by Vickie Fee
* * *
Concern about the reunion situation back in Dixie, and guilt about leaving Holly to handle such a big event on her own, had kind of sucked the wind out of my sails. But I couldn’t give in to my feelings. If we were ever going to get Mama married off and get out of Vegas, I needed to find a murderer—or at least a viable suspect—to get Little Junior out of trouble. I ambled down the hallway where I’d attended the session about Web sites. The halls were empty, but the meeting room doors were closed, so I hoped they were in session and people would come spilling out at any moment. In the meantime, I slipped into the restroom. I was putting on some lipstick when a few women started filing in. I didn’t know how Lady Luck was treating Di, but she was smiling on me. One of the women who walked in was Jana.
“Hi, Jana. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for arranging such a”—I paused, searching my mind for the right word—“fun dinner the other night.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said with a devious grin. “So how was the wedding? Is your mama off on her honeymoon?”
“Not exactly. In fact, there’s something I wanted to ask you about in that regard. Is there someplace we could talk more privately?”
“Of course. The sessions are breaking for lunch and I was about to run to my office to check in. Would you like to walk with me?”
I nodded and followed her out of the ladies’ room. She was walking at a brisk pace and I fell in step with her. I asked her benign questions about the conference as we weaved through the crowded hallway. Once alone on the elevator, I told her about the Elvis minister dropping dead during the ceremony, before the “I dos.”
“My cousin, also an aspiring Elvis tribute artist, just so happens to be in a relationship with a woman who had dated the deceased. And Steve—that’s the dead guy’s name—had a flask of whiskey stashed behind the flower arrangement in the chapel. My cousin was picking up the flowers for my mama and accidentally knocked the flask off the stand. He picked it up without thinking and when the cops dusted for fingerprints and found the only ones on the flask belonged to Steve and my cousin, it left Little Junior in a difficult position. He’s been arrested, although we know he’s completely innocent of the murder.”
“Oh, my, that’s terrible,” Jana said as the elevator doors opened. She stepped off and began speed-walking again. I struggled to keep up. She pulled a key out of her purse and unlocked a door with her nameplate on it.
“I know how distressing this must be for your family. I’d be glad to give you the name of a good lawyer,” she said, as she walked behind her desk and took a seat in a cushy leather swivel chair.
“Actually, my uncle has already engaged an attorney that came highly recommended. I was hoping you could give me a bit of information.”
“Oh, about what?” Jana said. Her eyebrows involuntarily arched, briefly betraying her normally placid expression.
“The wedding coordinator at the Burning Love Wedding Chapel. It occurred to me that she might belong to the American Association of Event Planners. Her name is Taylor . . . something. I’ve got her card here somewhere,” I said as I started digging through my purse.
“Kane. Taylor Kane. I know who she is,” Jana said. “What about her?”
“Well, in just the couple of times we were at the chapel, we couldn’t help but notice there seemed to be a relationship of a personal nature between Taylor and Steve, the deceased. I suppose someone could have slipped poison into Steve’s flask earlier, but the most obvious suspects are the ones who were on-site when he died. . . .”
“Oh, I see. And you’re playing Nancy Drew, trying to come up with a suspect that could divert the attention of the police away from your cousin.”
“I don’t know that I’d phrase it quite like that, but yes. Do you know anything about her that might cause the cops to take a closer look at her?”
“I honestly don’t know her well. I did hear—just gossip, really—that she had been fired from her previous position with another wedding chapel in town. But I don’t know why she was let go. Or if it’s even true that she was let go.”
“Could it be because she was helping herself to some of the business funds? I only ask because Gordy—that’s the photographer at the chapel—mentioned that Steve seemed to be flush with cash lately, despite the fact he didn’t have any other gigs at the moment. If they were romantically involved, it could be that Taylor and Steve had been dipping into the till. Or maybe he caught her with her hand in the cookie jar and was playing at blackmail. I’m just inventing scenarios here, but if you could find out anything about Taylor or why she left her last place of employment, it might be helpful. And I’d be much in your debt.”
Jana seemed to be listening intently.
“Of course. I’m glad to help a fellow Tennessean anyway that I can. I know a couple of people in the association who are friendly with Taylor. I’ll see if I can get anything out of them—without being too obvious, of course. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.
“But what about this photographer—what’s his name? Gordy, is it?” she asked.
“Yeah, Gordy.”
“How did he know the murder victim was flush with cash? Could it be he’s involved somehow?”
“He said he saw Steve flashing a wad of cash at a bar and noticed that he had bought some expensive stuff lately. But you’re right—he could be trying to draw attention away from himself. He’s definitely on the suspect list, since he was there at the time of death.”
“Well, I need to get some work done or my current employer may let me go,” Jana said, standing up and giving me my cue to leave. “I’ll ask around and let you know if I hear anything that might help your cousin.”
I thanked Jana and left her office, hoping I could remember the way we came in.
I made my way to the casino and wandered around a bit looking for Di. I was just about to give up and text her when I spotted her and Dave standing beside a row of slot machines. They were having a conversation that at first looked friendly, then became less amicable. Di had a face like thunder as she stormed out. I hurried to catch up to her and stepped into the elevator just before the doors closed. There were other people in the elevator, so I didn’t speak until we got off on our floor. No one else was around.
“Di, do you want to talk about what happened with Dave?”
“I don’t want to talk to Dave, or about Dave, ever again.”
Chapter Ten
When we reached Di’s door, I asked if she wanted to be alone for a while.
“I don’t have time to sulk. We need to find a killer. What do we need to do next?” Di asked.
I thought that over for a moment.
“I know just what you need. A pedicure, with a relaxing foot massage. What do you think?”
“I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” Di said.
“Did you notice how Crystal said she had recently seen Steve going up to the guest rooms at our hotel? She acted like she just happened to see him. But what if she was keeping tabs on him? She seems to know more about Steve than she’s telling us, and why is that, if things really are over between the two of them? As much as I want her to be innocent, for Little Junior’s sake, I don’t think we’ve been paying enough attention to Crystal as a suspect.”
“Okay, how does that lead us to a foot massage?” Di said.
“Remember the hairdresser mentioning that she and Crystal go way back? I think that’s a source we need to mine for information. We got a manicure there, so it would be perfectly logical for us to return for a pedicure.”
“You may think I’m crazy for suggesting it, but I think we should take your mother along. I believe she might have more luck getting information out of . . . what’s-her-name?”
“I think her name was Randi, and you may be right. Mama can play on her sympathy as the worried aunt. And I seem to remember Randi saying that she’s fond of Little Junior. Besides, it would do Mama good to get out of the hotel for a bit.”
I phoned Mama and, sure enough, she was in her room.
“Mama, put on your face. Di and I are coming up to get you. We’re going out.”
“Oh, hon. I don’t feel much like getting out.”
“You will when I tell you why. We’re on a mission to help Little Junior and we may need your help. We’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”
“What are we going to do for the next fifteen minutes?”
“You can do whatever you like. I’m going to my room to freshen up and check in with Larry Joe.”
Larry Joe wasn’t in the room, so I called his cell. He and Earl were at the camper dealer checking into getting some accessories added to the already tricked-out Winnebago—a lighted, fogless shower mirror, among other things.
“Earl was getting restless, pacing the floor when I checked in on him this morning. I was able to get him out of the hotel, saying we needed to make sure the camper was equipped with everything they needed to hit the road. Liv, I think you need to try to get your mother out of the room. Right now, it seems like the only way to get her out would be to go see Little Junior. Dave said he’s working on it.”
“I’m already on it. Di and I are collecting her in fifteen minutes.”
“I always knew you had secret super powers,” he said.
“Nothing secret about it. I’m a party planner. I arrange activities that draw people in—or out. I’ll check back with you later.”
I put on some lipstick and changed into sandals, so my shoes wouldn’t mess up my fresh pedicure, then walked to Di’s room and tapped on the door. It opened a crack and I heard her say, “Come on in.”
As I entered and closed the door, I saw her standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.
“It’s so hot, I thought I’d get my hair up off my neck. What’s Larry Joe up to?”
“He and Earl are looking at getting the Winnebago pimped out.”
“O . . . kay,” she said doubtfully.
Di grabbed her purse and we proceeded to Mama’s room.
Mama came to the door with a fresh coat of lipstick and a freshly powdered nose, which told me she planned to go with us. But she decided to put up a protest anyway.
“Liv, it’s sweet of y’all to want to get me out and get my mind off Little Junior. But, I tell you, my heart’s just not in it.”
“We’re not trying to get your mind off Little Junior. We want you to help us dig up some information on Crystal. We’re going back to the salon for pedicures. Randi said she’d known Crystal a long time. She didn’t have much to say about Crystal before. But we have more reason to press her now. Di and I figure she might have more compassion for a grieving aunt than a nosy cousin.”
“So, you think Crystal had something to do with the Elvis minister’s murder?”
“We don’t know. But we have to consider her as a suspect, and right now we know diddly about her.”
“All right. If you think it might help Little Junior, I guess I’m game.” She let out a dramatic sigh and walked with weary steps to the hallway. But she had a spring to her step by the time we made it to the lobby. Mama was not one to sit happily on the sidelines and I knew she was secretly excited about getting to take part in a little sleuthing.
We took a taxi to the salon, and unlike Little Junior, the driver charged us full fare—and then some, I think. I had called ahead to see if Randi had openings this afternoon for the three of us to get pedicures. Randi had said she could work us in. Miss Betty had begged off. Truth be told, I think she had her own little investigation going on, secretly following my father-in-law to catch him cheating—on his diet.
I looked around the salon as we entered and felt certain she wouldn’t have any trouble working us in. We were the only customers in the place, besides one woman with foil wraps all over her head, who was getting a color job. Since the salon had been nearly empty the one other time we’d been in, I wondered about the financial health of the business. But I suspected their busiest times were on the weekend and in the evenings, when most people were off from work.
Mama, who has a penchant for drama and could have pursued a career on the stage, or as a professional mourner—she can boohoo with the best—wasted no time launching into her performance.
“Randi, you’re a doll for fitting us in. I know it may seem frivolous to be getting a pedicure when my dear nephew is rotting in a filthy jail cell, falsely accused of killing a man of the cloth.”
Insert dramatic sigh here.
“But I let my daughter and her friend talk me into drying my tears and leaving the hotel room for a bit. I’ve been holed up, not even going out for meals. I can hardly bear to be around people right now. A comforting foot massage and a pedicure might be just the thing to soothe my aching heart, if only for a short while.”
Insert another dramatic sigh, coupled with a tear escaping from the corner of her eye. Mama’s performance was masterful, but I decided to hold my applause. Randi seemed truly moved.
Di and I aided her performance with small supporting roles.
“Mama, don’t upset yourself,” I said, taking her hand and leading her over to the pedicure station at the back of the room.
Di pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to Mama, who dabbed tears from her eyes.
Randi turned on the whirlpool jets in the pedicure basin, before walking over and giving Mama a hug.
“Ms. Walford, you just sit down and put your feet in this warm water. I’m going to pamper you for a while.”
Mama kicked off her sandals and climbed into the lounge chair and sank her feet into the warm, pulsating water. Randi turned on the chair’s massage feature and questioned Mama about how the different types and levels of pulsing and undulating massage felt against her back until she had adjusted it to “just right.”
Mama had the most downtrodden look on her face. I thought even I might start crying.
Randi took care of Mama personally, while another nail tech got Di set up at the pedicure station next to her. I sat next to Mama, eyeing her with a look of concern, ready to spring into action if Mama gave me a cue.
“I know it’s been upsetting. But try not to worry about Little Junior. He’s a really nice guy. And he’s never been in any trouble with the cops before. I’m sure the police will get this cleared up,” Randi said.
“I hope so. Sometimes it seems once they have someone in custody, they don’t look very hard for the real killer. But as upsetting as this is for me, and Little Junior’s daddy, I can only imagine how awful all this must be for Little Junior. I’m glad he has Crystal in his life. She seems really nice. I feel like maybe I should reach out to her, you know, as Little Junior’s family. But, of course, we had just met when all this happened. I do have one concern, if you don’t mind me asking,” Mama said. “I know Crystal had dated Steve at one time. . . .”
Randi suddenly had a wary expression.
“It just seems a little . . . unusual that Crystal has dated two different Elvis impersonators. Do you feel that Crystal and Little Junior are well suited, or is he just a particular type she’s attracted to—you know, Elvisey types?”
Randi’s expression relaxed, and she said, “Believe me, it’s not the Elvis thing that Crystal’s attracted to. In fact, I was completely surprised when I found out she was dating another Elvis impersonator. Not surprised she would happen upon more than one Elvis here in Vegas—we have more than our fair share per capita. Just after having such a bad experience with Steve, who was a liar and a cheat—not that I like to speak ill of the dead. It’s also that . . . I don’t know if I should tell you, because I don’t think she’d ever want Little Junior to find out, but . . .”
Mama, Di, and I were all leaning slightly forward in tense anticipation, wondering what Randi was about to say.
“Crystal doesn’t even like Elvis, can’t stand his music. This was years ago, but once she even turned down a free trip to Graceland. So trust me when I say Crystal isn’t in lo
ve with your nephew because of his Elvis impressions. Despite that, if anything. She’s crazy about Little Junior because he’s a funny, sweet little man who treats her like a queen.”
Her admission of Crystal’s aversion to Elvis primed Randi’s pump. She gushed out a stream of information about Crystal, none of it damaging—or particularly illuminating. She did give a couple of examples of Steve’s womanizing ways, but that only confirmed what we’d already heard about him.
Mama went with the same pale lavender shade for her pedicure that she’d chosen for her fingernails. I went with the same shade of pink I’d selected for my manicure. Di decided to contrast the pale pink on her fingernails with a hot pink hue on her toes.
Riding back along the same route we’d traveled to the salon, in a strange taxi driven by someone other than Little Junior, was extremely depressing. All three of us sat slumped in our seats, staring straight ahead, wordless, all the way back to the hotel. When I paid the driver, he asked if we’d had a death in the family.
“Not yet,” I replied.
Mama asked me to text Larry Joe, who was out with Earl and the other men at the Winnebago dealership. We arranged for our whole group to meet up for dinner at the hotel buffet in forty-five minutes.
Mama, Di, and I rode up in the elevator together. Mama said she was going to her room to rest until mealtime. We went to Di’s room to hang out.
Di propped herself up on pillows against the headboard and I sat down at the foot of the bed.
“Earlier, when Dave came up to me in the casino,” Di suddenly said without preface, “I thought maybe he was going to apologize for being such a rude . . .”
She bit her lip and waved her hand, but left the word she was thinking of unspoken.
“But instead, I find out he’s busy trying to pin Steve’s murder on Jimmy—just because Jimmy dropped me off at the chapel. Dave says that puts him at the scene of the murder. And Dave said Jimmy’s the only one at the chapel around that time who has a criminal record. And Dave made sure to tell his cop friend about Jimmy. Even though the only crime Jimmy committed that night was being seen in a car with me.”