Delicious and Suspicious (6 page)

Susan found her voice. “She doesn’t know her Picasso from her Rembrandt, Sara. Rebecca Adrian wouldn’t recognize great art if it bit her in the behind.”

Somewhere under the cloud of misery, hurt, and anger, Sara appreciated Susan’s attempt to make her feel better. She smiled reassuringly at Susan. But Susan was alarmed that the light had gone out of Sara’s green eyes.

“She doesn’t understand Southern folk art. Your work is beautiful,” Susan added.

Sara looked around the gallery with an even more critical eye than usual. She saw her collection of oddly shaped ceramic livestock, the brightly colored canvases with misshapen figures in rural settings, the bloated, fantastically colored tea set. Where she once felt pride and hope, she now felt overwhelming fury and desperation. Damn Rebecca Adrian for taking her art away from her.

 

 

The day had been clearly destined for calamity in every way. Lulu reflected later that she should have picked up on the signs. There were certainly enough of them to indicate that the day would go to hell in a handbasket. But Lulu didn’t put much stock in signs. So she didn’t really pay attention when her car kicked the bucket on the way to the restaurant that morning.

She wasn’t even on her usual route to Aunt Pat’s, where friends and family would be sure to see her and would transport her the rest of the way. No, she was way off the beaten path.

“Shoot!” said Lulu as she steered to the side of the road.

“
Shoot!
” said Lulu when she realized she’d left her cell phone at home.

So there was Lulu Taylor, marooned motorist, walking down the road as her restaurant prepared for a possible Cooking Channel debut without her. Lulu had given up hope of ever making it to the restaurant when there was a honking behind her . . . the volume of which was so loud that she nearly fell into the street in surprise.

It was the red and green painted “Jesus Saves” bus from the Promised Land Church of Our Blessed Savior. “Hallelujah!” muttered Lulu.

The bus, which looked like it had escaped from
The Partridge Family
lot, pulled to the side of the road. “Lulu? You okay? What are you doing walking alone down the road?” It was Johnson Jones, his face puckered up with concern. Probably thought she’d gone ga-ga.

“Hi, J.J. My car broke down a little ways back. Is there any way you could give me a lift to Aunt Pat’s or call Ben for me?”

“I can take you over there, Lulu. I’ve got to gas up the bus anyway. I’m taking the Promised Land’s Sassy Seniors group over to Gatlinburg for a couple of nights.”

“Well now, that
does
sound like a nice trip.” Lulu beamed. Her day was back on track again. Or so she thought.

Everything was fine and dandy for a while after that. After the “Jesus Saves” bus dropped her right off near the barricaded entrance to Beale Street, she hurried to Aunt Pat’s and discovered that the Graces had brought in bunches of red and white balloons and all wore “Aunt Pat’s Is Where It’s At” tee shirts in matching colors. Peggy Sue gestured to her shirt with a plump hand and said, “Not grammatical, I know. But our other tee shirt ideas were horrid. ‘Aunt Pat’s Won’t Make You Fat,’ ‘Aunt Pat Was One Cool Cat’ . . .”

Lulu hugged as many of the Graces as she could pull into her arms. “Y’all are the best. Thanks so much. It looks like we’re having a party in here.”

What everybody remembered afterward was what a gorgeous day it started out as. There was never a clearer sky of a brighter blue. The barbeque and sauce that day seemed blessed by the Lord Jesus himself. Even Ben, the most critical man you’ve ever come across, proclaimed it the best barbeque on the earth.

All the Aunt Pat’s folks had an extra spring in their step. Lulu and Ben were sure the restaurant would be the blue-ribbon winner for Memphis barbeque. Big Ben, Morty, and Buddy had brought a couple of instruments and were giving an impromptu concert on the roomy front porch. The Graces were in rare form and cackling at everything anybody said. Ben was concocting the finest barbeque anywhere in the world. Lulu sailed around, chitchatting with everybody.

But when Sara slipped in the door, Lulu felt a smattering of drizzle on her parade. She looked completely wilted, like a flower blossom that some clod had crushed under the sole of her Manolos. Sara shook her head at Lulu’s questioning look then hurried to the back office. Lulu’s heart sank.

Now that her mind had opened to the possibility that the day might
not
go according to script, Lulu noticed other problems. “Where did that Seb get to?” demanded Lulu, striding into the kitchen and putting her hands on her hips.

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” asked Ben.

Lulu clucked. “He knew he was supposed to help us out today! He was going to win over Miss Adrian with his charm, and you were going to win her over with your sauce. Where could he have gotten to?”

Ben flipped over some ribs. “Have you noticed anything different about Seb, Mother? Since he returned from New York, I mean?”

Lulu watched as he halfheartedly swiped at some meat with the dry rub. “Ben,” she said a little louder as she gently bumped him out of the way. “Move out of the way, baby—I’m stepping in for a few minutes. Whatever poor soul gets this meat . . . and I hope to high heaven it isn’t Rebecca Adrian . . . isn’t going to get the full flavor of the spices. We can’t be afraid of the paprika, it
makes
the ribs.” She gave her son a sharp, concerned look. “Why don’t you take a break? Pull up a stool and relax and tell me what’s on your mind. You know that always made you feel better when you were a little guy.”

Ben pushed the stool over to the center bar and, chin propped in his hands, watched his mother scrub up, then expertly mix the brown sugar, dry mustard, garlic powder, salt, and paprika, and busily rub it onto the pork. She also managed to whip up a fresh pot of coffee for them. Ordinarily, he’d have been transported right back to his happy childhood while watching Lulu move around the kitchen. But today he had a problem weighing on his mind.

Lulu picked up the conversation again. “You were talking about Seb. I know what you were going to say, Ben. But I already had a word with Seb about it.”

Ben looked relieved. “Well I am glad to hear that, Mother. So he didn’t mind talking about it? His problem, I mean. Is there something we can do to help him out?”

Lulu waved dismissively. “It’s not all that much of a problem. I told him no more loud shirts with patterns on them. Especially the herringbone one. It makes Big Ben want to upchuck.”

“For heaven’s sake, Mother! I’m not talking about Seb’s fashion sense.”

Lulu knit her brows. “You mean his flirting with the Graces? I did tell him to cool it a little bit. But I think they kind of like it. At least, Cherry does. She fluttered those eyelashes a mile a minute. Although I saw Jeanne roll her eyes the other day—”

“Mother!” Ben broke off in exasperation. He gathered his thoughts and his patience together, and continued, “I mean, the way he’s sniffling all the time.”

Lulu looked perplexed.

“I just have to wonder, Mother, if maybe he didn’t get caught up in some kind of trouble in New York. Like . . . drugs.”

“Pah! Is this all because Seb won’t go hunting with you?”

“No, it’s because he’s sniffing.”

“Because of the pollen!”

“No, Mother, the pollen is long gone. It’s May.”

“I’m well aware of the month, Ben,” said Lulu with dignity. “But there are plenty of other allergens out there: grass pollen, mold—”

“Sure, since Seb spends
so
much time in the great outdoors.”

“Or he could even be allergic to B.B. and Elvis.”

“The Labs? Come on, Mother. Seb grew up with dogs. I hardly think he’s suddenly developed some major dog-fur allergy. I think maybe he’s gone over to the dark side a little. Maybe he’s more like Daddy than we thought.”

Lulu sighed. “Daddy left when Seb was two. I hardly think he could have warped him that early in life.”

Ben shook his head. “Daddy was a scoundrel, Mother. It’s not like Seb would be the original black sheep of the family.”

“Seb is
nothing
like your father. He’s just . . . wayward.” But she sounded uncertain.

“I’m just saying that maybe it was a genetic thing. You know—maybe it’s not even his fault if he’s going rotten.”

“But you don’t know for sure, Ben. Right? You don’t know for sure that Seb is on drugs. He might be guilty of nothing more than gaudy dressing,” said Lulu.

Ben just looked sad. “We’ve had a streak of scoundrels in the family, Mother.”

Lulu said in a huffy voice, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that!”

“Think about it. Even your own daddy left.”

“And Mama died of a broken heart. Thank the Lord for Aunt Pat, though. She didn’t just step in; she loved me like her own. See, it all works out in the end. We just don’t know what the plan is, that’s all.”

Ben said, “The point I was trying to make was about Seb. I’m wondering if he’s one of those bad seeds. Like Daddy and Granddaddy. That’s all I was trying to say.”

“Let’s talk about this later,” said Lulu. “Or never. We’ve got some finger-licking barbeque to concoct!”

Word spread courtesy of the Graces that Rebecca Adrian was persona non grata as far as the Aunt Pat’s people were concerned. Peggy Sue pulled the story out of Sara and felt it necessary to share the news with everyone, lest they be tempted to be pleasant to Rebecca Adrian. Nobody wanted to upset her enough for her to say ugly things about the barbeque to Cooking Channel, but nobody busted their buttons to rush to her side and visit for a spell.

Except for little Coco. Ordinarily, one of the patrons or staff would have rescued one of their own from the clutches of the wicked Rebecca Adrian. In this case, however, they felt like Cordelia Taylor could hold her own.

In fact, Coco was the ideal choice to provide entertainment while Rebecca’s barbeque was prepared. For the first time since she’d arrived in Memphis, Rebecca Adrian finally seemed impressed with something.

“So,” Rebecca asked Coco, “you started off with the Wee Miss pageant and won that title—”

“Still have the crown on top of my dresser. It’s the tallest crown you’ve ever seen, Miss Adrian. It looks like I have the Emerald City on my head.”

“And then you were in the Tiny Miss pageant and won that title—”

Coco shook her head and her blond curls danced. “No.” She frowned. “I was first runner-up for the Tiny Miss. I was robbed, that’s what everyone told me.”

“Oh, brother,” said her twin sister Ella Beth who’d come up to listen in for a minute. She quickly retreated to the kitchen to find Lulu.

Rebecca continued, “And then there was the Little Miss pageant. And that was last year?”

“It was. And I won that one, too.”

“Aren’t beauty pageants really expensive?” Rebecca was beginning to wonder if there were big bucks to be had with either barbeque restaurants or winning beauty pageants.

Coco shrugged. “Daddy says if it keeps me busy, it’s okay by him. But he’s not crazy about the dresses we have to buy. And Coach keeps telling me that Mama has
not
been as supportive as she could be. I could have used a real makeover this year because I’ll be in the Miss pageant for the very first time.” Coco glowered at Sara, who fortunately missed her look since she was trying to get orders from every person there and avoid Rebecca Adrian at all costs.

A few minutes later, the barbeque plate was ready. Lulu served it to Rebecca herself, and Ben came out of the kitchen to witness the event.

The plate fairly groaned with food. Ribs were piled up high, and the plate was loaded with red beans and rice, spicy corn bread muffins, and delicious coleslaw. Rebecca looked irritated. “You didn’t have to bring so much, you know. There’s no way I’m can eat all that.”

Lulu looked surprised. “We didn’t heap it like that just for you, honey. We fix all the plates like that.”

The loud banter and chatting in the restaurant lowered to a hush as Rebecca Adrian took her first bite of ribs. She clearly played the moment up for all it was worth, conscious of the attention she was getting. Rebecca rolled the food around in her mouth for a moment.

“I believe she thinks she’s at a wine tasting,” murmured Ben to Lulu.

“As long as she doesn’t spit it out,” she answered.

“This,” said Rebecca Adrian, pausing long enough to bring perspiration droplets to Ben’s face, “is
excellent
barbeque. The pork is firm, but not dry. No charring on the bark. Smoky flavor from the dry rub, with accents of cumin, chili powder, and”—she rubbed her lips together—“paprika.”

“What did she say?” bellowed Big Ben in his baritone voice.

“She said it was good,” reported Buddy.

“We needed some expert from New York to toodle down here and tell us something we already knew?”

Once again, Morty neglected to summarily shush him, which was a far cry from his usual practice.

A miffed expression passed over Rebecca’s face until she replaced it with her usual cool detachment. She was all business again and took out her black notebook to jot down a few notes.

“Glad you liked it,” said Ben awkwardly. “What happens now?”

“Well, of course, there are other barbeque restaurants on our list,” she said in a brisk tone. “But I’ve made my notes, and will report my thoughts and impressions to the producers.” She gave a rather simpering smile. “They’ll be in touch.”

As Lulu asked her a little more about the process the network was using to determine the best barbeque, Flo finally caught up with Sara. It wasn’t easy, since Sara was determined to flit in and out of the dining room with little contact with everyone—especially Rebecca Adrian.

Flo put a hesitant hand on Sara’s arm. “I am so, so sorry about leaving Derrick last night. It’s a good thing I never had any children of my own.”