Hickory Smoked Homicide (3 page)

Steffi rubbed her face, tiredly. “It sure was. I’m lucky I have a place to go in case of an emergency.”

“That’s something I forgot to mention,” said Lulu mildly. “Steffi is in my guest room until she saves up enough to put down a deposit for an apartment. And maybe a little savings buffer for emergencies.”

Big tears welled up in Steffi’s eyes. “Thanks so much again, Lulu. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I’d have asked my aunt Marlowe, but she’s been out of town on a business trip.” She looked up and saw some orders ready for tables. “I’d better run.” And she darted off to deliver the orders to the tables.

Colleen said slowly, “That was very sweet of you, Lulu, to keep Steffi at your house until she gets back on her feet.” She paused, took a sip of her sweet tea, and said, “But what the Sam Hill are you
thinking
?”

Lulu blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that as soon as Tristan Pembroke finds out that you’re aiding and abetting her daughter in standing up to her, then you’re going to have a huge mess on your hands. Huge! She might come over and roll your front lawn with toilet paper. Or maybe call a friend on the Board of Health and have Aunt Pat’s shut down for violating some crazy rule no one’s ever heard of. She’ll arrange to have a personal beverage planted right in the middle of the food-prep area. You never know what that twisted woman is going to do!”

“Pooh,” said Lulu with a wave of her hand. “I can handle Tristan Pembroke. Besides, our arrangement is just a temporary thing. Steffi needed a place to go, and her aunt, her favorite relative, is out of town on business. She doesn’t have the cash right now for an apartment, and I had the space for a guest. It worked out real well.”

“I’m just saying to be careful,” said Colleen, irritably. “Tristan’s tougher than she looks. I wouldn’t mess with her.”

“Well,
I’m
about to have to mess with her,” said Sara grimly. “Y’all won’t believe it when you hear what she’s done to me.”

Lulu sat back in the booth. “What? I thought she was helping you out with your art, Sara. You’re one of the big, featured artists in her benefit auction. It’s only you and a couple other artists, right? I thought it was going to be your big springboard for your art career!”

“It is; it is,” said Sara in a hurry. “But then Tristan messed me up on something else. It’s like it isn’t in her to actually do something nice and then leave it alone. She commissioned me to paint a portrait of her. I was sort of rolling my eyes at the time, you know—who does something like that? Usually people want a portrait of their child or their beloved dog or something like that. A portrait of
herself
?” Sara shook her head.

Lulu said, “I’ll admit that it’s real tacky, honey. But it sounds to me like she gave you more work to do, and that’s got to be a
good
thing.”

“It was a good thing until Tristan decided she hated her portrait and won’t pay me for it. After all that work I put into it, too.” Sara looked steamed.

A deep voice behind Sara said, “Hold on a minute. Are y’all talking about Tristan Pembroke? And pay?”

Lulu smiled up at Morty, one-third of the Back Porch Blues Band, a regular customer of Aunt Pat’s for the past sixty years, and a good friend. He was in his eighties, resembled a black version of Mr. Clean, and kept calling himself retired, although you couldn’t tell it. He was still playing gigs as if he were a fully employed, much-younger man. “Yes, Sara was commissioned for a portrait, and Tristan has only paid her half of what she’s owed.”

“Shoot. I hate to hear that,” said Morty, shaking his head. “She hired the band to play her benefit gig. And she’s not paying us in advance, either.” He looked glum.

Sara said, “It’ll probably work out all right for you, Morty. Unless, that is, she doesn’t like your music.” Morty frowned in confusion, and Sara said, “That’s what happened to me—she didn’t like the way the portrait turned out.”

Colleen said, “Isn’t that just like Tristan? Why? Didn’t you draw her pretty enough to suit her?”

Sara pointed her finger at Colleen. “Bingo! Hit the nail on the head. No, apparently I didn’t depict Tristan quite as gorgeous as she thinks herself to be. I’ll admit that the more time I spent with her, trying to help her organize the art side of the auction, the more I disliked her. My dislike
might
have spilled over into the portrait. Just the same, she commissioned the painting, and she was responsible for paying for it. Nobody’s going to buy a portrait of someone else. I’ve half a mind to try to put it up for auction at the benefit.” She snapped her fingers. “Know what? That’s what I’m going to do.”

Colleen looked nervous at the very thought of it. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me. Tristan will be furious! And if she thinks the portrait isn’t a good likeness, then she’s sure going to be upset at a whole party viewing it.”

“What else can I do?” asked Sara with a shrug. “The benefit will be the best time for me to get rid of the portrait. I’ll be sure to give it to the auctioneer after all my other paintings have been sold. At least I’ll get something out of the work I put in—and there’ll be a donation to charity, too.”

There was a booming laugh, and Lulu looked up to see her favorite policeman, Pink Rogers, smiling down at them. He wore, as usual when he was off-duty, one of the pastel button-down shirts that had earned him his nickname. But then, at a very fit and trim six feet seven inches and two hundred and fifty pounds, who was going to give him grief over his choice of clothing?

“I was just wondering what was going on at this table, that’s all,” said Pink, grinning. “I don’t know when I’ve seen such stormy faces. Even Morty looks upset, and he’s usually such a laid-back guy.”

Colleen scooted over and patted the space next to her on the booth. “Well, have a seat and I’ll be happy to fill you in, hon.” Lulu could tell that that wasn’t exactly what Pink had in mind—he was a sitting-at-the-lunch-counter kind of guy. But he took a seat, and Colleen said, “We’re all furious with Tristan Pembroke. Mad enough to spit!” Lulu flagged down a waitress and asked her to bring Pink’s usual order, since she knew her regular always ordered the same thing.

The indignant Colleen filled in Pink with her story. “Pansy won Miss Peach, Miss Magnolia, and Miss Barbeque,” said Colleen. “But she’d get a whole lot further if certain people weren’t cheaters. And so would Coco,” she added. “There’s no reason why Coco shouldn’t have won a Little Miss pageant by now. It’s all Tristan Pembroke’s sabotage.”

Pink was looking like he wished he’d sat over at the lunch counter and hadn’t come over to their table at all, thought Lulu. “I remember hearing some sabotage story some time back. But you’re saying she’s doing other things to make Pansy lose?”

“Oh, she does little petty things from time to time that don’t help—like stealing Pansy’s duct tape.”

“Duct tape?” asked Pink in a weak voice.

“It helps keep dresses and swimsuits in place,” said Colleen. “It’s
very
important to keep stuff from falling out of their swimsuits. But Tristan does other things, too—she votes against her and makes the other judges vote against her, too. And y’all know what she did to Pansy a few months ago—it made
big
news.” Lulu didn’t actually know about it, but Colleen wasn’t giving her a chance to ask her. “And Tristan is clearly using some insider information to get ahead when she’s coaching girls. All I have to say is that she better look out. One of these days, I’m coming after her.”

Pink raised his eyebrows at Colleen.

“Oh, shoot. I keep forgetting you’re a cop, Pink. Don’t worry.... I’m not planning on putting a hit on Tristan.”

Pink looked relieved and picked up a spicy corn muffin for a big bite.

“Not yet, anyway.”

Chapter 3

Later that afternoon, Lulu’s son, Ben, said to his wife, Sara, “Mother is going to be so excited. For a while I’ve been following this guy online who has a food blog that’s gotten really big. He does interviews with chefs, posts recipes, interviews cookbook authors . . . the works. He has a following in the thousands on his blog and is huge on Facebook and Twitter, too.”

Sara said, “Why would your mama be interested in that, Ben? She’s not a blog reader and sure isn’t on Facebook and Twitter.”

“He’s packed up shop and moved to Memphis, that’s why. Think about it, Sara—it’s a fantastic opportunity to introduce him to Aunt Pat’s. Besides, barbeque just isn’t
food
in Memphis—it’s a
culture
. He’s going to be dying to find out more about how barbeque meshes with life here in Memphis.”

“If you say so,” said Sara doubtfully.

“I was talking to Derrick the other day, and your nephew knows more about social-media branding than you can shake a stick at! I’m thinking that’s the way to move Aunt Pat’s into the twenty-first century, Sara. We’ll embrace the food bloggers—especially this guy, who is such a huge influence. They have a much bigger audience than the newspaper food critics. We don’t have to rely on only local traffic—we could make Aunt Pat’s a real destination!” His eyes shone.

“So you’re thinking about getting your mama to call him up and invite him over to the restaurant? Maybe make sure he has a first-class meal with us? Then he’ll blog about it to all his followers?”

Ben hesitated. “Well, yes. That’s what would make sense, of course. But the reality is that Mother shuts down whenever I mention the Internet to her. She’d reject this idea right out of the box. So I went ahead and e-mailed him. . . . See, Sara, you e-mail people like him. He’s an
online
guy. He’s planning on coming by tomorrow and checking out Aunt Pat’s.”

Sara had a feeling that she still wasn’t getting the full story out of Ben. “And that’s it? I guess he’ll probably want a couple of pictures of your mom. She’s kind of the face behind the restaurant now, even if she isn’t spending as much time in the kitchen as she used to.”

“Yesss, that’s pretty much it. Pretty much.”

“What else is there, then?” asked Sara.

“As a reader of Gordon’s blog—that’s his name, Gordon—I’ve found that he’s a really nice-looking guy. Nice looking for a man, I mean. And he’s older—not too old. Actually, he’s in his sixties, just like Mother, and seems really active. He’s obviously real sharp, too, to be doing all this stuff online at his age. So I thought maybe he and Mother would hit it off a little bit. I told him that Mother would be pleased as punch to show him around Memphis, seeing as how he’s new in town,”

Sara shook her head. “Ohhhh, no you didn’t! You know your mama is perfectly happy by herself! If she was interested in going out with people, Ben, I think she’d be able to handle setting herself up on her own dates.”

“She needs some prodding,” said Ben firmly. “Mother needs to try to relax and have a little fun. She’s so serious all the time. And she doesn’t seem to do anything with her appearance; she looks like a little old lady with her hair in a bun and her flowered dresses. I think she needs a little shaking up.” He thought about this for a moment. “Maybe Mother needs a makeover. She’d look cute as a button if she updated her look a little bit.”

“Humph,” said Sara.

“I had my own makeover a few years ago, remember? The before-and-after was real dramatic. I think it made a real difference in the way I looked and felt, too. I felt younger and more energetic, so I
was
more energetic.”

Sara sighed. She wasn’t sure that Ben’s comb-over, which made his hair resemble a helmet, and his mustache, which conspired to make him bear a startling resemblance to Captain Kangaroo, qualified as a makeover. But she loved him too much to point that fact out. “Ben, I think you better let your mother do her own thing. If she
wants
to update her look, she’ll do it. Besides, I’m sure that Gordon is going to like your mama anyway.”

Ben brightened. “I’m sure he will. Think of all they have in common—food! The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I’m going to make sure it’s an expressway right through it. I’m cooking up a plan to give him some real, mouthwatering southern cuisine—and tell him Mother made it.”

“So you’re thinking that this guy isn’t just going to move Aunt Pat’s into the twenty-first century—you’re thinking he’s going to move your
mother
into the twenty-first century.”

“I can dream,” said Ben with dignity.

 

 

“I’ve got a funny feeling about this,” said Sara as she, Steffi, and Lulu walked up to Tristan Pembroke’s front door for the art benefit. “You know that feeling you get when you
know
you’re going to get some bad news?”

“Now, Sara, it’s not like you to be silly,” chided Lulu, smoothing down the new floral dress she’d gotten from Dee Dee’s shop. “You’re going to have a wonderful time and sell a ton of paintings,” she said with determination as she plastered a smile on her face and walked in with what felt like throngs of people.

Steffi said, “Thanks for the ride over, Sara. I know I wasn’t on Mother’s guest list, but I wanted to see the auction. What time were you saying for us to leave, Sara?”

By the look on Sara’s face, Lulu could tell she was ready to leave right then. “Maybe thirty minutes after the auction, if we could. That’ll give me enough time to talk to the guests who bought my paintings. I’m thinking that should be around eight o’clock. I’m already worn out and want to get back home and hit the sack.”

“No problem,” said Steffi. “I have a feeling I’ll be ready to escape Mother by then. She’s sure to be shooting me looks for being here.” And Steffi disappeared into the crowd of guests.

“I don’t understand why that child wanted to come,” clucked Lulu. “It’s not like her mama didn’t give her a clear enough message that she wasn’t welcome. Poor baby.”

Sara shrugged. “Teenagers. She’s being passive-aggressive and proving to her mom that she can do whatever she likes. Besides, there’s safety in numbers. No wonder she wanted to go with us. What I don’t understand is what
I’m
doing here. I’m already ready to head back to the car.”