Delicious and Suspicious (8 page)

“I’m going to call the network,” he said, “and see if they’ve heard anything from her. This is out of character even for Rebecca. When it comes to work, she’s usually more on top of things.”

Sara had come over and leaned on the back of her booth. “Do you think she went on ahead to Hog Heaven? She left at the same time as Lurleen Ashton.”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t see any reason why she’d do that. She knows I’d have to go back there later to do sound and light checks, and frame shots.”

He dialed his producer at the Cooking Channel. “Have you guys talked to Rebecca this afternoon? She’s gone AWOL . . . That’s what I’m saying! . . . No, we’re not done for the day, and I’ve been waiting for hours for us to go to the next location. We’re supposed to be covering a different story in a couple days. . . . How am I going to manage that when we can’t even wrap the barbeque piece?” He listened for a minute, nodding his dark head like his producer could see him. “Gotcha. Will do.”

He snapped his cell phone closed. “Well, they tried to reach her this afternoon, and she didn’t answer. If you don’t mind,” he added, “I’ll take you up on the offer for that ride. They want me to round her up. We gotta get over to Hog Heaven and make this a wrap today. If we get too far behind, then it’s going to cost the network a bunch of extra money.”

“Tony, would you mind if I go inside the Peabody with you? I’ll make a really quick apology and won’t hold you up a minute from going to Hog Heaven.” At his puzzled look, Lulu added, “I’d feel better if I apologize. I don’t usually act so ugly to my guests, even if they’re rude.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “I promise you weren’t out of line. Most people don’t have the guts to tell her like it is. But sure, come on in if it’ll make you feel better. You’ll probably get the satisfaction of seeing your apologies put her in a worse mood.”

“It’s not that she didn’t deserve it. She could have been tarred and feathered for all her foolishness, and it would have served her right. But I could have handled it differently.”

Sara said, “I can give y’all a lift. But I must not be as emotionally mature as you, Lulu. They’ll be making snow-men in Hades before that woman gets an apology from me.”

Tony said, “I was telling Lulu that sometimes I think there’s something wrong with Rebecca.”

“I should say there is!” said Lulu indignantly. “Anybody who doesn’t like the ducks at the Peabody doesn’t have their elevator go to the top floor.”

Tony’s cell phone rang, and he wandered off a little ways to talk with his producer again.

“I just don’t understand why she has to act so ugly to everybody,” said Sara.

“Maybe the Cooking Channel wants to be something new and different to show how different they are from Food Network,” said Lulu.

“I think they’ve already succeeded. They do this gonzo reality show where people send them tips about their friend or family member’s awful cooking habits. Then they ring the poor devil’s doorbell around suppertime and see what’s cooking. Lots of pork and beans being put on America’s dinner tables.”

“But you’re watching the show,” said Lulu.

“Of course. It’s completely hilarious. But now that I’ve seen in person how tacky Rebecca Adrian is, I’ll never watch
The Foodmobile
again. I just wonder what screwed her up,” said Sara.

Lulu clucked. “That’s just your psychology minor talking again.”

“Well, you’ve got to wonder why she’s so mad at the world. Maybe she had to claw her way to where she is today. Or maybe she’s around nasty people all the time, and it’s rubbed off,” said Sara. She pursed her lips in thought.

“I don’t think it’s anything all that complicated,” said Lulu. “Maybe she’s just constipated. Lots of people are, you know,” she said defensively as Sara groaned. “That MaxLax stuff works pretty well. Maybe we need to go out to Costco and get her a pallet of it.”

They looked out the window with some trepidation. Hail fell from of the sky. Cherry calmly tucked her bouffant hairdo up into her helmet. “Someday y’all will come round to my way of thinking,” she said. “That there hail is going to bounce clean off my helmet. And my hair won’t get a drop on it.”

The same couldn’t be said for Tony, Lulu, and Sara as they bolted for Sara’s car in the parking deck. “Almost like divine retribution,” muttered Lulu. But she couldn’t decide who had triggered this vengeance. She hoped, since she was on her way to offer what she felt was a sincere, if abbreviated, apology, that it might be Rebecca Adrian who had caused the celestial distress.

Sure enough, the Cooking Channel van was in the Peabody’s parking deck. Sara parked as close as she could to the entrance, and they hurried inside as the hail continued to fall and the thunder rumbled nearby. Tony’s face flushed with irritation. “There’s no excuse,” he kept muttering. And, “Wait till the boss talks to her about this. She won’t try something like this again.”

It was past five o’clock so the lobby was empty of tourists. Sara twisted strands of red blond hair around her finger as they rode up the elevator. Tony glowered, and Lulu felt queasy. She was not a fan of scenes, and there had been far too many over the past twenty-four hours.

Tony led the way down the third-floor hallway and thumped on one of the doors. “Rebecca!” he bellowed. He waited and then thumped his fist on the door again. “Rebecca! I want to talk to you.”

There was only silence from the room.

Tony tried the door, but of course, it was locked. He thumped loudly on her door again, and a couple of doors opened farther down the hall as people curiously peeped out.

“Are you sure this is the right room?” asked Lulu.

“Absolutely. My room is just next door.”

Sara looked uncomfortable as other guests continued looking out their doors. “Can’t we ask the hotel manager to let us in? Or security?”

“You don’t think,” asked Lulu as a thought popped into her head, “she killed herself, do you?”

“No way. She loves herself way too much. Besides, being banned from Aunt Pat’s wouldn’t have made her suicidal, you know.”

“When you put it that way, it does sound a little silly.”

“I’ll run get the manager,” said Tony. “He’ll probably check on her since I’m her coworker and everything.”

Ten minutes later Tony was back with the manager and one of the hotel’s security men. The manager inserted a master key and cautiously opened the door a crack. “Miss Adrian?” He waited, listening hard but hearing no response. He pushed the door open farther. “Miss Adrian?”

He stepped into the room, then backed up a step. The security man pushed them back into the hall, but Lulu was able to see a sprawled figure on the floor of the room: Rebecca Adrian—quite obviously dead.

“Do you think,” asked Lulu in a hushed tone appropriate for being in the vicinity of a dead body, “this is a natural-causes kind of dead or a murdered-in-her-sleep kind of dead?”

“Well, it sure as heck didn’t look natural to me,” said Sara. Her freckles stood out like polka dots against her suddenly white face. “Upchuck everywhere, her body crumpled at a crazy angle.”

Tony, whose olive complexion had turned as pale as it could get, wandered away to report to the Cooking Channel producers that Rebecca had actually had a fairly good excuse for being out of pocket for the afternoon.

The police and a forensic team, complete with cameras, hastily blocked off the third floor of the hotel. “I think,” said Lulu, “that the police and those people walking around in space suits make it seem more likely that it was murder.”

“Plus the fact, of course, that everyone hated her guts,” said Sara.

“There is that,” said Lulu, nodding.

A Detective Lyndon Bryce introduced himself to Lulu, Sara, and Tony as he rejoined them. He didn’t look at all like what Lulu thought a detective should look like. Having her stereotypes disproved always made Lulu grouchy. He had a freshly scrubbed, youthful face with the slightest hint of blond stubble.

“If you don’t mind,” he said politely, “I’d like to get your statements from you real quick. Separately,” he added. “Sometimes we remember things differently than other people, and it’s better to hear the same story three different ways.” He’d set up a space in one of the vacant hotel rooms with a sergeant taking notes.

Really, their stories weren’t all that different. Best barbeque in Memphis. Food scout. Unlikable sort who made enemies fast. A few angry scenes. A sudden death. The police took notes, asked a few questions, and eventually let them go.

Tony was somber. “The network will notify her family. I feel bad about this.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Sara.

“But I knew what she was like. Maybe I could have shut her up somehow—kept her from bugging everybody so much. I should’ve stuck a sign on her back, warning everyone to keep back.”

Lulu said, “It wasn’t your job to babysit her, Tony. Besides, some people can’t be protected from themselves.” She paused. “You’re assuming she was murdered.”

He shrugged. “What else is there to think? Why would Rebecca have a natural death? She wasn’t old. Or sick. Just mean.”

And dead, thought Lulu.

 

 

Lulu thrashed around in her bed that night. When she had finally fallen asleep, the docile, baaing sheep she’d counted had turned into fanged monsters that galloped through her dreams and gnashed at her heels. She looked at the clock. Five o’clock. Late enough to finally give up courting Morpheus and get out of bed. Her mind was a muddle of thoughts she wanted to process. And she had the oddest craving for some gingerbread.

The comforting familiarity of measuring and mixing relaxed Lulu. She made the coffee, strong and black, and read the paper while the gingerbread baked. It had finally cooled to the point of eating when there was a knock on her door. Lulu frowned. At six thirty? She gathered her pink robe around her neck and peeped out the curtain of the back door. Relieved, she saw Ben with what appeared to be a hairy rodent on a leash. Babette. Lulu opened the door.

“Hi, Mother. I was just taking Babette on a little potty stroll, and I saw your lights on. Is that,” he inhaled deeply, “
gingerbread
?” The thought of eating gingerbread before dawn seemed to startle, then intrigue, Ben.

“Hot from the oven. I don’t know why, but I had quite a hankering for it. Help yourself to a big slice.”

So they sat at Lulu’s kitchen table with plates heaped with gingerbread and a stick of real butter on the checkerboard tablecloth.

“I was working out in my head,” said Lulu, “what happened yesterday. I’m sure the police will decide Rebecca was murdered. There’s no way that child up and died on her own like that.”

Ben nodded and stuck another forkful of gingerbread in his mouth. “I know. But that means . . .”

“Well, it means that somebody we know probably did her in. Because, who would follow somebody all the way from New York to commit murder? And that’s what’s really getting my goat. First of all, I hate it that somebody I know, love, and trust could be sneaky enough to commit murder. It’s hard to stomach.” She sighed deeply and tapped her fingers against her coffee cup.

“Rebecca was hateful enough to rile anybody up, Mother. The killer may not even have been acting in their right mind when they did it.”

“Plus
we’re
under suspicion until the police nab the culprit. We’re all going to be looking sideways at each other. It’s much worse than actually knowing who did it.

“She was probably poisoned,” continued Lulu morosely. “All that being sick and the way her body was lying. And that can’t be wonderful for the restaurant, either. Can’t you see the headlines now? ‘Poisoned! A Cooking Channel scout dropped dead today after eating barbeque ribs at Aunt Pat’s.’”

Ben groaned. “And I’m the chef.”

“But why should you be a suspect? You barely even met the woman. The only time you even spoke to her was right after the tasting.”

“You’re forgetting the fact that I might be upset that she turned my wife into a shadow of her former self. Oh, and she made my nephew, Mr. Tough Guy Derrick, cry like a little baby?”

“I mean she did nothing
directly
to you.”

“Well, it can’t be good that I cooked her food,” said Ben. He put his elbows on the table and held his head. “Sara and Derrick are sure to be suspects, I guess.”

“Considering it’s public knowledge that Rebecca had a big scene with Sara and upset Derrick, I’m afraid so. Mildred, too.”

Ben said, “Now hold on a minute, though. Mildred wasn’t even around when Rebecca Adrian ate her ribs. She came up with that bundle of papers right before Rebecca got covered with iced tea and left.”

“That’s not what I’m remembering,” said Lulu. “I think she was really enjoying that barbeque. She kept taking little forkfuls all along. Stuffing herself here and there. But it’s still completely impossible. It’s not like Mildred had poison stowed away in her pocketbook on the off chance that Rebecca was going to disgrace her in front of the entire restaurant.” Lulu clucked impatiently.

They were quiet for a minute, concentrating on their gingerbread and their thoughts.

“Come to think of it,” said Ben in the voice of a man about to make a phone call to the police, “Sara and Derrick weren’t anywhere
near
Rebecca’s food.”

Lulu said, “Honey, you know I hate to contradict you on Sara. But that plate was getting loaded right back in the kitchen. And it was pretty obvious whose plate it was by the care we were taking to make it look just so. Sara hurried back and forth, and in and out through that kitchen a million times, picking up orders. And the restaurant was so crowded, I think anybody could have slipped something in her food while I was talking to her about the Cooking Channel. I guess it lets Derrick off, though. He was at school.”

Ben cut off a big slab of butter and slathered it on a hunk of gingerbread. “I’m thinking Mildred, Sara, and Derrick couldn’t have been the only three people with an ax to grind with Rebecca Adrian. I’m
hoping
that’s the case, anyway.”