by J. J. Cook
Atlanta was so much bigger than Charlotte and Columbia—bigger than Mobile, too. It was like the tall buildings were mountains surrounding us. I wished I had time to wander around the shops and look at kitchen gadgets, but I knew that wouldn’t happen during this trip. Maybe next time.
Traffic was terrible. We were stuck trying to get into the city for an hour. When we finally arrived at the hotel, the sponsors of the race had sent security people to watch the food trucks. No one wanted a repeat of what had happened in Columbia. It was bad press for all of us.
The hotel was nice, and right in the heart of the city. After checking in, Delia and I found out we were sharing a room again. Neither one of us cared.
“I’m going up to take a shower, Zoe,” she said with a yawn and a stretch of her lithe body. “I’ll see you later.”
Dante went to find someone from the race to report what had happened. He was very generous with his thanks for picking him up. He offered us free kebabs when they finally found his food truck.
Miguel took the supply list from me and went to see if he could find everything on it. “What if I can’t find fresh strawberries?”
“Blueberries would do in a pinch,” I told him. “Thanks for doing this.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I really wanted him to kiss me good-bye, but Ollie and Uncle Saul were leering at us. He walked away with the list. I knew there was going to be a lot of ribbing about our budding romance. I could take it. I hoped Miguel could, too.
Ollie, Uncle Saul, and I went to find one of the security guards for the race after that. We talked to him about the extra security they were supposed to give us. The head of the security group was a little vague. He acted as if he couldn’t believe we were questioning him.
“We’ve already been apprised of what happened in Columbia, Miss Chase. We won’t let anything like that happen here.”
We left him setting up his workers around the parking lot. Most of them were yawning and inattentive.
“Anyone have the feeling they aren’t that interested?” Uncle Saul asked.
“I’ll camp out in the Biscuit Bowl,” Ollie volunteered. “No one is gonna cut anything while I’m there.”
“Thanks for offering, but I don’t want you to sleep down here.” I glanced around. The food trucks were all in an underground parking deck again. “The fumes from the cars and trucks could kill you.”
“I’ve been in tougher situations, Zoe. I can handle it.”
“No. That’s why they have security. It will be okay. I’d rather have them steal the Biscuit Bowl than have you hurt, Ollie.”
“Really?” He stared at me as though he found that hard to believe.
“Really.” I kissed his cheek. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He shrugged, and we went for the elevator.
Uncle Saul and Ollie went to locate the room they were sharing. I went to have a margarita in the bar by myself, hoping to have a few moments to organize my thoughts.
I wasn’t on the stool five minutes before Detectives Helms and Marsh joined me. My margarita showed up a few minutes later.
“We heard about the hijacking.” Helms ordered a club soda.
“Let’s move this to a booth.” Without warning, Marsh picked up my margarita and walked over to a secluded booth.
“Hey!” I followed as quickly as possible considering my legs still felt stiff from roller-skating that morning and my knee was beginning to throb again. “Are you two allowed to work in Atlanta, too? Don’t you have to get some kind of special permission?”
We sat down together. Marsh ordered coffee.
“We have special permission, Zoe,” Helms told me.
“What can you tell us about the hijacking?” Marsh quickly scanned the bar.
“Not much. Dante was attacked at a gas station. Someone took his food truck. We saw him on the side of the road and gave him a ride. He told the highway patrol, and we came here.”
I sipped my margarita and wished I’d ordered it from room service.
“Something is going on here,” Marsh said.
“I noticed.” Brilliant! “Have you figured out what it is?”
“We still believe Miguel Alexander is involved in all this,” Helms accused. “Someone is working with him.”
I started to protest and tell them why Miguel had twenty-five thousand dollars in his bank account so they would stop being so suspicious of him. But realized that he hadn’t told me, and I hadn’t asked. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know. I could only guess in the meantime. And if they wanted to know, they should ask him.
“I think there’s a lot of money at stake,” Marsh said. “It’s behind the scenes and not all what we’re seeing up front. Have you got any ideas, Zoe?”
I took a big gulp of my drink to try and ease the pain. It was my own fault. I’d agreed to help them. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve got two members of my team who are in love. I have a bad deep fryer that I’m hoping to have replaced by tomorrow morning. That’s about all I can handle right now. If I actually hear or see something important, I’ll let you know.”
“It’s vital that we stay in contact with each other,” Helms said.
Another big gulp finished my delicious margarita. “I understand. But now I need a shower and a nap. You’ll have to excuse me. If anything happens, I have your cell numbers.”
The margarita really helped me get through that. I went back downstairs to get my clothes and Crème Brûlée. Everything seemed fine. There were some food truck vendors cleaning their trucks and a few pulling into the parking lot.
I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, picked up Crème Brûlée, and pulled his blanket over him. I made sure all the doors to the Biscuit Bowl were locked.
I heard the elevator chime and started over to it, but before I could leave the passenger side of the truck, I heard an argument in the RV parked next to mine on the driver’s side.
It was Alex’s RV—again. I couldn’t really understand what the two people were saying. It was something about money and a job someone hadn’t done.
I recognized Alex’s voice. The other voice was too low and raspy. It was probably the same person he’d been talking to on the phone after Reggie was killed.
This couldn’t be good.
I inched around the front of my food truck to see if I could get a glimpse through one of the windows.
What am I doing?
Groaning, and not wanting to be involved, I started back the way I’d come. I stopped short as I heard a shot ring out in the parking deck.
FIFTEEN
I froze on the spot. Crème Brûlée started kicking at me with his paws. I knew his next protest at being held was going to be howling. I didn’t want to be standing there when that started.
It could be nothing. Just a backfire from one of the trucks. No one’s running toward the RV. Where’s everyone else?
I was afraid to open the truck door and put my cat inside. If someone had fired a shot, I didn’t want him or her to know I was there.
Instead, I opened my duffel bag and set him in there. I laid it down carefully beside the tire. I covered him with his blanket. He probably wouldn’t move. He didn’t like wandering around in strange places.
I crept around to the other side of the truck. There was no visible movement. The door to the side was open. I waited to see if anyone came running out. If someone had shot someone else, I figured they wouldn’t hang around long.
After a few minutes, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer to see what had happened. If it was nothing, I needed to know so I could sneak Crème Brûlée up to the room. If something bad had just happened, I needed to know that, too, so I could call the police.
I looked around the parking area, but all the other food truck vendors were gone. I was alone out there—again. I
had to stop hanging around in parking decks.
I kept my head low and cautiously crept to the door that was slightly open in the RV. I glanced inside without moving from the top step. “Alex? Are you in here?”
There was no response. I called again. Still nothing.
I went another few steps up the connecting stairs until I was standing in the threshold. “Alex? Are you okay? Do you need help?”
There was still no answer. I wasn’t going inside any farther. It might be nothing, I thought, biting my lip. I didn’t want to cause an uproar over nothing.
Still, there was the argument I’d heard.
I took out my cell phone and tried to dial 911. Of course there was no service. The closest open space that might have service was the big door going out of the parking area.
I turned around to go back down the RV stairs. Someone rushed by me from behind, pushing me out of the way. I dropped my cell phone and let out a small yelp of surprise.
As I tumbled down the remaining stairs to the concrete, I saw a pair of black boots and caught a glimpse of jeans. I wasn’t sure if they belonged to a man or a woman. My head was spinning. I could taste blood in my mouth.
That was it.
I stayed on the concrete for a few minutes, afraid to move. I heard a car pull up and raised my head.
“Zoe?” Miguel was back with supplies. “What are you doing over there?”
– – – – – – –
“Where’s security?” Miguel helped me up. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I wiped away the trickle of blood from my cut lip. “Nothing serious.”
He called the hotel and the police.
I told him what had happened and he went right inside Alex’s RV.
I went to make sure Crème Brûlée was all right. I pulled back the blanket.
He was gone. Panic set in. My cat was alone in a parking garage. I wasn’t sure what he’d do.
I started looking under the Biscuit Bowl. There was no sign of him—this from a cat that normally didn’t even like to walk into the next room to eat.
Miguel came to tell me that Alex Pardini was dead. “He was shot in the chest at close range.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? What are you doing, Zoe?”
“I set Crème Brûlée down. He’s gone. He must’ve been terrified by everything going on out here. I have to find him.”
We looked everywhere for him. We were still looking when the police arrived. They asked what we were doing, and I told them. They weren’t much help, but then they had a murder to deal with.
An hour later, I was close to tears. What if I never found Crème Brûlée? What if he’d been hurt and couldn’t come when I called him? He could’ve been hit by a car or someone could have picked him up and I’d never see him again.
Bobbie Shields came over to see what was going on. She offered to help look for my cat, too. “I have a sweet little Manx at home. I would hate to lose him.”
No sooner had she joined us than Uncle Saul and Ollie came downstairs—they’d heard about the shooting.
“Was anyone hurt?” Ollie asked.
I told him about Alex.
He frowned. “I suppose it would be wrong to ask if anyone human was hurt?”
“Shame on you!” Bobbie said. “Alex was good at what he did! And they might call the race off for sure with him gone. Now help Zoe look for her cat.”
A police detective in an expensive black suit finally arrived with the coroner.
“Hey! What are all you people doing out here? This is a crime scene. No one should be in this parking area except authorized personnel. Get out of here or I’ll have to arrest you.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes. I’m not a pretty crier. I knew my face was blotchy and unattractive. I didn’t care.
“My cat is missing. He was out here with me right before the shooting. I’m not leaving until I find him.”
“That makes you a witness. You can wait over here by my car. The rest of you have to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until we find Zoe’s cat.” Ollie towered over him.
“Me, either.” Bobbie put her hands on her ample hips.
“We find the cat or we’re all staying,” Uncle Saul joined in.
“And I’m not a witness unless I find my cat,” I added. “I didn’t hear anything or see anyone leaving the RV.”
The detective was obviously angry, but we were resolute. He threw himself into helping us find Crème Brûlée. He even assigned two of the police officers to help us.
I was close to the Pizza Papa truck when I heard a loud howl followed by cursing. The back of the pizza truck flew open and Crème Brûlée ran out. His little face was covered in pizza sauce.
“Stay out of here, you little devil!” Antonio Stephanopoulos shook his fist. “You spoiled a whole batch of pizza sauce with your paws.”
I caught my cat and held him to me. Antonio was right. His paws and face—even his tail—were covered in pizza sauce. I looked at him in disbelief. “You came all the way over here and snuck into this truck to steal pizza? Bad, bad cat.”
He meowed and looked at me so pitifully. It was past his usual time for dinner. He was probably starving. I hugged him, forgiving him, before I told everyone that he was okay.
“Is that blood all over him?” The police detective’s eyes sharpened. “Where has he been?”
“No. It’s pizza sauce. He was in the Pizza Papa truck. Crème Brûlée loves pizza. Well, pretty much anything Italian. I’m going to take him upstairs and give him a bath.”
“You have to stay right here,” the detective disagreed. “Let one of your friends take the cat.”
Uncle Saul agreed to take Crème Brûlée to his room. “I’m not saying I’m going to give this monster a bath. I value my hands too much. But he’ll be out of the heat anyway.”
“Thanks.” I wrapped my cat in his blanket. “I’ll be up as soon as I can.”
Ollie went up with Uncle Saul. The police were redirected to question everyone who had been in the parking deck. I told them what I knew, what I’d heard and seen. The detective asked me to wait until he was done looking at the crime scene.
“Here we are again.” Miguel had finished putting away the supplies and was waiting with me. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
I smiled, completely worn-out and soaked with sweat from looking for my cat. Not the most romantic way to feel. “This is how we met. Me, in trouble, waiting in the back of a police car. This might be how our relationship is going to go.”
“I don’t think so. This race has had a run of bad luck. That’s all. Maybe the whole thing was about Alex and now that he’s dead, everything will be fine.”
“Or the whole race will be over since it’s been cursed from the beginning. I don’t know how many things can happen before they call it off.”
“Was there anything else you heard or saw that you didn’t tell the police?”
“No. It was over very quickly. I was scared. Maybe there was something else and I didn’t notice it.”
The detective came to find us and had me repeat what I’d already told him. He handed me his card. “Call me if you think of anything else. I know you’re not going to be here past tomorrow. You can still let me know if you think of anything.”
“I will.” I pocketed his card.
Antonio Stephanopoulos was also talking to a police officer. From what I could tell, he’d been in his food truck the whole time. He’d been cooking, wearing his headphones, and hadn’t heard a thing.
Helms and Marsh were by the elevators. They were talking to an Atlanta police officer. It looked like they were trying to explain who they were and why they were there.
Miguel and I left the parking area, along with about eight of t
he other food truck team members. I passed Helms and Marsh getting into the elevator. True to their word, they didn’t acknowledge me at all.
“How much more can happen in this race?” Roy Chow asked as the elevator went up. “They wouldn’t even let me make sure my truck was okay.”
Daryl Barbee had tried to get into the garage, too. “You don’t believe all this is real, do you? At the end of the race, Pardini and Johnson will pop out. The whole thing is a big stunt. They do these things to keep people interested. Really, don’t take it so seriously.”
“I didn’t think of it that way,” Miguel murmured as we got off on our floor. “Maybe he’s right. It is part of a TV show.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they’d pretend to kill people. Maybe they’d take Dante’s food truck and hack up our power cords. That’s possible. They might have wanted to see how resourceful we are. I think pretending someone was murdered would be too far, even for reality TV.”
I knocked on Uncle Saul’s door. He opened it with a towel wrapped around his arm. “That beast is a menace, Zoe. I don’t know why you keep him.”
I noticed he was covered in soap and water and nursing two long scratches on his arm. “I thought you weren’t going to try and wash him.”
“I wasn’t until I saw what a mess he was. I was afraid he’d get pizza sauce all over the furniture. Next time he can clean himself.”
I apologized to my uncle and went downstairs to get bandages and antibiotic ointment for his scratches. I was lucky that the desk clerk had a first-aid kit.
Miguel had headed on to his room while I was gone. He had to pay for a separate room—he didn’t want to stay in the room with Ollie and Uncle Saul. No doubt he was in need of a shower and clean clothes as well.
“I’m so sorry this happened.” I dressed Uncle Saul’s arm. “He doesn’t like baths. He knows better than to scratch me, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“Why don’t you get a cute little puppy?” he suggested. “Even my alligator isn’t as much trouble as that cat.”
“He isn’t all bad.” I picked up Crème Brûlée. He rolled around in my arms and play-slapped at me with his paws. “Anyway, it’s too late. I love him. I think he loves me. It’s hard to tell. Get some rest. They’ll probably make an announcement about the race at dinner, like they usually do.”
