From Blue Christmas Bones by Carolyn Haines. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
2
We finished lunch and walked over to the Cadence Bank Arena, where the competitions and festivities would be centered. Tupelo’s downtown was blocked off to cars, and folks were milling about. Elvises—some the spitting image of the King, and some so far from the svelte Elvis of my dreams that it took a moment for their posture and pose to convey the essence of the singer—performed wherever they could drum up an audience. Some signed autographs as if they were really the King. It was all about believing in oneself and the power of the Elvis transformation.
At the Arena Center, we went inside to view the incredible bejeweled belt that a local woman had allowed the festival to display. It was a perfect replica of Elvis’s Las Vegas belt and was worth a fortune. We gathered around the glass case and inspected the work of art.
“Who owns this?” Cece asked as she walked around the display with her camera on. She was filming for a newspaper story. I knew how her brain worked.
“Someone local,” Tinkie said. “I read it somewhere, but I don’t remember the name. We can find out at the hotel. They had brochures on the festival and who was participating. Allan Malone, from Who’s Singing Barbra, is in town to emcee some of the events. He’s a native of Tupelo, but he has a mansion out in Hollywood, too.” She looked around to see if anyone in the Center would have useful information. The only thing we saw were two security guards who were positioned to watch the belt. I noticed there were also several cameras in the ceiling aimed at the valuable bejeweled belt.
Millie walked to one of the guards. “Who owns the belt?” she asked.
“Grace Land,” he said.
“I didn’t ask where Elvis’s home was. I asked who owns the belt?” She pointed at it.
He frowned. “And I told you. Grace Land.” He separated the words, making a distinction between the name and the famous Memphis home of the singer.
Tinkie recovered quickly. “I apologize. I didn’t understand what you were saying. Who is this Grace Land?”
“Local lady.” He grinned and turned away. “You should check her out. She’s a trip.”
“Is that really her name?” I asked.
“It is. Her mother was a giant Elvis fan, and she named her daughter after Presley’s Memphis estate. Not a nickname. The mom legally changed Grace’s last name to Land. I went to school with Grace, and her life is all tied to Elvis. She hired us to guard this belt. It’s her most prized possession, and she has loads of possessions.”
“How much is it worth?” Cece asked. She was getting down to the brass tacks.
The guard shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. All I know is that the jewels are real, and the gold was crafted by a master artist, Sippi Salem. His work is known internationally.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Cece said. “He makes jewelry that’s as valuable for the craftsmanship as the content. He created one of the crowns for Queen Elizabeth’s Ruby Jubilee in 1992. It was a gift to her and is now a valued part of her heritage as a monarch.”
I was wowed. Cece really knew her stuff. No surprise since Millie had been obsessed with Princess Diana and the whole tragedy of her life with the royals. Currently Millie was trying to decide whether she supported Harry and Meghan or William and Kate. It was a rocky ride for her to believe the royal family had done anything wrong, but the youngest prince had captured her heart when his mother died. Her loyalty was torn.
“Who is this guy? This artist?” I asked. I knew a lot about my state, but I’d never heard of him.
“His name is a contraction of the state,” Tinkie said. “He’s a recluse, really almost a hermit. Very antisocial, except when he’s on the prowl for a good-looking woman. He has a lot of notches on his bedpost, if you get my meaning.”
I did get it. Loud and clear. “Were Grace and Sippi involved?” I asked the guard.
He shook his head. “Ask Grace. She’ll tell you what she wants you to know, and I honestly don’t know anything. Rumors fly in a small town. Grace is a hot-looking female, no doubt about it. Sippi has a reputation.” He shrugged again. “Who knows. Who cares.”
I was still chewing on the fact that a mother had named her infant daughter Grace Land. “Is Land a family name or something? Surely she didn’t just name her daughter after the Elvis estate.”
“You should ask Grace. I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.”
And that was good advice. I respected the fact that the guard didn’t want to gossip about his employer—much.
Cece had put her cell phone away. Obviously she had enough photos of the belt, the display, the heavy foot traffic in the Arena Center as folks oohed and aahed over the Elvis belt. Now she wanted the details that could only come from Grace Land. “The arena is closing,” she said. “Let’s head back to the hotel. The bonfire is tonight, and I want to change into a sweatshirt and some jeans.”
It was a good idea. The December day was ending, and as dusk began to fall, so did the temperatures. A sweatshirt sounded lovely. We were already the last people in the Arena Center, so we walked out together and one of the guards locked the door behind us. Booths and kiosks had been set up on the apron of the center and merchandising was going strong. We stopped to examine handmade jewelry and pottery at one vendor tent. The artist was talented, and I picked up several items for Christmas presents. We’d been there for about twenty minutes when the nerve-racking sound of an alarm went off. I looked all around, as did everyone else, but no one seemed to know what was happening.
From Blue Christmas Bones by Carolyn Haines. Copyright © 2024 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Sarah Booth Delaney #28
Blue Christmas Bones is the next Christmas mystery in the series that Kirkus Reviews characterizes as “Stephanie Plum meets the Ya-Ya Sisterhood,” featuring sassy Southern private investigator Sarah Booth Delaney.
Sarah Booth Delaney and her friends can’t help falling in love with Christmas this year, which they plan to spend celebrating the King of Rock n’ Roll at the annual Elvis Festival in Tupelo. The main attraction is an Elvis impersonator competition, drawing impersonators from all over the world to honor the king.
But before the revelry can get underway, a priceless jewel-encrusted replica of a belt once worn by Elvis is stolen from its display case, and Sarah Booth and Tinkie are roped into one of the biggest heists in the history of Mississippi. Soon suspicious minds are lurking around every corner, with one eyewitness even claiming to have seen Colonel Tom Parker, Elvis’s long deceased and highly questionable manager, prowling around the festivities. Sarah Booth will have to find the devil in disguise or she might just end up singing Jailhouse Rock herself.
Women's Fiction Southern | Mystery Private Eye [Minotaur Books, On Sale: October 15, 2024, Hardcover / e-Book, ISBN: 9781250885968 / eISBN: 9781250885975]
Carolyn Haines, winner of the Harper Lee Award for Distinguished Fiction and the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence, grew up wanting to be Nancy Drew and a cowgirl. She was born “horse crazy” but didn’t get her first horse until she’d graduated from college. She now has two rescue horses she cares for and a number of cats and dogs. Reading and solving mysteries is a big part of her life. She loves reading and talking with authors about their work. She taught fiction writing at a university for fourteen years. Today, she is able to pursue her twin addictions (horses and solving mysteries) through her writing. She also writes darker books with a supernatural element—which she describes as “good scary.” Check out all of her work at her website. She is also active on social media
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