by J. J. Cook
“This is nice,” I said as we walked into his office. It was very low-key, nothing extra. Only one painting of Mardi Gras on the wall.
We heard a noise outside the closed door. It sounded like someone was trying to get in.
“Do you think that’s Delia?” I whispered.
“I don’t know. Let’s not take a chance.”
Miguel and I hid behind a partial wall that separated the main part of the office from the small area that held a fax and copy machine.
I was hoping he might have a gun. I knew he didn’t when he picked up a baseball bat. I grabbed a toner cartridge and crouched down behind the wall with him.
The front door opened. All the muscles in my body tensed. My heart was slamming against my chest. We watched as Don Abbott walked right by us. He seemed intent on going through the papers on Miguel’s desk.
I stared into Miguel’s face and mouthed, “What now?”
I wasn’t embarrassed to admit that I was afraid. Unlike us, Don probably had a gun, and wouldn’t mind using it if he found us.
The way he was going through every drawer and every tiny scrap of paper made me think it would take him a while to reach the area where we were hiding. He’d get there eventually. I wished we had some kind of plan.
Miguel did. He walked boldly out of the room with his hand in his jacket pocket. I wished he’d told me what he’d planned. I didn’t know what to do.
“Mr. Abbott!” Miguel got his attention.
Don turned around sharply, an angry look of surprise on his face. “I thought you weren’t here. Let me have it, Miguel. I figure you have the recipe. It won’t do you any good unless you know who the buyer is.”
I was relieved to see that Don didn’t seem to have a gun, either. He put his hands up, like they do in the movies. Did he really believe Miguel’s hand was a gun in his pocket?
“Tie him up, Zoe,” Miguel said in a harsh voice.
I knew he was trying to get the upper hand with Don before he discovered the trick. I wouldn’t have guessed it would really work.
I didn’t waste time thinking about it. I found a curtain sash that was loose. Don sat down on a chair, and I used the sash to tie him to it. He smelled awful. I held my breath as I pulled the sash as tight as I could. I didn’t know how long it would hold him. I hoped Miguel had a second part to this plan.
Once Don was secure in the chair, Miguel took his hand out of his jacket pocket and frisked him. No one had a gun. That was a relief.
Don shook his head. “Man, that’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. I really thought you had a gun!”
“And you fell for it,” Miguel said. “Why are you here?”
“I guess for the same reason you two are here—the recipe.”
“Why do you think I have it?” Miguel stared intently at him.
“You’re the only one I could think of that I haven’t searched. I was thinking Biscuit Girl gave it to you.”
“Biscuit Girl?” I couldn’t believe he called me that.
“Yeah. I was pretty sure that Terry slipped it to you.”
I started to correct his assumption.
Miguel stopped me. “We want part of the money.”
Don laughed in his greasy way. “I knew it. Nobody’s above a million dollars. We could split it, you know? You give me the recipe, and I’ll tell you who we’re supposed to take it to.”
“You start,” Miguel insisted.
Don didn’t look happy about that. He launched a colorful protest, but Miguel ignored him.
“Okay. Fine.” Don looked around the room. “I didn’t know where Terry hid the recipe. But I knew he wrote the location down for me to find in case he got in trouble. He had some girl make it into beads.”
“Beads?” Miguel scoffed. “How could he write it down in beads? Do you think I’m kidding about what I’ll do if I don’t get the truth from you?”
I grabbed Miguel’s sleeve. As soon as Don said beads, I knew what had happened. “Green paper beads, right?”
TWENTY-TWO
Both men looked at me.
“Terry gave Delia some beads in the parking lot the night he was killed. She gave them to me. She said she didn’t want to see them.”
“So you’ve been holding the information the whole time?” Don threw back his stringy hair and laughed out loud. “I’m losing it.”
Miguel took my arm and we walked behind the partial wall again.
“What beads are you talking about?” he whispered with as much intensity as he’d used questioning Don. He was still holding my arm. “How can anything be written on beads?”
“The beads are made from paper. I guess Terry had someone use the beads as a place to hide information about the recipe. I hope he didn’t have the recipe made into beads or it will be worthless.”
“You didn’t mention the beads to the police?”
“Is this an interrogation?” I jerked my arm away from him. “I didn’t think it meant anything. I almost threw them in the garbage.”
“Sorry.” He smiled. “This may be the break we’ve been looking for.”
“But why would Terry write down where the recipe was hidden? He must’ve been the one to hide it.”
“He probably did it in case he needed someone to back him up, like Abbott said. Sometimes, thieves hide what they’ve stolen and give that information to a friend. If their lives are threatened by the buyer, they have some leverage. In this case, Terry knew one man had already died. He probably wanted to use Don as a backup but was afraid to give him too much information.”
We went back to question Don again.
He was gone. I wasn’t as good at tying someone up as I’d thought.
“He’s probably gone to your place to find the beads,” Miguel said. “Let’s go.”
I smiled at him. “No need to rush. I have them with me. I keep forgetting to take them out of my bag.”
To my surprise, Miguel kissed me quickly on the lips and grabbed my hand. “Let’s take a look at them.”
I almost couldn’t move. All the time I’d spent wondering if he had any feelings for me. Surely this was a sign. Maybe he wasn’t ready to date yet, but his response was genuine in his excitement.
“Are you okay?” he asked when I didn’t start out of the office with him.
“I’m fine.”
He frowned. “Was that too much too soon?”
“No. Not at all.” I gazed into his dark eyes. “My bag is in your car.”
He squeezed my hand, and I ran out of the office with him. He locked the door behind us, and we went quickly out to the car.
We got in and Miguel drove away. “Let’s go somewhere public where Don will be less likely to bother us.”
I was surprised he didn’t want to take the beads to the police, and said so.
“There have been so many twists in this case. I don’t want to give anything to Detective Latoure until we’re sure of it. It ruins your credibility if you’re constantly giving the police unimportant information.”
That was good enough for me.
We drove to a small coffee shop. I found a table in a dark corner while Miguel got coffee for us. It was exciting thinking we might be on the right track for the recipe—almost as exciting as Miguel kissing me.
It wasn’t a big kiss, but that was okay. It was a beginning.
He came back with my double shot mocha and his plain coffee. We sat across from each other, and I took the beads out of my bag. I felt the seating was strategic. We could see people coming toward us and hide what we found in the beads.
It was difficult taking the beads apart. There was tough string holding them together. Miguel used the knife on his key chain to cut the string so the beads would be separated.
As he cut the first string, I started unwinding the paper that the beads were made of. It was tightly wound and difficult to pull apart without tearing. Eventually, I got the paper strip unwound from the first bead. It took me ten minutes. Miguel was done cutting the s
tring between the beads. He watched me as the green paper opened under my fingers.
There was nothing written on it. I sipped my coffee, and looked up at him. “I guess we’ll have to unwind all the beads until we find it.”
“Or Don lied to us.”
“We won’t know until all the beads are unwound.”
Miguel began unwinding the strips of paper, too. “Why would anyone want to do this?”
“It’s good for the environment. Usually, they’re made from recycled paper. They look pretty, don’t they?”
Miguel looked at the bead that was half unwound in his hand. “Yes. Beautiful.”
I laughed at him. “Well, when they’re done right, and you’re not taking them apart, they look great. And there’s no plastic.”
“How does anyone even think of doing something like this?”
“I don’t know. I’m not crafty. I cook. That’s about it.”
“You’re very good at cooking, Zoe.” He unwound the rest of his bead. “I’m sure your dream of owning an important restaurant will come true.”
There was nothing written on his bead, either, or the next bead I unwound.
“Would you like me to take those cups for you?” a coffee shop employee asked.
“No!” Miguel and I both barked. The waiter went away quickly.
“I hope he wasn’t traumatized by our response.” Miguel started on another bead.
“He might never be able to pick up trash from tables again.”
I started on another bead, too, and glanced from under my lashes at Miguel. I knew I’d already asked him about going to the benefit dinner. He hadn’t responded. Was it too soon to ask him again?
“Have you had a chance to think about going to the benefit dinner with me?”
“Not really. It’s not the kind of thing I normally do.” He smiled at me as though to ease the pain. “I’m not much of a party person.”
“I can understand. I’m not usually a party person, either.” I was lying. I loved parties. Combining that with all the excellent food, and the chance to see Chef Art’s mansion, was irresistible. But it looked like I might be going alone.
“Are you still sure you should go? You might not like what you find out about Delia and Chef Art.”
I shrugged. “The dinner may not happen at all if what we find on one of these beads leads us to Chef Art as the killer.”
“That’s true.” Miguel finished another bead. There was nothing written on it. “If anything is really on one of these beads.”
It wasn’t much of an answer to my question about Miguel going with me to the benefit dinner, if it happened. I guess it was his way of saying no. He was trying to be nice.
Maybe it wasn’t me, though—he had kissed me, even if it was only a peck. Maybe he didn’t like being out in Mobile society after giving up his job at the DA’s office.
We were forty-five minutes into unwinding beads. String and green paper littered the table between us. None of the waiters came over and asked if we needed anything else. Not that I blamed them.
Our fingertips were green from the dye in the paper. There was one bead left for each of us. If there was nothing there, we’d have to look elsewhere for more information.
“Choose your bead,” Miguel said. “Let’s hope there’s something on one of them.”
Each of us quickly unwound the paper. We were getting to be experts by this time.
Mine was still blank, but there was writing on Miguel’s last bead.
“Chef A. Green chili. Food truck. Watch your back.” Miguel looked up at me when he was done reading. “I guess that says it all.”
“If this was meant for Don, we’d better figure it out before he guesses what it says.”
We threw our trash into a can as we walked out of the coffee shop. Miguel kept the single strip of paper from the last bead and put it in his pocket.
“Food truck? It has to mean the taco truck,” I guessed.
“Probably.”
“Maybe the recipe is in the taco truck. What if we find it?” I asked him as I got into his car.
“We take it to Detective Latoure and let her deal with it from there.”
“That way we may never know who killed Terry,” I reminded him. “Maybe we should show it to Chef Art first, and get his take on it.”
“I know this is the first time you’ve done anything like this,” he said. “Trust me, if we find this recipe, we need to get out of the game. We’ve come pretty far across the line already. It doesn’t take a lot to charge someone with impeding an investigation.”
I didn’t say anything else about it. I knew Miguel was totally looking at the problem from a lawyer’s point of view. I also knew, from my mother, that wasn’t always the right way to look at things.
Miguel had Terry’s home address since he and Delia had been involved. He lived a little outside the city in a rental house that looked almost as bad as the area where my diner was located.
We were at the right place. Terry’s Tacky Taco truck was in the drive. Miguel and I got out of the car after he’d parked behind the food truck.
Both of us cautiously looked around. That’s what comes of people holding guns on you, and beating up your friends. You constantly expect bad things to jump out at you.
Miguel opened the back door to the food truck. It wasn’t even locked. It was hard for me to believe Terry would’ve stashed a recipe worth a million dollars in the truck without at least trying to protect it.
Maybe it was one of those things where it’s the last place you’d expect to find anything valuable so he felt it was safe. I would’ve put it in the bank.
Well, since it was stolen, maybe not. But I would’ve found somewhere more secure than this.
“Green chili,” Miguel said when we were inside the taco truck. “This place is such a mess. I don’t know how we’ll find anything. How did he work this way?”
It wasn’t only that pots, pans, bowls, and spoons were thrown everywhere. There was a heavy layer of grease on everything, too. I hated to touch any of it. I should’ve brought gloves. No wonder cops on TV wear them.
“I wish we’d brought a flashlight.” I looked at the serving window that was shut. “Maybe we should open that so we can see in here. Green chili could be something that holds green chili. Or it could be a can of green chili. Or a green chili pepper, although I hope it’s not inside a real pepper.”
“I’ll open the window,” Miguel volunteered. “Take my cell phone. The flashlight app is on it.”
I looked at the mess with the light from the flashlight as Miguel went outside.
He was right. Everything was such a jumble of food and cooking and serving utensils—I wasn’t sure if we’d find anything without emptying the entire truck. Maybe this was why Terry wasn’t worried about anyone else finding the recipe.
Opening the serving window helped—even though it made the interior of the truck look even worse. The smell was awful, too.
“I’m never eating anything from a food truck again,” I said.
Miguel laughed. “Your food truck doesn’t look like this.”
“No, but I can’t ask for a tour of the food truck before I order. I hate to think what kind of germs are in here. It doesn’t look like he’d wiped anything down for weeks. I think these are rat droppings over here, too.”
“You don’t ever have to worry about that since you take your cat with you.”
I didn’t go into what a coward Crème Brûlée was. I didn’t like to say bad things about him all the time. I loved him the way he was—hissing, biting, and cowardly.
We started picking things up off the floor. A quick scan of the upper areas where the food was made didn’t show anything green, chili or not.
“I wonder if someone else already had this idea and that’s why the truck is such a mess,” I said. “I don’t see how he worked this way. He’d have to pick this up every day while he was working. I don’t think he was that ambitious.”
“
The police probably went through this, too.” Miguel picked up the pieces of several broken spice bottles. “We don’t even know what size this recipe is. It could be anywhere.”
I was under the area where Terry would’ve taken orders and handed out food. There was a little bit of everything down there. I found an empty salsa box and started filling it so I could look through it when I got up. The light wasn’t much better than before we opened the serving window, at least not where I was.
“Do you think this could be what he was talking about?”
I bumped my head on the counter as I tried to get up and see what Miguel had found.
“Careful.” He took my hand and helped me off of the greasy floor. “If you cut yourself in here, you’ll probably need a tetanus shot.”
“What did you find?” I rubbed my head ruefully.
“It’s green.” He held up a small canister. “It says chili on it.”
I opened the canister. The lid was pressed down so hard that it opened with a popping sound. We both looked inside. There was nothing there, not even chili peppers.
“I don’t know. Maybe someone already found it.” I was greasy and disgusted with being there. Turning the whole thing over to the police was beginning to sound pretty good.
“You may be right. We could be looking for anything. Green chili could be a code used between Don and Terry for all we know. I think we should call Detective Latoure and tell her what we’ve found so far.”
I thought that was a bad idea. I put the box of items I’d picked up from the floor on the cabinet and continued surveying the walls, shelves, and counter.
“I guess you’re right. I don’t know what else to do. Keeping information from the police could be worse than impeding an investigation.”
“Agreed. Shall I call or do you want to?”
• • •
We waited at Terry’s house until three police cars pulled up. Detective Latoure was in one of them. The other two were from the local police department.
“This better be good.” Patti Latoure shook hands with the other officers who were from Fairhope, outside Mobile. “We don’t really like to go into one another’s territory, if you know what I mean.”
