Читать книгу Elvis and the Grateful Dead - Peggy Webb - Страница 10

I could have told them that before Dick Gerard hit the floor. But then, I’m smarter than the average dog. What I saw was not a man in the throes of dance; it was a man in the throes of a fit.

With sirens wailing toward Callie’s, everybody’s standing around the body saying, “I told you so.”

Tewanda Hardy is saying, “I told you it was an epileptic fit,” while Fayrene is saying, “It looked more like he got stung by a bee.”

Even that uppity cocker spaniel is nosing around trying to act important. Need I remind him that Callie named him Hoyt because of me? I’m the only icon around here, and if he wants some peace in the valley, he’ll do well to remember it.

Before he got his own pillow and tried to horn in my territory, I was starting to warm up to him. Even considered teaching a thing or two about music, but that’s gone with the wind now. I may be the most beloved dog in Mooreville, not to mention the coolest, but I have my limits.

Hoyt will have to fend for himself. Ditto, this untalented, ragtag group of impersonators. There was a moment this morning after competition got under way that I considered moseying around their tent and offering remedial voice lessons. But after hearing Brian Watson I figured, why waste my valuable time? It would take an act of God to improve the singing of this sorry lot.

Now, if you listen to this party crowd jabbering, you’re probably thinking God has already intervened, but let me tell you…Brian and Dick did not die of natural causes. Ask the best canine detective in the world (that would be yours truly); two dead impersonators add up to murder.

To prove my point, Callie’s front yard is filled with flashing blue lights. There’re more cops here than I have fleas. And they’re everywhere.

While the Lee County sheriff and two of his deputies clear Callie’s courtyard and put crime scene tape around it and the coroner hauls Dick off, Hoyt starts howling “Love Me Tender.”

I politely priss my ample butt over there and tell him to knock it off. Any fool knows it’s tasteless to sing the wrong song. Besides, he can’t even sing backup. What makes him think he can sing solo?

And speaking of singing, the two deceased impersonators were the worst of the lot. If you ask me (which, of course, nobody does), anybody who makes my songs sound that bad ought to be grateful they’re dead.