by J. J. Cook
“I’m gonna strangle that Chef person when we find him.” Ollie growled and twisted his hands in an imitation of wringing Chef Art’s neck. “What about giving him everything you and Miguel found? Maybe he’ll understand what it means and give Delia back.”
“We gave it to the police,” I explained. “Miguel thought it would be bad not to.”
Most of the men from the shelter had issues with law enforcement. They groaned and muttered about Miguel’s decision to give up something that could have saved Delia’s life.
It occurred to me that this whole ordeal had become like a soap opera for them. It was something to take their minds off of their situations.
“I don’t have the paper anymore, but I know what it said. Maybe that would be enough to get Delia back.” I looked at the hopeful faces of the men around me.
“Maybe,” Ollie agreed. “Chef Art is bound to be pretty well connected. He’s got money and he’s got Delia. I don’t know if he’ll be happy with further instructions.”
“It could still be a trick. We don’t know for sure that Chef Art has her,” I disagreed. “It could be Don Abbott, or someone else who knows about the Jefferson recipe. Maybe he got his hands on an invitation. We have to be ready for anything.”
“But not with the police,” Ollie argued. “Calling them would be a surefire way to get Delia killed.”
“We have to tell the police,” Marty said. “Many of you are on parole. Getting involved in this could send you back to prison.”
Marty’s voice of reason was drowned out by the negative reaction from Ollie and his friends.
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t versed in hostage negotiations. I didn’t even have what the kidnapper wanted. I could tell Chef Art what I’d read on the paper. That was about it. If that wasn’t what he wanted, he could kill Delia.
“What did the strip of paper say, Zoe?” Marty asked as the men discussed plans for setting up an ambush for Delia’s kidnappers.
They sounded like they knew what they were doing—even if it was from a kidnapper’s point of view. Some of them had experience with that type of thing.
“Not much,” I told him. “It said, Chef A. Green chili. Food truck. Watch your back. I think it was supposed to be for Don Abbott. Miguel and I were thinking Don was Terry’s fallback in case he got in trouble.”
Ollie was listening. “Maybe it was in the taco truck.”
“We tried there. It looked about the same as my food truck. The police had it towed to go over it again. I’m glad they didn’t feel the need to look over mine again.”
“The police already looked through the Biscuit Bowl a few times,” Ollie said. “Maybe whoever has Delia doesn’t want to keep looking.”
“I don’t know.” I went back inside and sat down on a stool at the counter. “I want to get Delia back, too. But what if her kidnapper isn’t happy with the directions? He could kill her.”
“He won’t know you don’t have the recipe,” Ollie reminded me. “It’s not like he gave you a number to call in case you don’t have it. We’ll have to fake it. He’s coming tonight at midnight. Either we’re ready for him, or we could lose Delia for good.”
The men from the shelter had a plan of action. I knew we needed a cooler head. Marty and I were trying to persuade them not to try this alone. It wasn’t working. I thought about calling Miguel. He’d know what to do.
In the midst of what was quickly getting out of hand—too many mentions of baseball bats and tire irons—my mother pulled up in the parking lot.
Great! That was exactly what I needed.
I struggled through the loud group of men who were offering suggestions for terrible things that should happen to the man who trashed my place and kidnapped Delia. I’d hoped to head my mother off before she could get into the diner. Usually, she didn’t even get out of her car when she stopped by. Today, she was stalking right toward the door.
“What’s going on?” Her voice would have made a drill sergeant envious. It cut right through the voices of the men around me.
They all turned and stared at her in her pale mauve suit.
“It’s nothing, Mother,” I told her with a nervous laugh. “We were talking about doing some things. Nothing serious.”
“Not if you call beating the man who kidnapped Delia down tonight serious,” Ollie said.
“Kidnapping?”
I couldn’t believe my mother was even listening to him. “Let’s talk outside.”
“I think I should hear what’s going on with these men, Zoe. Why don’t you make some coffee?”
What was happening? Why was my mother sitting in my diner that she previously wouldn’t even enter? Why was she talking to these men who were obviously wearing threadbare clothes and boots with holes in them? I was beginning to wonder if I’d stepped into an alternate universe.
Then it became obvious. One of her assistants—Sam or Dan, I couldn’t remember—was videotaping the whole thing from a discreet distance.
Was she seriously thinking this was going to help her campaign to be a judge?
“What’s going on?” I asked Sam. Or Dan.
He handed me a flyer. It had my mother’s picture on it with the caption Anabelle Chase—the judge who fights for you. “Voters are gonna eat this up. She’s right there in the trenches with the common people who need her.”
It wasn’t the craziest thing I’d ever heard, but it was right up there in the top ten. My mother certainly didn’t look the part of a woman who was in the trenches, wearing her expensive designer suit and shoes. No one was going to fall for this.
But I was wrong about that part. Ollie, and the other men from the shelter, bought into it. The next thing I knew, Sam or Dan was putting an appointment into my mother’s calendar to negotiate with Delia’s kidnappers at midnight.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” my mother told them. “I’ll take care of this for you, my constituents.”
All of the men, except for Marty, seemed happy with this. Marty was still arguing to call in the police. His words were falling on deaf ears as they walked back to the homeless shelter, each of them carrying a Vote for Anabelle Chase flyer.
When we were alone with only Sam or Dan, I confronted her. “What are you doing, Mother? You’ve never negotiated with kidnappers in your life.”
“Negotiating with the kind of sharks I’m used to will get me through it. Don’t worry, Zoe. I can swim with the barracudas and not get bitten.” She smiled at me. “I knew if I came down here, I’d find something that would make good press. You live in the perfect area for me to bring in some new voters. I’m going to have Sam start registering your friends tomorrow.”
“Some of them may be convicted felons who can’t vote.”
That didn’t faze her. “We’ll find ways around that, Zoe. That’s what’s good about the American election process.”
I gave up trying to talk her out of it. With a promise to be back at midnight, my mother left with Sam at the wheel. I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind and concentrated on getting back to work tomorrow.
Ollie and the other men had done a great job cleaning the back of the food truck. It was as if it had never happened. I walked through and checked everything. Once the food was ready tomorrow, I’d be ready to roll.
It was therapeutic shopping for the food items I needed. I drove the Biscuit Bowl on that kind of excursion. It was a good chance for people to take a look at it. I always had a few menus to give out if anyone commented on it.
It was about the cheapest promotion I could do, yet it had yielded results. People who’d bought food from me had told me they’d seen my food truck parked somewhere, and thought they’d try me out. That was about the best anyone could hope for.
Uncle Saul had told me I had to break the ice first and then my food would do the talking for me.
I missed him. I wished he’d stayed in Mobile a little longer—at least until the craziness was over. I wished he was going to be at the diner tha
t night instead of my mother. He would know what to do without panicking or calling the police.
He couldn’t be around all the time. I understood that. He loved his swamp, and all the creepy-crawlies that went with it. Don’t ask me why.
I ended up giving a few menus to people at the grocery store. They promised to stop by at police headquarters, or whenever they saw the Biscuit Bowl open for business. I thanked them and said I would give them a free sample if they told me they’d seen me there. Just another gimmick I’d worked out.
Traffic was heavy on my way back to the diner. Driving the big motor home was much different than my Prius had been. It was really like driving with your house on your back. I couldn’t imagine how big truck drivers did it all the time. It was a little scary.
I parked the food truck by the diner. Miguel’s car was there. He was standing outside, talking to Ollie. I had no doubt what that conversation was about. I was glad to have the help bringing in the supplies. I take it where I can get it.
“So your mother is going to negotiate with a man who probably killed at least two other people to get the Jefferson recipe.” Miguel shook his head. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were the first person I thought of.” I explained about how all the men from the shelter had reacted when they’d heard about the killer trying to exchange the recipe for Delia. “My mother walked into that. She couldn’t have done it any neater if her assistant, Sam, had thought it up.”
“It’s crazy,” he said. “Your mother doesn’t know anything about hostage negotiation. You’re all likely to get hurt.”
“One man can’t get all of us.” Ollie walked into the last part of our conversation with a box of beans. “At least there’s something to do besides sitting around.”
“I know you don’t think the killer will come alone,” Miguel chided him. “They’ll have guns, Ollie. Not baseball bats and tire irons.”
“I can see someone ratted us out.” Ollie frowned at me. “I thought you were all for this, Zoe.”
“No. Not at all. Marty and I were both trying to convince you that it was a mistake.”
“Whatever,” Ollie said. “I think we can get this done, and get Delia back. I’m going down to the shelter and getting everyone ready. You want in on this, Miguel, or not?”
“Not the way you’re doing it,” Miguel answered.
“Fine. We’ll take care of it ourselves. See you at midnight, Zoe.”
After he was gone, Miguel and I talked about the problem.
“I suppose we could call in the police,” I said.
“That could be worse,” he surprised me by saying. “The killer might not be worried about your mother and the men from the shelter. If the police are here, he could kill Delia.”
I shook my head as I started a large pot of red beans. “Have you heard anything about the police catching up with Don? I have a feeling he’s the one who trashed my truck. He’s probably going to be the one here at midnight, too.”
“You think he kidnapped Delia and killed Terry?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know. Chef Art is involved in this somehow. I don’t think he’d get his hands dirty or mess up his reputation. He could’ve hired Terry, and then Don, to do the dirty work for him.”
“True. But if that’s the case, why did Chef Art take a chance on kidnapping you himself? He could’ve sent Don. There was no way for him to know that you wouldn’t report him after he let you go.”
“True.” I handed him three large Vidalia onions to peel. That was probably my least favorite part of cooking. Miguel had asked if there was anything he could do to help.
“Maybe, if nothing else, we’ll get some answers about Delia tonight.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Maybe Don will show up with Chef Art looking on from behind him.”
I laughed. “Nothing is ever that easy.”
“You’re right about that.”
Miguel stayed for dinner after helping me get my food ready for the next day. I was pleasantly surprised. I didn’t know what to expect after that uncomfortable moment when I’d kissed him in the car.
He acted like nothing unusual had happened at all. We didn’t talk about it, which I thought was unfortunate. I would’ve liked to know what I was dealing with. I gave him a few little hints during dinner, but he never said a thing. It was growing ever clearer to me that Miguel was not a hinting kind of person.
I made the spicy peach filling for my sweet biscuit bowls, and we shared one of them to see what it was like. There was a hint of spiced rum in the filling that gave it an unusual flavor.
“What do you think?” I was trying to be more proactive.
He nodded and smiled. “Really good. I like the spicy part. I like the whole biscuit bowl idea, Zoe. It’s clever.”
“Thanks.” I licked a little peach filling off my finger. “And the kissing? Where is that going?”
He looked at me like I’d just told him there was a bomb in the oven. “You come right to the point, don’t you?”
“Well, I’ve been hinting around at things with you, Miguel, and it doesn’t seem to do much good. I thought the direct approach might be better.”
He looked down at his empty plate. “Zoe—”
“Don’t worry about it. You won’t hurt my feelings. But you kissed me first at your office. I admit it wasn’t a big kiss, but neither was the one I gave you in the car. If that’s not what you had in mind, now’s a good time to tell me.”
“It’s been a long time for me.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure you know about my wife and daughter. Everyone knows about it. For a long time, I never looked up from my work. I didn’t want there to be a world outside that was still turning. I pretended I was alone.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m starting to look up again.” He smiled and took my hand in his. “It has something to do with you. Maybe it’s because you’re such a good cook.”
“But? I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Zoe, you just broke up with the man you thought you were going to marry. I think you should give yourself some time.”
“You’re worried about being Tommy Lee’s rebound?”
“Not exactly. I think you should be sure. At this point, I don’t think you are.”
I knew my deeds of the past few months were going to haunt me. Hadn’t my mother warned me of it? I didn’t think it would happen this way.
“That’s fine. I understand.” I got up and took our dishes to the sink. “For the record, Miguel, I like you a lot. I don’t plan to waste any more time on Tommy Lee. I guess we’ll see what the future brings.”
“I like you, too, Zoe. I guess we’ll see how that goes.”
Miguel helped me get the food truck restocked with food containers and other items that had to be replaced. We didn’t talk about our possible relationship. We were both very careful to stay away from that subject.
Really, I was glad that he wasn’t still working out his grief about his wife. I wasn’t worried about how I felt. I could see where he might feel uncertain about me. I might even seem a little flighty to him. After all, he knew everything about me quitting my job and upsetting my otherwise ordinary life. That could make someone wonder if they were only a fad.
I was tired by the time midnight rolled around. The thought of getting up at four A.M. wasn’t something I was looking forward to. I was excited about going back to work, a lot more excited than I was about the ordeal to come.
My mother and her assistant, Sam, along with a TV news crew, got to the diner a little before midnight. I couldn’t believe she expected to negotiate for Delia’s life with a camera crew watching. She’d exchanged her pretty suit for black pants and sweater with a black flak jacket on top.
Ollie and his friends were all in place with their baseball bats, tire irons, and other creative weapons hidden about them. The clock in the diner struck midnight.
“Here we go.” I added a small prayer for everyone’s safety.
TWENTY-FIVE
Nothing happened.
We all sat around for an hour, drinking coffee and eating donuts that my mother had thoughtfully brought with her. She didn’t touch them, of course. I wasn’t sure if she’d ever eaten a donut. That waist didn’t stay tiny without sacrifice.
“Do you think they’re still coming?” one of the TV newsmen asked with a yawn.
“Criminals aren’t known for their punctuality,” my mother said. “Why don’t we go outside and shoot another promo for the piece?”
“We’ve already shot three promos for it, Mrs. Chase,” the reporter said. “If the killer doesn’t show up, there won’t be anything to promo.”
My mother was a little put out by his attitude. She walked over to where I was sitting on a stool at the counter. “Isn’t there someone you could call, Zoe? You know this criminal. I’m sure if you told him we were ready, he’d come.”
“I don’t really know him. It’s not like we’re friends. I’m not even sure who it is.”
“He must know we’re ready for him,” Ollie said. “We should’ve kept this covert. The enemy has lost the element of surprise. Once he loses the high ground, he won’t take any chances.”
“What’s he babbling about, Zoe?” my mother muttered.
“He doesn’t think he’s coming, either,” I interpreted.
“I think we’re going, Mrs. Chase.” The reporter began to round up his crew. “Next time, maybe you should get an RSVP from the kidnapper.”
“Wait!” My mother ran after him. Sam ran after her. They were all in the dark parking lot.
“Might as well head back,” Marty said. “It’s just as well this happened. At least no one got hurt.”
“Delia might not feel that way about it.” Ollie walked out the front door, his baseball bat on his shoulder.
After that, it was only a few minutes before everyone was gone. Miguel was the last to leave. “Are you still going to go out tomorrow?” He glanced at his watch. “Today, I mean?”
“Yep. I’ll manage. Thanks for all your help tonight.”
