Elvis and the Blue Christmas Corpse Read Free Page A

rings. I’m sorry to report, I snatch it from my purse like it’s the only life raft on a sinking ship. I plug a finger in one ear and hold the phone up to the other.
    “Hello?” Uncle Charlie , I mouth to Champ, then disappear into the quiet of the mayor’s front porch.
    “By now I’m sure Ruby Nell has told you her version of the Christmas charity event at Barnes Crossing Mall?”
    “In frightening detail, Uncle Charlie. Are you really giving away a free jazz funeral?”
    His rich, booming laughter always makes me feel better. “It was a compromise. Bobby wanted to announce the opening of a new drive-thru window at Eternal Rest.”
    I can picture it. The newly deceased propped up on satin pillows in front of a picture window, and the grieving viewing him from their car while munching McDonald’s hamburgers and talking about how natural he looks. For a dollar you could get a takeout pack of disposable tissues.
    “That sounds like Bobby.”
    A few weeks ago when we returned from Mexico, we were greeted by a huge W ELCOME H OME sign Uncle Charlie’s assistant had put on the lawn of the funeral home. Relatives of the deceased nearly passed out.
    “Naturally, I want to help,” I tell my uncle. “I can do a few free makeovers then raffle off a couple of haircuts and a manicure, or something.”
    “I knew I could count on you, dear heart. Can Darlene man the Hair.Net booth? I need you in another capacity.”
    “Sure. Free manicures would probably go over better, anyway. What do you want me to do?”
    “Santa’s down with the flu, and his elf has quit. I’m filling in for Santa, and I want you to be my elf.”
    “I’ll be glad to, but don’t you think five nine is a little tall for an elf?”
    “It’s the spirit that counts.”
    Uncle Charlie and I work out final details, and after we say goodbye, I sit on the mayor’s front porch swing in the dark. By myself. A blessed relief.
    All I wanted when I woke up this morning was a normal day. Eat breakfast with Elvis, read the paper with my second cup of coffee, take a nice bath, enjoy making my clients beautiful at Hair.Net, then have a relaxing dinner with my menagerie of rescues.
    Already I’ve had enough drama to start my own private theater.
    What next? Lovie as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?

    Elvis Opinion #2 on Christmas Cheer, Sabotage, and the Art of the Con
    Y ou’d think a dog with my good looks and tender heart would be above sabotaging the best human mom any basset hound ever had. But when you’re trying to save a marriage, all bets are off. I station my portly self at the front door waiting for Callie to come back from her date.
    Champ’s Ford Mustang convertible says it all. Listen, he’s a nice man and can give a rabies shot so easy even a discerning dog finds no room for complaint. But what woman in her right mind would swap a man who drives a silver Jag and a Harley Screaming Eagle to boot (that would be my human daddy) for a man in a car that won’t hold a candle?
    The minute my mismatched radar ears pick up the sound of Champ’s engine, I howl a few bars of “He Touched Me.” Jack comes racing down the stairs like the crutch is a third leg. You might not think a gospel song could get a man moving so fast, but Jack knows his lyrics. It’s the idea of another man touching my human mom that has his butt in gear.
    We station ourselves on the front porch swing in the dark, and about the time Champ gets within scoring distance of Callie, my human daddy says, “Thank goodness, you’re home, Cal. My leg is killing me.”
    I never saw a man unpucker as fast as Champ. He releases Callie and offers to help Jack inside.
    I can smell remorse a mile away, and there’s not a whiff coming from Jack. Me, either, for that matter. Listen, a man and his dog have to do what they have to do.
    Callie’s not too happy with either of us, though. Jack gets bundled back into the guest-room bed with nothing but a cup of hot tea to keep him warm. And for a