Murder Boogies with Elvis

by Anne George

  Tiffany came in with the drinks and then passed the hors d’oeuvres around. “Mrs. Crane said to tell you that we’ll eat when Henry gets here. He just called and said it would be about a half hour.”

  “We don’t have to wait on Henry,” Debbie said. “The steaks will be cold.” She pointed toward Fred and Virgil on the patio.

  Tiffany offered me a pinwheel patty. “The steaks aren’t on yet. Sheriff Stuckey’s just warming up the grill.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Well, Virgil could get pneumonia if he wanted to, but Fred wasn’t going to. I put my Coke on the coffee table and went out to the patio to tell Fred to come in right this minute. The two of them were huddled over the open grill.

  “Larry said he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman,” Virgil was saying.

  Fred looked up and saw me. “Hey, honey. Virgil was just telling me that Larry caught a glimpse of the person who stabbed the Russian guy. The only problem is Larry’s about blind without his glasses.”

  “Hey, Patricia Anne.” The hood of Virgil’s jacket was tied under his chin, making his face look as round as a baby’s.

  “Y’all come in. It’s freezing out here. You could cook these steaks in the kitchen, you know.”

  Virgil closed the grill. “I guess we’d better. What’s Mary Alice doing?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t come out of the kitchen.”

  Virgil sighed. “I’d better go see about her.”

  “Did y’all have a fight?” my tactful Fred asked.

  “I’m not sure. We told my kids to come a little early, so we could tell them we were getting married and what the plans were, and they said they didn’t think it was a good idea, and Mary Alice said, ‘Tough titty,’ or something like that, and Buddy said they’d better leave, and I said, ‘Hell, no, you’re not leaving. I spent sixty dollars on these steaks. You’re going to eat them if it kills the king.’ And Mary Alice went in the kitchen and said I didn’t take up for her.”

  “Well, they sound like great steaks,” Fred said. I gave him the look.

  “They are,” Virgil agreed.

  “I’ll go see about Mary Alice,” I said. “Y’all come on in by the fire. What do you want to drink, Virgil? I know Fred wants beer.”

  “Anything.” Virgil looked grateful. “Find out how mad she is and what I did wrong, will you, Patricia Anne?”

  “That’ll be the day,” Fred said, pushing his luck.

  Mary Alice was standing at the kitchen island crumbling bacon bits over a huge bowl of spinach salad when I came in.

  “Don’t you say a word,” she said. “I’m sick and tired of being nice and sweet.”

  “God forbid.” I stopped at the counter and petted Bubba Cat who was asleep on his heating pad. I picked up one of his legs slightly and let it fall. He opened one eye and glared at me. Good, he was still alive. One of these days that cat is going to pass on to his heavenly feline reward, and no one is going to know for days.

  Tiffany came in, glanced at us, and disappeared back into the dining room.

  “I kowtowed to three husbands.” Sister went to the sink and turned on the water. “Well, no more. I don’t have to kowtow to anybody, certainly not to somebody who won’t take up for me.”

  The idea of Mary Alice kowtowing to any of her husbands was laughable. If she lifted her finger, each of the three had jumped to do her bidding. Now didn’t seem to be the time to argue with her though.

  She soaped her hands viciously. “Who wants to be Elvis’s stepmother anyway? Now that’s just tacky.”

  She had a point there.

  “And them acting like their father had lost his mind because he wants to marry me.”

  “Well, it was a shock to them. Tammy Sue seemed real nice the other night at the Alabama. How did you break the news to them anyway?”

  Sister ripped a paper towel from the holder to dry her hands. “They came in and Virgil said something like ‘Kids, the good Lord has seen fit to bring Mary Alice and I together, and we think the best thing we can do is make it legal.’”

  “Mary Alice and me,” I corrected.

  Sister scowled at me. “Don’t hand me any of that English teacher shit, Mouse.”

  “Well, he ought to know better than to say ‘bring I.’”

  “He could have said the whole thing better, if you ask me. And every one of them looked at me like I was a big bug or something, and the Elvis guy even said, ‘You’re kidding. I don’t think this is a good idea, Daddy.’” She wrung the paper towel as if it were a chicken’s neck. “The pissant.”

  “What did Virgil say then?”

  “He said ‘Y’all come on in. We’ll talk about it.’ He didn’t say kiss my foot about how it was our business, not theirs.” She slammed her hand down on the counter so hard that Bubba actually moved. “Lord, I wish Mama hadn’t taught us to be polite. You know what else I wish?”

  I shook my head.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but sometimes I wish we were Yankees, Mouse. A Yankee would have just booted them out of her house with a clear conscience, and more power to her.”

  “Did Virgil talk to them anymore? Tell them he loved you, not just that God wanted you to make it legal stuff?”

  “I don’t know what he said. I came in the kitchen.” She propped against the counter. “And that Olivia Ludmiller wearing patent-leather shoes—and it was way after five o’clock. Did you notice that, Mouse?”

  I had.

  “Virgil came pussyfooting in and said he was going to light the grill to warm it up, and I said fine and handed him some matches. I wasn’t about to tell him there’s a perfectly good grill in here. Let him freeze.” There was a hint of a smile on Sister’s face. “What’s going on in the den?”

  “Debbie and Tiffany are holding their own. And I hate to tell you, but I told Fred and Virgil to come in. I think there are a few flakes of snow falling.”

  “That’s okay.” Sister squared her shoulders. “I’m going to go in there and be the proper hostess. You remember Glenn Close in Sarah, Plain and Tall? She was from New England wasn’t she?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “That’s the kind of Yankee I’m talking about. She didn’t take any foolishness.” Sister looked thoughtful. “She really should have done something with her hair, though. She looked good in Fatal Attraction when it was curly.”

  Mine hostess swept out of the room.

  The dinner party turned out better than I had hoped for, given the circumstances. We ate at the dining-room table, but Mary Alice had kept it informal. She had used peach-colored place mats and her everyday pottery dishes.

  “I did the centerpiece,” Tiffany whispered, putting a foil-wrapped potato on my plate.

  “It’s lovely,” I said. And it was. She had taken a basket and filled it with bedding plants, begonias, and impatiens, which were available at all of the grocery stores and being bought by optimists who thought winter was over.

  “I’ll plant them in a couple of weeks.” She moved on to Fred.

  “Sit anywhere,” Sister had said, and we had arranged ourselves like opposing teams. Larry, Tammy Sue, Buddy, and Olivia were on one side, Henry, Debbie, Fred, and I on the other. Mary Alice sat at the head, and Virgil at the end. Henry, who had just come in, was the only one who was unaware of the tension.

  I had taught Henry in high school in Advanced Placement English and, to tell you the truth, he was this teacher’s pet. Smart, a gifted writer, a wonderful chef, his entry into my family had been a joy.

  “I hear Haley and Philip are coming in a couple of weeks,” he said, handing me the butter. “Debbie says we’re all going to the airport to meet them.”

  “I hope she doesn’t get as big as I did with Brother,” Debbie said. “And the twins. Oh, my Lord.”

  Across the table, sour cream and butter were being passed down the line. Larry and Buddy piled both on their potatoes. Tammy Sue opted for sour cream, and Olivia turned up her nose at both. None of them had
said anything since we sat down.

  “Buddy is an Elvis impersonator, Henry,” Mary Alice said.

  Henry chuckled. “You know, I thought you looked familiar.”

  Buddy curled his lip

  “Hey, that’s good.” Henry took a piece of garlic bread and passed the basket. “Were you at the Alabama the other night when the Russian guy was killed?”

  “Right next to him.” Buddy pointed toward Larry. “He was on the other side.”

  “We couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him,” Larry added. “He just kept getting heavier and heavier.”

  “I’ll bet he did.” Henry turned to Debbie. “Eat your salad, honey. You need it.”

  I glanced over at Tammy Sue. She had on a pink outfit tonight, pink flannel pants and a matching pink sweater. She looked very pretty, but the spark that had been there the first night I met her was gone. She looked sad, diminished. And yet at the theater she had said that her father needed someone. Why was she taking it so hard? Mary Alice was a damned good catch. He could have gone for someone Tiffany’s age.

  Which Fred would probably do. I turned and looked at him. He was shoveling a piece of steak into his mouth. I kicked him on the ankle, and his eyes widened.

  “What?” he asked, his mouth full.

  “Just behave yourself.”

  He nodded.

  “Where do you suppose he got the Elvis outfit?” Henry asked.

  “That’s about the only thing I can answer,” Larry said. “We all get our suits cleaned at the same place on Southside. The lady gives us a discount so she can hang them in the window. She says it gets a lot of attention. Anyway, when Bud McCracken called and said he wasn’t feeling good, I said I’d pick his up and he could come straight to the Alabama. It was Bud’s.”

  “Ruined,” Olivia said, startling us with the first word she had uttered since we had come into the dining room. “Absolutely ruined.” She gave a thin smile and sipped her wine. I looked from her to Buddy Stuckey. Okay, he was strange with his Elvis look and his curling lip, but I got the impression that he was having fun with it. Olivia was unpleasantly strange. Were they really a couple?

  “Let’s change the subject,” Virgil said. “Let Mary Alice tell you what she and I are going to do for our honeymoon.”

  “We’re going to rent an RV and travel through the West,” Mary Alice said.

  The news was met with silence. Virgil looked at his kids anxiously. Finally Tammy Sue asked, “Are you going through Biloxi? I have a friend who won $1,300 there at the casino the other night.”

  “On what?” Mary Alice wanted to know.

  “A slot. She said bells didn’t go off, but it lit up.”

  A line had been crossed. We relaxed and began to enjoy our food. Buddy surprised those of us who didn’t know him well by telling some funny stories about things that had happened to him while he was impersonating Elvis. The strangest, he said, was that he had been asked to conduct a funeral service for an avid Elvis fan.

  “He didn’t do it,” Tammy Sue giggled. “He told them it wasn’t legal.”

  We all laughed with the exception of Olivia, who gave a vague smile.

  The phone rang, and Tiffany answered in the kitchen.

  “It’s for you, Sheriff,” she said, sticking her head in the doorway.

  “Damn.” Virgil got up, but was back in a minute. “I’ve got to go. We’ve got a hostage situation in Springville. Some guy with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend.” He came around the table and kissed Mary Alice on the cheek. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’m still the sheriff.”

  “I know. You be careful.”

  “Be careful, Daddy,” Tammy Sue echoed.

  He kissed her, too. “Behave yourself.”

  “I will.”

  Mary Alice pushed her chair back. “I’ll walk to the door with you.”

  The room was quiet when they left. Then Henry, bless his heart, said, “We’ve got two desserts, chocolate pie and raspberry tarts. Who wants what?”

  “I want one of each.” Good old Fred.

  Nine

  Marilyn was asleep when we got home, or at least I assumed she was. Her door was closed and no light shone under it. Fred put on his pajamas, went looking for the Tums, chewed a couple, and was in bed asleep before I had cleaned my face, brushed my teeth, and settled down to read. I envy him his ability to sleep anywhere and anytime. If we are out at night, it takes me ages to calm down enough to doze off. Tonight, especially, my mind refused to shut off. Though the evening had ended pleasantly with Tammy Sue and Debbie insisting on clearing the table (Tiffany had left for a date), there was still a feeling of tension. The rest of us sat in front of the fire making small talk. Think it will freeze tonight? Remember the blizzard of ’93? Eighteen inches on our porch. Stuck for days.

  From the kitchen we heard the sounds of the disposal and of the dishwasher being loaded. We could hear Debbie and Tammy Sue talking. At one point we heard laughter. Good, I thought. If these two could hit it off, half the battle would be won.

  Mary Alice turned toward Olivia who was snuggled so close to Buddy on the sofa that she was almost invisible.

  “What do you do, Olivia?” she asked.

  Olivia looked up from nuzzling Buddy’s arm. “Do?”

  “Do you have a job? Are you in school?”

  “Between jobs.” She looked at Mary Alice as if she had insulted her in some way. Which, of course, didn’t faze Sister.

  “Between what kind of jobs?”

  “Singing.”

  Larry laughed. “She sings ‘Happy Birthday’ while she’s bringing in the cake. The last place was at Ruby Tuesday.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Henry said. “A good waitress is a prize. Believe me, I know.”

  “I’m a singer,” Olivia said, glaring at her brother and at Henry. She returned to her nuzzling. Buddy seemed uncomfortable.

  “Any of y’all fish?” Fred asked after too long a silence. “Know any good places up there in St. Clair County?”

  The ice was broken. Thirty bream and ten large-mouth bass later, Sister and I moved over to the game table.

  “I saw Bernice Armstrong at the Club today,” I said. “She and Day were having lunch. She says Dusk has been sick ever since the Russian guy was killed. In fact, she had to leave because Dusk called her.”

  “It made me sick, too, and I didn’t even know him.” Sister nodded toward Buddy and Olivia and said in a low voice, “Tell me she’s not going to be part of my family. She reminds me of a lemon.”

  “She’ll get squeezed out,” I said. I thought it was pretty clever and laughed. Sister frowned at me.

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s a leecher.”

  “A leecher?”

  “Like a tick. You know. The type who has to be pulled off with tweezers.”

  “You’re getting your metaphors mixed up.”

  “I swear he was this long.” Buddy threw his arms apart, dislodging Olivia. “Must have weighed twenty pounds.”

  “Good God almighty,” Fred said in awe.

  “I think you’re going to be all right,” I told Sister.

  So here I was, three hours later, wide awake reading a Peter Robinson book, which was a mistake. Chief Inspector Banks’s exploits are not conducive to sleep. But it’s hard to put him down. I finally took the book into the den, got a glass of milk, and curled up on the sofa under the afghan where I was joined by Muffin.

  “Good book?” Marilyn asked, coming in barefooted and rubbing her eyes.

  “Great.” I held it up for her to see. “You okay? I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No. I’m having trouble sleeping. I think I’ll get some milk, too.” She was back in a minute and sat in the recliner.

  “Did everything go okay today at the clinic?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. They’re not even going to have to give me fertility drugs.”

  “Good.”

  She nodded. “I’ll probably be back next week to ge
t it done. I have to keep up with my temperature, make sure I’m ovulating.”

  It sounded so cold. I thought of my own children who had been conceived in passion and love. In fun. I thought of Charles Boudreau and wondered if he were still at the Tutwiler Hotel, ready, willing, able. Hadn’t he used the word “ecstatic”? I took a chance. “Charles Boudreau is definitely out of the picture?”

  “Definitely.” Marilyn drank some of her milk. “How did the evening go?”

  I told her that Virgil’s children had been none too pleased to hear about the wedding, but that by the end of the evening, things had seemed to be more pleasant.

  Marilyn nodded. “You know what I’ve been lying in there thinking, Aunt Pat? I’ve been thinking that in the morning before I leave, I’m going to go and have a talk with Mama. Tell her what I’m doing. I mean, hell, Aunt Pat, I’ll be forty years old on my next birthday. I shouldn’t still be intimidated by my mother. It’s not like she’s an ogre.”

  “You’re going to tell her that you’ve been staying here?”

  “I’m going to tell her everything.”

  “Oh, shit.” I groaned.

  I finally went back to bed and to sleep. When I awoke, both Fred and Marilyn were gone. It was after nine when I pulled on some sweats and went out to get Woofer. If Marilyn had left at eight then I could expect a visit or at least a phone call from Sister by eleven. But, like Marilyn, I would not be intimidated by her. I was sixty-one years old and a strong woman. Sister would not make me feel bad about not telling her that Marilyn had been at my house. She would not call me Mouse anymore or claim that I had lost her Shirley Temple doll fifty-five years ago.

  The weather had done its usual March change. A brilliant sun shone in a cloudless sky; the temperature was around sixty degrees. Just right for a brisk walk, which was what Woofer and I had. I’d go shopping for Haley’s rocker as soon as I got home, I decided. Go to the library. Maybe even take in a movie. Stay away from home.

  But as we turned the corner toward our house, I saw that Sister’s car was already in our driveway.

  “It’s okay, Woofer,” I said. “I’m a strong woman.”

  Sister was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sweet roll. “Get dressed, Mouse,” she said calmly. “We’re going to an Angel-sighting Society meeting.”