Murder Boogies With Elvis Read Online Free PDF Page A

like Sister at all. She was even wearing a black pantsuit, and the rinse Delta Hairlines had put on her hair kept it from being quite as orange as usual. Hmm.
    “No, Larry and I don’t have any children yet,” Tammy Sue was saying as the lights dimmed. I leaned over, saw Mr. Wurlitzer toss his paperback off of his platform and sit up straight. And then the magic words, “Ladies and gentlemen, the Alabama Theater proudly presents Henry Taylor at the Mighty Wurlitzer!”
    I was a child again as he rose into the spotlighted air,feet pumping the pedals, fingers pressing the keys. The organ gleamed. Mr. Wurlitzer gleamed. Hot damn. Hello, my honey. Hello, my baby.
    The audience was his and we sang along. He was the warm-up act, but if there had been nothing else, the audience would have been satisfied. He segued from “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” to “Stars Fell on Alabama,” and we went right with him. He finished with “God Bless America,” and half the audience, confusing it for a moment for the national anthem, stood.
    “Irving Berlin and Kate Smith would be proud,” I told Tammy Sue, who had jumped to her feet and sat back down slightly embarrassed.
    “Who?” she asked.
    “He wrote it. She sang it.”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    Mr. Wurlitzer began to sink into the orchestra pit as the audience belted out and held the last “home.” I glanced over, saw him turn off the lights on his music stand, give a little wave to the orchestra leader, and hop off his bench even before it had totally reached the bottom. Then he grabbed his paperback and disappeared through a small door under the stage.
    The applause died down when the gold curtain began to rise. We were greeted with a night scene. A full, bright moon shone against a backdrop of dark sky and against that moon a girl was silhouetted. Slowly she began to dance as a spotlight gradually lit a male figure on the stage watching her, reaching for her.
    “Larry didn’t book this act,” Tammy Sue whispered into my right ear.
    “Looks like ballet,” Fred whispered into my left ear.
    Whatever. It was lovely. And by the time the two were moving toward each other for an embrace, I wastotally lost in the dance and unprepared for the whack against my head.
    I jumped. Sister was reaching around Tammy Sue and hitting me with her program.
    “What!” I was in no mood to be disturbed.
    She said something I couldn’t understand.
    “What?” The couple met. He lifted her lightly.
    Tammy Sue translated as the couple embraced.
    “She says that’s Dusk Armstrong.”
    “Really?” I looked at the beautiful spotlighted girl with interest. Mary Alice and I have an acquaintance, Bernice Armstrong, who has three daughters born ten years apart. Dawn was the first, then Day ten years later. That was fine. But Bernice obviously lost her mind when she had the last one or was sending not-so-subliminal messages to her husband, Jerry, when she named the baby Dusk. Dawn is a former Miss Alabama and a model; Day is an assistant manager of a Regent’s Bank. Our prognosis for Dusk’s occupation had never been optimistic. Fortunately we were wrong.
    Great, I mouthed back at Sister.
    “Here comes one of Larry’s acts,” Tammy Sue exclaimed.
    The Briquettes danced onto the stage and did a reasonable imitation of The Supremes. I hoped Larry wasn’t planning on making a living as their agent, but the audience gave them a good round of applause.
    It was during this act that Fred dozed off. He missed the jugglers, the tap dancers, Miss Jefferson County, and Miss Point Mallard’s duet. But there was no sleeping through Cock Fight.
    All of the lights went out. Total darkness. Then one spotlight popped on to a single man center stage. He was dressed as an eighteenth-century dandy: tightwhite pants, knee-high stockings, waistcoat, and even a white wig. He stood still for a second, and then he did a slow bump and grind—ending with his pelvis stuck so far out it was unbelievable.
    “Ready for