Elvis and the Buried Brides (A Southern Cousins Mystery, plus bonus short story)

by Webb, Peggy

  “Callie’s things are still at Lovie’s,” he says, “and my daughter is nowhere to be found.”

  Ruby Nell reaches into her purse and pulls out this 1930’s cigarette holder, but her hands are shaking so bad she can’t get her cigarette inside. She only smokes for two reasons: she wants to get somebody’s goat, mostly Callie’s, or she’s so upset she can’t talk.

  Charlie walks over, put his hand over Ruby Nell’s and helps her light up, a sure sign he’s worried. He hates smoking, especially from his dead brother’s wife.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing, dear heart,” he tells her. “Jack and I will find the girls.”

  “Or their remains,” Fayrene says, and Jack shoots her a look that would kill.

  “What about the wedding?” Darlene asks.

  “There’s not going to be a wedding,” Charlie says. “ I’ve already made the announcement. Darlene, take Ruby Nell and Fayrene to the store and stay there until you hear from me.”

  “Flitter, Charlie. I can take care of myself.”

  He gives Ruby Nell his famous godfather look, the one that says I’m head of the Valentine family, and then he turns to my human dad.

  “Jack, meet me at Lovie’s.”

  That would be the place last seen. Charlie heads out with Jack and me right behind him. Just let somebody try to collar me. They’ll draw back a nub. This is my human mom missing, and I’m the dog with a nose for trouble.

  Chapter 2

  Bumpy Roads, Bad Attitude, and Double Trouble

  Earlier, the night of the kidnapping…

  It’s hard to keep track of time, even counting, which I’ve been doing since I was trussed up and toted off Lovie’s front porch. Still, I believe I’ve been in my own truck heading toward the dark of nowhere for the last thirty minutes. Maybe a tad longer.

  Wherever Lovie went before I got nabbed, she’s surely back inside her house now, sounding the alarm to Jack and Uncle Charlie because my stuff is on her sofa and I’m nowhere to be found. Any minute I expect my tires will be shot out and my soon-to-be permanent husband will storm the truck and rescue me.

  I try to relax and keep my ears open for clues, but the kidnappers stopped talking the minute we got into the truck. Just to get some action, I thrash about and land a hard kick on one of my kidnappers.

  “Owww. Hold that witch still.” It’s Gritty Voice.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Well, try harder. She nearly destroyed my future family.”

  That’s music to my ears. If I were Elvis I’d hum a few bars of It Won’t Be Long. I settle down like somebody waiting for Judgment Day.

  My tires squeal as the driver takes a sharp right, and then I bounce about six inches off the seat. Another bump like that and my tires will be shot. Not to mention that I’ll have to go into my honeymoon sporting bruises.

  The truck rattles like it’s traversing a washboard. Obviously we’ve left the city and obviously, Lovie has not discovered the kidnapping or Jack would have already been here.

  Though I’m optimistic by nature, I have a hard time not going into a delayed case of hysteria. Here I am at the mercy of no telling what and I don’t even have a weapon. The last time I was kidnapped – well, it was actually the first and only time except this one – I had bobby pins to pick the locks. But I’m wearing my hair loose because I don’t know how I’m going to fix it for my wedding and it’s much easier to start any style with uncrimped hair.

  We hit another bump that sends me airborne again, and it occurs to me that I’m not going to make it home for my own wedding unless Lovie gets a move on.

  Suddenly I hear a familiar screech followed by words strong enough to cure male baldness.

  “Lovie!” I yell, but it comes out garbled against the tape.

  My cousin has come to the rescue!

  There’s pounding on the back window, followed by another string of words that would uncurl pubic hair.

  “What the devil?” The driver says, and then squeals on the brakes.

  I crash into the dashboard. Now I’m going to have a knot on my head. If my wedding veil fits lopsided because of these two toads, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do.

  “It’s the undead!” Gritty Voice adds a string of words that outdo Lovie.

  “There’s no such thing as the undead, you idiot. Get back there and see what’s going on.”

  Lovie screeches and pounds on the window again.

  “You get back there. I’ll stay up front and watch this one.”

  The truck door on the driver’s side slams, and I hear a commotion that sounds like Armageddon.

  “Get him, Lovie!” My yell dies under the tape, but the least I can do to help my cousin is try to kick the stuffing out of the other kidnapper. I bow up and prepare for another kick. There’s five feet nine inches of me, and I let every inch of it loose in a kick that sends my second kidnapper squalling out of the truck.

  Judging by the series of guttural yells and Lovie’s hoots of triumph, my cousin is putting up a winning fight outside the truck. Seizing my advantage, I squirm across the seat and through the open door. How I manage to land on my feet is a miracle.

  Listen, I’m not about to add another bruise on my wedding day. I teeter beside the truck door, reveling in the feel of fresh air against my face and the knowledge that my kidnappers haven’t even noticed I’m out of the truck. Thanks to Lovie.

  “Grab her arm,” Gritty Voice yells.

  “You grab it. She punches like a Golden Gloves boxer.”

  “Take that, you lily livered piece of buffalo dung!” Lovie screams.

  She says a few other things that won’t do to tell, and then I hear a series of punches, flesh against flesh and another chorus of male screams.

  “You she cat from hell,” one of them yells, and the other screams, “Catch her. She’s getting away.”

  You go, Lovie. Feeling my way with my fingertips, I hobble around the front of my truck, trying to use my instincts to decide which way to run. They say the blind can navigate this way, they can feel the presence of buildings and telephone poles and deep woods.

  I don’t feel anything except mad, but I do hear a bird call. From my left. An owl’s call, coming from a distance. We’re in deep woods.

  I hobble in the owl’s direction and suddenly bite the dust.

  “Get her,” Gritty Voice yells. “Callie’s getting away.”

  He knows my name! That puts a whole other slant on the kidnapping. Is this some sort of vendetta? It’s logical that Jack and Uncle Charlie would have multiple enemies all over the world.

  And what about Mama? In her quest to live life to the fullest, she’s taken up with some pretty shady characters. Did she get tired of asking me for loans to support her little gambling habit and borrow from the wrong man over in Tunica? If you believe the TV shows, these loan sharks don’t take kindly to people who owe them money. The next thing I know, Mama will be waking up with a horse’s head in her bed.

  Wait a minute. That was the mafia.

  What if this is the mafia? You never know who’s got a grudge against Jack and Uncle Charlie.

  Or Lovie either, for that matter. She’s got so many ex-boyfriends, there’s bound to be a criminal or two in the pack.

  “Don’t just stand there like a fly on a turd,” Gritty Voice yells again. “Get that skinny bride.”

  Good lord. What else do these two know about me?

  Doomed, I go down in a pile of what feels like pine needles and wait to be hauled back to my truck. Who knows what they’ll do if Lovie and I keep on fighting?

  I cringe when I feel my kidnapper’s hands on me again. What about Lovie? I don’t hear a sound from my cousin. Did she manage to get away?

  “You think you’re so smart.” The kidnapper who smells like cheap liquor jerks me upright and hustles me along so fast I have to lean against his shoulder to keep from toppling. “Where do you think you were going? That’s two thousand acres of woods, smarty pants. That
sounds mighty dumb to me.”

  Two thousand acres of woods? Approximately thirty minutes out of Tupelo and then another twenty or so on gravel roads.

  We could be in the Holly Springs National Forest. And indeed, I could get lost in here or snake bit or drowned in the river, still gagged and bound.

  Then who would do Mama’s hair? Who would act like Elvis is the one and only dog in the world? Who would take client requests long before they die so they could leave this world looking like Marilyn Monroe or Jackie Kennedy, two female favorites?

  Even worse, who would console Jack Jones?

  I try to hear something from Lovie, but there are no sounds except the grunts of the kidnappers as they lift me off my feet.

  I expect to land with a thump back on the seat of my truck. Then I hear something that sounds like my tailgate being lowered, and the next thing you know I’m crashing onto the unforgiving surface of my truck bed. I’ve now lost count of my injuries, and it feels like I might have to add a dislocated shoulder to the list.

  The tailgate slams again and Gritty Voice says, “That’ll teach you two to mess with the Bronson brothers.”

  “Shut up, you fool,” the other one says, and I wonder how two people of such low intelligence managed to think up a kidnapping, much less pull it off.

  As soon as I hear the doors to my truck slam, I roll around to see what else is in my truck bed. I land with a thump against a body.

  “Holy cow, Lovie? Is that you?”

  Of course, it comes out in garbled, and I send a prayer winging upward that my cousin can make out what I’m saying.

  I don’t get a single response from Lovie, not even a grunt. I bump up hard against her, and wait. Dead silence.

  “Lovie are you all right?” There’s not a sound except the crunch of tires on gravel. Chills spread through me.

  “Are you dead?” I’m near panic now. “Lovie, if you’re dead, I’m going to kill you!”

  There is a huge and ominous silence.

  My life with Lovie flashes before me, and I think of all the things I’ll miss now that she’s gone. The thing about best friends is that they know what you want, even before you ask. They read minds and bring chocolate and offer advice, whether it’s good or not. They’re up to all night movie binges and spontaneous spend the night parties, and they listen to your stories fifty times without telling you they’ve already heard it.

  I bump against her again, trying to rouse her to action. If my hands weren’t tied I’d try to find her pulse. Hysteria bubbles up, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming against my gag until my throat is ripped and bloody. And what good would that do poor, dead Lovie?

  If she were here, she’d say, “For Pete’s sake, Cal. Get a grip!”

  I try. I really do. But the best I can manage is to curl myself into a little ball and start crying.

  Elvis’ Opinion #3 on Tea Leaves, Bad Predictions and Prohibition Punch

  Back at the church Jack said, “Elvis, you go with Ruby Nell,” and that’s how I ended up in the séance room at Gas, Grits and Guts instead of over at Lovie’s cracking this case.

  Not that I’m complaining. The minute we got here, Fayrene grabbed a platter of food and brought it into the séance room.

  “No sense letting the deception refreshments go to waste.”

  That’s what I say. It’s way past my lunchtime, and without Callie to oversee my diet, I can eat as many of these petit fours as I want.

  Ruby Nell, Fayrene and Darlene are eating, too, and guzzling Prohibition Punch like it’s going out of style. That’s not all they’re doing, of course.

  Fayrene has brought some chicken feather headdresses out of the closet for her and Ruby Nell. They look like two molting turkeys.

  Darlene gets up from the table, goes over to the kitchenette and starts rattling pots and pans.

  “What are you doing over there?” Ruby Nell says.

  “Brewing tea.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Ruby Nell tells her. “ It’s going to take something stronger than tea to get me through this ordeal.”

  “She’s right,” Fayrene says. “Quit fidgeting over there and sit down to help us out with this infestation.”

  “This is for the investigation, Mama.” Darlene dumps out the tea she just brewed and starts peering into the bottom of the pot. “Hmmm. It doesn’t look good.”

  “I could have told you that.” Fayrene dismisses her daughter with a wave of her hand. “My EPSN is in overdrive.”

  “Darlene,” Ruby Nell says, “what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Bobby’s teaching me to read tea leaves. And from what I’m seeing, everything is in twos.”

  Looks like Bobby Huckabee is teaching Darlene as much about bad predictions as she’s teaching him about kissing.

  Listen, if Jack and Charlie had let me go with them, I’d have already sniffed out the clues. Still, if anybody can get to the bottom of the bride’s disappearance, it would be two savvy Company men. Well, one Company man and one ex who left off sending bad guys to the afterlife the hard way and took up giving the innocent a send-off worthy of a world-wide icon like yours truly.

  Ruby Nell’s cell phone rings, and she nearly drops it into her Mason jar of spiked punch. I haul my handsome butt into sleuthing mode and amble over to park myself next to Ruby Nell’s ankles.

  My radar ears, not to mention my ESP, tell me Jack is on the other end of the line.

  “There’s good news and there’s bad, Ruby Nell.”

  “Flitter! Don’t you beat around the bush with me, Jack Jones. Just spit it out.”

  “The good news is that they’re not here.”

  “How is that good news?”

  It means he didn’t find bodies, which exactly is what Jack tells her, but in a much more discreet way. Listen, some folks might think Jack doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, but I’m here to set the record straight. He can kill you as quick as he can look at you, but he can also hang the star on Callie’s Christmas tree and have a pot of hot chocolate he made from scratch waiting for her when she gets home from Hair.Net. Don’t be cruel to Jack Jones. I’m liable to need a little something to gnaw on. And it wouldn’t be the hambone buried in the backyard, either.

  “Does that mean somebody took my baby and Lovie? You tell it to me straight, Jack.”

  “Not necessarily. We found a note. From Cal.”

  “For Pete’s sake! Don’t just stand there breathing. Read it.”

  This, I can hardly wait to hear. The minute he reads the greeting, I know it’s not from my human mom.

  To my darling Jack Jones.

  Callie’s never called him darling in her life. Don’t get me wrong. She’s got a whole vocabulary of pet words for him, but darling is not one of them. I’m not going to reveal what the real ones are because that’s private and confidential, and if I’m anything, I’m a dog of honor.

  “Here’s the rest of it,” Jack says. “I got cold feet. I’ve headed to Las Vegas and don’t plan to come back till I’m good and ready.”

  “My daughter did not write that!”

  “I know.”

  “For one thing, she’d never jilt you. For another, she hates Las Vegas.”

  On the other hand, all those gambling casinos would be right up Ruby Nell’s alley. I never saw a mother and daughter more different. Or more devoted. Listen, Ruby Nell and Cal may not see eye to eye on much of anything, but they’d fight a cross cut saw for each other.

  “You’re right, Ruby Nell.”

  I can tell he’s itching to follow whatever hunch he has. His anxious vibes are pouring out of that phone so thick, it’s wonder the room doesn’t fog up. But never let it be said that Jack Jones shirks his duty to his mother-in-law.

  “Then what’s going on, Jack? Where are Callie and Lovie?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out. You stay with Fayrene tonight. And keep Elvis close. He’s a heck of a watch dog.”

  Let me tell
you, a top dog could get the big head over that one! Still, one of the reasons I was once adored by fans around the world is my modesty. Which I still have in spades, thank you very much.

  After Ruby Nell hangs up, she whips a notebook out of her purse and plops it on the table.

  “Callie and Lovie have been kidnapped.”

  “It’s probably by one of those paragon schizophrenics,” Fayrene says.

  “They’re going wild all over the country. There was one at Gas, Grits and Guts the other day.”

  “What’d he do?” Ruby Nell wants to know.

  “He put twenty dollars worth of gas in his tank and left without paying a dime.”

  “Mama, I can spot a paranoid schizophrenic with one hand tied behind my back, and that’s not it. He was just a common thief.” Darlene dumps the tea leaves in the garbage can and sits at the table. “I think the girls have been kidnapped, and I think we ought to look for ransom notes.”

  “That’s brilliant.” Fayrene smiles at Darlene, who says, “’Natch.”

  “If they left one it would probably be with at my house,“ Ruby Nell says. “Or maybe Everlasting Monuments.”

  Ruby Nell might act like she’s got feathers for brains, but she’s run Everlasting Monuments single-handedly since Michael Valentine went to Glory Land and left her to raise a ten-year-old girl. Most people would take a look at her ever-changing hair color and the crazy caftans she’s fond of wearing and say she doesn’t have what it takes to be an entrepreneur. But they underestimate the power of tombstones that say, Glenda Worth tapped danced to Glory Land and is waltzing on the Golden Streets.

  They all stand up and gather their purses, but who’s going to drive? That’s what I want to know.

  Chapter 3

  Bad News, Bad Men, and Bad Karma

  Earlier, the night of the kidnapping

  We are finally here, wherever here is. My Dodge truck grinds to a halt and I wait beside my dead cousin to be toted off no telling where.