by Peggy Webb
Bradford calls after her, “What do you want me to tell Mellie if she calls?”
“Tell her to go to hell.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, then trails along behind his wife.
“Did I step on somebody’s toes?”
“It wasn’t you, Callie. Let my two older sisters out of their cages, and there’s bound to be a catfight.”
“But why is Janice so mad at Mellie?”
“She’s furious because Mellie has been holed up and hasn’t returned any of her calls. You don’t ignore Janice and get by with it.”
Kevin unfolds himself, and I can see why Lovie’s so attracted. There’s a seductiveness about him that goes beyond good looks. He exudes danger and power. Jack’s major two qualities that both madden and mesmerize me.
“Thanks for the tea.”
If he leaves I may never get another chance to question him. And I surely don’t want to leave that to Lovie. She’d be alone and in the dark, while I’m here in broad daylight with a house full of witnesses and a fierce watchdog at my command. Elvis may not look the part, but don’t let his stature fool you. Once he stood off a pit bull who tried to make me his next snack while I was outside tending roses.
I casually follow Kevin to his car, hoping to come up with a brilliant plan to extract further information. If I’d known sleuthing would be this hard, I’d have given in more when Lovie wanted to watch old detective reruns instead of always insisting on westerns and musicals.
“Come back anytime,” I say.
“If you’re suggesting something kinky, Callie, I’m game. We’ll grab Lovie and head out of town.”
I picture an abandoned barn and Kevin armed with a black whip. And a hacksaw. Holy cow. I’m fixing to get us both killed.
“Jack’s moving back in.”
“Maybe he’d like to watch.”
“He’d slit your throat.”
Luckily Kevin leaves before the locksmith arrives. Unluckily, Mama arrives hard on the heels of the van with Ernie’s Locks printed on the side.
She bails out of her car bustling with news and bad advice. I can always tell whether Mama has come to ask for money or to advise me of the error of my ways. If she wants money, she dresses down—pale pink lipstick and fingernail polish she thinks make her look wan, plus one of her more subdued caftans in nice, matronly colors. Eggshell blue or baby pink. Funereal beige, if she’s really trying to get my sympathy.
“We need to talk,” she says, then proceeds to stand around with her hands on her hips watching Ernie change the front door lock.
Finally she says, “If you’re planning to keep Jack out, you’re wasting your time.”
“I never waste my time, lady.”
“I don’t recall saying a word to you. I was talking to my daughter.” She grabs my arm and tugs me toward her car. “Get in.”
“I can’t leave while the locksmith is here.”
“We’re not leaving. I just want some privacy.” I climb in on the passenger side and Mama cranks up the car, then turns the air conditioner and the radio full blast. “I have news.”
“Shoes?”
“News!”
The upstairs bedroom curtain parts and I see Janice peering out. Even worse, Fayrene pulls up behind us in her glow-in-the-dark hearse.
Tapping on Mama’s window, she shouts, “Ruby Nell, are you all right in there?”
“We’re fine,” Mama screams. “Just listening to some good jazz.”
“Well, good Lord, why don’t you get out of the car? You’re going to have a heat frustration attack.”
You can hear them all over the neighborhood. Probably even in the next county. I reach over and turn off the radio, then roll the windows down.
“Mama was just showing me the short in her radio. Thanks for stopping by.”
Fayrene doesn’t leave till she shares her new recipe for pecan pie. Then I roll up the windows and ask Mama to please get to the point before somebody calls out the National Guard.
“Charlie and I found a copy of Leonard Laton’s written will, big as you please.”
“And?”
“If Bubbles dies, all the money goes to charity.”
I’m not sure about that. When Mama’s excited, she sometimes gets facts mixed up with her own fiction.
“Where’s Uncle Charlie?”
“At the funeral home. Gertrude Harris died.”
“Poor old soul. What did Uncle Charlie say about the will?”
“There goes motive down the drain. His exact words.” Then without skipping a beat, she says, “If you’re not careful, your marriage is going to follow suit.”
“Personally, Mama, I’d be happy to flush it.”
“Well, your loss is going to be Leonora Moffett’s gain.” Mooreville’s answer to Lady Chatterley. “She’s after him, and once she gets her claws into a man, she doesn’t let go.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fine, then.” Mama turns the radio back on and proceeds to sit there tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mama. I just don’t see the point, that’s all. Come in and have some tea.”
“I’ll pass. I have important things to do.”
I hope they don’t involve roulette wheels.
As soon as Mama and the locksmith leave, I put Elvis on a leash under the guise of walking my dog so I can have a cell phone conversation without being overheard by the nosy Janice.
Elvis has to make his mark on every mailbox on the street. It takes me fifteen minutes to get around the bend and out of sight.
“Lovie, what are you doing?”
“Painting my toenails.”
“What color?”
“Purple.”
It’s not her best shade, but Lovie gravitates toward the color preferred by royalty.
“Can you get over here and take Elvis to the vet? His French poodle gave him more than love.”
Elvis pays me back by hiking his leg on Leonora Moffett’s prize day lilies. I yell, “Stop” and pull him off before the damage is done.
On second thought, maybe he was eavesdropping, too, and is just taking his revenge on Jack’s latest conquest.
“What are you going to be doing, Callie?”
“Making poor old Gertrude Harris look like Greta Garbo.” Her last request to me before her family carried her to Memphis for shock treatments. “Besides, you owe me a favor, remember?”
“Okay, I’ll pick him up in fifteen minutes. By the way, I Googled Kevin.”
“And?”
“When he was eighteen he was arrested for drunk driving and disturbing the peace. His parents were in Europe with Bevvie, who was sixteen at the time. Guess who made his bail?”
“Who?”
“Bubbles Malone.”
“Which means he lied when he said he didn’t know her.”
I give Lovie the lowdown on my front porch sleuthing and Mama’s discovery at the courthouse; then we make plans for tonight.
After I finish at the funeral home, we’re going undercover again to find out what else Kevin is hiding with lies.
You’d never believe this, but some of my most relaxing times are spent with the deceased at Uncle Charlie’s funeral home. Maybe it’s because my uncle has turned this old house into a place that provides just what the name says—Eternal Rest.
There’s something warm and inviting about the room where I work. Uncle Charlie painted it soft pink and added wall sconces with shell-shaped plastic shades, a French-style makeup table, an end table with a lamp to match the sconces, and a comfortable sofa covered in mushroom-colored velvet. As a finishing touch, I brought throw cushions in gold, hot pink, and red.
Sometimes I get the feeling the deceased are looking down at this homey setting and nodding their heads with approval. I hope they’re also pleased that we treat them with respect.
Propping a picture of Gertrude’s idol on the makeup table, I say, “Don’t you worry, Ger
trude. Uncle Charlie and I are going to take good care of you.”
I’m putting the finishing coat of pancake on her face when the door creaks open. I jerk around and my makeup base rolls onto the floor.
“Sorry, dear heart. Did I scare you?”
“Thank goodness, it’s you. I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all.”
“I have to oil those hinges.”
Uncle Charlie sits on the sofa and opens a slim book titled Native American Wisdom.
“Don’t mind me.” He puts on his reading glasses and starts to read.
Though he usually comes down to keep me company when I’m working, there’s a different purpose about him now, a firm set of his jaw that gives off dangerous signals. I’d hate to be the one to cross him.
I don’t know if it’s my intense love for him or my newly frayed nerves, but I’m unusually observant today. Suddenly I’m struck by how handsome he is. And how alone.
As far as I know, he’s never looked at another woman since Aunt Minrose died. I wonder if that’s partially my fault. And Mama’s. We were both so needy after Daddy died, he couldn’t have had much time for himself.
“You should find somebody, Uncle Charlie.”
“I have my family, dear heart.”
“I mean somebody to marry. Or at least a companion.”
He puts the slim book down, then stands up. “I have to go upstairs and check on Leonard.”
The door hinges squeak again, and I get the feeling I’ve stepped into forbidden territory with my uncle Charlie. Who am I to give advice on love?
Instead of telling him to find a companion, I should have asked him what made his love for Aunt Minrose so strong. What made their marriage endure beyond the grave? Maybe I could have learned a thing or two that would help me figure out how Jack and I ended up with a train wreck instead of a future.
Suddenly I glimpse movement outside the window. Pulling the lacy curtain back, I strain my eyes into the growing dusk, but all I see are the two giant magnolia trees on the other side of the parking lot.
Going back to the table, I set to work creating the deep red bow-shaped lips and almond-shaped eyes of the 1920s movie diva.
Something heavy drops on the floor above me and I nearly jump through the ceiling. The heavy clanking comes again and I race up the stairs screeching for Uncle Charlie.
Greta Garbo will have to wait.
Elvis’ Opinion # 7 on Doctors, Pissants, and Dignity
They can’t fool me. I know when I’m going to get a vanilla-ice-cream cone and when I’m being hauled off to the vet.
The only reason I didn’t protest when Lovie picked me up is that she understands bribery.
I trotted off to her van like there was no tomorrow. I can smell a greasy sack a mile, but I’m smart enough to know that if I touched it before we were out of Callie’s sight, there’d be a big price to pay.
If she knew I was fixing to scarf down a dozen doughnuts, she’d never let Lovie take me anywhere again. Plus, she’d cut my dog chow down to something that wouldn’t even satisfy a cat.
When we peeled out of the driveway, I hung my head out the window and howled Callie a few bars of “Always on My Mind.” Listen, I’m not the kind of dog to let my head be turned by Krispy Cremes and joyriding with my ears blowing in the breeze.
Then I buried my head in the bag Lovie handed me and went to work.
Now Lovie is taking a curve doing seventy-five and I’m jerked out of sugar-overload heaven. A lesser dog would have slid off the seat. I just hang my head out the window and watch the countryside whiz by.
I wish Lovie would slow down. Details are blurred. Plus, my digestion is not what it used to be. Back when I was a young buck, I could eat fish bait so well seasoned by the sun the Moffett’s dumb shih tzu down the street wouldn’t touch it. The only consequence I suffered was having to chew foul-tasting green breath-freshening bones before Callie would let me back in the house.
My whole system’s in rebellion against my big appetite. By the time I realize we’re going the wrong way, we’re somewhere on Highway 371 heading north toward Mantachie.
“I’m taking you to see that new vet. Luke Champion.”
That’s all right with me, Mama. The last time I went to see Dr. Sandusky, Callie left me there for the day and they put me in a roomful of pissants. I mean, really. What self-respecting dog is going to embarrass his human mother by sitting in a cage and howling? These mutts were carrying on so, I was ashamed to be canine.
Take a little pride. That’s what I say. Show some dignity.
We pull up to this nice-looking country house, yellow clapboard with a big front porch, and at first I think I’m off the hook: Lovie’s going to visit somebody I don’t know and spare me the indignity of having my fleas documented.
Up until now, my record has been clean as a whistle. But if I had it to do over, I’d do it all again. That little French hottie was worth it.
Then I see the sign and I know I’m going to have to suck it up and get this over with. The wooden shingle hangs in front of a freshly painted concrete building off to the side of the house, and features pictures of animals. The dogs and horses add a touch of class, but personally, I could do without the cats. Why ruin the neighborhood?
We’re ambling up to the door, taking our time, stopping so I can take care of a little business on the petunias. Then the doctor walks out and Lovie metamorphoses into a bona fide seduction machine.
I don’t trust a man that good looking. Especially a blond. My human daddy can hold his own with the best of them, but he’s a hundred percent man’s man. A scar or two, hair a little long and always stirred up by the wind, nose a bit crooked where he broke it nearly getting himself killed down in Mexico.
We go inside and I’m getting ready to lift my leg on the doc’s statue of a dog peeing on a KEEP OFF THE GRASS sign, when he scoops me onto the table and says, “This basset’s a fine specimen.”
Now, I like compliments as well as the next dog. The doc’s reputation inches up a notch.
Next thing you know, he zooms right to the top by telling Lovie, “This is my favorite breed.”
Here’s a man who knows his canines. I’d be willing to bet if I stick around long enough, he’ll figure out I’m the King.
Chapter 13
Locks, Spies, and Victoria’s Secret
Itop the stairs and head down the hall toward Uncle Charlie’s office so fast I lose one of my Steve Madden moccasins. But I’m not about to stop to retrieve it. There are worse fates than running around on one shoe. For one thing, running around without a head.
Any minute I expect to have mine chopped off.
Where is Uncle Charlie? I’m screaming so loud it’s a wonder Dr. Laton doesn’t rise and try to give me Prozac.
I skitter down the hall, peering into viewing rooms. They are all empty except the one that contains the late doctor.
Thanks goodness his coffin’s still there. And on the floor is a heavy length of chain. I’m fixing to be shackled somewhere and tortured for burnt ends and bad haircuts. Accidental, of course. Nobody’s perfect.
All of a sudden I realize I’m frozen in the hallway outside the good doctor’s room, fresh bait for anybody with a pair of sharp scissors and a yen for revenge.
Screaming for help, I race toward the front double doors. But what if somebody’s out there in the dark, waiting?
“Oh, Buddha, Great Spirit, Holy Mother, and holy cow, if I get out of this mess alive I’ll give up sex.” My poor unused eggs rise in protest, and I amend that. “But only with Jack.”
I hear footsteps behind me and nearly faint. Instead, I set out running again. And calling to every deity in the known universe.
“Callie! Wait.”
Collapsing in a little heap, I begin to hyperventilate.
Uncle Charlie cups my shoulders. “Breathe, dear heart. Just breathe.”
When I’m coherent I ask, “Where were you?”
“I heard a noise and went outsi
de to investigate.”
“I heard it, too.” I stand up, shaky but in one piece. “Did you find anybody?”
“No. Not a sign.”
“Wait till you see what’s on the floor in Dr. Laton’s viewing room.”
“Wait till you see what’s in his casket.”
Stuck to Uncle Charlie’s side like velcro, I skirt around the chain and peer into every corner for somebody with an ax. Probably a man in a baseball cap.
Or it could be a woman with a Prada purse?
Uncle Charlie is oblivious of the chain, and for the first time in my life I see him as growing old. Losing his eyesight. His hearing.
Please, I think. Just that. Please.
Flinging open Daddy Laton’s casket, Uncle Charlie says, “Look at that.”
I don’t know what I expected to see. Maybe the return of Frigidaire frostbite. Certainly not the red pasties. And most certainly not the matching G-string.
“Hoy cow! When did that happen?”
“While I was downstairs with you and poor old Gertrude. Whoever did this is slick. And fast.”
“Also dangerous. Did you notice that chain?”
“That’s mine, dear heart. When I saw these in Leonard’s casket, I went down to the basement and found something to stop this nonsense.”
He whips the pasties and G-string onto the floor and starts wrapping the casket with chains. Only then do I see the enormous lock on the end.
“Nobody gets in this casket again. Or out. Unless he’s Houdini.”
“So it was you who dropped the chain?” He nods, too busy setting his escape-proof trap to do anything else. “Are these the same pasties that were in the casket the first time?”
“I haven’t had time to look.” He grabs a handful of chain and tugs. The casket rocks but the shackles remain in place. “That ought to take care of our problems with vanishing corpses and unwanted going-away gifts.”
Then he puts his arm around me, leads me upstairs, and seats me in a rocking chair before he checks on the first set of red pasties. They are still in his bureau drawer.
“I can understand Bubbles’ killer putting Dr. Laton back. But if it’s one of the Latons, why on earth would they keep putting red pasties in the casket?”