Fry Another Day (18 page)

“I haven't really talked to Alex in so long, I wouldn't know, Zoe.”

“What about your daughter?” We walked into the elevator. “Is she somewhere safe?”

Tina nodded. “She's with my mother. I don't think anyone will bother them in Tampa.”

“Good thinking.”

I had to ask for Miguel's room number. Tina hid behind some plants near the elevators while I did. With so many police hanging around with the race, they could pick her up for questioning at any time.

I thought about what Delia had said about Tina on the way to Birmingham. I felt almost as sure as she did that Tina was setting Miguel up. I also thought it would be good to keep her close so we could watch her.

Miguel was surprised and pleased to see her when we knocked on his door. He ushered us in quickly and glanced up and down the hall before he closed and locked the door.

“She was hiding in the Biscuit Bowl.” I sat in a nice soft chair.

He hugged her and smiled. “I'm glad you got out of Atlanta. This gives us a chance to talk. The police are going to want to question you again about our relationship. They think you paid me to kill Alex.”

Tina started crying softly. Miguel gave her some tissues and sat down.

“I thought I should keep an eye on Alex. That's why I decided to follow the food truck race. He didn't know I was there.” She sniffled and blew her nose very daintily. “I was afraid he might try one of his stupid stunts. That's why I sent Rosie, our daughter, down to stay with my mother. To protect her. Everything was a scheme with Alex. I didn't want Rosie to be part of whatever he was planning.”

Miguel got her a bottle of water. He smiled at me. “Can I get you something, Zoe? We can order from room service.”

“No. I'm fine.” I yawned. “Just tired and ready to beat Our Daily Bread. I want to go home with fifty thousand dollars.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He turned back to Tina, and I thought about leaving. They didn't really need me there to discuss what had happened—not more than I needed a nap anyway.

Miguel told her what the police thought had happened to Alex. “They think you wanted him dead to end the divorce problems and to get custody of Rosie. They think you hired me to do it.”

Tina laughed in a bitter, non-amused way. “That's rich. Like Alex
ever
wanted Rosie. That was only to hurt me.”

“Even that sounds like a possible motive to kill him,” I added.

“I can't talk to them again, Miguel.” She repeated what she'd said outside to me. The only difference was that she sounded a little more pathetic—and sexy. “I just
can't
. This is too much for me. I can't take anymore.”

She cried. He put his arms around her. I tried to remember that they were only friends and that I wasn't jealous. At least not much.

I got to my feet. “You know, I think I'm going to go to my room. I'm surprised Crème Brûlée has stayed in the tote all this time. He needs to eat and I need to sleep. I'll see you two later. Miguel, we're working on the shopping list. If you can't do it, just let me know.”

“I'll take care of it. Just send me the list.” He looked up at me over Tina's head. “I'm sorry about this, Zoe. I'll see you at dinner.”

“Sure.” I picked up the tote and held it carefully in my arms. The weight seemed to distribute better that way and made my cat easier to carry.

I opened the door and surprised Detective Marsh, who was standing there with his hand up, ready to knock.

There was no time to warn Miguel and Tina. Helms was right behind Marsh as they barged into the hotel room.

“Doesn't that make a cozy picture?” Marsh asked his partner.

Helms smiled. “It surely does. I wonder if they were doing a lot of this the day they decided to kill Alex Pardini.”

Miguel and Tina sprang apart. He looked guilty. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

“What do you want now?” Miguel demanded. “You can't prove we did anything wrong. You would be better served looking for the real killer.”

“I think we're better served talking to your
girlfriend
,” Marsh said. “I can't believe you'd lead poor Zoe on this way. One lady friend wasn't enough for you?”

Miguel glanced at me. I shrugged. As far as I was concerned, Marsh didn't know his head from a hole in the ground. I wasn't taking his word for anything.

“Maybe you should both come to the Birmingham police station with us,” Helms suggested.

“Yeah,” Marsh agreed. “Let's have a little talk, shall we?”

Miguel took a deep, frustrated breath. “Whatever you say, detectives. Come on, Tina. Let's get this over with.”

Marsh led the way to the elevator. I was still standing at the doorway, waiting for Helms to leave the hotel room.

“Could I talk to you for a minute, Zoe?” She glanced at the elevator but didn't leave the room.

I closed the hotel door. Crème Brûlée had begun shifting around uncomfortably in the tote bag. “Sure. I have to get my cat to my room. We can talk there.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Your
cat
? You brought your cat with you on the race?”

“Have you ever tried to get a cat sitter on short notice? My mother wouldn't take him. My father was out of town. Ollie, Delia, and my uncle are with me. That pretty much dries up my pool of cat sitters.”

Helms opened the door and said something to Marsh. I wasn't close enough to hear what it was. This was probably part of a divide and conquer kind of thing. She'd find that I was too loyal to Miguel to give anything away.

By the time we reached my room, finally, Crème Brûlée was starting to meow loudly and claw at the bag. I gave my key card to Helms and she opened the door. I held the tote bag down, and Crème Brûlée jumped out with a parting hiss at me.

“Wow. He's a big fella,” Helms said.

“He's a little sensitive about it.” I put the empty tote on the bed and massaged my arm. I loved my cat, but he was hard to carry around. “Every time I take him to the vet, he suggests Crème Brûlée should lose weight. He's not crazy about that idea.”

Helms sat on the edge of the bed as I fed my cat. “I'm surprised they've let him in all of these hotels.”

I glanced up at her. “You're not the cat police, right?”

“No. Not at all. But I
am
looking for a killer, Zoe.”

“I know. What can I do to help?”

“I've thought about what you said to McSwain. Now that we know your friend Reggie's death wasn't an accident, I've been trying to figure out what McSwain said to someone that got him killed.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

She nodded. “The only thing that makes sense to me is that McSwain knew the other person Alex was plotting with. I don't know if that means he was a friend of McSwain's or what. I think that's why the second person had to kill Reggie.”

“And Alex? Surely he wasn't plotting his own death?”

“I don't think so. I know that Tina has a lover—and I don't believe it's Miguel like Marsh does. I think Tina's lover may have killed Alex for her. And he may have killed McSwain because they knew each other.”

Her cell phone buzzed, and she looked at it. “That's Marsh, complaining because he can't find me. He thinks I have to be close by all the time. I hope we get something from Tina that leads us in the right direction.”

She got to her feet, and I saw her to the door.

Helms put her hand on my arm. “I don't trust Tina. Something's not right with that girl. Look out for her.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I closed the door and locked it when she was gone. I talked on the phone with Uncle Saul for a few minutes about our food list for tomorrow and what we were going to do if Miguel couldn't shop.

Uncle Saul told me not to worry about it. “Chef Art and I have that under control. He had his car brought up here from Mobile for tonight. If you trust me, I'll shop and get something amazing for tomorrow.”

I laughed. “Of course I trust you! Thanks for thinking of it. Please thank Chef Art for me, too.”

Crème Brûlée was done eating. He was trying his best to get on the bed. I picked him up and lay down with him, snuggling into his soft fur.

“Between the race and the murders, it's enough to drive a person crazy.”

He softly meowed and bumped his head against mine. We fell asleep that way.

– – – – – – –

My cell phone woke me up about an hour later. It was my mother again, checking on me. She wanted to know all about Alex's death and my involvement.

“When is all this supposed to be over, Zoe?”

“I'm in Birmingham today. I'll be in Mobile tomorrow. One way or another, it will be over Friday.”

“Well that's good news at least.” She started to say something and changed her mind. Instead, she questioned, “What do you mean one way or another?”

“I mean, either I'll win or I'll lose.”

“What about that poor dead man? Bless his soul. He was good-looking, wasn't he?”

“And he wanted to ruin his ex-wife's life.”

“You know, I hear those kinds of things all the time. Sometimes it's not as bad as it sounds.”

I looked at the time. “I have to go, Mom. I'm going to be late for dinner. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Be careful out there. You never know what those other food truck people are thinking.”

I got up and dressed quickly. I'd brought a nice pair of white pants and a matching halter top. It looked good with my summer tan, and even my curls cooperated. I slipped my feet into matching white sandals and was ready to go.

I had to sort out Crème Brûlée before I left. It wasn't easy. He was tired of the whole experience and didn't want to cooperate. I finally coaxed him into drinking some water, and then he rolled over and ignored me.

“You're the one who'll be sorry later when you're lonely,” I promised him.

Ollie, Uncle Saul, and Delia had all called me, wondering where I was. They were already downstairs. I slipped into the large room booked for dinner that night and took my place at the table as though I'd been there the whole time.

“Where have you been?” Uncle Saul asked. “I was afraid they were going to disqualify you. I hope the cameras didn't catch you coming in.”

“I was only a few minutes late. Mom called. You know I had to talk to her. We're close enough that she could've driven up here.”

Patrick Ferris started messing around with the microphone, which meant we were about to get started. Ollie asked me where Miguel was. I started to explain, but Chef Art shushed me.

“Is this thing on?” Patrick asked with a laugh.

There were a few snickers from the greatly reduced group sitting at the big tables.

“Good evening, foodies. It's nice to see some of you still in the race—at least until
tomorrow
. Birmingham is gonna sort out the winners from the losers before we move on to Mobile.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Bobbie Shields said. “Let's get on with it. Where's dinner?”

Patrick kept his million-dollar smile in place. “I think I see dinner coming right now. I'm hungry, too. But first, I'm sure you're all dying to know what's in that pretty package in the middle of your table.”

I hadn't even noticed the package until he'd said something. I had a lot on my mind. I saw the elaborately wrapped package and reached for it—too late. Chef Art grabbed it first.

“Now what do you think is in here?” He pulled at the beautiful lavender-colored ribbon.

“Like he doesn't know,” Ollie muttered.

When the package was unwrapped, he read the card inside, as everyone around us was reading their cards. Waiters began serving the meal. Chef Art finally passed the card to me.

“Now that you've had a chance to see your personal information,” Patrick said, “I'm going to explain what it means.”

My card said:
Do it in the red
. I had no idea what that meant.

“We're gonna get cutthroat here, campers! That personal message you received is your tag for tomorrow's challenge.”

“What kind of tag?” Ollie snatched the card from me.

“What does it say?” Uncle Saul asked.

“What do you mean by
tag
?” Reverend Jablonski asked from his usual table at the front.

“Tag. You'll understand better when we talk about the next part of tomorrow's challenge. Two food trucks are going home tomorrow before we head to Mobile. They won't pass go, and they won't collect fifty thousand dollars. Remember that when you figure out what your tag is all about.”

That brought a round of applause from everyone at the Biscuit Bowl table, Shut Up and Eat, and Grinch's Ganache. I didn't applaud, and neither did the team at Our Daily Bread's table.

“We don't understand, Patrick,” Reverend Jablonski said. “Could you be clearer?”

Patrick laughed a trifle like a bad guy in a B movie. Kind of
bwahaha
. “That's up to you, Our Daily Bread team. No one will force you to use your tag. However, a word of warning: I'm sure the
other
foodies in this room will use theirs. Especially once they hear the challenges for tomorrow.”

I stared at the empty chair next to me where Miguel should've been sitting. I wasn't a bit interested in the dried-up chicken, green beans, and rice on my plate.

It was hard to get into the spirit of the race knowing that the police were questioning Miguel again. I wished there were something I could do to help. Sitting here and playing games wouldn't make any difference. It made me want to give up and go home.

That's not a bit like me, but I hadn't been sleeping well in the hotel rooms, and the stress of being part of this race, let alone a murder investigation, was beginning to take its toll on me.

“What about us, Zoe?” Ollie asked. “What are
we
gonna do?”

“I don't know. I'm thinking about giving up and spending my time helping Miguel stay out of jail instead of worrying about whether or not we're going to get tagged in this race.”

I explained to him that the police had Miguel and Tina, while new girls in bikinis brought out the electronic board again. The cameramen were setting up the lighting. A makeup artist was checking Patrick's face. It all seemed so pointless.

“But that's good news that Helms believes him, right?” Ollie asked.

“I hope so, but she's not the only one involved.”

“Zoe, there's nothing you can do for Miguel,” Chef Art said. “If you quit now, think how that will look for
me
. I have a lot at stake. If you do your best and don't win, that's different. No one likes a quitter.”

“I'm sorry. I can't think how else to help him.”

Delia hugged me. “I completely understand. You have to do what you think is right.”

“Don't listen to her,” Ollie said. “We've been through a lot to get to this point. If you give up, that means we did it for nothing.”

“He's right.” Uncle Saul surprised me by agreeing. “Miguel wouldn't want you to quit, either. He's a smart boy. He knows how to handle this type of situation.”

“Fine.” Chef Art threw down his napkin. “I'll send my lawyer over to help the two of them, Zoe, if you stay in the race. Happy? Will you stay?”

It was a generous offer. Chef Art's lawyer could do a lot more for Miguel than I could hanging around the police station. Even though I knew Chef Art was offering to help for his own purposes, I didn't care.

“Okay. We'll go on. Thank you.”

“Now what about tagging?” Ollie asked me again.