Delicious and Suspicious (3 page)

Sara gave Lulu a hug and ran to the office to get her keys. “Well, now that that’s all settled,” drawled Lulu, “you can start asking me a little bit about Aunt Pat’s. For your story.”

Rebecca leaned over and fished in her designer handbag for a pad and pencil. “So,” she said, flicking her blond hair back over her shoulders, “this is a family-run operation, right? It’s you, your son Ben, and your daughter-in-law?”

“Mercy, there’s more of us than that!” Lulu twinkled winningly at Rebecca. “There’s Sara’s nephew, Derrick. He’s the one that’s lurking by the door who can’t take his eyes off of you.”

Rebecca swiftly glanced over. She flicked her hair again.

“Then there are the twins, Ella Beth and Coco. Or Cordelia, as she wants to be known, since she’s such a grown-up nine now.”

“They’re your . . . ?”

“Granddaughters. They work here every day after school, sweeping, wiping tables, and setting out silverware.”

“The silverware,” said Rebecca. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a barbeque restaurant that sets the table. Usually you use plastic forks.”

Lulu looked faintly shocked. “No, we couldn’t allow that to happen. Aunt Pat wouldn’t want her guests to eat with plastic cutlery. It wouldn’t be seemly.”

“Certainly would save a lot of washing up,” muttered Rebecca. And why the hell did they use paper towel rolls on the tables instead of cloth napkins if the sainted Aunt Pat was so particular?

Rebecca made some notes.

“So we’ve got your son Ben, grandchildren, and in-laws here. Oh, and the dogs I saw on the porch on the way in. Anybody else?”

Lulu would give Rebecca the benefit of the doubt—maybe sounding like a snippy little name-dropping snob was only because she was shy. Or something. “Actually, yes, Miss Adrian, there is one more—my other son, Seb. He’s recently come here from New York to help us out.”

Rebecca stopped writing and temporarily looked confused. “Seb?”

“Sebastian. But we all call him Seb.”

“Big guy? Dark, curly hair?” asked Rebecca.

“Oh, you saw him when you were coming in? Yes, that’s him. He’s handling all our accounting right now. New York kind of burned him out, I think. Besides, so many people were getting laid off in his company that he was sure he’d be on the chopping block next. So of course we took him in. ‘Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in’ and all that.”

Rebecca looked over sharply at Lulu. Was she aware she was quoting Frost? Was she a lot sharper than Rebecca thought?

Lulu smiled benignly.

“Tell me a little about Aunt Pat,” said Rebecca. “I’m assuming there was at some point an Aunt Pat?” asked Rebecca, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

Lulu’s eyes grew reminiscent as she looked into the past. “Aunt Pat was the dear woman who raised me. You see, I grew up at this restaurant,” she said, smoothing a hand across the checkered tablecloth. “I’d sit on a tall stool in the kitchen and tell her about my school day as she mixed together the dry rub or made the corn muffins. Later on, she let me help her in the kitchen and taught me about food and flavor. Her love for food was there in every succulent bite of barbeque. Aunt Pat’s was always full of heavenly smells and conversation. She gave me a love for cooking and a love for this restaurant. And later on, when she passed away, she willed it to me.”

Rebecca, who rarely listened enough for follow-up questions, was already moving on. But Lulu had a point to make.

“You see,” said Lulu. “the entire restaurant is one big family.”

Well, zip-a-dee-doo-dah, thought Rebecca Adrian. Exactly the kind of sap she avoided. She wanted a little dirt, a little conflict. Some vivid local color.

A torrent of local color abruptly slid into the booth next to Rebecca and Lulu. “Look no farther, Miss Lulu, it’s the hallelujah chorus come to sing the praises of Aunt Pat’s. Amen!”

Now this was more like it, thought Rebecca. Five oddball Southerners to liven up the story and coo on cue over the barbeque. Perfect. She smiled at them and held up her pad. “Could you give me your names? For the story.”

Lulu broke in. “We call them the Graces, because they’re docents at Graceland. They’re the finest group of regulars anywhere in the world,” she added warmly.

“Because you’ve got the finest
ribs
in the world!” said one of the Graces stoutly. She beamed at Rebecca Adrian. “I’m Flo.”

“Cherry.”

“Peggy Sue.”

“Jeanne.”

“Evelyn.”

They sounded like Mouseketeers, thought Rebecca. And the one named Cherry wore a motorcycle helmet with a picture of Elvis on it. No one seemed to find that fact at all odd, or suggested that she remove it. Lulu, now overly sensitive to any slights from Rebecca (either real or perceived) registered her puzzled stare. “Isn’t that a fine-looking helmet, Miss Adrian?”

There was a warning tone in Lulu’s voice, so Rebecca nodded slowly in agreement. Cherry beamed. “Thanks. It makes me feel like Elvis is my guardian angel keeping me out of trouble.”

“Out of trouble?” hooted Evelyn. “I’d like to see that. Maybe he’s keeping you
safe
. You couldn’t stay out of trouble if your very life depended on it.”

Cherry leaned forward over the table and talked as though Rebecca eagerly hung on her every word. “At first I only wore it when I rode my motorcycle. Then, after my riding mower bucked me off that time, I put it on to cut the grass. Then I got to thinking how many people get hurt in car crashes, so I thought maybe wearing it in the car would be a good idea.”

“And,” said Rebecca with a tight smile, “in the barbeque restaurant?”

“There’s a threat of tornadoes!” said Cherry triumphantly. “A helmet is perfect to prevent head injuries during tornadoes.”

Cherry provided far more local color than Rebecca had counted on.

“Pooh,” snorted Lulu. “I don’t believe a word. There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

“Just the same,” said Cherry, “there’s a threat.” She patted her Elvis helmet, complacent in the knowledge that she was well prepared for any exigency.

Rebecca tried to find her way back to her story. “So you come here . . . how frequently?”

“Once a week,” said Evelyn. And she was, thought Rebecca, possibly the only one with any fashion sense. She looked at Evelyn’s Hermes scarf with approval. “On Thursdays, we always come here for ribs after we give tours at Graceland.”

“But today is Monday.”

“Today,” said Peggy Sue, “is an exception to the rule.”

Rebecca frowned. “I went to Graceland six or seven years ago, and I don’t remember any docents there at all. I remember a sling-around-your-neck audio tour guide and some staff who kind of kept an eye on everything.”

Cherry beamed. “That’s just it! They didn’t have anybody there at all who was a docent. That’s why the Graces are so incredible. We made Graceland
history
.”

Rebecca attempted a look of interest, which fell completely short into the boundaries of bored disbelief.

“You see,” said Evelyn briskly, “we were all huge Elvis fans. Huge. So we were, separately, mind you, going each and every day to Graceland.”

Rebecca looked a little queasy. “To Graceland. Every day. I guess the lines must not have been as bad as when I went.”

Cherry shook her head. “No, that just shows how devoted we were! We waited every day in the line for a ticket, and then waited forty-five minutes for the shuttle to take us for the tour.”

“After months of doing this, we still felt like we belonged there. It was
home
to us. We started making friends with each other and coming here for a bite to eat of ‘the best barbeque in town,’” Cherry said animatedly, with full-on air quotes. She continued on in the same breath, “Even though Aunt Pat’s isn’t even close to Graceland.”

“And the Graceland people were making friends with us, too,” added Jeanne. “They’d cut up with us and laugh. But we were always serious and respectful at Graceland. It’s really a quiet place, you know. It’s one of the most peaceful places I know.”

“So then the staff asked us if we’d like to be official docents. We don’t get paid and we don’t give tours, but we direct people in the right direction and make sure they don’t touch Elvis’s things or try to walk into the rooms under the ropes or anything like that. So we’re the first
official docents
for Graceland.” Cherry beamed.

“And very decent docents,” said plump Peggy Sue, smugly. “I was so happy today to be in the pool room. You know, I think that’s my very favorite place to go. I feel like I’m enveloped in this big Elvis tent. It’s divine.”

“That’s the room that’s covered with folds of fabric?” asked Rebecca.

“The very same one! And it’s so much calmer than the TV room—too much yellow in there.” Peggy Sue immediately looked regretful at her revelation as though Rebecca might end up sharing her opinion on the Cooking Channel.

Rebecca was bored again. She was now more interested in finding out how she might get the conversation back over to barbeque and remind her cameraman that he was supposed to be working, not scarfing down barbeque.

“You’re going to take her back in the kitchen, aren’t you?” asked Evelyn. She turned to Rebecca. “You’ll feel right at home in the Aunt Pat’s kitchen. There’s not any kind of an industrial feel to it at all.”

“It looks,” interrupted Cherry eagerly, “like you’re at your grandma’s kitchen and watching her cook something up just for you.”

Flo nodded. “Every pot and pan has some family history backing it up.”

Lulu looked pleased. “Y’all are so sweet to say that! That’s exactly the way I want the kitchen to feel. Because if that’s the feeling
in
the kitchen, the food coming
out
of it is going to be just as comforting and loving. It’s the heart of the restaurant. And there’s a little bit of my heart there, too. I swear I feel closer to Aunt Pat in that room than anywhere else. Maybe she’s our guardian angel here at the restaurant.”

Rebecca craned her neck to locate Tony.

Cherry wasn’t ready for Rebecca to go yet. Not until she’d impressed some more important Aunt Pat’s information on her. She tapped her on the arm to get her attention. “See over there? No,
there
. That picture? That’s a picture of the Graces from five years ago. And
that
picture?” She gestured to another spot on the crowded wall. The old brick was barely visible underneath a massive collection of color and black-and-white photos and memorabilia from years back. “That’s us nine or ten months later. That’s
another
way this restaurant is like my meemaw’s house. Walls that are jam-packed with pictures. It gives you a sense of history, like you’re connecting to a real family.”

“You
are
connecting to a family,” said Lulu warmly. “You’re right up there with baby pictures of my granddaughters, toddler pictures of Ben and Seb, and even pictures of me when I was little.”

And apparently, thought Rebecca, when you go up on the wall, you never come down. The wall was full of pictures, and she couldn’t see an empty spot anywhere. Very busy looking, thought Rebecca, whose tastes ran to the Spartan look.

“You forgot to tell the best part,” Flo said reproachfully to Cherry. “Remember?”

Cherry slapped a manicured hand on the table. “I
am
losing it.” She pointed to the very center of the wall. “One of the King’s guitars.
Signed
.”

Rebecca was impressed, despite herself. “You’re smart to put it in a case. It must be valuable.”

“Lulu and Aunt Pat
knew
Elvis,” said Jeanne in an awe-struck voice. The ladies looked at Lulu wonderingly.

“Well, not to hang out with. But if he was in Memphis, he was at Aunt Pat’s.”

 

 

Ben strode out of the kitchen and saw Seb sitting in the office. “Why’re you hiding out in the office, Seb? I thought you were a middle-of-the-action kind of guy. It’s not
every
day we have Cooking Channel camped out at the restaurant.”

Seb looked briefly annoyed, then gave a short laugh and said, “Oh, you know. That hippie gallery owner, Susan something—is out in the dining room. Mother’s got a bee in her bonnet about fixing me up with her. It drives me right up the wall.”

Ben picked up his tongs and said, “Well, I know it gripes you, but I’d appreciate it if you could go out there anyway.
Not
to flirt with Susan,” he added as Seb opened his mouth to protest, “but to schmooze with the Cooking Channel folks. You’re the Taylor clan’s best schmoozer.”

Seb stood up. He knew an indirect order when he heard one. And he wasn’t exactly in the position to say no. The last thing he wanted was to slink back to New York with his tail between his legs. Without a job, he wouldn’t be able to pay rent. And the debt collectors would be thrilled at having another crack at making him pay up.

 

 

Lulu and the Graces bantered back and forth while food came and went and people came over to say hi. Everyone appeared to know them. Then Rebecca’s cell phone, which looked capable of doing everything short of baking bread, rang, and she abruptly slid out of the booth and hurried off to chat.

Everyone she’d been sitting with gaped in surprise at her rudeness. Tony, Rebecca’s cameraman, noticed their reaction to her abrupt departure. He took a last bite of his red beans and rice and walked across to the vinyl booth. He wore an apologetic grin. His handsome face and Mediterranean coloring spurred the Graces to forget their shock and dive into their pocketbooks for their lipsticks. Cherry sized Tony up with an expression that Lulu recognized as indicative of future flirtation. “That,” Tony said emphatically, “was some good barbeque. I’m not the official scout, but yours was the best barbeque plate I’ve ever eaten.”

Lulu beamed at him. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it, hon.” Then she caught sight of Seb poking his head out from the office door and glancing around the restaurant. Lulu motioned him over. He hesitated, and Lulu frowned and waved him over again. “Don’t be shy, Seb!” she called.