Brother Verber gasped. "He has?"
"For one thing, he made it home for lunch and dinner regular as clockwork, and he spent most every evening in front of the television. He only went back to the supermarket after dinner one time, and when I called, he answered the phone himself. I don't know what to make of it, Brother Verber."
He tossed the towels on a chair and sat down next to her. "It means he's finally seen the wickedness of his ways and decided to put himself back on the glorious path to salvation. Hallelujah? Why don't we both get down on our knees and offer a prayer of thanksgiving that his soul has been saved?"
Mrs. Jim Bob stayed where she was. "When he's carrying on with some hussy, he comes home at all hours of the night reeking of perfume and whiskey. He tells the employees all kinds of ridiculous stories about how he has to go to Farberville or Starley City in the middle of the afternoon to see wholesalers. That's the kind of behavior I'm used to. The way he's been behaving lately is just plain peculiar, and I know in my heart that he's up to no good, Brother Verber."
"Probably not," he said, squeezing her knee to let her know that he, in his role as her spiritual adviser, shared her apprehension. "The Lord must be testing your faith by giving you such an affliction. All Job had to deal with were painful boils from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. You've got a womanizing, whiskey-drinking, deceitful husband. It don't seem fair, but as pious Christians, we know the Lord moves in mysterious ways."
She removed his hand, which had mysteriously found its way to her thigh. Standing up, she said, "I've changed my mind about unloading the trunk just now. I'll come by later this afternoon."
Brother Verber blinked moistly at her. "It breaks my heart to see you like this, Sister Barbara. You're trying to be brave, but I can hear the anguish in your voice. I hate to think of you sitting all by yourself in your living room, the shades drawn and the lights out, battling to hold back tears of shame and humiliation."
She muttered a word of farewell and went back to the pink Cadillac Jim Bob had bought her after she found out about the redheaded Jezebel in the Pot O' Gold mobile home park. The car had more than twenty thousand miles on it, and there was an unsightly stain on the passenger's seat from the time she'd taken tomato aspic to the potluck. It just might be time to replace it with a newer model, she thought as she drove toward the SuperSaver to search through Jim Bob's desk drawers for clues.
Estelle kept an eye out for the bald man while she and Ruby Bee gawked at Elvis's private airplanes, cars, go-carts, and motorcycles in the museum, and then had lunch at the Rockabilly's Diner. The only shiny head she'd seen belonged to a paunchy coot using a walker and slobbering worse than Petrol Buchanon (who was renowned for his saliva excesses, as well as for pinching fannies at the county old folks' home).
They were contemplating the wares in the souvenir shop when Cherri Lucinda joined them. "What on earth happened earlier?" she asked.
"Nothing," Estelle said in a chilly voice.
"I nearly swallowed my gum when y'all took off running like Elvis's pa had crawled out from behind a desk. The tour guide was so pissified that I thought she was going to chase after you and tackle you right there on the lawn."
Estelle pulled a postcard out of the rack and pretended to give it serious consideration. "It's a good thing she didn't try it." She realized Ruby Bee was looking thoughtful, which was a bad sign. "I reckon it's time to head back for the van. Baggins is mean enough to drive off and leave us in the middle of the parking lot. Where's Stormy?"
"Off having a cigarette," said Cherri Lucinda, "and I couldn't care less if she makes it back to the van in time. She shouldn't have come on this pilgrimage in the first place. About the only thing she's done since we left Farberville is gripe. I didn't think the motel was so awful, but you'd have thought from the way she carried on that we were staying in a dungeon with spiders and bats. First she got it into her head that she was gonna leave and catch a bus back to Farberville. One minute later, she came back and said she was afraid she'd get mugged on the way to the bus station. After that, she was up all night long, smoking and watching out the window. I don't know if I can stand three more nights of sharing a motel room with her. I get these horrible dark circles under my eyes if I don't get my beauty sleep."
Estelle replaced the postcard and picked up a box of coasters. "Why did she come on the tour?"
"I don't know. She wasn't the tiniest bit interested when I told her about it a couple of weeks ago. Then the night before we left, she showed up on my doorstep with a suitcase and said she'd changed her mind and was coming after all."
Ruby Bee glanced up from a plate with a picture of Graceland decorated with Christmas lights. "Did you ask her what caused her to change her mind?"
"She wouldn't say exactly, but I sort of think she'd had a fight with her boyfriend and figured he'd be worried about her if she disappeared for a few days."
Estelle dropped the box of coasters. "You wouldn't happen to know what he looks like, would you?"
"Never met him," Cherri Lucinda murmured, distracted by a set of porcelain figurines of Elvis in his distinctive costumes. "Isn't this from the 'Aloha' special in nineteen seventy-three?"
"I believe it is. Ruby Bee, decide what you want and go pay for it. We need to stop by the ladies room and then get on out to the van. Neither of us can afford to take a taxi back to Farberville. You'd better hurry up, too, Cherri Lucinda, unless your duffel bag's full of money."
"Yeah, right," she said with a snort.
She was still frowning at the figurine in her hand as Estelle and Ruby Bee paid for their souvenirs. Estelle made sure the bald man was nowhere to been seen as they went through the main reception room, made a detour to powder their noses, and headed along the path back to the parking lot.
"Are you gonna explain or not?" Ruby Bee said, stopping abruptly.
"Explain what?"
"I may be feeling a mite crumpy, but not so much that I wasn't mindful of being hauled out of Graceland like a sack of turnips. I did not appreciate that, Estelle Oppers."
Estelle looked uneasily at the trees and bushes along the path. "You never know who might be listening. I'll tell you later when we get to the motel in Tupelo."
"Don't go to the bother," Ruby Bee said in her snootiest voice, which never failed to irritate Estelle. "You and Cherri Lucinda can have yourselves a fine time discussing Elvis's present whereabouts. Last week I saw a motorcyclist in a black helmet turn up the road that goes by Raz Buchanon's shack. Maybe Elvis's twin brother didn't really die at birth. Maybe he changed his name and grew whiskers so nobody'd notice any family resemblance. Maybe Elvis came down from Minneapolis for a visit."
"I'll say you're a mite crumpy," said Estelle with matching snootiness, which never failed to irritate Ruby Bee just as much, if not more so. "In fact, you're being as big a pain in the butt as Stormy. Why don't the two of you catch a bus home so the rest of us can enjoy ourselves?"
"You're a fine one to talk! I wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't bullied me into coming. God knows I had better things to do with one hundred and seventy-nine dollars than ride in a bumpy van and sleep in a filthy motel room. Diesel's cave is probably cleaner than that place."
Estelle squared her shoulders and gave Ruby Bee a disdainful look. "I may have been the one that found out about the tour, but I don't recollect twisting your arm till you agreed. Besides that, you're getting as set in your ways as an old grannywoman. The most exciting thing you ever do is change channels in the middle of a show. You may want to wither away, Rubella Belinda Hanks, but I ain't ready to join the antiques in Roy Stiver's shop."