Hickory Smoked Homicide

by Riley Adams

  “I don’t know him, Lulu, but I think I know who he is. Ben was telling me about him yesterday, and with everything going on, I forgot to give you a heads-up.” Sara took a deep breath. “Your son is setting you up on a blind date. Real blind, apparently, since he didn’t even tell you that you were going to be meeting this guy.”

  “What?” Lulu’s stomach knotted up with the horror of it all. She believed she felt sicker over this than she had over finding Tristan’s body.

  “Ben thought it was the best idea ever,” said Sara with a sigh. “This fellow is supposed to be some big food blogger.”

  “A what?”

  “He has some sort of online magazine that he updates every day with pictures and recipes and people’s restaurants. A whole bunch of people read his posts, apparently. He just moved to Memphis, he’s single, he’s your age, and he likes food. I guess that was enough for Ben to think y’all would be smitten with each other.”

  Lulu got up quickly and grabbed her pocketbook.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sara.

  “Honey, I’m getting the heck out of Dodge, that’s what! I don’t want to be going on any blind dates. Ben probably didn’t even notice if this guy is nice looking or likes women or anything. I’m going to hightail it out the back door while the getting’s good. If you could cover for me and tell him that I left early for the day—that I had a headache coming on after all the craziness last night.”

  It was too late. There was a light tap on the door, and then it swung open again. Ben was there in the doorway, blocking it, thought Lulu furiously. He said in a hearty voice, “There’s someone I would absolutely love for y’all to meet. Sara and Mother, this is Gordon McDonald. He’s our special guest at Aunt Pat’s today. Mother, remember how I told you about Gordon visiting and how excited you were?” Ben gave her an innocent look, which only succeeded in making Lulu more furious with him.

  Still, years of using good company manners couldn’t really be disregarded, no matter how hard she might try. “Mr. McDonald, it’s nice to meet you,” Lulu said stiffly, holding out her hand.

  There was really nothing wrong with the man, thought Lulu. It was just the high-handed way that Ben had set this up that set her teeth on edge. Gordon looked like a perfectly nice man. He had a neatly trimmed white beard and white hair. He had a pleasant smile and a small tummy that spoke of years of enjoying good food. It was a shame that she was dead set not to like him.

  Before she could say anything else, Ben added cheerfully, “I’ve got a wonderful red-velvet cake that Mother made this morning, Gordon. How about if I bring you out a slice?”

  Gordon’s eyes widened. “You sure do believe in southern hospitality here, Ben. Sure, I’d love a piece of cake. I’ve heard a lot about red-velvet cake, but would you believe that I’ve never had any? I’ve heard that it’s traditionally a groom’s cake here in the South.”

  Lulu couldn’t repress a small shudder. Oh no—was he going to be one of those pushy kinds of suitors? And—would this day ever end?

  Chapter 7

  The day that had started a little too early for Lulu and had involved a too-long conversation and snack with Gordon finally came to a close. Lulu drove home with a huge feeling of relief. The red-velvet cake that Ben had baked and attributed to Lulu was delicious, of course. Through the years, Ben had become an amazing cook. Lulu was worried. If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and Gordon thought Lulu had been the one to make the cake, then he was probably well on his way to falling head over heels with her.

  As she arrived home, Lulu blinked at seeing an older-model Volvo in her driveway, right next to Steffi’s car. Visitors? Would this day ever be over? Lulu knew that she wasn’t going to be able to resist the urge to pull out some food for her company, whoever they might be.

  A tall brunette with high cheekbones and a familiar face stood up as Lulu walked through the kitchen door. “Lulu? Hi. . . . It’s Marlowe. Marlowe Walter, Tristan’s sister. Steffi’s in the bedroom, packing—I offered to let her stay at my place until everything settles down with her mom’s house.”

  “So good to see you again, Marlowe! It’s been years, hasn’t it?” Lulu shook Marlowe’s hand and then said sadly, “I’m sorry about your sister. It must have been such a shock when you found out.”

  Marlowe sat back down at the kitchen table. “It really was, actually. I’d gone out of town for a few days for work, and Steffi called my cell phone to give me the news. I can’t imagine Tristan allowing herself to be murdered,” said Marlowe with a short laugh. “I’d have bet on Tristan against any attacker.”

  Lulu felt a little ill at ease. It had been awkward listening to Steffi and Loren mourn Tristan earlier, but somehow hearing her referred to in such a harsh tone by her sister was just as bad. She said slowly, “Tristan was a difficult person sometimes, wasn’t she?”

  “You can say that again. Fortunately, though, my sister and I had worked around that difficulty. Through estrangement.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You and Tristan weren’t on speaking terms?” Lulu couldn’t imagine not talking to a member of her family. They were tripping up over each other on a daily basis.

  “Not anymore. I finally got tired of being Tristan’s emotional punching bag. She was determined to mess up my life as much as she possibly could. It was a lifelong habit of hers.” Marlowe reached absently for her pocketbook beside her before dropping it back down on the floor again. “I quit smoking a month ago,” she said ruefully, “but the habit of reaching for a cigarette is still there.”

  Lulu really couldn’t help herself. She was compelled to bring out some food, even though all she’d done all day long was put food in front of people. “You know what’s good for that? A little snack. I have some of the most delicious spinach-cheese dip—I got the recipe from one of my good friends after she made some for this party we were at . . .” and before she knew it, Lulu had pulled out plates and napkins and some melba toast and had heated up the spinach dip and put the steaming food in front of them on her red and white checkered tablecloth.

  Lulu asked, “Did you say that Steffi was packing her things?”

  Marlowe spread some of the dip on her melba toast and took a big bite. “She is. I hope that’s okay?” She paused in midbite, as if that were a scenario she hadn’t thought of. “I really appreciate your taking Steffi in for me. She and I have always been close.... I hate that I was out of town when she needed a place to go. Thanks so much for being there for her.”

  “Oh, I was happy to help her out,” said Lulu quickly, “and of course she should be with you now that you’re home—especially until everything gets straightened out with Tristan’s house.”

  Marlowe nodded. “I’m sure Tristan must have left all her things to Steffi. It’s a matter of the will being settled, I guess.”

  “There was no one else that Tristan would have willed her property to?” asked Lulu.

  Marlowe took a big sip of milk, then said, “No one else. Our parents have been long dead; she couldn’t stand her ex-husband, and they’ve been divorced for fifteen years, anyway. And, as I mentioned, she and I weren’t even on speaking terms.”

  Lulu had learned that sometimes she got more information from people if she didn’t say anything—just nodded and waited. Sure enough, Marlowe kept talking.

  “It always was that way,” she said sadly. “It used to really bother me that she and I couldn’t get along. Seemed like every time I turned on the TV there was a sappy greeting-card commercial featuring sisters as best friends. But she was always trying to get the better of me—even back in high school. She sabotaged my cheerleading tryout by mixing a laxative into my soda, and I spent the whole tryout in the restroom. She always flirted with my boyfriends and always managed to steal them away from me. You know her ex-husband? He was my boyfriend first.”

  Marlowe looked reflective. “The worst, though, was when Dad died. He’d willed the bottling company to both of us. It was a disaster from day o
ne. Tristan kept pulling funds from the company for her living expenses—and we needed that capital for the business. A couple of weeks ago, she decided that we should sell the company. I hadn’t spoken to her for ages, when she suddenly called me out of the blue and tried to browbeat me into agreeing with her. Sure, now that she’s run the business totally into the ground she wants to sell it. Dad poured his lifeblood into that company—I wasn’t going to let her unload it for a fraction of what it should have been worth. And what about all the employees who’d worked there practically their entire lives?” Marlowe’s face was flushed.

  “So what’s going to happen to the business now?” asked Lulu slowly. “Will Tristan’s share go to Steffi?”

  Marlowe said, “Who knows? I’d imagine it would go to either Steffi or me. Thinking about it, I’m sure Tristan’s share in the business would go to Steffi, since Tristan liked nothing better than to totally stymie me at every turn. She was furious that she had to consult me for things related to the company. But working with Steffi wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

  Steffi walked into the room with a couple of bags on her shoulders. “A problem with what?” she asked, a frown creasing her face.

  Marlowe waved a hand. “With the bottling company. I was talking about how difficult it was to deal with your mother with the business.”

  Steffi made a face. “I’m not going to have to deal with the business, am I? I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t want to.”

  “We have time to figure that out,” said Marlowe soothingly, “but, of course, at some point soon we’ll need to make some decisions to get the company on track again.”

  Steffi said anxiously, “I’d rather you handle all that, Marlowe. That sounds like something else to worry about, and I’m already overloaded.”

  “We’ll see how things are listed in the will. If you end up with ownership, I can give you advice on what I think is the best course of action for the company,” said Marlowe. “Every decision I’ve made for the bottling company is with your grandfather’s dreams for the business in mind.”

  “Deal!” said Steffi, with obvious relief, as she shifted the bags on her shoulders. Marlowe stood up, “Here, Steffi, let me help you with that.” As they started packing up the cars, Lulu cleaned up the kitchen and couldn’t help thinking that Tristan Pembroke’s death meant that life sure was a lot easier for Marlowe Walters. Had she still been out of town at the time of the murder? Could anyone vouch for her?

  “Cherry,” said Lulu the next morning, “I need your help.”

  “Do you?” asked Cherry. She yawned into the phone. “Right now? It’s so early.”

  Lulu frowned and craned to see the kitchen clock. “Is my clock wrong? It looks like nine o’clock to me.”

  “You restaurant folks are such early birds,” said Cherry sleepily.

  “I’m sorry, Cherry! I thought you’d be up by now. Isn’t today your Graceland day? I thought you’d be all set to spend your day with the King.”

  Cherry was one of a group of the restaurant’s regulars called the Graces because they were Graceland docents. In fact, Graceland had actually had to start the docent program there because of Cherry and the other ladies—they were at the mansion so frequently and knew so much trivia that they were giving mini tours even without Graceland’s blessing. They figured they couldn’t beat them, so they might as well join them.

  “Sure, it’s my day at Graceland, but that’s at one o’clock. So I usually don’t even get up until ten. Just for future reference, you know.” Cherry gave another yawn. “Don’t worry; I’m going to get myself fixed up with some coffee. What can I help you with today?”

  Lulu said, “I want to do some poking around. I thought you could be my partner in crime.”

  “Cool! So—this is industrial espionage or something?” Cherry sounded more alert. “Are we going to try to find the secret sauce recipe for Three Little Pigs Barbeque?”

  Lulu clucked, “Oh no. The Aunt Pat’s secret sauce is much better than the Three Little Pigs Barbeque sauce.”

  “Good point. So a different kind of snooping then? Let me guess—you want to take a crack at this new case. We’re going to have to start calling you Detective Lulu soon.”

  “Pooh. No you won’t, either. I’ll admit to enjoying a little mental stimulation, but this time I have other motivation. I want to clear Sara from any kind of involvement.”

  “What? Nobody thinks Sara murdered Tristan Pembroke, Lulu. For heaven’s sake. Just because Sara had this big blowup with Tristan over that portrait and just because Sara’s feelings were hurt, and just because no one could find her for a couple of hours.... Oh.” Cherry paused. “So what’s today’s mission?” Lulu could hear the sound of cereal hitting the bottom of a bowl.

  “That day when I was shopping at Dee Dee’s boutique? Tristan and Dee Dee had some kind of scurrilous business deal going on. I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the pageants—it sounded like Dee Dee was giving Tristan insider information on what some of her clients were wearing and what their talent was. I think Tristan was actually paying Dee Dee for those tips. Then Tristan, who coached these girls, would get her client to pick a talent that would blow away the other girl’s. Dee Dee kept consulting this big binder of a notebook, and I want to take a look inside the notebook and see what I can find out.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” said Cherry. “How do I figure into it?” She was talking around a mouthful of food, but Lulu managed to make out the garbled parts.

  “Distract Dee Dee for me. I’m going to take you in there and say you’re wanting to change your look and I thought that Dee Dee would be just the boutique to handle your style makeover.”

  There was a spitting noise on the other end of the phone. “That’d be a makeover all right! No offense, Lulu, but Dee Dee’s shop is all floral prints and froufrou, girly-looking stuff. There’s not a flashy or cool-looking garment in that whole place.”

  “Which is exactly why you’ll need so much help,” explained Lulu.

  “I won’t have to buy a dress, will I?” Now Cherry really did sound pitiful.

  “I think you could have a sudden change of heart in the dressing room,” said Lulu judiciously. “You could tell her you need to sleep on it—that such enormous wardrobe makeovers need careful thinking out. I’ll give you a signal when I’ve looked at the book and found out whatever I need to know. Let’s see—what’s a good signal for us?”

  “Ooh! Ooh! I want to come up with the signal! That’s the coolest part of the whole thing—acting like real spies,” said Cherry. “Let’s see. You could say . . .” There was a long pause on the phone while Cherry tried to wake up enough to come up with a signal. “Oh, I know! You could say ‘Uh-oh! I think it looks like rain.’”

  Lulu blinked. For someone as wildly uninhibited and colorful as Cherry, it was a strangely humdrum code for her to come up with. She’d expected something a lot more creative. “That’s the signal?”

  “Well,” said Cherry with a sniff, “it’s a good thing for you to say. If it were me giving the signal, then it would have to be something a lot more exotic.”

  Lulu thought a moment. “Actually, Cherry, it would be a good plan for you to have a signal, too. Just in case Dee Dee suddenly gets suspicious or makes any sudden moves toward the register. It would be a warning to me to stop snooping around.”

  “Good idea!” said Cherry. “My signal will be something to do with Elvis. Let’s see. I’ll ask Dee Dee if she knew that Elvis met Priscilla in Germany. Because who would guess that? It’s such an amazing bit of Elvis trivia! Then maybe she’ll be so interested to hear how they happened to meet in Germany that the signal won’t even be necessary because she’d get distracted. Elvis will be like our guardian angel.” Cherry’s excitement was palpable.

  Lulu’s head started hurting.

  Dee Dee smiled when Lulu walked through the dress shop door, but then looked none too pleased to see Cherry follow her. And Cherry had certainly
not been thrilled to be there, either.

  “Lulu,” she’d said to Lulu sadly, before they’d walked into the shop, “you know now that I’d do anything for you. And I love that we’re doing this spying. But it gives me the heebie-jeebies to even think about shopping for clothes at Dee Dee’s Darling Dress Shoppe. It goes against my personal credo to ever shop at a place with ‘shop’ spelled with a p-p-e. It means that the store owner is trying to be cute. You know I fight cuteness with every atom of my being.”

  Fortunately, Lulu had been able to rally her troop and remind Cherry of the mission. That cheered Cherry up enough to be able to go inside. However, she did look around a couple of times to make sure no one saw her walk in.

  Dee Dee quickly became all business as soon as she realized that Cherry apparently had every intention of redoing her entire look and wardrobe—apparently courtesy of Dee Dee’s Darling Dress Shoppe.

  Lulu said, “Yes, Dee Dee, when Cherry told me that she was ready to make a new start to her life and she wanted to display this change with a new wardrobe, I told her I knew just the place.”

  “This transformation was all of a sudden, wasn’t it?” said Dee Dee, still a little grumbly about Cherry’s reaction to the clothes days ago.

  “Yes!” said Cherry quickly. “Yes, it was really sudden. Actually—I found God. Yes, I did. It was,” Cherry’s voice dropped down low as if the store was full of interested eavesdroppers, “Tristan’s murder. She didn’t even get a chance to redeem herself of all her sinfulness before suddenly meeting her Maker. I’m done with shopping at the Hipster Honey, with all their trashy clothing. With my newfound need to spend my spare time in the church, I really need a whole new wardrobe—of floral dresses. Just like Lulu.” Lulu saw Cherry gulp as if the words were hard for her to say.

  Dee Dee looked doubtfully at Cherry—garbed in a fluorescent-pink top, lime-green miniskirt, and wrist-to-elbow plastic bangles in a rainbow of colors. She gave a little shrug. “So, you’re looking to tone down your look a little,” she said slowly.