Fry Another Day

by J. J. Cook

  “You think the race will go on?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  SIXTEEN

  I managed to get Crème Brûlée cleaned up and fed in my hotel room and then took a shower and changed clothes before going down for the race dinner.

  Dinner at the hotel was a somber affair. Most of the food truck drivers and their team members wore black—even if it was only black shorts and a black tank top.

  Sponsors, and the food network show, had already chosen a replacement for Alex. His name was Patrick Ferris. I’d seen him before. He was Alex’s second-in-command. He looked surprisingly like Alex, blond good looks and all. He sounded a lot like him, too.

  “This has been a dark day for all of us involved in the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race.” Patrick’s eyes were glued on a teleprompter. “The loss of our comrade, Alex Pardini, is a terrible blow to all of us.”

  Bobbie Shields snorted loudly. Patrick glared at her, cleared his throat, and continued.

  “As I was saying, it’s terrible to even contemplate going on with the race, but we all know that’s what Alex would’ve wanted.”

  Patrick sounded all choked up and even wiped a tear from his eye. There were a few snickers from the audience but also a few sobs.

  Dante Eldridge abruptly stood up. “What am I supposed to do without a food truck? I want to know what happened to my truck. If you all took it to make the show more popular, I want to know.”

  “That’s right.” Patrick acknowledged him. “Another of our companions has had his livelihood brutally ripped away from him. Unlike problems we faced in the past, there are no quick cures for Dante’s truck being hijacked.”

  “My fist is gonna cure your face if I don’t get my food truck back.” Dante surged past the other tables to the front stage.

  Two security men came out of nowhere to stop him. When he saw they each wore a gun, he went back to his table.

  “This is getting really interesting now.” Ollie was excited as he rubbed his large hands together.

  “Seriously?” Delia said. “Guns and dead people make the race interesting?”

  “Like cars crashing makes NASCAR interesting,” he responded.

  Delia frowned and shook her head.

  “Shh!” Chef Art was eager to hear what was going to happen next.

  “We are going to continue the race.” Patrick picked up where he’d left off. “We’ll be going forward with our double challenge tomorrow morning in downtown Hotlanta!”

  Despite the loss of Dante’s food truck, and Alex, everyone applauded. Patrick nodded and smiled as did the sponsors of the race who were onstage behind him.

  “There we go!” Chef Art grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Too much money invested for everyone to go home without a winner. It would look bad, you know?”

  “Was there some question of whether or not it would go on?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “There were one or two sponsors worried about Alex’s death and what folks would think if we pushed on. Most weren’t so wimpy. We started this. We have to finish it.”

  As soon as he’d uttered those fateful words, two pretty young women in pretty blue summer dresses brought out the electronic board they’d had in Columbia earlier that day.

  “Let’s look at the board as we go forward.”

  At Patrick’s signal, the board flashed and lit up. “This morning there were seven food trucks remaining. Please stand up when I call your names. Our Daily Bread. Shut Up and Eat. Chooey’s Sooey. Stick It Here. Grinch’s Ganache. Pizza Papa. And the Biscuit Bowl.”

  The owners of those food trucks were standing at their tables. We all looked exhausted and worried.

  “We lost one of our trucks to foul play—Dante, please sit down.”

  As Patrick said the words, Stick It Here went off the board.

  Dante refused to sit down. “You all are crazy. I’m not hanging around waiting for you to make me feel any worse about this. I’m out of here.”

  We watched as Dante strode out of the room, and the doors to the big dining room shut behind him.

  “Oooh!” Ollie whispered. “The drama.”

  “Shh!” I felt like losing Dante was worse than losing Alex. Not to be indelicate, but Dante was one of us. What happened to him could’ve happened to anyone.

  The board flashed a few times, and the pretty girls smiled brilliantly.

  “So here we are now,” Patrick announced. “Six food trucks left in the race. Two seemingly impossible challenges for tomorrow. Are you ready for it?”

  “I might be,” Bobbie said. “If you go ahead and tell us what the challenges are.”

  Patrick dramatically ripped open a large envelope. “The first challenge for Atlanta is making, presenting, and selling your signature dishes upside down.”

  We all looked at one another.

  Daryl Barbee was the first to speak. “Are you saying we have to make, present, and sell our food standing on our heads?”

  Patrick laughed. “No! You misunderstood me.”

  “Then what are you saying, son?” Reverend Jay Jablonski asked from the front table.

  “I’m saying the food has to be served upside down.” Patrick glanced behind himself for support from the sponsors. All of them shrugged and looked away. “For instance, upside-down cupcakes, upside-down pizza, and upside-down biscuit bowls. See?”

  Everyone nodded. After a few comments, Roy Chow asked about the second challenge.

  “You’re gonna love this one.” Patrick smiled, showing his perfect white teeth against his perfectly tanned face. “You have to sell one hundred dollars of upside-down product, and all of the money you collect has to be in change.”

  “Change?” Antonio asked.

  “That’s right. Dimes, quarters, nickels, and pennies.”

  “What about those gold dollars and fifty-cent pieces?” Reverend Jablonski asked.

  Patrick glanced back again. One of the producers nodded.

  “Those work, too. No folding money, checks, or credit cards,” Patrick confirmed.

  “Most people don’t even carry change anymore,” Bobbie complained.

  “That’s why they call it a challenge, right?” Patrick smiled and applauded.

  “Is that it?” Ollie asked.

  “That’s it,” Patrick responded. “Enjoy your dinner. Get some sleep. We’ll see you at four A.M. tomorrow.”

  I did as he suggested and enjoyed some delicious chicken with risotto and a nice glass of red wine. I know you’re supposed to drink white with chicken, but I liked the red better.

  Halfway through dinner, Uncle Saul’s phone rang. It was his friend from Mobile with the deep fryer. I started to get up and go with him. He told me to sit down and finish my meal.

  “This way, my buddy and I have some private time to talk. We’ll get the fryer in. He’s gonna want to get paid. Want me to take care of it?”

  “No. Take the cash.” I grabbed the envelope that held my winnings from Columbia and gave it to him. “Call me if you need my help.”

  “Doubtful, but I will if it comes up.”

  There was a lot of grumbling and outright complaining as the food truck teams finished dinner and left the large room. Patrick and the producers were long gone. The electronic board and the pretty girls had gone with them.

  Chef Art finished his dinner. “I’m going to meet with the other sponsors of the race and see where we stand in all of this. I don’t know if anything has to be changed yet. I’ll let you know. See you all in the morning. Get some sleep, Zoe. You’re looking a mite peaked.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ollie went off with Delia to get drinks. Uncle Saul went to bed.

  “I guess it’s me and you.” Miguel smiled and took my hand. “We could go out and take in some of the local night l
ife if you want.”

  “I’m really tired. Maybe a drink and then I’m ready for bed. I know that’s not very exciting. But you already know I’m not a very exciting person.”

  “I think you’re pretty exciting. Almost too exciting for me. I lead a boring life in comparison.”

  I laughed as we wandered down the long hall with the ugly, brown-flowered carpeting underfoot. We were walking in the general direction of the hotel bar.

  I glanced up to reply and saw Miguel’s beautiful female friend in a crowd of people filling the hotel lobby. The sponsors and producers of the race were answering questions from a large media group about Alex’s death. She was right in the middle of it.

  It was one thing to have seen this woman in Charlotte the first morning. A little odd to see her in Columbia the next day. Why was she here in Atlanta, too?

  Lots of questions occurred to me.

  We sat down in the crowded bar. We were lucky to get a secluded booth from a couple that was leaving. Miguel ordered a whiskey sour and I got my usual margarita.

  “I know this isn’t any of my business, but did you agree to come with me for the race so you could meet your friend here and in Charlotte and Columbia?” I smiled to take the edge off the question.

  “I had already agreed to come with you when Tina called about meeting her somewhere to talk. She said she was going to be in Columbia, and that worked for me.”

  Our drinks arrived, and I pushed the subject a step further. “Does Tina know about the race?”

  He shrugged. “Yes. Alex Pardini was her husband.”

  “What?”

  After dropping that bombshell, Miguel leaned closer to me. “I told you about her husband trying to take everything away from her.”

  “I guess she doesn’t have that problem now.” I thought about those black boots and jeans that I’d seen before I fell down the RV stairs. “That’s a very good motive to kill someone.”

  “What I didn’t tell you, Zoe, was that there have been two recent attempts on Tina’s life. Alex may have been killed because of those attempts.”

  I had to admit that the phone call I’d overheard in Charlotte could have been about Alex killing his wife or hiring someone to kill her. I was still only guessing from the stilted words I’d heard. “But why have her killed during the race? Wouldn’t someplace private had been better? And why is he dead instead of her?”

  “Maybe to provide an alibi for himself. I don’t know. I’m trying to understand it myself.”

  “Maybe that’s the part I heard about payment right before Alex was killed. Maybe the killer wanted more money. But why would Alex kill Reggie?”

  He shrugged. “To throw everyone off when he killed Tina?”

  “I guess that’s possible.”

  His phone rang and he stood up. “Excuse me, Zoe.”

  It only took a minute for Detectives Helms and Marsh to spot me alone at the booth and move in. They weren’t exactly the faces I wanted to see across from me.

  “How was the dinner?” Helms asked.

  “It was pretty good for catered food. I enjoyed it. How was your dinner?”

  “We haven’t had dinner yet.” Marsh sounded as though he wasn’t too happy about it, either. “We’ve been in the parking garage with the Atlanta police investigating another murder involved with this race.”

  “Are they shutting the race down now?” Helms asked.

  “No. Not at all.” I sighed. “There were a lot of good words about Alex Pardini and that he’d want the race to continue. We’ll be up and running again tomorrow at four A.M.”

  “What about the sponsors?” Marsh wondered. “Aren’t they worried about bad publicity from being involved with the race?”

  “I don’t think most of them are all that worried. I know Chef Art wasn’t.”

  “What about Pardini’s death?” Marsh leaned forward after pushing Miguel’s drink out of the way. “Have you remembered anything else that happened before he was killed?”

  “No. I told the police what I heard and saw. It wasn’t much.”

  “Zoe, were the boots you saw men’s or women’s?” Helms questioned.

  “I’m not sure. I only caught a glimpse of them.”

  “If you think of anything else—” Marsh began.

  “I have your cell phone numbers. I’ll call.” I wanted information from them, too. “Do you still think Miguel is involved with this?”

  “We have some information about a woman he was seen with in Columbia.” Helms looked at her notebook. “Tina Gerard. Ever hear of her?”

  I was going to pass on that. I wanted their information, not the other way around.

  “No. Who is she?”

  “She’s Alex Pardini’s wife. We know she called Miguel in Mobile before the race started. She and Pardini have been going through a really nasty divorce. The way it looked, she wasn’t going to get anything. Then she hired Miguel.”

  Marsh’s gaze was intense. “Now, with Pardini dead, that changes everything.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I understood what they meant. They knew about the twenty-five thousand dollars that had been wired to Miguel’s account. It looked like Tina could have paid Miguel to kill her husband.

  “We’re building a case against your friend, Zoe,” Helms added. “I hope you aren’t involved in all this.”

  “Where does Reggie’s death fit into it?” I asked.

  “We’re not sure yet,” Marsh admitted. “Maybe he was the first hit man Tina Gerard paid to kill her husband.”

  “Meaning Miguel was the next?”

  “Well, well.” Miguel finally made it back. “A man can’t leave his date anymore without someone else stepping in. Do you mind?”

  The two detectives pushed out of the booth. Miguel sat down and took a sip of his drink.

  “We’ll be talking to you, Zoe,” Helms said. “Good night. Be careful.”

  When they were gone, Miguel asked, “What did they want this time?”

  “The usual.” I studied his face. “They know it was Tina who sent you that money from the Caymans. They think you killed Reggie, too.”

  “Why would I kill Reggie?”

  “Because he wasn’t doing his job as the first hit man Tina hired to kill Alex. So she hired you.”

  “Nice to know where I stand. No wonder my ears were burning.”

  “The police have been keeping an eye on you and Tina. They think you’re working together.”

  “That’s okay. I have nothing to hide. I didn’t kill Alex, Detective McSwain, or Reggie Johnson. I’ll be glad to share my alibi with them if they’d like to question me. Instead they keep skulking around talking to you!”

  “I’m sure they’re waiting for enough information to arrest you. Are you sure your friend Tina has your back? If the police are talking to her next, that could be what they need.”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes narrowed. “This is a new one for me. I’ve never been under suspicion of murder for hire. Looking at it logically, I suppose I can see how they’re putting it together.”

  I covered his hand with mine on the table. “Let’s not look at it logically anymore. Let’s pretend Tina is setting you up to take the fall for Alex’s murder.”

  “Sorry. Absolutely not. Why would she do that?”

  “Because she was going to lose everything. Now she’ll get everything, whatever that is. Maybe she didn’t need you as a lawyer but as a fall guy.”

  “I think Alex was wealthy,” he admitted. “Tina told me she’d given up her legal practice years ago to raise their daughter.”

  “That makes it even worse.” I yawned. “People will do even more for their kids than they will for money.”

  “That doesn’t mean Tina killed him.”

  “No. It doesn’t. But I’m more worried about you ta
king the fall for Alex’s death than I am Tina. She sent you that money before the race and then conveniently met you along the race route. That sounds kind of suspicious to me.”

  “I hope neither one of us is guilty of killing anyone.” He squeezed my hand. “You need to go to bed. You’ve been up for a long time, besides the skating and singing. Don’t worry about the police. They think they have something, but it’s all smoke and mirrors. We’ll work this out.”

  He walked me to my room. We saw Delia laughing and going into the bar with Ollie.

  “Poor Ollie,” Miguel said. “I think he’s in for a wild ride with Delia.”

  I slipped my key card into the room lock and the light turned green. “Maybe it will be just what he needs to get him out of his rut. But they may have to dial it down a bit until we get through the race. We have enough problems without the two of them going at it in the back of the Biscuit Bowl.”

  Miguel lightly kissed me. “Good night, Zoe. I’ll see you at four.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a more satisfying kiss. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the police have you.”

  He laughed. “Better put on your Superwoman cape if you’re going to keep me out of trouble.”

  “I can do that.” I smiled and wished him a good night.

  I locked the door behind me and didn’t bother switching on the light. With the curtains open, the lights from around the hotel were enough to cast a dim glow through the room.

  I looked out at the city of Atlanta spread around us. Tomorrow was sure to be a daunting day even without the police harassing me about Miguel. I hoped there were lots of people out there who got up early—with change in their pockets. I hoped they enjoyed eating upside-down biscuits.

  And I hope Tina isn’t leading Miguel into more than he, or Superwoman, can handle.

  I shed my T-shirt and jeans and set the alarm clock. After getting into bed, I cuddled with Crème Brûlée, who was beginning to need a mani/pedi. My last thought, before sleep overcame me, was that I’d forgotten my cat’s brush at home.