by Peggy Webb
“I didn’t forget. It’s too heavy to float and I don’t think the current would have carried it far enough out to sea. We can’t risk it being found.”
“But Ruby Nell, I wiped the prints and whatever NBA was left behind by the victim.”
“It’s still got Lovie’s initials.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“Tonight when we go to the dance, I’ll sneak it back to Lovie’s cooking station. She’s going to need it.”
Their punch starts kicking in and they settle back into their lounge chairs to watch the sunset. Don’t tell me Mississippi is not beautiful. The display over the Gulf is more spectacular than the Hawaiian sunsets I saw in my other life as the world’s most famous singer. Now that we’re done with the business of murder, I flatten myself onto the sun-warmed boards and get comfortable enough to fall into a place where I now dream about chasing cats instead of pretty women.
Thanks to my radar ears, I suddenly hear a sizable crowd gathering on the beach at the back of our cottage. Ruby Nell and Fayrene are oblivious to the commotion, either because they’ve had too much punch or because they’re old enough to be losing their edge. I heft myself up and put my nose to the screen door to see what I can smell on the wind. It’s a ghost, but let me tell you, it’s not ghost riders in the sky.
I trot over to Ruby Nell and sound my warning bark, which puts her on full alert.
“What is it, Elvis?”
I bark again, then trot to the screen door and stand with my hackles up. Excitement washes off this beach crowd and they’re gathering in a circle as if they’re getting ready to have some kind of ancient ceremony.
Ruby Nell is now right beside me, and we spot the trouble at the same time. A glimpse of a dark shirt, smack in the middle of the circle. And I’m not talking about moody blue. I’m talking deep purple.
“Fayrene, we’ve got trouble.”
“What kind of trouble.”
“BIG! Come on!”
She roars through the back door and Fayrene races along beside her. I steamroll past them and arrive just in the nick of time. The newly dead has returned from his watery grave and now rests face-down on our beach. A tall, skinny man with swarthy skin and a bad toupee is kneeling down about to turn him over. And that would be all she wrote. Bullet wounds and knife wounds and no telling what condition the fish left his face in.
Listen, we’re just lucky the Gulf washed off the blood. And that he didn’t arrive in his burial garb, that length of canvas.
My warning bark sends the skinny busy-body reeling back, his skin washed two shades whiter. Listen, this heroic hound can sound as fierce as a rottweiler when the occasion calls for it.
I bark again, buying time for Ruby Nell and Fayrene to catch up and get the drift of things. Ruby Nell’s eyes have gone wide and she looks like she’s about to lose her prohibition punch. I’m getting ready to build a bridge over troubled waters when Fayrene marches toward us and stands over the cadaver with her arms akimbo.
“Jarvetis! Drunk again!” She kneels beside the body and shouts. “You’re in trouble now, mister!”
I can’t wait to tell my buddy Trey about this. That redbone hound dog’s human daddy never took a drink in his life. Not even Fayrene’s prohibition punch.
“It’s all right, folks.” Ruby Nell, fully recovered and looking capable of leading Hannibal’s elephants across the Alps, faces the crowd. “It’s just a little domestic dispute.”
The crowd’s curiosity rises to fever pitch. She might as well start selling tickets. A domestic dispute on a public beach could be the best entertainment in Biloxi.
Ruby Nell sees her mistake, and nudges Fayrene, who proceeds to stomp around the body, kicking up enough sand to hide the fact that he’s stiff as a poker.
“A fine mess you’re in now, mister. Did you listen to me? No! Did you listen to the preacher’s Sermon on the Mound? NO!”
Rumor has it that many years ago Fayrene won fourth runner up in the Sweet Potato Queen contest with her rendition of Scarlett O’Hara’s monologue in the turnip patch. She continues her tirade and the crowd settles in to see if “Jarvetis” will rise to his wife’s bait.
Totally into her role now, Fayrene continues her rant, while Ruby Nell gets that look that says she’s about to handle the problem.
“Have some respect for this couple!” she shouts. “Would you want your family secrets aired out in public?”
She continues in this vein, and let me tell you, when Ruby Nell puts on a show, it’s a five-star performance. She was heading to Broadway before Michael Valentine swept her off her feet and she settled for Mooreville instead of Manhattan.
The crowd disperses and finally everybody has turned to leave except Mr. Busybody of the Bad Toupee. “I can help you get him to the house.”
“Thank you, but no,” Ruby Nell tells him.
“It’s no trouble. A sweet-looking woman like you shouldn’t have to haul a drunk up the beach.”
Well, bless’a my soul. He’s looking for a casual love affair. Or maybe he’s seen that pink Cadillac out front and added Ruby Nell’s flashy diamonds into the mix and heard opportunity knocking.
Ruby Nell’s flattered and we’re in big trouble here. I’m trying to decide whether to bite his skinny shin or aim for something more substantial when Fayrene rises up to face the misguided knight in shining armor.
“It irrigates the tar out of me when my husband falls into Bolivia and every crack shot on the planet tries to help. Move out of my way!”
I growl to show that she means business, and the man scuttles off.
“Women!” he says, and I aim a stream at the back of his legs. I miss by a couple of inches, and maybe that’s a good thing. We don’t need him turning around to hear the women desperately trying to come up with another plan.
“Let’s put him back in the water, Ruby Nell.”
“And just have the tide wash him back up?”
“Well, you’d better think of something quick.”
“Why?”
“Here comes that yellow-haired woman I saw at the cooking station next to Lovie.”
“For Pete’s sake, it’s that nosy Doris Shackley. Come on.” Ruby Nell grabs Fayrene’s arms and hustles her toward the woman who is up to no good. I can smell bad intentions a mile. “Doris! How wonderful to see you again.”
“Ruby Nell! Don’t you look fabulous! We missed you at the cook-off this afternoon.”
“I was so sorry to miss it. How’d your son do?”
“Lovie beat him in round one, but he’s got two more days show off his skills. Too bad you weren’t there when they announced her win.”
“Oh, well, we had a few little problems to deal with. You know how that goes.”
This is the Southern way, two raging cats squared off, who launch out of their separate corners then try to kill each other with charm.
Doris cranes her neck to see the problem still sprawled face-down. I notice with a great deal of pride that Ruby Nell has intercepted Doris so far from the body she can’t possibly see that he’s deader than that sawed-off Lhasa Apso will be if I ever find proof he messed around with Ann Margret.
“Who is he?” Doris says, and if I didn’t know better I’d think we were back home in Mooreville where your business is everybody’s business.
“I’m afraid Fayrene’s husband had a bit too much libation.”
“I hope he recovers in time for the dance. You don’t want to miss it.” Doris is right about that. Disney is sponsoring this year’s cook-off, and they’re using a Disney theme for the dance. All of us get to wear costumes. “I’m going as Beauty from Beauty and the Beast.”
That’ll be a miracle on the order of walking on water. Personally, I’m going as something close to my true character – Prince Charming.
“We’ll see you there.” Ruby Nell casts a sorrowful glance in the direction of our come-back cadaver. “Everybody except poor Jarvetis. I’m afraid he’ll still be under the weathe
r.”
Under ice is more like it.
After Doris left, Ruby Nell and Fayrene got the body out of the sand, draped his stiff arms around their necks and walked him back to the cottage while I did my Secret Agent thing and kept a sharp lookout for the enemy. It took a while to get him up the back steps, which left Ruby Nell muttering flitter, flitter, flitter and Fayrene chanting about fruits and vegetables.
They finally got him into one of the beds where he looked a lot worse for the wear, and now they’re packing him down with bags of leftover ice from the cooler. It’s barely enough to cover his face, which is turning a peculiar shade of purple that matches his shirt.
“Don’t let anybody come in, Elvis.” Ruby Nell and Fayrene sprint off in the direction of the ice machine around the corner.
I hate to burst their bubble, but a few little bags of ice won’t be enough to keep our dirty little secret from getting out. When they hustle back in, they start slinging ice bags around the cadaver. It takes seven trips to get him covered.
“What are we going to do when all this melts, Ruby Nell?”
“Maybe take out the racks and stuff him in the freezer side of the refrigerator.”
Now, there’s a plan! I can just see the corpse frozen into a strange sitting position. How’re they going to explain that? Yoga in the deep freeze?
Elvis’ Opinion # 5
Elvis’ Opinion # 5 on Sleuthing, Dancing and Tinkerbell
The sight of Fayrene as Peter Pan and Ruby Nell as Tinkerbell is not for the faint-hearted. I don’t even know where Fayrene found that green feather for her green hat. It’s long enough to reach from here to China. She’s already swept a pile of sea shells off the bookcase in the cottage, and she came within an inch of spearing Ruby Nell in the eye.
Thanks to Ruby Nell’s quick reflexes and that magic wand she held in her hand, she whacked the feather in half and avoided having to add an eye patch to her Tinkerbell getup.
And what can I say about Tinkerbell? It’s a matter of time before Callie sees Ruby Nell spilling all out of her pink spangled tights and pink tutu, both of them hardly big enough to cover a bird, let alone a tall senior with plenty of handsome curves.
“Is everybody ready?” Ruby Nell yells, and we all follow Tinkerbell then climb into the pink Cadillac. This is not as easy as it sounds for a talented dog stuffed into a pair of four-legged prince pants. And wearing a gold-rimmed cape, to boot. If Callie had let me bring the sword like I wanted to, I might not have managed it.
Finally, we’re all in the car and heading back to the convention center. If I told you how many admiring glances we get when we walk into the ballroom, you wouldn’t believe me. Even the sight of Ruby Nell’s oversized purse, which happens to hold a murder weapon, does nothing to dampen the admiration for her skimpy costume.
Ruby Nell spots Lovie, all dolled up as the Little Mermaid. When we head that way the crowd parts like we’re royalty. Or it could be that Fayrene’s feather is still sticking out far enough to punch faces and poke eyes.
“Yoohoo!” Fayrene screeches, and Lovie heads our way. At the rate she’s going, we’ll still be here next Christmas. She took the Little Mermaid outfit seriously, and as she minces along in her form-fitting fish tail, she leaves a trail of silver scales.
“She won’t even be able to get out of that thing so she can work her electric girdle,” Fayrene says.
“Don’t let Lovie hear you say that. And for Pete’s sake, don’t get out of my sight. I’ll need you to cover me when I replace the you-know-what.”
I know exactly what, but I’m not about to leave it all up to Fayrene to stand guard. If she fell to pieces over a little thing like a bloody piece of canvas hanging out of a car trunk, imagine what she’d do if somebody caught Ruby Nell red-handed with the murder weapon. The last time Fayrene marched into the fray, her weapon was a mop.
Finally we reach Lovie, who has given up trying to walk and is seated on a red sectional sofa against the wall. Near the refreshment table, naturally.
“You missed the roast beef cook-off.” Lovie announces this with good cheer and not the least bit of nosiness into our business.
“Was Callie upset when we didn’t come?” Ruby Nell plops down beside her niece, and her tutu rises to new heights. If she weren’t wearing tights she’s be showing Christmas. “She sent me so many texts I couldn’t even keep up with them all.”
“Don’t worry, Aunt Ruby Nell. She’s okay.”
“Where is she?’
“Upstairs trying to find her glass slippers.”
“Flitter,” is all Ruby Nell says, but Fayrene waxes eloquent.
“If she falls on her shoes and cuts her Antarctica, we’ll have to rush her to the hospital for some stitches under Anastasia. And then what will we all do?”
I really don’t want to know.
“I don’t know about you, Fayrene, but I’m heading to get some of that cold shrimp. Can I bring back some for you and Aunt Ruby Nell?”
“We’ll eat later, Lovie. Fayrene and I have to go to the bathroom.”
“We do?” Fayrene says, and Ruby Nell pokes her with the Tinkerbell wand. “We do! We’ll be back before you can say Jack the Knife.” Ruby Nell nudges her again. “Jack Robertson!”
Callie would have caught on to their lies in a New York minute, but when Lovie hears food calling her name, she tunes out everything else.
She heads toward the food while we cut another wide swath through assorted dragons, witches, princesses and a few frogs. But we’re not heading in the direction of the toilets. Following Ruby Nell’s lead we scamper through a maze of hallways and end up outside a very dark cooking hall.
“Did anybody follow us, Ruby Nell?’
“No. If they had, Elvis would have let us know.”
That’s me. A prince of a dog with a true nose for trouble.
The three of us sneak into the cooking hall and make our way in the direction of Lovie’s station. Listen, it’s hard to sneak when two people in this party are making enough noise to wake the dead.
“There it is,” Fayrene’s whispers.
“No, it’s not. She’s closer to the center.”
“Shhh. I heard something.”
They duck behind a potted palm and I dive into the deeper shadows where I wait till I get an itch behind my ears that I just have to scratch.
“Stop that basket hound from making that racket.”
“Flitter, there’s nobody here but us. Come on.” Ruby Nell grabs Fayrene and proceeds to march into a cooking station so dark even this eagle-eyed doggie detective can’t see a thing.
“Did you bring a flashlight, Ruby Nell?”
“No. I thought you did.”
“I don’t know where you thought I’d put it. In these green tights?”
I don’t even want to picture it. I sidle close to Ruby Nell and sniff around while she explains to Fayrene that she’s going to put the knife far enough back on the shelf so Lovie will think she just misplaced it.
“There now,” she says. “Nobody will ever know.”
I wonder how I can warn Lovie that her carving knife was used for murder then wiped clean and returned by the two sassy seniors who once accosted an FBI agent they’d mistaken for Bill Clinton.
Chapter 4
Eavesdropping, Elephants and Mama
Thank goodness I found my plastic a.k.a. glass slippers in a paper sack filled with Lovie’s dill pickle potato chips. I don’t know how they got there. I slide them on then give my Cinderella costume one last glance in the mirror before I head down the hall. And not without some apprehension.
If Mama is downstairs, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. What in the world was she doing all day that she couldn’t even call and let me know she was alive? Holy cow! I have enough to worry about that George Ransom is still missing, and nobody has a clue where is he, not even the police.
There’s a large elephant waiting by the elevator, but I can’t tell who it is. I can’t even see around
his rump to say hello. The elephant was probably trying for the Jungle Book but I hate to be the one to break the news. He looks more like somebody tied some pillows around him then covered the whole thing with a rumpled gray sheet and attached a vacuum cleaner hose for a trunk.
Suddenly he’s joined by Doris Shackley, and I don’t even want to guess who she’s trying to be in that yellow dress that’s too tight across the bust and the exact shade of her mustard-colored hair and complexion.
“Callie!” She waves at me, and I join her and the elephant in front of the elevator doors. “I tried to get Cole to be the Beast to my Beauty but he insisted on being a pachyderm.”
Holy cow! I wouldn’t touch that conversation with a ten foot pole.
“Cole, congratulations! I thought your beef tips were superb.”
“Thanks, Callie.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a tunnel. I don’t know how he plans to get around in that outfit, let alone dance. “I can always count on Lovie for some stiff competition.”
The unlikely Beauty sniffs, but I just ignore her…till she drops her bombshell.
“I talked with your mama today at the beach. They’re right next door to me.” I’m not about to have her think I’m a bad daughter who doesn’t even know the welfare of her own mama, so I just nod and smile and wait for her to keep talking. Which she always does.
“I stopped by the ballroom on my way up to meet Cole, but I didn’t see her and her friend. What’s her name? I can’t remember.”
“Fayrene.”
“Yes, that’s it. Anyhow, they probably won’t be here tonight on account of that problem they were having.”
“What problem?” I try hard to sound nonchalant, but I’m about to jump out of my glass slippers.
“Fayrene’s husband was falling down drunk.”
“Jarvetis?” Who never took a drink in his whole life, not even in his mild and uneventful youth, according to my sources, and believe me, the gossip at Hair.Net is as reliable as the six o’clock news. Besides all that, he’s not even here. Holy cow!