Elvis and the Blue Christmas Corpse by Peggy Webb Read Free Book Online

yours truly—dog detective extraordinaire—intends to find out.
    I get my chance at sleuthing when Jarvetis Johnson comes over to Santa’s Court with his grandson, a little person named David. Otherwise known as my second-best source of forbidden treats (Lovie being the first). Now that Darlene is doing nails, her son is a fixture at Hair.Net. I’m happy to report he doesn’t mind sharing his ice cream cone with a famous dog.
    While Callie’s occupied with her favorite cherub, I slip off down the mall, ears and nose at the ready. The only thing of interest I find is a bite-size chunk of hamburger bun that still smells of meat, plus Bobby Huckabee in the food court drinking a latte. He’s all eyes for his companion, none other than Darlene.
    When I say all eyes, I’m talking about his green eye as well as his psychic blue eye. It figures. She consults the stars and he consults the dead.
    Darlene whistles at me and I trot right over, mainly because she’s taken the top off her drink and is offering me a lick of cream off her fingers.
    “This is our little secret,” she says. “Okay, Elvis?”
    Wild horses couldn’t drag her tête à tête with Bobby out of me. Fayrene thinks Darlene’s had too many husbands, but personally, I say, go for it, girl. Nothing’s more fun than a
    “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On.”
    Anyhow, Darlene doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m a loyal-to-the-bone dog who knows how to keep a secret.
    Unless somebody bribes me with a ham bone seasoned with just the right amount of Mississippi mud. Now that’s my kind of eating.
    “Elvis!”
    What’s this I hear? My human mom calling my name.
    Busted.
    I hurry my ample self out of the food court. But I don’t show my face right away. First, I hide behind a garbage can till I can get my mojo working and do a little judicious eavesdropping.
    “Poor Cleveland,” Callie is saying to Lovie. “He’s beside himself that he threw the switch to the throne.”
    “I hope he believed us when we said we don’t blame him for what happened to Daddy and poor old Rudolph.”
    “The main thing is that he’s promised there will be no power to the throne tomorrow.”
    Sounds like the coast is clear. Putting on my cutest basset grin (which, I’ll have to say, is a poor doggone substitute for the smile that in my other life sent fans into a fainting frenzy), I sashay out from behind the garbage can, then act all surprised and hound-dog-eyed to see Callie and Lovie packed up and ready to go home.
    “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