Going to Graceland: Life's Second Chances, #1

By Leslie O'Kane

Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do….

Lisa Henderson’s return trip to Denver after dropping off her youngest child at college in Texas has just hit a life-changing detour. With her adorable Westie in tow, Lisa is waiting at Delia’s Diner in Humble, Texas, while her engine is repaired, unaware that the mechanics are crooks. As she sits missing her daughter, despairing over her shaky marriage, and mourning her abandoned career as a jazz pianist, in through the diner door comes Trinity Reed.

Trinity, a bright young woman roughly the same age as Lisa’s daughter, has just been fired by Billy Joe and Bubby Ray Cobb—the corrupt mechanics. Next thing Lisa knows, she, her dog, and a new traveling companion are taking a gun-blazing joyride to Graceland. It’s going to be a hilarious and poignant journey, so gentlewomen: start your engines!

New in 2015 by the eBook best seller of Play Dead and Death Comes eCalling!

Review of GOING TO GRACELAND:

"Nobody whips up humor, girlfriends, action, mystery, motherhood, and marriage like Leslie O'Kane. Going to Graceland is a whimsical, non-stop romp of all of the above, with just the right touch of intelligence and heart. A unique, compelling read."

Edie Claire--Bestselling author of: ALASKAN DAWN and NEVER CON A CORGI

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie O'Kane
• Release date: Jun 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513044583

Book preview

Dedication

To Mamie LaFrance 

Thank you so much for taking this road trip with me! Alabama?!!

Chapter 1

Well, lookie there, the waitress at Delia’s Diner said, as she bent down to look into the dog carrier that Lisa Henderson was straining to hold steady. Aren’t you precious with that purdy white fur, those perky ears, and those shiny, black button eyes! What’s her name?

"His name is Thelonious." Lisa made a game attempt at a smile while trying hard not to pant. Her six-block walk from the auto-repair shop in the sticky-hot Houston heat while lugging her Westie’s unwieldy carrier had cost her the last dollop of optimism in her ever-loving, cotton-picking soul. By having to keep both hands on the carrier handle, a droplet of sweat on her brow felt ready to drip into her right eye any moment now.

Thelonious? the waitress repeated. That’s a mighty big name for a little dog.

‘Thelo’ for short. Her vision blurred and her eye stung from sunblock residue. She set the carrier down and dabbed at the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her mint green T-shirt. He’s named after a favorite jazz musician of mine. I’ll do my best to keep him quiet. And, obviously, I’ll keep him in his crate under my table the entire time I’m here.

Oh, honey, Thelo looks tidier than half our regular customers. Y’all can just slide him in his hutch onto one of them booth seats. Won’t make me no never mind.

Thank you, Lisa said, with a sincere—if runny-eyed—smile. She felt immensely grateful for the woman’s laconic attitude. Lisa had explained when she first walked through the door that her car was in a repair shop, so she’d had no choice but to bring her dog with her.

The waitress sashayed past two empty booths near the door and set down a menu for her on the second-to-last table. I’m brewing up a fresh pot of coffee. Be back with y’all in two shakes of a pigtail.

The way the waitress had lifted her chin, she’d seemed to be addressing both Lisa and the woman seated in the corner booth, whose face was hidden behind her menu. Lisa managed to shove the carrier between the seatback and the Formica-veneer table top, then sat down beside Thelo. She wished she could open his door and let him climb onto her lap. He’d been such a trooper today, despite being jostled to and fro and now stashed like a stowaway. He’d barely whimpered once and was now content now to lick Lisa’s fingertips, which she’d poked between the metal-grid door for this precise purpose.

This was the very best moment of Lisa’s day so far—being able to sit at a table in a diner that put the greasy in greasy spoon and have her beloved dog kiss her fingertips. If the table behind her had been unoccupied, she’d have spoken aloud to her Westie—apologized for dragging him away from his cozy routine and her husband’s reasonably competent care.

At the mere thought of her husband, Seth, Lisa found herself gritting her teeth. She’d silently dared him to criticize her over her ridiculous decision to bring Thelo—for him to voice the question: Why on earth do you want to bring the family dog when you’re dropping off our daughter at college?

He’d held his tongue; he’d known the answer to that question.

Trying to unwind, she imagined herself playing a few measures of Angry Birds on the piano, visualizing the eighth notes flying away from her body like crows, taking her bitterness and pain with them. Even so, her hollowing fear remained. She wasn’t enough all on her own. She’d gone from being a musician to a gardener of her own tiny—and now rather barren—lot.

Lisa heard a quavering intake of breath behind her and glanced over her shoulder. The menu purveyor was no longer hidden. She was a pretty, freckle-faced young woman, and she was crying. There was a look of defiance in her green eyes, although that fierceness faded as she met Lisa’s gaze.

Trying to ease the awkwardness, Lisa widened her eyes and joked, Uh, oh. Are the prices here so steep that they’ll make me cry?

The young woman chuckled a little, despite her tears. "Nah. It’s the lack of selection that’ll just break your heart." Her southern drawl was a substantial drop in tempo—a natural andante to Lisa’s allegretto.

I was just planning on ordering the special. Whatever it is.

Eggs and bacon.

Perfect.

The young woman sniffled and dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand. I hope Mary Jo comes ‘round with that coffee pot soon. I sure could use a napkin.

Well, I just dropped off my youngest at college. So I came prepared. Lisa rose, pulled about half of the remaining tissues out of the plastic wrapping, and walked over to her table.

Thank you kindly, ma’am, she said as she accepted the tissues. She looked about Lisa’s daughter’s age, a realization that tugged at Lisa’s heart. As she separated the top tissue from the stack, her hands caught Lisa’s attention. They were larger and stronger-looking than most women’s. Lisa was instantly envious; this teenager—or thereabouts—would be able to span a keyboard octave with no effort.

The girl’s currently blotchy complexion bore the vestiges of rouge and mascara. Perhaps she was in tears because, like Kelly, she was a college freshman, away from home for the first time. Then again, she’d referred to the waitress by her first name.

Aching to get her mind off her own troubles, Lisa asked, Is there anything I can do to help?

Not likely. But thank you kindly. Name’s Trinity Reed, ma’am. She blindly held out one hand while she made fervent use of the tissue with the other.

They shook hands. Her grip was firm, her palm calloused. Lisa Henderson. Nice to meet you, Trinity.

Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me Trini— which she pronounced ‘Treenee’ —for short, if the Biblical reference makes you nervous. It does for some folks.

Trinity shuddered as if to shake off her last measure of sadness, brushed back her copper-colored hair from her face, then gestured at the seat across from her. Set yourself down. Don’t mind me. Every time I lose my temper, I can’t help but start bawlin’ my eyes out. Gets folks to thinking I’m a porcelain doll, which, believe me, is the one thing I’m not.

I can’t join you, unfortunately. I’m sitting with my dog.

Pardon?

I have a dog in his carrier. Lisa paused, hearing her husband’s voice, telling her that she was picking up a stray that was playing her as a patsy—just wanting a free meal. Lisa lifted her chin. But you’re more than welcome to come to my table. Join me. Please.

Don’t mind if I do. I reckon that’d be better for both of us than my blubbering away behind you. She scooted out of her seat. In contrast to her decidedly feminine dress—a sleeveless floral-print—she wore scuffed-up leather combat boots that laced over the ankles. As Trinity stood up, she asked, You’re obviously a long way from home, right?

It feels as though I’m light-years away. I live in Denver. I just...well, yesterday, I dropped my youngest off at college in Houston.

She cocked an eyebrow at this. Did you now? At Rice or University of Houston?

Rice.

Trinity nodded. Excellent school. I was accepted there, too.

You were? Lisa was a little surprised. From her folksy vernacular she’d assumed that Trinity was not an academic; Rice was one of the most selective schools in the country.

She nodded and slid into the seat opposite Lisa’s and the hard-plastic carrier. I got a full scholarship to the University of Mississippi, though, so that’s where I went.

Trinity looked too young to be a college graduate. When does your fall semester begin? It must be within the next couple of weeks, right?

She squared her shoulders and that defiant look took hold in her eyes again. Yup, but I’m not goin’ back. No matter what my mama says.

Lisa settled back into her seat and had the pleasing thought that this was a conversation that she could also settle into comfortably. She wants you to finish getting your degree, and you don’t want to?

That’s the size of it. She leaned on her elbows and scooted forward a little to meet Lisa’s gaze. See, Lisa, I was real studious for a while...got all A’s in high school, was class president, yearbook editor, and like all that? Once I got off on my own in college, though, it just didn’t take. She gave Lisa a sad smile. In my heart, I’m a mechanic. Just like my daddy and my brother used to be. Ever since I was this high— she indicated some spot on her leg that was below Lisa’s line of sight —that’s all I ever wanted to do. She paused, and her green eyes got a faraway look as she shifted her focus to some point beyond Lisa’s shoulder. When I’m dreaming big, though, I imagine myself heading up a pit crew at NASCAR...but that’s just a pipe dream, you know?

Trinity chuckled, gave her lovely head a slight shake, then studied Lisa’s features. I can tell by the look on your face you don’t approve. Oh, I know my wanting to just be a mechanic and bein’ a gal and all sounds strange to some folks. Travis...that’s my boyfriend back at Ole Miss...sure can’t appreciate the concept. Neither does my mama. But, let me tell you, far as I’m concerned? Nothing better in the whole world than fixing up some ol’ half-dead engine till it purrs like a kitten. It’s like I’m a miracle worker for ailing engines.

Well, the world certainly needs good mechanics. Although Lisa had to admit that she, indeed, had a preconceived notion of mechanics as underachievers—not at all the stuff of potential Rhodes scholars. In fact, I could have dearly used your services earlier this morning. Before Lisa could allow herself to get into a mundane discussion of her car troubles, though, the mother in her demanded the chance to speak. But can’t you work in a garage during the summers and complete your education? You’ve probably only got two or three years left, right?

She rolled her eyes. You sound just like Mama. Well, not counting the Northern accent. You should’ve heard her crying to me on the phone yesterday. Here I am, trying to tell her about my car being stolen and everything? But all she can focus on is how I told her I wasn’t going back to Ole Miss for my junior year.

"Your car was stolen?"

She smacked the table as if to kill an invisible ant. My sentiments exactly! Your car getting swiped doesn’t happen every day, now does it? But I think the trouble is, my mama’s been hearing about cars for so many years now, the very word ‘car’ goes in her one ear and out the other. Kind of like those folks who work in the hog farms whose nostrils get used to the smell of manure? Mama seems to think that, because I love being an auto mechanic, I should want to be a mechanical engineer and be our family’s first college graduate. Tried to tell her that the word ‘mechanical’ wasn’t enough to hold my interest for two more years. She’d hear none of it. Trinity sighed and sank back in her seat. She says she can’t take the notion of my dropping out of college on top of what my daddy and Frank did to her...gone and left her like that. Frank’s my older brother.

Lisa nodded, waiting for her to continue. When she remained silent, Lisa prompted, Both your father and your brother quit their jobs as mechanics and left home?

Yup. They’re up in Memphis right now. At least they were last time I spoke to Mama about them. It’s something of a sore subject with me, to put it mildly. They were both up there for Elvis week.

Elvis week?

The week surrounding August sixteenth. You know...the day Elvis Presley died? That’s kind of like...homecoming week for all us Elvis fans, so all the impersonators go up there. Like Daddy. And Frank.

Lisa paused. Do you mean that they’re big fans, or that they’re Elvis impersonators?

The latter. Though they call themselves ‘tribute artists.’ It’s a father-son routine. Now, Frank, you see? He’s the young Elvis in the first act. Then Daddy’s the old, fat Elvis in the second act.

Really. Huh. Lisa had no idea what to say to this, but the indicator on her internal weirdo barometer was starting to quiver.

Daddy even saw fit to put on extra weight. Elvis weighed well over two-hundred-fifty pounds when he died.

With no intelligent response to offer, Lisa glanced around for the still-absent waitress, then said, That must have been terribly upsetting, having your car stolen.

Trinity’s jaw muscles tightened. Especially since I have a real good idea of who did it, but the guy’s slipperier than otter snot. The police can’t seem to pin him down. She scooted forward in her seat. That reminds me. What did you mean earlier when you said you could have used my services? Was your car acting up?

My engine check light came on just as I was leaving the hotel this morning. I didn’t want to get on the highway only to have a breakdown in the middle of nowhere, so I drove around for a while, looking for a garage, and wound up here.

Trinity paled and reached over the table to put her hands on top of Lisa’s. Please tell me you didn’t take it to Eddie’s Garage. Down the road a piece?

Lisa’s spirits, which she’d assumed were at rock bottom, sank to subterranean levels. Yes. Why? Is Eddie a rip-off artist?

Trinity rubbed at her temples and pursed her lips. The waitress, an attractive but large woman in a singularly unattractive pea-green uniform that contrasted with her dark skin, finally reappeared, carrying two cups and two sets of napkin-wrapped silverware in one hand and a coffee pot in the other.

Hey, Trini. Sorry I was on the phone so long, y’all. The waitress’s cloying, sweet perfume made Lisa widen her eyes and blink to prevent her eyes from tearing up again.

Hey, Mary Jo, Trinity said with a grin, able to shift moods much faster than Lisa could; she was still anxious to hear what was wrong with Eddie’s garage. More troubles with Cocoa Rae?

"You can say that again. Shoot. She done coughed up a hairball the size of a grapefruit. Plus I hear tell she got sick in Randy’s underwear drawer, ‘n’ Randy didn’t notice it right away. Start’s pullin’ out cat hairs ‘n’ stuff from his shorts at work. Like that’s my fault? I swear. She arched an eyebrow and asked, Y’all fixin’ on settin’ together?"

Technically, Trinity was already setting at Lisa’s table. She peered into Lisa’s eyes and said, You’d best stay put till we figure out what to do. She looked up at the waitress. Bless her heart, she took her car to Eddie’s this morning.

Oh, my word! I was afraid to ask when she’d said her engine was broke. She peered down at Lisa and shook her head. And her a North’ner woman.

Exactly, Trinity said with a solemn nod.

Their piercing stares gave Lisa the same miserable sensation she got whenever a medical technician rearranged one of her breasts for a mammogram.

The waitress poured two cups of coffee, set down the Plexiglas pot on the table, then grabbed an order pad out of a pocket in her gray-green apron. What can I get y’all this morning? You ready to order, hon? she asked Lisa.

She had lost her appetite, but decided to order a full breakfast even so, out of consideration for the waitress’s kindness in seating her and her dog. I’ll have a cheese omelet.

White or wheat toast, or biscuits?

Wheat toast.

Grits or hashbrowns?

Hashbrowns.

At this last, she looked up long enough from her order pad to grin and wink at Trinity. How ‘bout you, hon? You gonna order the usual?

I’d better not. Got to save my money now. Billy Joe just fired me.

Her jaw dropped. No!"

‘Fraid so.

She grabbed Trinity’s shoulder. It’s not ‘cuz a what I tol’ you ‘bout him and that poor dead girl, is it?

The little hairs at the back of Lisa’s neck instantly rose, but Trinity said in her casual drawl, Oh, now, don’t you worry yourself about that, Mary Jo. I told you that was just between you and me, and that’s where it’s staying.

My word, chile! You in a streak of bad luck that’d make a runned-over possum weep for you! The police find your car yet?

Trinity frowned and nodded. What was left of it after Billy Joe ran it through the chop shop. It’d cost me more to replace the missing parts than to buy a brand new one.

The waitress clicked her tongue and started to protest.

I just know it’s that Billy Joe himself who did this to me, Trinity insisted. On account of how he wouldn’t even let me in the place this morning? Probably got my engine up on blocks out back...knows I’d recognize it and set the police on his sorry tail.

Mm-mmm, the waitress replied, giving her head a shake.

So, anyways, I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Can you get me a fistful of crackers?

Can’t. Delia’s been countin’ ‘em. Says we been goin’ through ‘em too fast, so the only ways I can give you any is if you order up the soup, ‘n’ ask for extra crackers for a nickel.

Trinity grimaced. Too early in the day for soup.

I could say that you ordered it and then sent it back, ‘n’ just charge you the nickel for the crackers. Do you wanna know what the soup-of-the-day you ain’t having is?

Their voices were so soothing—melodic duet strains—that Lisa had become mesmerized, but finally shook herself out of her trance. Please, Trinity. This is my treat. I’ll buy your breakfast. It would be my pleasure.

You sure ‘bout that? she asked, peering into Lisa’s eyes as if her sincerity could easily be measured there.

Absolutely.

She grinned. All right, then. She handed both of their menus to the waitress. I’ll have the usual.

Mary Jo jotted down the order, said, Be just a couple minutes, then swept up the coffee pot and left. Lisa took a sip of coffee, which tasted a bit too strong but was the perfect temperature.

Thank you kindly, Lisa. Like I was saying to Mary Jo? I’m fixing to get myself a bus ticket. She pulled several sugar packets out of a small container on their table. I’m getting my tail out of this town once and for all, just as fast as I can, she added.

Where are you going?

Graceland.

Elvis’s mansion?

Only Graceland I know of. She ripped open four sugar packets at once and dumped the contents into her coffee in one motion.

Do your father and brother work there now? Lisa asked timidly, suspecting that this was a stupid question, but perhaps they hired impersonators as tour guides.

She smiled a little and said, No, but I’m thinking they might still be in the immediate vicinity. Looks like it’s gonna be up to me to convince Daddy and Frank to quit their foolishness and get themselves back home to Mama and my little brother and sisters.

It did sound like extreme foolishness to Lisa. As a fellow musician—a one-time jazz pianist—she admired Elvis’s work, but could not understand the fanaticism. As much as she revered the piano genius of Art Tatum, for example, never would she even consider putting on black-face and coke-bottle lenses and trying to impersonate him.

The two women fell into a companionable silence, on Lisa’s part having resolved that she would not compound her stress level by attaching undo weight to a dishonest mechanic. At length, she asked, Have you ever been to Graceland before?

Oh, hell, yes. I was born ‘n’ raised in the Great State of Mississippi, just across the border from Memphis. We’d all go up there three, four times a year.

How did you wind up in Texas?

On account of the job I just got fired from. It’s not easy getting hired ‘round these parts as a gal mechanic. They kept sayin’ I didn’t have the right equipment. That my tool box was missing its handle, and like that? Only so many times you can hear jokes like that till you just want to blow somebody’s head off, let me tell you. I’ve got a cousin in Louisiana, though, who knows one or two of Billy Joe’s cousins. A couple months back, my cousin tells me that he heard ‘bout Billy Joe Cobb just north of Houston, who works down at Eddie’s Garage?

Oh, my God! Lisa cried, jerking to attention so fast that she spilled some of her coffee. She set her cup down. I brought my car to the garage you were just fired from?

You did indeed. She sighed and shook her head. You’d’ve been better off knockin’ on anyone’s door ‘round these parts and asking whoever answered if they could take a look at it...even if that was a six-year-old child still in diapers. She added unnecessarily, Which is to say an especially slow six-year old.

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing, then?

"Oh, they know exactly what they’re doing. It’s just that they do it to the car owner, so to speak?"

In other words, I’m screwed.

She nodded. You and your tail pipe. Far as I know, there was never an ‘Eddie,’ just Billy Joe Cobb and his brother, Bubby Ray Cobb, after their father, Billy Ray Joe Cobb, retired.

The waitress appeared with their food. As she set down the plates in front of them, Trinity continued, But don’t you worry, Lisa. We’ll march right over there and get this put right just as soon as we finish our meals.

You fixin’ to bust her car outta Eddie’s Garage? the waitress asked.

Don’t see as we have much choice, Trinity said.

Mm-mm-mmm, she replied, shaking her head with each syllable. She started to put the check face down on Lisa’s end of the table. I feel bad for giving this to you now, hon. Tell you what. Can’t do nothing to change the bill now, but I’ll see ‘bout throwing in a free slice of sweet-potato pie, all right?

Apparently Delia must be more generous with her pie than she was with her crackers. Thanks, but I don’t normally eat pie with breakfast.

She said over her shoulder, First time for everything, as she marched back toward the counter.

Trinity said, We’ve got to get your car out of there ‘fore those two polecats take you for every cent you’ve got.

Lisa felt stunned. Her unfortunate choice of Eddie’s garage was not so trivial after all. Her mind flashed back to the waitress’s previous mention of Billy Joe and the dead girl.

This former boss of yours who’s now working on my car...isn’t a murderer, is he? Lisa asked in a hushed voice.

Giving a quick glance around, Trinity leaned closer and whispered, Not a ‘murderer’ per se. That would be what you’d call an overstatement? But I’m afraid I went and promised Mary Jo I wouldn’t discuss that.

Chapter 2

While picking at her omelet, Lisa watched Trinity scarf down her breakfast. In addition to her two sunny-side-up eggs and small bowl of grits, she had three sausage links, four slices of bacon, and a thick slice of ham. Apparently pigs are short-lived south of the Mason-Dixon line. Trinity paused and glanced at Lisa. I’d like to wring that no-good red-neck sumbitch’s neck for stripping my car, not to mention what he did to Vera Mae.

Vera Mae?

After another quick glance around for Mary Jo, who was currently behind the counter, Trinity said quietly, The girl who died? She was a friend, from my home town. But, like I said, I’m not mentioning her.

That reply cost Lisa the last vestiges of her appetite. She stared at her eggs and at the gooey Cheese-Whiz-like substance seeping from them.

Mary Jo returned, refilled their coffees, and set a thick slice of what looked like an oranger-than-usual pumpkin pie next to Lisa’s plate. Eat up, hon. She gave her arm a gentle squeeze. You gots to put some meat on them bones. She walked off, shaking her head, muttering, Mmm-mmm-mmm.

Lisa sighed, calculating that the uneaten half of her omelet was destined to remain that way, but she didn’t want to insult Mary Jo and would need to force feed herself a respectable portion of pie. Her now-grown children would have enjoyed witnessing this, she thought, putting her fork to the bite-sized tip of her slice. How many times had she nagged that they had to finish their dinners if they wanted dessert? Here she was, obligated to eat her dessert at quarter of ten in the morning, despite her half-full plate. As the sweet creamy morsel reached her taste buds, she widened her eyes.

How is it? Trinity asked.

Delicious, actually. I’ve got to admit that I’m surprised. I’ve never willingly eaten a yam...if that’s even the same thing as a sweet-potato.

Trinity peered at her over the rim of her coffee cup. We need to talk cars for a while, instead of vegetables. Purposefully setting her cup down, she said, Tell me something, Lisa? Before this little warning light in your car went on, was the engine running fine?

Yes. Absolutely no problems. It stalled once...the first time I tried to start it this morning, then started right up on the next turn of the key.

She nodded. Engine misfired.

It started fine immediately afterwards, yet the warning light never went off.

She gave another knowing nod. The check light needs to be reset at a garage, which, by the way, takes us all of a second-and-a-half to do? Bet you dollars to doughnuts your engine simply misfired the one time. Might run forever without ever failing again. Meantime, Billy Joe’s down at Eddie’s, contemplating where he’s fixin’ to go on vacation with the money he’ll make off you.

But...I gave him my cell phone number,