It‘s summer 1959 and time to retrieve our petticoats out of the closets (or to sew one for the special occasion). We are invited to a backyard cookout to Tom Dooley‘s suburbian home. As usual we don‘t even get to meet the guy. His body was just being loaded into the ambulance when I, Peggy Sue, gossip columnist for the local Kansas City Tribune, arrived on site. As we are here now, let‘s make the beer run and find the killer.
