Read Online Daniel Klein by Blue Suede Clues: A Murder Mystery Featuring Elvis Presley - Free Book Online

laughing.
    â€œLet’s hear that song,” Elvis said.
    Billy cleared his throat. Then, in his spring-clear tenor he began to sing a gospel song:

    â€œ There’s a dark place, Lord,
A hidden place no light can reach,
No sound can breach,
No preacher preach.
    There’s a dark place, Lord,
A hidden place so deep in my heart,
In the deepest part,
In the saddest part.
    Shine on me!
O Shine on me!

O Shine on me!
O Shine on me!”

    Elvis was crying full out now, the tears streaming down his face. “Thank you, brother,” he said.
    â€œYou take care of yourself, Elvis,” Billy said. And they hung up.

7
    The Stuntman’s Mistress
    I t took a good ten minutes for all the tears to flow out of him. Where did all that sorrow came from? Missing Selma? Missing his mother? His lost twin, Jesse? Or was it something else too, a hidden place in his soul desperately seeking light.
    Finally, Elvis stood up, went to the sink and splashed his face with cold water. He took a deep breath and let it out, then took another and another. He looked at his watch: almost four o’clock. Priscilla would be high over the Midwest by now. There was no denying he was relieved that she was going back to Memphis. The film was now completely finished and he would join her soon. But not yet. No, not just yet.
    Elvis dialed the MGM operator again. “I’m looking for a woman named Nancy Pollard,” Elvis said. “What department would she be in?”
    â€œMiss Pollard? Why, she’s head of development, Mr. Presley.”
    â€œWould you connect me to her, ma’am?”
    The extension rang just once before it was picked up and a bubbly voice said, “Development. Miss Aronson speaking.”
    â€œHello, Miss Aronson. This is Elvis Presley and I’m looking for Miss Pollard.”
    â€œWhy, hello , Mr. Presley,” Aronson gushed. “Nancy, uh, Miss Pollard, was wondering if you would call. I must say, I didn’t think you would.”

    â€œShe was expecting to hear from me?” Elvis asked warily.
    â€œShe was indeed,” Aronson bubbled on.
    â€œWhy would that be, ma’am?”
    â€œBecause of the search you’re on, of course,” Aronson said.
    What the devil was going on here? He had only seen Littlejon last night and Clifford this morning—how could word already be out that he was looking into the case? Who had blabbed? Warden Reardon? One of the prison guards? Madge Dickerson, in spite of her riff on the makeup artists’ honor code? Or maybe the MGM operator had been listening in on his calls—that would explain it. When it came to gossip, Los Angeles was about the size of Tupelo.
    â€œWhat exactly do you know about my search?” Elvis asked tersely.
    â€œJust what I read in the papers,” Aronson said. “That you’re looking for a story with some real substance. A script that can reach way down and inspire. A quality film.”
    It was all Elvis could do to keep from bursting out laughing. “That’s right, Miss Aronson,” he said. “That’s why I want to talk with Miss Pollard.”
    â€œWell, I don’t want to step on anybody’s toes,” Aronson said in an intimate whisper, “but personally I have some marvelous properties that would be just perfect for you. Serious things. James Dean kind of things.”
    â€œGlad to hear that,” Elvis said. “But I’d like to meet with Miss Pollard. May I speak with her?”
    â€œOh, she’s still out at lunch,” Aronson said. Four o’clock and still at lunch—Nancy Pollard certainly had come up in the world since she was Nanette Poulette. “I could set something up for tomorrow though. Are you free for lunch?”
    â€œI guess I am,” Elvis said. “But I don’t much like eating out in this town, if that’s okay.”
    â€œI’ll order in,” Aronson said. “You like baby back