Elvis and the Blue Christmas Corpse (6 page)

“Elvis, is that cream on your muzzle?”

I lick Callie’s ankle then do a little swivel-hipped turn and howl a few bars of “If Every Day Was Like Christmas.” You might think distracting her is a naughty thing to do, but if you could hear her laugh, you’d change your tune. It’s a cross between sleigh bells and jingle bells.

She picks me up and totes me out to her Dodge Ram like I’m the most important dog in the world. Which I am.

“Let’s get you home, boy, before everybody in the mall mobs you for your paw print.”

She waves at Lovie, who is heading to her van, then calls out, “See you in Mooreville.”

I wonder if Jack is waiting with a little snack of Pup-Peroni.

Chapter 4

Home Cooking, Unwanted Safety Tips, and Murder

T
hank goodness, I get to dress for this date in peace. Elvis is outside playing with Hoyt and the Seven Dwarfs while Lovie is in the kitchen with Jack playing poker. It feels so good to have my cousin and my almost-ex both in the house that for a moment I forget who I’m dressing for.

I put on the final touches, a spritz of perfume, just the perfect shade of lip gloss, and a cute pair of Sesto Meucci boots I got on sale after Thanksgiving, then head down the stairs to tell them goodbye.

Jack does a double take. “You’re not wearing that top, are you?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“The way to the vet’s heart is not a tight red sweater. It’s some good chicken and dumplings.”

This from the man who only yesterday advised me to
lure
Champ with
more cleavage.

“You’re just angling for a home-cooked meal.”

“No.” He tips his chair back, looking every bit as cocky as he is handsome. “I’m just trying to get you out of that sweater.”

I might have to kill him. And Lovie’s being no help at all. She’s sitting there laughing.

“Don’t encourage him, Lovie.”

Fortunately, her cell phone rings. She snatches it up like her National Treasure is on fire and whoever is on the other end of the line is fixing to fan the flames.

“Wayne.” She’s all but cooing. She’s only mentioned Wayne Hunter to me once, and in a way that always spells trouble. You couldn’t get me out of this kitchen if man-eating African lions were roaring my way.

“That sounds wonderful,” she says into her phone. She makes four syllables of
wonderful.
This is bad.

Even worse, she races up the stairs, moving faster than I’ve seen her move since we crash-landed the hot-air balloon and got chased by a bunch of mad pigs.

“What next?” I ask, and Jack says, “Let her have her fun, Cal. Maybe it’ll take her mind off Charlie.”

Mama told him about the accident, of course. Or maybe it was Uncle Charlie. He and Jack are closer than father and son. And I think it’s more than bonding because of a mutual background with the Company.

I sit down opposite Jack, then put my hands in my lap so I won’t be tempted to smooth back the lock of dark hair that won’t stay out of his eyes.

“Do you think what happened at the mall was an accident, Jack?”

“Maybe. I just want you to be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“I thought it was trouble.”

His crooked grin gets me every time. Fortunately, Lovie is back. Unfortunately, she is carrying her French maid’s uniform.

“Holy cow, Lovie. What are you doing with that thing?”

“My fiancé likes it.”

“Since when has Wayne been your fiancé?”

“Since I decided to push him in that direction.”

“Lovie, maybe you ought to slow down. You’ve been out with him, what? Five times? When you’re on the rebound, it’s no time to be getting serious with somebody else.”

“Speaking of rebound . . .” Lovie raises one eyebrow, and I blush to the roots of my glossy, natural brown hair. I’m not about to admit that I’m on the rebound or that my situation with Jack and Champ is anything like Lovie’s with Rocky and Wayne. Because it’s not. She goes through bad boys like bags of popcorn, and I’ve only ever in my life been in love with one man. And he happens to be sitting across the table from me keeping his mouth shut for once. Thank goodness.

When the doorbell rings, I almost faint with relief. It’s Champ, looking really, really appealing in a cashmere coat that sets off his shoulders to a tee. My mouth ought to be watering.

When Jack comes up behind me and says, “Come on in,” I realize I’m standing there like a doorstop thinking about who my mouth waters over and why.

Champ says, “Good evening” all around, then, “All set, Callie?”

I reach for my wrap, but Jack already has it. He takes what feels like two weeks draping it around me. Then with his hands on my shoulders and his body heat burning through the back of my cape, he proceeds to treat Champ to a long-winded lecture.

“Be careful tonight. There’ll be lots of Christmas shoppers out, and some of them will be driving like maniacs.”

“I know. I’ve had my license a while.”

Lovie and I giggle at Champ’s dry wit, but Jack remains poker-faced.

“Stay away from the mall. After what happened today, I don’t think Callie should be near there.”

“On that, we agree,” Champ says.

“If you have to get coffee, go to Starbucks on West Main. And be sure Callie has decaffeinated. Caffeine keeps her awake at night.”

“Do you have an instruction manual, Jack? Maybe I ought to read it before we go.” Champ is grinning and taking all this bad advice in stride, which just shows the kind of good man he is.

“I’ll print one up.”

I wouldn’t put it past Jack. I wiggle from his grasp and steer Champ out the door before my almost-ex thinks up any more absurd reasons why I shouldn’t be going out.

“Have fun!” Jack is standing in the doorway looking like he means every word. Which I know good and well he does not. He ought to be an actor.

So should I. Here I am in the car with a really good-looking, really great guy who is probably going to propose, and all I can do is wish I were at the hospital checking on Uncle Charlie or at my house making sure Jack takes care of his leg.

“You look gorgeous in that red sweater.”

So much for Jack’s advice. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to do tonight?”

“Actually I’d like to go to the library.” Nobody is going to get down on their knees at the library. Unless it’s to beg for a current bestseller they’ve been waiting on for three months. “I need to check on some things without having a bossy audience.”

“The same audience who’s going to write an instruction manual called
Taking Care of Callie
?”

“One and the same.”

“I always did like libraries.” Champ heads straight toward the corner of Madison and Jefferson Streets. Any woman in her right mind would fall madly in love with this man.

The Lee County Library on the corner of Jefferson and Madison is a square brick structure with tall, narrow windows, typical of the architecture of the seventies. A mural of all things Mississippi—mockingbird, magnolia and Tupelo gum trees, Civil War battle scenes, Native American scenes—occupies the east wall. A twelve-foot Christmas tree with glowing lights sits in front of the mural. I mist up when I see it.

“Callie, what’s wrong?”

“I am just thinking about poor dead Ruldoph and wondering if somebody really was after Uncle Charlie.”

“I figured that’s why you wanted to come here. How can I help you?”

“I want to find out the names of everybody who has played Santa at Barnes Crossing Mall.”

“Done.”

“Thank you.”

We walk toward a bank of computers, and Champ finds two unoccupied, side by side. Grateful, I slide into my seat. “This is not much of a date for you. I’m sorry.”

“Callie, being anywhere with you is fun.”

Blinking back tears that have been threatening since Uncle Charlie got shocked off Santa’s throne, I try not to feel guilty. Fortunately, I get caught up in the search. Old newspaper articles from the
Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal
show the opening of Barnes Crossing Mall and their first Christmas court. Front and center is Santa.

“Champ, are you finding what I’m finding.”

“Only one Santa?”

“Yes. If there is a killer loose, was he after the original Santa or Uncle Charlie?”

After we leave the library, we head to Starbucks—on West Main, as Jack instructed, I notice. Feeling guilty that I’ve deprived Champ of his evening, not to mention his chance for a romantic Christmas proposal, I don’t talk about murder anymore. Still, as soon as we finish our coffee, we head home.

Thank goodness, I don’t have an audience when I get there. Still, I don’t linger on the front porch, and I don’t invite Champ inside for a cup of coffee. I need a serious conference with Lovie. In spite of my assurances to everybody concerned that Steve Boone’s death was an accident, my instincts are screaming otherwise.

The minute I walk inside, I know I am not alone. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Jack is sitting on the sofa in the dark, barely visible by the light from the electric candles in the front windows.

“Did you have a good time, Cal?”

What’s this I hear? Uncertainty? That is so un-Jack-like I forget to turn on the overhead light.

“Champ’s a really great guy.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Speechless, I unbutton my cape. Jack leaps off the sofa and helps me, taking his own sweet time.

“I made hot chocolate from scratch. Want some?”

Hot chocolate is my favorite winter drink, and he knows it. I follow him into the kitchen, but when I head to the cabinet for cups, he pulls out a chair at the table.

“Sit down. You’ve had a hard day.” I sink into the chair, happy to let a man on a crutch wait on me. Lulled by his chivalrous act, I fantasize how things might have been—me wrapping presents, Jack putting the star on the tree, and little baby Jones cooing in a cradle nearby.

He sets a cup in front of me and I take a sip. If chocolate is nectar for the gods, I guess I’m a goddess. I think it was invented for me. Nothing makes me feel better than the warm, sweet creamy taste of 60 percent cocoa with just a touch of cinnamon and red pepper. Well,
almost nothing,
but I’m not getting into that.

“Jack, this is very pleasant.”

“Yes, it is.” He studies me over the rim of his cup. “What did you and Mr. Wonderful do this evening?”

Strike
pleasant
. “Nothing that would interest you.”

“It couldn’t have been much. You’re home early.”

“For your information, some people respect that I’ll be up at the crack of nine so I can play elf all day.”

I march off in such a miff I leave half a cup of good hot chocolate on the table. But I’m not about to go back in the kitchen. Too many memories of cozy late nights with my almost-ex and too much chance he’ll make another smart remark that feels like the truth.

I dress in pajamas, then hole up in my bedroom with the door shut to wait for Lovie. What’s taking her so long? I can hear Jack whistling as he hobbles up and down the stairs. My conscience twinges that I’m not helping him with his evening meds and refilling the pitcher of ice water he keeps beside his bed.

What can I say? I’m not perfect. Except for my hair and my style. And maybe the way I take care of everybody.

Elvis hops onto the bed with me. Dogs can sense when you need comfort. I stroke his warm fur.

“Were you a good doggie while I was gone?” He licks my hand. “Were you nice to Hoyt and the cats?”

“Say
yes,
Elvis,” Lovie says as she bursts through the door with the fanfare of a three-ring circus. She throws herself onto the bed and kicks off her boots.

“Wayne volunteered to be Santa at the mall. He’s fabulous.”

The way she says
fabulous
, all long and drawn out like a sigh, I don’t think she’s taking about his prowess as Santa Claus.

“Call him and tell him no thanks.”

“The mall manager promised there will be no power to the throne tomorrow. Besides, I already told Wayne yes.”

She probably told him
yes
more times than I want to know. “I’m in no mood to hear about your love life.”

“For Pete’s sake, Cal, who pulled your chain? As if I don’t already know.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Lovie. I spent the evening at the library with Champ.”

“Kinky.”

“For your information, we didn’t kiss behind the stacks.”

“Why not?”

“I had more important things on my mind. Like using their computer so Jack wouldn’t be snooping around seeing what I’m doing.”

“Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Lovie hops off the bed and jiggles out of her clothes and into a nightshirt that asks
Who died and made you queen?

She might be acting like somebody who doesn’t want to hear the latest bulletin, but she’s not fooling me, even when she heads into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

I trail right along behind her and prop myself in the door frame. “Jack’s cautions tonight were over the top, even for him. I got to thinking maybe he suspects something about the mall accident he’s not telling.”

“Why spoil the mood with murder?”

“Whose mood?”

“Mine.” Lovie stows her toothbrush, then plops onto the bed, pulls up the covers, and turns her back to me.

I count silently to ten. By the time I’ve reached five she pops upright, sits cross-legged, and says, “All right. Tell all.”

“I found a list of everybody who has ever played Santa Claus at Barnes Crossing Mall.”

“You’re assuming today’s events were attempted murder and the alleged killer was after Santa and not Rudolph.”

“The electricity came from the throne, and you can’t see Santa’s Court from the power switch. The killer couldn’t have known Rudolph would be clutching Santa’s hand, grounding the killing jolt.”

“Have you caught Aunt Ruby Nell’s murder-on-the-brain syndrome? Nobody is going around killing Santas at Christmas.”

“I’m serious, Lovie. Wayne shouldn’t come tomorrow.”

“Are you planning to be in Santa’s Court?” She’s got me there. “I thought so. Since Wayne’s going to be in the family, he might as well start now.”