Full Scoop

  “Is it okay if I sleep here for a couple of nights?” she asked Jamie. “On your sofa? And maybe grab a nap on it right now?”

  “Is that a new dress?” Jamie asked.

  Vera frowned and shook her head. “I know she didn’t get it at one of those fire sales because they would have burned that one on purpose.”

  Destiny glanced over her shoulder, turned back to Jamie and pulled off her sunglasses.

  “You’re not wearing makeup!” Jamie said.

  “I’m in disguise.”

  “Freddy Baylor?” she asked.

  “Yeah. He knocked on my door half the night, said he had something very important to talk to me about. I’m hoping he’ll see me like this and move on.”

  “I think you may be right,” Vera said. “If that look doesn’t send ice water through his loins, nothing will.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” Jamie said. “I’m exhausted. I need to lie down. You can use my sofa after I’m done with it, Destiny.” Jamie went into her office and closed the door.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Destiny asked Vera in a whisper.

  “Her bathroom faucet leaks.”

  “See what I mean?” Destiny said. “You can’t even answer a simple question without being sarcastic. It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to me.”

  Lamar Tevis leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on his desk, his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Tom Curtis,” the man said. “Curtis Promotions,” he added. “We talked a few months ago about the Elvis convention and the parade.”

  “I don’t remember,” Lamar said, “but go on with what you were saying.”

  “I just want to make sure we’re on target with the time. My boys will be arriving at noon; I assume all the floats will be lined up.”

  Lamar frowned. “Look, Buddyroe, I don’t have one danged clue what you’re talking about, and I’ve never heard of anybody by the name of Tom Curtis. I’m the chief of police; I’m not in the parade business.”

  “This is a joke, right?” the man said. “I mean, we’re talking about one of the biggest celebrities in Vegas here and he’s expecting a parade. We’re talking Kenny Preston!”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  The guy on the other end gave a grunt of disgust. “Where have you been, man? He’s the original Elvis impersonator, not to mention one of the most famous people in the country. Listen up, pal. You swore you’d get with this committee and that committee and see that it was all taken care of. Are you telling me it isn’t going to happen?” he suddenly shouted. “Do you have any idea how much money your town is making on this convention? Does the mayor know you forgot to follow through on your promise? I’m calling our legal department. We’ll sue the whole damn town.”

  Lamar held the phone far from his ear. “Hold on a minute, young man. Don’t get yourself into such a snit. I’ll ask my dispatcher if she knows anything about it. Delores knows everything about everything. If you don’t believe it, just ask her.”

  Lamar punched the hold button and dialed dispatch. “Delores, can you come back here a minute?” He put the phone down and scratched his head. He searched through his old phone messages, his notepads, and his middle drawer. “I don’t see anything about a parade,” he mumbled to himself.

  Delores opened the door. “Okay, Chief, I’m here. What did you want to tell me that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

  “Um, do you know anything about some kind of Elvis parade we’re supposed to be having?”

  Delores let out a squeal of joy that rattled the glass on Lamar’s desk. “I knew there would be a parade!”

  Lamar’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

  “Of course there will be a parade! This Elvis convention is the biggest thing that ever happened to this town.”

  “Have you ever heard of anybody named Kenny Preston? Supposed to be some hotshot Elvis impersonator?”

  “I’m sure I have,” Delores said. “I’m sure it’ll come to me.”

  Lamar was clearly perplexed. “I wonder how come Abby Bradley didn’t mention this parade business when I stopped by for some of that new—” He paused and blushed. “That new chocolate ice cream everybody is raving about. Come to think of it, she didn’t say anything to me.”

  “She has laryngitis.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Okay, so the people in charge of putting together the parade are working on it?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be working on it? Of course they’re working on it.”

  “All right, then. Do me a favor. I’ll have someone cover dispatch for you. I want you to check and make sure everything is on schedule with the floats and whatnot. We’ll need to put a few officers on it too,” he added, “although I don’t know where we’ll get them. Everybody needs to be ready at twelve sharp.”

  “Twelve sharp, tomorrow?”

  “Today.”

  Delores blinked several times. “I can do that, Chief. I know everybody on every committee.”

  “I’m sure you do, Delores. Oh, and talk to this Curtis fellow on line two, would you? You’ll have to fill him in on the, um, particulars. Tell him I don’t have time to fool with a parade on account of I’m looking for a murderer.”

  “I forgot the egg basket,” Zack said to Maggie, standing just outside the kitchen door. “Would you hand it to me so I don’t track goat, um, stuff on the floor.”

  She looked amused. “You stepped in goat poop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s she doing in her new pen?”

  “Staying busy. Once I fed her I went for the hose to fill her water bowl and discovered she had eaten most of it. We should probably start a list of replacement items.”

  The words had barely left his mouth before Maggie’s expression changed to horror. Zack went for his gun before her scream left her lips. He shoved her inside and spun around, eyes assessing the situation.

  “Oh, gross!” Mel said loudly.

  Zack glanced over his shoulder. Maggie darted across the room and didn’t stop until she’d reached the door leading into the hallway. Her eyes were bright with fear. Zack noted the grimace on Mel’s face. He followed her gaze. A homely-looking cat held a dead mouse between his teeth.

  Zack sighed and tucked his gun away. “Damn!” he said to Mel. “That’s the nastiest-looking thing I’ve ever seen. That’s not your cat, is it?”

  Mel shot him a “you’re so dumb” look.

  “I’m sorry I screamed,” Maggie said. “That stupid cat is always bringing me dead mice because he knows it freaks me out. Please get it out of here. I’ll be in my bedroom.”

  “This is getting old,” Zack said. “I have to guard the fort, feed the farm animals, bury the mice. Now, how do I do this?” He grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck and shook him slightly. “Let it go, boy.”

  “His name is Okra,” Mel said.

  The cat dropped the mouse and ran.

  “Would you hand me some of that newspaper from the trash can?” Zack asked her.

  Mel brought several sheets and handed them to him. “I guess you can tell my mother is terrified of mice,” she said. “Sometimes she has nightmares.”

  Zack did not look at all surprised.

  Savannah’s Best Costumes & Designs was tucked between Bernie’s Subs and McCracken’s Bookstore. The man who unlocked the door bearing the CLOSED ON SUNDAY sign was tall, black, and bald and wore a gold loop in his left ear. He held out his palm and Carl Lee slapped a hundred-dollar bill in it. “Welcome to Savannah’s Best Costumes,” the man said. “We’re always willing to open our doors on Sundays to our special friends.” He tucked the money in his shirt pocket.

  “Do you have what I need?” Carl Lee asked.

  The black man led him to a counter where several plastic bags hung from a rack. “You’re lucky I still have Elvis costumes left with the convention in Beaumont. Everybody wants to be the King.”

  “Y
ou have the right sizes?”

  “The slacks are going to be an inch too long on two of them; same with the sleeves. But it’s as close as I can get. Inside each hanging bag, you’ll find what you need: a wig, fake sideburns, and gaudy-looking chains. You know, Elvis crap.” He shoved a form across the counter. “You’ll need to fill this out and show me some identification.”

  “I’m in a hurry,” Carl Lee said.

  “Yeah? Well, then, moving right along. How long will you need the costumes?”

  “A day or two.”

  “It’ll cost you sixteen hundred, including the deposit.”

  Carl Lee’s gaze turned hard. “Are you messing with me, pal?”

  “I got some money in those suits, man, and you don’t want to give me an address or ID? I definitely need a sizeble deposit.”

  Carl Lee stood quietly for several minutes, his gaze unwavering, muscles in his jaw flexing. Finally, he leaned on the counter. The other man’s smile faltered. “Here’s the way we’re going to do it,” Carl Lee said. “I’m going to put five hundred dollars on this counter, and then I’m going to walk out that door with the costumes, and you’re going to be happy with it.”

  The other man looked into Carl Lee’s eyes and took a step back. “Okay, man, I’m good,” he said quickly. “I don’t need any trouble. I got my own stuff going on around here, know what I mean? I can’t make a living renting stupid Elvis costumes.”

  Cook watched Carl Lee exit the costume shop with the plastic bags and head toward the car. “Like I said, Ed, it’s just a little side trip, and it’s for a good cause. It’ll be fun. Then we’ll head north to Canada as planned.”

  “What if somebody recognizes me?” Ed said.

  Cook laughed. “They’ll say, ‘Hey, look, it’s Elvis!’ ”

  Ed smiled.

  Zack opened the back door and stepped aside for Jamie to enter, giving her a friendly smile. “Maggie said you were coming by. Where is Romeo-the-hound?”

  “He headed straight for the backyard. I’m pretty sure he’s going to ask Butterbean for her hoof in marriage, although I think they’re rushing things.”

  Zack draped his arm around her shoulders and began walking her down the hall. “Jamie, you can’t measure love according to time. When it’s right, it’s right. A couple just knows. I think that may be the case with Fleas and Butterbean.”

  Jamie studied him. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  Zack gave her a funny look as he tapped on Maggie’s bedroom door. “Jamie is here,” he called out.

  “Send her in, Jeeves,” Maggie said.

  Zack pulled his arm from Jamie’s shoulder and winked. “The mistress of the house and I are on a first-name basis.” He opened the door, stepped aside so she could enter, and closed the door behind her.

  Maggie was staring at her checkbook and wearing a perplexed frown. She held up one finger. “Give me a second, I’m almost done.”

  “You’re getting pretty friendly with your staff,” Jamie said. “Have you seen him naked yet?”

  Maggie jerked her head up, felt the heat rush to her face. She tried to answer. “Wh . . . uh?”

  This time Jamie cocked her head to the side. “Did you say ‘whuh’?”

  Maggie was almost sure her ears were scorched. She shrugged.

  “Why is your face so red?” Jamie asked. “How come you’re not breathing? How come you didn’t tell me you and Zack were doing real undercover work? And don’t give me ‘whuh.’ ”

  Maggie just sat there not knowing what to say.

  Jamie kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed, studying her friend thoughtfully. “You don’t look any different.”

  Maggie closed her eyes and sighed.

  “He’s got it bad for you,” Jamie said.

  Maggie opened her eyes. “Oh, please.”

  “I’m serious. I know that look. I’ve seen it on Fleas when he looks at Butterbean.”

  “Have you forgotten why Zack is here? Besides, if anything is going on between us—” She paused. “No, it’s too weird.”

  “What?”

  “I think Queenie has something to do with it. I mean, good grief! Zack and I don’t have time for this stuff. Carl Lee Stanton is probably out there right now trying to decide whether to use a knife or a gun on me.”

  “You don’t really believe Queenie would do something like that. You and Zack are just irresistibly drawn to each other.”

  “I can’t think about it right now. It’s too much. I have to keep a clear head. I have to protect my daughter. I have to have that talk with her.” Maggie stacked her bills and envelopes and put them on the night table. She looked up. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked, purposely changing the subject. “I have lemonade, diet soft drinks, coffee, bottled water,” she said.

  Jamie shook her head. “I’m fine. Besides, I’ve given up coffee. It upsets my stomach. And citrus drinks give me heartburn.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Where is Mel? I don’t hear her stereo.”

  “She’s in her room reading Gulliver’s Travels.”

  “Grounded, huh? Dare I ask why?”

  Maggie told her.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” she added sadly. “It makes my problems sound petty.”

  “Don’t be silly. Your problems have never been petty to me. So, talk.”

  Jamie updated her on the never-ending, nerve-rattling problems going on at her house and repeated her story about the leaky faucet. “It’s driving me crazy. I’m tired and out of sorts.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. “My marriage is on the rocks,” she added.

  “No way! Max adores you. If he seems distracted, it’s just because he’s impatient to get the plant up and running. He’s dealing with contractors at the house and the office. Now, would you like a little advice?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay, Oakleigh Apartments has long- and short-term executive rentals. I’ve seen them, and they’re gorgeous. They’re fully stocked, right down to linens and dishes and toilet paper. They have daily maid service. You and Max could have a quiet time together.”

  “I’d forgotten about Oakleigh. I wonder if there is a vacancy,” Jamie mused aloud. “I wonder if they allow pets.”

  “They’re running ads in your newspaper. And I’m sure they’ll let you take Fleas. Good grief, you’re Max and Jamie Holt. You guys saved the town! You guys are celebrities. You guys—” Maggie paused. “You’ll probably have to pay a pet fee.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Jamie said. She climbed from the bed and stepped into her shoes. “I’m going to drive over there right now and rent one. Thank you, Maggie.” She hurried toward the door.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Maggie said.

  Jamie turned. “Yeah?”

  “Take a pregnancy test.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Zack opened the back door just as Jamie reached for the knob. He stepped inside. He wore an old hat with a raccoon’s face on the front; the top part of the hat was covered in fur. “Found it in the back of the van,” he said at the look Jamie gave him. “Thought maybe I could gross out Mel,” he added.

  “Yeah, that should work.”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “The goat is gone, and so is your dog.”

  Jamie blinked several times. “Wh . . . uh?”

  Zack gave a slight frown. “Sorry, I didn’t get that. Did you just say ‘whuh’?”

  “Ignore it,” Jamie told him. “How long have they been missing?”

  “I just now noticed,” he said. “Butterbean chewed through her pen. I’ve been looking for them. They couldn’t have gotten very far.”

  Maggie came up behind Jamie. “What’s wrong? Other than Zack having really bad taste in hats?” she added.

  Jamie told her what was going on.

  Mel came into the room, still dressed in her pajamas. She looked at Zack and gave a h
uge sigh. Finally, she opened the refrigerator door, stared inside for a moment and slumped. She proceeded to the cabinet, looked inside, closed the door, and banged her head gently against it. “There’s never anything good to eat in this house.”

  Maggie, deep in thought as to where the animals could have gone, paid scant notice to her daughter’s food complaints. “Honey, just try to make do for now,” she said. “I think we should drive around and look for them,” she told Zack.

  He nodded. “I was going to suggest that, but I want you and Mel with me.”

  Mel had her hands in the potato chip bag. “Who are you looking for?”

  “I think Fleas and Butterbean have eloped,” Zack said. “Guess they won’t need a best man. Guess I won’t get to show off my new hat.” He grinned at her.

  Mel just stared back at him as she stuffed potato chips in her mouth.

  Maggie grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter. “Mel, you need to come with us.”

  “In my pajamas?”

  “Run and throw on something quick, okay?” Maggie glanced at her, then gasped. “Why are you eating potato chips for breakfast? I’m a doctor, for Pete’s sake! I preach healthy food to my patients’ parents every day, and my own daughter eats cold pizza and potato chips for breakfast.”

  She reached for the bag, but it slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, scattering potato chips in every direction. Maggie closed her eyes. “I’ll clean it up while you change clothes.”

  Mel looked up from the mess. “Why can’t I have a normal childhood?”

  “You do have a normal childhood,” Maggie said, hurrying for the broom and dustpan. “Hurry, now, we have to find a goat who has obviously lost her head over a hound dog. Oh, and I need to leave a note for Queenie in case she comes by for her black hen’s egg and decides to paint bat’s blood on our front steps or something.”

  “Maybe I could go to a boarding school,” Mel said hopefully as she plodded down the hall to her bedroom.

  “We need to take the van,” Zack said. “We can put Fleas in the backseat with Mel. Butterbean will fit in the luggage area.”