Delicious and Suspicious Page 7

  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 m
y 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.

  “Bye-bye! Bye-bye!” whistled a parrot. It was an oddly mournful sound.

  “Sounds like she’s behaving even odder than usual,” said Sara to Lulu. “Why do you think the news hit her so hard?”

  Lulu shook her head. “I guess she thought she’d be the major suspect. She had that big scene with Rebecca in front of everybody. And then she waffled back and forth about whether she had an alibi or not for yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well, if we go by the big-scene standard, I should be suspect number one. I had a huge falling out with her. And I definitely had time to put something in her food. I was in and out of the kitchen, and passed right by her plate about fifteen times. Add that to the fact that I hated her guts, and I’ve got motive and opportunity.”

  “You didn’t do it, did you?”

  For a second, Lulu thought she caught a fleeting shadow cross Sara’s face. Then Sara said stoutly, “No indeed. I’d have strung her up by her skinny neck. Poisoning was too good for her.”

  Lulu gave the smile that Sara was looking for, but inside Lulu was worried. Was Sara hiding something, too? Sara had a very hot temper. And Lulu didn’t think for a minute that Sara was sorry that Rebecca had puked all over her designer duds, no matter what Sara said about poisoning being too good for her.

  “But,” Sara continued, “I really doubt Mildred murdered Rebecca. Somehow I just don’t see her going to Rebecca’s hotel room and forcing arsenic down her throat. Did she threaten her with her overwhelming strength?” Sara snorted. “The only thing I hate is that the paper this morning even mentioned Aunt Pat’s in the same article with a suspicious death.”

  Lulu nodded sadly. “Well, I don’t think we’ll lose any regulars over it. We’ve been around so long that I think folks know we don’t serve poisoned barbeque most days. And anybody who knew Rebecca Adrian couldn’t be too surprised by her sudden death. That was one mean woman.”

  Chapter 5

  “You’d think,” said Lulu to Seb, “that people would be a little more concerned about eating here. Aren’t they worried they could end up with food poisoning or something?”

  There was a damper on the usual lighthearted chatter at the restaurant that afternoon but lots more unfamiliar faces. Lulu figured that some people were curious about the newspaper article that morning. It hadn’t said anything too atrocious, but it definitely mentioned the connection between the dead television scout and Aunt Pat’s.

  Seb gave his cigarette-induced gravelly laugh. “When I looked over the paper this morning, there wasn’t any kind of mention of salmonella, Mom. People want some dirt, that’s all. They’re not worried about their personal health.”

  The mention of personal health reminded Lulu of Ben’s suspicions about Seb. She wracked her brain to remember what you were supposed to watch out for with drug use. It had been
a while since she’d had teenagers. She peered closely at him. Wasn’t she supposed to look for sweatiness and dilated pupils?

  “Something wrong, Mom?” drawled Seb. “Should I wipe my nose or something?”

  He certainly sounded surly. Wasn’t irritability supposed to be an early sign of drug use? Could he have killed Rebecca Adrian in a drug-fueled rage? “Why weren’t you here yesterday afternoon for the barbeque tasting, Seb?” He rolled his eyes at Lulu. “No, I mean it. You’re part of the family . . . although sometimes you try not to be. You couldn’t have spared a few minutes to watch the tasting?”

  “Mom, if I’d been here, I’d be a suspect now just like all of you, wouldn’t I? Besides, I did come in yesterday—but not during the tasting. I worked in the office yesterday morning.”

  Lulu frowned. “What time was that? I don’t remember you being here yesterday morning.”

  “Before the big ‘Jesus Saves’ bus brought you in. I just had some paperwork to take care of. Nobody was here.”

  “You were up before anyone got to Aunt Pat’s?”

  “You don’t have to act so shocked, Mom.” Seb sounded affronted.

  “Well, I believe you’re the same baby I birthed, and I never do remember you being an early bird. You even slept through your first feeding of the day.”

  “Things do change as we get older,” said Seb.

  “Hmm.” Maybe Seb was on drugs. Lulu wondered if insomnia was a symptom of drug use. “And what were you doing yesterday afternoon?”

  “Taking a nap. I was sleepy after getting up so early to come in. I’d done my paperwork after all, right? What’s wrong, Mom? You don’t think I had anything to do with that food scout’s death, do you? Why would I have killed the woman? Remember—I like women.” He grinned. “I’m not running around poisoning them to death.”