Текст книги "Fry Another Day"

Автор книги: J. J. Cook

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

SEVENTEEN

I understood what they meant. They knew about the twenty-five thousand dollars that had been wired to Miguel’s account. It looked like Tina could have paid Miguel to kill her husband.

“We’re building a case against your friend, Zoe,” Helms added. “I hope you aren’t involved in all this.”

“Where does Reggie’s death fit into it?” I asked.

“We’re not sure yet,” Marsh admitted. “Maybe he was the first hit man Tina Gerard paid to kill her husband.”

“Meaning Miguel was the next?”

“Well, well.” Miguel finally made it back. “A man can’t leave his date anymore without someone else stepping in. Do you mind?”

The two detectives pushed out of the booth. Miguel sat down and took a sip of his drink.

“We’ll be talking to you, Zoe,” Helms said. “Good night. Be careful.”

When they were gone, Miguel asked, “What did they want this time?”

“The usual.” I studied his face. “They know it was Tina who sent you that money from the Caymans. They think you killed Reggie, too.”

“Why would I kill Reggie?”

“Because he wasn’t doing his job as the first hit man Tina hired to kill Alex. So she hired you.”

“Nice to know where I stand. No wonder my ears were burning.”

“The police have been keeping an eye on you and Tina. They think you’re working together.”

“That’s okay. I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill Alex, Detective McSwain, or Reggie Johnson. I’ll be glad to share my alibi with them if they’d like to question me. Instead they keep skulking around talking to you!”

“I’m sure they’re waiting for enough information to arrest you. Are you sure your friend Tina has your back? If the police are talking to her next, that could be what they need.”

“I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed. “This is a new one for me. I’ve never been under suspicion of murder for hire. Looking at it logically, I suppose I can see how they’re putting it together.”

I covered his hand with mine on the table. “Let’s not look at it logically anymore. Let’s pretend Tina is setting you up to take the fall for Alex’s murder.”

“Sorry. Absolutely not. Why would she do that?”

“Because she was going to lose everything. Now she’ll get everything, whatever that is. Maybe she didn’t need you as a lawyer but as a fall guy.”

“I think Alex was wealthy,” he admitted. “Tina told me she’d given up her legal practice years ago to raise their daughter.”

“That makes it even worse.” I yawned. “People will do even more for their kids than they will for money.”

“That doesn’t mean Tina killed him.”

“No. It doesn’t. But I’m more worried about you taking the fall for Alex’s death than I am Tina. She sent you that money before the race and then conveniently met you along the race route. That sounds kind of suspicious to me.”

“I hope neither one of us is guilty of killing anyone.” He squeezed my hand. “You need to go to bed. You’ve been up for a long time, besides the skating and singing. Don’t worry about the police. They think they have something, but it’s all smoke and mirrors. We’ll work this out.”

He walked me to my room. We saw Delia laughing and going into the bar with Ollie.

“Poor Ollie,” Miguel said. “I think he’s in for a wild ride with Delia.”

I slipped my key card into the room lock and the light turned green. “Maybe it will be just what he needs to get him out of his rut. But they may have to dial it down a bit until we get through the race. We have enough problems without the two of them going at it in the back of the Biscuit Bowl.”

Miguel lightly kissed me. “Good night, Zoe. I’ll see you at four.”

I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a more satisfying kiss. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the police have you.”

He laughed. “Better put on your Superwoman cape if you’re going to keep me out of trouble.”

“I can do that.” I smiled and wished him a good night.

I locked the door behind me and didn’t bother switching on the light. With the curtains open, the lights from around the hotel were enough to cast a dim glow through the room.

I looked out at the city of Atlanta spread around us. Tomorrow was sure to be a daunting day even without the police harassing me about Miguel. I hoped there were lots of people out there who got up early—with change in their pockets. I hoped they enjoyed eating upside-down biscuits.

And I hope Tina isn’t leading Miguel into more than he, or Superwoman, can handle.

I shed my T-shirt and jeans and set the alarm clock. After getting into bed, I cuddled with Crème Brûlée, who was beginning to need a mani/pedi. My last thought, before sleep overcame me, was that I’d forgotten my cat’s brush at home.

– – – – – – –

The alarm caught me in the middle of a particularly good dream. Miguel and I were at carnival and glitter was falling from the sky. We were the king and queen of Mardi Gras, riding through the streets of Mobile on a beautiful float.

That was over.

This was reality. I was in Atlanta. It was four A.M., and I was going to have to sell upside-down biscuit bowls.

I stumbled in to take a quick shower and wash my hair. There wasn’t time to do anything elaborate with my curls. I scrunched a lot of conditioner through them and put on the scarf to hold them down until I wore Chef Art’s hat.

In the light, I could see that Crème Brûlée was starting to look like a giant fuzz ball. I stroked his tummy as he rolled around on the bed and pretended to want to slap my hand.

“I’m gonna have to ask Miguel to get a brush for you when he gets supplies today. By tomorrow, I won’t even be able to find your face if I don’t. You don’t want to be one of those cats that someone posts on Facebook, do you?”

He didn’t really seem to care. I put him down on the floor in the bathroom and fed him as I got ready to go.

I noticed Uncle Saul had left a text on my phone around midnight. The fryer was in the truck and working. That was good news. I expected him to be out of the race today after such a late night. We’d have to work around his absence.

By the time I got all of my things together, Crème Brûlée had finished his morning rituals. I cleaned and folded his traveling litter box and then put that and his food into my large bag.

“I think we can walk out of here with you out in the open since I could hardly leave you downstairs after a murder.” I put my bags over my shoulder and hefted him in my arms. “Let’s go.”

Delia was just getting up. “What time is it?”

“Time to go,” I whispered. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Okay.”

I met Miguel and Ollie in the elevator going to the parking garage. I told them about Uncle Saul. Miguel volunteered to wait for him at the hotel and join us when he could.

“Don’t worry, Zoe,” Ollie said with a big grin on his face. “We can handle it—me, you, and Delia.”

“You’re in a good mood,” I remarked with a yawn.

“I had a few drinks with Delia last night. It was good.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows at Miguel. “You know. I think it was very good.”

The elevator reached the underground parking lot. We were stopped by two police officers. “We’ll have to escort you to your food truck. Our investigation is still ongoing. The captain doesn’t want you foodies messing things up.”

As long as they weren’t keeping us from reaching the Biscuit Bowl, that was fine with me. An officer escorted us, and even looked around the outside of the food truck to make sure everything was as it should be.

I got a big surprise when I opened the passenger side door. Uncle Saul was asleep in the truck. Crème Brûlée meowed at him as I shook his shoulder.

“Zoe?” He yawned and stared at me through half-closed eyes. “Is it morning already? It looks so dark.”

“It is so dark. We’re in the basement, and it’s not light outside yet.” I smiled at him. “If you’d like to take a shower and change clothes, Miguel will wait for you. I have to get going.”

“No. That’s why I stayed down here. It didn’t make any sense to go up to the room for a few hours. I’m ready when you are. I can shower and change later. You got a minute to look at the new deep fryer?”

“I’ve got about that.” The other food truck drivers were already leaving. I could hear them yelling at one another excitedly as they got started for the day.

We looked in the back. The new fryer was shiny and clean. It wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“I went ahead and added the new oil last night so I could try it out. It seems good. He only charged me half price on it, too. It’s a little different from what you’re used to, but I think it will do the job.”

I crouched down beside the fryer. The oil was so clean and clear. With it being new, it looked like it went on forever.

“Thanks for doing this.” I hugged him. “You could skip working today, you know. Ollie and I can take care of it.”

He looked up and around the small interior. “Where’s Delia?”

“She’s getting herself together. She might be down already.”

We were getting in the Biscuit Bowl and Miguel’s car when Delia came running from the elevator with a police officer by her side.

“Were you all about to leave me?” she asked breathlessly.

“Of course not! Get in. Let’s go!”

“Okay! See you there.”

I started the food truck. The engine kind of clunked. It was running. That was all that mattered. Ollie had made sure everything was tied down in back before he’d left with Delia and Miguel. We were off!

We drove through the not-so-quiet streets of Atlanta toward the heart of downtown. There was actually traffic out at that time of morning. The orange glow of streetlights directed us, and we followed the other food truck drivers.

“I hope our potential customers have a lot of change in their pockets,” I muttered.

“As to that,” Uncle Saul started with a chuckle, “I had an idea.”

He went on to explain that his friend who’d brought the fryer from home was also a vending machine operator. “He had a bagful of change, Zoe. I bought it off him with the rest of the twenty-five hundred you gave me for the deep fryer. I was thinking that we could make change for people who don’t have it.”

I was amazed at the sneaky idea. “I wonder if that will be okay?”

“I already checked with Chef Art. He said there weren’t any rules pertaining to it. I think we got his blessing.”

“You have a devious mind.”

“Thank you. I needed one growing up in the Chase family. All those rules and regulations weren’t for me. Your father liked rules, I think. He still does.”

I laughed at that. He was right. My mother was the same way. That’s why Uncle Saul and I got along so well. That and the curly hair.

I saw the big white lights illuminating the area where the food truck event would take place. One of the assistants told us where to park and pointed out the cool-down tent and stage.

Miguel was right behind us as I pulled the Biscuit Bowl into the parking place designated for it. The space was a little tight, which made me a lot nervous, but I got it in.

We hopped out of the front of the food truck to begin setting up for the day. I waved to Miguel. Ollie, Delia, and I went around back to open the door.

I didn’t see where they came from. It was like one minute, it was all food truck vendors, and the next, Detectives Helms and Marsh were there with what looked like an army of Atlanta’s finest.

As Miguel reached us, the detectives stepped forward.

“Miguel Alexander, we need you to come with us.”

EIGHTEEN

“What’s this about?” Miguel asked.

“We’d like to have a talk with you,” Helms said. “The Atlanta PD has been gracious enough to allow us to continue to pursue our suspects from Charlotte and Columbia. They’re also letting us question you.”

“What are you questioning me about?” He seemed completely at ease.

I wondered if he had a lawyer he called when he needed help.

“We want to discuss the deaths of Reggie Johnson, Detective McSwain, and Alex Pardini. Will you come with us, please?”

Helms’s stern gaze said she was ready for a fight. She also looked like she hadn’t slept. Had she managed to get information from Tina about Miguel?

“Am I under arrest?” Miguel asked.

“No. Not at this time. You’re a person of interest in our investigation,” Marsh snarled. “It would be to your advantage to come with us and answer our questions.”

Miguel’s gaze searched for mine. “I might be gone for a while, Zoe. You should have everything you need.” He gave me his car keys. “If you need the car, take it. I’ll see you later.”

Marsh and Helms walked at the front of the pack. Two officers escorted Miguel until they reached the large group of police cars at the back of the food truck area. I couldn’t see him after they’d reached all the flashing blue lights.

“What’s up with that?” Ollie asked. “What do they want with Miguel?”

“They think he had something to do with what happened to those people.” Uncle Saul shook his head. “Any ideas why, Zoe?”

I glanced at my watch. As much as I wanted to go with Miguel, I knew I wouldn’t be able to help him—at least not then. I pocketed his keys and hoped for the best.

“We’ll have to talk about it while we work if we want to stay in the race,” I reminded them. “These upside-down biscuit bowls aren’t going to make themselves.”

– – – – – – –

I brought my team up to speed on what was happening with Miguel as we made biscuits, chicken salad with pistachios, and fresh strawberry filling.

Space was definitely at a premium in the kitchen area of the Biscuit Bowl. We had to make do with what we had, and walk all over one another’s feet to do it.

Uncle Saul chopped up the ingredients for the chicken salad. It was his recipe. He had Delia helping him, making sure the chicken was cut up into tiny shreds. I made the biscuit dough, and Ollie baked tray after tray of biscuits in the tiny oven. I worked on the strawberry filling between trays of biscuits.

“This was bound to be about a woman,” Ollie quoted with deep insight and a wicked grin at Delia.

“I don’t think Miguel is involved with this woman other than being friends.” Delia smiled, reassuring me with her gaze as she said it.

“That doesn’t mean she can’t mess him up anyway,” Uncle Saul said. “I don’t like it. I can tell you that. Here we are, away from home. Who’s gonna help him out of this scrape?”

There was a knock on the back door. It was one of the producer’s assistants telling us that we needed to go to the stage.

Except for frying up the biscuit bowls, we were ready.

Chef Art joined us, taking my arm as we walked across the street to see what was going on. “What’s this I hear about the police arresting Miguel?”

“Not arresting,” I replied tersely. “They’re only questioning him.”

“Still,” he mused, “it won’t look good for something like this to get around.”

“He’s not guilty of doing anything wrong—except maybe trusting an old friend he shouldn’t have trusted.”

He patted my hand as he drew it through the crook of his arm. He smelled like lilac water and bacon. “All I’m saying is that appearances are everything. The media hasn’t said anything about this yet. They’re still too busy talking about the murders, and asking if there’s a curse on the food truck race.”

I laughed as we approached the stage, where Patrick Ferris was getting his hair and sound checked. “Well, there you go. I think our reputation is safe.”

“Unless you win the race, Zoe. Then they’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks for having a killer on your team.”

I stepped away from him and stared hard at his friendly, famous face. “I’m not abandoning Miguel. I also have a homeless man, a waitress, and a man who lives with alligators in the swamp on my team. There will always be something if you want to find it.”

He shrugged and peered up at the stage as he leaned on his cane.

“Do you want to withdraw your sponsorship?” I asked.

“No.” He glanced back at me. “I still think you can win this. What happens to Miguel won’t hurt me. It could make or break what happens for you from all of this. Will you be famous, or infamous?”

Our conversation was cut off by Patrick finally finishing his sound check. The cameras were on, and the producers’ assistants urged all of us to applaud and cheer.

“Good morning, foodies!” Patrick’s welcome was as bright and cheerful as if we weren’t all standing in the middle of a dark street while most people were asleep. “Welcome to Hotlanta, and our third day of the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race. Just to remind everyone of our standings, can we have the big board out here?”

There was some problem finding the big board. Apparently no one had planned on using it first thing and it had been left in one of the production trucks. It took a few minutes to locate and set it up. The computer tech who’d programmed it was still asleep. He came running out of one of the RVs still in his pajamas.

The cameras stopped until the electronic board was set up. They started up again as the board flashed the names of the food trucks that were still left in the race.

Patrick had disappeared for the time that it took to locate the board and set it up. He bounded back on the stage a second before he needed to be on camera.

“So, we still have Our Daily Bread in the lead with points,” he read from the board.

“Points?” Ollie whispered loudly. “Who said anything about points? I thought it was last food truck standing that won.”

“Yeah,” Bobbie Shields echoed him. “What do we get points for?”

The cameras stopped rolling again and the point system was explained again by the producers of the race.

“I don’t like changing the rules halfway through the race,” Antonio from Pizza Papa said.

“The rules are still the same as they were,” I said. “They just didn’t call it points last time. Nothing has really changed.”

Bobbie muttered under her breath, but everyone else seemed to get it. The cameras came back on again, and Patrick took his spot.

“Okay. Our Daily Bread is on top. Biscuit Bowl is number two. Shut Up and Eat is number three. Chooey’s Sooey is number four. Grinch’s Ganache is number five. Pizza Papa is number six.” He applauded and whooped for everyone.

The assistants on the sidelines did their best to try and get some love from the vendors. Everyone was tired, cranky, and on edge—it wasn’t easy getting them to applaud.

Patrick laughed. “I know all of you have your challenges ready for today. Don’t forget that your main menu item has to be served upside down. You have to simultaneously face the second challenge, too. You have to sell one hundred dollars in product, and your customers have to pay in change.”

“We’ve got that,” Daryl from Grinch’s Ganache said. “Is that it?”

“I’m glad you asked. As a matter of fact, we’ve come up with a surprise challenge that will net the winner an additional one thousand dollars.”

Everyone wanted to hear that.

“What do we have to do?” Antonio asked.

“I’m glad you asked!” Patrick pointed and winked. “It’s another taste challenge! The first person to entice a customer to come here and be on camera with a short review of their food wins one thousand dollars. Simple, right? Sound good?”

Everyone in the group said it did. We were all ready to go back and get started.

The assistants started shouting and whooping, encouraging us to do the same. The crowd got louder, and Patrick began applauding. The whole thing looked good—for TV, anyway.

“All right, you crazy foodies! Go out and win those challenges!”

“Good luck, Zoe,” Chef Art said as the morning ritual ended. “I hope you have a plan.”

“I always have a plan. See you after.”

– – – – – – –

We’d decided that Delia would go out and sell the biscuit bowls again this time around. She’d put on her tight white shorts and white stiletto heels with a bright red tank top that left very little to the imagination. She freed her hair from the ponytail and swung it around her shoulders.

“You look awesome,” I whispered. “If you can’t sell upside-down biscuit bowls, no one can.”

She smiled at me. “You underrate yourself, Zoe. You’re younger, prettier, and smarter. I’m sure you’d do as well out there on the street.”

I impulsively hugged her. Her sweet perfume clung to me even after I’d let her go. “Thanks. But I’m better in the kitchen, and I don’t mind a bit.”

Uncle Saul was getting ready for the challenge inside the Biscuit Bowl. Ollie would be taking food to Delia again.

“Okay. I think we’re ready,” I called to Ollie who was also taking the change bag. “Let’s go.”

I stepped outside the Biscuit Bowl as they were leaving. It was still dark even though it was six A.M. There was a chill in the air. Fog swirled along the ground and in the taller building towers. I wished there were a cash prize for selling soggy biscuit bowls.

“Feels like rain.” Uncle Saul sniffed the air as he came out of the kitchen. “I can feel it in my old bones.”

“I wish you could feel what everyone else is doing to get around this challenge.” I watched Bobbie Shields walk by with her pretty daughter and wondered what they had in mind.

I didn’t have to wonder what the other teams were going to do for long. There was a spotlight feature with Daryl and Sarah Barbee from Grinch’s Ganache right outside our food truck. Daryl was clear on his plan.

“So what’s your plan for making it through this challenge?” Patrick Ferris asked them.

“My plan is to sell all of our delicious red velvet cupcakes with real sour cream frosting for a quarter.” Daryl smiled into the camera.

The big cowboy hat was off for once so I could see the rest of his face. He had a big nose and small eyes that looked like raisins in his leathery face.

Patrick laughed. “That’s gonna take a lot of cupcake sales to make a hundred dollars, isn’t it?”

Daryl’s smile quickly turned to a frown. “I suppose so.”

Sarah added, “But this way we don’t have to worry about people having much change in their pockets. It was my idea.”

It was one of the few times I’d heard her speak.

“Well, good luck to you. We’ll see what happens when the challenge is over.”

The lights went off, and the camera shut down. The assistants moved the table, umbrella, and chairs away.

Sarah and Daryl stared at each other as though they weren’t sure about their plan anymore. Daryl grabbed Sarah’s hand and squeezed it.

“That’s what they need to get on camera,” I whispered to Uncle Saul. “That’s the kind of thing that keeps us all going.”

He grinned and hugged me. “Like this?”

“Just like this.”

He agreed. “We better get inside and fry up more of those upside-down biscuit bowls. That chicken salad is to die for. It was solid enough to hold on to the top of the biscuit. The strawberries are a little too juicy.”

“Whatever.” I laughed. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you making the chicken salad and me making the strawberries, would it?”

At that moment, there was a loud roll of thunder. As the rain came pouring down, all the electricity in the Biscuit Bowl went out.

“That’s just great,” I muttered.