Free Elvis and the Grateful Dead by Peggy Webb

don’t think they believed her. And her, a fine upstanding citizen. Of all the nerve!”
    “Did she say she was coming back?”
    “No. I told her the fan club officers could take care of the booth. No need for her to stay here and put up with that kind of harassment. Not to mention the stares.”
    “What stares?”
    “Oh, you know. Word gets around.”
    I’m so mad I’d like to slap somebody. Just about anybody would do.
    But my good southern upbringing prevails. I thank Beulah Jane profusely (she’s the kind of woman who thrives on praise), then head to the T-shirt booth. The tribute artists will just have to make do with their own hair gel.
    With Lovie on the hot seat for two murders, it’s time for another family summit.

Elvis’ Opinion #4 on Appearances, Suspects, and Gossip
    I f Callie would let me off this leash I could nose around the festival for suspects and gossips.
    And maybe keep an eye peeled for a foxy Lhasa apso or a sassy Pomeranian. Don’t get me wrong. Ann-Margret (my hot-to-trot French poodle) is the only one I’m crooning “I’m Yours” to, but I’d be a lesser dog if I didn’t check out my options.
    Looking at my debonair exterior, you might think I’m nothing more than a sex symbol and a pretty face, but I’m a dog of many talents. If my human mom would turn me loose I could rout out the gossipmongers and teach them a lesson before you could say “Don’t Step on My Blue Suede Shoes.”
    Nobody talks bad about a Valentine and escapes my wrath. Usually I’m the nonviolent type, but if Charlie hadn’t come along a few weeks ago when I was sporting on the farm with my little Frenchie, I’d have gnawed the leg off that sleazy character who wanted to spread gossip about Ruby Nell.
    It wouldn’t take me long to find who’s spreading lies about Lovie. I can smell the stench of mendacity a mile. (Listen, I’m no intellectual slouch. I know Tennessee Williams as well as that prissy shihtzu who lives down the street. He thinks he’s hot stuff because he can quote whole scenes from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof . Well, I’ve got news for him. Put me center stage under some hot lights and I could do a Brick that would make Paul Newman jealous.)
    As for finding the suspects, I have my theories. Plus, of course, my keen hearing. Why do you think God gave me mismatched ears? Because I’m smarter than the average dog, that’s why. Take a cocker spaniel, for instance. Hoyt wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with information gleaned from judicious eavesdropping. But I just soak it all up, bide my time, and wait for the right moment to reveal myself as a star canine investigator.
    I guess that’s one of the reasons I got sent back as a dog. With my performing experience and people skills, not to mention my big heart and generous nature, I am the perfect addition to the Valentine family.
    There’s no such thing as coincidence. Everything in life is part of a big plan. And I’m the foundation of the Valentine plan. Bereavement counselor at Charlie’s funeral home; protector, confidant, comforter, and oracle of wisdom for Callie; cheerleader for the entire family and doggie detective when the need arises. (Lately, it’s arising with a regularity that would be depressing if they didn’t have me around for entertainment value and bragging rights.)
    A lesser dog couldn’t juggle all these roles, but I’m the King. I can do anything.
    Right now, I’m helping Callie keep up appearances. Who better to enhance the Valentine family reputation than a show dog who can wag his tail with the best of the pedigreed (and even the unpedigreed riffraff) and still look intelligent and sophisticated?

Chapter 7
Character Flaws, Dirty Linen, and Swiveling Hips
    A s Elvis and I weave through the festival crowd, it’s obvious word has gotten around about the two dead impersonators. In spite of the carnival atmosphere—hot dogs, balloons, souvenir T-shirts, plus the rocking piano and whiskey-voiced vocals