Hickory Smoked Homicide

by Riley Adams

  “Yes,” said Cherry, and Lulu hid a smile at the bravery in Cherry’s voice. It sounded like Cherry was steeling herself for a firing squad. “I want to tone it down a little.”

  Dee Dee said, “I’ll get you fixed up, no worries. Yeah, Tristan’s death came as a big shock. Quite a party, wasn’t it? Uh . . . could you take that helmet off? That way I can get some ideas what goes well with your hair and eyes.”

  Lulu had a feeling that nothing really went well with Cherry’s hair, which was a startling henna red. But Dee Dee seemed set to give it a try.

  After a few minutes of pulling some dresses and tops and slacks off the racks, Dee Dee said, “Ready to try some things on, Cherry?”

  Lulu quickly assessed the number of clothes that Dee Dee was holding. It probably wasn’t enough for her to do excessive snooping. It might be enough to get her started, but...

  “Could we find a few more things?” asked Cherry, who must have come to the same conclusion. “When I try on clothes, I want to try everything on. I don’t want to put my street clothes back on, then find more clothes, then have to change again.” She made a face as if the whole idea of changing clothes was distasteful to her.

  They found a few more outfits, and then Dee Dee put everything in a changing room. “All right, Cherry. Let me know if you need another size or another color of something.” She walked toward the cash register as if she were planning on waiting there. Lulu figured she was probably going to try to sell Lulu on a couple of things. Dee Dee knew that Lulu was an easy target for a sale—ordinarily.

  Cherry said quickly, “Oh, that’s not going to work, Dee Dee. You see, I’m used to a little more help.”

  “Help?” Dee Dee scowled before she managed to pull her face into a more ambivalent expression.

  “Yes. Over at the Hipster Honey, they assist with the trying-on process. It’s a collaborative event—sort of like you’re being styled by a stylist. I’ve never picked out my own clothes before.” Cherry blinked innocently at Dee Dee.

  “I’ve never dreamed of trying to be like the Hipster Honey!” said Dee Dee in a voice that said she was appalled at the very thought of it. “But I guess, if that’s what you’re used to, I can help you out.” This last was very grudging.

  “I need some direction,” said Cherry. “I need to know what works and what doesn’t.”

  “Couldn’t you just step out of the changing room and get Lulu’s opinion, since you’re looking to have the same kind of look?”

  Lulu jumped in. “Oh no. I like it to be a surprise. I’d rather see the final picks at the very end.”

  Dee Dee shrugged. “Have it your way.” And she and Cherry disappeared into the changing room—which, Lulu had to admit, must have been a little bit of a squeeze. Dee Dee wasn’t the smallest person in the world.

  Lulu hurried over to the counter and looked on the shelf that was under the cash register. Sure enough, there was the big black binder she’d remembered seeing the day that Tristan was in the shop. She opened it up, and the first thing she saw was a sort of spreadsheet with girls’ names down one column and what looked like a list of dresses, “teal princess dress with low-cut bodice,” and talent, “singing ‘Nessun Dorma’!” or “jazz-dance routine.” There were also little editorial notes in the margins, like “redhead and uses too much self-tanning lotion! Ugh!”

  Lulu froze as she heard Dee Dee’s voice say, “Let me grab that in a bigger size for you, Cherry.”

  Chapter 8

  But then Lulu heard Cherry’s voice saying stridently, “No! No, I want the dress tight. Yes, this is exactly the look I’m going for.”

  “For church?” Dee Dee sounded doubtful. “I know you’re used to wearing clothes snug, but . . .”

  “It’s perfect. Ha! Perfect! So let’s try on the next one, okay? Can you help me unbutton the back?”

  With a relieved sigh, Lulu relaxed and flipped through the binder again. She paused on one page that looked different from the spreadsheets of the beauty-pageant contestants. Lulu cocked her ear for a minute to make sure things sounded settled in the changing room. She heard Cherry say, “I don’t know, Dee Dee. What do you think looks better? The light-blue floral or the peach floral? Tell you what, let me try on the peach one again; then let’s decide . . .”

  Lulu held the page far out from her and cursed herself for forgetting her reading glasses. And for Dee Dee’s horrible handwriting, which certainly didn’t help. She finally deciphered the words “Tristan—affair.” And there appeared to be notes, as if Dee Dee were keeping track of dates and times of trysts: “saw in car—Wednesday, 2:00.” And an even more cryptic one: “by the hedge—not trimming it.” There was also a picture—not a very good one—that seemed to be Tristan embracing some man. She couldn’t really see the man’s face—

  Cherry suddenly loudly said, “Dee Dee, did you know that Elvis and Priscilla actually met each other in Germany ? Ha ha! That’s nutty, isn’t it? Priscilla was only fourteen at the time . . .”

  “Cherry, let me go. I need to get a tissue.” Dee Dee’s voice was cranky, and she pushed through the curtain on the dressing-room door. “For heaven’s sake!”

  Lulu didn’t have time to shut the book and put it back where it belonged—she barely had time to jump away from the counter and over to the dress rack. She thanked her lucky stars when the shop’s bell rang, creating another distraction. Dee Dee said, “Hi there! How are you all today? Be right back,” before she went into the back of the shop, presumably for the tissue.

  Lulu turned to look and saw Steffi and Marlowe in the shop. “Hi, y’all,” said Lulu. “Who’s doing the shopping today? Marlowe or Steffi?”

  Marlowe said, “Hi, Lulu. I’m taking Steffi to do a little shopping. I thought she might want some new clothes.”

  “And shopping is a great way to cheer up,” said Steffi, pushing her lank hair out of her face.

  Poor thing needed some new clothes, thought Lulu. It was like Tristan had thrown up her hands and given up on the child. Steffi could look a lot cuter than she did. She wasn’t a pretty girl, but she could at least look pulled together. And not wear all those baggy clothes she was so crazy about. If she did have a figure underneath all those clothes, you sure couldn’t tell it to look at her.

  Marlowe was already looking through the separates when Cherry called out from the depths of the dressing room, “Lulu? How’s the weather looking out there?”

  “Oh, it looks like rain I think.”

  Steffi looked at her with a funny expression on her face. “No, it’s a beautiful day, Lulu. Marlowe and I were just outside. There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

  “Isn’t there? Silly me!” Lulu gave a forced laugh. She heard the emphatic nose blowing diminishing and decided it was a good time to get far away from the notebook. Lulu summoned a sudden great deal of interest in the accessories at the far end of the store and hurried over to look at them more closely.

  Marlowe was saying absently, “Such a wide selection here. There are pageant-type things, then everyday-type clothes, too.”

  Lulu stole a look over her shoulder and saw Dee Dee’s stormy expression as she quickly walked over to the counter and snapped the binder shut with a glare at Steffi and Marlowe. Lulu seemed to have completely escaped suspicion. Lulu supposed there were some advantages to being a mild-mannered older lady sometimes.

  Dee Dee said abruptly, “Wide selection? Yes. Dee Dee’s Darling Dress Shoppe has been a destination boutique for pageant contestants for twenty years, so I have a whole line completely devoted to that—gowns, casual wear, swimsuits, that kind of thing. But then I also have everyday clothes and dresses for my regular customers who are just looking for something pretty to wear.”

  “Mother loved this place,” said Steffi, with a hoarse laugh, and Marlowe looked at her quickly, frowning. Lulu could tell she was probably wondering if she should have chosen another store to shop in.

  Cherry finally pushed through the dressing-room curtain wearing her start
lingly bright street clothes and smoothing her hair down before putting her helmet back on. “Oh, hi, Steffi. Hi, Marlowe. Hope your shopping goes well.”

  Dee Dee tapped across the floor to Cherry. She looked, thought Lulu, just a bit confrontational. “Which dresses did you decide on?” she asked smoothly.

  Cherry looked confused, as if she’d forgotten she was supposed to be picking out a new wardrobe. “Oh. Oh, I think I’ll sleep on it. It’s a big decision, you know.”

  “It’s not! It’s just dresses! You said you wanted to change your whole look.”

  “I do. But these things take time, Dee Dee. And perhaps some prayer,” added Cherry piously. “But thanks for all your help.”

  Lulu thought that Dee Dee seemed to be gritting her teeth.

  “Sara was telling me,” said Lulu, in what she hoped was an appropriately horrified manner, “that Tristan had actually sabotaged Pansy’s efforts for Miss Memphis.”

  It was lunch hour, and Colleen had eaten every last lip-smacking bit of her barbeque plate. She was reapplying some fire-engine-red lipstick when Lulu sat down across the table from her.

  Colleen patted her lips with one of the paper towels that were on every table. “Isn’t that the most wretched thing you’ve ever heard about in all your born days? I declare that Tristan Pembroke was one of the wickedest people I know. The very wickedest!”

  “Sara said something about the story actually making the national news. You’re not going to believe this,” said Lulu, “but I somehow completely missed that whole brouhaha when it happened.”

  Colleen’s eyes scanned over Lulu’s tidy appearance in her floral dress and the apron on top. “I’d believe it, honey. Following pageants isn’t everybody’s cup of tea.”

  Lulu mustered up a clueless expression as Colleen leaned in to tell her story.

  “So Pansy has a real crack at Miss Memphis. Her coach was telling us that Pansy had some of the best talent he’d ever seen—real talent, you know. And she’s blessed with flawless skin, and all the other girls in the pageant got blemishes. So she looked to be the number-one pick for the pageant. And you know that Miss Memphis leads right into Miss Tennessee and then Miss America. And Pansy had a shot at those titles, too.”

  Lulu would believe it when she saw it. She had to admit, though, that Pansy was a pretty girl. But she didn’t seem exceptionally pretty enough to win a big title.

  “It’s the night of the pageant, and we’re all backstage with curling irons, butt glue, fake eyelashes, and ten pounds’ worth of makeup. I’m out in the audience to watch the show. First of all was her talent competition—the dance number. Pansy looked like she was struggling with the dance. Honestly, I was wondering if she was sick or something. She looked like she had two left feet! Then I noticed her shoes. They weren’t hers!” Colleen sat back in the booth and bobbed her head emphatically.

  Lulu frowned. “She’d lost her shoes?”

  “Someone had stolen her dance shoes. She had to borrow some other girl’s shoes, and they were almost two sizes too small!”

  Lulu wondered if maybe in all the backstage chaos Pansy hadn’t just misplaced her shoes. “Isn’t that a shame? What a pity she lost because of something like that.”

  “Well, and that’s not the half of it! I haven’t even gotten to the part about her dress yet.”

  Lulu said, “Somebody did something to mess up her dress, too?” That would be a little too much of a coincidence.

  “Yes ma’am! Somebody had thrown loose powder at it. And drawn on the back with lipstick. It was the most shocking, cruelest thing I’d ever seen in my life. Pansy had lived for that pageant for weeks! Ate, drank, and slept it. All that work, down the drain.”

  Lulu shook her head at the sheer maliciousness of it all.

  “So, when it was time for Pansy to do her evening-wear competition, her beautiful dress—the one we’d spent a thousand dollars on—was totally vandalized. I practically threw up when I found out. Looked like it had graffiti all over it.”

  “Did she go out in the dress?”

  Colleen nodded. “She surely did. What else could she do? It wasn’t like she could borrow one. But I’ve never been so proud of Pansy. She walked out on that stage with her head held high and a pageant smile on her lips the whole time! I was so proud.” Colleen carefully wiped away a tear from the corner of one of her heavily lined eyes.

  “Could the audience tell?”

  “Oh mercy! Yes! They could tell. You should have heard the horrified gasp that rose up out of the crowd like a cry of pain. As soon as they laid eyes on that dress, they knew what had happened. And their hearts just hurt for her. But I think the judges were so impressed by her composure that she still ended up with first runner-up. Not that that was going to land her in the Miss Tennessee pageant and then the Miss America pageant or get her a big scholarship or anything.” Colleen fumed for a minute, eyes spitting bullets at the very thought of the injustice.

  Lulu prodded, “But then it made the national news somehow? I’m not sure how I could miss a story like that!” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, but she knew exactly how she could miss a story like that—because she wasn’t the least bit interested.

  Colleen tapped a red-enameled nail against the table. “That very day it got picked up on the news wire. It was such a tragic story, you see. One of those things that makes people wonder what the world’s coming to . . . when a pretty and talented girl like Pansy loses a big pageant because of somebody being hateful. Yes, Pansy was on all the morning talk shows that next morning.”

  “And you,” said Lulu in a low voice, “knew who that hateful somebody was.”

  Colleen didn’t seem at all concerned about how loud she was talking, though. “For heaven’s sake—she’s dead! I’m not going to worry who hears me say it: Tristan Pembroke ruined Pansy’s chances for the Miss America pageant. She was the coach for the winning girl, and she couldn’t stand the fact that Pansy was favored to win. Tristan was backstage, and her contestant was right next to where Pansy was getting ready. Pansy and I had to go back to the car and get some things out, and I’m sure that’s when the shoes were swiped and the dress was destroyed.” Colleen looked broodingly out the window. “I’m not a bit sorry Tristan is dead. What an ugly person she was.”

  Lulu was hoping to get a little background on the rest of the family. Although she’d been acquainted with them for a while, she never really got to know them. “I’ve always felt so bad for Steffi,” she said.

  Colleen interrupted her. “Oh, yes. Poor lamb. See, Tristan and I were both on the pageant circuit when we were teenagers. Tristan was practically always the winner, every time.” Colleen managed to note this without any amount of rancor, thought Lulu. It must just have been the way things were. “Tristan, when she was pregnant, kept talking about how she was going to enter the baby in every pageant imaginable.... She even planned on putting Steffi in the baby pageants. She had that baby’s room dolled up like a princess was going to be living in there.” Colleen broke off with a shrug.

  “But when Steffi was born,” said Lulu, “she wasn’t quite the baby Tristan expected?”

  “Not at all,” said Colleen. “And Tristan was as mad as the blazes to find out that she wasn’t pageant material. I think she blamed the poor baby for it and never forgave her for not being as pretty as Tristan planned for her to be. So, the next thing I know, Tristan is still keeping her involvement with pageant life but as a coach this time. That’s how Pansy and Steffi ended up being friends—because Tristan used to coach Pansy, and the girls would play together backstage before the pageant would start up. They’ve always been as close as sisters, even though Steffi is a couple of years older than Pansy. Pansy was pageant material, but it never came between them.” Colleen couldn’t quite keep the smugness out of her voice.

  Lulu was about to ask a couple more questions about Steffi and Pansy’s connection with each other when Colleen suddenly noticed her watch. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Lulu, but
I’ve got somewhere to be! Anyway, that’s the basic story, so now you know.”

  Lulu was mulling over her conversation with Colleen as she walked back to the Aunt Pat’s office to have a cup of coffee and think things through. She couldn’t think for the life of her how a mama could reject her baby for her looks—and it seemed to Lulu that all Steffi had ever wanted was a show of love from Tristan. It was all such a shame.

  Ella Beth stuck her head in the office. “Granny Lulu,” she said, her freckled face serious, “the police are talking to Mama in the kitchen, and she shooed me out. Can you check and make sure she’s okay?”

  “Pink’s talking to her?” asked Lulu, her heart jumping into her throat a little.

  “No, it’s not Pink—it’s some other policeman.” Ella Beth made a face. “He’s not very nice looking, either. He looks kind of mean.”

  Coco, who had also apparently been shooed out, looked a little less concerned. She yawned and said, “Ella Beth, when will you learn that the police are just trying to figure out where everybody was and what they saw? It’s not like they’re dragging Mama out to jail or anything.” Then she frowned for a minute and said, “They’re not, are they, Granny Lulu?”

  “Absolutely not!” said Lulu briskly. “They’re just following certain procedures to help them investigate.” She hoped she sounded more certain than she felt as she hurried to the kitchen.

  Sure enough, Detective Freeman had settled his long, wiry frame on one of Lulu’s bar stools and was leaning up against a counter, writing in a notebook. The fellow looked like he needed a good meal, but Lulu sure wasn’t the one who planned on giving it to him. She didn’t want him hanging out at Aunt Pat’s any more than he already was.

  Sara’s freckled face was flushed, her hair was standing up wildly on her head as if she’d run a hand through it several times, and she looked flustered. She gave Lulu a small smile when she entered the kitchen.