Janet Evanovich - Full Scoop

Everest shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm in FBI training."

"None for me," Queenie said. "You and Zack were meant for each other."

Maggie shot her a dark look. "If I find out you're working spells, that's it!"

Queenie opened her mouth to answer, but her cell phone rang. "This is Queenie Cloud," she said. "How may I help you?" She listened. "Mm-hmm. Oh, my. Yes, that's bad. Well, you would need a dirt-dauber nest for that. And a lot of spit," she added.

"Oh, geez," Maggie said. "Another day at House of Weird." She sat down at the kitchen table and leaned forward on two elbows.

Zack walked into the room and headed for the coffeepot.

"I'm pretty sure I have one or two dirt-dauber nests in my home office," Queenie went on, "but they're pricey. I have to pay a boy to get them for me, and every time he gets stung he asks for a three-percent rate increase. I can't find a decent dirt-dauber nest from supply stores these days, and I am very particular. Yes, call me when you decide." She hung up and faced Maggie. "My black hen didn't lay an egg. That's why we came by."

"That's too bad," Maggie said. "You could have used it to put a hex on the man who sold her to you."

Queenie looked at her. "Now I know where Mel gets her mouth. But I'm going to let it slide because I know you're tense."

"They say the waiting is the worst," Everest said softly.

Maggie smiled at him because she knew he meant well. But her gut told her there was much worse that could happen.

* * * * *

Carl Lee and Cook sipped their coffee in the front seat of the car outside of a convenience store while Ed went to the bathroom. "I don't know if he bought that story about why we changed clothes," Carl Lee said. "We're going to have to watch him closely."

"His memory isn't that great," Cook said. "He has probably already forgotten."

"Why do you take up for him all the time?" Carl Lee said. "He's a pain in the ass."

Cook, who'd asked Ed to buy him a Savannah newspaper when he'd sent him in to pay for their gas, mumbled something incoherent as he turned to the next page. "Oh, hell," he said.

Carl Lee glanced over and stared openly at Ed White's picture, beneath the headline elderly man vanishes.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Now we have to worry about somebody recognizing him too." He made a sound of pure disgust. "It's all crap," he said. "Just one damn thing after another." He started to look away but something caught his eye. "Read the article up above it," he said. "Something about Beaumont and Elvis."

Cook scanned it. "There's an Elvis impersonator convention going on. There are, at last count, two hundred Elvis look-alikes in Beaumont, South Carolina, it says."

The two men looked at each other.

* * * * *

Jamie dragged through the double doors leading into the Gazette and stopped in her tracks at the sight of Vera at her desk. "Isn't today Sunday?"

"Last time I checked."

"Why aren't you in church?"

"I don't have to be there until eleven o'clock."

"What about Sunday school? Sunday school starts at nine-thirty. It's—"

"Eight a.m." Vera gave her a funny look. "What are you, the church police? I don't go to Sunday school anymore. Remember, I stopped going when they made Eileen Denton our teacher."

"Is she a bad teacher?"

"Oh, no, she's one of the best."

"If she's so good why did you stop going?"

"She made that snotty remark about my dress."

"Which dress?"

Vera paused. "I don't remember."

"So what did she say?"

Vera rubbed her jaw. "I don't remember that either. That was six months ago, Jamie. Why are you still carrying on about it? Why are you so crabby? I'm the one who should be crabby. Who do you think Mike calls every time he needs something from the pharmacy or feels like complaining, which is all the time? Me, that's who," she said. "What have you got to be crabby about?"

Jamie looked at her. Max had inquired about her sour mood as well. "I guess I'm tired of living in an insane asylum!" she said. "I can't walk through a room without tripping over a board or getting wet paint all over me. Men all over the place, yelling, accusing each other of stealing their tools," she added. "And after spending a fortune on the master bath, the toilet runs all the time and the faucet drips."

"I hate a leaky faucet," Vera said, "almost as much as I hate the sound of Mike's voice on the other end of the line."

"And it's loud!" Jamie said. "Max sleeps right through it. I should move to a hotel. Or maybe start sleeping in my office."

"Go pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee, and you'll feel better."

"No, thanks. I'm getting to where I don't even like the taste of it anymore."

"Since when?"

Jamie started to answer but was interrupted when Destiny opened the front door and stepped inside. Jamie and Vera stared openly. Destiny wore oversized sunglasses that had been fashionable in the early eighties. One lens was badly scratched, and one stem had been taped in place with a Scooby-Doo Band-Aid. Her long hair was hidden beneath a wrinkled lime-green scarf that matched the blousy, ankle-length shift she wore. A man would have been hard-pressed to find a curve. Paint-splattered sneakers covered her feet.

"Is it okay if I sleep here for a couple of nights?" she asked Jamie. "On your sofa? And maybe grab a nap on it right now?"

"Is that a new dress?" Jamie asked.

Vera frowned and shook her head. "I know she didn't get it at one of those fire sales because they would have burned that one on purpose."

Destiny glanced over her shoulder, turned back to Jamie and pulled off her sunglasses.

"You're not wearing makeup!" Jamie said.

"I'm in disguise."

"Freddy Baylor?" she asked.

"Yeah. He knocked on my door half the night, said he had something very important to talk to me about. I'm hoping he'll see me like this and move on."

"I think you may be right," Vera said. "If that look doesn't send ice water through his loins, nothing will."

"I don't feel so good," Jamie said. "I'm exhausted. I need to lie down. You can use my sofa after I'm done with it, Destiny." Jamie went into her office and closed the door.

"What's wrong with her?" Destiny asked Vera in a whisper.

"Her bathroom faucet leaks."

"See what I mean?" Destiny said. "You can't even answer a simple question without being sarcastic. It wouldn't kill you to be nice to me."

* * * * *

Lamar Tevis leaned back in his chair, his feet propped on his desk, his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. "What did you say your name was?"

"Tom Curtis," the man said. "Curtis Promotions," he added. "We talked a few months ago about the Elvis convention and the parade."

"I don't remember," Lamar said, "but go on with what you were saying."

"I just want to make sure we're on target with the time. My boys will be arriving at noon; I assume all the floats will be lined up."

Lamar frowned. "Look, Buddyroe, I don't have one danged clue what you're talking about, and I've never heard of anybody by the name of Tom Curtis. I'm the chief of police; I'm not in the parade business."

"This is a joke, right?" the man said. "I mean, we're talking about one of the biggest celebrities in Vegas here and he's expecting a parade. We're talking Kenny Preston!"

"I've never heard of him."

The guy on the other end gave a grunt of disgust. "Where have you been, man? He's the original Elvis impersonator, not to mention one of the most famous people in the country. Listen up, pal. You swore you'd get with this committee and that committee and see that it was all taken care of. Are you telling me it isn't going to happen?" he suddenly shouted. "Do you have any idea how much money your town is making on this convention? Does the mayor know you forgot to follow through on your promise? I'm calling our legal department. We'll sue the whole damn town."