Finger Lickin' Dead (7 page)

Buddy gave him a look. “You got nothing to complain about, my friend. We’re still alive and kicking, aren’t we? At our age, even getting up out of the bed in the morning is a reason for celebration.”

The retired blues trio was an excellent example of healthy, active octogenarians. “Y’all are so energetic you wear me out,” said Lulu with a tired laugh.

“Now you are a mere child compared to us, Lulu. Twenty years younger than us. I remember being in my sixties and I felt like I could still move me some mountains,” said Morty.

“That’s true,” said Big Ben, nodding sagely.

“And—to correct Buddy—I’m not saying that
in general
I have complaints about my life, y’all. I’m saying that today has been a trial.” Morty gave Buddy a cool look.

Lulu hid a smile. She knew the kinds of things that Morty found annoying.

His beer arrived at the table and the men placed their food orders (which the waitress pretended like she didn’t already know; the men always ordered the same meals every day). Morty took a sip, paused, and said, “It’s that blasted computer.”

Now Lulu couldn’t hide her smile anymore. Morty dearly loved his computer—until it acted up on him. Then it was the devil’s handiwork.

“My grandkids got me on one of those social media sites. You know the kind? Twitbook or something like that?”

Something like that. Lulu nodded.

“They said it was the best way for me to keep up with them. They like to put pictures of their babies up there, stuff like that. So they put my picture up there, showed me how to use it. Then I started getting all these
friends
.”

“And this is a
bad
thing?” Buddy made a scornful face. “Having friends?”

“These are not really friends, though, Buddy. These are
Twitbook
friends. So they’re people that maybe you couldn’t stand when you knew them back in school. Maybe they stole your lunch money or tied your shoelaces to your chair in study hall. But now they’ve found you, and they’ve forgotten all about how nasty they were to you back in the day. And then you’re stuck! You don’t want to be friends with them because there’s a part of you that still wants to clean their clock. But there they are, acting like y’all are the best of friends. And now you’re finding out what these people had for breakfast this morning or that they’re going to get their oil changed or anything like that. When actually, you really don’t care if you never hear from them again.”

“Do you absolutely have to be their friend?” asked Lulu. “Can’t you just ignore the friend request?”

“These people are persistent! Very persistent. They are determined to have a bunch of friends and they’ll hound you until you finally give in. And now my news feed is full of who they’re becoming friends with and what they’re doing. And all I wanted was to see baby pictures!”

Morty took a big, soothing gulp from his beer.

“What’s worse? I started e-mailing an old girlfriend of mine: Priscilla. And then I e-mailed something that she must’ve taken the wrong way—you know how it’s hard to tell people’s intentions from what they write? So now she’s all huffy and upset with me and I haven’t even done anything! It’s just that dern computer.”

A dreamy look came over Morty’s face. Big Ben, Buddy, and Lulu winked at each other. They knew that look well. With Morty, it meant he was about to spin a heckuva tall tale.

“I remember back when we were touring on the blues circuit,” he said in a soft voice that deaf Big Ben had to lean forward to hear.

“Blues circuit,” said Buddy with a derisive snort. “Like it was something really big.”

“Friends really were friends back then. And there wasn’t any e-mailing back and forth nonsense or sharing what you ate for breakfast that morning. I had this lady friend, Rachelle.” His eyes had a faraway look. “And she was gorgeous. She and I were a great couple and she
always
knew exactly what I was thinking. We were simpatico!”

“Funny how I don’t remember Rachelle,” said Buddy musingly. “Considering we spent all those years on that blues circuit, you know.”

“That’s probably because you were tipsy half the time, man.”

Big Ben gave a big guffaw before he changed the subject. He’d been around those two long enough to know when they were getting too scrappy with each other. “Lulu, why don’t you tell us about
your
day. You were looking pretty weary when we first got here.”

Lulu rubbed her eyes. “You just won’t believe it when I tell you.”

“Does it beat Morty’s bad-day story?” Buddy’s eyes cut over at Morty.

“Let me tell you and you decide.”

So Lulu quietly filled them in on what had happened that afternoon. Her monologue was punctuated by “isn’t that a
shames
” and “good Lord a-mercies.” When she finished up, they sat there for a second, munching on their barbeque ribs and thinking.

Morty said, “How about if I order
you
up a beer, Lulu? That’s the most horrible story I’ve heard in a long time. The poor babies, having to discover that no-good scallywag like that. He couldn’t even die with any sense of decency. I never did like Evelyn’s friend. He was surely someone who needed killing.”

“I don’t feel bad for him at all,” said Buddy. “I think he got what he had coming to him. But I feel awful for Ella Beth and Coco, having to find him.”

“Case closed!” said Big Ben in his booming voice. “I know who did it. I know exactly who killed Evelyn’s buddy. I just haveta turn him in.”

Lulu knit her brows. “Who?”

“That fella whose restaurant went under. You know, the one who had the restaurant all those years until he got that nasty review. He was so mad about losing his restaurant that he was practically spitting nails. His wife is in here all the time.”

“Tudy’s husband? Oliver?”

“That’s him!”

Lulu took a thoughtful sip of her iced tea. “I just don’t know, Big Ben. I have a hard time picturing him as a killer. He’s such a quiet guy.”

“Don’t you know it’s always the quiet ones you’ve gotta watch out for? All those folks who say, ‘I lived next door to Jack Spratt for thirty years and I had absolutely
no
idea he had five people buried smack dab in the middle of his backyard.’”

“Maybe.” Lulu squinted doubtfully at him.

“Or it could be Tudy what killed him,” said Morty. He thoughtfully chewed a big spoonful of his red beans and rice. “She was awful upset yesterday. Remember? Cherry was telling me that she was fussing to y’all because he was driving her crazy. She wasn’t ready for her husband to be home all day long, no sirree. Messing with her daily routine. Compromising her afternoon nap. He was making her life
complicated
and it was all that Adam Cawthorn’s fault.”

“So Tudy killed Adam because she was furious that Oliver was reading the entire A section of the newspaper aloud to her? I’m not so sure about that as a good motive,” said Buddy.

“But having her naps compromised sure sounds like a motive to me!” said Lulu with a laugh. “Y’all should know about that. You get set in your bachelor ways and then suddenly someone’s there changing your day around. Wouldn’t it drive you crazy? You know about that, don’t you, Buddy?”

“Well, that is true. I dearly love Leticia, but when we started dating, she suddenly wanted to change the kind of clothes I was wearing.” Buddy looked down at his plaid, button-down shirt.

“You sure look good to me,” said Morty, leaning back and scrutinizing Buddy’s attire. “Looks clean. No buttons missing. What did she think was wrong with it?”

“She said they looked like an old man’s clothes,” said Buddy glumly.

“And aren’t you an old man?” barked Big Ben. “Haven’t discovered the fountain of youth, have you? Nor Leticia, either.”

“That’s for sure. But she took me shopping anyway. Now I’ve got all these polo shirt things. And golf shirts. And then some blazers for getting dressed up.” Buddy sounded glum. “But I only pull them out of the closet when I know I’m going to be hanging out with her.”

“That right there is exactly the reason I’m not crying into my beer that Pricilla is upset with me. ’Cause she could’ve gotten all messed up in my business. One second you’re having a nice little dinner for two at a bistro. The next second you’re in line at the Steinmart with a whole new wardrobe of plaid golf shirts and tight jeans.”

“Getting back to what Lulu was saying, though,” boomed Big Ben. “Let’s ruminate on this for a minute. I really do think that Oliver killed that critic. And I’ll tell you why.” He leaned across the table and tapped a long, arthritic finger on the red checkered tablecloth. “I saw him. I saw him talking to Evelyn’s guy at lunchtime. And wasn’t he furious?”

“Where was this?”

“Well, today is the day that I meet with my bridge friends. We’d played bridge this morning, then went out to lunch together. We were over at that new place—the New Blues Café. And then we saw Adam come in. And right on his tail was Oliver. And he was a righteous mess, let me tell you. His shirt tail was half tucked in, his face was all red and splotchy. And it looked like he was
crying
.”

The other guys murmured over this. Crying was not something that this generation of males did very much of.

Big Ben continued, “And so Adam laughed right in his face and gave him a shove right out the door of the restaurant. And I guess Oliver was so humiliated that he did leave. But he was just
about
as mad as anything. I think the tears were tears of anger.” He ruminated for a minute. “But it was just about the most exciting thing our bridge club had ever seen. Even more exciting than when Rupert McDonnell stepped on Ida Harvey’s cat and the creature leaped at him, scaled his head, and skidded off. Tore that toupee right off his bald head.”

“I bet he looks better with that wig off,” said Buddy thoughtfully.

 

 

Lulu didn’t spend long talking after that. The blues band had done an excellent job of pulling customers off Beale Street and soon the staff was all jumping to keep up with the orders of barbeque sandwiches and ribs. Lulu’s mind was still caught up thinking about Adam Cawthorn. She’d really like to believe that Ben had nothing to do with his death.
Surely
he didn’t. Did he?

After the crowd had finally all pulled out, the tablecloths had been taken off, and the tables scrubbed down, Lulu sat down on the front porch for a few minutes with a tall glass of sweet tea, then Cherry opened the door. But if she hadn’t had her Elvis helmet and wildly bright and mismatched clothes on, Lulu never would have guessed it was Cherry. The usual bounce in her step was missing and she seemed oddly subdued.

“Hi, Lulu,” said Cherry, looking around her surreptitiously. “You out here on the porch all by your lonesome?” Cherry turned slowly in a 360, looking all around the screen porch before finally ducking down to the floor and looking down under the table.

“Mercy, Cherry! There’s nobody else out here, not even any little people. It’s past closing time. Who did you think might be lurking around under the porch tables?”

Cherry’s face turned about as red as her shirt. “Well, now, don’t take this the wrong way, Lulu, but occasionally Ella Beth likes to do a little detective work. I just love that little girl to
death
. . . but I wanted to talk with you a few minutes in private.”

Lulu wrinkled up her forehead. “I really would be worried if Ella Beth were out here at midnight. Of course, honey! Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“All right.” Cherry sat down in a rocking chair, took the cap off a bottle of water, and took a couple of sips. “Sara called me a while ago and told me all about y’alls’ rough day. And I was at home thinking about it.” She took a deep breath. “Evelyn killed Adam Cawthorn.”

“
What?
”

Cherry nodded and absently took off her Elvis helmet, cradling it protectively in her lap. “That’s right. She shot him dead. I know it. And now I don’t for the life of me know what I’m going to do about it.”

“Cherry are you
sure
? How do you know?”

Again with a deep breath. “I know because I felt so terrible about how I’d practically dragged her out to Beale to see Adam cheating on her. I went over and visited with her this morning to help cheer her up and to tell her that Adam was just a scummy slug and not to spend a moment worrying over him. She was eating herself into a coma with the most
delicious
food that I think Tommie has ever cooked. But then she told me that he was ‘going down’ and she had some ideas on how to do it!” Cherry finished her summary with relief and looked anxiously at Lulu.

Lulu rocked for a minute quietly with her eyes closed. “Cherry, I think you’re misinterpreting what she told you. You know how Evelyn is—she probably had some mischief in mind to play on Adam. Maybe she was going to post an embarrassing picture of him on the Internet, or go tell Ginger that she’d caught him cheating on
her
, too . . . something like that. I just don’t see Evelyn Wade taking a gun to somebody. I don’t care how mad he made her.”

Cherry whispered, “But what should I
do
? Should I ask her about it?”

“Why don’t we give her a little time to process all this before we start asking her questions. I’d hate for her to get her feelings hurt thinking that we don’t trust her.”

Cherry shifted uncomfortably in her rocker. “Okay, Lulu. I’ll go along with that plan for a little while. But if she doesn’t say something about where she was or what she was doing when Adam Cawthorn was killed . . . I just don’t know how I’ll be able to look Pink in the eye the next time he’s in Aunt Pat’s.”

Cherry seemed to have calmed down. What Lulu thought actually happened, though, was that Cherry had just transferred all her stress to Lulu. When Cherry finally left to get back home, Lulu decided she might as well end her night with a heart-to-heart with her son. Although Lulu’s neck and shoulders were bunched with tense muscles, she felt herself relax a little as she walked through the door of the kitchen.