Delicious and Suspicious (9 page)

Lulu dropped her voice like someone might be listening in under her kitchen table. “Flo had some kind of a run-in with her. She surely did. I don’t know exactly what happened, but she said the whole reason she accidentally left Derrick at the Peabody to begin with was the fact that Rebecca had gotten her so steamed up.”

“Well,
Flo
sure as heck wasn’t lurking around in the kitchen.”

“No, but she was right next to Rebecca the rest of the time after the initial tasting. And Rebecca kept right on eating, like I told you,” said Lulu.

“I find it hard to believe, Mother, that Rebecca Adrian could hurt Flo’s feelings. What did she do—insult Elvis’s manhood or something?”

Lulu said, “Whatever it was, it was pretty serious. Serious enough for Flo to forget about Derrick. The only thing, though,” said Lulu thoughtfully, “is that maybe she wasn’t poisoned at the restaurant at all. Maybe it happened back at the Peabody.”

There was a sudden explosion of yipping, and Lulu whipped her head around to see Babette skidding on the old linoleum as she raced off after whatever hallucination she was having. Ben jogged over and scooped Babette up, crooning soothingly to her.

Lulu studiously ignored the episode, which—if discussed at all—would end up with Ben saying that no one really
understood
Babette.

Ben struggled to remember the lost thread of their conversation as he absently put Babette’s polka-dotted bow back on. “You said maybe Rebecca was poisoned
after
she left Aunt Pat’s?”

“Why not? They have food and drinks at the Peabody, too. Somebody could have gone there and poisoned her food.”

“Why would she be eating anything if she just polished off a huge plate of barbeque with all the fixings?”

“I thought you might want to join me in grasping at straws, Ben.” Lulu looked crossly at her son. “Maybe someone spiked her drink there. We do use a lot of salt and paprika in the dry rub—she could have been thirsty and drank a bunch of Drano in her Coca-Cola or something. If you think about it, there are a ton of poisons within our easy reach every day. Cleaners, detergents, yard chemicals, insect killers . . .”

Ben pushed his plate away. “Okay, I’m done here. Thanks for the hopefully poison-free gingerbread.”

Lulu wrinkled her nose. “What
is
that smell?” She twisted in her chair to look behind her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Ben!”

Ben was already standing, hustling for the roll of paper towels and some cleaner. “Babette just gets a little excited sometimes, Mother. She can’t help it.”

“Excited about what? We’re sitting here eating gingerbread!” Lulu watched as the offensive spot on the linoleum was efficiently cleared away. “You know, Ben, seeing that poop has given me an idea.”

“I may kick myself for asking, but what kind of an idea?”

“That poop was a sign from above. I’m meant to go clean up this poop we’re facing. I need to shovel right through it until I find out who has put us in this predicament. The sooner we find out, the better.”

“Mother, I thought you didn’t put any stock in signs.”

“That was before yesterday, Ben. Lord knows I should never have made it to the restaurant yesterday morning. I should have pulled those covers right back over my head, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.”

 

 

After reviewing the possibilities, Lulu decided that the first order of business was to talk to Mildred. First of all, she wanted to make sure that she felt comfortable coming back to the restaurant. It was never good for business to lose one of your regulars, no matter the reason. Lulu also wanted to pick her brain a little about Rebecca’s murder.

But first she had to get there. Ben had had her car towed to a garage yesterday morning, but the repair wasn’t done yet. Lulu winced at the thought, because the length of time a mechanic had her car usually corresponded to the size of the bill she was due to receive.

Fortunately, Lulu caught a ride with Sara to Mildred’s house. “Want to come in and visit with me?” Lulu asked her.

Sara made a face. “No thanks. It’ll be too much like a Rebecca Adrian rejection support group. When you’re finished visiting, call me on my cell phone, and I’ll swing back around and take you to Aunt Pat’s. I have a couple of errands to run anyway.”

And so Lulu found herself alone on Mildred’s front porch. She rang the doorbell. “Ding dong! Ding dong! Hello! Hello!” sang an oddly high-pitched voice from inside the house. It was kind of early, but Mildred’s paperback exchange bookstore opened early, too, and it certainly sounded like someone was awake. Did Mildred have her mother squirreled away in her house? Lulu thought her mom had died ages ago.

The lacy curtains in the front window pulled aside, and Mildred’s homely face with its thick spectacles peered out. Lulu waved cheerily like she didn’t have a care in the world and had nothing better to do than visit with Mildred on the day following a prominent customer’s murder.

Mildred smiled tentatively at Lulu and slid back the series of chains, sliding locks, and deadbolts that secured her humble castle. Lulu gave her a little hug when she finally came out. “Sweetie, I’m so, so sorry about yesterday! I couldn’t sleep a wink last night for thinking about it. Could I come in for a few minutes and ease my conscience?”

Mildred, ordinarily not the most demonstrative person, couldn’t refuse Lulu’s charm and hugged her back, spindly arms awkwardly cinching Lulu’s waist. As she ushered Lulu into her dimly lit living room, Lulu felt like she’d stepped back in time to the Victorian era. Everything had a little frill attached to it—the lampshades, the curlicued frames around prints of
The Lady of Shallot
and maidens delicately sniffing roses in English gardens. Gilded bird cages contained various talking birds, which explained the high-pitched talking Lulu heard. Lacy tablecloths covered end tables, and the windows were all encased with lace. Old, chipped crystal bowls held faded bits of potpourri. As usual, Lulu felt a pang that this woman who thought the world of romance had not found any of it herself.

Mildred’s hand fluttered to her head as if to keep her thoughts from flying away. “Lulu, I don’t want to be a bad hostess, but could you follow me into the kitchen for a minute or two? I was putting together some food for supper tonight before I leave for the bookstore.”

Lulu said hastily, “Of course! Here, let’s go in and maybe I can even lend you a hand.”

The kitchen itself wasn’t all that modern, either. There was no microwave to be seen, and the appliances looked like they might have been labeled “harvest gold” and “avocado green” at their 1975 debut. An ancient toaster oven on the counter looked prepared to burst into flames at any moment. The only thing that lent a hint of modernity to the room was the slow cooker Mildred hovered over. Although, thought Lulu, come to think of it, this particular slow cooker might be a 1970s incarnation itself.

Mildred said apologetically, “It’ll just be a minute.” Lulu watched as she put some half-defrosted chicken in the bottom of the slow cooker, dumped a bag of frozen broccoli on the top, and sloshed a can of cream of chicken soup over the two other ingredients. Mildred turned it on low. “There,” she said. She looked uncertainly at the appliance. “That should become supper by the end of the day.”

Would it? wondered Lulu. She doubted it would be a
good
supper. She trailed Mildred back to the living room—which looked more like an old-fashioned parlor. Lulu perched stiffly on a damask sofa and smiled as Mildred settled her gangly length into a toile armchair and smiled tentatively at Lulu.

“It’s all right, Lulu; don’t worry about what happened yesterday. It wasn’t your fault, after all. I should have known,” she said, giving a dismissive sniff, “that Rebecca Adrian wouldn’t understand romance. She’s clearly not a reader.”

Lulu was relieved to see that Mildred had come to terms with the incident. She must be better adjusted than Lulu had thought. “Exactly. She was heartless, so how would she have known about matters of the heart?”

Lulu felt a stab of pity for Mildred. She’d been heading for that fall for a long time. She was relieved it wasn’t as damaging as she’d thought.

“Anyway, I’m thinking about giving myself a little change of pace. I thought,” Mildred said eagerly, “that I’d write a murder mystery. Maybe one set in Victorian times.”

Lulu said, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Have you been thinking about this for a while?” Lulu found it hard to imagine that Mildred had been thinking about anything other than her constantly revised romance novel.

Mildred looked deflated again. “Not really. But when Miss Adrian was being so nasty about the romance, I mulled over some of the other things I could work on. After all, owning a bookstore means that I’ve read a whole lot of different books. It’s not the end of the world.”

Lulu said, “Now with mysteries, does that mean that you need to do some research?”

Mildred perked up. “That’s what I’m saying, Lulu. I’ve got so many mysteries in my bookstore that it’ll be a cinch. But I did think”—Mildred drew herself up importantly—“that maybe I could look into some true crime cases here in Memphis. Even if I’m writing something from Victorian times, I could find out how detectives do their jobs and how suspects act. Maybe I’ll even spend some time riding around with the police.”

Lulu gave a snorting laugh. “Sounds like you’ll have plenty of research that you can do right around the restaurant.” Lulu clucked. “I mean, it’s not the biggest shocker in the world that nasty woman is dead, considering how ugly she was to everybody, but . . .” Lulu saw the color drain from Mildred’s face. “Oh! You didn’t know.”

Mildred shook her head. She reached into her dress pocket and took out a frilly handkerchief and blew her nose with a honking sound. “When? Yesterday?”

“She died sometime after I booted her out of the restaurant. It . . . wasn’t a natural death. I think she must have been poisoned,” said Lulu.

Mildred looked a bit like she’d eaten some poison herself. Pure nausea crossed her face. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, leaning back into the armchair.

Lulu frowned at Mildred’s reaction. She certainly didn’t
like
Rebecca Adrian. Maybe it was the sudden violence of the death that made it difficult for Mildred to take in. But if she was this sensitive, then how would she handle writing death scenes for mysteries?

“I guess the police will want to talk to me,” she said in a quiet voice that was very unlike her usual adenoidal tones.

Lulu considered this. “I suppose they will. Considering the events of the day and all. But I can’t imagine you have anything to worry about, honey. We were all right there watching you when you talked to Miss Adrian.” Mildred winced at the public nature of her humiliation. Lulu hurried on. “You didn’t put anything in her food. And your drink pitched all over her, after all. She left immediately after that.”

Lulu’s words didn’t seem to comfort Mildred. “She did leave right after that,” said Mildred. She spoke in such a low voice that Lulu had to lean in to hear her. “But I left right after that, too. Do they know when she took the poison?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure it
was
poison. I’m making wild, unsubstantiated guesses. Don’t listen to this old lady, honey. I didn’t come over here to rile you up, after all—I wanted to apologize for the whole mess and ask you to please visit us as soon as you’re ready. I’ll guarantee you a plate on the house.” Lulu knew that would bring her in. Award-winning barbeque would win out, hands down, over that vile concoction in the slow cooker.

Mildred was insistent. “Can you find out what the police think? What happened to her and whether they think I have anything to do with it?”

A tall order, thought Lulu. Besides, the police were most likely going to come calling on her anyway, just to check in. “I’ll see what I can find out, honey. Pink, the policeman, comes to the restaurant almost every day, so I’ll see if I can’t squeeze some information out of him.” She looked at her watch. “Let me call Sara real quick and ask her to swing by and get me.”

Mildred wasn’t even listening to her. She looked like a broken twig in that big armchair. Lulu quickly called Sara, then patted Mildred on the knee. “You don’t have a thing to worry about. I’d never have mentioned it to you if I’d known you were going to be so upset. Do you have an alibi for yesterday afternoon?”

She looked at Lulu with blank eyes.

“You know—did anybody see you out yesterday afternoon? Did you go back to the bookstore?”

“Dora looked after the store for me all day yesterday,” she said quietly. “I took the day off to work on my writing and to talk to Miss Adrian.”

“Are you sure nobody saw you out anywhere yesterday afternoon? Did you run by the drugstore or over to the grocery store?”

Mildred didn’t even respond. She looked like she was deep in thought.

“Honey? I was wondering if anybody
saw
you yesterday afternoon?”

Mildred looked up at Lulu with clear blue eyes. “Yes. Yes, I saw quite a few people.”

“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?” said Lulu quickly. “You make sure to let that Detective Bryce know all about it, and you’ll be in good shape.”

Lulu hesitated, then added, “Maybe you should take a day off today. Just put your feet up? You look like you’ve had such a shock.”

Lulu’s phone trilled. Sara letting her know she was outside.

“Honey, I’ve got to run. Sara’s taking me to Aunt Pat’s today.”

Mildred stood so quickly that she nearly knocked Lulu over. “Can you call me?” she asked with a piercing intensity. “Can you let me know what Pink says?”

It wasn’t really a question at all. Lulu said, “Of course I will. I’m not sure he’s going to be at the restaurant today, though.”

Mildred slumped.

“How about if I give him a buzz, even if he doesn’t come in,” said Lulu, walking toward the door. “I’m sure he can fill me in with some basic information.” Mildred wasn’t really listening again, so Lulu slipped out the door. She turned to wave before she shut the door behind her, but Mildred had already left the room.