by J. J. Cook
I put that on my list of things to think about, right up there with trying to figure out what Terry did with the Jefferson recipe. Finding out that second part seemed more immediate, since people were threatening me with guns and throwing things through my windows.
Or was it just easier to handle the idea of being murdered for some old recipe than it was thinking about facing my mother?
The insurance adjuster had come and gone when we got back to the diner. Already, a truck with a small crane was putting in a new window.
“I hate insurance,” Ollie said. “That little insurance dude said to tell you that you only get one of these replacements a year. He said you need to put up some iron bars or get out of this neighborhood unless you want your insurance payment to go up.”
With his message delivered, Ollie shrugged and went back to the shelter. I thanked him as he walked away.
“I gotta go, too,” Uncle Saul said. “It’s been fun, Zoe, but I have to get home and feed Alabaster before she gets it into her head that she should eat the neighbor’s chickens again.”
Alabaster was Uncle Saul’s albino alligator. He’d kept the alligator as a pet for years. Occasionally, Alabaster wandered off and caused some problems. It was lucky Uncle Saul’s nearest neighbor was five miles away.
“I’m sorry you have to go.” I hugged his neck, standing on tiptoe. “Thanks for taking me to see your friends. I hope I can do something with the information.”
“If not, come on out and stay with me. This will all blow over as soon as someone finds that recipe. Until then, watch your back. I have an extra gun with me, if you need it.”
“No, that’s okay. I think I might get into more trouble if I start shooting people.”
Uncle Saul got in the station wagon and drove away. My heart sank a little as I watched him go. I wished I could live in the swamp with him, but there wasn’t much call for a food truck out there.
• • •
I was working on making some macaroni with pimento cheese when I saw Miguel’s Mercedes pull up. My heart did a little dance that he was there and maybe we could go back to the idea of that possible romantic dinner.
Then I saw him get out of the car on the driver’s side with Delia getting out on the passenger side. This was obviously not a romantic visit.
“Hi, Zoe,” Delia greeted me. “Miguel took me to talk to the DA. I don’t think it did much good.”
Miguel came in after her and asked how everything was going. I wanted to tell him about the cement block through the window, and what Uncle Saul and I had learned.
I was nervous, though, and fell back on what I knew best. “Would you two like to try some macaroni and cheese?”
It turned out neither of them had eaten lunch, and they were both hungry. They sat down at the counter and I ladled some pimento cheese macaroni into bowls. I had some cans of soda left and put those out.
Delia praised my macaroni and cheese. She tried to laugh off the part about her not needing a strategy for court because she was innocent. I could tell she was scared.
I glanced at Miguel. He shook his head. “It’s all going to depend on the jury she gets. This could go either way. The police certainly don’t have a rock-solid case, by any means. We’ll have to find ways to insert some skepticism into the jury. Or find the real killer before then.”
Speaking of finding the killer—or at least the reason Terry was killed—I quickly changed the subject and told him about the broken window and the information Uncle Saul and I had received from his friends.
“Art Arrington, huh?” He sipped his soda. “I haven’t heard his name in a long time. We used to eat at his restaurant. Good food.”
Without thinking, I asked, “We?”
His face changed. I was immediately sorry I’d asked. I was so anxious to hear about him that I’d put my foot in it.
“My mother and me. She was a big fan of Southern cooking. The spicier, the better. The Carriage House was one of the first places I took her when I started making some money. We never ate out much when I was a child. She loved it!” He frowned. “It wasn’t long after that she died. She was very young.”
Trying to get my foot out of my big mouth, I forged ahead. “What about you? How is the spicy mac and cheese?”
“Good.” He smiled. “Delia is right. You’re a wonderful cook, Zoe. I’m sure when you get everything up and running here, there will be lines waiting through the parking lot.”
“Thanks.” I hoped there was no damage done. I’d seen the gray cloud settle over his features. I hated that I’d caused him pain.
I was too young to really remember the Carriage House Restaurant. I figured Miguel was maybe six or eight years older than me. He must have been fresh out of law school when his mother had passed.
“I think we should talk to Detective Latoure,” Miguel said. “She might not know about the Jefferson recipe yet. It could give her another direction to look in for Terry’s killer.”
“If you think that will help, I’m all for it.” I grinned to show him I was willing to work for the team.
“Then let’s go,” he said.
“I need to get rid of some of this food that I’ve been making. Maybe the two of you could help me take it down to the shelter.”
The three of us went down that way. The consignment shop was open and had dozens of bargain shoppers inside. It was odd to see so many new and expensive cars in the parking lot. Bargain shopping apparently appealed to people who could afford much better. The shop was probably a must-see on some tourist website.
I was glad we were able to go down and check on Marty, too. The men living at the shelter were thrilled to see us bearing food. I promised them there would be more later as I worked on new dishes for the food truck.
Marty seemed to be doing fine. “I have a little headache still, but otherwise, no side effects. Thanks for asking.”
The men at the shelter were very appreciative of seeing Delia. There was plenty of whistling and “hey, baby” comments while we talked to Marty.
They’d been the same way with me the first time I’d gone inside. Now it was my food that they found attractive. That was fine. Better my food than me.
“Any news on the recipe?” Marty asked before we left.
I didn’t want to go into everything Uncle Saul and I had unearthed. It would be better to share it with Detective Latoure first. Uncle Saul always said, loose lips sink ships. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I knew it had something to do with telling secrets to more people than was necessary.
“We’re still working on new leads,” Miguel said in a professional tone.
Marty smiled. “Well, I wish you luck. Stay out of dark places, Zoe. I’d hate for you to end up like me, or worse.”
We talked for a few minutes about the concrete block, and having the diner window replaced. There wasn’t much to say about the incident. Either the killer was trying to send me another message, or the police were right and it was part of being in a bad neighborhood.
“If you’re ready, we could go ahead and talk to Patti.”
“That’s fine,” I added quickly.
“Great.”
“Unless you had something else planned.” Miguel seemed a little nervous.
“No. That would be fine.” I threw in a little hint. “I don’t even have plans for dinner.”
“Good. That way if the interview goes a little long, it will be all right.”
“Sure. That would be just fine.” It seemed that Miguel wasn’t good at taking hints. “I’ll freshen up a little and get my bag.”
When we got back to the diner, I excused myself, threw Crème Brûlée out of my office/bedroom, and rapidly changed clothes to go out with Miguel. I had a beautiful wine-colored dress that was a little on the short side for me. The neckline was kind of revealing. I decided maybe Miguel needed more of a hint.
I crept into the bathroom with my cosmetics and hairbrush. Miguel and Delia were talking about the case. That
gave me a few extra minutes to put on my best face.
Before I could work on my curls, there was a light tap at the door. I peeked out—it was Delia. She quickly came into the bathroom with me.
“You could do so much more with your eyes.” She took my cosmetic bag from me. “You have such pretty eyes, Zoe, with that pale blue iris surrounded by the dark blue ring. And you have great skin. Let’s try a little dark shadow on your lids to bring them out.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. We were face-to-face in a very small bathroom. It struck me that I had nothing to lose.
“That dress is a knockout,” Delia said as she did my eyes. “I hope you have a little darker lipstick to go with it. That pink you usually wear is nice, but you need something more dramatic with your coloring.”
I didn’t have any other lipstick. Delia fished her own lipstick out of her bag. It was a close match to the dress I was wearing.
It was like being in school again. Delia finished my new look, chattering the whole time about various things I could do to make Miguel notice me. She pulled down my bodice to make the neckline even more revealing, and took off the tiny gold cross she wore.
“Let’s get something shiny in there.” She grinned. “We have to flaunt it if we want it to work for us, right?”
I looked in the cracked mirror and approved the job she’d done. With a little more highlight on my cheeks and eyes, I looked very different.
Delia held her head to one side and studied my hair. “You know, I think we could do something with these curls, too.”
“Thanks, but there’s always a price to pay for messing with the curly hair. I know my limitations. I like the rest of the look. You’re very good at this.”
“I have to be good at something besides waiting tables.” She shrugged. “Go get him, Zoe. From what I’ve heard, Miguel has been alone too long.”
“You’re a good person, Delia. You’ve only begun to scratch the surface of who you are, I think.” I dropped the wine-colored lipstick she was letting me borrow into my bag. “Thanks for your help.”
Delia looked at the green paper beads she’d given me the night Terry was killed. They were still in my bag, of course. I hadn’t even thought about them again.
“Do you want those back now?” I asked.
“No!” She recoiled as if I’d asked her if she wanted to hold a snake. “You keep them, Zoe. I—I can’t.”
EIGHTEEN
“What’s wrong?” I thought that was a weird reaction.
“Nothing.” She bit her lip. “Terry gave them to me. I—I don’t want to think about it.”
She abruptly left the tiny bathroom. I followed behind her.
What was bothering her about the beads? Maybe bad Mardi Gras memories? People gave out beads, kind of like these, along the parade route every year. These were paper instead of plastic, and they were bigger, but there was nothing unusual or particularly offensive about them.
Miguel and Ollie were standing there, watching us. No doubt wondering what we were doing in the bathroom together.
“Ready?” Miguel asked.
I smiled. What was I thinking? Both of these men had been married. They were used to the ways of women. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Delia’s cell phone rang again. She stepped outside to answer it.
“I’m going to hang around the diner awhile,” Ollie said. “Delia might need some help.”
“Okay. I’ll see you both later.” There was the proof I needed that Ollie was interested in Delia. I was happy to see it.
Miguel and I got into his Mercedes. He pulled out into the Saturday afternoon traffic.
I was wondering if I should throw out a few more hints or let him pick up on it by himself. I decided it would be a waste of my great dress, and Delia’s makeup talents, not to try sending a few ideas his way.
“I didn’t think I’d be going to police headquarters again until Monday with the food truck,” I told him. “Lucky for me I don’t have to dress up when I’m making biscuit bowls.”
“I suppose so.” He glanced at my dress. “That could be a mess if you had flour all over it.”
Okay.
“Delia is a good person. I appreciate you representing her. She wants to be a hairdresser when this is over. She did my eyes. Good, huh?”
“Very nice.” Miguel didn’t even look at me that time.
Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Or maybe I wasn’t very good at this anymore, like I had been in college. I used to be good at catching a man’s eye. Probably all of that skill had deserted me while I’d been safely dating Tommy Lee. Use it or lose it.
When we reached police headquarters, Miguel parked the car and came around to open my door. I decided to try one last time to get his attention.
Carelessly, I dropped my handbag on the ground at his feet. “Oops. Sorry.” I bent over to pick up everything that had spilled out.
Being a gentleman, Miguel helped me. It was still daylight, the sun shining off the car and windows in the building. I knew he had to be on eye level with my neckline and the little gold cross Delia had let me wear.
“No problem.” He politely handed me my bag.
That was it for me. Miguel wasn’t into it. Better to focus on what I had to say to Detective Latoure.
The police station was less crowded than the last time I’d been there. The officer at the desk called Patti Latoure for us. A few minutes later he told us to go back to the office on the right.
Dismally, I regretted wearing my good dress. I wasn’t sure if the chairs we’d sat on were grimy or had gum on them. If Miguel had noticed me at all, it wouldn’t have been so bad.
“Miguel.” Patti shook his hand as we walked into his office. “Zoe. What brings the two of you in on such a nice Saturday?”
“We have some information about Terry’s death,” I told her. “It could make a difference in the case.”
Patti gestured toward the two chairs in front of her desk. She sat down in the worn leather chair behind it.
“I thought I’d made it clear that you should be glad to be off the hook, Zoe. Why are you still pursuing this?”
“Let me explain.” I told her about the cement block in my diner window, and about Uncle Saul’s friends. “We know that Terry was probably killed because of this recipe. I know it sounds absurd, but I think that’s what we’re after.”
Patti smiled, almost despite herself, from the wry expression on her face. “Good work, Zoe. You’re right. Bannister and the man who took the Jefferson recipe have something in common. They’re both dead.”
“What?”
“We received word that the police in Atlanta were looking for Terry Bannister in relation to another homicide there. They think Terry Bannister took the recipe from the man in Atlanta who’d stolen it and then killed him.”
I glanced at Miguel and then back at Patti. “So you’ve known the whole time?”
“Not the whole time. I congratulate you on finding out about the Jefferson recipe. And I’ll say it again—stay out of it. You can guess from your broken window that you’re not in the clear as yet. As long as the recipe is out there, you’re not safe.”
“What about my client, Delia Vann?” Miguel asked. “I assume charges against her will be dropped in light of this news.”
“Don’t assume anything.” Patti shuffled through some papers on her desk. “You know how this goes. If we drop the charges against your client, the real killer will know something is up. We want to keep him guessing. I hope we’re one step ahead of him.”
Miguel nodded. I could see he wasn’t happy with that verdict, but he understood after years of being a prosecutor.
“Do you have any idea where the recipe is, or who paid to have it stolen?” I asked.
“We’re working on that,” Patti said. “It’s too soon to tell. We have a person of interest we’re following.”
“Is that Chef Art?”
Patti frowned. “This isn’t a guessing game! Stay out of it!”
/>
“What about Don Abbott?” I ignored her. “I’m pretty sure he came after me because he knows about the recipe. I don’t think he’s smart enough to be the one behind all of it, do you?”
“You’re very good at interrogation, Zoe. Maybe you should consider a career in law enforcement.”
“I don’t think so, although I’d be happy to have all of you come down to the Biscuit Bowl for lunch during the week.”
Patti frowned. “Let me repeat my warning. I can’t say this strongly enough. Two men have already died because of this stolen recipe. Don’t make me have to explain your death to your parents.”
“I appreciate the warning. Believe me, I won’t be part of this anymore.” I smiled, and shook her hand, after getting to my feet. “Thanks for your time.”
“My pleasure.” Patti nodded at Miguel. “I’ll be in touch.”
As we walked out of police headquarters, Miguel said, “I’m glad you’re going to stay out of the investigation, Zoe. I think you’ve come close enough as it is.”
“She didn’t tell us much. At least I didn’t get much out of it, besides her confirming what we already knew. Did you get more out of it than that? I mean—maybe your old DA instincts kicked in?”
He laughed. “I think you’re giving Detective Latoure too much credit. She knew about the recipe and how it was stolen because the Atlanta police told her. A person of interest means she doesn’t have much real proof. She’s fishing for something right now. Probably hoping she can find the recipe and it will lead her to the buyer, and the killer.”
“Which probably means she could use a little help.” I waited for Miguel to unlock the car door and then scooted inside. “It sounded like a cry for help to me.”
“Which part of what Patti said made you think she was asking for help?” Miguel put on his seat belt and started the car. “I think she was telling us to stay away from what’s been happening. Just because we know about the recipe doesn’t mean we have to be involved in the search for it.”
“Did you see that poor woman’s desk? She’s so underwater, she’s like a lobster! I don’t think she could ask outright, but I think she could use a hand.”
