Cat in a Jeweled Jumpsuit

When he let Crawford's black wingtips touch concrete again, the toes did a nervous little tap, like a puppet's whose strings were too short, before the soles came down solidly.

“You phoney bozos!" Crawford's invective spit and hissed. "You're laughable, get it? But no one will be laughing at me when I'm ready to move. Get outa my way.”

Crawford shoved past Temple and surged down the hall toward the other dressing rooms, soon lost in a milling crowd of Elvis impersonators.

“I shoulda smashed him while I had him. You okay, Miss Temple? He tried to use you as a discus."

“He was really hot under the mohair. I've never seen him like that."

“Mean as a wolverine."

“I guess." Temple shook her head. Dead or alive, Elvis certainly brought out strong feelings in people.

“I'm sorry I deserted my post." Jumpsuit Elvis nodded to the dressing room door. "There was lots of talk down the hall, and Miss Quincey said she'd be all right."

“She was fine. The Crawf apparently isn't worried about her at all."

“Why should he be?"

“He's her mother's boyfriend, for one thing. And it was his idea to have her play Priscilla. He's the emcee for the pageant.”

Elvis's face had grown darker and darker of expression as Temple had explained the status quo. "She's an awful pretty little thing to bring into this crazy place."

“Ah . . . which one are you? Ernesto? Julio?"

“Um, Ralph."

“Well, 'Um Ralph,' I hope you're not digging too deep into the Elvis mythology. Quincey is only sixteen. You wouldn't be getting inappropriate ideas?"

“Sixteen! What kind of rat would bring a sixteen-yearold girl into this? Urn, you think maybe I'm getting into my role too much, Miss Temple?"

“How so?"

“Elvis had a hangup for real young girls. Do you think someone else's spirit could take over a guy?"

“How so?"

“Well, I notice a lot of the guys here, the impersonators. Some have named their kids after Elvis or Lisa Marie. They get so into their roles it's a good thing there aren't TV sets around the backstage area."

“TV sets?"

“I'd expect some of these guys to shoot out the picture tubes when they get a little frustrated. Elvis was kinda crazy that way."

“From what I've read, Elvis was drugged out of his mind, all on doctor-obtained prescription drugs, of course. Any of the impersonators seem to be taking drugs? There might be pressure to use speed to better imitate his energetic performances. The guy who went into the pool might have had a drug overdose."

“When you get down to the other dressing rooms, send a couple of my bros back, and I'll start asking around."

“Has anybody mentioned which Elvis impersonator died?"

“Naw. I've seen the police all over the place asking questions, and even these Memphis Mafia hotel securitytypes, but you know what me and my brothers think of them."

“That they're more than who they pretend to be. But what else can you expect at a gathering of Elvis imitators?”

Ralph struck an Elvis pose and sang the opening of "T-R-O-U-B-L-E.”

Temple nodded her approval. There was an Elvis song for every occasion. Despite his increasingly calamitous lifestyle, the man had been a singin' fool.

She was relieved to see that Crawford Buchanan had disappeared from the dressing room scene before he could make another kind of scene.

Elvis certainly brought out strange passions in people.

Not her. She was merely masquerading as an inquiring reporter, not in the trying and true C. B. gossip-rag mode.

“You covering this?" a friendly voice called out. "What happened to your on-camera guy?”

Temple smiled wryly at the assumption that she was an off-camera producer and Matt was the upfront reporter. Guess she'd been right to leave TV news.

Mike—or was it Jerry?—came barreling out of a crowd of his twins to say hello.

What a perfect situation for murder: a confusing mob of potential victims/killers all done up to look like each other.

“Wow." Mike seemed out of breath. "This is a media frenzy. It's great for the pageant and us guys, but kinda hard on the hotel and the dead guy. I just got interviewed for Hot Heads. You know, the entertainment world TV show? I got to do a minute of "Suspicious Minds" for their cameraman. They want to use the song as a theme for what might be going on here."

“Clever. And good exposure for you. Say, has anybody figured out which impersonator died in the pool?”

Mike bit his bottom lip, which emphasized the slight curl in the upper left lip. Just like Elvis.

“Mike, before you answer, how do you do that?" "Do what? Besides being cool and being Elvis." "The lip curl. Isometric exercises?"

“Naw. Too hard." He leaned so close that Temple could smell the Dentine on his breath. "Trade secret. Promise you won't use it."

“I look like I could imitate Elvis?”

His laugh caused smooth dark heads all around to turn their way. "Guess not. Liquid latex. Used for years by old-time stage actors. Guess the special effects wizards have higher-tech methods nowadays."

“Oh, yeah. That's the stuff that tightens the skin and makes realistic scars."