Текст книги "Fry Another Day"

Автор книги: J. J. Cook

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The two male voices in the trailer were still arguing. As crazy as it seemed, it sounded like Reggie and Alex Pardini. I knocked on the back door. “Everything okay in there?”

Reggie pushed open the door a crack, not enough for me to see inside. “What do you want?”

“I was just checking on you.” I smiled. “Anything wrong?”

“Mind your own business, Zoe Chase. I’m getting ready for the race.” Reggie slammed the door closed again.

I didn’t see Alex, but it had certainly sounded like him.

“Well, at least he’s okay,” I said to Crème Brûlée as we walked away. “I wonder what he and Alex were arguing about.”

I walked back to the Biscuit Bowl and put Crème Brûlée in the passenger seat of the truck again. “Try to be good,” I coaxed. “This is only the beginning of the race.”

“How’s he doing?” Miguel asked, startling me.

“He’s fine.” I smiled back. “Just a little homesick, I think.”

He shrugged. “Me, too. I haven’t left Mobile in a long time.”

“Me, either.” I stroked Crème Brûlée’s head. “I know how he feels. I’m always more comfortable at home.”

“Me, too.” Miguel smiled. “I’m sure you’re going to do well during this race.”

I really loved his smile.

“Thanks. I’m happy you could be here to help. I really appreciate you taking the time to come with us—to come with me.”

“No problem. It sounded like fun.”

I turned away with a sigh. We never seemed to get any further than polite Q & A like this. It seemed as though one of us should’ve been willing to step up and kiss the other person senseless.

Just not me.

There was a loud shout from inside the Biscuit Bowl.

Now what?

THREE

I joined my team in the cooking area. They were still making biscuits. The pile was steadily growing. What a team!

Miguel had to stand outside since the kitchen was so small. I wished it could be different, but the area wasn’t meant to hold so many people and cooking supplies.

“I’ll just wait out here until we’re ready to get started,” he said.

I hoped he didn’t feel like I was pushing him out of the way. I silently cursed my ex-boyfriend for making me doubt myself like this and took a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves.

Maybe being part of a food truck race wasn’t the best time to explore my relationship with Miguel. It had seemed like a good idea when I’d asked him to come. We’d be in different places with different ideas. Different things, like romance, would just happen naturally.

It’s going to be all right. Miguel likes you.

We just had a few details to work out. And trying to win this race was as good a time as any to figure it all out.

Ollie was nursing his hand like a hurt bear. “I burned myself taking the biscuits out of the oven.”

“He’s making such a fuss.” Delia brought out the tube of aloe I always kept in the kitchen. “It’s hardly anything.”

“To you!” He wouldn’t let her see his hand.

“Big baby!” She pulled his hand toward her and slathered on the aloe. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Thanks.” He sniffed—with a wink at me over her head.

He was enjoying it!

“What’s happening out there?” Uncle Saul asked. “Was that Crème Brûlée?”

“Yes, but something else, too.” I told him about Reggie and Alex. “Reggie’s always in a bad mood. I wonder who he got to sponsor him anyway. I’m surprised at him arguing with Alex, though. We’re a long way from Mobile to lose so soon and have to go home.”

“It would probably take more than that to send him home,” Ollie said. “I watch programs like this on TV all the time. People like Reggie always make it through. It’s the nice ones who have to worry. Like you, Zoe.”

“What were they arguing about?” Uncle Saul mixed a new batch of biscuit batter with mashed sweet potato.

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell what they were saying.” I tasted some of the apple raisin filling. “This is good. Let’s spice it up some.”

Uncle Saul glanced into the bowl. “Sounds good. Between us, Zoe, we have a good sense of these things.”

“Seems odd for the host of the food truck race to be arguing with anyone behind closed doors. If he’s doing it for ratings, he’d want everyone to see it, right?” Delia was still holding Ollie’s hand. She suddenly realized and put it down.

Ollie grinned.

I ignored them so I could concentrate on the forms we were going to have people fill out after they ate our food. “I think one of us will have to approach people about their opinions. We’ll have two selling the biscuits. That leaves two in the kitchen.”

“That might be a good job for Miguel,” Ollie said. “He’s awesome at talking people into things. If he wasn’t, I might be in jail right now.”

“Ollie might be right.” Uncle Saul ignored Ollie’s assessment of his life. “Would that fit his definition in the rules as an outrider?”

I scanned the rule book. “It looks like he can do anything I need him to do except cook. He’s kind of like a joker in a deck of cards.”

“Good comparison.” Uncle Saul smiled. “Why don’t you go out there and ask him what he thinks about getting opinions?”

Uncle Saul knew my devious plan to go back home with a different kind of relationship between me and Miguel.

“I’ll do that.” I glanced around the kitchen. “It looks like we’re ready to go at six. Thanks for all the hard work. Everybody take a break.”

I went back outside into the cool morning air. I knew it wouldn’t last for long. It was summer in the South, which meant hot weather. I was grateful that my food truck had air-conditioning as long as the portable generator was working. Not all food trucks were so lucky.

I found Miguel sitting on a bench near the Biscuit Bowl and sat beside him. There was a small magnolia tree hanging over us. I thought it was a very romantic place to talk. I wished I had something to say to him that didn’t involve what I wanted him to do for the food truck race.

“Everything ready?” he asked.

“I think so. The oven worked better than I thought it would.”

“Good.” He smiled and nodded.

Seriously? I was thirty years old and this was the best I could do? It was like I couldn’t get my tongue to say what I was thinking.

“I—uh—need you to get people to fill out these little forms on whether or not they like the food.” I showed him, deliberately leaning closer to him.

“I can do that.” He took the forms and scanned them. “I do this after you sell the food?”

“Yes.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I sighed. Now what?

“Zoe?” He looked down into my face.

“Yes?” My heart was beating fast.

There was another loud noise from the Dog House. It wasn’t arguing this time—more like a dull thud followed by a loud groan.

“That didn’t sound good.” Miguel got to his feet. “I’ll check it out.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as we walked to the back door of the Dog House. Leave it to Reggie to ruin my perfect moment with Miguel.

Miguel knocked on the back door. There was no response. He pounded, and I called Reggie’s name. Still no response.

“Is there a problem, sir?” a burly Charlotte police officer asked. “Ma’am?”

“We’re from the other food truck.” I pointed behind us. “We heard a strange noise up here and were worried about our friend, Reggie. This is his trailer. We’re both from Mobile.”

I wasn’t really worried about Reggie. I was talking nervously because I was wondering what Miguel was thinking and feeling. Had he planned to kiss me before this happened?

The faster we got through this, the sooner Miguel and I could sit on the bench and talk again. Or kiss.

The officer frowned at my words, but he took our concerns seriously. “Step aside, please. Let me handle this.”

Reggie had a pickup truck hauling the Dog House behind it. There was no access between the two vehicles. The side window on the trailer, where Reggie sold hot dogs and sausages, was closed and locked. It would probably break if the officer forced it open.

Miguel and I followed him as he circled the truck and around the other side of the trailer. The only logical way into the cooking area was to open the back door as Reggie had done earlier to yell at me.

By this time, another officer had joined us. The two officers discussed the situation for a moment as they tried to decide what to do. There was no way to be sure it was an emergency. We didn’t even know for sure that Reggie was inside the trailer. One of the officers called in the problem while the other decided to use a crowbar to open the back door.

Alex Pardini had seen the commotion and had brought his cameraman with him to investigate. “What’s going on, officers?”

“We’re not sure, sir. Step back, please.”

“We heard a bad sound inside.” I filled Alex in on why Miguel and I were there.

“What kind of sound, Zoe?” Alex wondered.

“I’m not sure.”

He conversed with the officers as they worked. “What are you hoping to uncover here? What do you think happened? Should our other drivers be worried?”

The officers stared at him like he was crazy.

The camera was taping everything when the officers finally managed to pry open the door to the Dog House. It splintered away from the side wall. Reggie wasn’t going to be able to use it again.

But it didn’t matter.

Reggie was on the floor with a refrigerator on his chest. It looked as though he might not need a door, or a food truck, ever again.

FOUR

“Is he dead?” Alex asked with a look of revulsion on his handsome face that wouldn’t have been good for his ratings. “I mean, seriously, someone should call an ambulance in case he’s still alive.”

The two officers assured him that they had already called for medics and an ambulance. They asked us to move away from the trailer again.

Everyone affiliated with the race was suddenly there with us, pressing closer to find out what had happened. There were murmurs of disbelief and horror that one of the food truck drivers had been seriously injured or killed—and a few unsportsmanlike comments about there being one less competitor for the fifty thousand dollars.

Miguel stayed there to hear what he could about Reggie’s condition. I went to the back of the Biscuit Bowl to tell everyone inside what had happened. My team had remained hard at work despite what was happening outside. I could hear the sound of sirens as other police cars and the ambulance arrived.

“That poor man,” Delia said after I’d told her. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.” I shivered, thinking about the look on Reggie’s face. “I hope so. I think the strap broke that was holding his refrigerator in place.” I felt guilty after I’d thought such terrible things about him. I was going to feel really bad if he was seriously hurt—or the other.

“Accidents happen in the food industry just like any other,” Uncle Saul added.

“It seems strange that I was just over there talking to him. Well, he was yelling at me, like always, but still.”

“You mean when you heard him arguing with Alex.” Ollie shook his head. “Too bad you couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

“I don’t think Alex had anything to do with it. Miguel and I were sitting outside, talking about filling out the tasting forms, and I think we heard the refrigerator fall. Alex wasn’t anywhere around then.”

“I thought the big fridge was a good idea,” Ollie remarked. “I guess I was wrong. But I’m not shedding any tears for that jerk anyway. There were a few times I wanted to kill him back in Mobile!”

“You shouldn’t say that now,” Delia cautioned.

“Just ’cause he’s hurt doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a good guy,” Ollie argued.

“I’m sure it was only an accident,” Uncle Saul said. “I saw Reggie putting in the refrigerator when we were getting ready to leave Mobile. I was wondering how he was gonna manage to keep it in place.”

I shrugged. “It was terrible anyway. I hope he’s okay.” It didn’t really look like it, but I knew looks could be deceiving. It wasn’t a great way to start the race.

“He’s probably fine,” Uncle Saul said as he drank a soda. “One time I dropped a truck on myself as I was changing a tire. I pushed myself out from under it. I was banged up and had a few broken ribs—well, all of them were broken—along with my collarbone, both shoulders, and one hand. But I’m alive, and I drove that old truck until I had to send it to the scrap heap.”

“I had something similar happen to me.” Ollie began telling another amazing, and improbable, tale of survival after something had fallen on him.

Miguel burst in after their colorful tales. “He’s dead. Reggie is dead.”

“How do they know so soon?” Uncle Saul asked. “Didn’t they have to take him to the hospital?”

“They did,” Miguel agreed. “But they had already called it before they transported him.”

I glanced at Miguel. “How did he die?”

“The police said he didn’t tie down his refrigerator well enough and it fell on him.”

Uncle Saul removed his hat for a moment and stood with his head bowed, eyes closed.

“That isn’t a fit way for a man to die.” Ollie shook his head.

“I wonder what we’ll do now,” Uncle Saul said. “Will the race go on or will we all go home?”

There was a loud meow from the front of the Airstream. I knew what Crème Brûlée’s vote was on the matter.

“I heard the producers are deciding what they should do,” Miguel said.

There was heavy pounding at the back door. Alex’s assistant peeked inside. “Everyone stay put for now. We’ll let you know what’s going on when they make a decision about the race.”

“So all this was for nothing?” Delia grabbed a biscuit and started eating.

“Good idea.” Ollie grabbed one, too. “We might as well eat them. They won’t be any good after a while.”

“Maybe we could give the biscuits away.” I considered the possibilities. “It would be better than all the food going to waste.”

“Couldn’t we sell them?” Ollie wondered.

“No. We don’t have a sales license for Charlotte. The show’s producers handled all of that for the race,” I explained. “But there’s nothing saying we can’t give them away.”

Chef Art knocked at the door to tell us what Alex’s assistant had already said. When I told him I was going to give away the biscuits, he was thrilled. “What an opportunity! You have a great mind for business, Zoe. Let me round up a few local reporters.”

At seven A.M. we were out on Trade and Tryon streets in the heart of downtown Charlotte. Chef Art had found a few interested reporters. We gave them biscuits, and they did some live feed to go with the story about what had happened to Reggie.

It wasn’t long until all the food truck drivers were taking the food they couldn’t use out on the streets, too. It was much better to be out on a sunny morning giving people food than to sit inside and worry about what would happen next with the food truck race.

If we went home, we went home. I wasn’t sure that wouldn’t be for the best anyway after what had happened to Reggie. Maybe I hadn’t liked him, but his death had put a pall on the whole idea of the race.

We got the trip to Charlotte and a night out at a hotel. The show would probably pay for our trip home, as they had for our trip here. Chef Art and the other sponsors got their names out there for their time and money. The rest of us had a chance to have our names on all the advertising.

I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.

It was a little sad to have to tell enthusiastic Charlotte customers that they could only get my biscuit bowls in Mobile, but that went with the territory. When I could get my products online, they could buy them frozen there. The biscuit bowls wouldn’t be as good but at least they could experience them without a trip to Mobile.

Delia had stayed with the Biscuit Bowl and Crème Brûlée while we’d given out all the biscuit bowls. We got back two hours later, and she told us the producers were ready to make a statement about the show.

“You go on, Zoe,” Uncle Saul said to me, sweating from the hot, humid air on the street. “It’s your food truck. The rest of us don’t need to be there.”

“We don’t need to be,” Ollie said, “but we want to be. I want to know what happened with Reggie.”

“Me, too,” Delia added.

“That’s fine,” Uncle Saul said. “You all go. You can tell me what happens next when you get back.”

“We’re supposed to meet at the cool-down tent,” Delia said.

– – – – – – –

The cool-down tent was set up to help alleviate the summer heat that everyone would be working in with a fine, cool mist. We were supposed to be in some of the hottest weather of the year from Charlotte to Mobile in the next five days. The large tent was also set up to be a meeting place, centrally located in the group of food trucks.

Miguel, Ollie, Delia, and I went back out on the street. Food truck teams were making their way toward the cool-down tent.

Alex Pardini was on a stage with a microphone beside the tent. Cameras were up there with him and panning on us out in the crowd.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Zoe,” Miguel cautioned as we waited for everyone to arrive at the stage. “I don’t think they’ll go on with this after Reggie’s death.”

“I’m prepared for that,” I told him. “It was a fun trip, if nothing else. I haven’t been to Charlotte in years.”

When it looked like everyone from the nine remaining food trucks (including ours) was there, Alex greeted us and gave us the news.

“A terrible thing happened here this morning,” he said. “Food truck driver Reggie Johnson, the owner of the Dog House from Mobile, Alabama, was found dead in his trailer. He was accidentally crushed by his refrigerator. We will never forget him as a daring and valiant competitor.”

Everyone applauded. The cameramen moved from place to place in the street to best get images of our reactions to the news. Police officers held back reporters and the crowd that had come to watch the race.

“We had a big decision to make, folks.” Alex bowed his head for a moment as though it was a difficult, personal decision for him. “Should we continue with the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race? Or should we end it right here? The producers made their decision. Now they want to hear from you.”

There was only a moment before food truck drivers began yelling out their answers.

Alex acknowledged a few of them after admitting that he couldn’t hear everyone at the same time. “Daryl Barbee from Grinch’s Ganache: what do you think we should do?”

Daryl stood beside his wife, Sarah. He was a very short man with a large cowboy hat that seemed to swallow his head. “I think we should honor Reggie by continuing the race.”

There was a loud round of applause following his words.

Maybe I was uncharitable, but I was thinking—He’s got cupcakes ready to go.

Alex held up his hand, and everyone got quiet again. He called on Bobbie Shields from Shut Up and Eat, a food truck that served loose meat sandwiches and the biggest pickles I’d ever seen.

Bobbie was a large woman who liked wearing colorful Hawaiian dresses and dozens of bracelets. She shouted out her answer. “We should go on! Reggie wouldn’t want us to stop.”

The applause was deafening on the street around me.

I felt like I knew Reggie well enough to guess that he wouldn’t really care if the race went on or not. I’d pegged him as more the if I’m not in it, it doesn’t matter category. But I was probably being negative again.

“All right.” Alex smiled fabulously at all of us. “It’s time for the vote. Everyone who wants to continue, raise your hands.”

It wasn’t even close. The only two food trucks that didn’t want to continue were Chooey’s Sooey, an Asian food vendor, and Stick It Here, the pot sticker and kebab food truck.

Everyone else cheered when they saw their victory.

I admit that I voted to continue. Maybe if Reggie and I had actually been friends, it would’ve been different. Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. If that made me a bad person, so be it.

I was curious, too, as I looked at Alex’s dazzling smile. What was going on in his head? Did he feel like a bad person for arguing with Reggie before he’d died? And what had they been arguing about?

Maybe Reggie didn’t like the interview Alex had done with him.

The producers had moved the challenge to noon. That gave everyone time to prepare—even teams like ours who’d given away all their food. Miguel raced for his car. He’d already located a supermarket where he’d shopped last night. I was sending a list of what we needed to the email on his phone.

Ollie, Delia, and I ran back to the food truck. Everyone around us was moving fast. Most had given away their food, as we had. That probably meant shopping and cooking for all of them. Anyone not out of their food truck at noon, and selling their primary food with sweet potatoes in it, would be disqualified.

“I guess I was right staying behind.” Uncle Saul laughed and enjoyed his moment of foresight. He’d peeled and cut the rest of the sweet potatoes we hadn’t used. “Let’s get going.”

I had never planned to have more than two or three people working inside the Biscuit Bowl at one time. It wasn’t really big enough for more than one person. Four people trying to bake, deep-fry, fill, and finish one hundred biscuits was almost too much.

We managed somehow.

Miguel got back with the supplies. We’d had enough sweet potatoes to get some cooked and mashed to add to the biscuits while he was gone. If I’d been at the diner, it would have been too early to get started. Because the camping oven was slower and smaller, it took right up until noon to get everything ready again.

We’d decided to send Delia out to sell the biscuit bowls on the street. Lunch traffic had begun, with plenty of people on foot making their way to benches and restaurants where they would eat and spend time away from their offices.

Ollie wanted to go with Delia to sell biscuit bowls. I wasn’t sure. But I decided he could take food to her so she wouldn’t have to come back each time she ran out. He was happy with that.

It would be up to me and Uncle Saul to keep food ready for Ollie to take to Delia.

That was my strategy. Smart, right?

It was a relief when we began at last. Ollie was already taking a second, finished group of biscuit bowls to Delia. The bacon and cheese biscuit bowls smelled deelish (made with sweet potatoes instead of shortening). The spicy apple raisin filling had a dusting of powdered sugar and a swirl of white icing.

“It was getting a mite crowded in here.” Uncle Saul heaved a sigh of relief when it was only the two of us. “What is wrong with that boy, anyway? Has he never had a girl before?”

I knew he was talking about Ollie and his disastrous efforts to court Delia.

“Miguel told me that Ollie was actually married before, when he was still in the Marines. His wife was a marine, too. She had PTSD and opened fire on him one morning at breakfast. She shot him twice before he had to kill her. He almost died, too.”

Uncle Saul put a hand to his forehead. “Holy smoke! That boy has been through the wringer! No wonder he’s making such a mess of things. It would only be Christian for me to take him under my wing. I used to be pretty hot with the ladies of Mobile, you know? During carnival, I was the king of hearts.”

He chuckled to himself as he filled five more apple biscuit bowls.

“Maybe you should show Bonnie that side of you.” I grinned. “I’m sure she’d be interested.”

“Are you trying to be a matchmaker or what?”

Everything was going well until we reached the ninety-five biscuit mark. We were so close.

Then one of the cameramen barged into the Biscuit Bowl and knocked over what remained of my apple raisin filling.

I turned to him, angry. “What are you trying to do?”

“Uh—sorry, ma’am. I was—uh—trying to get a close-up of your apples.” He stammered and pulled at his network ball cap.

Uncle Saul slapped his hand on his leg. “Never heard that term for it before!”

We looked at where the cameraman had stopped recording on the screen. It was an in-depth view of my cleavage above the red tank top.

I was flattered—in a lame kind of way. But now we had only the bacon cheese filling. “It’s all we have. It will have to do. We only have five more biscuits to sell. Let’s make this work.”

Ollie was back for more biscuit bowls. “Delia’s kicking butt on sales. You should see her sell!”

“Take these.” I gave him the last bacon cheese biscuit bowls. “How are the customers holding out?”

“The crowds are getting smaller as everyone goes back to work. Good news is that a lot of people are hanging around to see what’s going on.” Ollie grabbed the biscuit bowls and was gone.

The cameraman was done with us—our crisis was past. Had he done it on purpose to create drama?

Miguel popped his head into the food truck. “How’s it going? I’ve got twenty statements from people saying they loved your biscuit bowls. But Pizza Papa just sold their hundredth slice. I guess they win this challenge.”

“Sweet potato pizza—and they sold out?” I turned off the deep fryer. We were done.

“They were selling them really cheap.”

“Don’t they have to sell at their normal price? Isn’t that covered in the rules?”

“Not sure.” He shook his head. “One interesting thing I heard while I was out there—the police are wondering if Reggie Johnson’s death was really an accident.”