Cover image for Murder boogies with Elvis
Title:
Murder boogies with Elvis
Author:
George, Anne.
Personal Author:
Publication Information:
New York : W. Morrow, 2001.
Physical Description:
243 pages ; 22 cm
Language:
English
Geographic Term:
ISBN:
9780060198701
Format :
Book

Available:*

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X Adult Fiction Mystery/Suspense
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X Adult Fiction Central Closed Stacks
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X Adult Fiction Mystery/Suspense
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X Adult Fiction Mystery/Suspense
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X Adult Fiction Mystery/Suspense
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Summary

Summary

The Southland's most mismatched set of siblings -- flamboyant Mary Alice and prim and proper Patricia Anne -- are back and ready to boogie in a King-sized story of hip-shaking mayhem and murder most tacky.

At an age when most women are slowing down, oversized, over-the-top Mary Alice a.k.a. "Sister" -- is always on the lookout for the next good time...and the next husband. Now Sheriff Virgil Stuckey is in line to become Sister's Mister Number Four, which has practical Patricia Anne's level head filling to the brim with a million and one prewedding details. But first there is another important occasion the sisters are looking forward to attending: a gala benefit to raise money for restoring one of Birmingham's unnatural wonders, a towering metal monument to the god Vulcan lately fallen into disrepair.

The grand finale is thirty sequined Elvis impersonators high kicking in unison. Enjoying the show from the front row, Patricia Anne and Mary Alice are in the line of fire when one of the dancing Kings keels over dead right into the bandstand. It seems this Elvis clone, one Griffin Mooncloth, has not only left the building ... he's left this life!

At first the sisters figure that the cause of death was a massive heart attack induced by one too many pelvic gyrations. But the unfortunate Mooncloth's very dramatic demise is soon discovered to be the result of a switchblade knife plunged into his back. The plot thickens when the murder weapon is discovered in Patricia Anne's very sensible purse. The perennially law-abiding "Mouse" is understandably all shook up -- and mortified to find herself the prime suspect in this bizarre case of Elvis elimination. And with Mary Alice's well-coiffed head in a sunflower-yellow-and-magenta cloud over her impending nuptials, Patricia Anne's the one who will have to get herself out of very hot water indeed.


Reviews 3

Booklist Review

The statuesque Mary Alice and the small but sharp Patricia Anne, sixtysomething sisters from Birmingham, Alabama, have their last adventure together: author Anne George died in March. Mary Alice (aka Sister) is planning to marry her fourth husband, a Norman Schwarzkopf look-alike named Virgil, and Patricia Anne (aka Mouse) is keenly awaiting her daughter Haley's return from abroad and the birth of her grandchild. The ties of food, pets, and family and the ambience of the city of Birmingham figure prominently in a swirl of events--the line of Elvis impersonators at a benefit arranged by one of Virgil's relatives hides a murder when one of the would-be Presleys falls dead nearly into Mouse's lap. Meanwhile, one of Sister's daughters is getting serious about pregnancy if not marriage; a friend's three daughters, Dawn, Day, and Dusk, have some odd ties to the deceased Elvis; and Mouse does some affectionate musing about the joys of a decades-long marriage. Farewell, Ms. George, and thanks for all the sweet tea. --GraceAnne A. DeCandido


Publisher's Weekly Review

Y'all want lots of good laughs with a grisly murder and some clever detecting thrown in? Join the sexagenarian southern sisters, Mary Alice, a six-footer, and Patricia Anne, a size-six petite. In their eighth adventure from Agatha-winner George (Murder on a Girls' Night Out; Murder on a Bad Hair Day; etc.), Mary Alice, survivor of three marriages, is about to wed her fourth husband, Virgil Stukey, sheriff of Alabama's St. Clair County. At a benefit at a restored theater, a chorus line of Elvis impersonators performs in white jumpsuits; 30 Elvises boogie to the footlights and acknowledge the applause, but only 29 withdraw. One pitches headfirst into the pit, landing only a few feet from the sisters, who have come to cheer for Virgil and his brother-in-law, both Elvis impersonators who just happen to have been on either side of the dead "pitcher." Several days later Patricia Anne, rummaging in her purse, finds a large, rusty switchblade, which turns out to be the murder weapon. She goes to jail. The complications in this delectable tale are legion. The dialogue is so true and natural that it could go straight to stage or film. Inspired name choices include the sisters Dawn, Day and Dusk, as well as a lad called Pukey Lukey (because he's subject to motion sickness). If you're not already a fan, you'll want to find the earlier books, especially since the author died in March. Angels are laughing with her now for the joy she gave so many. Agent, Ruth Cohen. (Aug. 1) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

Serial sister sleuths Mary Alice and Patricia Anne attend a benefit but wind up investigating the murder of an Elvis impersonator. More madcap adventures from the unlikely but always amusing pair. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

Murder Boogies with Elvis Chapter One I was lying on my stomach under the kitchen sink, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich and listening to Vivaldi's "Spring" when icy cold hands grasped my ankles. I screamed, reared up, and banged my head on the drainpipe so hard that zigzag lights streaked across my vision. The next thing I was aware of was being dragged from under the sink and hearing a very familiar voice saying, "What on God's earth is wrong with you?" My chin hit the kitchen floor with a clunk and the zigzag lights streaked again; pain from both blows met in the top of my head. "Are you okay?" Maybe, I thought, if I just lay there she would go away -- "she" being my sister, the boss of the world. The pain would lessen, Vivaldi would move on to "Summer" and then to "Winter." Eventually I would get up, get some ice for the knot that was swelling like a balloon on the back of my head. If I were lucky, the brain damage would be minimal. "You weren't trying to commit suicide, were you, like that poet woman? Tell me you weren't trying to commit suicide, Mouse. That would be a terrible thing to do to me." "What?" I struggled to a sitting position and looked up at Mary Alice. Way up. She's six feet tall (she says five-twelve) and admits to two hundred fifty pounds. "Well, I know I haven't been around as much lately since I've been seeing so much of Virgil, but I didn't think you were that depressed." "What the hell are you talking about?" I touched the back of my head tentatively. "I may have a concussion, but I'm not suicidal." "Well, what were you doing under the sink?" "Putting down some of those tile squares. A couple of them weren't sticking good, so I was putting weight on them. Lying on them for a few minutes." I looked down and saw my peanut butter and banana sandwich squished on my T-shirt. "Actually I was eating my lunch. And the poet you're thinking of is Sylvia Plath. And it was a gas stove she stuck her head in, not a sink." I held up a hand. "Help me up." Sister grabbed me with the cold hands that had started the trouble and pulled me up. "How come your hands are so cold?" I asked, walking slowly to the kitchen table and casing into a chair. I quickly learned that if I didn't move my head suddenly, the pain was a simple throb. "You scared me half to death." "I was getting ice for a Coke when I looked over and saw half of you sticking out from under the sink." "Well, would you get me a couple of pieces now? just wrap them in a paper towel." She opened the refrigerator. "You want some Coke and some aspirin, too?" I forgot and nodded my head. Pain rattled around in there. "I may really be hurt," I said. I closed one eye and then the other. Was the left eye a little blurry? "Of course you're not. It's just a bump." Sister handed me the Coke, aspirin, and a paper towel with ice in it. I swallowed the aspirin and tried the eye test again. I looked through the bay window at Woofer's igloo doghouse. Right eye first. Okay. Left eye. A couple of floaters. "I have floaters in my left eye," I said. "I think I've jarred my retina." Sister sat down across from me. "Doesn't mean a thing. You're fine. I have floaters all the time. One looks like one of those little white mealy worms Grandpapa used to fish with. Caught all the crappie with. Comes and goes." "You have a mealy worm floater?" "Sometimes. Comes and goes." I held the paper towel with the ice in it against the back of my head and looked at Mary Alice for the first time since she had come in. Really looked at her. The view from the floor didn't count. "You look very spiffy today," I said. She did. She was wearing a pink pantsuit and her hair was a darker blond than usual. Her bangs were pulled to one side and her skin glowed. "Thanks. I've been to Delta Hairlines, and there was a lady there giving free makeovers advertising some new cosmetics for seniors. I told her I was only sixty-four, but she gave me one anyway." "Sixty-four, huh?" Sister didn't answer that. The truth is that she's sixty-six, but on her last birthday she decided to start counting backward. I'm five years younger than she is, or at least I was. In a couple of years I'll be older than she is and soon she won't qualify for senior-citizen makeovers. "I bought some of it and would have gotten you some but our skin tones are completely different." She was telling the truth about this. Everything about us is different. She has olive skin and brown eyes, and I have fair skin and hazel eyes. I used to have strawberry-blond hair, and Sister was a brunette. Now I'm gray and she's usually strawberry-blond. Add to that the fact that I'm a size six petite -- and Lord knows what Sister is -- and is there any wonder that when we were children and she told me I was adopted, that I believed her? So did everybody else. I'm just grateful that we were born at home so there was no chance that we had been mixed up at the hospital. I closed my right eye again. One of the floaters in the left did look a little like a mealworm. I looked from one side to the other. "Are you doing that or are you having some kind..." Murder Boogies with Elvis . Copyright © by Anne George. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from Murder Boogies with Elvis by Anne George All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.