Free Delicious and Suspicious by Riley Adams

blocked off the third floor of the hotel. “I think,” said Lulu, “that the police and those people walking around in space suits make it seem more likely that it was murder.”
    “Plus the fact, of course, that everyone hated her guts,” said Sara.
    “There is that,” said Lulu, nodding.
    A Detective Lyndon Bryce introduced himself to Lulu, Sara, and Tony as he rejoined them. He didn’t look at all like what Lulu thought a detective should look like. Having her stereotypes disproved always made Lulu grouchy. He had a freshly scrubbed, youthful face with the slightest hint of blond stubble.
    “If you don’t mind,” he said politely, “I’d like to get your statements from you real quick. Separately,” he added. “Sometimes we remember things differently than other people, and it’s better to hear the same story three different ways.” He’d set up a space in one of the vacant hotel rooms with a sergeant taking notes.
    Really, their stories weren’t all that different. Best barbeque in Memphis. Food scout. Unlikable sort who made enemies fast. A few angry scenes. A sudden death. The police took notes, asked a few questions, and eventually let them go.
    Tony was somber. “The network will notify her family. I feel bad about this.”
    “It wasn’t your fault,” said Sara.
    “But I knew what she was like. Maybe I could have shut her up somehow—kept her from bugging everybody so much. I should’ve stuck a sign on her back, warning everyone to keep back.”
    Lulu said, “It wasn’t your job to babysit her, Tony. Besides, some people can’t be protected from themselves.” She paused. “You’re assuming she was murdered.”
    He shrugged. “What else is there to think? Why would Rebecca have a natural death? She wasn’t old. Or sick. Just mean.”
    And dead, thought Lulu.
     
     
    Lulu thrashed around in her bed that night. When she had finally fallen asleep, the docile, baaing sheep she’d counted had turned into fanged monsters that galloped through her dreams and gnashed at her heels. She looked at the clock. Five o’clock. Late enough to finally give up courting Morpheus and get out of bed. Her mind was a muddle of thoughts she wanted to process. And she had the oddest craving for some gingerbread.
    The comforting familiarity of measuring and mixing relaxed Lulu. She made the coffee, strong and black, and read the paper while the gingerbread baked. It had finally cooled to the point of eating when there was a knock on her door. Lulu frowned. At six thirty? She gathered her pink robe around her neck and peeped out the curtain of the back door. Relieved, she saw Ben with what appeared to be a hairy rodent on a leash. Babette. Lulu opened the door.
    “Hi, Mother. I was just taking Babette on a little potty stroll, and I saw your lights on. Is that,” he inhaled deeply, “ gingerbread ?” The thought of eating gingerbread before dawn seemed to startle, then intrigue, Ben.
    “Hot from the oven. I don’t know why, but I had quite a hankering for it. Help yourself to a big slice.”
    So they sat at Lulu’s kitchen table with plates heaped with gingerbread and a stick of real butter on the checkerboard tablecloth.
    “I was working out in my head,” said Lulu, “what happened yesterday. I’m sure the police will decide Rebecca was murdered. There’s no way that child up and died on her own like that.”
    Ben nodded and stuck another forkful of gingerbread in his mouth. “I know. But that means . . .”
    “Well, it means that somebody we know probably did her in. Because, who would follow somebody all the way from New York to commit murder? And that’s what’s really getting my goat. First of all, I hate it that somebody I know, love, and trust could be sneaky enough to commit murder. It’s hard to stomach.” She sighed deeply and tapped her fingers against her coffee cup.
    “Rebecca was hateful enough to rile anybody up, Mother. The killer may not even have been acting in their right