Free THE SANCTUARY by Cassandra R. Siddons

boutique hotel was surprisingly lovely—and sold out. All 128 rooms and three of the four themed suites were sold out. The nice young desk clerk said that the only room available was the Burning Love Suite.
    “We’ll take it,” Sonya said.
    “I should tell you that it’s normally used by lovers or for honeymoons and anniversaries. I’m sure you ladies wouldn’t be interested,” he said.
    “You heard my friend, we’ll take it,” Lydia said.
    “Suit yourselves,” he said. “Are you members of an Elvis fan club? If so, you are entitled to a ten percent discount.”
    “Hmmm. Yes, yes we are,” Sonya said excitedly after calculating how much money the discount would save her.
    “Which one?” he asked.
    “Huh?”
    “Which one?” he asked again. “There are more than five hundred Elvis Presley fan clubs across the world.”
    “Oh, right. We’re with the South Carolina Elvis Fan Club,” Sonya said.
    Roger, according to his nametag, made a note of this on the computer and then handed the hotel map and room keys to Sonya after she finished the check-in process. He also pointed out that Elvis movies played twenty-four hours a day at the hotel.
    “How did you know that one of the forty-four states that have fan clubs included South Carolina?” Lydia asked as they waited on the elevator.
    “Easy. It’s a southern state, and if there isn’t a fan club in the Palmetto state, I would have been shocked and dismayed. Besides, the odds were in my favor since only six states don’t have fan clubs,” Sonya said.
    “I’m still trying to process the fact that there are five hundred fan clubs for a dead guy,”
    Julia said.
    “Hey, legends never die,” Sonya said.
    “I hear that Elvis hasn’t even left the building,” Lydia joked.
    When they opened the door to their suite, the trio stood in awe. It was red, really red. Red pillows on the bed and couch. Red linen and duvet on the bed. Red sofa. Red rug. They laughed hysterically as they surveyed the room. After each of them had a chance to enjoy a long, hot bath in the huge heart-shaped tub, they went out for a night on the town. Even though the women had been dead tired when they arrived, they had revived after freshening up. There was no doubt where they were headed, the heart and soul of Memphis.
    “Can you believe we’re walking down Beale Street? This is the home of blues. It all started here. The best performers of all time have played at these clubs,” Julia said excitedly. “It says in this brochure that its heyday was in the 1920s when gambling, drinking, prostitution, murder, and voodoo were everywhere. One nightclub, the Monach, was nicknamed Castle of Missing Men because gunshot victims and dead gamblers could be dumped at the undertaker’s place, which shared the same back alley,” Julia said excitedly.
    They slipped into Wet Willie’s, which was famous for its delicious daiquiris. Next they visited Blues City Café to sample their legendary ribs. They wrapped up the night listening to music at B.B. King’s Blues Club and Rum Boogie Café. At Rum Boogie’s, they drank Blueberry Hills and shared a plate of fried catfish with spicy red beans and dirty rice while listening to the Boogie Blues Band. By unspoken agreement, there would be no serious talk—only food and fun. It was just what they needed after the last several days. Happy, but exhausted, they returned to the hotel a little after two o’clock and fell into bed. The plan had been for Sonya and Julia to take the bed while Lydia slept on the couch, but they all ended up falling asleep in the enormous heart-shaped “Burning Love” bed.
    “I have something for y’all,” Jules said the next morning as she handed packages to Sonya and Lydia.
    They opened the bags and laughed as they pulled out the matching white, classic Elvis jumpsuits made for women.
    “Where did you get these?” Sonya asked as she held her polyester outfit in front of her and looked in the mirror. It was a