Finger Lickin' Dead (5 page)

Cherry shifted uncomfortably. “I thought maybe the doorbell was broken.”

“And why exactly would the dogs have been going berserk, then, every time you pressed that button?” Tommie put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side, challengingly.

“Okay! I admit it. I wanted to bug y’all so much that you’d just give up and open the door. Which seems to have worked.”

Tommie still looked fierce, so Cherry said in a low voice, “I know how upset Evelyn was last night when we saw Adam at the restaurant. I feel a little responsible because I’m the one who dragged us out there. And I had a feeling we were going to run into him and another woman.”

“A feeling, huh?” asked Tommie. She relaxed her stance a little, though. “I never did like that Adam. Not even when Miss Evelyn was married to him. Always sneaking around. Taking things. I’d reach into the silver chest to set a fancy table and half the family silver would be gone. That dog would take a handful of silver off and pawn it. No, I was glad she found out what a devil he is before she ended up married to him again.”

Cherry’s mouth dropped open. “And you didn’t tell her about it?”

“Oh, I told her allll about it, Miss Cherry. But she’d just shrug those shoulders of hers and act like it didn’t make a bit of difference to her. ‘I never did like that silver pattern, Tommie.’ Or else she’d claim that she’d told him it was okay to do it. When she’s under that man’s evil spell, she’s
really
under it.”

“Well, I’m glad the spell is broken—for now, at least. I thought I’d drop by and just commiserate with Evelyn for a little while. You know—share some of that ice cream tub she’s probably halfway eaten.”

Tommie drew herself up to her full height of five feet. “
Ice cream
? You think this is an
ice cream
kind of a problem? No, ma’am. After your heart’s been ripped out of your chest and trounced a few times, it’s surely not an ice cream matter.” She motioned Cherry inside the tremendous atriumlike entranceway and Cherry took in a deep breath.

“Pecan pie,” she breathed.

“And not only pecan pie. There’s a peach cobbler in the oven, just getting golden right now. And then, if it’s necessary, I’m going to pull out the big guns and make a Mississippi mud pie.”

Cherry said, “You’re a wise woman, Tommie. Emergency measures are definitely in order. I think one of your famous Mississippi mud pies might just fit the bill. And I’m such a loyal and dedicated friend that I’m going to stick around and make sure that every last crumb of that cobbler is eaten, too.”

Evelyn was in her bedroom, a huge room with the biggest four-poster bed you’ve ever seen, a rug you could sink into and disappear for good, and a separate sitting area. Evelyn was reclining on a divan with a blanket over her legs, looking for all the world like that old movie
Camille
. Cherry expected Evelyn to give a weak cough any minute.

But Cherry soon realized that Evelyn wasn’t just putting this on. She was mad, madder than Cherry had ever seen her. “I . . . well, I thought I’d help you eat that pie,” said Cherry, in a small voice.

They sat quietly, eating, for several minutes. Then Evelyn said, “You know I’m going to get him back for this.”

Cherry jumped, thinking at first Evelyn had said she was going to get
her
back. “Oh. You’re getting Adam back? Evelyn, this just doesn’t sound like you. Usually you can just rise above it—just let the jerk go. Good riddance, right? Next thing you know, you’ll have a brand-new relationship with somebody great. Just forget about him.” She nervously fingered the chin strap of her helmet. Yes, it was still there for protection if she needed it.

“It’s not like the other times when I’ve parted ways with somebody. This is
personal
. I was falling in
love
with Adam again. And he didn’t just cheat on me—Lord knows I’ve been cheated on before in seven marriages—but he
cheated
me. He took my money and told me he was going to do
one
thing with it and ended up using it to squire sleazy women around town on my dime. No, he’s going
down
, Cherry, and I’ve got a few ideas on how I’m going to do it.”

Evelyn gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of peach cobbler, chewing it viciously while Cherry felt that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grow.

 

 

Adam opened the front door of his apartment and tried closing it again. “Oh no,” he groaned.

Ginger blithely ignored Adam’s unsubtle attempt at escape. “Hey there! I brought you over your favorite supper—shrimp and grits. And it’s still warm. I even brought over a couple of plates so you and I could eat together.” She gave a hard laugh.

Adam looked coldly at her as she tried to push by him into his apartment. “No, I don’t want you coming inside, Ginger.”

She chose to ignore this, too. “Okay—so we’re dining alfresco? I can deal with a patio meal.” She shifted the Pyrex dish, then strode to a small bistro-style table and the two chairs with cracked paint in front of the apartment. “It’s a nice enough day.” Now her voice was gravelly and impatient again. “Come on over, Adam, and have a seat. I don’t have all day and I want to talk to you.”

Adam pushed his front door back open and looked longingly inside before closing it again, swearing under his breath, and walking over to the table. He wasn’t one to turn down a free meal, and Ginger—for all her shortcomings—really did know how to cook. She placed a large helping of shrimp on his plate. It was still steaming and the creamy texture he preferred. The shrimp were large, tiger shrimp, and the grits had bacon crumbled in. He’d have to remember to tell her the relationship was over
after
he finished eating. He ate a big forkful.

Ginger gave him an appraising look. “I’m here to let you know, Adam, that I forgive you.”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “Forgive me for what?”

“Don’t be stupid, Adam. I’ve forgiven you for cheating on me, of course. I know the only reason you went out with Ms. Moneybags is because you wanted money. The woman was a freaking ATM, wasn’t she?” Ginger snorted and Adam winced at the sound.

“It was
a
reason. It wasn’t the
only
reason.”

Adam was getting tired of this conversation. He hadn’t realized that Ginger was going to prove this determined and unshakable or he’d never have gotten married to her to begin with. The problem all started when Ginger had pretended to be wealthy to impress him. He believed that she was a frugal heiress, which was why she chose to live in a modest house in a modest Memphis neighborhood. The truth was that she was a complete phony. He’d wanted out as soon as he’d realized her lie.

“Ginger, what you need to get through your head is that we were over even before I started dating Evelyn again. And now it’s even
more
over.” He took a large bite of the shrimp and grits, spearing a huge prawn and gulping it down before Ginger fired up and something horrible happened to the food.

Seconds later, he stared sadly at the plate of food that Ginger pushed onto the ground as she rose to her feet, face florid. “You’re going to be sorry for this, Adam Cawthorn. You’ll be sorry you ever heard of me.”

But he already was.

 

 

Holden Parsons, considering his tremendous love of food, was unfortunately not a very creative cook. In fact, he mused as he heated up a baked potato to heap a can of baked beans on, he was a very pedestrian cook. His happiest days were when he was eating the best food in Memphis on the newspaper’s dime. His stomach growled as he remembered all the fine dining he’d done in the past. Ribs at the Rendezvous. Supper at the Peabody. He sighed. When you were out of work, you couldn’t keep a caviar budget anymore. Even if he
could
cook, he wasn’t going to be able to afford the food he really craved. The newspaper had never paid very well and he hadn’t ever been that much into frugality, either. He’d basically ended up with a potatoes and beans budget.

Technically, ten thirty was a little early to be eating lunch. But Holden figured an early lunch was allowed, considering he’d had a meager breakfast at five o’clock A.M. He opened his pantry. Great. No beans left. He could have sworn there was a can hiding in the back there somewhere . . . but no. He looked behind the box of instant grits, the instant mac and cheese, and the Pop Tarts. No beans. He opened his refrigerator and discovered the dollop of sour cream he’d left had gone even more sour than it was when it had started out. Now there was really no recourse. He was going to have to go to the grocery store. He pulled on a tired-looking bow tie and pulled a comb through his sparse white hair. A plain baked potato was simply not going to cut it. He didn’t care
how
little money there was in his bank account.

The first person he saw when he walked into the Kroger was Ben Taylor. He winced. He’d had a hard enough day without running into Ben. He’d become great friends with him during his restaurant critic days and Ben was always good for a free lunch (with a couple of extra cornbread muffins to snack on later). When Holden had found out he’d lost his job at the paper to some anonymous, sniping female critic (who he was sure was both younger and better-looking than he was), his first stop had been Aunt Pat’s. He’d been in shock. He’d had that job, had
loved
that job, for the past twenty years. He knew the city of Memphis and its food backward and forward, in and out. When Ben had taken a break from the kitchen and come out and given him a commiserating hug, Holden had—to his complete embarrassment—broken down and cried on Ben’s shoulder. He didn’t really want to think about that today. Not when he couldn’t even successfully cobble together a lunch of baked potato and beans.

He hurried into the canned vegetables aisle, but Ben had already spotted him. And it looked like he had something on his mind. Ben’s face was splotched with color and he strode up to Holden, looking extremely agitated. Without sparing any time on pleasantries, he launched right into what was on his mind.

“Holden. You’ll never believe what I found out today. You know that harpy restaurant critic? Eppie Currian?”

Well, naturally. Eppie Currian was the whole reason he was foraging for a can of baked beans at the Kroger. He nodded.

“It’s not a harpy at all. It’s a
man
. And what’s more, it’s Adam Cawthorn.”

Holden frowned, trying to place a face with the name.

“
You
know,” said Ben impatiently. “Evelyn’s new, old boyfriend. The pretty boy who’s always hanging out with her at the restaurant. He used to be her husband, she wisely divorced him ages ago, and now they’re dating again.”

Holden grew very still. “The blond man?” He’d seen him right on the way to the store. He lived in the same apartment building, and Holden frequently saw him when they were parking their cars.

“That’s the very one. I tell you, I could just wring that guy’s neck, and I know you could, too. Did you read that review he did on Aunt Pat’s? It was like a punch to the gut. And the hack comes to Aunt Pat’s every day practically. If he hated the food
so
much, then why keep coming? Naw, I think he just likes making everyone’s life miserable. You know, even though Aunt Pat’s is in its third generation, the review
still
had an effect on our business?”

Ben was too keyed up to notice how oddly white that Holden had turned. Or the fact that he was working hard not to throw up. Fury had that odd effect on him. And vomiting on Ben, after having sobbed on him the last time, was not what he wanted to do. But he wasn’t hearing a word of Ben’s tirade now—he was so focused on trying to keep the sudden, overwhelming hatred under tight control.

“I know. I shouldn’t take it personally, right? I knew you’d say something reasonable like that, Holden. You’re always such a good guy. But I can’t
help
but take it personally. ‘The barbeque’s texture is the consistency of sandpaper. Good thing the tea is good—you’re going to need gallons of it to wash the meat down.’ Grr!” Ben clinched his fists together.

Holden pressed his lips together.

“I knew you’d say that. I knew you’d want me to be a professional about it. And now that I think about it, I guess you knew all along who the critic was—you were just being a pro and keeping quiet about it. That was real decent of you, considering he booted you right out of your job.

“Okay.” Ben gave a heaving sigh, then thrust out a beefy hand. “Sorry to vent like this, Holden. You’re always a gentleman. Great role model. Thanks. I’ll . . . uh . . . leave you to your shopping.” He looked doubtfully at the baked beans can in Holden’s hand. “You know you’re always welcome to red beans and rice at Aunt Pat’s. On the house. Or baked beans—your choice.”

As Ben stomped back to his shopping cart with Adam still on the brain, Holden gripped the can of beans until his fingers were white.

The lunch crowd was gone, the restaurant tidied up. And it was time, after a couple of hours of holding court in the dining room, for Lulu to put her feet up and relax for a little while. At two thirty every afternoon, Lulu had a standing appointment with the rocking chairs, some iced tea, and the Labradors, B.B. and Elvis, on the restaurant’s front porch.

Lulu plopped down in one of the big, wooden chairs. The spacious porch was one of Lulu’s favorite parts of Aunt Pat’s. It held several picnic tables and three rocking chairs with high backs and checkered cushions. At night in good weather, they’d stack up the tables and chairs and the bands played right there on the porch. The succulent smell of barbeque mixing with the bluesy music pulled people off Beale Street and right into the restaurant.

Right now, though, the porch was nice and quiet. There was a lull on Beale Street, too, as people headed back to their offices or hotel rooms with full stomachs after a big lunch (there wasn’t any such thing as a small lunch on Beale). The large ceiling fans rotated lazily. Lulu leaned back in the rocker and nodded off to sleep.