Read Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble Online

Authors: Peggy Webb

Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble (3 page)

Holy cow! This trip has disaster written all over it. When it comes to a choice between taking care of business in Mooreville and preventing Lovie from implementing Mama’s seduction strategy in the Yucatan, there’s no contest.
“I’ll be there, Lovie.”
My dog prances by, looking miffed. I swear, he acts like he thinks I ought to buy him a ticket, too. Which is perfectly ridiculous.
On the other hand, Tulum is filled with the bones of antiquity. And Elvis loves old bones.
Chapter 2
Suitcases, Studs, and Traveling Dogs
M
ama is the last customer to leave the shop. She exits with raven hair—which I have to say looks good on her, thanks to yours truly—and more than half my shoe budget. The minute she jumps into her convertible for the short drive to her farm, I set about preparing for my departure to tropical climes.
Leaving home for a few days is not as easy as it sounds. First, I have to reschedule my hair appointments. Next, I explain to Darlene that my customers like to congregate at Hair.Net, whether they have an appointment or not.
“They love to just lounge around on my pink vinyl loveseats and discuss the latest doings in Mooreville.”
“In other words, gossip.”
I can tell by Darlene’s face and tone of voice she’s not being mean. If she was, I just wouldn’t leave her in charge. Period.
“Around here we consider it selfish not to share the news.” I motion Darlene to follow me into the break room where I open the refrigerator door and point out a big pitcher of punch. “This is Lovie’s Prohibition Punch. The recipe is tacked to the wall by the sink. Make sure the pitcher is filled at all times. My customers like to refresh themselves when they come here.”
Darlene leans over the pitcher and takes a whiff. “In other words, drink.”
I’m beginning to think she has a droll sense of humor.
“Let’s just say they like to get happy. While I’m gone, continue to be your cheerful self and make everybody welcome.”
“I can do that with one hand tied behind my back.”
Darlene’s a chip off her mama’s block. Next to Mama, Fayrene is the bossiest, most take-charge woman I know.
Still, I’ve never left Hair.Net in anybody else’s hands. I’ve always just shut down the shop when I’m leaving town.
The thought of not being here to personally handle every little thing makes me want to pour myself a big glass of Prohibition Punch. Plus, between Mama’s loan and Lovie’s crusade to discover and rev up Rocky’s libido, this has turned out to be a stressful day. I’m reaching for two glasses, one for me, one for Darlene, when my cell phone rings.
It’s Jack.
“Callie, I’m coming by to see you.” Since when has my almost-ex ever issued a warning? This must be serious. “Are you at the shop?”
I can picture it now. Jack roaring up on his Harley making me go limp in front of my newly hired manicurist.
“I’m just leaving,” I tell him.
“I’ll see you at the house, then.”
Thank goodness, he no longer has a key. I’ve had the locks changed. Still, a little thing like that never stopped Jack Jones.
Darlene leaves with David and William while I make sure everything is shipshape at the shop. Satisfied, I snap on Elvis’ leash, and then lock up and head home. Which just happens to be only three minutes away.
My house is the most charming in all of Lee County; I don’t care if I do say so myself. It’s a white clapboard cottage with wraparound front porch. My inviting front porch alone makes the house worth its price—old brick floors, rocking chairs, chrysanthemums in fall colors blooming in pots all over the place. And, best of all, a porch swing screams
sit a spell, relax.
Who should be sitting there but Jack Jones. Elvis runs over for a huge portion of petting, then races into the back yard to terrorize the cats and poor, gullible Hoyt, my cocker spaniel rescue. Jack just sits there watching me.
If I told you what the swing was screaming now, I’d be blushing down to the tips of my red Jimmy Choo stilettos.
“Do those rosy cheeks mean you’re glad to see me?”
Well, shoot. It looks like I’ve got a long way to go before I can make
no
my middle name.
“For your information, my flush has nothing to do with you. If you’ll care to remember, Friday is my big day at Hair.Net. I’ve been working hard. That’s all.”
Jack moves—swift, silent, and deadly as his code name (Black Panther, which I only found out a few weeks ago in Memphis). One minute he’s on the swing, the next he’s standing so close you couldn’t get a straw between us.
“I wish you’d quit looking at me like that.”
His grin is positively wicked. “Like what?”
“You know.” I back toward the front door. “Since you’re here, you might as well come in and have something cool to drink.”
He follows me inside where I discover my lemonade half gone and a glass on the table that I know good and well I didn’t leave there. I’m a neat person, and never leave my house with the china out of place.
I’m not even going to ask how he got in. Instead, I pour myself a glass without even offering one to him.
I wish I could act cool and collected, but I reckon I’m the kind of woman who lets every little emotion show. Currently, my chief one is a Titanic-size ambivalence.
While I gulp down my drink, Jack stands in the doorway and watches my throat work. Finally, I finish my drink and hold the cool, damp glass against my hot cheek.
He stalks over, takes the glass, then puts his hand over the damp spot I’ve left on my cheek.
“Cal . . .” I wish he wouldn’t call me that. It makes me want to light candles, then climb into a big bubble bath. With him. “I know I promised to sign the divorce papers . . .”
“Don’t you dare tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
“Are you that anxious to hook up with Luke Champion?”
“What I do or do not do with Champ is none of your business.”
“Do not do?
That’s an interesting choice of words.”
I don’t know whether to show him the door or show him the bed. That’s how crazy Jack Jones makes me.
“For your information, Champ wants to give me an engagement ring.”
“And you’ve said no.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You also didn’t say, ‘he’s giving me a ring’ or ‘I’m getting engaged.’”
I turn my back to him, march over to the sink, and start washing the glasses. Two is so much cozier than one. Two glasses on the table, two toothbrushes in the bathroom, two heads on the pillow.
Jack comes up behind me, and I just stand there with my hands wrapped around his glass, hoping he doesn’t touch me.
“Cal. I didn’t come to fight.” Thank goodness, he’s not touching.
“Why did you come?”
“To tell you I’m leaving tonight. Company business.”
There’s no need to ask where. He won’t tell. The Company won’t let him tell. I guess not knowing is a good thing. When we were still living under the same roof, I used to lie awake at night wondering where he was and what he was doing.
Now that I’ve found out he works undercover, is considered one of The Company’s most lethal operatives, and nobody who knows the particulars of what he’s doing is safe, I still lie awake at night. But now, I’m no longer wondering where he is or what he’s doing: I’m wondering if he’ll come back home alive or in a body bag.
I turn around to face him. “So you’re not signing the divorce papers?”
“I will when I get back, Cal.”
“Promise me, Jack.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He grins like it’s all a big joke, then leans down, kisses my cheek, and walks out the door.
I’m still standing at the sink when Elvis sashays through the doggie door. He comes up and presses his cool nose against my legs. It’s almost as if he’s sniffing out my internal landscape, trying to determine whether to thump his tail and look cute and happy or to press his chunky, warm body against me and offer comfort.
I sit cross-legged on the floor and cuddle his big, square head onto my lap.
“I guess you know your daddy stayed for a while.” He licks my hands. “I’m surprised you didn’t come back inside to visit.”
Elvis gives me his knowing look, the one that says,
Are you kidding? I know when to leave two people alone.
“Okay. I get it. You’re on Jack’s side. But you’ll have to agree, Champ’s a really nice guy.”
Most folks would consider talking to a dog to be a sign of something. I don’t know what. Probably something unflattering. But dogs are much more highly evolved than you’d think.
When I get off the floor and head upstairs to pack, Elvis trots right along with me. I don’t even have to tell him I’ve decided to take him to the Yucatan. When I drag my bag out of the closet and open it on the floor, Elvis prances over to his toy basket and comes back to drop his favorite chew toy into the suitcase. It’s a bedraggled pink dinosaur with both eyes and most of its stuffing missing.
Maybe it’s his alter ego. Maybe when Elvis is not dreaming he’s the reincarnated King of Rock ’n’ Roll, he’s dreaming he’s a giant brontosaurus that once ruled the earth.
“Listen, Elvis. I know this trip seems hasty, and the tickets will cost me at least four good pairs of designer shoes, but I need some time away to think.”
I don’t have to tell him what I’m thinking. He knows. When he leans against my legs, it’s almost like he’s saying, I love you no matter who you choose to be my human daddy.
Elvis’ Opinion #2 on Old Bones, New Bones, and ’Dem Bones
F
or a King used to traveling on his own private jet (the Lisa Marie or Hound Dog II), the flight to the Yucatan was a nightmare akin to bad-movie-review hell. As if starving to death (flying does that to you) and having a bag of stale peanuts tossed at you was not insult enough, try asking for something to wet your whistle. I requested something substantial like Lovie’s Prohibition Punch. Instead, the flight attendant brought me a plastic dish of tepid water. It was enough to make me stand up on my lumpy, uncomfortable seat and howl “Treat Me Nice.”
I’d have still been howling if Callie hadn’t told me I’d have to ride home in the cargo section if I didn’t behave myself. If she keeps that up, I’m riding home on the plane with Charlie, Ruby Nell, and Fayrene. (They were on the red-eye that was scheduled to arrive in the Yucatan early this morning.)
Listen, it’s a pure relief to set my paws on terra firma and be greeted by Lovie. Now there’s a woman after my own heart. Fun is her middle name. She’s decked out in black boots with killer heels, a blouse that shows everything she’s got—which is plenty, believe me—and enough bangle bracelets to set off every metal detector in the airport.
“I can’t wait to show you Rocky’s dig.” While Lovie holds forth on the romantic potential of Tulum, I hum “What Every Woman Lives For,” one of my early hits from 1965.
Now that was the year to fly. Food galore on the plane and your whole family lined up at your gate to make you feel special. These days, it takes an act of God to get through security, and once you do, you feel like you’ve entered a ghost town filled with robots, everybody hurrying along with briefcases and carry-ons, nobody speaking to anybody else. It’s just weird. Makes me long for the old days when a dog was welcome anywhere and could pee on his neighbor’s bush without starting a lawsuit.
To get to Tulum, we take a wild taxi ride, then a terrifying journey on the ferry that makes me think I’m going to end up on a Robinson Crusoe adventure, abandoned without silk pillow and Pup-Peroni.
If I ever get off this ferry alive, I’m fixing to start my own archeological dig. Rocky Malone might think he has the corner on unearthing old bones, but he’s never seen yours truly in action.
Listen, there’s nothing that can comfort a dog like pawing up a good section of dirt and uncovering a good, well-seasoned bone. I don’t care if it’s an almost-new steak bone or an old ham hock. Just give me some space, let me hum a few bars of “’Dem Bones,” and then stand back and prepare to be amazed.
Chapter 3
Ancient Ruins, Buried Secrets, and Murder
I
can see why Lovie calls Tulum “the most romantic spot in the world.” High on a cliff, the ruins of the ancient Mayan city overlook the blue-green waters of the Caribbean. Though the structures are squat and unimposing, they are presided over by impressive figures of great winged gods.
Rocky, looking like a dusty, oversized version of Harrison Ford in
Raiders of the Lost Ark,
greets us with bear hugs. Smart man that he is, he has opted for a canvas hat to fend off the beating-down sun instead of Ford’s felt fedora.
“Callie, welcome to Tulum.” He hangs a possessive arm across Lovie’s shoulders.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he’s crazy about her. I wish she’d forget her Holy Grail and be thankful for what she has. The first chance I get, I’m going to tell her so.
“Let’s stow your luggage and then give you the grand tour.” Rocky takes my suitcase and leads me to a small stucco guest cottage on the perimeter of the ancient Mayan ruins.
Inside, he introduces me to Juanita, the housekeeper, who barely looks up from her dusting. A pretty, plump woman I’d guess to be about thirty, she seems extraordinarily shy. I’m going to enjoy getting to know her so she’ll be more comfortable around me.
We leave the cottage, and Rocky, still with one arm around Lovie, takes my elbow. “Watch your step. Lots of loose rocks around here.”
“Where are Mama and the rest of the gang?”
“They’re already exploring.” Lovie winks at me. “Fayrene wanted to see the female
difinities.
”
Rocky roars with laughter. “Fayrene has her own unique way with words. It took me awhile to catch on that she meant divinities.”
“Around Mooreville, we call it
Fayrenese.
To her, a divinity is a candy.” I glance at poor Elvis, who seems miserable on his leash. “Is it all right if I turn him loose and let him run a bit? He’s been cramped up a long time.”
“Sure. Let me call Seth to keep an eye on him.” Rocky motions for a young man, as tall and robust as Rocky himself, probably in his late twenties with longish blond hair, then introduces him as Bennett Seth Alford, his second-in-command.
Alford grins when Rocky says, “This is Elvis. Give him some freedom, but make sure he stays out of the roped-off sites.”
“You’ve got it, Rocky.”
I instantly like Seth. He has a quick smile and an easy stride that makes you want to pat him on the head, take him home, and invite him to stay for a chicken and dumpling dinner. With his blond good looks and easy manner, he reminds me a bit of Champ.
“Be careful,” I tell him. “Elvis is an escape artist.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle him.” Seth takes the leash and walks off whistling. Elvis surprises me by putting his hackles up. Usually, he makes friends with everybody. He’s probably out of sorts over the plane ride.
I follow Rocky and Lovie to the Temple of the Frescoes. While Rocky is pointing out the inset panels over the doorways, Uncle Charlie emerges with Mama and Fayrene.
“I’m glad you made it, dear heart.” Uncle Charlie gathers me in a paternal hug. “How was the trip?”
“Great.” No use telling the unvarnished truth, that I thought the bumpy plane ride was going to dislocate my uterus and totally derail my long-range plans for giving birth. Uncle Charlie worries if anybody in the Valentine family is not happy and well situated.
I always feel better in his company. He’s Daddy’s only brother, and has been a father to me since I was ten years old—the year my daddy went on to glory land, as folks around Mooreville like to say. Which is nice, when you think about it. The old-fashioned euphemism somehow takes the sting out of death.
“Did you see the driving gods?” Fayrene is in her element, with a green Panama hat to match her cabbage-colored Bermuda shorts and shirt. I mean that in the nicest way. I like cabbage. If it’s prepared right.
“The Mayans didn’t have cars, Fayrene,” Mama says. In a nod to the rocky terrain, she has opted out of her usual rainbow of caftans in favor of denim walking shorts and a fireengine red tee shirt that I’ll have to say sets off her newly brunette look. She reminds me of a seasoned version of one of the glamorous classic movie stars. “Charlie said they’re
diving
gods.”
“That doesn’t make a lick of sense, Ruby Nell. Just look at the size of those cliffs.” Fayrene adjusts her hat. Miffed. “You’d have to be a stark raving lunatic to dive around here. You’d break your neck.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of cliff divers, Fayrene? I’ll bet you haven’t even opened your guide book.”
“I resemble that remark, Ruby Nell. If I’d needed a lecture, I’d have stayed at home with Jarvetis.”
“Now, now, dear hearts.”
Mama totally ignores Uncle Charlie. She hates to be told what to do. And she won’t let a subject drop.
“When I travel to foreign soil, I always try to learn about the culture. I’ve read my guide book from cover to cover.”
“What do you want from me, Ruby Nell? A standing ovulation?”
Rocky’s going to wish he’d never invited the Valentines to his dig. I’m about to have a heart attack, but Lovie’s eyes are brimming with her effort to hold back laughter.
“I’m fixing to wet my pants.” Ordinarily, Lovie would have said pee, but it looks like she’s cleaning up her language in deference to her gentleman lover-to-be. “And I think I’m already having a standing ovulation.”
I wish she wouldn’t encourage Fayrene and Mama. If I had a violent bone in my body, I’d snatch her bald-headed.
Suddenly Fayrene screams. I move to stand in front of Mama in case it’s a prelude to some kind of primitive catfight. Or she has spotted a jungle snake.
Instead, Fayrene points behind me. “That basket hound’s toting human remains.”
She faints dead away. While Mama and Uncle Charlie bend over to revive her, I whirl around to see Elvis prancing toward me with a huge bone in his mouth.
“Holy cow!” If Elvis has destroyed Rocky’s archeological site, there goes my welcome.
Bennett Seth Alford is nowhere in sight. So much for watching my dog.
I squat so I can look Elvis straight in the eyes. “Come here, boy.”
Instead of obeying, Elvis turns and races toward some old crumbling building that’s probably going to cave in any minute and bury him alive. Tulum suddenly loses its glamour.
“Usually he drops anything in his mouth at my feet.” Here I am, apologizing for my dog. “Of course, I don’t have any treats in my pocket.”
Rocky and Uncle Charlie don’t hear me. They’re already racing off to catch the culprit. The only good thing I can say about this situation is that it broke up a brewing argument between Fayrene and Mama.
What has gotten into them? They might spar a bit, but I’ve never seen them go this far.
“Lovie, how much Prohibition Punch did Fayrene and Mama have?”
No need to ask if she made any. No matter where Lovie is, she always makes a batch of the punch she calls “the sure cure of everything.”
“They wanted to try the tequila.”
“Did you forget how Mama acts when she’s had tequila? One little drink turns her belligerent.”
“Loosen up, Callie. You’re in a tropical paradise.”
“I’m reserving judgment.”
Uncle Charlie returns with Elvis in tow. And right behind him is Rocky, holding onto my dog’s prize bone.
“Somebody’s going to have to explain this.” Rocky holds the bone out for Uncle Charlie’s inspection. “Take a look at this femur.”
Uncle Charlie takes his time inspecting the bone, and then hands it back to Rocky. “It’s too big to be Mayan.”
“That’s just it, Charlie.” Rocky examines the bone more closely. “On a cursory examination, I’d say it’s no more than thirty years old.”
Relief washes over me. “You mean my dog didn’t mess up your dig?”
Rocky pats my shoulder. “Your dog did no harm to the site, Callie. On the other hand, how do you explain this bone?”
“Looks like murder’s afoot among the ruins,” Mama says, coming over to inspect the bone.
“You don’t know that, Mama.”
“Did you say murder?” Fayrene, still looking a mite peaked, wobbles over to gander at the bone. “Somebody call the highway control.”
Uncle Charlie’s already talking on his cell phone to the Mexican authorities.
Listen, I don’t care if my dog did dig up the bone. I’m staying as far away from this case as I can get. I’ve had it with murder. All I want is some peace and quiet and a future baby girl with my dark eyes and Champ’s blond hair.
Or black.
Why does Jack always have to ruin my dreams? I’m standing here firmly trying to put him out of my mind when the authorities arrive and drag me right into the middle of the case.
“Señorita, would you mind letting your dog lead us to the site where he found the bone?”
“It’s all right, dear heart. I’ll take the rest of the ladies inside.”
I watch with envy as Uncle Charlie leads Mama, Fayrene, and Lovie into the main cottage, a cool-looking stucco structure where I’m sure Lovie will break out a big pitcher of Prohibition Punch and they’ll all sit around retelling this story until it loses its terror and becomes something they can manage, something with a bizarre twist of humor, maybe even something they’ll tell next month around the Thanksgiving dinner table.
Laughter through tears: it’s the Southern way.
Thank goodness, Rocky stays behind. Having him present is like hiding in the lee of the Rock of Gibraltar.
He pats my shoulder. “I’m right here, Callie.”
“Thanks.” I kneel beside my dog and rub his ears to let him know finding the new bone is not his fault. “Okay, boy. Show me where you found the bone.”
He gives me this basset hound look that says,
You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve done my job, let them do theirs.
“Come on, boy, you can do it. Please. For me.”
One of the authorities, a tall man in a tight uniform and a hat that’s too small for his big head, rolls his eyes. I’d like to tighten his hatband a notch. That would teach him to disrespect the bond between a good basset and his human mom.
With further coaxing, Elvis finally leads us to a remote spot near the edge of the jungle, far away from the dig. It’s creepy here. And the sinking sun doesn’t help matters. It’s a wonder a big snake didn’t pop out of that dangerous-looking jungle growth and swallow my dog whole. Even if he is getting a mite portly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Seth coming toward us through the dusk. His color is high and he has the good grace to look apologetic.
“I’m sorry. The dog got away and I couldn’t find him.”
“That’s okay, Seth.” Apparently, Rocky is the kind of man who reassures everybody. A wonderful trait in a lover. Or a husband. I make a mental note to tell Lovie.
If I can ever separate myself from murder.
“Is it okay if I go now?”
The man in the too-tight hat nods, and Rocky says, “Do you want me to escort you back, Callie?”
“No, thanks. You stay here. I have Elvis.”
When I get back to the cottage, everybody starts talking at once. I sink into a rattan chair and the comfort of familiar voices and beloved faces, grateful that the investigation afoot has nothing to do with me.
Dinner is served alfresco by a tall, skinny woman Rocky introduces as Rosita, Juanita’s twin. They’re nothing alike. While Juanita is all curves, Rosita is all sharp bones with a face like a hatchet. And she’s so taciturn, she won’t even answer when you ask her a direct question.
Where did Rocky find this woman? She gives me the creeps.
It’s a relief when the long day finally ends and I can head toward my bedroom.
The Mexican authorities have taken the femur as well as the rest of the human remains they dug up, Uncle Charlie is out for an evening stroll with Mama, and Fayrene is on the phone with Jarvetis.

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