Hickory Smoked Homicide

by Riley Adams

  Cherry came over and gave her a hug. “Still can’t find her? Don’t worry, Lulu, we’ll figure out what happened. I’m sure it’s some really ordinary explanation that we’ll all be laughing over. Why don’t you call Ben and see if she’s just gotten in a fog and forgotten y’all rode together? Maybe she went home and turned off her phone and went to bed.”

  When Lulu rang Ben and Sara’s house, though, he hadn’t heard a word from her. And he was just as alarmed as Lulu.

  Although Cherry had offered to drop her off by the house, Lulu stuck around at Tristan’s house until Ben came. Together they drove around the area until they found a very frustrated-looking Sara struggling with the car jack and a flat tire.

  “Sara, you scared the life out of Mother and me!” fussed Ben as he lumbered out of the car. “We didn’t know what had happened to you. And why in Sam Hill didn’t you answer your cell phone when we were trying to call you? I thought that’s the whole point of carrying one—for emergencies.”

  Sara sat back on her heels away from the tire and pushed a sweaty tendril of curly red hair out of her eyes with irritation. “I know! It was all so stupid. Tristan and I had this big blowup over the portrait. I was so furious that I actually saw red—and I thought that was just a figure of speech. I was worried what I was going to say or do, so I decided to get out in my car and go for a quick drive . . . and get out of there. I promise I wasn’t planning on abandoning you and Steffi, Lulu. Then, naturally, Murphy’s Law—I get a flat. And this tire just did not want to change. As far as the cell phone goes, I left my purse at the party by accident. The cell is on vibrate, anyway. So I don’t even have my driver’s license with me. Good thing the police didn’t stop by and try to be Good Samaritans.”

  Lulu thought that maybe Sara was going to be in far worse trouble with the police than driving without a license. “Unfortunately, sweetie, your night isn’t over yet. I didn’t even have a chance to tell Ben yet, either, because we were both so worried about you.”

  “Tell me what?” demanded Ben, frowning.

  “Tristan was murdered during the party,” said Lulu. “The police heard about Sara’s argument with her—and they want to talk to Sara. I think it’ll be much worse if we go back home; they’ll probably think Sara’s trying to hide something. Besides, we’ve got to go back and get Steffi.”

  Sara groaned. “Can this night get any worse? And—Tristan’s dead? I promise, y’all, she was alive and kicking—practically literally—when she and I were having our big fight. Whoever murdered her, it wasn’t me. In fact, I was probably out here driving around when she was killed.”

  “I believe you, honey—and let’s keep our fingers crossed that the police will, too.”

  Lulu dragged herself around the house the next morning, getting ready. Ordinarily she’d call herself an early-morning person, but after the night she’d had, six hours wasn’t enough sleep to recuperate.

  The police, reflected Lulu on the drive over to Aunt Pat’s, weren’t as understanding as you’d think. Oh, Pink had winced and nodded sympathetically, but clearly this wasn’t his case. It was that Detective Freeman’s. And he had this look of complete disbelief on his face during Sara’s entire story. Hadn’t he ever met anybody who needed to cool off after an argument? Or had a flat tire? Or known somebody to forget her cell phone and not be reachable? Where was the portrait that had caused such a ruckus? How could a big painting like that go missing? It made Lulu grouchy just thinking about it—and Lulu was rarely grouchy in the morning. Her grouchiness made her even grouchier. On top of it all, she wasn’t feeling all that alert, so after she unlocked the door, she made herself some coffee at the restaurant, first thing.

  She blinked in surprise as Steffi Pembroke came in through the back door. “Steffi? Honey, what are you doing here? Did I wake you up this morning when I was trying to get ready? I’m sure I made enough noise to wake the dead—I was that tired and stumbling all over. I’m so sorry about what happened to your mom last night. And you certainly shouldn’t be here working today! In fact, you should take this next week off altogether.”

  Steffi rubbed her eyes. “It was okay, Lulu—I couldn’t sleep. I was up all night thinking about Mother. I know people hated her, but . . .” she shrugged, her voice breaking off. “I feel terrible because she and I had that big argument, and now she’s dead. I hate that some of our last words to each other were so cold.” Steffi’s shoulders sank.

  Lulu’s heart hurt for Steffi. The poor lamb felt bad about acting ugly to her mama—but her mama had acted ugly to her for her whole life . . . even when she was just a baby. So Lulu was quick to say, “And your mama’s last words to you?”

  Steffi looked confused.

  Lulu said, “I mean, was she all sugar and spice during that last conversation?”

  “Not really,” Steffi said slowly.

  “Well, then,” said Lulu with a sniff. “I wouldn’t feel so bad about myself. It’s not like your mama was taking the high road.” But Steffi still looked worried and Lulu said, “Why not tell me a little about what happened last night, honey?”

  Steffi walked into the restaurant’s office and sat down. “Sorry. I’m so tired I think I need to take a load off my feet. Maybe I’m not fit for waitressing today, after all,” she said with a short laugh. “I guess I should never have gone to the party last night. I’d just decided the best way to get back at Mother and really get under her skin was to show up at the party and kind of hang around. That was going to make her more unhappy than anything else.”

  Lulu said gently, “But you looked like the most unhappy person there, Steffi. I felt so bad for you.”

  Steffi’s head hung down until her lank hair partially hid her face. “I know. That’s the way it always is. I always think that Mother is going to care, and it ends up just being me who gets hurt. The way she was talking to the blues band, looking at me with her cold stare—I couldn’t stand it. I should have remembered that it’s impossible to hurt her. But still . . . I hate that we ended our relationship on that note. I never wanted anything more than to get along with her.”

  Lulu reached over and gave Steffi a hug. “You know, I bet your mother felt the same way, deep down. It’s such a shame that y’all were never able to have it become a reality. Tell you what? Why don’t you head back to the house? It’ll be nice and quiet there today since I’m here, working. Just lie back on the sofa and read a book or watch a little TV. I made a peach cobbler yesterday that I bet you’d love. Or maybe take a couple of naps—I know you need to catch up on your sleep.”

  Once again those intense eyes of Steffi’s caught her off-guard. “Please don’t send me home, Lulu. I don’t feel like being by myself today. I know it makes sense to rest, but I can maybe leave a couple of hours earlier than my usual shift, right? I’m sure I’ll be tired out in another six hours—then I’ll be ready to crash. And eat some peach cobbler.”

  “Of course, honey,” Lulu said quickly. “Whatever you need to do.”

  The back door to the restaurant opened again, and Ben and Sara were there, looking about as tired as Lulu felt. “Seems like I was just here,” muttered Ben. “Wonder if lack of sleep makes mental time warps?”

  Sara opened her mouth to make, Lulu was sure, a sharp retort when she suddenly noticed Lulu and Steffi in the office. “Oh mercy,” she said, coming up and giving Steffi a hug. “I am so, so sorry.” Sara gave Lulu a confused look. “Isn’t Steffi taking the day off?”

  Chapter 6

  Lulu was sure that everyone who came to Aunt Pat’s that day wondered why Steffi didn’t have the day off. But although Lulu had wondered if sleep would have been the better solution for Steffi, the waitressing seemed to work out just fine. It ended up being a big day at the restaurant, with lots of tourists stopping in for a bite, so Steffi probably didn’t have enough time to think about anything but keeping orders and tabs straight and checking up on her tables.

  Steffi was about to shift off for the day when Lulu noticed a han
dsome man with dark hair coming through the door of the restaurant. Her breath caught a little. It was the man from last night—the one that Tristan had been pushing away from her. Loren.

  Sure enough, he didn’t want to be seated when the hostess asked him how many were in his party. Instead, he said something short to the hostess as his narrowed eyes combed over the restaurant.

  Lulu hurried over to the door. “Can I help you with something, sir?”

  Up close she could tell how pinched the man’s features were, as if he were completely exhausted. “Is Sara Taylor here? I wanted to speak with her.”

  Lulu nodded. “Yes, she’s here. But she’s got her hands full with customers right now—there’s four or five of her tables that are trying to get their checks. Tell you what—why don’t you have a seat in the office for a few minutes; then she can come join you.” Lulu planned to be joining the two of them, too. After seeing what happened in Tristan’s kitchen yesterday, Lulu had no intention of letting him have private time in the Aunt Pat’s office with her daughter-in-law.

  It took a good fifteen minutes for Sara to be able to pull away from the dining room. Lulu had half hoped that he’d have given up and headed back to patch things up with his wife. But part of her did want to hear what he had to say—particularly if it was about last night. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine what kind of business he’d have with Sara.

  Sara walked into the office, pulling her apron off and laying it on her lap as she plopped down on the sofa. “Sorry it took a while to wrap everything up, Mr. . . . I’m sorry; I don’t think I know you.” Sara’s freckled face looked completely perplexed.

  “I’m Loren Holman. I was at the party last night—the one at Tristan Pembroke’s,” he added, as if Sara would have been at more than one party that night. Lulu noticed that his voice caught a little on Tristan’s name.

  Sara absorbed this information, and then shook her head. “I’m sorry—have we met?”

  The man shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, we didn’t actually meet at the party. But I saw the portrait you did at the auction—the one of Tristan. I was wondering . . . well, I was wondering if I could make you an offer on it.”

  Sara frowned at him in confusion.

  “I was friends with her,” he said in a halting voice. “I’m interested in having the portrait to remember her by.” He suddenly broke down with harsh sobs.

  Sara looked at Lulu helplessly, and Lulu shook her head in amazement. “There, there, Mr. Holman,” said Lulu, reaching out and squeezing the man’s hand. “It was a shock, wasn’t it? What a horrible night.” And Lulu knew the full story of how rotten the night had been for him. Apparently, being rebuffed by Tristan and condemned by his wife wasn’t enough to end his infatuation. Although she’d have thought that death would have been.

  As if things weren’t uncomfortable enough, the sobbing in the office caught Steffi’s attention as she was walking past the door. She peered around the side of the door and saw the man. “Loren,” she said in a startled voice.

  He looked up and saw Steffi, and the expression on his face made her break down, too. In a couple of seconds, she was hugging him and crying right along with him. “Can you believe it?” she said, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Loren!”

  Lulu pushed back her chair and stood up. “I think what this room needs is some food,” she declared. She vacillated a second between bringing in some comfort food like corn muffins and baked beans and something sweet. Then she remembered the double chocolate layer cake she’d baked yesterday. “It needs chocolate,” she clarified. And Lulu hurried out the door for cake, plates, and a pitcher of milk.

  “I’ll help,” said Sara quickly, following Lulu to the kitchen.

  “Do you have a better idea what’s going on in there than I do?” asked Sara as they pulled together a tray of food.

  “I might know a little bit more than you do about what’s going on,” said Lulu. “I overheard something last night that I wasn’t intended to. It’s nothing too complicated—that fellow had this major crush on Tristan Pembroke, and they had an affair. Then, after she wasn’t interested in him anymore, she dumped him. Except he wouldn’t dump. And now he’s still interested in her, and she’s dead! He has a wife and everything, too,” said Lulu, clucking.

  “And Steffi?”

  Lulu shrugged. “You got me, sweetie. I’m guessing she just feels sorry for him. Maybe we’ll find out a little more once we pump them full of chocolate and cold milk.”

  As they walked back in the office, Lulu heard Steffi saying, “I know you loved Mother, Loren. She was such a hard person to love because she totally resisted any signs of love or affection at all. I feel bad for you—you deserved more. And she treated you just as bad as she treated everyone else . . . and me.”

  Steffi’s voice cracked a little, and Lulu quickly said with cheerful determination, “Cake, anyone? I think a little bit of chocolate will make everyone feel better, at least for a little while. Sometimes it helps to chase our sorrows down with a little sugar.” She laid down the tray on the small table.

  “And y’all are going to love this cake,” said Sara staunchly. “This isn’t just an ordinary chocolate cake—it’s double chocolate. And it’s so moist you won’t even believe it. I had some this morning right when I came into Aunt Pat’s—started off my day with something sweet.”

  The cake seemed to be working, thought Lulu. She even saw a hint of a smile on Loren’s face a couple of times as Lulu had told them all a story about something funny that had happened at the restaurant the week before.

  After the cake was reduced to a few chocolaty crumbs, Sara said slowly, “Getting back to the portrait, though. Loren, you were interested in buying the portrait of Tristan as sort of a memento.” She spread her hands out helplessly. “That’s fine with me. The only thing is that I have no idea where that portrait is right now.”

  Loren’s eyebrows came together to give his face an even darker expression.

  “The portrait was up at the auction, which is where you saw it, I guess. Then Tristan and I ended up having an argument over it. She wasn’t a huge fan of the painting,” said Sara with a flush. “After our argument, I left. I came back later to talk to the police, and I looked around and didn’t see it. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, though,” she said quickly. “It could have been in another room. And the police had the house pretty locked down, so I wasn’t really free to look.”

  “Where should it have been?” asked Lulu. “I know the auction was outside.”

  “That big storm blew in, and people were grabbing paintings,” said Steffi. “Everyone had to rush all the paintings inside—even the ones that had already been bought. So it probably would have been with the other ones in the living room.”

  “I didn’t see it,” said Sara again. “I’m sure that once the police have sorted through everything at the house that they’ll want the guests to come collect the paintings—and have me pick up anything that didn’t sell.”

  Loren’s look of exhaustion returned. “Thanks. I guess I’ll wait for you to hear from the police, then. If you don’t mind giving me a call when you get the portrait back? I’d really like to talk to you about it.” He handed Sara his business card. “Could you call me at my cell number?” He pulled out a pen and circled the number.

  “Loren, I’ll walk you out to the car,” said Steffi. “I was on my way out anyway.”

  As the two of them walked out the restaurant’s back door, talking, Lulu sank back onto the sofa. “Mercy!” she said, grabbing the newspaper from the table beside her and fanning herself energetically. “Thank goodness that’s over. That’s more crying than I’ve seen for a long while. Of course, it was good for Steffi to cry—the poor thing. But having that cheating husband crying on top of everything? Enough!”

  “I get enough drama from the twins,” agreed Sara.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Lulu, “is what he’s planning to do with that portrait. I mean, th
at’s a good-sized canvas. Not huge, but good-sized. It’s not like he’s going to be able to hang it up in his living room or anything.”

  Sara knit her brows. “Why not? It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, I have to admit, but I’d think he could put it up wherever he wanted to.”

  “I forgot! You don’t even know the full story. He’s married , believe it or not. Certainly doesn’t act like he’s married, but he is. His long-suffering wife followed him out to Tristan’s party last night and caught him trying to canoodle with her in the kitchen. I think it’s Cherry’s neighbor who’s been wanting to join the Women’s League—and Tristan had been blackballing her and Cherry. Tristan wanted nothing to do with Loren, either—Steffi was right about that. I wonder if Tristan Pembroke really was allergic to love—and she felt that need to push back whenever someone started getting too close.”

  Sara said, “You know, I hope that portrait turns up. If Loren had Tristan’s cold eyes following him around his office or wherever he’s planning on sticking that portrait, it might be enough to cure him of his infatuation for life. I don’t know if his wife will want him back, though.”

  The office door swung open and Lulu’s granddaughter Ella Beth, Coco’s twin, stuck her head in, ponytail swinging. “Granny Lulu? There’s a man out in the dining room who’s asking to talk to you.”

  Lulu frowned. “Another man needing to talk? This day is getting on the gabby side.”

  Sara said slowly, “Ella Beth, did the man say what his name was?”

  “I can’t remember the last name he said, but his first name was Gordon.”

  Sara closed her eyes briefly as Ella Beth went back out of the office, and Lulu said, “What? Do you know who this man is, Sara?”