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In a suburban Atlanta neighborhood where divorce is as rampant as kudzu, Mary Bliss McGowan doesn't notice that her own marriage is in trouble until the summer night she finds a note from her husband, telling her he's goneand taken the family fortune with him.
Stunned and humiliated, a desperate Mary Bliss, left behind with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Erin, and a mountain of debt, decides to salvage what's left of her life by telling one little bitty lie.
At first, Mary Bliss simply tells friends and family that Parker is out of town on a consulting job. Then the lies start to snowball, until Parker turns up dead. Or does he?
Mary Bliss's formerly staid existence careens into overdrive as she copes with an oversexed teenager, a mother-in-law with Ethel Merman delusions, and the sudden but delicious shock of finding herself pursued by two men: the next-door neighbor who's looking for a suitable second wife, and a dangerously attractive ex-cop who's looking for the truth about Parker McGowan.
Little Bitty Lies is a comic Southern novel about all the important things in life: marriage and divorce, mothers and daughters, friendship and betrayal, small-town secrets, and one woman's lifelong quest for homeand the perfect recipe for chicken salad.
More Reviews and RecommendationsMary Kay Andrews has been delighting critics and readers for years with a series of funny, breezy mysteries, which are quite different from the more hard-boiled detective novels of a certain Kathy Hogan Trocheck. Of course, as most fans of Andrews and Trocheck know, they are one-and-the-same.
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August 02, 2008: This was a great book-I started out with this book and then read all the others the author wrote. I can't wait for the next one!
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March 13, 2008: I bought this book when it first came out to take on vacation several years ago and couldn't put it down. I enjoyed it so much that while I was still on vacation, I found a bookstore and was looking for more of Mary Kay Andrews books. All of her books are quick reads that will make you chuckle out loud.

Name:
Mary Kay Andrews
Also Known As:
Kathy Hogan Trocheck (real name)
Current Home:
Atlanta, Georgia
Date of Birth:
July 27, 1954
Place of Birth:
Tampa, Florida
Education:
B.A. in newspaper journalism, University of Georgia, 1976
In 2003, a writer named Mary Kay Andrews seemed to come out of nowhere and began penning a series of fun, light-hearted mysteries perfect for the beach. Actually, she was hardly a novice writer. Mary Kay Andrews was, in fact, the pseudonym of Kathy Hogan Trocheck, who had been writing tough but funny murder mysteries such as Every Crooked Nanny and To Live and Die in Dixie for the past ten years. However, when Trocheck wrote a decidedly cheerful little novel titled Savannah Blues, she knew that it wasn't the kind of story readers expected from Kathy Hogan Trocheck.
"My pseudonym is a combination of my children's names -- Mary Kay for my daughter, Mary Kathleen, and Andrews for my son, Andy," Andrews told Reading Group Guides.com. "Because Blues is so different from my Callahan books, I wanted a chance to try for a whole new group of readers, people who like women's fiction, Southern fiction, and still, mysteries. That Mary Kay is a pseudonym for Kathy Hogan Trocheck is not a secret from my fans."
While the earlier novels featuring private investigator Callahan Garrity were more likely to pivot on grisly murders, Trocheck's books as Mary Kay Andrews feature hapless women struggling to get back on their feet amidst chaos and hilarity. As Trocheck first unveiled her alter ego with Savannah Blues, she introduced readers to Eloise "Weezie" Foley, whose marriage to the wealthy Talmadge Evans III suffers a fatal blow when he announces he is in love with someone else. When Talmadge's mistress moves into his Savannah mansion, it's the backyard carriage house for Weezie, who soon begins to devise a plan to get revenge on her cheating hubby. While Savannah Blues was a major shift away from Trocheck's earlier mysteries, it was a success on all fronts. Publishers Weekly hailed it as "delightfully breezy, richly atmospheric" and Kirkus reviews called it "pure fun."
Next thing Kathy Hogan Trocheck knew was that Mary Kay Andrews had completely taken on a life of her own. She followed Savannah Blues with Little Bitty Lies the following year and the joyfully wacky Hissy Fit, a New York Times bestseller, in 2005. In 2006, Andrews revisited the world she created in Savannah Blues with the appropriately titled Savannah Breeze, this time focusing on the character of BeBe Loudermilk, who is taking revenge of her own after being cheated out of everything she owns by a brawny hunk named Reddy. Once again the critics came out to applaud (The Library Journal said it is "nearly impossible to put down"). Andrews then decided to revisit that little Savannah community in Blue Christmas, which brings Weezie Foley back to center stage as she vies to win a local Christmas decorating contest. It was only a matter of time before Andrews brought back Weezie, as she admits that the fictional character is yet another entry on her growing list of alter egos. "Well, Weezie is Irish Catholic, and so am I. Weezie lives to junk, and so do I... The fun of fiction is creating a character who's younger, thinner, sexier, and has more interesting problems than the author!"
When Andrews was a journalist at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, she covered the famous "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" murder case.
As Kathy Hogan Trocheck, Andrews's mysteries have been nominated for the Edgar, Anthony, Agatha, and Macavity Awards.
When she isn't writing, Mary Kay Andrews lectures and teaches at writing workshops.
A few fun outtakes from our interview with Andrews:
"When I finish writing a book, I always celebrate with my favorite junk foods: Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Wink grapefruit soda."
"I have no sense of direction and am incapable of reading a map."
"I'm a charter member of the Salty Dog chapter of the Andy Griffith Show Re-run Watchers club."
"I love afternoon naps, junking, reading, cooking with my husband, anything with avocados, English Setters, old movies, anything blue and white. I hate shopping for clothes, cigarette smoke, math, magic, mimes, scary movies, and Star Trek re-runs."
What was the book that most influenced your life or your career as a writer? The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. It awakened in me the joy of reading for the sheer fun of it as a very small child. That, I can remember thinking, is what I want to do when I grow up: write books! Have fun! Later, as I read that book and his others to my children, I was struck by Seuss's juicy, playful language which manages to obscure the very real, important message behind the madness. And when I had the amazing opportunity to interview Dr. Seuss, during my days as a journalist, meeting him reminded me of that old dream of mine of writing fun books.
What are your ten favorite books, and what makes them special to you?
What are some of your favorite films, and what makes them unforgettable to you?
What types of music do you like? Is there any particular kind you like to listen to when you're writing? Some of the current country stuff -- especially the Dixie Chicks, classics like Eric Clapton and Van Morrison and James Taylor and Harry Connick Jr. Then, I love the oldies -- the Beatles, the Beach Boys, Carolina beach music, sixties girl groups, Sinatra. I rarely listen to music when I'm actually writing, although I did listen to Phil Spector's Christmas album to put me in the holiday mood last July and August while working on my upcoming Christmas book.
If you had a book club, what would it be reading? Mockingbird, the Harper Lee biography. I love reading biographies of writers, and this one especially is ripe for discussion.
What are your favorite kinds of books to give -- and get -- as gifts? I love beautifully illustrated cookbooks and home decorating books -- to get as well as to give, and am always on the lookout for fiction to share with my book-loving friends.
Do you have any special writing rituals? For example, what do you have on your desk when you're writing? I have a writing shrine with a statue of St. Therese, and I honor her with little bouquets of flowers. I like to burn aromatherapy candles while writing, and I usually have a secret stash of peanut M&Ms.
What are you working on now? Deep Dish, a Southern comedy of manners about two rival television chefs.
Many writers are hardly "overnight success" stories. How long did it take for you to get where you are today? Any rejection-slip horror stories or inspirational anecdotes? I've been writing professionally for 30 years, my entire adult life. Years ago, when I was a newspaper reporter, my paper's managing editor told me I was not a writer and would never be a writer. I experienced one of those Scarlett O'Hara "As God Is My Witness Moments," cried, cursed, and set out to prove him wrong.
If you could choose one new writer to be "discovered," who would it be? My friend Jimmy Johnson, who is brilliant, writes beautiful Southern fiction, but can't seem to find an agent or an editor who sees what I see. Besides, he helped me get my first newspaper job, so I still owe him one!
What tips or advice do you have for writers still looking to be discovered? Find your authentic voice and make it the very best version of you. Take your writing seriously, but not yourself. Really work at craft. Go to a writer's workshop where New York agents and editors are critiquing manuscripts. Finish what you start.
In a suburban Atlanta neighborhood where divorce is as rampant as kudzu, Mary Bliss McGowan doesn't notice that her own marriage is in trouble until the summer night she finds a note from her husband, telling her he's goneand taken the family fortune with him.
Stunned and humiliated, a desperate Mary Bliss, left behind with her seventeen-year-old daughter, Erin, and a mountain of debt, decides to salvage what's left of her life by telling one little bitty lie.
At first, Mary Bliss simply tells friends and family that Parker is out of town on a consulting job. Then the lies start to snowball, until Parker turns up dead. Or does he?
Mary Bliss's formerly staid existence careens into overdrive as she copes with an oversexed teenager, a mother-in-law with Ethel Merman delusions, and the sudden but delicious shock of finding herself pursued by two men: the next-door neighbor who's looking for a suitable second wife, and a dangerously attractive ex-cop who's looking for the truth about Parker McGowan.
Little Bitty Lies is a comic Southern novel about all the important things in life: marriage and divorce, mothers and daughters, friendship and betrayal, small-town secrets, and one woman's lifelong quest for homeand the perfect recipe for chicken salad.
Loading...As the summer unfolds, Mary Bliss's carefully structured life comes apart at the seams. Her mother-in-law, ensconced at the local nursing home, is a cantankerous old woman who clearly knows more than she's telling about her son's disappearance. Mary Bliss's teenage daughter, Erin, has become secretive, and in the rare instances that she's home they end up fighting. Her best friend, Katharine, is confronting marital woes of her own. And to top it all off, the bills are piling up around her.
Armed with only her wits and a large dose of determination, Mary Bliss needs to make some cash in a hurry. She polishes her Frances I sterling silver flatware set and hocks it at a pawn shop, and she even takes a job as a product demonstration hostess hawking food samples at Bargain Bonanza Club. But none of this is enough. In danger of losing her house, Mary Bliss does what any smart, self-respecting woman would do in her situation. With Katharine's help, she hatches a plan to stage Parker's death and put in a claim for the insurance money.After a quick trip to Mexico and a boating accident, Mary Bliss has a death certificate in hand and is playing the grieving widow at her husband's funeral and that's just the beginning.
By summer's end, Mary Bliss has learned some important lessons -- serving up revenge is not nearly as appetizing as dishing out her chicken salad; a best friend's help is essential when faking your husband's demise; and things are not always what they seem, especially when it comes to attractive men who make your heart beat faster.
Discussion Questions
Mary Bliss McGowan and Katharine Weidman had reached a point in the evening from whence there was no return. They had half a bottle of Tanqueray. They had limes. Plenty of ice. Plenty of time. It was only the Tuesday after Memorial Day, so the summer still stretched ahead of them, as green and tempting as a funeral home lawn. The hell of it was, they were out of tonic water.
"Listen, Kate," Mary Bliss said. "Why don't we just switch to beer?" She gestured toward her cooler. It had wheels and a long handle, and she hauled it down to the Fair Oaks Country Club pool most nights like the little red wagon she'd dragged all over town as a little girl. "I've got four Molson Lights right there. Anyway, all that quinine in the tonic water is making my ankles swell."
She thrust one suntanned leg in the air, pointing her pink-painted toes and frowning. They looked like piggy toes, all fleshy and moist.
"Or maybe we should call it a night." Mary Bliss glanced around. The crowd had been lively for a Tuesday night, but people had gradually drifted off - home, or to dinner, or inside, to their air conditioning and mindless summer sitcom reruns.
Bugs swarmed around the lights in the deck area. She felt their wings brushing the skin of her bare arms, but theynever lit on Mary Bliss, and they never bit either. Somebody had managed to hook up the pool's PA system to the oldies radio station. The Tams and the Four Tops, the same music she'd listened to her whole life - even though they were not her oldies but of a generation before hers - played on.
She and Katharine were the only adults around. Three or four teenaged boys splashed around in the pool, tossing an inflated beach ball back and forth. The lifeguard, the oldest Finley boy - Shane? Blaine? - sat on the elevated stand by the pool and glowered in their direction. Clearly, he wanted to lock up and go to the mall.
"No," Katharine said, struggling out of her lounge chair. "No beer. Hell, it's early yet. And you know I'm not a beer drinker." She tugged at Mary Bliss's hand. "Come on, then. The Winn-Dixie's still open. We'll get some more tonic water. We'll ride with the top down." Mary Bliss sniggered and instantly hated the sound of it. "Well-bred young ladies never drive with their tops down."
Katharine rolled her eyes.
The Weidmans' red Jeep stood alone in the club lot, shining like a plump, ripe apple in the pool of yellow streetlamp light. Mary Bliss stood by the driver's door with her hand out. "Let me drive, Kate."
"What? You think I'm drunk?"
"We killed half a bottle of gin, and I've only had one drink," Mary Bliss said gently.
Katharine shrugged and got in the passenger seat.
Mary Bliss gunned the engine and backed out of the club parking lot. The cool night air felt wonderful on her sweat-soaked neck and shoulders.
"I can't believe Charlie gave up the Jeep," Mary Bliss said. "I thought it was his baby. Is it paid for?"
"What do I care?" Katharine said, throwing her head back, running her fingers through the long blonde tangle of her hair. "My lawyer says we've got Charlie by the nuts. Now it's time to squeeze. Besides, we bought it with the understanding that it would be Chip's to take to Clemson in the fall. I'm just using it as my fun car this summer. We're having fun, right?" "I thought freshmen weren't allowed to have cars on campus," Mary Bliss said.
"Charlie doesn't know that," Katharine said.
Mary Bliss frowned.
"Shut up and drive," Katharine instructed.
The Winn-Dixie was nearly deserted. A lone cashier stood at the register at the front of the store, listlessly counting change into her open cash drawer. Katharine dumped four bottles of Schweppes Tonic Water down on the conveyor belt, along with a loaf of Sunbeam bread, a carton of cigarettes, and a plastic tub of Dixie Darlin' chicken salad.
"Y'all got a Value Club card?" the cashier asked, fingers poised on the keys of her register.
"I've got better than that," Katharine said peevishly, taking a twenty-dollar bill from the pocket of her shorts. "I've got cash money. Now, can we get the lead out here?"
The fluorescent lights in the store gave Katharine's deeply tanned face a sick greenish glow. Her roots needed touching up. And, Mary Bliss observed, it really was about time Katharine gave up wearing a bikini. Not that she was fat. Katharine Weidman was a rail. She ran four miles every morning, no matter what. But she was in her forties, after all, and the skin around her neck and chest and shoulders was starting to turn to corduroy. Her breasts weren't big, but they were beginning to sag. Mary Bliss tugged at the neckline of her own neat black tank suit. She couldn't stand it the way some women over thirty-five paraded around half naked in public - as if the world wanted to see their goods. She kept her goods tucked neatly away, thank you very much.
Mary Bliss made a face as she saw Katharine sweeping her groceries into a plastic sack. "Since when do you buy chicken salad at the Winn-Dixie?" she asked, flicking the tub with her index finger.
"It's not that bad," Katharine said. "Chip loves it, but then, teenaged boys will eat anything. Anyway, it's too damn hot to cook."
"Your mother made the best chicken salad I've ever tasted," Mary Bliss said. "I still dream about it sometimes. It was just like they used to have at the Magnolia Room downtown." Katharine managed a half-smile. "Better, most said. Mama always said the sign of a lady's breeding was in her chicken salad. White meat, finely ground or hand shredded, and some good Hellmann's Mayonnaise, and I don't know what all. She used to talk about some woman, from up north, who married into one of the Coca-Cola families. 'She uses dark meat in her chicken salad,' Mama told me one time. 'Trailer trash.'"
"She'd roll over in her grave if she saw you feeding her grandson that store-bought mess," Mary Bliss was saying. They were right beside the Jeep now, and Mary Bliss had the keys in her hand, when Katharine shoved her roughly to the pavement.
"What on earth?" Mary Bliss demanded.
"Get down," Katharine whispered. "She'll see us."
"Who?" Mary Bliss asked. She pushed Katharine's hand off her shoulder. "Let me up. You've got me squatting on chewing gum."
"It's Nancye Bowden," Katharine said, peeping up over the side of the Jeep, then ducking back down again. "She's sitting in that silver Lexus, over there by the yellow Toyota. My God!" "What? What is it?" Mary Bliss popped her head up to get a look. The Lexus was where Katharine had pointed. But there was only one occupant. A man. A dark-haired man. His head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth a wide O, as if he were laughing at something.
"You're crazy, Katharine Weidman. I don't see Nancye Bowden at all." She started to stand. "I'm getting a crick in my calves. Let's go home."
Katharine duck-walked around to the passenger side of the Jeep and snaked herself into the passenger seat. She slumped down in the seat so that her head was barely visible above the dashboard. "I'm telling you she's in there. You can just see the top of her head. Right there, Mary Bliss. With that guy. Look at his face, Mary Bliss. Don't you get it?" Mary Bliss didn't have her glasses. She squinted, tried to get the man's face in better focus. Maybe he wasn't laughing.
"Oh. "My. "Lord."
Mary Bliss covered her eyes with both hands. She felt her face glowing hot-red in the dark. She fanned herself vigorously.
"You're such a virgin." Katharine cackled. "What? You didn't know?"
"That Nancye Bowden was hanging out in the Winn-Dixie parking lot giving oral sex to men in expensive cars? No, I don't think she mentioned it the last time I saw her at garden club. Does Randy know?"
Mary Bliss turned the key in the Jeep's ignition and scooted it out of the parking lot, giving the silver Lexus a wide berth. She would die if Nancye Bowden saw her. "It's called a blow job. Yes, I'm pretty sure Randy knows what Nancye's been up to. But you can't bring yourself to say it, can you?" Katharine said, watching Mary Bliss's face intently.
"You have a very trashy mouth, Katharine Weidman. How would I know what perversion Nancye has been up to lately?"
"I guess y'all were down at Seaside when it happened. I just assumed you knew. Nancye and Randy are through. She moved into an apartment in Buckhead. He's staying in the house with the kids, at least until school starts back in the fall, and his mother is watching the kids while Randy's at work. Lexus Boy is some professor over at Emory. Or that's what Nancye told the girls at that baby shower they had for Ansley Murphey."
"I had to miss Ansley's shower because we took Erin down to Macon for a soccer tournament," Mary Bliss said. "I can't believe I didn't hear anything, with them living right across the street. The Bowdens? Are you sure? My heavens, that's the third couple on the block. Just since the weather got warm."
"Four, counting us," Katharine said. "You know what they're calling our end of the street, don't you?"
"What?"
"Split City."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Little Bitty Lies by Mary Kay Andrews
Copyright © 2003 by Mary Kay Andrews
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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