Fry Another Day (9 page)

“You mean has he accused me of trying to get him in trouble?” I ordered a margarita from the passing waiter. “Yes. I assume he talked to you, too.”

His bright blue eyes were worried. I could tell because his left one was all twitchy. “There's a lot of money riding on this thing, Zoe. Don't screw it up. I like you. I really do. I like my money better. Leave Alex alone, and stay away from the police. Let this thing play out.”

“I will.” I thought about Helms and Marsh. They probably weren't too happy with me right now after I'd ignored their summons.

They were supposed to
wait
for my reports on the race, I considered sulkily, not call me every few minutes. How was I supposed to keep our arrangement a secret if we met in the lobby all the time?

Everyone had ordered their drinks and dinner. I was working on my second margarita. It was almost nine when Alex addressed the crowd. I was beginning to think he was born with a microphone in his hand.

“It was a good challenge today, people. Tomorrow will be
even
better.”

“What about the dead guy?” Daryl Barbee yelled out, still wearing his oversized cowboy hat.

“And our money that we lost in the vandalism,” Roy Chow from Chooey's Sooey called out. “My power is still not on in my truck.”

Roy was dressed conservatively in a suit and tie. When he was in his food truck, he and his three-man team wore matching New York Yankees baseball uniforms, down to the cleats on his shoes.

Not sure what that was supposed to mean to his customers, but he
was
from New York.

Alex grinned and took their questions. “We're working as closely as we can with police to find the answers to what happened with Mr. Johnson in Charlotte. You know, Charlotte has a high crime rate, right? I personally think someone tried to rob him. Anyway, we'll find out soon enough.”

“And the power?” Dante, from Stick It Here, asked.

“Dante, your truck and Roy's are the last two still being worked on. I promise they'll be ready for tomorrow.”

Alex made promises like he was running for elected office.

“That won't give us much time to get our supplies ready,” Roy reminded him. “How about you give us a few minutes' head start?”

“Or extra points,” Dante suggested.

“You two are a couple of jokesters, aren't you?” Alex laughed, but I could see him sweating in his nicely cut tuxedo.

Lucky for him, dinner was served before things got any uglier. Not that I blamed Roy and Dante for being upset. A lot of work went into their food each day. The vandalism had caused them extra work with no guarantee that they'd be ready tomorrow when the rest of us were.

There was some good-natured joking between tables about people singing as they sold their food for the next challenge. Everyone was worried about the taste challenge. I thought that was the easy part.

To make the rest of us feel even more insecure about singing in public, Reverend Jablonski and his fellow ministers from the Our Daily Bread food truck got up and performed several hymns for us.

“They sound like the freaking Vienna Boys Choir,” Ollie remarked. “How are we supposed to compete with
that
?”

Chef Art squirmed in his chair. His usual white linen suit seemed to fit a little tighter than normal. “I'd say the singing isn't going to sell biscuits. Zoe doesn't have to be a great singer tomorrow. She needs to show a little cleavage and a lot of leg. The biscuit bowls will do the rest.”

Everyone turned to me.
No pressure.
I sighed and started eating.

I had to resign myself to doing whatever was necessary to win the money. It was
my
food truck, after all, and
my
idea to be here.

The sliced roast beef was dry and the gravy was lumpy. I longed for a good burrito but was too exhausted to go out and find one. It was unfortunate that there was no food truck in the challenge tomorrow with Mexican food.

Delia was working hard to impress Ollie. She was looking at him like he was a chocolate-covered donut.

Maybe that was the part I was missing with Miguel.

Chef Art looked unhappy and impatient. He left before dessert. I went with him. Four
A.M.
would come early, and I was ready for today to be over.

We talked about my menu plans for tomorrow, and he reminded me how important it was to keep the food ideas fresh.

“Everyone is trying to come up with great ideas, sensational eats,” he warned. “I hope you are, too, Zoe. You know how essential that is to the food truck business. Don't pay any attention to Saul on this. He's got his food brain stuck in the 1980s.”

I agreed with him before the elevator chimed as it reached my floor. “I'll see you in the morning, Chef Art.” I borrowed a page from Alex. “You know I'm all about the food.”

“I hope so. Good night, Zoe.” I got out of the elevator. The doors had closed before I saw Helms and Marsh standing in front of my room.

“Zoe, it's important that we talk to you right away.”

I let the two detectives into my room. I should've known they wouldn't leave me alone just because I'd ignored them. I shouldn't have agreed to help them.

Miguel's threats of possible dire consequences for my actions were running around in the back of my mind.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Crème Brûlée hadn't moved from his perch on it since I'd left. Helms took the soft chair and Marsh took the chair by the desk.

“What's wrong?” I was hoping this would be over quickly and I could go to bed.

“We know you have to be up early—so do we, of course—to go out with the food trucks.” Helms smiled at me. She was really a very attractive woman.

“Something has happened that you should be aware of.” Marsh leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “We have a possible suspect in the death of Reggie Johnson. Our person of interest may even be involved with Detective McSwain's death.”

“Who is it?” I was ready for anything.

“We think Miguel Alexander is involved.”

Okay.
“What in the world makes you think that?”

“Mr. Alexander got a sizable deposit in his bank account the day he left Mobile.” Helms stared at me as though I should immediately understand what that meant.

“Are you monitoring
all
our bank accounts?” That shocked me more than the stupid idea that Miguel had anything to do with the deaths in Charlotte.

They exchanged glances.

“We needed to keep track of a
few
accounts, yes,” Helms agreed. “There were some standouts in the group. We aren't keeping track of
yours
, Zoe, if that's what you're worried about.”

Actually, I was more worried about Uncle Saul's bank account, if he had one. My dad always said his brother was into a few shady dealings.

“I'm sure Miguel got paid for a job,” I shot back. “He does a lot of work on credit. I think you should pick another suspect.”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of credit,” Marsh said.

“Have you been to a lawyer lately? That's like two hours of work.” I wished they'd go away. I didn't want to hear any more.

“The money was wired to him from an account in the Caymans,” Helms continued. “That's what raised the red flag for us. We can't tell whose account that was. We'll have more information in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I don't believe Miguel has any ties to the people putting on the food truck race.” I yawned, hoping they'd take the hint. “Why would he kill Reggie?”

“He does have two ties,” Marsh said. “You and Reggie Johnson. We think he may have exploited the tie with you to get involved with the race so he could kill Mr. Johnson.”

“Why is he even
here
, Zoe?” Helms's face was earnest. “Have you asked yourself that question? He's not an official member of your team. He doesn't work for you.”

“I asked him to come. He's an outrider. He gets supplies. Each team is allowed one person with a car for that job.” I didn't want to go into why Miguel was
really
there. That was between him and me.

They both nodded as though that meant something sinister.

“What about Alex?” I demanded. “Have you found out anything about the phone call I overheard?”

“We got his phone records, but that was a dead end.” Marsh shrugged. “There's nothing there we can use.”

“Keep an eye on Miguel,” Helms said. “That's all we're asking.”

“It's for your own good,” Marsh added. “If we're right, and Alexander was paid by someone to disrupt the race, he'll keep trying. He may have killed at least once. If so, he won't hesitate to kill again.”

“And he may have someone working with him, so stay sharp,” Helms said. “We think someone else killed McSwain, but it was definitely part of this whole scheme.”

“That doesn't sound like Miguel,” I insisted. “I think you should find another suspect. I won't spy on him for you. You'll have to find someone else. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed.”

Helms was apologetic. Marsh had more to say on the subject, but I insisted on escorting them both to the door.

When they were gone and the door was locked behind them, I took off my jeans and lay down beside Crème Brûlée in my T-shirt and underwear.

“Can you believe that? They think Miguel killed Reggie and had someone kill Detective McSwain. I suppose he cut the power cords to the food trucks, too. How stupid is that?”

Crème Brûlée rolled on his back and meowed for me to pet his tummy. He slapped at me with his paws.

“Yeah. There
is
the mystery woman. They'd have to be pretty brazen to meet right here at the hotel if they'd killed people, though, right?”

He hissed and rolled over.

“I know. Miguel
is
probably seeing that woman. She was really gorgeous, and she's not his sister. But that doesn't make him a killer.” I sighed. “I'm going to sleep now. Let's handle all this in the morning.”

– – – – – – –

I had terrible dreams about singing and roller skating all night. I was glad when the alarm clock finally rang and it was time to get up.

I tied my skates to each other like I used to when I was a kid. I showered and dressed in jeans and a tank top after tying a scarf over my hair. I put the skates across my shoulder and got everything—except my cat—down to the food truck in one trip.

It made me feel better to see all the other food truck owners in the parking deck getting ready for the day. I'd been a little nervous going down there after being the first one to find the vandalism last night.

I'd thought later that it was lucky for me that whoever was responsible for what was going on had only wanted to cut a few power cords instead of killing someone else. Otherwise, I would've been a likely candidate.

A likely candidate for Miguel to kill?

Stupid thought. Where did that come from?

I shrugged it off as I stowed away my stuff and went back up to get Crème Brûlée. Delia was getting her things together. She hadn't slept in her bed at all last night.

Was she with Ollie all night?

Eww.

My mind needed a cleansing cup of coffee after
that
thought. It was almost as bad as thinking about my parents doing it.

“I'm glad to see you're back,” I burst out to keep from thinking.

She smiled, her eyes dreamy. “Ollie is
quite
a man.”

Double eww.

I grabbed my cat. “I have to get back down to the food truck. I'll see you in a little while.”

So they were together. I was glad for Ollie. I hoped it wouldn't complicate the rest of the race. Not everyone could couple-up and work together.

Crème Brûlée was already snuggling into the truck seat when I left him. A few of the other food truck drivers called out a greeting to me as I opened the back door to the Biscuit Bowl. I was completely thinking about the day ahead—not so much the roller skating or the singing as the food and how everything would go together. It was a normal thought for me each morning as I set out.

“Zoe?”

I jumped and stifled a small scream. It wasn't because Miguel had crept up on me, I told myself. It was because I was tense.

“Sorry.” He smiled. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“That's okay. I'm getting ready to go.”

“Did you get your cat out here already?”

“Yeah. Sure. No problem.”

“Look, about dinner last night—”

I didn't really want to hear it. I hailed Ollie and Uncle Saul when I saw them. I don't know what Miguel thought of that, but I was a little irritated with him. I didn't think he'd killed anyone, but he'd ditched me to go out with the mystery woman.

Was it my imagination or was Ollie a little more
peppy
than usual?

“Let's go sell some biscuit bowls,” he said loudly and then eyed me critically. “Is that your idea of sexing up to sell biscuit bowls while you're singing and skating?”

Of course
everyone
had to turn and examine what I was wearing.

“This is my idea of what I'm going to wear today,” I retorted. “I'm sure we'll do fine.”

Delia joined us. She and Miguel stowed the rest of everyone's gear in the trunk of his car. Nothing else was said about my taste in clothes. I was ready to go out and win the challenge.

I noticed that several of the other teams were smacking hands and doing joint cheers to get themselves going. Maybe we needed to do something like that, too. I thought we'd wait and see how we did that day. Tomorrow we'd be in Atlanta, if we made the cut. If not, there wouldn't be much to cheer about.

Uncle Saul moved Crème Brûlée into the middle of the seat between us. He rode with me in the Biscuit Bowl. Delia and Ollie rode with Miguel.

It was almost like carnival back home, watching all the big, colorful trucks roll out of the underground parking lot. I turned on the spinning biscuit on top of my truck. I might as well give everyone in Columbia a peek at what they were missing because they didn't live in Mobile.

There was very little traffic headed to the downtown area at that time of the morning. It was an eerie feeling. I suspected this was why we were setting up so early. The streets were empty where we were directed to park. It was just like the day before in Charlotte. As soon as the food trucks were in place, everyone began jumping out. The race directors got the cool-down tent in place, next to the stage again. As we were getting everything ready for the challenge, we could hear Alex trying out the microphone.

Chef Art poked his head in the kitchen for a moment. “Don't forget your hats. I don't want you to win the challenge and not have everyone see my hats on TV.”

“We'll do it,” I told him.

“Zoe, why aren't you wearing tight, short shorts? People want to see some skin out there. The tank top is good. Can you pull it down some—show a little cleavage? What are you thinking? Can you change into something a little more
indecent
before the challenge?”

“I could, but I'm not going to. I own the Biscuit Bowl. I can't sing, but I can skate. If I fall, I don't want it to be on bare knees. This is what I'm wearing.”

He shrugged. “Just say you don't want to win. I'll understand.”

I looked back to tell him that the kitchen was crowded enough with four of us back there, but he was already gone.

The biscuit dough was ready. I'd already mixed it up, rolled it out, and cut some biscuits. It had to be baked in muffin trays to make the indentation for the filling. Ollie was putting the first tray into the little oven.

“Alex wants everyone down at the stage in five,” one of his assistants told us.

“You don't need me,” Ollie said. “Go find out what's happening. I'll keep the biscuits baking.”

“I'll stay here, too,” Uncle Saul said. “I'm working on our savory filling—spicy chicken and eggs. I think I'll do better with more space.”

I knew our sweet filling was going to be peaches. I could work on that when I got back. I'd been saving a recipe for spicy peaches that I'd found in January for this moment.

“I guess it's you and me,” I said to Delia. “Let's see what Alex has to say.”

Miguel joined us outside and walked across the street with us. The tall buildings of downtown Columbia were lit up against the dark sky. There was a hint of rain in the air that I hoped would pass. I could probably make it roller-skating down the city sidewalks if they were dry. If they were wet, I wasn't sure.

“Good morning, everyone,” Alex called out. It may have been dark all around us, but the stage where he stood was bright as day. “How are you all this morning?”

He went on to acknowledge the sponsors again. He explained the rules and concept of the food truck race. Everyone was waiting for the reason we were all called together. We stood impatiently, hoping he'd come to the point so we could get back to work.

“I know you're all anxious to hear everything about today's challenge. You all have your packets with the basics. You already know that you'll need one of your team to skate and sing as they try to sell their food to people who are on their way into work this morning.”

We nodded.

Antonio Stephanopoulos from Athens, Georgia, the owner of the Pizza Papa food truck, made a rolling motion with his hands. His thin gray whiskers shook. “Let's get going, eh?”

“I
love
your enthusiasm,” Alex yelled after he asked for applause. “What you don't know about today's challenge is that one of the people you'll be trying to sell your food to this morning has twenty-five hundred dollars in cash for the first person to find him.”

That brought some enthusiasm and a few whistles.

Delia and I looked at each other and grinned, too.