Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble (6 page)

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Authors: Peggy Webb

BOOK: Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble
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It’s Fayrene, standing in the hallway in a zucchini-colored bathrobe with her hair twisted in lettuce green foam curlers and covered with a hairnet the color of seasickness. Any other time I’d offer beauty advice. But between the sight of all that green and my worry about Lovie and Elvis, I’ve lost my desire to tell her that those rubber rollers are going to put tacky kinks in her hair and make her look old.
Before I can say
come in,
Fayrene brushes past me and plops into the chair beside Rocky. Belatedly, I think how unusual it is for her to be gadding about in her bathrobe. She has a green outfit for every occasion, and she’s usually meticulous about the way she dresses.
“If you’ve got any vodka in that wet bar, you might as well get it out. You’re going to need it.”
“Holy cow, Fayrene. What’s wrong now?”
“Lovie’s been hijacked.”
Rocky looks puzzled. “Do you mean kidnapped?”
“That’s what I said.”
“How do you know?”
I was just about to ask the same question, though I could tell Rocky that Fayrene is the first one in the know when there’s breaking news.
“While Ruby Nell was getting her beauty sleep, I decided to go downstairs and conduct my own little infestation. And you’ll never guess what I found out over the monumental breakfast.”
Rocky is looking slightly shell-shocked. I don’t have time to interpret
investigation
and
continental.
“If she was kidnapped, time is important,” I tell her.
She gets up and takes her time pouring a cup of coffee. Next to Mama, Fayrene is the biggest drama queen I know. Only my deeply ingrained Southern manners and my natural good nature keep me from screaming and snatching her bald-headed.
Rocky seems to be relying on the same combination of social graces.
“There was a woman from Arkansas picking over the crèmefilled doughnuts. She toured Tulum late yesterday afternoon, and remembers seeing a woman who fits Lovie’s description on the ferry going over.”
“Lovie never arrived,” Rocky says.
“If you’ll hold onto your socks, I’m getting to that part. The woman said that when Lovie left the ferry, she was being absconded by a man.”
“Escorted?” Rocky pulls one ear like his hearing is going bad.
“That’s what I said.”
“Did she describe him?” I ask.
“She said she was so busy wondering why Lovie was wearing nothing but a swimsuit with a cover-up, she couldn’t remember the man.”
“Was Elvis with them?”
“I asked, but the woman said she thought he was dead.”
I think I’m going to scream. “Did you tell her Elvis is a basset hound?”
“No. I thought everybody knew Elvis.”
I need to talk to this woman. “What was her name, Fayrene?”
“Lula. No, Lola. Wait a minute. It was Lulu. Lulu Farkle.”
I’d ask if Lulu was any relation to Lovie’s old boyfriend, Alvin, but I don’t want to upset Rocky any more than he already is. He’s taking all this news very hard.
There’s only one cup of coffee left, and I pour it for him.
“Lovie knows how to take care of herself.” I guess I’m trying to reassure both of us. “Besides, she’s been gone little more than twelve hours. It’s too soon to panic.”
Nobody in this room believes my bald-faced lie. Least of all, me. I walk over to the nightstand, pick up my cell phone, and hit number three on my speed dial.
One ring, and Uncle Charlie is on the line.
“Rocky is here, Uncle Charlie. We need to talk.”
Within fifteen minutes Uncle Charlie and Mama are in my room, and all of us are discussing the latest developments.
Who coaxed Lovie off the beach and why? And where is Elvis?
Elvis’ Opinion #4 on Kidnapped, Hoodwinked, and Hoodooed
B
y now Callie is worried sick about me, and all the Valentines will be wondering what has happened to Lovie. If I could leave and get back on that ferry to Cozumel, I could tell them a thing or two. But I’m dealing with a life-and-death situation here.
While Lovie was passed out, she got blindfolded and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and I’m hunkered down outside the primitive jungle shack where she’s being held. Listen, this place is not fit for a mole, let alone the national treasure and a dog of my exalted status.
If this were one of my many movies, I’d race inside with all my hackles up and snatch Lovie from the jaws of death, but I know better. Only “Fools Rush In.” Trust me. While Lovie’s coming to, I’m watching and waiting for the perfect moment to be the hero that I am.
With my eagle eyes peering through a crack and my mismatched ears on radar, I don’t miss a trick.
“Where are we?” Lovie says to the devil who led her off the boat. She giggles, which means she’s still sloshed and doesn’t have the faintest clue who she’s with or why, let alone the kind of danger we’re in.
The dirty rotten rat who brought her here leans down to make sure her ropes are secure.
Lovie giggles again. “Rocky, is that you? If you like
kinky,
why didn’t you tell me so? You didn’t have to pull this kidnapping stunt.”
Well, bless’a my soul. This is worse than I thought. She is not only clueless about the danger she’s in, but she thinks she’s been prepped for fun and games with bondage.
If he messes with her, he’ll have me to answer to. Nobody steals the honor of a Valentine while I’m around. I’ll roll over him like the “Wabash Cannonball”—a great song I rehearsed for a 1974 performance in Vegas but never got around to recording. Too bad. I’d have turned it platinum.
But leaving memory lane and back to the disaster at hand—I’d go into that primitive shack right now and show that low-down skunk how a dog of my status takes care of business, but that would be jumping the gun. First I’ve got to come up with a plan. It’s one thing to put this dude behind bars and have him singing the “Jailhouse Rock,” but it’s another to make sure Lovie is safe.
Besides, if I tip my hand now, I’m liable to end up crooning “Release Me.”
This is no small man we’re dealing with. He’s got the build of somebody who lifts weights and could bench-press Texas.
Fortunately, I don’t have to resort to fisticuffs. In addition to being so famous I had to take the service elevator after my shows to keep from being mobbed by fans, I’m a superior dogdetective. If I could evade fans in my other life as a worldfamous entertainer and catch killers right and left in this one as a famous man reincarnated in a dog suit, I can certainly outsmart this dude.
Fortunately the captor is not interested in bondage. While Lovie’s still trying to get his mojo working, he’s rummaging in her purse, stealing her cell phone so she can’t call for help. Not that she’s in any shape to. Plus, he’s taking her driver’s license and credit cards so she can’t be identified.
“Rocky, answer me.” Lovie struggles upright on her cot. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Lie down and shut up.”
For a minute she goes still, and then she bucks around and tries to kick him right where it hurts most. She would have, too, if he hadn’t sidestepped and if she weren’t bound tighter than a mummy.
The big snake puts Lovie’s possessions into his pocket, then slithers out the door, leaving her to moan “A Mess of Blues.”
And I’m not talking about a song that in my other life as a musical icon in a sequined jumpsuit I turned into gold.
I scuttle behind some bushes till the mean dude is out of sight. After he vanishes into the thick jungle growth, Lovie and I are left with nothing for company except a few noisy parrots and obnoxious monkeys.
Forget that parrots can say,
Polly wants a cracker,
and monkeys can do a few tricks. I’d be in “Heartbreak Hotel” if I had to count on them for help.
It’s up to me to save the day.
Chapter 6
Bad Boy, Bad Wind, and Big Trouble
I
t’s barely the crack of nine and everybody is still gathered in my bedroom having a summit conference over Lovie. Fayrene keeps repeating her discoveries over the “monumental” breakfast and talking about hijacking, Rocky’s getting more agitated by the minute, and I’m about to fall to pieces in my bathrobe with my hair uncombed.
Mama is the only one keeping her cool.
“I think we’re all jumping the gun. Lovie and Elvis haven’t even been gone twenty-four hours. Any minute I expect her to walk through that door and laugh at all of us.”
Does Mama really believe that, or is she only trying to reassure us? Ordinarily, I view Mama as somebody who puts herself at the center of the universe, but since my conversation with Uncle Charlie at the pier, I’m seeing her in a different light.
Too, there were all those moments during my childhood, after Daddy died, when Mama would swoop into my bedroom where I was moping, grab my hands, drag me into the living room, and start singing, “Side by Side.” Back then I wondered how she could be so cheerful when all I wanted to do was mourn, but now I see her antics were her attempt to make me feel better.
And she did. But now, I’m older and wiser. With the newly found bones of Tulum turning out to be the remains of a longvanished woman, a whole new layer of horrible possibilities has been added to Lovie’s disappearance.
If she’s connected to an old mystery, the big question is why?
If she were here, we’d have our heads together trying to connect the dots. Though Lovie looks and sometimes acts frivolous, that’s a façade. Like Mama, she loves to play for laughs. I’d think that was a common Valentine gene, but I don’t have it.
Maybe I’m too serious. Maybe if I lived more for kicks, I wouldn’t be here in the Yucatan with a missing cousin and a pending divorce. I’d be home with a husband who never left. The biggest things on my mind would be bringing
Vogue
hairstyles to Mooreville and getting pregnant.
Of course, Jack never wanted any children. Which is the root of our problem.
“I’m calling Jack.” Uncle Charlie whips out his cell phone. Is he reading minds now?
I’m torn between relief and dismay. If anybody can find Lovie and Elvis, it’s Jack. Still, the idea of being thrown together with him in the most romantic setting in the world is unnerving. To say the least.
“That’s a great idea, Charlie,” Mama says.
I’d be surprised at her quick turnaround from “let’s not worry” to “let’s call in the troops” if I didn’t know her motive. She wants Jack and me back together. And not because of grandchildren. She thinks he’s my soul mate, and she’ll seize any opportunity to promote reconciliation.
It won’t work. As far as I’m concerned, Jack’s a bad boy blowing in on a bad wind. I plan to stay as far away from him as possible.
As soon as Uncle Charlie’s briefed Jack and is off the phone, Mama asks, “What did Jack say?”
“He’s on his way.” That could take awhile. For all we know, Jack’s in China. “He’ll be here in forty-five minutes.”
“Forty-five minutes! Where is he?”
“He happens to be on a little holiday down here.” Uncle Charlie gives me a warning look. Belatedly, I remember that neither Fayrene nor Mama knows Jack’s true profession.
“That figures.” I try for nonchalance, but anybody with an eye for a lie would catch me. “He’d view the Yucatan as a huge playground.”
“He would not,” Mama says. “Personally, I feel better knowing he’s coming.”
Leave it to her to defend Jack. Though to be honest, he never did act like a playboy—if you don’t count that big Harley Screamin’ Eagle with the heated seats. Now there’s a toy for a player if I ever saw one.
“Now, dear hearts, let’s keep to the matter at hand. If anybody can find Lovie, it’s Jack.”
“Why Jack?” Rocky’s question is valid. “Why not a private eye?”
If you didn’t know Jack’s profession—and nobody here does except Uncle Charlie and me—why would you think he’d be the one to solve the mystery?
“He did a brief stint at the police academy before he became an international business consultant,” Uncle Charlie says.
Jack never spent one day of his life at the police academy. But, considering that Uncle Charlie used to work for The Company and is the chief reason Jack’s with them, his pokerfaced obfuscation is no big surprise. Nor is the fact that Uncle Charlie can reach Jack when no one else can. Not even a wife. Or an almost ex-wife. Apparently, once a Company operative, always a Company operative. They must have some kind of secret code.
I don’t even want to know. Or maybe I
do
want to know, and that’s part of the problem. Once again, where Jack’s concerned, I’m sitting squarely in the middle of ambiguity.
Uncle Charlie suggests everybody meet in an hour at the Turquesa. Apparently, he sensed my growing agitation, and thank goodness he didn’t say the NoMoHeHaHo, which I couldn’t find again, even if I’d dropped breadcrumbs. The Turquesa is poolside and has a huge breakfast buffet until eleven o’clock.
Everybody leaves my room except Uncle Charlie. Not a good sign. Something else is on his mind. As the level head in the Valentine bunch, I’m usually the one he confides in.
“You think Lovie is tied in with the bones my dog found?”
“I don’t have enough information to make that call, but, yes, I do. I don’t believe in coincidence.”
“Neither do I.” Just the opposite. I’m always looking for signs and wonders to help me steer my leaky boat through life’s choppy waters without wrecking on a reef or capsizing and being eaten by sharks. “Do you think Fayrene’s conversation with Lulu Farkle is tied into Lovie’s disappearance? Alvin Farkle was crazy about her.”
“But surely not crazy enough to kidnap her. Let’s wait till Jack gets here before we make that call. He’ll have more information.”
“How?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, dear heart. You must trust me. And him.” Uncle Charlie hugs me and kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find Lovie and Elvis. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit.”
After he leaves, I head straight to the shower. I’d love to take a long soak, but knowing Jack, he’ll come barging in here any minute. Never mind that everybody else is waiting for him downstairs.
I don’t recommend bathing while glancing over your shoulder. By the time I finish, there’s a kink in my neck that I’m sure is going to take a big application of Biofreeze to get out and maybe even a heating pad.
I grab a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt, then slide my feet into a pair of Keds. These last few months—plus a few broken heels on some of my favorite shoes—have taught me that sleuthing and glamour don’t mix.
Thank goodness, my hair is the good kind that requires nothing except a shake of my head and a quick run-through with the brush. A definite plus for an enterprising woman who makes a living steering others toward beauty.
Also a plus if you’re trying to hurry out of your hotel bedroom before your over-the-top sexy almost-ex waylays you.
I find my way poolside with only one unplanned detour—to the “monumental” breakfast room where a group of undertakers wearing nametags with every state from Florida to Maine are hogging the doughnuts. One of them says, “It’s about time you got here, Sylvia.” Then he pinches me. Hard.
I’m happy to tell him I’m not Sylvia. As I leave, I jab a sharp elbow into my pincher’s gut, then put a bunch of magnolias and molasses into my drawl as I apologize for being so clumsy. Whoever Sylvia is, she could take lessons from me.
Retracing my steps and heading in the right direction—I hope—I rub my hip. The pinch is sure to leave a bruise. Even more reason to keep out of Jack’s reach. He has a list of faults a mile long, but he’s the world’s best protector. If he saw that bruise, he’d go looking for trouble.
By the time I get poolside, everybody else is there, including Jack. Spotting the back of his head—and all that dark, always-mussed hair—I wait till I can get my breathing back to normal before I join them.
Unfortunately, the only empty chair is beside him. Mama’s machinations, no doubt. Or Jack’s. When it comes to sneaky tactics, those two have cornered the market.
I slip into my chair. Without even looking at me, Jack puts his hand on my knee and says, “Cal,” then continues telling the rest of the gang that he is heading to Tulum because he has reason to believe Lovie’s being held somewhere near there.
“Then you think she’s alive?” Rocky asks.
“If this is a kidnapping, and I believe it is, I always go into the search with the assumption the victim is alive.”
The victim.
I’m glad Jack’s hand is still on my knee. I’d like to hide underneath it. I’d like to wrap myself in him and go to sleep and not wake up until Lovie prances in saying,
Get up lazybones, let’s eat chocolate, let’s party, let’s get wicked.
“We can use my men for the search.” Rocky whips out his cell phone. “I’ll call Seth and get him started.”
“Wait.” Jack lifts his hand from my knee. But only briefly, thank goodness. “The last thing we want is to have everybody thrashing through the jungle spooking the kidnapper.”
“Why?” Fayrene pipes up. “I’d think a spoofed hijacker would hightail it.”
“Jack knows what he’s doing.” Mama is getting hot under the collar, Rocky looks ill, and Jack bites back a chuckle. Only Uncle Charlie remains unflappable.
“Jack and I will go back to Tulum with Rocky. Callie, you can stay here to hold down the fort with Ruby Nell and Fayrene.”
“Charlie Valentine,” Mama says, “since when do you think I’m going to let you go off looking for my niece without me?”
“If Ruby Nell is going, so am I. After all, I’m the one who found out about the gentleman with Lovie on the ferry,” says Fayrene.
“Fayrene, he was no gentleman,” I say. “Besides, my dog is missing, too. He needs me.”
“Elvis?” Jack’s black-eyed stare makes me squirm. For more reasons than I’m fixing to talk about. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d lost my dog?”
“He’s not yours. If you care to remember, you’re the one who left.”
“All right, dear hearts. We’ll all go to Tulum.”
Jack stands up. “That’s probably best. That way I can keep an eye on everybody.”
He’s looking straight at me when he says that. I don’t know whether to slap him or kiss him.
As it turns out, I don’t get to do either. Jack, Rocky, and Uncle Charlie hurry off to interview anybody on the island who might have seen Lovie and Elvis, leaving me to keep Mama and Fayrene out of trouble.
Famous last words.

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