Death on Eat Street (Biscuit Bowl Food Truck)

by J. J. Cook

“No.” Was that a test? “You said to say that I live with my father.”

  “Really. Do you live here?”

  “Yes. I have a cozy spot in the office. Crème Brûlée and I are fine here.”

  “Crème . . . what?”

  Ollie laughed as he walked to the door. “It’s her cat, man. You know how single chicks dig cats. Good night, Zoe. Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Ollie.”

  “And don’t worry about rats bothering you. I took a few of them out with my sword. They’re not coming back for a while. Rats are smart animals. They know when they’re outclassed.”

  When Ollie was gone, Miguel left me his business card. “I guess I’ll be going, too. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be here to pick you up at seven. Call me if you need anything.”

  I wanted to say thank you. It would’ve been polite. I was too far gone for politeness. I nodded and he left. I locked the diner door behind him, and turned off the buzzing overhead light.

  Crème Brûlée was already asleep on my makeshift bed, hogging up the whole thing as usual. I moved him over a little to make room for myself. He hissed and rolled anyway. I fell down on the bed without even taking off my shoes.

  “This has to be better tomorrow,” I told him. “It was really just a bad day. Tomorrow will be better. Let’s get some sleep.”

  His purring was the last thing I heard as I snuggled next to him and put my arm around his furry body.

  • • •

  Someone was pounding on the front door and calling my name. I checked my alarm clock—seven thirty. I’d forgotten to set my alarm.

  After disentangling Crème Brûlée from my arm, I got up and ran out of the office. Of course, he hissed at me. He rolled over and went back to sleep. How dare I disturb his slumber?

  It was Miguel. He pointed to his watch before I opened the front door.

  “We’re supposed to be at the police station by nine. We need time to talk before we go.”

  I yawned. “I just woke up. I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

  He looked at my rumpled jeans and T-shirt from yesterday. “You look fine. Let’s go.”

  He had to be joking. I searched his very sincere face. He wasn’t joking.

  “I’m not going in the clothes I slept in. Help yourself to some coffee while I get dressed. It will only take a few minutes.” I blew a curl that had fallen into my face and swiveled to leave him.

  “We still have to talk about everything that happened yesterday,” he maintained. “We have to get your statement right.”

  Yeah, yeah. “We’ll have time while we’re driving. Have some coffee, please.”

  He said a few other things before I grabbed my clothes and went into the shower. I didn’t hear what they were, and I ignored him.

  How could he think I looked fine to go anywhere? Had I looked that bad yesterday?

  I turned on the shower. Immediately, I knew what the problem was. We’d mostly seen each other in the dark last night. There was only that brief time in the diner with the painful overhead lighting. He’d forgotten what I looked like, or was too intensely occupied with his defense strategy to pay attention. That had to be it.

  The hot water gushed out of the showerhead. Crème Brûlée had crept into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open to the kitchen area. He was meowing for his breakfast, poor kitty. He was used to eating much earlier. He had to be starving.

  In answer, my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night. I was used to being up and grabbing a snack at four A.M. I was hungry, too.

  I turned off the water and moved aside the goldfish-covered shower curtain. Miguel was trying to lift Crème Brûlée. He looked up at me—naked as the day I was born—and smiled.

  “The cat sounded hungry,” he explained. “I didn’t think about you being in there—you know—like that.”

  Words had clearly failed him. Time seemed to pause for an instant and then started back up again.

  I grabbed an orange towel and quickly wrapped it around the most important parts. All of me had to be red with embarrassment. I looked okay naked, but I wasn’t prepared for an audience.

  “Well, turn away or something! I told you I was going to take a shower!”

  “Sorry!” He turned away, a little red-faced himself. “I made coffee. Hurry up. It’s not good to be late for your first interview in a murder investigation.”

  I closed the bathroom door behind him, and looked at my face in the misty mirror. I was breathing hard and my heart was pounding. Miguel had to be one of those seriously laid-back kind of people. If that had been Tommy Lee, he would’ve reacted much differently. Of course, Tommy Lee wouldn’t have offered to feed my cat, either. And Crème Brûlée wouldn’t have let him hold him.

  I dried off quickly, and did what I could with my hair. Curly hair does what it wants to do. It’s like an entity all its own that happens to live on my head. I get my curly hair from my father, who wears his in a crew cut so you can’t tell it’s curly at all.

  I chose to wear something dressier, one of the suits I normally wore to the bank. It was peach colored, a good hue on me. By the time I’d put on my makeup and matching shoes, my face wasn’t so red. My heart had stopped beating so quickly, too.

  Ollie was making breakfast on the old grill while Miguel set out coffee cups.

  “That smells good.” I sniffed and smiled. I already knew Ollie was good at cooking the basics—pancakes, eggs, and toast. “I’m hungry.”

  “You’re going to have to roll up eggs in a pancake so you can eat on the way.” Miguel poured coffee into paper cups. “Where are the lids for these things?”

  “Under the counter.” I sat down as Ollie heaped food on a plate for me.

  “She has to eat,” my large friend maintained. “Who knows how long the police will interrogate her. She has to be prepared.”

  “She’s not a suspect right now,” Miguel said. “Only a person of interest. The police are also talking to Terry’s taco truck partner. The two had a fight yesterday over some missing cash. The police will probably like him better for the murder than they do Zoe.”

  “Why are we going at all then?” I sipped some coffee. “Maybe we should skip it and let the police get on with questioning Terry’s partner.”

  Miguel did exactly what he’d said and wrapped my plate-sized pancake around my eggs. “It’s not nice to stand up a police investigation. Believe me, Detective Latoure wouldn’t like it. We have to get you cleared of this completely if you want your food truck back.”

  Ollie was already eating his pancakes and eggs. “Do what he says, young ’un. Miguel knows what he’s talking about.”

  At least I think that’s what he said. It was hard to tell around the food already in his mouth.

  “Okay.” The pancake-wrapped egg made me feel a little queasy. I wasn’t as hungry as I’d thought. “Maybe we could put this in the fridge for later.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” Miguel started for the door.

  “No. She needs to eat,” Ollie argued. “I’ve been through this. I know what it’s like.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’ll eat later.”

  “At least take it with you.” Ollie wrapped it all up in some aluminum foil. “Just slip it into your pocket. It will stay warm that way.”

  That sounded even less appetizing. I took the pancake anyway. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t eat it, but I didn’t want to offend Ollie.

  “Will you look after Crème Brûlée for me? Miguel fed him. He might get lonely.”

  “I’m not much good at looking after animals, especially spoiled fat cats.” Ollie glared at Crème Brûlée, who immediately hissed at him and ran back to the office.

  “Thank you.” Miguel grabbed my arm and we headed out the front door.

  The morning was bright and sunny, already warming up—full of sounds from the city. I could glimpse the blue water of Mobile Bay from the parking lot. There were fishing boats, tourist charters, and ferries fr
om the city to Dauphin Island. Every tourist should have a chance to see the city this way.

  “Here.” Miguel handed me the foil-wrapped breakfast and then started his car.

  “Thanks. And thank you for coming to get me this morning. I’m sorry I was so messed up. Yesterday was awful. I’m hoping today will be better.”

  “Most people going to a police interview aren’t that optimistic. I guess that’s why you can handle your food truck not making much money. Optimism.”

  “Uncle Saul was in the food business for thirty years before he retired. He says you have to be patient, like a spider. When the right insect flies into your web, you grab it.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of applying that image to the food business.” He pulled into the heavy traffic, headed for downtown Mobile. “Your uncle must be an interesting character.”

  “He’s my father’s brother,” I confided, “but you couldn’t find two men more different if you tried.”

  I told him about my father’s close-cut curly hair. Uncle Saul wears his gray-streaked, black curly hair like a big bush on his head. My father wouldn’t be caught dead like that.

  “And my father is the president of an old, established bank, while Uncle Saul lives in the swamp in a log cabin he built himself. They don’t get along all that well, either. My father blames that on my mother, but I think they’re too different to be friends.”

  “Don’t you believe in opposites attracting?”

  “I suppose it all depends. It can happen. I don’t know how long a relationship like that can last.”

  “Is that what happened to you and your boyfriend?”

  “That’s a little personal. I’ve only known you a few hours, if you don’t count the time I was sleeping.”

  He repeated my words back to me. “I’m your lawyer. I have to ask personal questions sometimes.”

  I looked at him in his dark suit, white shirt, and blue tie. His clothes today were better than they had been last night. Maybe he’d thrown on whatever he could find to come and help Ollie. Maybe he saved this suit for special occasions.

  His black Mercedes was at least ten years old. The brown leather interior was spotless. He maintained what he owned, I considered, but wasn’t making as much money as he had in the past. Possibly a reflection of his problems at the DA’s office?

  I knew those attorneys didn’t make much money, either. Intuition told me that somewhere along the way, he’d had money in his life.

  I wasn’t rude enough to inquire.

  “Are we clear on your statement?” Miguel asked as we pulled into the parking lot for the police station.

  “Yes. I know what I need to say.”

  “And not say, right? Don’t elaborate on your statement. Look at me before you answer any question they ask you. If I don’t tell you to answer, don’t answer. Are we clear on that?”

  “Clear as rain,” I assured him.

  We got out of his car and I felt nervous again. I’d been fine while we were talking. Now that I was about to be interviewed, I wasn’t quite so fine.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “How do I look?” I didn’t move away from the Mercedes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, does my hair look okay? I know it can be a little goofy looking sometimes because it’s curly. Is my lipstick straight? I think the peach color works on me, don’t you?”

  “You look good.” He glanced at his watch. “We have two minutes to get upstairs.”

  I put my hand on his. “Could you really look at me? Am I a mess or something?”

  Finally, it seemed that I had his full attention. His brown eyes, with a hint of sherry in them, roamed from my feet to the curls on my head. His gaze lingered on a couple of places that made me take a deep breath.

  “You look really good, Zoe. Much better than you need to for this interview. Your boyfriend is losing a very lovely lady.”

  That assessment, spoken in his sexy baritone, made me feel better. Too much better.

  I had to be careful, I realized. I was drawn to Miguel, but it was probably just a rebound thing. After all, my relationship had only broken up last night.

  Tommy Lee probably didn’t even realize we’d broken up yet at all.

  “Thank you.” I fingered the lapel of his suit. “You look very good, too.”

  He took my hand, and we got in the elevator.

  I had never been in the downtown police station before, even though I was born and raised in Mobile. I guess that you’d have to have some reason to be here. Apparently I’d never had a reason before.

  The police station was very busy with what seemed like hundreds of police officers in uniform, and people in all states of dress and undress—probably criminals.

  A thin man in uniform at the front desk called Detective Latoure when Miguel told him we were there to see her.

  “You showed up,” Detective Latoure greeted us. “I had money on you skipping town.”

  Was she talking to me? I looked around. Miguel and I were the only ones within hearing distance, besides the officer at the desk. Why would she think such a thing?

  “If you’re saying that you thought I’d leave town rather than come here this morning—”

  “Miss Chase has nothing to say about that since she isn’t here to talk about your opinions of her, Patti,” Miguel butted in before I could finish.

  It was hard to remember not to talk.

  “Maybe we should start easy,” Detective Latoure said. “Did you kill the man you found in your food truck?”

  FIVE

  “Of course not!”

  “Zoe!” Miguel called out.

  Detective Latoure laughed. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

  Since I wasn’t supposed to say anything, I gave Detective Latoure the same look I’d seen my mother use on the gardener and the housekeeper when she wasn’t pleased with them.

  I couldn’t tell if it had the same effect on her that it did on them, but it allowed me to put my nose in the air and walk past her to the interview room as though she were someone beneath my notice.

  “Have a seat, Miss Chase.” Detective Latoure opened the door to a tiny room with a table and three chairs in it.

  There was even a small window that was obviously a two-way mirror, the same as they show in movies and on TV. I wasn’t as familiar with detective shows as I was cooking shows, but I knew that someone was on the other side of the mirror.

  Detective Latoure sat down across from me and Miguel. She opened a file and started reading out of it.

  I glanced at Miguel. He shook his head and lounged back in his uncomfortable chair, apparently waiting for the detective to make the first move. He seemed completely at ease.

  I tapped my fingernails on the table. I needed a manicure. It had been weeks since my last one. I’d been so busy setting up my food truck and cleaning the diner, I’d forgotten many of the niceties.

  That was probably one reason Tommy Lee and my mother thought I’d lost my mind.

  Detective Latoure put down the file and stared at me for a few minutes.

  I stopped tapping my nails and tried not to fidget. The chair was very uncomfortable. I hoped Ollie wasn’t right and that I wouldn’t have to spend all day sitting here.

  “Miss Chase,” she finally began.

  “Call me Zoe. Everyone does.”

  Miguel’s dark eyes made it clear that I wasn’t supposed to speak yet. I tried lounging back in my chair as he was. I couldn’t pull off the look and sat back up.

  “Okay. Zoe.” Detective Latoure smiled. “You’re from a very well-known family here in Mobile. You’ve had a good education. Auburn, right?”

  I looked at Miguel, as I was supposed to. He nodded. “Yes. I went to Auburn.”

  That had been easy. I could do this whole talking-when-I-was-supposed-to thing.

  “You worked as a loan officer at the Azalea National Bank for the last five years. There are nothing but glowing reviews from the people you worked
with, and your supervisors there.”

  Did that need an answer? I peeked at Miguel. He didn’t nod. I didn’t speak.

  “What are you leading up to, Patti?” Miguel asked. “I don’t think my client needs a history lesson on her own life.”

  “I appreciate that, Miguel. My point is that Zoe led a sheltered, uneventful life—until a few weeks ago. Out of the blue, she quit her job, gave up her apartment, decided to open an old diner, and started driving a food truck. Does that sound normal to you?”

  “Normal?” I asked. “Are you saying I’m not normal? And what do you mean uneventful? I’ll be thirty next year. I did all of those things to find my dream. I want to make people happy with my food. I don’t think that makes me a killer.”

  Oops.

  I could tell I’d said something I wasn’t supposed to. Miguel’s expression was as dark as a thundercloud above Mobile Bay.

  Was I supposed to sit there and let this woman disparage my life?

  I sat back again. “Sorry.” I was never very good at keeping quiet about anything. I also tend to talk when I’m nervous.

  “What’s your point?” Miguel’s voice was calm. “People frequently leave their jobs. How does that have anything to do with the taco truck owner’s death?”

  “I’m getting to that,” Detective Latoure promised.

  “Let’s expedite it.” Miguel sounded impatient.

  “My point is that Zoe is living a very stressful life—for her—right now. We know that she and the victim argued yesterday on Dauphin Street in front of a crowd of people at lunch.”

  “Argued? He tried to assault me.” I tossed out the words like they were firecrackers. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d file charges against him.”

  “Really?” Detective Latoure took out a tape recorder. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out because Miguel’s hand went over it.

  “I need a moment alone with my client,” he said abruptly.

  I knew what that was all about.

  Before Detective Latoure could leave the room, the door burst open, and my father strode into the tiny space.

  “Zoe! Baby! Are you all right? Why didn’t you call and tell me about all of this? Daddy would’ve taken care of it.”