An Excerpt from It's Now or Never

"Elvis is on the building!"

C.J. Stone grimaced as the tinny-voiced announcer cackled at the same joke he'd made countless times since she'd driven into tuning distance of KFAM--Western Virginia's only farm rock station. She mouthed the five lines along with Big Don as he described, again, the unusual sighting which had the residents of Markham, Virginia burning up the request lines, consequently forcing her to listen to Love Me Tender three times an hour.

Apparently, three days earlier, sometime in the dead of night, the clearly visible outline of The King had mysteriously appeared on the side of a local farmer's barn.

C.J. shook her head. She did not envy those poor people the onslaught of nuts and flakes that would surely descend upon them. Events like these had a way of bringing all the wackos out from their hiding places.

And she didn't envy herself at the moment, either. Driving the lazy turns of route 55, C.J. had little to do but watch the picturesque scenery unfold, dodge the occasional 18-wheeler, thread through surprisingly heavy traffic, and think about her current predicament. She had known there was going to be a problem when Jack Dawson, her editor at the Post, had delivered a cup of tea to her desk. Jack never brought anybody anything, and he never did it with a smile. C.J. had been stunned when he then suggested that she not bother settling in to work, because he was giving her, no, she corrected herself, he was insisting she take a few days off. He'd mentioned how hard she'd been working, what a fine job she'd done.

All true.

But she'd known, just as Jack had, that the real reason he was suggesting she take a little pleasure trip was because of the increase in tension as the Marconi Case moved toward trial.

C.J. couldn't help the small rush of excitement that washed over her. The Marconi case had been just the break she'd been looking for. In covering several black-tie events for the style section of the paper, while trying not to believe she was going to be stuck black taffeta gowns and catered food for the rest of her journalistic career, C.J. had stumbled on a series of coincidences that caught her attention.

"There is no such thing as coincidence," she murmured to herself, grinning.

The first lesson Jack had taught her when she was a raw cub fresh out of school.

So, she'd followed up on her hunch, got help when she knew she was in too deep and eventually saw her own by-line under a series of articles grouped under the headline--The Capitol Mafia.

In reality, she knew it sounded a little more impressive than it actually was. And even though she was going to testify in the trial of Joseph Marconi, she hadn't had more than the general threats that come with the journalistic territory. But, the proceedings were set to begin in a month, and the increase in calls and email were enough for Jack to suggest her impromptu vacation.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken any time off. So, as much as she'd resisted, and she had, eventually, Jack had his way and she had reservations at a little bed and breakfast just outside Markham. She'd glanced at the brochure--apparently there were people in the world who liked the idea of being in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but watch the grass grow and horses frolic in emerald green pastures.

She was, for the next few days at least, going to be one of them.

Her stomach, which had grumbled off and on periodically for the past two hours, now groaned in protest. She glanced at the clock in-set in the dashboard. Almost three o'clock. It'd been a long time since her morning tea and bagel. A quick look at her gas gauge convinced her to take the next exit--downtown Markham.

The gas station and attached convenience store was a two-pump job, and C.J. imagined it was more than adequate for the general population of the area. But as she inched her way into the parking area and lined up behind at least ten other cars, she realized she'd driven right into the heart of Markham Mania.

It looked like a street festival. Hastily pitched tents and makeshift booths lined the street leading into the small town. C.J. watched as a group of portly men in shining white jumpsuits, black wigs and sunglasses moved in a small herd toward the gas station convenience store. She counted them in astonishment--seven bonafide Elvis impersonators. She had a feeling that was seven more than the town of Markham had ever seen.

"Amazing," she whispered to herself as she finally reached the gas pump.

"Simply unbelievable," she murmured when she got out of her car and reached for the pump handle.

"Oh yes, ma'am! It surely is that."

C.J. glanced to her left to find a whip-thin, gangly teenager standing beside her. His blue and white striped shirt was well worn and tucked into his baggy jeans. C.J. was instantly charmed by his bright blue eyes and smattering of freckles over his cheeks. This one had no trouble finding a date for the homecoming dance, she thought. He flashed a high-voltage smile and moved quickly to begin filling her tank.

He shook his head, affable grin in place when she began to protest.

"Oh no, ma'am. There's no extra charge or anything, but Mr. Danbury likes to remind us that doin' for a lady is respectful."

She nodded and leaned back against her car.

"What's your name?"
,br/> "Neil," the boy replied. "Neil Bright."

C.J. turned her attention back to the people milling about the gas station and along the sides of the road.

"How long has it been like this," she asked.

The boy let out a low whistle. "Almost from the first mornin' people started to come in, ma'am. But today has been somethin' else. Cars and vans have been streamin' in for a solid twelve hours. Never seen nothin' like it before."

"I should imagine not." C.J. watched as one of the booth managers struggled to tie a vinyl sign to the two wooden posts above his stall. Fried Banana Sandwiches--A Feast Fit For THE KING--$3.50 each.

"Are they charging admission to see the...image, yet?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!"

C.J. was surprise to hear the near outrage in the boy's voice.

"Grandma and Grampa Bing would never do something like that. They were just as surprised as we were when all this happened."

"I believe you. They must be somewhat overwhelmed with the response."

The boy bobbed his head as he finished pumping the gas, replaced the handle, then screwed the cap back into place.

"You bet. It's been just awful, too. There's the second planting to be done and I hear there's folks in the corn day and night."

The irritation in young Neil's voice was palpable. Scrutinizing the crowd, C.J. began to sense the disparity between the newcomers and devotees and the few residents she was able to distinguish. The locals all wore a slight expression of bewilderment and distaste, as opposed to the obvious flake factor. Those people wandered about with faces lit with rapture.

Her journalistic instincts tripped into high gear, and after handing Neil her money along with her thanks, she moved her car into the last, vacant space beside the convenience store. Grabbing her purse, C.J. made sure she had her phone with her, the she headed for the nearest knot of booths. She made a mental note to thank her best friend, Jeff for his interest in new gadgetry. He'd given her the new mobile with the digital camera feature for her birthday the month before.

Before she had taken more than four snaps--the Elvis impersonators, the fried banana sandwich booth, the clothesline draped with rugs emblazoned with the King's portrait, and the selection of framed Velvet Elvis's which ranged from the Jailhouse Rock years all the way to the final, ample era--she had made up her mind. There was something more than met the eye here.

As she threaded her way through the growing throng, back to her car, C.J. was already composing an email to her editor. She just needed to confirm one or two more details before she was certain.

Easing out of her space, careful not to bump into the woman wheeling triplets (each dressed in zipper-front, rhinestone footy-jammies) toward the sidewalk, C.J. slowly left the gas station. She didn't need directions to her next destination. She simply followed the traffic as it slowly snaked through town...toward the Bing farm.