An earsplitting Arkansas Razorback soooeeee! jolts me upright. It takes a minute for me to realize that I’m in bed at the posh Cozumel Palace, the clock hands on the luminous dial are pointing to the crack of eight a.m., and I have barely slept three hours. After a restless night of worry and nightmares with my eyes wide open, I’m in no mood to be deprived of anything by loud guests throwing a hoedown in the next room.
Another loud soooeee splits the air.
I pride myself on tolerance, but one more yell for the Arkansas home team and I’ll be reaching for the telephone.
I lie back down and pull the sheet over my face, but no sooner does my head touch the pillow than a loud knock jerks me out of bed. Holy cow! Somebody has found Lovie and Elvis bound and gagged. Or worse: Dead.
I turn on the lamp, give my bleary eyes time to adjust, then grab my robe and head to the door. Rocky’s there, looking sleep deprived and worried.
“Callie, I’m sorry to wake you. But I took the early ferry over. I haven’t heard a word from Lovie. Have you?”
“Not yet. That’s why I didn’t call.” I don’t think Mama’s suggestion that Lovie is out seeking diversion would reassure Rocky, so I keep my mouth shut about that. “Come in. I’ll make us some coffee.”
“I hate to intrude.” Ever the perfect gentleman, Rocky hesitates to enter my bedroom, but when I motion, he comes inside.
While I find the filters and set about brewing coffee in the two-cup coffeemaker, Rocky sinks into one of the twin chairs in the window nook.
“I’ve tried repeatedly to reach her.” He pulls out his cell phone and tries again. “No luck, Callie.”
As if his face hadn’t said it all. If my nerves were stretched any tighter I’d be twanging like an upright piano in a country and western bar.
“Lovie’s not an early riser, Rocky.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“She could show up at any time.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe myself.
“The Mexican police are all over Tulum. It seems the bones your dog found solved a thirty-year mystery.”
“Not murder, I hope.”
“It’s too early to tell. But the case hit home. The bones belong to Lucille Morgan, the wife of the guard at Tulum.”
“One of your men?”
“Not technically. Archie Morgan guards my site, but he came with the territory. He’s American, but he’s been at Tulum for thirty-five years. Five years after he arrived in the Yucatan, his wife vanished without a trace.”
This news makes me weak-kneed. I prop myself against the wall, hoping the smell of coffee dripping into the carafe will revive me.
“Rocky, you don’t think Lovie’s disappearance is connected to the disappearance of that woman, do you?”
A loud pounding at my door, followed by a series of yahoos and woohoos brings conversation to a standstill. I hurry to see who’s making such an unholy commotion.
It’s Fayrene, standing in the hallway in a zucchini-colored bathrobe with her hair twisted in lettuce green foam curlers and covered with a hairnet the color of seasickness. Any other time I’d offer beauty advice. But between the sight of all that green and my worry about Lovie and Elvis, I’ve lost my desire to tell her that those rubber rollers are going to put tacky kinks in her hair and make her look old.
Before I can say come in, Fayrene brushes past me and plops into the chair beside Rocky. Belatedly, I think how unusual it is for her to be gadding about in her bathrobe. She has a green outfit for every occasion, and she’s usually meticulous about the way she dresses.
“If you’ve got any vodka in that wet bar, you might as well get it out. You’re going to need it.”
“Holy cow, Fayrene. What’s wrong now?”
“Lovie’s been hijacked.”
Rocky looks puzzled. “Do you mean kidnapped?”
“That’s what I said.”
“How do you know?”
I was just about to ask the same question, though I could tell Rocky that Fayrene is the first one in the know when there’s breaking news.
“While Ruby Nell was getting her beauty sleep, I decided to go downstairs and conduct my own little infestation. And you’ll never guess what I found out over the monumental breakfast.”
Rocky is looking slightly shell-shocked. I don’t have time to interpret investigation and continental.
“If she was kidnapped, time is important,” I tell her.
She gets up and takes her time pouring a cup of coffee. Next to Mama, Fayrene is the biggest drama queen I know. Only my deeply ingrained Southern manners and my natural good nature keep me from screaming and snatching her bald-headed.
Rocky seems to be relying on the same combination of social graces.
“There was a woman from Arkansas picking over the crèmefilled doughnuts. She toured Tulum late yesterday afternoon, and remembers seeing a woman who fits Lovie’s description on the ferry going over.”
“Lovie never arrived,” Rocky says.
“If you’ll hold onto your socks, I’m getting to that part. The woman said that when Lovie left the ferry, she was being absconded by a man.”
“Escorted?”
Rocky pulls one ear like his hearing is going bad.
“That’s what I said.”
“Did she describe him?” I ask.
“She said she was so busy wondering why Lovie was wearing nothing but a swimsuit with a cover-up, she couldn’t remember the man.”
“Was Elvis with them?”
“I asked, but the woman said she thought he was dead.”
I think I’m going to scream. “Did you tell her Elvis is a basset hound?”
“No. I thought everybody knew Elvis.”
I need to talk to this woman. “What was her name, Fayrene?”
“Lula. No, Lola. Wait a minute. It was Lulu. Lulu Farkle.”
I’d ask if Lulu was any relation to Lovie’s old boyfriend, Alvin, but I don’t want to upset Rocky any more than he already is. He’s taking all this news very hard.
There’s only one cup of coffee left, and I pour it for him.
“Lovie knows how to take care of herself.” I guess I’m trying to reassure both of us. “Besides, she’s been gone little more than twelve hours. It’s too soon to panic.”
Nobody in this room believes my bald-faced lie. Least of all, me. I walk over to the nightstand, pick up my cell phone, and hit number three on my speed dial.
One ring, and Uncle Charlie is on the line.
“Rocky is here, Uncle Charlie. We need to talk.”
Within fifteen minutes Uncle Charlie and Mama are in my room, and all of us are discussing the latest developments.
Who coaxed Lovie off the beach and why? And where is Elvis?
Elvis’ Opinion #4 on Kidnapped, Hoodwinked, and Hoodooed
By now Callie is worried sick about me, and all the Valentines will be wondering what has happened to Lovie. If I could leave and get back on that ferry to Cozumel, I could tell them a thing or two. But I’m dealing with a life-and-death situation here.
While Lovie was passed out, she got blindfolded and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and I’m hunkered down outside the primitive jungle shack where she’s being held. Listen, this place is not fit for a mole, let alone the national treasure and a dog of my exalted status.
If this were one of my many movies, I’d race inside with all my hackles up and snatch Lovie from the jaws of death, but I know better. Only “Fools Rush In.” Trust me. While Lovie’s coming to, I’m watching and waiting for the perfect moment to be the hero that I am.
With my eagle eyes peering through a crack and my mismatched ears on radar, I don’t miss a trick.
“Where are we?” Lovie says to the devil who led her off the boat. She giggles, which means she’s still sloshed and doesn’t have the faintest clue who she’s with or why, let alone the kind of danger we’re in.
The dirty rotten rat who brought her here leans down to make sure her ropes are secure.
Lovie giggles again. “Rocky, is that you? If you like kinky, why didn’t you tell me so? You didn’t have to pull this kidnapping stunt.”
Well, bless’a my soul. This is worse than I thought. She is not only clueless about the danger she’s in, but she thinks she’s been prepped for fun and games with bondage.
If he messes with her, he’ll have me to answer to. Nobody steals the honor of a Valentine while I’m around. I’ll roll over him like the “Wabash Cannonball”—a great song I rehearsed for a 1974 performance in Vegas but never got around to recording. Too bad. I’d have turned it platinum.
But leaving memory lane and back to the disaster at hand—I’d go into that primitive shack right now and show that low-down skunk how a dog of my status takes care of business, but that would be jumping the gun. First I’ve got to come up with a plan. It’s one thing to put this dude behind bars and have him singing the “Jailhouse Rock,” but it’s another to make sure Lovie is safe.
Besides, if I tip my hand now, I’m liable to end up crooning “Release Me.”
This is no small man we’re dealing with. He’s got the build of somebody who lifts weights and could bench-press Texas.
Fortunately, I don’t have to resort to fisticuffs. In addition to being so famous I had to take the service elevator after my shows to keep from being mobbed by fans, I’m a superior dogdetective. If I could evade fans in my other life as a worldfamous entertainer and catch killers right and left in this one as a famous man reincarnated in a dog suit, I can certainly outsmart this dude.
Fortunately the captor is not interested in bondage. While Lovie’s still trying to get his mojo working, he’s rummaging in her purse, stealing her cell phone so she can’t call for help. Not that she’s in any shape to. Plus, he’s taking her driver’s license and credit cards so she can’t be identified.
“Rocky, answer me.” Lovie struggles upright on her cot. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Lie down and shut up.”
For a minute she goes still, and then she bucks around and tries to kick him right where it hurts most. She would have, too, if he hadn’t sidestepped and if she weren’t bound tighter than a mummy.
The big snake puts Lovie’s possessions into his pocket, then slithers out the door, leaving her to moan “A Mess of Blues.”
And I’m not talking about a song that in my other life as a musical icon in a sequined jumpsuit I turned into gold.
I scuttle behind some bushes till the mean dude is out of sight. After he vanishes into the thick jungle growth, Lovie and I are left with nothing for company except a few noisy parrots and obnoxious monkeys.
Forget that parrots can say, Polly wants a cracker, and monkeys can do a few tricks. I’d be in “Heartbreak Hotel” if I had to count on them for help.
It’s up to me to save the day.
Chapter 6
Bad Boy, Bad Wind, and Big Trouble
It’s barely the crack of nine and everybody is still gathered in my bedroom having a summit conference over Lovie. Fayrene keeps repeating her discoveries over the “monumental” breakfast and talking about hijacking, Rocky’s getting more agitated by the minute, and I’m about to fall to pieces in my bathrobe with my hair uncombed.
Mama is the only one keeping her cool.
“I think we’re all jumping the gun. Lovie and Elvis haven’t even been gone twenty-four hours. Any minute I expect her to walk through that door and laugh at all of us.”
Does Mama really believe that, or is she only trying to reassure us? Ordinarily, I view Mama as somebody who puts herself at the center of the universe, but since my conversation with Uncle Charlie at the pier, I’m seeing her in a different light.
Too, there were all those moments during my childhood, after Daddy died, when Mama would swoop into my bedroom where I was moping, grab my hands, drag me into the living room, and start singing, “Side by Side.” Back then I wondered how she could be so cheerful when all I wanted to do was mourn, but now I see her antics were her attempt to make me feel better.
And she did. But now, I’m older and wiser. With the newly found bones of Tulum turning out to be the remains of a longvanished woman, a whole new layer of horrible possibilities has been added to Lovie’s disappearance.
If she’s connected to an old mystery, the big question is why?
If she were here, we’d have our heads together trying to connect the dots. Though Lovie looks and sometimes acts frivolous, that’s a façade. Like Mama, she loves to play for laughs. I’d think that was a common Valentine gene, but I don’t have it.
Maybe I’m too serious. Maybe if I lived more for kicks, I wouldn’t be here in the Yucatan with a missing cousin and a pending divorce. I’d be home with a husband who never left. The biggest things on my mind would be bringing Vogue hairstyles to Mooreville and getting pregnant.
Of course, Jack never wanted any children. Which is the root of our problem.
“I’m calling Jack.” Uncle Charlie whips out his cell phone. Is he reading minds now?
I’m torn between relief and dismay. If anybody can find Lovie and Elvis, it’s Jack. Still, the idea of being thrown together with him in the m
ost romantic setting in the world is unnerving. To say the least.
“That’s a great idea, Charlie,” Mama says.
I’d be surprised at her quick turnaround from “let’s not worry” to “let’s call in the troops” if I didn’t know her motive. She wants Jack and me back together. And not because of grandchildren. She thinks he’s my soul mate, and she’ll seize any opportunity to promote reconciliation.
It won’t work. As far as I’m concerned, Jack’s a bad boy blowing in on a bad wind. I plan to stay as far away from him as possible.
As soon as Uncle Charlie’s briefed Jack and is off the phone, Mama asks, “What did Jack say?”
“He’s on his way.” That could take awhile. For all we know, Jack’s in China. “He’ll be here in forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five minutes! Where is he?”
“He happens to be on a little holiday down here.” Uncle Charlie gives me a warning look. Belatedly, I remember that neither Fayrene nor Mama knows Jack’s true profession.
“That figures.” I try for nonchalance, but anybody with an eye for a lie would catch me. “He’d view the Yucatan as a huge playground.”
“He would not,” Mama says. “Personally, I feel better knowing he’s coming.”
Leave it to her to defend Jack. Though to be honest, he never did act like a playboy—if you don’t count that big Harley Screamin’ Eagle with the heated seats. Now there’s a toy for a player if I ever saw one.
“Now, dear hearts, let’s keep to the matter at hand. If anybody can find Lovie, it’s Jack.”
“Why Jack?” Rocky’s question is valid. “Why not a private eye?”
If you didn’t know Jack’s profession—and nobody here does except Uncle Charlie and me—why would you think he’d be the one to solve the mystery?
“He did a brief stint at the police academy before he became an international business consultant,” Uncle Charlie says.
Jack never spent one day of his life at the police academy. But, considering that Uncle Charlie used to work for The Company and is the chief reason Jack’s with them, his pokerfaced obfuscation is no big surprise. Nor is the fact that Uncle Charlie can reach Jack when no one else can. Not even a wife. Or an almost ex-wife. Apparently, once a Company operative, always a Company operative. They must have some kind of secret code.