Elvis and The Dearly Departed. Peggy WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
deliver funeral instructions as well as his last will and testament.
“Jack?” Lovie asks.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re predictable. And he’s just downright dangerous, which is why he still rings every one of your chimes.”
“I want a steady man with a decent nine-to-five job.”
“I’d amputate my G-spot with a shish kebab stick before I’d have a man that boring. And so would you.”
“Hush up, Lovie. Grover will hear you.”
“I wonder if he’s partial to cream puffs.”
Lovie and I slide into seats at the back so we can spy.
When I arrived at Eternal Rest with a beard burn located where I’ll never tell and a nagging fear about Elvis, Uncle Charlie told me, “I want you and Lovie to observe everybody. It had to be one of the Latons who surprised us with the pasties, because they were the only ones here besides us.”
Now Uncle Charlie’s up front saying, “It looks like everybody is here.”
“Not quite.” Grover looks at his watch, then at the back door.
As if she’s been waiting for her cue, an aging Amazonian peroxided blonde strolls in wearing widow’s weeds that show enough bare leg and cleavage to scandalize everybody in the Bible Belt. Lifting the veil of her sassy sequined hat with one black-gloved hand, she winks at me, which is a pure miracle. She’s wearing so much mascara it’s a wonder she can move her eyes.
“Do you mind?” the woman asks, then sits beside me, crosses her legs, and proceeds to dangle a sling-backed shoe with killer stiletto heels. Her fragrance wafts over me in a nauseating wave—Poison.
Lovie punches me in the ribs and I punch her back while Grover says, “Let’s proceed.”
He dims the lights and switches on the DVD video player and up pops a larger-than-life image of Dr. Leonard Laton.
“Well, I guess you’re all here except Bevvie, who is probably off shooting something, which means I’m dead and all of you can breathe a sigh of relief. Janice, stop your silly histrionics, and, Mellie, you never did give a damn about me, so don’t start pretending now.”
Janice leans on her husband’s shoulder in a fake swoon I can spot a mile away while Mellie sits stiff-backed. The woman beside me takes a man’s handkerchief with a monogrammed M out of a black sequined evening bag.
“You’re in good hands with my buddy Charlie Valentine, who’s not only the best undertaker in Mississippi but the best fisherman. Much as it will pain all of you to hang around and look at my carcass, I’m not fixing to be put in the ground till every one of you is here. And I don’t want a single one of you crying at my funeral.”
“How could he?” Janice yells, but when her husband rises to escort her from the room, she jerks his coattail, and he plops back into his chair.
As if he had anticipated her reaction, Dr. Laton says, “You didn’t shed a tear nor lift a hand while I wasted away at Peaceful Pines Nursing Home. For that reason and many more that are none of your damned business, I leave my house in Tupelo, my condo in Key West, three million dollars in stocks and mutual funds, and my Mercedes Benz to Bubbles Malone.”
The woman beside me smothers a sound with her handkerchief that might be mistaken for grief if you weren’t sitting elbow to elbow.
“Bubbles, strut your stuff, honey, and finish scandalizing this greedy bunch.” Dr. Laton laughs before he fades to silence.
Bubbles rises on a wave of Poison and takes a turn around the room that makes Gypsy Rose Lee look like Mary Poppins. She stops in front of Bradford, strips off one of her long black gloves, and playfully pops him on the leg.
“This is an outrage.” Janice lunges out of her seat, and I’ll swear if Bradford hadn’t restrained his wife, she might have clawed six inches of pancake makeup off Bubbles’ face.
“Janice, what are we going to do?” Mellie asks.
“Break the will, you fool.”
As Bubbles settles back beside me, the image of Dr. Laton flickers, then becomes clear again. “Did I say being of sound mind? If not, put it in your pipe and smoke it. There’s not a lawyer in the U.S. who can prove me mentally incompetent. Kevin, you’re the only member of my family who didn’t act like I was some kind of horse’s ass. I know you’ll probably squander it, but I’m leaving you a million dollars.”
Kevin surprises me by taking the news without revealing a single emotion.
“The rest of my estate is to be equally divided between Peaceful Pines and whatever charities Grover Grimsley sees fit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with the devil.”
As Dr. Laton vanishes from the screen, the Warner Brothers’ Looney Tunes cartoon logo comes up. For a while the only sound we hear is the raucous laughter of Woody Woodpecker.
Then the room explodes.
“This will take two gallons of Prohibition punch.” Lovie hustles toward the kitchen with Kevin in her wake.
While Uncle Charlie and Grover Grimsley form a flank between the Laton women and the outrageous beneficiary and I desperately search for ways to affect a truce, Bubbles Malone vanishes.
Elvis’ Opinion # 2 on Las Vegas, French Poodles, and Taking Care of Business
Iguess you’re wondering how I could walk out on Callie since she’s one of the truest hearts I know and I live by the creed don’t be cruel. I could tell you I took advantage of the wide-open back door in the hopes my human mom and dad would get back together, but the truth is, every now and then a dog has to take care of business.
I’d planned on sniffing Ruby Nell’s tombstones, maybe marking a few, then ambling over to Gas, Grits, and Guts to see if anybody had left a half-empty box of fish bait. After that I was going back to the beauty shop before Callie missed me. But I got sidetracked by Bubbles Malone. I could smell big city all over her even before I sneaked in as she went inside to ask for directions to Eternal Rest. Fayrene quizzed her within an inch of her size 36-D push-up bra.
Don’t ask how I know the size. Just trust me. And every bit of it was real.
When Bubbles mentioned she used to perform at Caesar’s Palace, I sidled up hoping she’d recognize me and ask for my paw print. But she didn’t. I should have known a woman too vain to put on the reading glasses I saw when she dropped that little bitty purse would miss her golden opportunity.
Now, I knew if she went strutting into Eternal Rest showing off those knockers, the Valentines would be all shook-up. I fully intended to mosey on back to the beauty parlor and warn Callie.
But fate intervened. The prettiest little French poodle this side of Hollywood and Vine sashayed by exuding pheromones you could smell all the way to the Alabama state line. Well, bless’a my soul!
I seized the first opportunity to dash out the door. Then I sucked in my paunch and marched right up to her.
“I’m Elvis,” I drawled, “and I can fly you to moon.”
A basset hound or even a Jack Russell terrier would have known I stole that line from another singer, but a French poodle in heat will believe anything you tell her.
She blinked her big brown eyes at me and I was a goner. We trotted off to find some privacy and lost all track of time.
Now I’m lying here behind the Mooreville Truck Stop with Ann Margret curled up beside me snoozing. Turns out she had the same opinion of me as John Lennon. “Before Elvis there was nothing.” I feel the urge to kick up my heels and howl at the full moon.
But in spite of all the stories you’ve heard to the contrary, I’m smarter than that. Instead of giving away our love nest, I amble