Delicious and Suspicious (2 page)

“Besides, as far as I’m aware, we have a Cooking Channel
scout
coming here today. And the scout is
scouting
for the best barbeque in Memphis.” He turned to his wife. “Sara, have you heard anything about a TV show? Why am I always kept in the dark?”

“Smarty-pants,” said Lulu. “I haven’t got the show yet, no. But with Paula Deen such a success, they might want someone like me on contract.” She stretched out her fingers and looked at them, critically. “I need big diamonds.”

“Pardon?”

“My wardrobe malfunction is the complete and total lack of diamonds. Paula’s just dripping with them, you know. Even keeps them on when she’s squishing up ground beef.”

“You
have
big diamonds? Why the heck am I slaving every day over a fiery pit, then, if we’re so loaded?”

Lulu leveled a quelling look at her son. “I don’t have them yet, no. But with a major contract, I could buy myself some. Or maybe,” she added vaguely, “the wardrobe department provides them. Just to use during the shows, of course.”

Ben mouthed, “She’s lost it” to Sara. He was going to have to break it to Lulu that the Cooking Channel wardrobe department likely didn’t include Harry Winston jewelry.

“I think you’d have better luck buying yourself some diamonds, Mother.”

“And I should do that
how
?”

“You guess every puzzle on
Wheel of Fortune
. Maybe you should go on the program and win yourself some big money.”

“California is on the other side of the country, Ben. I can’t just pop over there, buy some vowels, and win big money. Plus, there’s a lot of dumb luck involved, too. That’s a big wheel to spin. I could hit ‘lose a turn’ or ‘bankrupt’ every time. I might not even have the power to spin it all the way around.” But Ben’s suggestion had clearly given Lulu ideas. Already her mental wheels spun as she tried to calculate how she might get to California.

Her ruminations were interrupted by her younger son, Seb’s, arrival in the office. “All right—out, out,” he said, motioning to the office door. “I’ve got to get to work. Time for me to cook the books. Just kidding,” he added in response to Ben’s menacing look. “You take care of the pork. I’ll crunch the numbers.”

“Hey, Seb, how about that hunting trip we keep talking about?” asked Ben. “Haven’t you gotten the hunting bug yet?”

Seb sighed. He knew the kind of bugs he associated with hunting. Mosquitoes and chiggers.

Ben continued, “You’ve been telling me for the last couple of weeks you’re ready to go. I want to throw the Labs in the truck and head out into the country.” He looked wistful. “Subdue nature for a little while.”

Seb grinned. “Just your Labradors get to go subdue nature? What about your other dog?”

A cloud passed over Ben’s face. Lulu hid a smile.

“What’s her name? Yvette?”

Ben mumbled something. Sara moved over and put a supportive arm around him.

“What was that? Oh, right. Babette. I’m sure Babette would love to hunt something with you. Might want to take off her jewelry first, of course. And her princess sweater.”

“You know that’s Coco’s dog!”

“I see . . . blame it on your little girl! But
we
know who found the dog and laid down the money. And I don’t think it was a nine-year-old.”

Ben glowered. “If you don’t want to go hunting, just say so.”

“All in good time, brother,” said Seb. This hunting trip was going to be put off as long as possible. He’d spent enough time in New York to lose interest in the sweaty, remote, silent activity that hunting in the South entailed. The door chime sounded again, and Seb craned his neck around the office door. “Who is
that
?” Lulu peeped around the door, too. Seb did a double take and seemed to peer closer at the visitor, but by that time, Lulu’s mind was spinning.

“That” was a sophisticated blonde dressed in casual clothes that probably cost a whole lot more than Lulu’s dressy stuff. “Got to be the Cooking Channel scout,” Lulu hissed. She scurried to the mirror. “I
knew
I should have worn my power suit today!”

“Power suit?” murmured Sara.

“From her former life as a day trader. Didn’t you know?” asked Ben, straight-faced.

His twins Coco and Ella Beth rushed into the small office. “What’s going on?” demanded Ella Beth. “Where did everybody go?”

“You
do
realize,” said Coco, who was nine going on twenty-one, “that the dining room is chock-full of people?”

“Don’t be sassy,” said Sara crossly. But Coco’s pronouncement had the desired effect.

“Well?” bellowed Lulu. “What’s keeping everybody? We better jump into action and start dealing out the lunch specials.” Lulu peered around the door. “Oh Lord, the dining room’s completely full of hungry customers. What’s she going to think about the service?”

Sara propelled her toward the door. “Not a thing. She’s going to think this barbeque is so darn tasty that the whole town is beating down our door to get in here and eat some. And she’ll be right.”

Ben raced to the kitchen to work his magic on the barbeque, Sara grabbed an order pad and pencil and tied an apron around her waist, and Lulu headed to the dining room for a visit with their guests.

The smell of the seasoned pork cooking in the pit and the sweet aroma of the baked beans permeating the restaurant was enough to make your mouth water.

 

The customers felt more like guests to Lulu, maybe because they came so often they were now all friends to her.

Coco was right; the dining room was jam-packed, even the barstools. Lulu walked in to a chorus of greetings, her small frame belying the fact that she had eaten barbeque every single day of her adult life. Lulu motioned to the hostess that she would be greeting this particular guest.

The sophisticated blonde finally took off her large sunglasses and looked around the dim restaurant. A muscular man with a shock of black hair and a warm smile, lugging a bag of camera equipment, stood beside her. “Welcome to Aunt Pat’s!” said Lulu. “Are you dining in or taking out?”

A perfunctory smile spread across the woman’s pretty face, although it didn’t reach her violet eyes. “Dining in. But not really dining, just sitting.” She glanced around. “It looks busy, though.”

“Oh, it’ll settle down in a minute. There should be a table opening up soon.”

“I can wait,” she said, and she sat down on the worn wooden bench near the door.

Lulu peered closely at the woman. “Are you, by any chance, the Cooking Channel scout?”

“Very perceptive of you,” she said dryly and smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her slacks. “I’m Rebecca Adrian, Cooking Channel. I suppose I stand out.”

“Of course not,” said Lulu. “But we’ve been expecting you, you know.” She gave her a sweet smile. “Besides, honey, the camera man is a dead giveaway.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I have the perfect place for you to sit down, Miss Adrian. Right over with some of my friends. I think you might enjoy their company.”

“I’m not going to eat today, Mrs. Taylor. I’m here to get some ideas for presenting the story, and Tony will do a light and sound check. But I’ll have a seat, sure. Talking to customers might help me find an angle.”

Tony, the camera man, smiled to see hard-nosed Rebecca Adrian being led off by Lulu Taylor. She wasn’t known for her ability to act on suggestions. This story might be more fun than he’d thought it would be. His big face split into a smile as the hostess offered him a barbeque plate, gratis. This was his kind of assignment.

In fact, Lulu was in the mood for a little something herself. Sara, who seemed to have a waitress’s second sense about these things, raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “Ribs and some beans?” she asked as she passed by.

“Please.”

Rebecca Adrian coolly summed up Lulu Taylor as she followed the woman across the crowded restaurant. She saw white hair tucked in a demure bun, a gentle smile, and a flower-print cotton dress.

Many a hapless person had been lulled into thinking Lulu was a sweet little old lady. Nothing could be further from the truth. Nice, yes. Sweet, no. And the “little” part had only happened in the last ten years when she shrank down from her substantial height like the melting witch in
The Wizard of Oz
.

Unfortunately for her, Rebecca Adrian was one of those less-perceptive types who would make the fatal mistake of underestimating Lulu.

Rebecca’s gaze swept quickly across the restaurant, taking in the large booths topped with red and white checkered tablecloths. The restaurant must be ancient, she thought. She squinted at the old brick walls—what she could see of them, anyway. They were jam-packed with photographs of smiling faces, school pennants, and what appeared to be autographed menus.

“Mind if we join you for lunch today?” Lulu asked her regular customer, Susan Meredith.

“Oh Lord,
please
take a seat,” said Susan, scooting over. “I felt bad about hogging the whole booth for myself. There weren’t this many people when I came in.” A wry look spread across her pretty face. “If only I could funnel this many folks into the gallery.”

Lulu looked startled. “Now, I thought you were having some luck with business lately, honey. You said they were beating a path to your door.”

“I wish they were beating a path to the cash register, though. They might be coming in, but they’re not spending enough time in there to do any buying.”

Lulu gave Susan’s offhand remark the same grave consideration she gave to most things. “Maybe you should have an open house night. Not like a regular show. I could cater it for you . . . barbeque, slaw, and beans?”

“Don’t forget the sweet tea.”

“Oh, we do have some great tea. Have to, since the corn bread muffins are so spicy.”

“But delicious.”

“Are you absorbing this great propaganda?” Lulu elbowed Rebecca Adrian, who looked startled. Since the conversation had had nothing to do with her, she’d tuned it out. In fact, she was secretly annoyed. Usually she was treated more as a visiting rock star and flattered and spoiled by owners. And here was Lulu Taylor doing a marketing analysis for this tunic-wearing, hippie customer.

Lulu’s attention swung back to Rebecca. Lulu spoke, widening her clear, gray blue eyes. “You must know so many people. Right? In the industry, I mean.”

Rebecca smirked. This was more like her usual experience. “Sure. I’m out a lot. I run into the same people all the time.”

“Not just food people? Oh, it’s hard to find the right words sometimes.” Lulu paused as if collecting thoughts that were flying off like bits of dandelion. “Not just restaurant owners and chefs?”

Rebecca was losing patience. “No. I have tons of contacts in New York.” Rebecca dropped names of all the different people she knew in New York. She wasn’t even dropping them—more like smacking her audience upside the head with them. Lulu, thought Susan, actually seemed to be attentively listening to her drivel.

Rebecca blathered on, “You see, I never know where the next story will come from. So I know traders, socialites, magazine editors, gallery owners . . .” She stopped at Lulu’s frantically wagging finger.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” said Lulu, pushing up from the booth and rushing away.

Demented, thought Rebecca.

Lulu grabbed Sara’s arm, pulling her toward the booth. She took Sara’s pad and pencil from her and motioned for her to sit down. “This is your next big story.” Rebecca blinked at her. “Sara is,” said Lulu impatiently, “my daughter-in-law.”

“She sets the waitressing world on fire?” asked Rebecca in a dry voice.

“
Because
,” said Lulu, narrowing her eyes at Rebecca, “she’s the best artist you’ve ever seen. And she needs some contacts in the art world. I’m sure you won’t mind helping her out, seeing as how you have so many New York contacts.” Lulu swept off regally, taking orders at the next table.

Sara’s broad face flushed at the unexpected interview, but nobody could blame her for being slow on the uptake. She slid into the booth across from Rebecca.

Rebecca summed her up with a glance and found Sara completely lacking in star quality. It was true that Sara wasn’t exactly model thin, although her weight looked good on her bigger frame. Like her friend Susan, Sara had cultivated an offbeat look, with curly, strawberry-blond hair that swung below her shoulders.

Sitting with friends had its advantages. It was a good thing because Sara wasn’t sure exactly what to say after Lulu’s pronouncement. Susan Meredith jumped in. “I could display some of your things in Southern Accents tomorrow for Miss Adrian to see. I’ve been trying,” she said pointedly, “to get her to do a show for ages.”

A bored expression wafted over Rebecca Adrian’s face. She opened her mouth to issue a cutting evasion when a croaky, deep voice from behind her chimed in. The voice was so resonant, she jumped and clamped her mouth shut again.

“Who is that little woman?” The voice belonged to Big Ben, an Aunt Pat’s regular, who was deaf as a post. “What’s going on?”

Another loud, old voice said, “She’s that food scout from the TV network. Sara wants the woman to get her contacts for her art.”

“A food scout? You tellin’ me that tee-tiny thing
eats
?” His choking guffaw hinted at a dire need for CPR. “Well, she’s a fool if she doesn’t help out,” Big Ben barked. “The woman would be lucky to discover Sara.” Big Ben had an unfortunate habit of bellowing out private observations. He was usually hushed quickly. No one moved to hush him this time.

Rebecca Adrian’s face took on a petulant look. “All right,” she said grudgingly, “I’ll drop by your gallery tomorrow.”

“It’s right down the street on Second,” said Susan, sliding out of the booth. “I’d better run, then. It takes a lot to set up a show in a day.”

Lulu tapped Sara on the shoulder. “We’ve got you covered with waitressing. Dina came in because she saw the Cooking Channel’s
Foodmobile
truck at a parking meter, and now we’ve got her working. Don’t you think you’d better run help Susan?”