Death on Eat Street (Biscuit Bowl Food Truck)

by J. J. Cook

  “I think you might, Miss Chase. You’ve built up quite a case against yourself. I’m sure the police are grateful for your help.”

  “That’s crazy.” Impossible! I took a deep breath. “What makes you say that?”

  “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay? I know you’re upset, and you aren’t helping yourself by sharing everything you know.”

  We both saw two officers approaching the police car.

  “Don’t say anything else until you ask me first,” Miguel said. “All right?”

  I agreed. I didn’t know what else to do. Tommy Lee was standing in the parking lot with his new girlfriend. My food truck was probably going to be impounded by the police. The whole situation was out of my control. Miguel Alexander at least offered a ray of hope in what seemed like my darkest hour.

  “Officers,” I heard him say to the approaching police as he got out of the car, “Miss Chase has invoked her right to an attorney and will not be answering any further questions.”

  “Alexander,” Officer Schmidt said in a disdainful manner. “What rock did you crawl out from under?”

  “I’ll ignore that remark,” Miguel responded. “My client and I are going to confer privately in the police car.”

  “Whatever,” Officer Gayner said. “I hope you’re better at Legal Aid than you were at being an ADA. This girl looks good for murder one.”

  THREE

  His words squeezed the breath from my lungs. I couldn’t have heard right. Just because they found Taco Terry dead in my food truck, they thought I killed him?

  Miguel got into the car again. “Can you tell me again what happened? Leave out the part about the biscuits and the cat and your boyfriend. Just talk about what led up to you finding the man in the truck. I’m going to record what you say.”

  I looked at the little tape recorder he held between us. Miguel was supposed to defend people who couldn’t afford a lawyer. I probably didn’t have that problem. My personal wealth was limited, but my mother and father would be able to afford help. No matter how angry they were about the food truck, they wouldn’t leave me hanging.

  “I should tell you that my family has money,” I confided to him. “It was nice of Ollie to call you, but I’ll be fine. I don’t want to waste your time. My mother is Anabelle Chase.”

  He whistled softly in the darkness. “I see.”

  Everyone knew my mother.

  “If I’m really accused of killing Terry, she’ll find someone for me. Thank you so much for coming out. I felt really isolated in here.”

  “That’s okay. Where is your mother now?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t want to bother her. She and I are having a few issues right now. Well, we have issues most of the time. She’ll be here for me. Just not right now.”

  “What are you doing here with this old food truck and a dead body? It doesn’t seem like a place Anabelle Chase’s daughter would hang out.”

  I really liked Miguel’s voice. It was soothing. It seemed like he’d have a good singing voice. I wished he could stay and talk to me all night. I felt better with him there. Either he was easy to talk to or I was desperate to talk to someone—I wasn’t sure which.

  It was a little hard to tell exactly what he looked like, besides being thin. His face was angular and he had high cheekbones.

  He seemed like a nice man. Maybe I’d offer to make him dinner sometime for his trouble. It looked like I was single again. Why not?

  I told him about my biscuit bowls, Uncle Saul, and Ollie’s thoughts on savory fillings. I explained about quitting my job, and using all my money to get started on my dream.

  He sat back in the seat and turned off the tape recorder. “You’re a brave woman, Miss Chase.”

  My heart did a little flip-flop. “Call me Zoe, please. Everyone does. I don’t know about being brave. I’m scared to death most of the time. I hate rats. I let Terry say some terrible things to me today, and didn’t even tell the police that he tried to assault me in my food truck.”

  I yawned. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. I’ve been up since four A.M., and I don’t plan to sleep tonight. I probably won’t bother making biscuits. They won’t let me have my food truck anyway, right?”

  “No. You won’t get that back for a while. I’m sorry. Maybe your mother’s lawyer can help that problem along.”

  As if on cue, the door beside me was jerked open. The cool night air rushed in.

  “Get out of there, Zoe,” my mother’s stern voice said.

  “The police said I had to wait here for them to talk to me,” I replied. “I’m in enough trouble, Mom.”

  “It’s quite all right, Miss Chase.” A man, whose face I didn’t recognize, stared in the opening at me. “We’ll be leaving now.”

  “It looks like your rescue team is here, Zoe,” Miguel said. “Go with them. Do what your lawyer says. You’ll be making biscuits again in no time. It was nice meeting you.”

  “This is Dirk Gordon,” my mother explained to me. “He’s going to deal with this mess you’ve made.”

  I got out of the car and stretched a little. I’d been waiting there for almost two hours.

  “I didn’t make this particular mess, Mom. It was made for me.”

  “We can talk later.” She frowned across the top of the police car as Miguel got out on the other side. “Well, look who it is. How is the view from the other side, Mr. Alexander?”

  “Just fine, Mrs. Chase. As a matter of fact, I like it better.”

  “What are you doing here, Mom?” I wondered how she knew about the situation.

  “Tommy Lee called me, thank God, since you didn’t. Let’s get out of here. You can tell Dirk your story. I hope you aren’t having some kind of psychotic break, though that would explain your recent actions.”

  Dirk Gordon fingered his blond mustache, which almost glowed green in the bad parking lot lighting. “She has no previous record of violence,” he explained to my mother. “A judge would believe a psychotic break. We could sell that explanation. Lucky for us the dead man has a rap sheet. No one will want to prosecute her for killing him.”

  I finally snapped, or reached the limit of how much I could endure for one day. I glared at my mother in her expensive black suit and lost it.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you, Mom. As for my lawyer, I want Miguel Alexander to represent me.” I looked at him where he waited on the other side of the car. “We’ll pay you, of course. I don’t expect the people of Mobile to get me out of this.”

  “You’ll do as I say, Zoe Chase,” my mother roared back. “Or so help me—”

  “Daddy will pay,” I smugly reminded her. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I walked around to where Miguel waited. “Can you do that? Can you defend me even if I have money?”

  I could see his face more clearly now. He had dark eyes with slight frown lines between them and a generous mouth. His dark hair looked a little unruly.

  “I could.” He looked across the car at my enraged mother’s face. “Are you sure that’s what you want? I know Gordon’s work. He’s a good attorney.”

  “I want you to be there. I trust you. I’m not psychotic, and I didn’t kill anyone. Okay?” I couldn’t tell if he’d go for it or not.

  He finally smiled. “Okay.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” my mother said. “Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you, Zoe?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I didn’t really think she was asking for one. This was our relationship.

  Tommy Lee made it through the police line at that point—minus Betty. Though I was a little grateful to him for calling my mother, I couldn’t forget what I’d seen.

  “Honey!” He approached me with his arms open.

  “Get lost,” I said. “Save it for Betty.”

  His face was stricken. It was hard to tell if it was guilt or surprise.

  “Is this about Betty?” He laughed. “I ran into her on my way here. Naturally, she was upset when
she heard about what happened to you. I gave her a ride. I know you don’t think it’s anything more.”

  I got right up in his handsome face and said, “I have rats to kill and a litter box to clean. You might not want to mess with me right now.”

  He didn’t say anything else until I’d walked past him, headed for the diner.

  “Okay. I’ll call you later,” he said. “We’ll talk.”

  “Not if Ollie brings his sword over first,” I muttered as I made my way through police officers and crime scene people who were staring at me.

  Miguel followed me. “I could give you a lift home.”

  I opened the door to the diner and flipped on the light. The overhead florescent began buzzing loudly, as it always did. “This is home. Would you like some coffee?”

  The health department had given me an 89 percent rating once I’d cleaned up the front of the diner, replaced the broken tiles that had been on the floor, and pretty much put in a new bathroom. It still didn’t look like anything that could be open to the public, but it was good enough for me to get started.

  “You know, it’s not really legal for you to live here,” he said.

  “I know.” I put on a pot of coffee. “I’m not telling anyone else that. I hope you’ll keep it to yourself.”

  He sat on one of the refurbished stools at the counter. “I won’t say anything. The police might, if they find out.”

  “I gave up my apartment. I could use my father’s address. He wouldn’t mind.”

  “Your parents are divorced?”

  “For years. Would you like a biscuit?”

  “No, thanks.” He swung around on the barstool. “I still don’t understand why you’re here. Your family is rich. Why not have them buy you a nice restaurant?”

  “No one understands, especially not Tommy Lee.”

  “The boyfriend in the parking lot?”

  “Well, ex-boyfriend. Could you believe that lame story? The only time I even spoke to Betty was when she closed my 401(k). He must really think I’m dense.”

  Miguel smiled. “I’m sure he doesn’t. You caught him with his pants down. He had to think of something to say. That’s what men do.”

  I examined him a little more closely now that we were in bright, albeit annoying, light. He was about six feet tall, a good-looking man—not by Tommy Lee’s standards, but he also didn’t have the personality of a used-car salesman. Miguel seemed very serious, and a little intense.

  Not usually my type. I reminded myself that he was only my lawyer, not a potential boyfriend.

  I was right about his clothes being old. His tie and shoes were, too. Everything about him seemed as though it had once been first quality, but hadn’t been new in a long time. But his dark brown eyes (I was right) were kind, and a little troubled. Instead of a smooth, well-practiced line of conversation, his words felt carefully thought out.

  “What about you?” I asked as I got out cream and sugar. I had to keep everything in the refrigerator to keep the rats out of it. “You were with the DA’s office? What happened?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it. I’m here to handle your case.”

  “I told you about my whole life tonight. I think you could tell me why you left the DA’s office.”

  “You’re kind of snoopy, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. It’s hard to help people if you don’t know their stories.”

  “I’m not looking for help. You wanted to hire me, remember?”

  “That’s true.” I studied the coffee cups for inspiration. I really wanted to know more about him. It was only professional, of course. He was representing me. I should know about his past, right?

  “Consider it an interview.” I was inspired. “How can I hire you if I don’t know more about you?”

  Miguel got to his feet. “I might not be the right man for the job, Zoe. Dirk Gordon would be happy to tell you all about his past, I’m sure.”

  Ollie walked in, glancing back at the scene still going on in the parking lot. “Wow! You’re in it now, young ’un. Good thing I called Miguel. He knows how the DA thinks, seeing as how he was almost in that office.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to work out,” Miguel told him.

  Ollie took a seat. “Of course it will. Zoe needs you. You probably need her, too. I smelled that coffee brewing all the way down at the shelter. Let’s all have a cup. Did Miguel tell you about the big scandal that made him leave the DA’s office?”

  I smiled and put out a third coffee cup. “Not yet. I think he was about to.”

  Miguel sat back down. “I hope you have plenty of coffee.”

  FOUR

  “I wouldn’t call it a big scandal,” Miguel said as I poured coffee into their cups.

  Ollie laughed. “You were gonna be the next DA. Someone set you up to take the fall for ‘irregularities.’”

  “What irregularities?” I asked.

  “Miguel was accused of falsifying evidence in a big murder trial. Remember the one about the girl getting killed on the tourist ferry? That’s the one.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Miguel added.

  “What? They dropped the whole thing—after the election. It was all a ruse to keep you from beating the old DA.” Ollie slurped his coffee.

  “Is that really what happened?” I asked Miguel.

  “I’m afraid so. Maybe not as dramatic as Ollie tells it. I left the DA’s office after that. I’m happy working for myself now.”

  “Sure you are. Like a shark is happy in a big tank at SeaWorld.” Ollie slapped Miguel on the back, knocking him forward.

  Lucky he wasn’t drinking his coffee, I thought. “At least you were innocent.”

  “It didn’t feel like it at the time.” Miguel held his cup while I poured more coffee into it. “I’m warning you that there could be some tough days ahead when you might question if you really are innocent.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you can represent me.”

  He raised his dark brows. “That means the interview is over?”

  “It was just a ruse to find out all that stuff.” I borrowed the line from Ollie.

  “You know, it’s not too late to change your mind,” he said. “I have plenty of work to keep me busy. You might be better off with Dirk Gordon.”

  “Hell, no!” Ollie declared. “She’s not better off without you. You got me out of a dozen scrapes I probably didn’t deserve to get out of. You can get her out of this one, Miguel. She’s a good girl who works hard.”

  Looking past them through the windows, I saw a woman in a suit approaching the front door to the diner. She was accompanied by a uniformed officer. All the good energy that had welled up in me after sharing jokes and stories with Miguel and Ollie fled like the darkness before sunrise.

  I remembered how tired I was and how overwhelmingly unfair all of this was. The weight of it crashed down on me.

  “What’s wrong?” Miguel asked.

  “I think the police might be coming to arrest me.” I nodded at the windows behind them.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Be calm. You didn’t kill anyone.”

  I heard him, but my heart still beat a terrified tattoo in my chest.

  “Zoe Chase?” the woman in the pretty brown suit asked as soon as she opened the front door.

  “That’s me.” I waved at her.

  “What did I tell you about saying anything without my permission?” Miguel got to his feet and approached them. “Detective Latoure. I assume you have news for my client.”

  Detective Patti Latoure nodded, shaking his hand. “Miguel Alexander! I haven’t seen you in a while. You’re representing this woman?”

  “It’s been a few months. Your news?”

  “It looks like Terry Bannister was shot with a .22-caliber pistol close up. The medical examiner is working on time of death and whatnot. Does your client want to make a statement tonight?”

  “My client and I are conferring at the moment. We’ll be glad to come down to police h
eadquarters first thing in the morning. This has been a traumatic event for my client. I assume you know that she’s Anabelle Chase’s daughter. She’s not a flight risk.”

  The detective studied Miguel with sharp blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Her hair was pale blond, scraped back from her tired face. “Her mother told me the same thing. Let me assure you, Miguel, as I did Mrs. Chase—Zoe isn’t a suspect. We’ll be expecting the two of you in the morning. I want to hear all the details then, all right?”

  “Absolutely,” Miguel promised. “Everything that’s fit to tell.”

  Detective Latoure agreed in a voice dulled by too many rules and not enough patience. She and the officer went back out to the crime scene, which was finally beginning to clear.

  I collapsed on the countertop when they were gone, taking in big gulps of air. I think I’d been holding my breath the whole time.

  It was almost three A.M., according to the big, biscuit-shaped clock on the wall. I’d managed to find it at a local thrift store. It didn’t keep time very well, but it was cute and went with my theme.

  “You okay, Zoe?” Ollie asked.

  “I’m fine.” I didn’t raise my head. “I need some sleep, and my food truck.”

  “That’s not going to happen today.” Miguel was apologetic but certain. “Get some rest. We’ll get together in a few hours before we go to the station. We need to go over your statement again.”

  “Okay.” I raised my head. “I suppose I can stay home tomorrow. How long do you think it will take to get the Biscuit Bowl back?”

  Ollie laughed as the tow truck pulled my food truck out of the parking lot. “You have a terrible funny bone, girl. You’ll be lucky to get that back in time for Mardi Gras, next year.”

  “It won’t be that bad,” Miguel said. “But it will be a while before the crime scene people are done with it.”

  “Thanks. How much do I owe you? There must be a retainer or something?” I asked him.

  “We’ll talk about that tomorrow, too. Try not to worry. We’ll get this straightened out.” He looked around the shabby diner. “You really live here?”