Madison Avenue Shoot by Jessica Fletcher Page B

tempted, but I won’t. Got to keep up the image people expect.” She sighed heavily.
    “Just remember those overalls made your career,” Jimbo reminded her.
    “Ah know. It’s just too bad I couldn’t cook and still wear my diamonds. Paula Deen does. No one criticizes her.”
    “When you’re as famous as Paula Deen, we can talk about it,” Jimbo said. “You’re not quite there yet.”
    “But I surely will be.” She grabbed my arm and lowered her voice. “We just picked up a whole passel of local affiliates in addition to the cable network. Pretty soon my name will be as familiar as Wolfgang Puck’s. Jimbo and I are looking at two locations in Dallas for my next restaurant. Everybody loves barbecue—I’m partial to my pulled pork myself. Umm. Ummm. There’s nothin’ I love more than my pulled pork on my special bread.” Her eyes became dreamy. “Anyhow, I’m working on a new menu that’s healthy but still authentic. That’s what you have to do these days. Figure out a way to make fatty foods healthy. Keep ’em delicious at the same time. And that ain’t easy, let me tell you.”
    How she was going to come up with healthy pulled pork was a mystery to me.
    “Is your handsome nephew goin’ to be there today?”
    “He is,” I replied. “He’s bringing his son, Frank, my grandnephew, with him. We’re going to show Frank how a commercial is made.”
    “How old is Frank?”
    “Nine.”
    “Oh, that’s a sweet age, old enough to appreciate things but not old enough to have a smart mouth yet.”
    “You sound as if you’re speaking from experience. Do you have any children?” I asked.
    “Did,” she said. “I had a son. Lost ’im in Afghanistan.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said. “That must be very difficult for you.”
    “It’s nice to hear you say that in the present tense,” she said, taking my hand. “So many people think because some years have passed that I don’t mourn him anymore, but that ain’t true. I think about him every day.”
    “I’m sure you do.”
    “He was a hell-raiser for sure, drove his mama and papa crazy. Homer thought the military might give ’im a chance to sow those wild oats and get ’em out of his system. We encouraged him to join. We never figured we’d lose him.” Tears filled Stella’s eyes, but they didn’t spill over. Lost in her thoughts for a moment, she put down my hand and patted it. “You’re a good listener, Jessica.”
    “Thank you, Stella.”
    “No thanks needed. It’s just the truth. I think we’re gonna be friends. So you just go on ahead and call me ‘Cookie.’ It’s what my friends call me.”
    “I’m honored to be considered a friend, Cookie.”
    “You may change your mind when you get to know her better, Jessica,” Jimbo growled from the front seat.
    “Oh, him,” Cookie said with a laugh. “Ain’t he too much?” She leaned forward in her seat. “You better be nice to me, Jimbo, or I’ll tell your wife you was cattin’ around in New York.”
    “That’s not true,” he said, indignant.
    “I know that, but she doesn’t. And she’ll be a daylight nightmare for you till I set her straight. So watch your step.” Cookie straightened up in her seat, took a compact from her purse, powdered her nose, put the compact away, and brushed imaginary lint from her sleeve.
    Jimbo twisted around and gave me a wink. “I don’t care what you tell her,” he directed at Cookie. “Just don’t show her them diamonds or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
    “Ooh, they are nice,” she said, and settled back, admiring her jewelry. “I just hope Homer don’t think some secret admirer is givin’ me diamonds. He’ll turn greener than a cactus.” She shifted her gaze out the window, a small smile playing on her lips.
    When we pulled into the parking lot of the office building that was to serve as our location, there was a line of trucks blocking the entrance, and a crowd of crew members emptying them. Huge cases on wheels were