Текст книги "Fry Another Day"

Автор книги: J. J. Cook

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

THIRTEEN

I was stunned. I was sure I looked like it, too, as the cameras all zoomed in on me. I was such a mess, it made me cringe to think that everyone would see me like this on TV. I hoped my mother wasn’t watching. She’d really think I’d lost it.

The man explained that he was part of the food truck race as he counted out the twenty-five hundred-dollar bills into my hand.

I was fortunate that someone had thought to tell Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul what was happening. They got there before I could drop all the money. There was no room in my pockets for any more cash.

“We won!” Delia danced around.

Uncle Saul hugged me, and Ollie took the initiative and pulled Delia into his big, strong arms.

She stopped dancing and kissed him hard for a minute.

Ollie left her and hugged me. “Was that too weird?”

I laughed. “Not at all. I’m happy for you.”

“That’s the way I like to leave ’em.” His crazy eyebrows went up and down. “Pining for more.”

It didn’t take long before Alex had joined us with more cameras and his usual microphone. Local media types also took part, snapping hundreds of pictures. People asked me questions. All I could think about was getting the stupid skates off my feet. I never wanted to wear a pair of skates again.

While everyone was focused on Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul, I slipped off to a bus bench to take off the skates and socks. I had blisters all over my feet. No one ever said being in business was going to be easy.

I glanced up at the concrete stairs leading to one of the tall buildings and saw Miguel. He was talking to the same woman from the hotel the night before—the same woman who’d been in Charlotte.

So that’s where you’ve been.

I watched him for a few minutes with her. He’d changed into a nice brown suit and a tie. A white shirt played up his dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a strawberry-colored dress with a little matching crocheted jacket that complemented it beautifully.

They were speaking intently to each other. Neither one of them seemed to notice anything else going on around them.

Who is she? Are they romantically involved?

Maybe they were talking about business. I massaged my tired ankles.

If it was business, it was something serious. Miguel had his serious face on, like when he told me I shouldn’t get involved in what happened to Reggie.

I only had a second to wonder if his odd behavior was related to that.

Then I was swamped by the race proceedings again. Most of the teams had left their food trucks and wandered over to where we were. Everyone was shouting, happy, and enjoying the end of the Columbia challenge.

“All right, food truckers,” Alex called out on his microphone. “Time to go over to the cool-down tent and look at our taste-test videos before we announce today’s winners—and losers.”

His voice was like squeaky thunder, even with the noise of the city around us. I glanced up at the stairs again. Miguel was looking down at me. I grabbed my skates and walked barefoot between Ollie and Uncle Saul back to the food truck. Delia ran ahead. She was afraid she was going to miss the announcements.

The way my feet and legs felt, I didn’t care.

Chef Art was in the cool-down tent when we got there. That meant another round of photos with him. “You did good, Zoe. They’re putting up a board outside to chart the standings of the teams. I have a feeling the Biscuit Bowl is gonna be at the top.”

All the teams crammed into the tent to see what people thought of their food. I kind of cringed after a few videos had people saying bad things about other vendors’ food. Most of the comments were positive.

When they finally got to mine, three people who had biscuit bowls in their hands said they were delicious. One man said my biscuits were dry. Another man said he didn’t like the filling. That was three out of five—not too bad. Some teams only had one good response.

Alex announced that Our Daily Bread was the winner of the taste challenge with five positive responses. The team of ministers received a bunch of freebies from Disney World, airplane tickets to exotic locations, and dinner at several nice restaurants.

Oh well.

We moved back outside. Ollie hugged me and said not to worry. Chef Art frowned but didn’t say anything.

Alex unveiled the big electronic board once there was a crowd on the street. It lit up with all the teams listed, even though the names were scrambled and jumping around. They called for someone to take care of the problem while we waited.

Finally, a tech fixed it. The Biscuit Bowl wasn’t number one—but it was number two—right after Our Daily Bread.

“Those ministers are gonna kill us,” Ollie growled. “The only thing I dislike more than a pious person is a pious person who outsells us.”

“Okay. These are the standings,” Alex announced. “As you can see, there are eight of you still alive. These standings are based on how well each of you did in the challenges. It reflects your continued effort as well as meeting the individual challenges. Your score will be higher if you finish the challenge, and if you win the side challenges, like Our Daily Bread with the taste challenge, or winning the cash, like the Biscuit Bowl.”

A producer whispered in his ear.

“That is to say there are still eight of you in the race at this moment. Excuse me.”

“Cut the PC stuff and get on with it,” Bobbie Shields yelled. “We all know Reggie is dead.”

He ignored her. “Grinch’s Ganache is the winner of today’s challenge!”

Daryl and Sarah Barbee took a bow. They were the only ones on their team. I didn’t envy them.

“The prize for the winner today—specially chosen by the food truck race committee—is a free paint job for the outside of their truck at any of more than one thousand locations of Ray’s Airbrush Central nationwide. Congratulations, Grinch’s!”

Everyone applauded, but we were all still tense, waiting to see which of the food trucks were going on to Atlanta, and who was being left behind.

Alex dragged it out. I was sure that was his job. He announced the Biscuit Bowl again as the winner of the cash prize. He commended everyone’s efforts at the singing and skating challenge. Not all eight food trucks had met the challenge. Shut Up and Eat and Fred’s Fish Tacos had both been sidelined.

“I know all of you are anxious to hear the new list of trucks going forward to Atlanta,” Alex said. “But instead of me telling you, why don’t I show you instead?”

The electronic board went blank again. The tired vendors groaned.

The tech walked up and hit it a few times on the side. The lights came on, and the remaining teams showed up in the seven slots still left.

“I knew it!” Fred Bunn threw his fish-shaped hat on the street and stepped on it. “They didn’t get rid of Stick It Here when they didn’t make the challenge yesterday. I’m getting a lawyer.”

Uncle Saul and Ollie were jumping up and down. Delia was applauding. The Biscuit Bowl was going to Atlanta!

– – – – – – –

We were packing up the food truck when Miguel returned. Uncle Saul had worked on the deep fryer as much as he could. He couldn’t repair it. We were going to have to head to Atlanta knowing we had no way to make biscuit bowls the next morning.

Chef Art arranged a press conference for the two of us to talk about me facing certain failure the next day since I had no deep fryer. He coached me to not sound cheerful about it and wear his hat.

I managed to look really depressed and even squeezed out a few tears for him, bless his heart. The camera took a close-up of my scraped knee. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would’ve laughed at all of it. After all, I was here. People were eating my biscuit bowls. The rest was all drama and didn’t matter.

“That was good, Zoe.” He slapped my back when it was over. “This is gonna be a difficult, emotional moment for the team. Even though the Biscuit Bowl has made the cut, will they live to fight another day?”

Chef Art laughed and congratulated himself before he was picked up in his big RV—his face and name painted on the sides.

Delia, Ollie, and Uncle Saul were cleaning and working on a list of supplies needed for the next day.

Miguel walked over to me with his hands in the pockets of his brown suit pants. He’d removed his jacket and tie. “Sorry I was out of commission for a while.”

“We got by.”

Okay, I was a little angry. I was also burning with curiosity about the woman he was with. I wanted to tell him about Helms’s and Marsh’s accusations against him. I couldn’t do it then.

“I know. I wouldn’t have done it, except that it was really important.”

“I understand. It’s only a food truck race.” I smiled at him. “Who is she?”

He looked a little surprised that I’d even noticed he was with her. Not a man who knew much about women, obviously.

“She’s an old friend. We went to law school together. Her husband is divorcing her. He wants everything, including their young daughter. She asked me to help her.”

Hmm. Did that mean she was an old flame kind of friend? It sounded like it to me.

“So you’re leaving the race?” I took off my stupid hat. “It’s okay. It must be important.”

“I’m not leaving the race. The trial isn’t for a few weeks. I didn’t want this responsibility. I haven’t done this kind of law in a long time. Not since Caroline died.”

Caroline. That was his dead wife’s name. It was the first time he’d mentioned her name to me.

I’d had to find out her name the hard way, by asking around at the courthouse where I frequently parked my food truck. A few free biscuit bowls went a long way.

“I’m glad you’re not leaving.” I searched for the right words that would help me find out if he was romantically involved with his “friend.”

I couldn’t think of anything clever. I blurted instead, “Are you romantically involved with your old friend?”

Well, there it was. Not too clever, but I hoped it would get the job done. He’d kissed me and acted like I could expect more. I figured I had the right to know.

He smiled and kissed me again. “No. She really is just an old friend. You’re the only woman I’m interested in being romantically involved with.”

Wow! Just what I wanted to hear.

I threw my arms around his neck. There were a thousand other questions I wanted to ask, but I was willing to be content with that one for now.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” I explained what Helms and Marsh had told me about the large amount of cash deposited into his account.

“They better have good justification for going into my bank account. You said they’re here, right? I think I’ll contact the Charlotte police for some answers. Why would I even be on their person of interest list?”

I shrugged. “I think it was the money. They said it was a red flag. And they feel like you stand out like a sore thumb at the race. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell them you were here because I invited you. I felt like it was none of their business.”

“I’ll take care of it. I guess it was good, after all, that you were involved with them. Let’s hope it stays good in the future.”

We were ready to roll. Uncle Saul rode with me in the food truck. He’d called an old friend of his from his days in the restaurant business who’d agreed to meet us in Atlanta with a used deep fryer to replace mine. It was lucky that I won the money. It would help a lot getting us a replacement.

I thought I understood why Miguel’s old friend asking him to help her could be very important to him. Ten years ago, his life had been very different. He had a great career, a family. He’d probably thought everything was going his way. He’d lost everything.

I knew a little bit about his childhood. I knew he came from a large family that had very little money. He’d had to work hard to go to college and law school—too hard to stay down forever after what had happened to him.

His old friend asking him to defend her might be the place where his life would change again. He might find out that he had the confidence to move forward.

Would he be interested in a girl with a food truck and a run-down diner if his life was different?

I hoped so.

“We did okay back there.” Uncle Saul got my head back in the business at hand. “We worked really well as a team. There’s only one little problem—Ollie and Delia. I don’t know how much of the kissy-kissy stuff I can stand in a confined space.”

I laughed. “I’m sure it will get better.”

“I don’t think the race will last that long.”

“We’ll have to be patient and understanding. Ollie has been alone for a long time.”

“That’s just it, Zoe. I think he’s going at it too hard. I’m afraid, despite my coaching, that he’s gonna crash and burn.”

“Let’s hope not. At least not during the rest of the race.”

“It’s made me think a lot about my own life,” he said quietly. “You may not have noticed when you were out there last, but Bonnie has a thing for me.”

“Which one is Bonnie?” I joked.

“Go on.” He laughed. “I know you noticed. It’s been that way since we met. I haven’t wanted to encourage her. I’m not much of a catch.”

“She seems to think otherwise. She’s known you awhile now. She must think you’re worth waiting for.”

“You think?” He gazed out the side window. “It’s been a long time for me, too, Zoe girl. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”

I kept my hands firmly on my cell phone and my eyes on the traffic going out of Columbia. “I think you’re probably thinking about it because you are ready, Uncle Saul.”

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

Atlanta was about four hours away, and it was supposed to be the turning point for the race. It would also be the toughest venue with more challenges, more prizes—and more than one food truck getting kicked out of the competition.

I hoped my team could keep it together. Once we got past Atlanta, it would be downhill. We’d go on to Birmingham, and end up in Mobile on Friday for the grand finale.

I really wanted the fifty thousand dollars. I could upgrade my diner with that money and only use the food truck for special occasions. It would be awesome.

“I’m willing to do my part,” Uncle Saul conceded. “I can always hit Ollie with a biscuit if he and Delia get too annoying. We’ll be okay for a few days.”

“Let’s focus on that. We need different sweet and savory fillings for the biscuit bowls in Atlanta. Stews and the usual hot foods aren’t going to work in this weather. I’m thinking about chicken salad. You know, you used to make that chicken salad with the pistachios in it? Maybe we could do that.”

He laughed and slapped his knee. “That was forever ago. But I remember. I made that special honey balsamic dressing for it.”

“That’s right. You tell me what you need, and I’ll start working on a list for Miguel as we’re driving. I want to be on top of this.”

He laughed. “I’ll work on the list. You’re driving.” He took out my cell phone. “How do I get this thing to make a list?”

“You might do better with a pen and paper! There should be some in the glove box.”

He took out a pen and found some paper. “You know, I saw you and Miguel outside this morning. Looks like the two of you are having a few problems.”

I dictated the supply list while Uncle Saul wrote what I said and added his own supplies.

It was a long trip to Atlanta. We stopped for lunch right off the highway. The restaurant was busy, but it was clean and the food was decent.

Delia flirted with Ollie while we ate. The two of them were acting like lovebirds, just as Uncle Saul had dreaded. It didn’t surprise me, and it didn’t bother me. I hoped he’d be okay with it, too. I thought he might be a tiny bit jealous since the object of his affections was back home.

I was worried about the honey balsamic dressing for the chicken salad. The ingredients that Uncle Saul had given Miguel didn’t seem right. I was afraid he wasn’t thinking about chicken salad when he wrote the list. It would be hard to get supplies at four A.M. the next morning if Miguel didn’t get everything today.

“Are you sure this is right?” I asked him again.

We were at the restaurant, getting ready to go.

He glared at Ollie and Delia who were laughing at something, their heads together. “It’s right, Zoe. Don’t worry about it.”

I checked the list again before I gave it to Miguel. I wanted to take a look at everything for the next day. Uncle Saul and I left Miguel, Delia, and Ollie as they were getting into the Mercedes. We weren’t back on the highway for more than a few minutes, with Uncle Saul at the wheel, when he began slowing down.

“What’s wrong?” Please don’t let something be wrong with the engine.

“I think that’s Dante Eldridge out there on the road. Where’s his food truck?”

FOURTEEN

“I was hijacked,” Dante said when we had pulled to the side of the road. “I stopped for gas, and someone hit me in the head and took my truck. I got a knot the size of a golf ball and a headache bigger than my truck. I’m gonna kill whoever did this.”

In the meantime, he needed a ride. His cell phone was in Stick It Here, too. I let him borrow mine to call the police. He got in the car with Miguel, Delia, and Ollie. The plan was to get him to the next exit where he could wait for the police. It wouldn’t do him any good to go on to Atlanta without his truck.

We were already in Georgia, with another hour or so to go until we reached the city. Uncle Saul and I got back in the Biscuit Bowl.

But Crème Brûlée was crying and unhappy. Before we could leave, I had to put on his harness and let him out in the grass on the side of the road.

“You should’ve left that cat at home, Zoe,” my uncle commented as trucks and cars streamed by us.

“I couldn’t. I took him to Mom’s house and he didn’t want to stay. You know Dad won’t keep him.”

“Probably just as well, unless you want the poor creature to starve to death.” Uncle Saul watched Crème Brûlée, who was closely studying a dead moth in the grass. “On second thought, you’d have to skip feeding him for more than a week for that to happen. How’d that cat get so big?”

“He’s got very large bones. And his breed can be quite large.” I held up one of Crème Brûlée’s paws. “See the size of that?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Like a lion.”

He was making fun of my cat! I scooped Crème Brûlée up after he’d finished his business and carried him back to the food truck. He didn’t like being lifted. He kept slapping at me and howling until he was back in his bed again.

“He’s got a real attitude problem, too.”

“Don’t talk about him. He’s right here between us. It hurts his feelings.”

“You are too soft, Zoe girl. Your heart must be made out of marshmallow. I hope it doesn’t get burned one day.”

I didn’t comment on that. Ollie called to make sure nothing was wrong. They were already at the next exit waiting for us. I explained that my cat had needed a pit stop. Uncle Saul started the Biscuit Bowl, and we headed toward the exit.

“This race is getting risky,” Uncle Saul said. “Vandalism. Hijacking. Murder. I’ve never seen the like. What are people thinking? Fifty thousand dollars isn’t gonna make that big a difference in anyone’s life. Well, it’s really more like twenty-five thousand after taxes.”

“It’s a lot of money, however you look at it,” I replied. “And there’s the prestige. This is going to be broadcast all over the country. People are going to see the Biscuit Bowl in California and New York. All of us will be famous—but not as famous as whoever wins the race.”

He patted my hand, reaching over Crème Brûlée between us. Of course my cat had to swat at him a few times.

“Hey!” Uncle Saul yelled at him. “Don’t worry, Zoe. I’ll do what I can to help you win.”

“Thanks.”

I thought about Dante. He’d been alone in his food truck, like Reggie. I hoped there were enough of us to keep our truck from being hijacked.

“What would someone want with Stick It Here anyway?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The whole thing is crazy.”

We went off at the exit and found the others at a more heavily traveled gas station close to the road. It was a surprise to see the highway patrol already there and talking to Dante. I decided we should wait until they were finished. The chances were the police wouldn’t find the food truck right away. Dante was going to need a ride to Atlanta.

“It’s easy to spot,” Dante explained to the officers. “There are sticks coming up out of the top with big, fake pieces of meat on them. The truck is white and has a lot of writing on it. You can’t miss it.”

One of the officers glanced at the biscuit on top of my food truck and nodded. “I get it. One of those food truck people. They told us you’d be coming from Columbia this way.”

“That’s right,” Dante agreed. “Can someone call me if you find it out here?”

The officer handed him a business card. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

There was nothing else to do but head for Atlanta. I felt so sorry for Dante even though we were competitors. He was doing so well in the race. It had to be hard to want it so badly only to have someone snatch the victory away.

Not to mention that Dante made his living with his food truck in his hometown, Jackson, Mississippi. Even if he had insurance, which many vendors didn’t, it might be months before he could work again.

Putting that behind us, Uncle Saul and I talked about sweet fillings for tomorrow’s biscuit bowls all the way to the hotel in Atlanta. We decided to make strawberry filling, if we could find some fresh strawberries. We could drizzle white icing over the top of each one. Yum!

Atlanta was so much bigger than Charlotte and Columbia—bigger than Mobile, too. It was like the tall buildings were mountains surrounding us. I wished I had time to wander around the shops and look at kitchen gadgets, but I knew that wouldn’t happen during this trip. Maybe next time.

Traffic was terrible. We were stuck trying to get into the city for an hour. When we finally arrived at the hotel, the sponsors of the race had sent security people to watch the food trucks. No one wanted a repeat of what had happened in Columbia. It was bad press for all of us.

The hotel was nice, and right in the heart of the city. After checking in, Delia and I found out we were sharing a room again. Neither one of us cared.

“I’m going up to take a shower, Zoe,” she said with a yawn and a stretch of her lithe body. “I’ll see you later.”

Dante went to find someone from the race to report what had happened. He was very generous with his thanks for picking him up. He offered us free kebabs when they finally found his food truck.

Miguel took the supply list from me and went to see if he could find everything on it. “What if I can’t find fresh strawberries?”

“Blueberries would do in a pinch,” I told him. “Thanks for doing this.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

I really wanted him to kiss me good-bye, but Ollie and Uncle Saul were leering at us. He walked away with the list. I knew there was going to be a lot of ribbing about our budding romance. I could take it. I hoped Miguel could, too.

Ollie, Uncle Saul, and I went to find one of the security guards for the race after that. We talked to him about the extra security they were supposed to give us. The head of the security group was a little vague. He acted as if he couldn’t believe we were questioning him.

“We’ve already been apprised of what happened in Columbia, Miss Chase. We won’t let anything like that happen here.”

We left him setting up his workers around the parking lot. Most of them were yawning and inattentive.

“Anyone have the feeling they aren’t that interested?” Uncle Saul asked.

“I’ll camp out in the Biscuit Bowl,” Ollie volunteered. “No one is gonna cut anything while I’m there.”

“Thanks for offering, but I don’t want you to sleep down here.” I glanced around. The food trucks were all in an underground parking deck again. “The fumes from the cars and trucks could kill you.”

“I’ve been in tougher situations, Zoe. I can handle it.”

“No. That’s why they have security. It will be okay. I’d rather have them steal the Biscuit Bowl than have you hurt, Ollie.”

“Really?” He stared at me as though he found that hard to believe.

“Really.” I kissed his cheek. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He shrugged, and we went for the elevator.

Uncle Saul and Ollie went to locate the room they were sharing. I went to have a margarita in the bar by myself, hoping to have a few moments to organize my thoughts.

I wasn’t on the stool five minutes before Detectives Helms and Marsh joined me. My margarita showed up a few minutes later.

“We heard about the hijacking.” Helms ordered a club soda.

“Let’s move this to a booth.” Without warning, Marsh picked up my margarita and walked over to a secluded booth.

“Hey!” I followed as quickly as possible considering my legs still felt stiff from roller-skating that morning and my knee was beginning to throb again. “Are you two allowed to work in Atlanta, too? Don’t you have to get some kind of special permission?”

We sat down together. Marsh ordered coffee.

“We have special permission, Zoe,” Helms told me.

“What can you tell us about the hijacking?” Marsh quickly scanned the bar.

“Not much. Dante was attacked at a gas station. Someone took his food truck. We saw him on the side of the road and gave him a ride. He told the highway patrol, and we came here.”

I sipped my margarita and wished I’d ordered it from room service.

“Something is going on here,” Marsh said.

“I noticed.” Brilliant! “Have you figured out what it is?”

“We still believe Miguel Alexander is involved in all this,” Helms accused. “Someone is working with him.”

I started to protest and tell them why Miguel had twenty-five thousand dollars in his bank account so they would stop being so suspicious of him. But realized that he hadn’t told me, and I hadn’t asked. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know. I could only guess in the meantime. And if they wanted to know, they should ask him.

“I think there’s a lot of money at stake,” Marsh said. “It’s behind the scenes and not all what we’re seeing up front. Have you got any ideas, Zoe?”

I took a big gulp of my drink to try and ease the pain. It was my own fault. I’d agreed to help them. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve got two members of my team who are in love. I have a bad deep fryer that I’m hoping to have replaced by tomorrow morning. That’s about all I can handle right now. If I actually hear or see something important, I’ll let you know.”

“It’s vital that we stay in contact with each other,” Helms said.

Another big gulp finished my delicious margarita. “I understand. But now I need a shower and a nap. You’ll have to excuse me. If anything happens, I have your cell numbers.”

The margarita really helped me get through that. I went back downstairs to get my clothes and Crème Brûlée. Everything seemed fine. There were some food truck vendors cleaning their trucks and a few pulling into the parking lot.

I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, picked up Crème Brûlée, and pulled his blanket over him. I made sure all the doors to the Biscuit Bowl were locked.

I heard the elevator chime and started over to it, but before I could leave the passenger side of the truck, I heard an argument in the RV parked next to mine on the driver’s side.

It was Alex’s RV—again. I couldn’t really understand what the two people were saying. It was something about money and a job someone hadn’t done.

I recognized Alex’s voice. The other voice was too low and raspy. It was probably the same person he’d been talking to on the phone after Reggie was killed.

This couldn’t be good.

I inched around the front of my food truck to see if I could get a glimpse through one of the windows.

What am I doing?

Groaning, and not wanting to be involved, I started back the way I’d come. I stopped short as I heard a shot ring out in the parking deck.