Delicious and Suspicious (7 page)

Sara couldn’t be tart with Flo. “Forget it, Flo. I wasn’t actually watching out for him myself. It’s over and done with. Maybe it even taught him a lesson. After all, he should have walked out with you and been on his merry way to Youth Group. He’s not a baby.”

Flo swallowed. “Did anything happen to him?”

Sara sighed. “
Some
thing happened. But I’m not sure what it was. She’s good at cutting people down a notch.” She saw Coco talking animatedly with Rebecca. “I guess she’s not doing any harm talking to Coco. Coco’s completely undeflatable. Unlike me.”

“Honey, when you walk through the door, it’s like a breath of fresh air. You’ve always got this big, beaming smile on your face and have so much energy. Right now it’s like that woman sucked the life out of you. Well, you have none of it, Sara. She just wants to bring everybody down. She probably doesn’t even know anybody in New York. Braggart.”

Sara made a face. “She sure wasn’t impressed by Southern folk art. I guess she thinks we’re all hillbillies, spending our days playing banjos at hootenannies.”

“Or pulling beer out of our front-porch fridges,” said Flo.

“Or that we have so many broken, beat-up cars that our yards look like used car lots.”

“At least,” said Flo, “you’re not letting her get you down. Peggy Sue gave me the lowdown on what happened. I really think that Miss Thing needs to learn a lesson.”

“She’s entitled to her opinion, Flo.”

“But not entitled to present it in such an ugly way. Listen,” said Flo, “the Graces are all planning on going by Susan’s Southern Accents gallery tonight. She’s going to have some wine and cheese, and we’ll soak in your art and have ourselves a real party. We’ve all been dying to see it for ages—we couldn’t be more thrilled.” She gave Sara a hug.

A smile spread over Sara’s freckled face. “Thanks, Flo.” She squinted over toward the lunch counter where Rebecca Adrian held court with a crowd of admirers. “Uh-oh,” Sara said. “Looks like more trouble. That’s not Mildred Cameron’s manuscript, is it?”

“Oh Lordy,” breathed Flo. “I was sure her book was a figment of her imagination. She’s been talking about that thing for forty years. I thought that manuscript was as fictional as the tooth fairy.”

Sara winced. “It looks like she’s offering it up for Rebecca’s inspection.”

Flo shook her permed head. “There’s nothing about poor Mildred that can hold up to inspection, honey. She already has two strikes against her because she looks like the skinny, bug-eyed spinster on the old maid cards. Bless her heart.”

Sara hurried toward the impending catastrophe, and Flo followed along beside her. “Maybe we can stop her.”

“And just think,” added Flo a little breathlessly, “it’s a romance. Dear God.”

It was too late. Mildred Cameron’s honking voice squawked, “Miss Adrian, I’ve waited for years for someone to present my manuscript to a worthy New York publisher.”

“Oh no,” groaned Sara.

“And so,” continued Mildred with rather touching dignity, “I present you with my life’s work. My pièce de résistance.” Her spindly arms, which clasped the bundle of raggedy papers to her flat bosom, abruptly proffered them to Rebecca Adrian.

“Looks like Abraham offerin’ up Isaac for the sacrifice,” whispered Flo.

“What the
hell
,” said Rebecca, “is this?”

Mildred gaped at Rebecca in utter confusion. Had she not heard what she said? “My
manuscript
,” she repeated loudly. You never could tell who was hard of hearing, thought Mildred. Maybe the lady had turned up her iPod too loud too many times.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and made a great show of reverently placing the papers on the lunch counter in front of her. She flipped to twenty pages in or so and read dramatically, “‘She trembled like a trapped bird at his masterful touch. His sardonic eyes gleamed with his devilish intent. As he gripped her yielding softness—’”

Mildred Cameron gave a choked cry.

If it had been a slow-motion disaster, like in a movie, then maybe somebody could have stopped the super-sized iced tea as it catapulted toward Rebecca Adrian’s fancy “casual” clothes.

But this wasn’t the movies. And Mildred Cameron’s drink was well on its way to being splashed all over Rebecca Adrian.

It was debated at some length afterward whether Mildred Cameron had intentionally covered Rebecca with the sweet tea. Some people thought Mildred had been aghast enough to do almost anything. But others thought that nobody on this earth would deliberately knock over a glass of Aunt Pat’s iced tea. It was just that good.

Shoring up the evidence in favor of accidental drenching was Mildred’s face right after the incident. It was a study in horror. Her eyes made perfect Os; her mouth was a replica of the agonized figure in Munch’s
The Scream
.

But there was a flash of triumph in Mildred’s eyes, too. Particularly at the choked-back laughter from everyone at the lunch counter.

Rebecca was livid. She surged up from her stool like a Fury, slammed both palms on the lunch counter, then whirled and bent into Mildred Cameron’s face. It was about that time when all the snickering stopped. “In a couple of hours
I’ll
be dry. But
you’ll
still be untalented.”

Even the whispers had stopped now, and a hostile silence enveloped Rebecca Adrian. Now she wasn’t the only one who was livid. Lulu said with narrowed eyes and a lowered voice, “Don’t you
ever
set foot in here again. I don’t care if you like the damned barbeque or not.”

Rebecca grabbed a full paper towel roll off a nearby table and sashayed across the crowded restaurant to the door. It was a slower than usual walk since her route was crowded with glowering patrons.

“Could this day possibly get any worse?” Lulu demanded of Ben. “We’ve got two dashed dreams, a devastated teenager, some royally ticked off Graces, and we will probably get completely overlooked for a plug on the Cooking Channel.”

“Don’t look now, Mother,” drawled Ben, “but having Lurleen Ashton here won’t exactly make things any better.”

Lurleen was the co-owner of Hog Heaven, the leading competitor to Aunt Pat’s. Her gung ho, cheerleading, way-too-sunny attitude made Lulu want to throw up.

She appeared to have a bunch of colorful flyers in her hands. “Miss Adrian?” she asked brightly, adroitly blocking Rebecca’s attempted huffy escape. “Just making sure you’re good and hungry. Because when you pop in down the street to Hog Heaven, you’re going to have some of the best barbeque ribs you’ve ever put in your mouth. I was just wondering when you might be coming by today. You know, so I can lay out the red carpet and everything.”

Lulu made a shooing motion at both of them. Lurleen smiled sweetly at her and followed Rebecca, who was only too delighted to push her way out the screen door.

 

 

Big Ben shivered, even though the weather outside had warmed up to nearly eighty degrees. “I got a funny feeling about what happened, Buddy. A goose walked over my grave.”

Buddy said, “I know what you mean. That little thing is one wicked person. She’s about as deep as a Dixie cup.”

“I don’t feel much like going home by myself. What’re you doing this afternoon? Waving at cars?”

“No, I don’t feel too much like waving. Seems a little jaunty, under the circumstances. No, I think I’ll head home and watch the Weather Channel for a while.”

“That so?” Big Ben brightened. “I do like the Weather Channel.”

Buddy nodded sagely. “It’s the most excitement you can find on television. Floods, tornadoes, droughts, snow . . . all on the same day in the same country. It’s good stuff.”

“Might be good enough to try out that fancy wine you’ve been holding on to?”

“The Domaine Vincent Dauvissat Chablis Les Preuses?”

“That very one.”

“Watching the Weather Channel,” said Buddy soberly, “is
not
a special occasion.”

Big Ben’s jowly face fell even further.

“I still have some of the sweet tea left over from the other day, though.”

Big Ben pushed up from the table and hitched up his trousers. “Let’s go!”

 

 

Tony the camera man walked out of the men’s room and up to Ben. “Where’s Rebecca?” Ben pointed to the door, and Tony said “What? She’s gone?” He looked through the window in time to see the Cooking Channel van passing Beale Street.

He shrugged. “Might as well enjoy some lunch.” He hopped up on a lunch stool.

“I’m so sorry, Tony,” said Lulu. “I ran Rebecca off. I’d totally forgotten that she was your ride. This plate is on me.” She rubbed her hand against the side of her face. “Can we give you a ride after lunch?”

Tony shook his head. “The Peabody is easy to walk to, Mrs. Taylor. I should get a little exercise, anyway. Not that your barbeque is fattening or anything,” he added hastily.

“Well, it wasn’t designed to be low fat.”

Tony frowned. “We were supposed to be heading over to Hog Heaven later this evening. Did she say anything about where she might be going in the meantime?”

Coco chimed in. “She told me she was really tired and wanted to nap.”

“Must need to sleep it off,” muttered Flo.

Tony said thoughtfully, “She did tie one on last night. But I don’t think I ever remember her napping in the middle of an assignment. Did, uh, anything else happen?”

Lulu sighed. “I hate to admit it, but she got under my skin, Tony. She flew off the handle at one of our customers when she accidentally spilled some tea on her. Well, I guess it was an accident, anyway. Rebecca was being so ugly to Mildred that maybe she thought a little spilled tea on Rebecca’s designer clothes would be a good idea. I fired off and told her she wasn’t welcome to come back to Aunt Pat’s. She was cutting down people in my family and some of my regulars. A Cooking Channel episode or even a series is great for a while, but if you don’t have your loyal customers, you’re going to go under. I lost my temper. I just had this flash of a thought that came over me about how Aunt Pat had always made the restaurant about friends and family. She wouldn’t have tolerated any meanness toward her friends—and I couldn’t, either. But I didn’t handle it as well as I should have.” Lulu sighed. “Plus,” she said in a hushed voice that Tony had to lean over to hear, “she was . . .
rude
.”

Tony, who had heard Rebecca Adrian called a lot worse, nodded his head. “She’s definitely that. Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Taylor. You’ve actually had the guts to tell her off, and she needed to hear it. Maybe she’s gone off to sulk for right now, but I bet she’s going to respect you a heck of a lot more for it later.”

Tony continued, “The whole mindset is like that at the Cooking Channel. You almost
expect
to run into people like Rebecca there. I worked at Food Network for a while, and it was a totally organized, nice place to work. The Cooking Channel offered me more money, and I decided to jump ship. Wish I’d never heard of them. They’re just the ugly underbelly of the cable world. Mean-spirited. Always looking for the gotcha angle. And lots of people like Rebecca working for them—determined, ambitious, and sneaky.”

He took a big sip from his iced tea. “Sometimes I gotta wonder about her,” said Tony. “Rebecca is tiny, you know. So she wears these spiky heels and puts people down all the time. Maybe she has one of those Napoleon complexes.”

Lulu squinted thoughtfully. “She’s trying to compensate for being so little? It’s got to be a tough business, right? I’d think that she’d be at a disadvantage simply because she’s young and small.”

Tony grinned as a waitress slid a plate piled high with ribs, slaw, spicy corn bread, and baked beans in front of him on the lunch counter. “As far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Taylor, Aunt Pat’s
is
where it’s at. I’ll put in my two cents with the boss when we get back home. They know Rebecca goes off the deep end sometimes.”

Tony looked around the restaurant at the dark-paneled walls jam-packed with pictures on every available inch, the red and white checked vinyl tablecloths, and the happily chatting patrons. “And if you don’t mind, I’m not in any real rush to get Rebecca. Burning off some steam will do her good. I’ll hang out here for a while with all of you. I guess we can still make it over to Hog Heaven tonight and deal with the crowds on Beale. I don’t think they’ll bar their doors if we’re a little late.” He smiled.

“Say,” said Ben, as a dawning thought occurred to him, “do you ever do any hunting, Tony?”

Once it had been established that hunting wasn’t a popular, or even legal, pastime in New York City (and that Tony—and really, for that matter, Ben himself—didn’t really have the time to go driving off into the rural areas of Tennessee or Mississippi), they moved on to other topics. Then Ben had to get back to the pit to fix more barbeque, but Tony proved to be quite a popular draw for Lulu’s patrons. Maybe, thought Lulu, the good folks at Aunt Pat’s were trying to prove that they weren’t ordinarily inhospitable. Except, of course, in the most extreme of circumstances.

By the time Tony had devoured his food, drained a beer, then eaten another order of ribs and had another beer, a blustery wind had struck up outside. Menacing dark clouds replaced puffy white ones and banded together to block out the sun. Everyone jumped at the crack, then boom of thunder soon followed by a deluge that blew up against the windows as the heavens split open.

Lulu looked thoughtfully out the window. “I’d say you might need a ride now, Tony.”

“I’ll second that.”

“I’d drive you to the Peabody myself,” said Lulu, “but I arrived at the restaurant today courtesy of the ‘Jesus Saves’ bus. So we’ll both need rides.”

Tony frowned as he looked at his watch. “She’s really done a number this time. I’ve killed the whole afternoon here, and she hasn’t even given me a call.” He double-checked his cell phone to make sure he hadn’t missed any messages and shook his head. Then he tried dialing her cell phone, but she didn’t answer.