The Haunted Housewives of Allister Alabama (Cleo Tidwell, 1)
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Who knew one gaudy Velvet Elvis could lead to such a heap of haunted trouble?
By Susan Abel Sullivan
Series: Cleo Tidwell Paranormal Mystery
Paranormal Cozy Mystery / Southern Humor
Release Date: October 20, 2012
Trade Paperback
ISBN-13: 978-0615700892
Novel: Approx. 305 pages
Also available as an ebook
Find it Online:
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Wholesale: Ingram or direct: publisher[at]WorldWeaverPress.com
Other books in the series: The Haunted Housewives of Allister Alabama (1), The Weredog Whisper (2)
By Susan Abel Sullivan
Series: Cleo Tidwell Paranormal Mystery
Paranormal Cozy Mystery / Southern Humor
Release Date: October 20, 2012
Trade Paperback
ISBN-13: 978-0615700892
Novel: Approx. 305 pages
Also available as an ebook
Find it Online:
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Books-A-Million
Goodreads
Independent Bookstores
iTunes/ Apple iBooks
Kobo
Wholesale: Ingram or direct: publisher[at]WorldWeaverPress.com
Other books in the series: The Haunted Housewives of Allister Alabama (1), The Weredog Whisper (2)
1 available
DescriptionWho knew one gaudy Velvet Elvis could lead to such a heap of haunted trouble?
When Cleo Tidwell said, “I do,” for the third time, she had no idea her marriage vows would be tested by a tacky piece of art. But Cleo’s not the kind of woman to let a velvet-offense-against-good-taste just hang — oh no, she’s on a mission to oust the King. Trouble is, Elvis won’t leave the building. And he’s attractin’ all manner of kooks, fanatics, and looky-loos to Cleo’s doorstep, including the entire congregation of the Church of the Blue Suede Shoes. Everyone wants a piece of the painting, but Cleo’s starting to suspect that whatever’s haunting the Velvet Elvis wants a piece of her husband. Why else would her hubby trade in his car for a ’56 pink Caddy, moonlight as an Elvis impersonator, and develop a sudden hankering for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches? Certainly it can’t be anything as simple as a mid-life crisis, because Cleo is not getting divorced again — her mother would never let her hear the end of it. Cleo’s life is all shook up by crazies with death threats, psychic warnings “from beyond,” kidnapping attempts, invitations to join the Blue Shoe Loonies, and even murder! Cleo’s in a fight for her life, her marriage, and the perseverance of good taste everywhere. Excerpt from Chapter One Late September
1 My name is Cleopatra Kilgore Tidwell. As a middle class Southern gal born and raised in small town Alabama, I was brought up with certain social rules. You don’t wear white after Labor Day, you don’t decorate your lawn with pink flamingos, and you most certainly don’t hang black velvet paintings in your home. So when my husband Bertram and I were recruited to help his mother pare down her Elvis collection and pack up the rest of her stuff for her upcoming move to a senior’s condo, I was a bit judgmental about all the tacky Elvis doo-dads. Okay, I was a good bit judgmental. Don’t get me wrong. Out of the three mothers-in-law I’ve had, Georgia is hands down my favorite. But really? A black velvet painting of Elvis Presley? That was supposedly haunted. She might as well have hung a dogs-playing-poker print smack dab in the middle of her living room. It was just not done in Allister unless you were a redneck or trailer trash. And Georgia was neither, bless her heart. My mother, Martha Jane, always says, “Hindsight is wiser.” I didn’t know at the time that the “haunted” Velvet Elvis would lead to murder, mayhem and a media circus. Or that my whole worldview on the subject of psychics, angels, the occult, and disembodied spirits would be turned on its head. Yep, I was in for a rude awakening. Uh huh. 2 My gorgeous mother-in-law, who at sixty-two could still turn younger men’s heads, plucked a framed 8×10 photograph from the end table beside her couch. Her spacious ranch home was in complete disarray from the three of us sorting through a lifetime of belongings for her upcoming move to a smaller abode. But Georgia herself was the epitome of neatness, her blonde hair done up in a 60s flip, her navy slacks neatly pressed, and not a smudge of dirt or dust on her hot pink knit top. “Oh, Bertram, I absolutely must take this photo to the condo with me.” “Now, Mama, you know you can’t take everything with you.” Bertram stroked his beard, a clear sign he was thinking up some alternative for his mother. He’d opted against his usual suburban uniform of khakis and polo shirt and was wearing jeans and a Jimmy Buffet t-shirt touting the song, “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere.” “How about you trade something in your gonna-keep pile with that photograph?” He rose to his full six foot four height, his knees cracking with the effort. He pointed to the spot on the golden shag carpet where we’d gathered a growing pile of Elvis memorabilia. “Like this Velvet Elvis?” He hoisted up a two by three foot acrylic painting of Elvis preserved for all posterity on black velvet and bordered with a gold frame that would have been right at home in a Liberace museum. This was the often parodied Elvis: white rhinestone-spangled jumpsuit, chiffon scarf, dark, longish hair in the early seventies style, thick mutton-chop sideburns, and a hint of a jowl. For an odd moment, I thought I heard Elvis saying, “Priscilla,” in my head. And then it was gone. “But that’s the painting I bought last month when I went to Graceland,” Georgia said. “A little fella was sellin’ ‘em by the roadside. Said it was haunted. I paid a thousand dollars for it.” Oh, Lordy, Martha Jane would be fit to be tied if she heard this. A thousand dollars for something only a bonafide Elvis fanatic would want and hideously tacky, to boot. Bertram frowned. “A thousand dollars, Mama?” He was still holding the painting, staring at Elvis’s one eye as if he could silently discern its dubious secrets. I was just relieved the trashy thing didn’t belong to us. “Well, yes, hon. If this was the real deal, I wanted to be the next person to witness it. I wasn’t about to let another Elvis collector get their hands on it.” She nodded at me as if I were a kindred spirit. “How is it haunted?” I said. I’m tellin’ ya, some people will believe anything. “Well, the little fella said it sang ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ at night after he and his family had all gone to sleep. A pitiful soul. He reminded me of those men you see by the interstate holding up the will-work-for-food signs.” Bertram set the painting down on the thick carpet again, propping it against the wall, but one hand lingered along the upper edge of the gilt frame. “If they were all asleep, how’d they know it sang anything?” “Because he videotaped it. And he also told me it showed Elvis leavin’ the painting.” I didn’t doubt for one moment that this was all a gimmick to dupe the gullible, but it could be entertaining to see someone’s amateur efforts at pulling a con. “Did he give you the tape?” “No, darlin’,” Georgia shook her head sadly. “Said it burned up in a trailer fire.” Author
Susan Abel Sullivan lives in the swamps and marshes of coastal Georgia with her hubby and a veritable menagerie of beasts both fantastical and mundane such as rabbits, snakes, chickens, cats, mice, parakeets, and a dog named Luna. When not writing, she works as a fitness professional teaching a variety of classes and workshops including sword-based fitness. She is a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop for speculative fiction. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in numerous online and print publications, including Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine, ASIM Best of Horror: Vol II, Beyond Centauri, New Myths, AlienSkin, and Writers’ Journal. She is the author of Cursed: Wickedly Fun Stories and Fried Zombie Dee-light! Ghoulish, Ghostly Tales and the Cleo Tidwell Paranormal Mystery Series. Visit her website at susanabelsullivan.weebly.com or twitter @susan_abel.
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Other Books in the Series
The Weredog Whisperer, #2
Praise"Grab a peanut butter and banana sandwich and settle in for a cozy mystery full of zany characters, haunted paintings, and a big dose of Southern humor.”
— Heidi Ruby Miller, author of Greenshift and Ambasadora “Prepare for the read of your life!” — Perpetual Motion Machine “Funniest novel I’ve read since Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.“ — New Myths.com “Laugh out loud funny, with solidly defined characters, each more quirky and oddly enjoyable than the last. Five stars!” — Jeep Diva “Part mystery, part ghost story, this humorous whodunnit will have you humming Elvis tunes and watching for the King himself to come gyrating through your door.” — Jason Jack Miller, award-winning author of Hellbender and The Devil and Preston Black “Cleo Tidwell has taste, sass, and heart. Unfortunately, she also has a velvet painting of Elvis. So begins a fast-paced, fun, and compulsively readable romp. The Burg gave us Stephanie Plum, Las Vegas gave us Lucky O’Toole, and now, Allister, AL, presents us with Cleo Tidwell.” — Lane Robins, critically acclaimed author of Maledicte, Kings and Assassins, and the Shadows Inquiries series (as Lyn Benedict) “Mystery, murder, mayhem, and…Elvis? Cozy in for a laugh-filled evening as Susan Abel Sullivan spins a ghost tale with Southern attitude and good style that you won’t be able to put down.” — Heidi Ruby Miller, author of Greenshift and Ambasadora “You’ll love this heroine and her quirky family and be clamoring for more!” — Rebecca Roland, author of Shards of History “Imaginative, suspenseful, and funny … a unique, must-have addition to your to-be-read stack!” — Kelly L. Stone, author of Grave Secret and Time to Write: No Excuses, No Distractions, No More Blank Pages “Fans of Stephanie Plum and the paranormal will love The Haunted Housewives of Allister, Alabama!“ — Sherry Peters, author of Silencing Your Inner Saboteur |