Fat Tuesday Fricassee (5 page)

I studied his handsome face. “Are you a member of one of the secret societies?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You were almost the city's district attorney at one time. I know a lot of people in powerful positions are members.” I turned away again to stock napkins. “Not that I'd expect you to tell me if you were.”

Miguel had been framed for evidence tampering when he ran for district attorney. He couldn't prove it, but many people knew it was true. He came from a family with very little money and no connections. But that didn't mean that he wasn't a member of a krewe or society. Not everyone in those organizations was wealthy when they started out.

“I'd tell you.” He stopped and put his hands on my arms. “I wouldn't lie to you, Zoe.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “I didn't find out that my father's family had helped found one of the city's largest secret societies until I was sixteen and Daddy wanted me to be queen of something. He'd kept it from me all those years, and I was his daughter. We both know people like to keep their secrets.”

“I don't have to be a member of anything to know that you could be hurt if you get involved with this. The reporter could have been killed because he planned to expose the Mistics of Time membership. I've lived here all my life. I've heard the stories. I know you have, too.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” I admitted. “But I can't let this poor man's death be swept under the carpet, Miguel. What can it hurt to ask Detective Frolick what he's turned up so far? I don't have to say anything about the reporter being the same man they found in the alley.”

“I don't know if Frolick is a member of the society, but if this is a police cover-up, he's under orders from some wealthy, powerful people to keep the reporter's death quiet. Do you think they're going to let you skip around the city asking questions with no consequences?”

I was beginning to get defensive about his attitude. I'm
sure I wouldn't have said what came out of my mouth next if I hadn't been angry. “My father is King Felix this year. His family was one of the two families that started carnival and the Mistics of Time. I'm pretty sure they aren't going to kill
me
for asking what happened.”

The look on his face was enough to make me want to take my arrogant family pride statement back, but it was too late.

He finished stocking his side of the kitchen in the Biscuit Bowl and swept a bow in my general direction. “If that's all, milady, I should run and fetch whatever else you need.”

Ollie came in at that point, not understanding the hurt sarcasm Miguel was throwing my way. “Too early for the Renaissance festival,” he said with a grin. “But I love those things. Maybe we can all go together this fall.”

Miguel left the kitchen without another word. I was about to run after him when the health inspector showed up. I couldn't believe my luck—it was Mr. Carruthers, which I thought was kind of creepy. Was he following me or did they assign him to me because he inspected the diner?

“Get Crème Brûlée out of the front,” I whispered to Ollie. “Hurry, please.”

Mr. Carruthers smiled when he saw me. “Miss Chase. I hope you found another place to keep your cat. He won't be allowed here, either.”

“I took him to stay with my mother for a while.”

It was a desperate lie. My mother wouldn't have kept my cat unless it was a matter of life or death. She definitely wouldn't have helped out to keep my business going. She hated the idea that I had my own business and that I wanted to cook for a living.

Mr. Carruthers didn't have to know that.

“Good.” He nodded. “They brought in all the health inspectors from across the city for the food truck rally. It was my good fortune to draw your food truck.”

“I'm sure you won't find anything wrong in my kitchen.”
I hope.
“What can I do to help?”

“Leave.” He surveyed the tiny kitchen area. “It's too small in here for more than one person.”

I didn't mention that there were normally three of us working back there. I knew the regulations on that were
vague. I didn't want to stir up any more trouble. “Sure. I'll wait outside.”

I saw Ollie walking toward Miguel's car on the street and followed him. He was stashing Crème Brûlée in the Mercedes as I reached them. Miguel had locked all the doors but left the windows open about an inch. He could've left them open more—it would take half the window for my cat to climb out.

“Is the inspector done?” Ollie asked.

“No. He asked me to leave. Thanks for rescuing Crème Brûlée. Mr. Carruthers already has a black mark against me, I thought I should play it safe. I think he may just not like cats.”

“Mr. Carruthers is here, too?” Miguel asked. “That seems odd, doesn't it?”

“Yes. He said they needed all the city health inspectors. It's probably not odd, though. I figure he saw my name on the list and wanted to keep tormenting me.”

I smiled at him and moved closer to where he was leaning against the car. I didn't want us to fight about the dead reporter, or anything else. I knew he was worried about me. Maybe he was right about not asking questions. I wasn't sure. But I couldn't forget finding that dead man in the garden, either, and it didn't feel right.

“And you decided to play it safe?” He raised his eyebrows. “At least with the health inspector, anyway.”

“I'm sensing some hostility here,” Ollie said. “Are you two fighting?”

“No,” Miguel and I both said at the same time.

“That's what I thought. I think I'll skip lunch after all. I'm not hungry enough to sit through you arguing. It's bad for the digestion.” Ollie saluted and walked away whistling.

“Let me check into this thing with the reporter,” Miguel
persuaded. “I know some people who know some other people. I could ask about the health inspector without anyone knowing who I am. At least let me try that before your name gets mixed up with it.”

“But what if something happens to you because you were trying to protect me? I couldn't live with myself.”

Miguel had a bad past. As he was running for district attorney, his wife and baby had been killed in a wreck. He'd been driving. The verdict had been mechanical failure. But he and I both knew it could have been something more, since he'd also been framed on the fake evidence charge. He understood how dirty the underbelly of the beast could be.

His name had been cleared, but not until the election was over, and he'd lost. At that point, he lost his job, too. I didn't want to think what it had been like for him. No wonder he was more cautious than me.

He put his arms around me and held me close. “I have a good bunch of informants who will do almost anything for a hundred dollars. Let me see what I can do, Zoe. Please.”

I hugged him back. “All right. But please be careful. I'm sorry I said those things about my family. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I understand.” He kissed me. “Don't worry. I have tough skin.”

“It's just that I can imagine how terrible it is for the reporter's family, you know? They deserve the truth.”

“And they might be getting the truth, but that doesn't mean the news media is entitled to it. The police could have a good reason for keeping everything quiet from the general public. It could be part of their investigation.”

“I know. I hope you're right. Thanks for understanding.”

“Always.”

“I think the health inspector is looking for you.” One of
the other food truck drivers tapped me on the shoulder and then pointed toward the Biscuit Bowl.

“This should only take a minute. I'll be right back.” I thanked the other driver and smiled at Miguel.

I walked back to the Biscuit Bowl. Mr. Carruthers was waiting impatiently for me, tapping his pencil on his clipboard.

“I see a recent inspection was done on this food truck, but apparently either your refrigerator has gone bad since then or the inspector wasn't thorough enough.”

“What do you mean? The refrigerator is fine. I replaced it with a brand-new one recently.”

“It was one tenth of a degree too warm. You can try turning the temperature down to see if that works, but another inspector will have to come take a look at it before you open for business.”

Seriously? One tenth of a degree?
“What if I turn the thermometer down and you check on it again in a few minutes?” This was ridiculous. What did he have against me?

“Look around you, Miss Chase. There are a lot of food trucks here. I don't have time to hold your hand through an inspection.” He handed me his written decision not to pass my kitchen.

I wanted to throw it at him.

I went inside and turned down the temperature on the mini-fridge. If I couldn't get Mr. Carruthers to come back and take a look in a few minutes, I'd ask another inspector. I just replaced my old refrigerator. I wasn't buying another one because the inspector didn't like me.

Miguel was willing to wait for lunch while I waited for my mini-fridge to cool down. We sat in the car so Crème Brûlée wouldn't be alone. He was on the floor in the backseat making pitiful meowing noises. He wasn't a fan of cars.

“While I was waiting, I called a friend who works for the
Mobile Times
. He said he hadn't heard anything different than the story we heard on the news—nothing about Jordan Philips being found in a garden Friday night. He said the newspaper will go after the story on what happened with a vengeance. Jordan was the son of the owner. He said he'd get back to me if he hears anything different.”

“That was smart,” I complimented. “It might have been better than approaching Detective Frolick about it.”

“Thanks. I can be sneaky if I need to be.”

“Not really a good thing to tell your girlfriend.” I grinned and kissed him. “I might not trust you anymore if you're sneaky.”

“I do what I have to, Zoe.” He shrugged. “But I'm never sneaky with you.”

“What about what you said about the media? Would Jordan's family know the truth even if they are the media?”

He kissed the frown that had formed between my eyes. “Give it some time. Let's see what the police turn up.”

“Okay—for now.”

We kissed for a few minutes. My eye was on the clock in the car. I didn't want to wait longer than necessary to check on the mini-fridge. Despite what Mr. Carruthers had said, I'd been through a few health inspections. I knew they didn't take that long, but once the inspectors had gone, it could be hard to get someone else to look at it.

“It's been fifteen minutes,” I finally told Miguel. “I have to see if the temperature has gone down. If not, that refrigerator is still under warrantee. I'll take it back and get another one.”

He smiled. “You're such a romantic, Zoe.”

“Sorry.” I blushed when I realized that I had been watching the clock as we'd been kissing.

“I'll go with you.”

“I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here with Crème Brûlée.
He'll be more upset—and louder—if he's alone. Thank you, Miguel.”

He kissed my hand. “My pleasure. But next time I'm disconnecting the clock before I kiss you.”

I laughed at that. I knew he understood my commitment to my business. I felt sure if our positions were reversed that he would've been looking at the clock, too.

I went back to the Biscuit Bowl and found that the mini-fridge was two degrees colder than it had been.
Really!
All Mr. Carruthers would've had to do is wait a minute or two. The temperature had probably been warmer because I was taking things in and out of the fridge.

And one tenth of a degree—please!

I looked around for Mr. Carruthers but couldn't find him anywhere. All the food trucks were in place, making it hard to see anything around them. He might have been inside one of the trucks and I just couldn't see him.

I decided to grab the first person I saw with a clipboard and an ID badge and haul him or her back to my food truck. It would only take a moment to compare Mr. Carruthers's inspection notes to the temperature in the mini-fridge.

I waved to a few other food truck owners who were also my competition, but it was usually friendly competition. We were all trying to make it in this new foodie world. Sometimes it got a little dirty when it came to parking spots and ways to snag customers. But mostly I'd found that everyone was good-natured and wished one another well.

Where are all the inspectors?

I finally saw my regular inspector coming out of the Suzette's Crepes food truck. He was shaking hands with the owner and heading down the stairs.

“Mr. Sullivan!” I waved to him. “Can you come with me for just a minute?” I told him what had happened. He usually did the inspections at the diner and for the Biscuit Bowl.

“Sure, Zoe.” He smiled and glanced at his clipboard. “Let me get through this next inspection and I'll be right over.”

“Why did they replace you at the diner?”

He shrugged. “The city is always worried that inspectors take bribes or get too chummy with the restaurant owners, so they change who we work with from time to time. Don't worry. I don't personally know Roger Carruthers—he's new—but I'm sure he'll be a good inspector. You must've just got off on the wrong foot.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I see your Biscuit Bowl truck from here. I'll be down as soon as I'm finished at Harry's Hot Dogs. We'll take care of this.”

His smile reassured me. I ran to tell Miguel what was happening and then went back to my food truck to wait.

I opened the large door that had been cut out of the back of the Airstream. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw another man dressed as Death lying in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I closed the door as quickly as I could and ran away.