“I don’t have any rope,” Maggie said. “A belt, maybe?” She saw Zack wasn’t wearing one. “I’ll grab one of mine.” She raced down the hall.
“I’ll drive around and look too,” Jamie said to Zack. “I don’t like them disappearing so close to town. I hope they don’t get hit by a car.”
Maggie returned with her belt. “Ready? Where’s Mel?”
Mel came through the kitchen door. “I’m here! Geez!”
“Wear this,” Zack said, plunking the hat on Maggie’s head, “just in case Stanton is out there watching.”
“Please tell me you’re not really going to wear that in public,” Mel said.
Zack backed the van out of the garage a few minutes later. Jimmy Hendrix was blasting through the speakers singing “Purple Haze” and beads swung behind the seat. The raccoon hat all but covered Maggie’s eyes. At the end of the driveway, Zack paused to let a car pass, and he began playing an air guitar. Mel lay in the backseat, hands covering her face.
Zack pulled from the driveway. “Okay, keep an eye out, Maggie,” he said. “Mel, keep your head low, okay?”
“I’m really nervous,” Ed said, his black Elvis wig falling forward on his head again. “I’ve never been in front of a crowd. I’m feeling light-headed and dizzy, and I’m having heart palpitations. My whole body is shaking, and my palms are sweating, and I feel sick to my stomach. I have to pee. I wish I had gone to that nursing home.”
“Would you shut the hell up!” Carl Lee yelled, so loudly that Ed and Cook both jumped. “We are on a schedule, old man. If I have to stop this damn car one more time I’m going to stuff your wig in your mouth and lock you in the trunk. You got that?”
“I knew you weren’t a real priest,” Ed said. “I knew you were faking it. You’re going to be screwed when the pope finds out.”
Carl Lee swerved to the side of the road, slammed on the brakes, and pulled out his gun. He swung around and shoved it against the elderly man’s forehead.
Ed’s eyes shot open wide. He gasped and wheezed and clutched his chest. His eyes rolled around in his head and he fell sideways on the seat.
“Oh, shit!” Carl Lee said.
Cook gaped and shrank against the passenger door. “Is he?” He gulped. “You killed him, Carl Lee! You killed Ed! I’m outta here.” He reached for the door handle.
“Think again.” Carl Lee moved the gun to Cook’s left temple.
“You can’t shoot me. You’ll get blood all over the car, and we’re supposed to join that parade in fifteen minutes. You’ve already got one dead man in the car. What do you plan on doing with two?”
“You’re right,” Carl Lee said. “I can’t shoot you so I think this is the perfect time to play my trump card.” He reached beneath the seat, pulled out a photo of a young woman and a blond pigtailed girl playing with a puppy in front of a neat, white frame house. He dropped it in Cook’s lap.
Cook’s hands shook as he picked it up and held it almost reverently, a recent photo of his daughter and granddaughter. “H-how did you get this?” His voice was strangled.
“You’re not the only one I hired, retard. I give the word, and they disappear. My friend needs the money.” Carl Lee lowered the gun. “Don’t make me prove what I’m capable of, Ray.”
Someone knocked on Lamar’s door, and a young officer opened it and stuck his head inside. “Chief, we have a little situation.”
Lamar Tevis had his phone pressed to his ear. He held up one hand. “Yes, Vera, I’ve definitely decided it’s time I pass the old badge to someone else,” he whispered, “and I was thinking you or Jamie would like to interview me. You know, tell people how devoted I’ve been to my job and all I’ve accomplished while serving as police chief. And I’d really like it if you’d mention my deep-sea fishing business.”
The officer waved. “Um, Chief—”
Lamar held up his hand again. “Just one thing, Vera,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to know about it until after I get this mess cleaned up with Stanton.” Lamar hung up and looked at the officer. “What!”
“Well, the parade is about to start, Chief, and there’s this goat running loose on Main Street. And there’s an ugly hound dog with the goat, and he won’t let anybody close to the goat. Starts growling and snarling like he’s going to eat us alive. He looks pretty dangerous.”
Lamar yanked off his cap and threw it on the floor. “Do I look like Animal Control? Do I look like a parade organizer? Don’t people realize that I’m trying to catch a dad-burned killer?”
“Is that Kenny Preston?” Delores from dispatch asked Carl Lee, as she and two other women tied helium balloons to the door handles and hung banners on either side of the Cadillac. She stared at the newly deceased Ed in his sunglasses and rhinestone-laden jumpsuit, propped between Carl Lee and the back door of the car, his pillow tucked beneath his head. “He looks really old,” Delores added. “Is he okay?”
In the front seat, Cook gripped the steering wheel tightly, but remained silent.
“He’s asleep,” Carl Lee said. “And yeah, he’s old. He’s the oldest and most famous of all the rest of us Elvis impersonators. I’ll wake him up when the parade starts. Doesn’t look like much of a parade,” he added.
“I’m sorry it’s small,” Delores said, “but there seemed to be a big mix-up. I only found one float. It’s our Thanksgiving float. It has an enormous turkey on it, but we took off the HAPPY THANKSGIVING banner.” She fidgeted with her hands and spoke in rapid-fire sentences. “And we couldn’t put together a marching band, but my aunt’s friend has a daughter who is married to a musician so we—”
“I think I get the message,” Carl Lee said, giving her a tight smile.
“But we provided the police escort you asked for,” she said, motioning to the squad car in front of them, “so the fans won’t try to rush Mr. Preston, but—” She glanced down Main Street where only a few people lingered and looked about curiously. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with crowd control.”
“Are we about ready?” Carl Lee was clearly impatient to begin.
“There’s a goat and a bloodhound in the road. We’re just waiting for the police to catch them. Um, we’re honored to have Mr. Preston with us today,” Delores said. “Oh behalf of the town of Beaumont, let me welcome you.” She hurried away.
Carl Lee chuckled. “So what do you think, Ray? Not only have we made it past the roadblock, we have a police escort.”
“Yeah, you’re a genius, Carl Lee,” Cook said as he continued to stare straight ahead, his tone flat. “Now you need to figure out what we’re going to do with Ed after the parade.”
“What’s going on?” Maggie asked when she saw the large turkey towering above the cars ahead of them. “That’s our Thanksgiving float. I didn’t know we were having a parade. Mel, do you know anything about a parade?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“How could I?” the girl said. “I’m grounded. I’m not allowed contact with the outside world.”
“There’s Butterbean and Fleas!” Zack said, motioning toward the other side of the street where police were in pursuit of the pair. He pulled off the road and cut the engine. “Wait here.”
Zack climbed from the van and ran in the direction of the scurrying animals. He heard someone call out to him and glanced over his shoulder. Jamie was trying to catch up.
“Are they getting ready to have a parade?” Zack asked as they hurried toward the dog and the goat.
“I just found out it was some last-minute thing they threw together to welcome a famous Elvis impersonator to town so it’s obviously tied to the convention. Oh, no, did you see that? Fleas just tried to bite a policeman!”
Several minutes later they had their animals in tow and a furious Jamie was giving Fleas a stern lecture. Every once in a while he looked back mournfully at Butterbean; Zack was leading her in the opposite direction toward the van. He opened the back door and hefted the little pygmy in and closed the door, just as a loudspeaker
screeched in the background, causing a number of people to wince and cover their ears.
“We’d better get out of here fast,” Zack said, turning on the ignition.
“Yeah, we don’t want to get stuck behind a parade,” Maggie said.
Zack shook his head. “I’m more worried that loudspeaker will go off again.” He eased forward, waiting for several cars to pass.
“Zack, my man!” a male voice called out.
“It’s your friend Lonnie Renfro,” Maggie said. “Get a load of that outfit.”
Mel moaned in the backseat. “Could we please leave now?”
Zack glanced out his window as Lonnie crossed the street, bedecked in a fire-engine-red satin jumpsuit and matching cape. Rhinestones formed streaks of lightning across his chest and down the back of his cape. “Wow,” Zack said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that. I hope nobody lights a match close to him.”
Lonnie waved wildly and hurried toward them, hand on his head as though afraid his Elvis wig would fly off. “Dude!” He reached inside the window and punched Zack on his left arm. “How’s it going, my man?” He nodded at Maggie and glanced in the backseat at Mel. “Is your daughter sick?”
“Just a cold from being in the night air,” Maggie said.
Lonnie’s blackened brows arched high. “Whoa, mama, you’ve got a goat in the back of your van.”
“Our new pet,” Zack said.
“That is too cool. Did you come to see the parade?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s to honor Kenny Preston, the very first Elvis impersonator. He must be pretty important because the cops wouldn’t let me get his autograph.” Lonnie leaned closer. “The officer said he heard from someone in the know who heard from an unknown source who got it straight from the horse’s mouth that the rhinestones on Mr. Preston’s outfit are real diamonds.” Lonnie gave a huge eye roll. “Can you e-magine what that sucker must be worth?” he added, almost whispering. “I’ll bet they have to haul it to the dry cleaners in a Brinks truck.”
Lonnie suddenly shoved one hand forward. “Hey, buddy, I might not see you and the wife again on account of I’m leaving tomorrow. Take care of that arm,” he said, nodding at the cast. He glanced over the seat. “I hope you feel better real soon, young lady,” he told Mel before hurrying away.
“What do you think?” Jamie asked Max once they’d gone through the three-bedroom apartment at Oakleigh. The leasing agent had gone back to her office, leaving them to decide. Maggie had been right; the place was beautiful and more than large enough. Even Fleas seemed to appreciate it, despite being forlorn and missing his girlfriend. He’d found a sunny spot in the room at the back that was lined with windows and looked out over the marsh, favored by stately white egrets that added to the beauty of the landscape.
Max slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead. “I’m thinking it’s great, Swifty,” he said, using the nickname he’d given her shortly after they’d met. He kissed her. “So when do we move in?”
Jamie grinned. “I’ve already put a deposit on it, Bubba.”
“I like a woman who knows her own mind,” he said.
They parked beside the newspaper office shortly before three o’clock. They walked toward the front door, hands linked, grinning like a couple of sixteen-year-olds on their first date. Jamie’s outlook on life had vastly improved now that she and Max were moving out of Hell House until it was habitable again.
Jamie smelled garlic even before they opened the front doors. She gave an enormous grimace as they stepped inside the lobby. “Holy crap!” she said.
“Wow,” Max said. “I feel like I’ve just been bitch-slapped by an Italian chef.”
It grew increasingly worse as they neared Jamie’s office, where Destiny lay curled on the sofa beneath the oversized afghan that Jamie kept on hand. Destiny opened her eyes and stretched. “I thought I heard voices. Hi, guys.” She sat up, yawned, and rubbed her eyes.
Max’s eyes widened. “Destiny? Is that you?”
“Uh-huh. I’m posing as an ugly person.”
“This place stinks,” Jamie said. “Has somebody been cooking garlic in the kitchen? Like maybe a truckload of it?”
“It’s my temporary perfume,” Destiny said. “I rubbed fresh garlic behind my ears and on my wrists hoping it would keep Freddie Baylor away.”
“I think it would chase off a hungry bear,” Max said.
“One good thing, I got rid of that pain-in-the-butt Earl G. Potts.” When Max arched one brow in question, she explained. “Another dead guy following me around. He caught one whiff and shot off like a bottle rocket toward the light. Unfortunately, he was wearing my favorite dress, and my brand-new silk stockings,” she added, clearly annoyed. “I don’t know why a normal dead person doesn’t latch on to me once in a while.”
“Excuse me?”
All three turned at the sound of a male voice. The handsome blond man standing in the doorway was impeccably dressed. Jamie could tell he’d spent big bucks on his Italian suit; it was of the quality Max wore. He looked very familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. “May I help you?”
He sniffed. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this place smells terrible.” He looked about as though trying to figure out the source. He gave a slight frown at the sight of the woman on the sofa.
“We’re trying to keep evil spirits away,” Jamie said. “Do I know you?”
He smiled. “It’s me, Freddy Baylor.”
Jamie and Destiny gasped and gaped. Destiny fell back on the sofa and covered her face with the afghan. “I didn’t recognize you!” Jamie said.
He grinned. “I clean up well.”
Max held out his hand. “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Freddy said, and shook his hand. “We’ve met before. At the Four Seasons in New York. A charitable function, I think.”
“Wait a minute,” Max said. “You’re Theodore Frederick Baylor of Baylor Electronics. What brings you to Beaumont?”
“I got burned out on the corporate world and bought a bait shop.” He laughed at Max’s look of astonishment. “Hey, I was going through an early midlife crisis so I became a bum for a couple of months. Have you guys seen Destiny?”
“Oh, she’s—” Max saw the look on Jamie’s face and swallowed the rest of his sentence.
“Destiny left,” Jamie said quickly. “She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “She wasn’t herself today.”
“I went by her house first. She’s probably mad at me for knocking on her door so many times last night. I sort of lost my head over her. I’ll just have to live with the embarrassing memories.” His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the number. “Uh-oh, it’s my pilot. He has already filed a flight plan. I should have been there by now.” He pushed a button. “Fifteen minutes,” he said and hung up.
“I have to go,” he said. “I wanted to apologize to Destiny. I was hoping to make it up to her by taking her to New York for a few days. A little wining and dining,” he added. “I think she and I could have had something, but I probably turned her off with my good-old-boy routine. I sort of went over the top, I think.”
“Wait!” Destiny threw off the afghan and bolted from the sofa. “Freddy—”
“Destiny? Good grief, what happened to you!” He sniffed, took a step back, and held up one hand.
She stopped at a respectful distance. “Oh, um, I’m not Destiny,” she said. “I’m her, uh, ugly twin. I’m uh—” She shot Jamie a frantic look.
“Desmeralda,” Jamie said quickly, then shrugged at the odd look Destiny and Max shot her.
“But I know where to find my sister,” Destiny said quickly, “and I know she would be thrilled to go to New York with you.”
Freddy just stood there looking horrified. He clearly saw through the act. He checked his wristwatch. “Oh, boy, I’m really late,” he said. “I’ve got your number,” he told Destiny. “I’ll give you a call.” He was gone.
“I sh
ould probably go after him,” Destiny said.
“No!” Max and Jamie said in unison.
Vera came through the front door a few minutes later. “Holy Hades!” she cried. “This place smells like a garlic breeding ground.” She stepped into Jamie’s office. “Are we trying to get rid of vampires or something?” She shot Destiny a quick look. “What’s wrong with Ugly?” she asked Jamie, cutting her eyes at Destiny once more.
“Freddy Baylor has lost interest in me,” Destiny said, giving a huge sniff. A lone tear ran down her cheek. “He wants nothing to do with me.”
Vera was clearly dumbfounded. Finally, she squared her shoulders. “Okay, we have to stick together,” she said. “I don’t care if Destiny is a loose screw in slutwear; we can’t let word of this get out. If anyone learns that scraggly-looking bait shop owner Freddy Baylor rejected her, no man will ever want her.” She pretended to zip her mouth.
“I fold,” Zack said to Mel, laying down his cards. “You’ve got most of the chips anyway. I think you lied when you said you didn’t know how to play poker. I think you’re hustling me, kid.”
“Sore loser,” Mel said, raking her chips across her bedroom floor.
“I’m sore, all right,” he said, stretching his long legs. “Hard for an old man to sit on a floor,” he added.
“Don’t complain to me,” Mel said. “Tell the evil doctor.”
“Hey, at least she let you play poker. I wish you guys could clear the air.”
“Don’t you get it?” Mel said, leaning forward. “She called Travis and lectured him. Like he forced me to meet him,” she added. “Like I’m three years old and don’t know how to make my own decisions.”
“If that were true you wouldn’t be spending most of your time in this room reading Gulliver’s Travels,” he said. “She’s holding you accountable.”
“It figures you’d take her side.”
“No way,” he said. “I’m sort of playing devil’s advocate.”
“Like I’m supposed to know what you’re talking about?” she said.
“It’s where you oppose someone’s argument, even though you don’t really oppose it; you’re just looking at it from different angles. To test its, um, accuracy,” he added. “To see if it’s a valid argument.”