all it was worth, conscious of the attention she was getting. Rebecca rolled the food around in her mouth for a moment.
“I believe she thinks she’s at a wine tasting,” murmured Ben to Lulu.
“As long as she doesn’t spit it out,” she answered.
“This,” said Rebecca Adrian, pausing long enough to bring perspiration droplets to Ben’s face, “is excellent barbeque. The pork is firm, but not dry. No charring on the bark. Smoky flavor from the dry rub, with accents of cumin, chili powder, and”—she rubbed her lips together—“paprika.”
“What did she say?” bellowed Big Ben in his baritone voice.
“She said it was good,” reported Buddy.
“We needed some expert from New York to toodle down here and tell us something we already knew?”
Once again, Morty neglected to summarily shush him, which was a far cry from his usual practice.
A miffed expression passed over Rebecca’s face until she replaced it with her usual cool detachment. She was all business again and took out her black notebook to jot down a few notes.
“Glad you liked it,” said Ben awkwardly. “What happens now?”
“Well, of course, there are other barbeque restaurants on our list,” she said in a brisk tone. “But I’ve made my notes, and will report my thoughts and impressions to the producers.” She gave a rather simpering smile. “They’ll be in touch.”
As Lulu asked her a little more about the process the network was using to determine the best barbeque, Flo finally caught up with Sara. It wasn’t easy, since Sara was determined to flit in and out of the dining room with little contact with everyone—especially Rebecca Adrian.
Flo put a hesitant hand on Sara’s arm. “I am so, so sorry about leaving Derrick last night. It’s a good thing I never had any children of my own.”
Sara couldn’t be tart with Flo. “Forget it, Flo. I wasn’t actually watching out for him myself. It’s over and done with. Maybe it even taught him a lesson. After all, he should have walked out with you and been on his merry way to Youth Group. He’s not a baby.”
Flo swallowed. “Did anything happen to him?”
Sara sighed. “ Some thing happened. But I’m not sure what it was. She’s good at cutting people down a notch.” She saw Coco talking animatedly with Rebecca. “I guess she’s not doing any harm talking to Coco. Coco’s completely undeflatable. Unlike me.”
“Honey, when you walk through the door, it’s like a breath of fresh air. You’ve always got this big, beaming smile on your face and have so much energy. Right now it’s like that woman sucked the life out of you. Well, you have none of it, Sara. She just wants to bring everybody down. She probably doesn’t even know anybody in New York. Braggart.”
Sara made a face. “She sure wasn’t impressed by Southern folk art. I guess she thinks we’re all hillbillies, spending our days playing banjos at hootenannies.”
“Or pulling beer out of our front-porch fridges,” said Flo.
“Or that we have so many broken, beat-up cars that our yards look like used car lots.”
“At least,” said Flo, “you’re not letting her get you down. Peggy Sue gave me the lowdown on what happened. I really think that Miss Thing needs to learn a lesson.”
“She’s entitled to her opinion, Flo.”
“But not entitled to present it in such an ugly way. Listen,” said Flo, “the Graces are all planning on going by Susan’s Southern Accents gallery tonight. She’s going to have some wine and cheese, and we’ll soak in your art and have ourselves a real party. We’ve all been dying to see it for ages—we couldn’t be more thrilled.” She gave Sara a hug.
A smile spread over Sara’s freckled face. “Thanks, Flo.” She squinted over toward the lunch counter where Rebecca Adrian held court with a crowd of admirers. “Uh-oh,” Sara said. “Looks like more trouble. That’s not Mildred Cameron’s manuscript, is it?”
“Oh Lordy,” breathed
“I believe she thinks she’s at a wine tasting,” murmured Ben to Lulu.
“As long as she doesn’t spit it out,” she answered.
“This,” said Rebecca Adrian, pausing long enough to bring perspiration droplets to Ben’s face, “is excellent barbeque. The pork is firm, but not dry. No charring on the bark. Smoky flavor from the dry rub, with accents of cumin, chili powder, and”—she rubbed her lips together—“paprika.”
“What did she say?” bellowed Big Ben in his baritone voice.
“She said it was good,” reported Buddy.
“We needed some expert from New York to toodle down here and tell us something we already knew?”
Once again, Morty neglected to summarily shush him, which was a far cry from his usual practice.
A miffed expression passed over Rebecca’s face until she replaced it with her usual cool detachment. She was all business again and took out her black notebook to jot down a few notes.
“Glad you liked it,” said Ben awkwardly. “What happens now?”
“Well, of course, there are other barbeque restaurants on our list,” she said in a brisk tone. “But I’ve made my notes, and will report my thoughts and impressions to the producers.” She gave a rather simpering smile. “They’ll be in touch.”
As Lulu asked her a little more about the process the network was using to determine the best barbeque, Flo finally caught up with Sara. It wasn’t easy, since Sara was determined to flit in and out of the dining room with little contact with everyone—especially Rebecca Adrian.
Flo put a hesitant hand on Sara’s arm. “I am so, so sorry about leaving Derrick last night. It’s a good thing I never had any children of my own.”
Sara couldn’t be tart with Flo. “Forget it, Flo. I wasn’t actually watching out for him myself. It’s over and done with. Maybe it even taught him a lesson. After all, he should have walked out with you and been on his merry way to Youth Group. He’s not a baby.”
Flo swallowed. “Did anything happen to him?”
Sara sighed. “ Some thing happened. But I’m not sure what it was. She’s good at cutting people down a notch.” She saw Coco talking animatedly with Rebecca. “I guess she’s not doing any harm talking to Coco. Coco’s completely undeflatable. Unlike me.”
“Honey, when you walk through the door, it’s like a breath of fresh air. You’ve always got this big, beaming smile on your face and have so much energy. Right now it’s like that woman sucked the life out of you. Well, you have none of it, Sara. She just wants to bring everybody down. She probably doesn’t even know anybody in New York. Braggart.”
Sara made a face. “She sure wasn’t impressed by Southern folk art. I guess she thinks we’re all hillbillies, spending our days playing banjos at hootenannies.”
“Or pulling beer out of our front-porch fridges,” said Flo.
“Or that we have so many broken, beat-up cars that our yards look like used car lots.”
“At least,” said Flo, “you’re not letting her get you down. Peggy Sue gave me the lowdown on what happened. I really think that Miss Thing needs to learn a lesson.”
“She’s entitled to her opinion, Flo.”
“But not entitled to present it in such an ugly way. Listen,” said Flo, “the Graces are all planning on going by Susan’s Southern Accents gallery tonight. She’s going to have some wine and cheese, and we’ll soak in your art and have ourselves a real party. We’ve all been dying to see it for ages—we couldn’t be more thrilled.” She gave Sara a hug.
A smile spread over Sara’s freckled face. “Thanks, Flo.” She squinted over toward the lunch counter where Rebecca Adrian held court with a crowd of admirers. “Uh-oh,” Sara said. “Looks like more trouble. That’s not Mildred Cameron’s manuscript, is it?”
“Oh Lordy,” breathed
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