by J. J. Cook
Oh well.
We moved back outside. Ollie hugged me and said not to worry. Chef Art frowned but didn’t say anything.
Alex unveiled the big electronic board once there was a crowd on the street. It lit up with all the teams listed, even though the names were scrambled and jumping around. They called for someone to take care of the problem while we waited.
Finally, a tech fixed it. The Biscuit Bowl wasn’t number one—but it was number two—right after Our Daily Bread.
“Those ministers are gonna kill us,” Ollie growled. “The only thing I dislike more than a pious person is a pious person who outsells us.”
“Okay. These are the standings,” Alex announced. “As you can see, there are eight of you still alive. These standings are based on how well each of you did in the challenges. It reflects your continued effort as well as meeting the individual challenges. Your score will be higher if you finish the challenge, and if you win the side challenges, like Our Daily Bread with the taste challenge, or winning the cash, like the Biscuit Bowl.”
A producer whispered in his ear.
“That is to say there are still eight of you in the race at this moment. Excuse me.”
“Cut the PC stuff and get on with it,” Bobbie Shields yelled. “We all know Reggie is dead.”
He ignored her. “Grinch’s Ganache is the winner of today’s challenge!”
Daryl and Sarah Barbee took a bow. They were the only ones on their team. I didn’t envy them.
“The prize for the winner today—specially chosen by the food truck race committee—is a free paint job for the outside of their truck at any of more than one thousand locations of Ray’s Airbrush Central nationwide. Congratulations, Grinch’s!”
Everyone applauded, but we were all still tense, waiting to see which of the food trucks were going on to Atlanta, and who was being left behind.
Alex dragged it out. I was sure that was his job. He announced the Biscuit Bowl again as the winner of the cash prize. He commended everyone’s efforts at the singing and skating challenge. Not all eight food trucks had met the challenge. Shut Up and Eat and Fred’s Fish Tacos had both been sidelined.
“I know all of you are anxious to hear the new list of trucks going forward to Atlanta,” Alex said. “But instead of me telling you, why don’t I show you instead?”
The electronic board went blank again. The tired vendors groaned.
The tech walked up and hit it a few times on the side. The lights came on, and the remaining teams showed up in the seven slots still left.
“I knew it!” Fred Bunn threw his fish-shaped hat on the street and stepped on it. “They didn’t get rid of Stick It Here when they didn’t make the challenge yesterday. I’m getting a lawyer.”
Uncle Saul and Ollie were jumping up and down. Delia was applauding. The Biscuit Bowl was going to Atlanta!
– – – – – – –
We were packing up the food truck when Miguel returned. Uncle Saul had worked on the deep fryer as much as he could. He couldn’t repair it. We were going to have to head to Atlanta knowing we had no way to make biscuit bowls the next morning.
Chef Art arranged a press conference for the two of us to talk about me facing certain failure the next day since I had no deep fryer. He coached me to not sound cheerful about it and wear his hat.
I managed to look really depressed and even squeezed out a few tears for him, bless his heart. The camera took a close-up of my scraped knee. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would’ve laughed at all of it. After all, I was here. People were eating my biscuit bowls. The rest was all drama and didn’t matter.
“That was good, Zoe.” He slapped my back when it was over. “This is gonna be a difficult, emotional moment for the team. Even though the Biscuit Bowl has made the cut, will they live to fight another day?”
Chef Art laughed and congratulated himself before he was picked up in his big RV—his face and name painted on the sides.
Delia, Ollie, and Uncle Saul were cleaning and working on a list of supplies needed for the next day.
Miguel walked over to me with his hands in the pockets of his brown suit pants. He’d removed his jacket and tie. “Sorry I was out of commission for a while.”
“We got by.”
Okay, I was a little angry. I was also burning with curiosity about the woman he was with. I wanted to tell him about Helms’s and Marsh’s accusations against him. I couldn’t do it then.
“I know. I wouldn’t have done it, except that it was really important.”
“I understand. It’s only a food truck race.” I smiled at him. “Who is she?”
He looked a little surprised that I’d even noticed he was with her. Not a man who knew much about women, obviously.
“She’s an old friend. We went to law school together. Her husband is divorcing her. He wants everything, including their young daughter. She asked me to help her.”
Hmm. Did that mean she was an old flame kind of friend? It sounded like it to me.
“So you’re leaving the race?” I took off my stupid hat. “It’s okay. It must be important.”
“I’m not leaving the race. The trial isn’t for a few weeks. I didn’t want this responsibility. I haven’t done this kind of law in a long time. Not since Caroline died.”
Caroline. That was his dead wife’s name. It was the first time he’d mentioned her name to me.
I’d had to find out her name the hard way, by asking around at the courthouse where I frequently parked my food truck. A few free biscuit bowls went a long way.
“I’m glad you’re not leaving.” I searched for the right words that would help me find out if he was romantically involved with his “friend.”
I couldn’t think of anything clever. I blurted instead, “Are you romantically involved with your old friend?”
Well, there it was. Not too clever, but I hoped it would get the job done. He’d kissed me and acted like I could expect more. I figured I had the right to know.
He smiled and kissed me again. “No. She really is just an old friend. You’re the only woman I’m interested in being romantically involved with.”
Wow! Just what I wanted to hear.
I threw my arms around his neck. There were a thousand other questions I wanted to ask, but I was willing to be content with that one for now.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” I explained what Helms and Marsh had told me about the large amount of cash deposited into his account.
“They better have good justification for going into my bank account. You said they’re here, right? I think I’ll contact the Charlotte police for some answers. Why would I even be on their person of interest list?”
I shrugged. “I think it was the money. They said it was a red flag. And they feel like you stand out like a sore thumb at the race. I’m sorry. I didn’t tell them you were here because I invited you. I felt like it was none of their business.”
“I’ll take care of it. I guess it was good, after all, that you were involved with them. Let’s hope it stays good in the future.”
We were ready to roll. Uncle Saul rode with me in the food truck. He’d called an old friend of his from his days in the restaurant business who’d agreed to meet us in Atlanta with a used deep fryer to replace mine. It was lucky that I won the money. It would help a lot getting us a replacement.
I thought I understood why Miguel’s old friend asking him to help her could be very important to him. Ten years ago, his life had been very different. He had a great career, a family. He’d probably thought everything was going his way. He’d lost everything.
I knew a little bit about his childhood. I knew he came from a large family that had very little money. He’d had to work hard to go to college and law school—too hard to stay down forever after what had happened to him.
His old friend
asking him to defend her might be the place where his life would change again. He might find out that he had the confidence to move forward.
Would he be interested in a girl with a food truck and a run-down diner if his life was different?
I hoped so.
“We did okay back there.” Uncle Saul got my head back in the business at hand. “We worked really well as a team. There’s only one little problem—Ollie and Delia. I don’t know how much of the kissy-kissy stuff I can stand in a confined space.”
I laughed. “I’m sure it will get better.”
“I don’t think the race will last that long.”
“We’ll have to be patient and understanding. Ollie has been alone for a long time.”
“That’s just it, Zoe. I think he’s going at it too hard. I’m afraid, despite my coaching, that he’s gonna crash and burn.”
“Let’s hope not. At least not during the rest of the race.”
“It’s made me think a lot about my own life,” he said quietly. “You may not have noticed when you were out there last, but Bonnie has a thing for me.”
“Which one is Bonnie?” I joked.
“Go on.” He laughed. “I know you noticed. It’s been that way since we met. I haven’t wanted to encourage her. I’m not much of a catch.”
“She seems to think otherwise. She’s known you awhile now. She must think you’re worth waiting for.”
“You think?” He gazed out the side window. “It’s been a long time for me, too, Zoe girl. I’m not sure I’m ready for it.”
I kept my hands firmly on my cell phone and my eyes on the traffic going out of Columbia. “I think you’re probably thinking about it because you are ready, Uncle Saul.”
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”
Atlanta was about four hours away, and it was supposed to be the turning point for the race. It would also be the toughest venue with more challenges, more prizes—and more than one food truck getting kicked out of the competition.
I hoped my team could keep it together. Once we got past Atlanta, it would be downhill. We’d go on to Birmingham, and end up in Mobile on Friday for the grand finale.
I really wanted the fifty thousand dollars. I could upgrade my diner with that money and only use the food truck for special occasions. It would be awesome.
“I’m willing to do my part,” Uncle Saul conceded. “I can always hit Ollie with a biscuit if he and Delia get too annoying. We’ll be okay for a few days.”
“Let’s focus on that. We need different sweet and savory fillings for the biscuit bowls in Atlanta. Stews and the usual hot foods aren’t going to work in this weather. I’m thinking about chicken salad. You know, you used to make that chicken salad with the pistachios in it? Maybe we could do that.”
He laughed and slapped his knee. “That was forever ago. But I remember. I made that special honey balsamic dressing for it.”
“That’s right. You tell me what you need, and I’ll start working on a list for Miguel as we’re driving. I want to be on top of this.”
He laughed. “I’ll work on the list. You’re driving.” He took out my cell phone. “How do I get this thing to make a list?”
“You might do better with a pen and paper! There should be some in the glove box.”
He took out a pen and found some paper. “You know, I saw you and Miguel outside this morning. Looks like the two of you are having a few problems.”
I dictated the supply list while Uncle Saul wrote what I said and added his own supplies.
It was a long trip to Atlanta. We stopped for lunch right off the highway. The restaurant was busy, but it was clean and the food was decent.
Delia flirted with Ollie while we ate. The two of them were acting like lovebirds, just as Uncle Saul had dreaded. It didn’t surprise me, and it didn’t bother me. I hoped he’d be okay with it, too. I thought he might be a tiny bit jealous since the object of his affections was back home.
I was worried about the honey balsamic dressing for the chicken salad. The ingredients that Uncle Saul had given Miguel didn’t seem right. I was afraid he wasn’t thinking about chicken salad when he wrote the list. It would be hard to get supplies at four A.M. the next morning if Miguel didn’t get everything today.
“Are you sure this is right?” I asked him again.
We were at the restaurant, getting ready to go.
He glared at Ollie and Delia who were laughing at something, their heads together. “It’s right, Zoe. Don’t worry about it.”
I checked the list again before I gave it to Miguel. I wanted to take a look at everything for the next day. Uncle Saul and I left Miguel, Delia, and Ollie as they were getting into the Mercedes. We weren’t back on the highway for more than a few minutes, with Uncle Saul at the wheel, when he began slowing down.
“What’s wrong?” Please don’t let something be wrong with the engine.
“I think that’s Dante Eldridge out there on the road. Where’s his food truck?”
FOURTEEN
“I was hijacked,” Dante said when we had pulled to the side of the road. “I stopped for gas, and someone hit me in the head and took my truck. I got a knot the size of a golf ball and a headache bigger than my truck. I’m gonna kill whoever did this.”
In the meantime, he needed a ride. His cell phone was in Stick It Here, too. I let him borrow mine to call the police. He got in the car with Miguel, Delia, and Ollie. The plan was to get him to the next exit where he could wait for the police. It wouldn’t do him any good to go on to Atlanta without his truck.
We were already in Georgia, with another hour or so to go until we reached the city. Uncle Saul and I got back in the Biscuit Bowl.
But Crème Brûlée was crying and unhappy. Before we could leave, I had to put on his harness and let him out in the grass on the side of the road.
“You should’ve left that cat at home, Zoe,” my uncle commented as trucks and cars streamed by us.
“I couldn’t. I took him to Mom’s house and he didn’t want to stay. You know Dad won’t keep him.”
“Probably just as well, unless you want the poor creature to starve to death.” Uncle Saul watched Crème Brûlée, who was closely studying a dead moth in the grass. “On second thought, you’d have to skip feeding him for more than a week for that to happen. How’d that cat get so big?”
“He’s got very large bones. And his breed can be quite large.” I held up one of Crème Brûlée’s paws. “See the size of that?”
He laughed. “Yeah. Like a lion.”
He was making fun of my cat! I scooped Crème Brûlée up after he’d finished his business and carried him back to the food truck. He didn’t like being lifted. He kept slapping at me and howling until he was back in his bed again.
“He’s got a real attitude problem, too.”
“Don’t talk about him. He’s right here between us. It hurts his feelings.”
“You are too soft, Zoe girl. Your heart must be made out of marshmallow. I hope it doesn’t get burned one day.”
I didn’t comment on that. Ollie called to make sure nothing was wrong. They were already at the next exit waiting for us. I explained that my cat had needed a pit stop. Uncle Saul started the Biscuit Bowl, and we headed toward the exit.
“This race is getting risky,” Uncle Saul said. “Vandalism. Hijacking. Murder. I’ve never seen the like. What are people thinking? Fifty thousand dollars isn’t gonna make that big a difference in anyone’s life. Well, it’s really more like twenty-five thousand after taxes.”
“It’s a lot of money, however you look at it,” I replied. “And there’s the prestige. This is going to be broadcast all over the country. People are going to see the Biscuit Bowl in California and New York. All of us will be famous—but not as famous as whoever wins the race.”
He patted my hand, reach
ing over Crème Brûlée between us. Of course my cat had to swat at him a few times.
“Hey!” Uncle Saul yelled at him. “Don’t worry, Zoe. I’ll do what I can to help you win.”
“Thanks.”
I thought about Dante. He’d been alone in his food truck, like Reggie. I hoped there were enough of us to keep our truck from being hijacked.
“What would someone want with Stick It Here anyway?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The whole thing is crazy.”
We went off at the exit and found the others at a more heavily traveled gas station close to the road. It was a surprise to see the highway patrol already there and talking to Dante. I decided we should wait until they were finished. The chances were the police wouldn’t find the food truck right away. Dante was going to need a ride to Atlanta.
“It’s easy to spot,” Dante explained to the officers. “There are sticks coming up out of the top with big, fake pieces of meat on them. The truck is white and has a lot of writing on it. You can’t miss it.”
One of the officers glanced at the biscuit on top of my food truck and nodded. “I get it. One of those food truck people. They told us you’d be coming from Columbia this way.”
“That’s right,” Dante agreed. “Can someone call me if you find it out here?”
The officer handed him a business card. “We’ll do our best, sir.”
There was nothing else to do but head for Atlanta. I felt so sorry for Dante even though we were competitors. He was doing so well in the race. It had to be hard to want it so badly only to have someone snatch the victory away.
Not to mention that Dante made his living with his food truck in his hometown, Jackson, Mississippi. Even if he had insurance, which many vendors didn’t, it might be months before he could work again.
Putting that behind us, Uncle Saul and I talked about sweet fillings for tomorrow’s biscuit bowls all the way to the hotel in Atlanta. We decided to make strawberry filling, if we could find some fresh strawberries. We could drizzle white icing over the top of each one. Yum!
