Текст книги "Fry Another Day"

Автор книги: J. J. Cook

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

FIFTEEN

I froze on the spot. Crème Brûlée started kicking at me with his paws. I knew his next protest at being held was going to be howling. I didn’t want to be standing there when that started.

It could be nothing. Just a backfire from one of the trucks. No one’s running toward the RV. Where’s everyone else?

I was afraid to open the truck door and put my cat inside. If someone had fired a shot, I didn’t want him or her to know I was there.

Instead, I opened my duffel bag and set him in there. I laid it down carefully beside the tire. I covered him with his blanket. He probably wouldn’t move. He didn’t like wandering around in strange places.

I crept around to the other side of the truck. There was no visible movement. The door to the side was open. I waited to see if anyone came running out. If someone had shot someone else, I figured they wouldn’t hang around long.

After a few minutes, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to see what had happened. If it was nothing, I needed to know so I could sneak Crème Brûlée up to the room. If something bad had just happened, I needed to know that, too, so I could call the police.

I looked around the parking area, but all the other food truck vendors were gone. I was alone out there—again. I had to stop hanging around in parking decks.

I kept my head low and cautiously crept to the door that was slightly open in the RV. I glanced inside without moving from the top step. “Alex? Are you in here?”

There was no response. I called again. Still nothing.

I went another few steps up the connecting stairs until I was standing in the threshold. “Alex? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

There was still no answer. I wasn’t going inside any farther. It might be nothing, I thought, biting my lip. I didn’t want to cause an uproar over nothing.

Still, there was the argument I’d heard.

I took out my cell phone and tried to dial 911. Of course there was no service. The closest open space that might have service was the big door going out of the parking area.

I turned around to go back down the RV stairs. Someone rushed by me from behind, pushing me out of the way. I dropped my cell phone and let out a small yelp of surprise.

As I tumbled down the remaining stairs to the concrete, I saw a pair of black boots and caught a glimpse of jeans. I wasn’t sure if they belonged to a man or a woman. My head was spinning. I could taste blood in my mouth.

That was it.

I stayed on the concrete for a few minutes, afraid to move. I heard a car pull up and raised my head.

“Zoe?” Miguel was back with supplies. “What are you doing over there?”

– – – – – – –

“Where’s security?” Miguel helped me up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I wiped away the trickle of blood from my cut lip. “Nothing serious.”

He called the hotel and the police.

I told him what had happened and he went right inside Alex’s RV.

I went to make sure Crème Brûlée was all right. I pulled back the blanket.

He was gone. Panic set in. My cat was alone in a parking garage. I wasn’t sure what he’d do.

I started looking under the Biscuit Bowl. There was no sign of him—this from a cat that normally didn’t even like to walk into the next room to eat.

Miguel came to tell me that Alex Pardini was dead. “He was shot in the chest at close range.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? What are you doing, Zoe?”

“I set Crème Brûlée down. He’s gone. He must’ve been terrified by everything going on out here. I have to find him.”

We looked everywhere for him. We were still looking when the police arrived. They asked what we were doing, and I told them. They weren’t much help, but then they had a murder to deal with.

An hour later, I was close to tears. What if I never found Crème Brûlée? What if he’d been hurt and couldn’t come when I called him? He could’ve been hit by a car or someone could have picked him up and I’d never see him again.

Bobbie Shields came over to see what was going on. She offered to help look for my cat, too. “I have a sweet little Manx at home. I would hate to lose him.”

No sooner had she joined us than Uncle Saul and Ollie came downstairs—they’d heard about the shooting.

“Was anyone hurt?” Ollie asked.

I told him about Alex.

He frowned. “I suppose it would be wrong to ask if anyone human was hurt?”

“Shame on you!” Bobbie said. “Alex was good at what he did! And they might call the race off for sure with him gone. Now help Zoe look for her cat.”

A police detective in an expensive black suit finally arrived with the coroner.

“Hey! What are all you people doing out here? This is a crime scene. No one should be in this parking area except authorized personnel. Get out of here or I’ll have to arrest you.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. I’m not a pretty crier. I knew my face was blotchy and unattractive. I didn’t care.

“My cat is missing. He was out here with me right before the shooting. I’m not leaving until I find him.”

“That makes you a witness. You can wait over here by my car. The rest of you have to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we find Zoe’s cat.” Ollie towered over him.

“Me, either.” Bobbie put her hands on her ample hips.

“We find the cat or we’re all staying,” Uncle Saul joined in.

“And I’m not a witness unless I find my cat,” I added. “I didn’t hear anything or see anyone leaving the RV.”

The detective was obviously angry, but we were resolute. He threw himself into helping us find Crème Brûlée. He even assigned two of the police officers to help us.

I was close to the Pizza Papa truck when I heard a loud howl followed by cursing. The back of the pizza truck flew open and Crème Brûlée ran out. His little face was covered in pizza sauce.

“Stay out of here, you little devil!” Antonio Stephanopoulos shook his fist. “You spoiled a whole batch of pizza sauce with your paws.”

I caught my cat and held him to me. Antonio was right. His paws and face—even his tail—were covered in pizza sauce. I looked at him in disbelief. “You came all the way over here and snuck into this truck to steal pizza? Bad, bad cat.”

He meowed and looked at me so pitifully. It was past his usual time for dinner. He was probably starving. I hugged him, forgiving him, before I told everyone that he was okay.

“Is that blood all over him?” The police detective’s eyes sharpened. “Where has he been?”

“No. It’s pizza sauce. He was in the Pizza Papa truck. Crème Brûlée loves pizza. Well, pretty much anything Italian. I’m going to take him upstairs and give him a bath.”

“You have to stay right here,” the detective disagreed. “Let one of your friends take the cat.”

Uncle Saul agreed to take Crème Brûlée to his room. “I’m not saying I’m going to give this monster a bath. I value my hands too much. But he’ll be out of the heat anyway.”

“Thanks.” I wrapped my cat in his blanket. “I’ll be up as soon as I can.”

Ollie went up with Uncle Saul. The police were redirected to question everyone who had been in the parking deck. I told them what I knew, what I’d heard and seen. The detective asked me to wait until he was done looking at the crime scene.

“Here we are again.” Miguel had finished putting away the supplies and was waiting with me. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

I smiled, completely worn-out and soaked with sweat from looking for my cat. Not the most romantic way to feel. “This is how we met. Me, in trouble, waiting in the back of a police car. This might be how our relationship is going to go.”

“I don’t think so. This race has had a run of bad luck. That’s all. Maybe the whole thing was about Alex and now that he’s dead, everything will be fine.”

“Or the whole race will be over since it’s been cursed from the beginning. I don’t know how many things can happen before they call it off.”

“Was there anything else you heard or saw that you didn’t tell the police?”

“No. It was over very quickly. I was scared. Maybe there was something else and I didn’t notice it.”

The detective came to find us and had me repeat what I’d already told him. He handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything else. I know you’re not going to be here past tomorrow. You can still let me know if you think of anything.”

“I will.” I pocketed his card.

Antonio Stephanopoulos was also talking to a police officer. From what I could tell, he’d been in his food truck the whole time. He’d been cooking, wearing his headphones, and hadn’t heard a thing.

Helms and Marsh were by the elevators. They were talking to an Atlanta police officer. It looked like they were trying to explain who they were and why they were there.

Miguel and I left the parking area, along with about eight of the other food truck team members. I passed Helms and Marsh getting into the elevator. True to their word, they didn’t acknowledge me at all.

“How much more can happen in this race?” Roy Chow asked as the elevator went up. “They wouldn’t even let me make sure my truck was okay.”

Daryl Barbee had tried to get into the garage, too. “You don’t believe all this is real, do you? At the end of the race, Pardini and Johnson will pop out. The whole thing is a big stunt. They do these things to keep people interested. Really, don’t take it so seriously.”

“I didn’t think of it that way,” Miguel murmured as we got off on our floor. “Maybe he’s right. It is part of a TV show.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think they’d pretend to kill people. Maybe they’d take Dante’s food truck and hack up our power cords. That’s possible. They might have wanted to see how resourceful we are. I think pretending someone was murdered would be too far, even for reality TV.”

I knocked on Uncle Saul’s door. He opened it with a towel wrapped around his arm. “That beast is a menace, Zoe. I don’t know why you keep him.”

I noticed he was covered in soap and water and nursing two long scratches on his arm. “I thought you weren’t going to try and wash him.”

“I wasn’t until I saw what a mess he was. I was afraid he’d get pizza sauce all over the furniture. Next time he can clean himself.”

I apologized to my uncle and went downstairs to get bandages and antibiotic ointment for his scratches. I was lucky that the desk clerk had a first-aid kit.

Miguel had headed on to his room while I was gone. He had to pay for a separate room—he didn’t want to stay in the room with Ollie and Uncle Saul. No doubt he was in need of a shower and clean clothes as well.

“I’m so sorry this happened.” I dressed Uncle Saul’s arm. “He doesn’t like baths. He knows better than to scratch me, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“Why don’t you get a cute little puppy?” he suggested. “Even my alligator isn’t as much trouble as that cat.”

“He isn’t all bad.” I picked up Crème Brûlée. He rolled around in my arms and play-slapped at me with his paws. “Anyway, it’s too late. I love him. I think he loves me. It’s hard to tell. Get some rest. They’ll probably make an announcement about the race at dinner, like they usually do.”

“You think the race will go on?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

SIXTEEN

I managed to get Crème Brûlée cleaned up and fed in my hotel room and then took a shower and changed clothes before going down for the race dinner.

Dinner at the hotel was a somber affair. Most of the food truck drivers and their team members wore black—even if it was only black shorts and a black tank top.

Sponsors, and the food network show, had already chosen a replacement for Alex. His name was Patrick Ferris. I’d seen him before. He was Alex’s second-in-command. He looked surprisingly like Alex, blond good looks and all. He sounded a lot like him, too.

“This has been a dark day for all of us involved in the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race.” Patrick’s eyes were glued on a teleprompter. “The loss of our comrade, Alex Pardini, is a terrible blow to all of us.”

Bobbie Shields snorted loudly. Patrick glared at her, cleared his throat, and continued.

“As I was saying, it’s terrible to even contemplate going on with the race, but we all know that’s what Alex would’ve wanted.”

Patrick sounded all choked up and even wiped a tear from his eye. There were a few snickers from the audience but also a few sobs.

Dante Eldridge abruptly stood up. “What am I supposed to do without a food truck? I want to know what happened to my truck. If you all took it to make the show more popular, I want to know.”

“That’s right.” Patrick acknowledged him. “Another of our companions has had his livelihood brutally ripped away from him. Unlike problems we faced in the past, there are no quick cures for Dante’s truck being hijacked.”

“My fist is gonna cure your face if I don’t get my food truck back.” Dante surged past the other tables to the front stage.

Two security men came out of nowhere to stop him. When he saw they each wore a gun, he went back to his table.

“This is getting really interesting now.” Ollie was excited as he rubbed his large hands together.

“Seriously?” Delia said. “Guns and dead people make the race interesting?”

“Like cars crashing makes NASCAR interesting,” he responded.

Delia frowned and shook her head.

“Shh!” Chef Art was eager to hear what was going to happen next.

“We are going to continue the race.” Patrick picked up where he’d left off. “We’ll be going forward with our double challenge tomorrow morning in downtown Hotlanta!”

Despite the loss of Dante’s food truck, and Alex, everyone applauded. Patrick nodded and smiled as did the sponsors of the race who were onstage behind him.

“There we go!” Chef Art grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Too much money invested for everyone to go home without a winner. It would look bad, you know?”

“Was there some question of whether or not it would go on?” I asked him.

He shrugged. “There were one or two sponsors worried about Alex’s death and what folks would think if we pushed on. Most weren’t so wimpy. We started this. We have to finish it.”

As soon as he’d uttered those fateful words, two pretty young women in pretty blue summer dresses brought out the electronic board they’d had in Columbia earlier that day.

“Let’s look at the board as we go forward.”

At Patrick’s signal, the board flashed and lit up. “This morning there were seven food trucks remaining. Please stand up when I call your names. Our Daily Bread. Shut Up and Eat. Chooey’s Sooey. Stick It Here. Grinch’s Ganache. Pizza Papa. And the Biscuit Bowl.”

The owners of those food trucks were standing at their tables. We all looked exhausted and worried.

“We lost one of our trucks to foul play—Dante, please sit down.”

As Patrick said the words, Stick It Here went off the board.

Dante refused to sit down. “You all are crazy. I’m not hanging around waiting for you to make me feel any worse about this. I’m out of here.”

We watched as Dante strode out of the room, and the doors to the big dining room shut behind him.

“Oooh!” Ollie whispered. “The drama.”

“Shh!” I felt like losing Dante was worse than losing Alex. Not to be indelicate, but Dante was one of us. What happened to him could’ve happened to anyone.

The board flashed a few times, and the pretty girls smiled brilliantly.

“So here we are now,” Patrick announced. “Six food trucks left in the race. Two seemingly impossible challenges for tomorrow. Are you ready for it?”

“I might be,” Bobbie said. “If you go ahead and tell us what the challenges are.”

Patrick dramatically ripped open a large envelope. “The first challenge for Atlanta is making, presenting, and selling your signature dishes upside down.”

We all looked at one another.

Daryl Barbee was the first to speak. “Are you saying we have to make, present, and sell our food standing on our heads?”

Patrick laughed. “No! You misunderstood me.”

“Then what are you saying, son?” Reverend Jay Jablonski asked from the front table.

“I’m saying the food has to be served upside down.” Patrick glanced behind himself for support from the sponsors. All of them shrugged and looked away. “For instance, upside-down cupcakes, upside-down pizza, and upside-down biscuit bowls. See?”

Everyone nodded. After a few comments, Roy Chow asked about the second challenge.

“You’re gonna love this one.” Patrick smiled, showing his perfect white teeth against his perfectly tanned face. “You have to sell one hundred dollars of upside-down product, and all of the money you collect has to be in change.”

“Change?” Antonio asked.

“That’s right. Dimes, quarters, nickels, and pennies.”

“What about those gold dollars and fifty-cent pieces?” Reverend Jablonski asked.

Patrick glanced back again. One of the producers nodded.

“Those work, too. No folding money, checks, or credit cards,” Patrick confirmed.

“Most people don’t even carry change anymore,” Bobbie complained.

“That’s why they call it a challenge, right?” Patrick smiled and applauded.

“Is that it?” Ollie asked.

“That’s it,” Patrick responded. “Enjoy your dinner. Get some sleep. We’ll see you at four A.M. tomorrow.”

I did as he suggested and enjoyed some delicious chicken with risotto and a nice glass of red wine. I know you’re supposed to drink white with chicken, but I liked the red better.

Halfway through dinner, Uncle Saul’s phone rang. It was his friend from Mobile with the deep fryer. I started to get up and go with him. He told me to sit down and finish my meal.

“This way, my buddy and I have some private time to talk. We’ll get the fryer in. He’s gonna want to get paid. Want me to take care of it?”

“No. Take the cash.” I grabbed the envelope that held my winnings from Columbia and gave it to him. “Call me if you need my help.”

“Doubtful, but I will if it comes up.”

There was a lot of grumbling and outright complaining as the food truck teams finished dinner and left the large room. Patrick and the producers were long gone. The electronic board and the pretty girls had gone with them.

Chef Art finished his dinner. “I’m going to meet with the other sponsors of the race and see where we stand in all of this. I don’t know if anything has to be changed yet. I’ll let you know. See you all in the morning. Get some sleep, Zoe. You’re looking a mite peaked.”

“Thanks.”

Ollie went off with Delia to get drinks. Uncle Saul went to bed.

“I guess it’s me and you.” Miguel smiled and took my hand. “We could go out and take in some of the local night life if you want.”

“I’m really tired. Maybe a drink and then I’m ready for bed. I know that’s not very exciting. But you already know I’m not a very exciting person.”

“I think you’re pretty exciting. Almost too exciting for me. I lead a boring life in comparison.”

I laughed as we wandered down the long hall with the ugly, brown-flowered carpeting underfoot. We were walking in the general direction of the hotel bar.

I glanced up to reply and saw Miguel’s beautiful female friend in a crowd of people filling the hotel lobby. The sponsors and producers of the race were answering questions from a large media group about Alex’s death. She was right in the middle of it.

It was one thing to have seen this woman in Charlotte the first morning. A little odd to see her in Columbia the next day. Why was she here in Atlanta, too?

Lots of questions occurred to me.

We sat down in the crowded bar. We were lucky to get a secluded booth from a couple that was leaving. Miguel ordered a whiskey sour and I got my usual margarita.

“I know this isn’t any of my business, but did you agree to come with me for the race so you could meet your friend here and in Charlotte and Columbia?” I smiled to take the edge off the question.

“I had already agreed to come with you when Tina called about meeting her somewhere to talk. She said she was going to be in Columbia, and that worked for me.”

Our drinks arrived, and I pushed the subject a step further. “Does Tina know about the race?”

He shrugged. “Yes. Alex Pardini was her husband.”

“What?”

After dropping that bombshell, Miguel leaned closer to me. “I told you about her husband trying to take everything away from her.”

“I guess she doesn’t have that problem now.” I thought about those black boots and jeans that I’d seen before I fell down the RV stairs. “That’s a very good motive to kill someone.”

“What I didn’t tell you, Zoe, was that there have been two recent attempts on Tina’s life. Alex may have been killed because of those attempts.”

I had to admit that the phone call I’d overheard in Charlotte could have been about Alex killing his wife or hiring someone to kill her. I was still only guessing from the stilted words I’d heard. “But why have her killed during the race? Wouldn’t someplace private had been better? And why is he dead instead of her?”

“Maybe to provide an alibi for himself. I don’t know. I’m trying to understand it myself.”

“Maybe that’s the part I heard about payment right before Alex was killed. Maybe the killer wanted more money. But why would Alex kill Reggie?”

He shrugged. “To throw everyone off when he killed Tina?”

“I guess that’s possible.”

His phone rang and he stood up. “Excuse me, Zoe.”

It only took a minute for Detectives Helms and Marsh to spot me alone at the booth and move in. They weren’t exactly the faces I wanted to see across from me.

“How was the dinner?” Helms asked.

“It was pretty good for catered food. I enjoyed it. How was your dinner?”

“We haven’t had dinner yet.” Marsh sounded as though he wasn’t too happy about it, either. “We’ve been in the parking garage with the Atlanta police investigating another murder involved with this race.”

“Are they shutting the race down now?” Helms asked.

“No. Not at all.” I sighed. “There were a lot of good words about Alex Pardini and that he’d want the race to continue. We’ll be up and running again tomorrow at four A.M.”

“What about the sponsors?” Marsh wondered. “Aren’t they worried about bad publicity from being involved with the race?”

“I don’t think most of them are all that worried. I know Chef Art wasn’t.”

“What about Pardini’s death?” Marsh leaned forward after pushing Miguel’s drink out of the way. “Have you remembered anything else that happened before he was killed?”

“No. I told the police what I heard and saw. It wasn’t much.”

“Zoe, were the boots you saw men’s or women’s?” Helms questioned.

“I’m not sure. I only caught a glimpse of them.”

“If you think of anything else—” Marsh began.

“I have your cell phone numbers. I’ll call.” I wanted information from them, too. “Do you still think Miguel is involved with this?”

“We have some information about a woman he was seen with in Columbia.” Helms looked at her notebook. “Tina Gerard. Ever hear of her?”

I was going to pass on that. I wanted their information, not the other way around.

“No. Who is she?”

“She’s Alex Pardini’s wife. We know she called Miguel in Mobile before the race started. She and Pardini have been going through a really nasty divorce. The way it looked, she wasn’t going to get anything. Then she hired Miguel.”

Marsh’s gaze was intense. “Now, with Pardini dead, that changes everything.”