Murder Boogies With Elvis Read Online Free PDF

loooove.” He moaned.
    The audience squealed its agreement. Then pop, pop, pop . Other spotlights on other guys about as ready for love as they could get.
    “It’s stuffing,” Tammy Sue explained just before they blasted into an unrecognizable song with, for me, unrecognizable acoustical instruments. I slapped my hands over my ears and looked up nervously. That was old plaster up there on the ceiling. Vibrations like this could cause an avalanche.
    Fred’s eyes were open and he wasn’t moving. I poked him with my elbow and motioned for him to put his hands over his ears.
    He pulled my left hand down.
    “Have I died and gone to hell?”
    “Not yet.”
    He nodded and covered his ears.
    Next to me, Tammy Sue was jumping up and down, squealing, and clapping. Beside her, Mary Alice and Virgil seemed as stunned as Fred and I were. We looked like four hear-no-evil monkeys connected by a jack-in-the-box. Then the spotlights changed colors and I closed my eyes. Thank God our cousin Pukey Lukey wasn’t with us. His motion sickness, which he has never outgrown completely, would never have survived this.
    Fred pulled down my hand again.
    “What?” I screamed.
    “Are those men for real?”
    “They’re ‘ready for loooove.’”
    He looked so crestfallen, I took pity. “Tammy Sue says it’s stuffing.”
    “Pass the word to Virgil.”
    But I clasped my hand back to my ear. Let Sister reassure Virgil about his masculinity.
    The man who I supposed was the lead singer since he seemed to be the one doing the most strutting, began to rip the brass buttons off of his waistcoat and throw them into the audience. He squatted and tossed one gently to Tammy Sue, who looked as if she might faint. Then he rose, straightened his stuffing, held out his arms, and sailed into the orchestra pit.
    The audience gasped. All of us in the front row leaned forward or jumped up to see if he was all right. The orchestra pit was dark and empty. The other members of the rock band didn’t seem perturbed, though, that one of their members had departed, quite possibly for good. They were making as much noise as ever.
    “Reckon he’s okay?” I screamed to Tammy Sue.
    “Probably. That’s Bobby Joe.”
    Bobby Joe, being a rock star, was immune to injuries?
    As in answer, he strutted back onstage, a gold-tinsel halo bouncing above his head. The audience went wild.
    “I thought for sure he’d broken his neck,” Fred said. He sounded disappointed.
    There were fifteen more long minutes. And then, thank God, it was time for intermission.
    Tammy Sue’s face was flushed. “Weren’t they wonderful? Can you believe that Larry’s their agent?” She held up the brass button that Bobby Joe had thrown to her and looked at it as if she were a jeweler appraising a valuable stone.
    “Must have been paying the preacher,” Fred said.
    I put my hand on Fred’s cheek and turned his face toward me. “Enough.”
    He grinned and stood up. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
    “Take your time.”
    “He seems very nice,” Tammy Sue said as he left.
    “He usually is. Rock bands just aren’t his type of music.”
    “What is?”
    “You talking about Fred?” Mary Alice leaned over and joined in our conversation. Virgil, I noticed, had joined the crowd streaming up the aisle. “Last I heard he was into Tommy Dorsey.”
    “Oooh, I love Tommy Dorsey,” Tammy Sue exclaimed. She turned to me. “Is Mr. Hollowell a good jitterbugger?”
    “Absolutely,” I said, smiling sweetly at Sister.
    She smiled back just as sweetly. “You ever heard of the Hollowell Jive of Fifty-Five, Tammy Sue? Fred originated that. Of course, that was back when his joints worked.”
    Tammy Sue looked from one of us to the other. “Y’all are kidding me.”
    “Now, would I do that?” Sister asked.
    “Yes.”
    “And you’d be right.” Sister stood up. “Do either of you want to try for the bathroom?”
    I shook my head. No way I was going to stand in the line to the ladies’