Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble (4 page)

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Authors: Peggy Webb

BOOK: Elvis and the Tropical Double Trouble
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“The bone was as big as my leg, hon, and the head honcho heading up this infestation looked like General Cluster.”
For once, Fayrene hit the nail on the head.
Infestation
is exactly how this entire investigative mess feels. Though how Fayrene has a clue about General Custer’s looks is beyond me.
I wave good night, then proceed down a narrow, tiled hallway to my room. Tomorrow I’m sure Fayrene’s version of
Murder Among the Ruins
will be all over Mooreville’s grapevine.
I could be sad that I don’t have anybody to call but I pride myself on being independent. To tell the truth, though, I do have somebody, but if I call Champ, he’ll worry and want to hop on the next plane. Part of the reason I’m down here is so I can do some heavy thinking about having a future with him.
When I push open the door to my bedroom, I startle Juanita.
“Sorry, señorita.” She blushes. “I was doing the dusting.”
Before I can say
thank you
, she scuttles out.
“That’s strange,” I say, and Elvis thumps his tail in agreement. “She was dusting when I met her hours ago. How long does it take to dust?”
My dog’s grisly discovery has me spooked. I’ll feel better after I’ve showered and put on my pajamas. There’s something about the end of the day that always soothes me.
Grabbing my toiletries and pajamas, I head across the hall, take a long soak, then return to my guest room. It’s little more than a cubicle with tiled floors, sparsely furnished with a bed, a nightstand, and a slatted wooden bench with three hooks for my clothes. Somehow this minimalism comforts me. Nothing excessive to clutter the mind.
“Good night, Elvis.”
He’s already sprawled on his pink satin doggie pillow. Call me silly, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him having to sleep on a bare floor so I packed his pillow. Loyal companions deserve the best.
He thumps his tail and makes a series of grunts, dog speak for
I love you.
At least I tell myself that’s what he’s saying. Listen, I know he’s only a dog, but one thing I can be sure of: he’ll never leave me for a Harley. Or for any other reason.
The moon coming through my window is gorgeous, but even the lure of a romantic Mayan moon can’t entice me out of this bed.
“Callie?” I nearly jump through the ceiling. Lovie’s standing in my doorway in a nightgown that would barely cover a sneeze. “Are you awake?”
“I am now.”
“Good.” She switches on the light, and plops onto my bed. “I need to talk.”
“Good grief, Lovie. You walked across the compound like that? Why didn’t you put on some clothes?”
“I want to be ready when Rocky comes back.”
“Where is he?”
“Off with that awful old man who guards the digs. Morgan something or other. They found some ancient pottery pieces today.” She says a word shocking enough to cause earth tremors. “I wish he’d get that excited about my piece.”
“Good grief, Lovie.”
“Well, I do.”
“Give him time. He strikes me as the kind of man who likes to move slowly.”
“I’d prefer not to be in a wheelchair and Depends when he finally locates my Holy Grail.”
“Forget about your Holy Grail. Just enjoy getting to know him.”
“That’s not what Fayrene and Aunt Ruby Nell told me.”
“What did they tell you?”
“How did you know you were in love with Jack?”
“You’re deliberately changing the subject. That makes me nervous, Lovie.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m not in love with Jack.” I don’t think. Am I? What a disaster.
“You were once. How did you know?”
I wish I could roll over and pull the sheets over my head. But this is my cousin who plies me with chocolate because she thinks I’m too skinny, brings me
I Love Lucy
reruns when she thinks I need to laugh, arms us with tissues and buttered popcorn when I need to cry, and never, ever tells me I’m foolish or cowardly or silly no matter how foolish or cowardly or silly I act.
I get up, take a six-pack of Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses with almonds out of my suitcase, then climb back into bed. Lovie grabs a handful and starts peeling golden wrappers.
“It started with his smile, Lovie. And the way he laughs. And his hands. He has these incredibly beautiful hands, smooth olive skin with curved thumbs. I never tired of touching his thumbs.”
Lovie nods and unwraps more chocolates while I keep talking. No matter how painful it is to remember.
It’s not the easy things you do that make a friendship. It’s the hard ones.
Chapter 4
Sandy Beaches, Small Umbrellas, and Big Problems
T
he next morning I join Mama, Uncle Charlie, and Fayrene in the little courtyard at the back of the main cottage. Though Mama’s looking chipper in a bright yellow tee shirt, and Fayrene’s neon green outfit lights up everything within six feet, I can tell something is amiss. Even Uncle Charlie looks a little flustered.
“What’s wrong?” I pull out my chair, pour myself a big glass of orange juice, and put a flaky looking croissant on my plate. Thank goodness Rosita is nowhere in sight. If there was ever a person who can spoil your appetite, she’s the one.
“Nothing to concern us, dear heart. But I think it best if we leave for Cozumel today. Rocky’s going to be busy trying to carry on his work while the Mexican authorities are here.”
Does Uncle Charlie know something about the bones Elvis discovered that he’s not telling us? That would be highly likely. When we were in the middle of the Bubbles Caper, and even the Elvis impersonator fiasco, I used to wonder how Uncle Charlie could find out important information even before the police. Now I know. He was once an operative in The Company, and he’s the main reason Jack’s there today.
A lesser woman might resent him for that, but this is my Uncle Charlie we’re talking about—the heart, soul, and backbone of the Valentine family, the quiet, steady man who dispenses hugs, great advice, and wisdom couched in quotes from Shakespeare. As far as I’m concerned, he can do no wrong.
“We’ll leave today,” he adds.
“It can’t be soon enough for me.” Lovie marches into the courtyard, snatches up my juice, and drinks it in one gulp.
“Holy cow, Lovie. I’d have poured you some.”
“I’m looking for instant gratification. And Rocky’s too busy digging up old bones to jump mine.”
“Now, now, dear heart. You should stay here and help your nice young fellow.”
“Rocky doesn’t need my help, Daddy. With anything.” Lovie grabs my croissant, and proceeds to eat it like I’m not sitting there with an empty plate.
While I’m serving myself again, Mama, Uncle Charlie, and Fayrene head inside to pack.
“What in the world is wrong with you, Lovie? Uncle Charlie’s right. Rocky needs you.”
“Not enough to find the national treasure.” She helps herself to another croissant. Thankfully not from my plate. “Besides, distance makes the heart grow fonder. I’m going to give him a few days to pine for me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. But who am I to give love advice?”
“Exactly.”
“That was tacky, Lovie.”
“I’m a tacky, shallow person.”
“You’re not. Just impulsive. And headstrong. And bossy.”
She throws her second roll at me. But only after she takes a big bite.
The only good thing I can say about Lovie’s leaving Rocky today is that she won’t have time to implement Mama’s seduction strategy.
 
Our hotel in Cozumel is right on the water, and Lovie heads straight for the beach. I’m torn between going shopping with Mama and Fayrene, who have a hankering to check out the Mexican silver, and chasing after Lovie, who has a penchant for trouble.
Lovie wins. By the time I can get Elvis properly watered and walked, she’s already sprawled in a lounge chair collecting umbrellas. The tiny paper kind that come in those tall drinks that have enough tequila—and no telling what else—to knock out a three hundred pound elephant.
“Lovie, how many of those have you had?”
“Who’s counting? Besides, I’m in mourning.”
“For what?”
“The death of Rocky’s libido.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Lovie.”
“How else would you explain his failure to succumb to the most voluptuous caterer in Mississippi? I’ve a good mind to march back over there and give him a piece of my mind.”
“It’ll be hard to march to Tulum unless you can walk on water.”
“If you’re not careful, you’re going to turn into a smartass like me.”
“If you care to remember, we crossed on the ferry.”
Lovie shades her eyes and sticks out her tongue. “Pull up a chair, Callie. Get a tan. Get a drink. And get another one for me, too.”
“Just one. And then we should walk a bit and see the island. I noticed some really neat shops down at the pier. What’s the drink called?”
“Tropical Double Trouble.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
I head to the small beach bar and order two drinks.
“Go light on the tequila,” I say.
The bartender grins, which could mean anything from
okay
to
I don’t understand a word you’re saying
to
forget it.
I think it meant the last one because the drink tastes suspiciously strong.
“Hmmm, good.” Lovie pulls her sunglasses down and peers at me over the rims. “Do you think Rocky’s in love with Juanita?”
“He can’t even look at anybody but you, Lovie. Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because she’s in love with him. You ought to see the way she acts around Rocky. Like some lovesick puppy.” She pats Elvis. “No offense, pal.”
“Even if the maid is in love with him, Rocky’s not a player.”
“Rosita’s in love with him, too. The twin tarts. You ought to see the way they make eyes at him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. The cook? She’s too severe to love herself, let alone Rocky.”
“If they keep on flirting with my man, I’m going to send them back where they came from in tar and feathers.”
“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Lovie.”
“I don’t think you’ve had enough.”
“Maybe you’re right. But no more of that silly talk, please. I want to relax and watch the water.”
By the time I’ve finished my drink, I’m almost too sleepy to stand up and shop for shoes. But the sun has not set, the market is nearby, and I have a deep need to soothe my sagging spirits.
I place my tiny paper umbrella on the table beside Lovie’s collection. She’s already half asleep and Elvis is snoozing beside her chair.
“Lovie, do you mind keeping an eye on Elvis? I think I’ll try to find Fayrene and Mama. And maybe a cute pair of espadrilles.”
“Go on. Relax, enjoy.” She gives me a lazy wave without even opening her eyes.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“If I were any better, they’d have to throw a parade in my honor.”
I pet my dog, tell him to watch after my cousin, then head back across the beach. When I reach the sidewalk, I look back to see Lovie and Elvis right where I left them, snoozing in the sun.
I head toward the market on the pier, but not without the niggling feeling that something is amiss. What, I don’t know. Maybe it’s something back home.
I pull out my cell phone and call Champ.
“Callie, how wonderful to hear your voice. How are you?”
Our connection is surprisingly good. He sounds like he’s around the corner instead of in Mississippi.
“I’m good.” My next thought is to ask about my animals, but shouldn’t I have something more to talk about with Champ than the care and feeding of seven stray cats? Well, they’re not so stray since I gave them names. Still... “How’s the weather back home?”
Oh, great. Now that’s a subject for lovers.
Except we’re not lovers. Yet. Just potential with a capital
P.
“Splendid. I took Hoyt for a romp and six of your Seven Dwarf cats are lolling in the gazebo in the sunshine. Happy is chasing butterflies.”
“She’s so cute.”
“All your pets are healthy, happy, and well adjusted. You’re a good animal mother, Callie.”
“Thanks, Champ. I feel like you’ve given me a mother-ofthe-year award.”
There’s a silence on his end. “You know I want children, Callie. I hope you’ll think about my proposal while you’re gone.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good. I’d like a
yes
when you get back, but I won’t pressure you. I know you still have legal work to finish with Jack.”
I wish he hadn’t mentioned my almost-ex’s name. It’s impossible to think about Jack in the same sentence as a proposal from Luke Champion without feeling like I’m being squeezed in a lemonade press.
“Listen, I have to go, Champ. Lovie’s in charge of Elvis, and I don’t want to leave her too long.”
Which is not exactly a lie.
I hurry along the water’s edge, admiring the huge Carnival cruise ship docked at the pier. The shops are clustered in a small grouping at the end of the long pier so tourists can’t help but spill into the market.
I go into the first shop I find and come out with a little pair of yellow espadrilles that will look great with my favorite sundress. Feeling like a better human being, I meander among the Mexican silver and Mayan masks until I find Uncle Charlie.
As usual, he’s patiently waiting for Mama (and Fayrene, of course). They’re inside a shop that sells everything from faux Mayan pottery to real island tequila, of all things. Naturally, Mama is looking at the tequila.
I sit on a wooden bench outside the store beside Uncle Charlie. “Maybe I ought to go in there and steer Mama toward something else.”
“Let her have her fun. She hasn’t had that much fun since Michael died.”
That’s a new twist for me. I think of Mama’s escapades as nothing but fun. Apparently Uncle Charlie is seeing something I don’t, a deep sense of loss that underlies Mama’s cheerful, zany façade, a lifelong yearning for the man she loved and lost. My father. Michael Valentine. The man I’ve heard her call “the love of my life.”
I lean my head against the cool stucco of the building, gaze across the turquoise waters of the Caribbean, and let myself slide into the deep relaxation that comes from being far away from home. Lovie and Elvis are sleeping on the beach, Mama and Fayrene are in shoppers’ paradise, and Uncle Charlie is content.
What could possibly go wrong?

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