by D. C. Gomez
“Hi. Where is the registration table for the robotics competition?”
I was proud of him; he sounded very professional and calm.
“If you go right behind us in that hall, the registration tables A&M is in charge of are inside.” A young lady maybe in her late teens told us. She had spiky, pink hair, and her face was painted. She was all about this College Bowl.
“Are there other registrations areas in the city?” Was I missing something?
“Oh yes, TC has half of the events, so they’re managing that registration. It was easier to split the work so nobody would get burned out,” a young man with blue hair replied over his shoulder. He was helping another group but decided to join in. It was nice to see both schools working together to pull this off.
“Good to know. Thanks.” Bartholomew and I waved at the couple and headed toward the registration area. The place was organized chaos. Students were in every corner, directing traffic. Bartholomew found his table quickly and headed straight for it. I wasn’t sure if it was his excitement or his height, but he was able to move around the crowd a lot quicker than me. By the time I got to the table, he was almost done.
“This must be your sister.” A girl with brown hair said to me. She had an A&M shirt on with a nametag that read Julie. Mercifully, her face and hair were not painted.
“Yes. I don’t move as fast as Bart.” I smiled back.
She glanced at the crowd and smiled. “It’s only going to get worse. I’m happy my shift is only three hours.”
I felt sorry for Julie. Three hours in this mess was too long.
“Question, do you have a restaurant around here? The food smells delicious.”
“We do, but that’s not the cafeteria food you’re smelling. We recently have local vendors that come to the dorms and campus, and the food is amazing.” Our little friend Julie was probably hungrier than I was, because her face took on a very dreamy look.
“What kind of food?” I couldn’t help it; the curiosity was killing me. I wanted to know what could make someone smile like that.
“Well, we have the tamales lady and a local food truck that serves only breakfast food.” Julie was almost bouncing with excitement. “And just recently we have a fried pie lady.”
Bartholomew and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. Once you give up gluten, fried pies were a horrible temptation. I wondered if Jake had stock in them. “Oh no, you don’t understand. These are not just any fried pies. These babies are flaky and gooey, and just addicting. You can’t have just one. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.”
“Wow, those sound great.” A terrible thought hit me. “Are we done here? We need to get going and get his robot finished.” I started pulling Bartholomew away.
“Yes, here are your numbers. Make sure to wear them and good luck. I hope you do great.”
I had to admit, Julie was a sweetheart. We waved at her and made it back to the central atrium where the crowd of kids was increasing.
“What’s going on? We both know my robot is done.” Bartholomew asked me once we stopped outside the doors. I was looking at all the college students with the food containers.
“What’s more addicting than cocaine?” I asked without looking at him.
“Heroin,” Bartholomew replied in less than half a second.
“Not that one. Sugar,” I told him.
“You do know that claim has not been scientifically proven yet.”
I almost forgot that Bartholomew was a genius.
“No, that’s what Jake said last night.” Was that crazy devil trying to help?
“Oh, in that case, that might be true. He is the Prince of Darkness; he should know his deadly substances. But what does that have to do with anything?” Bartholomew looked around, confused.
“Bart, what if the note you found was supposed to say flaky and not Flakka? What if we were supposed to be looking for a fried-pie lady and not a drug dealer?”
“First of all, fried pies are not flaky. If she was planning to leave a note, the least she could do was be accurate. How were we supposed to guess pie? That’s crazy.” Bartholomew threw his hands in the air in pure disgust.
“Add that one to the lists of complaints we have against her. Right now we need to find out if I’m right. We need to find T.J. Let’s go.” I was not planning to lose Bartholomew again, so I grabbed his arm and dragged him away.
Chapter 26
“Why exactly are we going to Big Jake’s at nine a.m.?” Bartholomew asked me as I parked in front of the door. “Don’t get me wrong. I could get BBQ all day long, but I don’t think they open till ten.”
Everyone at Reapers loved Big Jake’s. It was our Friday lunch place, so we knew the schedule by heart.
“The restaurant is not open, but T.J. should be smoking the meat.” T.J. was my favorite on Big Jake’s staff and one of the nicest guys in town. He was at least six feet tall, with gorgeous hazel eyes, brown hair, and a great mocha completion. He was the poster child for the phrase tall, dark, and handsome. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he kept getting better looking each day. “We need to talk to him before they open.”
Bartholomew and I rushed to the side door facing the road that led to Beverly Park. I looked through the window, and the place looked deserted. I was pretty sure T.J. was working today. I banged on the glass door, praying somebody would hear us. After several minutes, T.J. poked his head from the back room. Bartholomew and I waved, and he waved back. He made his way quickly to the door. He had a large key ring hanging from his belt loop. He let us in and then locked the door behind us.
“What a pleasant surprise. You guys are a bit early for lunch,” T.J. told us with a huge smile. In the time I lived in Texarkana I had never seen T.J. angry or upset. “I’m surprised you have time to come and see us little people,” T.J. said to me.
I eyed him, confused.
“I figured you’d be having another hot date at Cracker Barrel.” He said, bursting out in laughter.
I glared at him and at Bartholomew, who was trying to hold it in.
“How do you know about that?” I had my hands on my hip. I was ready to choke the responsible party.
“Who do you think? Shorty, of course.” T.J. told me, still smiling too much for my taste.
“That boy needs to work for TXK Today or the Gazette, at the rate he delivers information. He is faster than Facebook for spreading news.” Shorty was on my list of people to hurt. Then again, Shorty was probably on everyone’s list.
“So your Cici’s date wasn’t memorable?” T.J. was still teasing me.
“Oh it was memorable all right, but not for the right reasons,” Bartholomew added from behind me. T.J. and Bartholomew shared a look, and both shook their heads. I was not happy being left out of the loop.
“Anyway, my crazy dating life is not the reason we’re here. We need your help. We’re trying to find this pie lady everyone is talking about. If we show you a picture, do you think you’d recognize her?” This plan made a lot more sense in my head than when I said it out loud.
“Of course I would help. But why didn’t you just call me instead?” I probably looked puzzled because T.J. kept on talking. “I enjoy the visit, but if you were in a hurry, phone calls and text are usually faster.”
I looked down at the floor a bit sheepishly before answering. “I lost your number. I’m sorry.”
T.J. smiled without getting upset. “That figures. Give me your phone.” T.J. gave me a stern look, and I gave up. I pulled my cell from my back pocket, unlocked it and handed it to him. Not sure why I bothered with passwords when Bartholomew could hack into anything. T.J. took the phone and started programming his number to include a photo.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who needs to program your phone,” Bartholomew told me quietly. I rolled my eyes at him. He just laughed.
&nb
sp; “Here you go. Who are you looking for?” T.J. handed me back my phone.
Bartholomew very quickly gave T.J. his phone with the picture of our favorite accountant.
“Have you seen her around?” Bartholomew asked T.J.
“Wow, I have. She’s stopped by a few times. She was looking better in this picture. She looks a little rough now.” A loud alarm went off, and T.J. looked over his shoulder. “Uh, hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”
Based on how quickly he moved, that was probably one of his meat timers.
Bartholomew leaned in to whisper to me. “You know, he has potential. Friendly, great personality, has a job, and can cook.”
“Don’t even think about it. No more playing Cupid,” I was telling Bartholomew when I heard footsteps heading our way. I gave him one more glare before turning around.
“Hi, Isis. Hi Bart. What’s going on?” A tall, thin woman in her early forties spoke to us. She had a greasy apron on and rhinestone glasses. The glasses made her look younger than she was, and the pink stripes in her hair gave her a semi-punk look.
“Hi, Big Amy. Sorry to bother you guys. We just had a quick question.” Big Amy was the owner of this location, and she ran a tight ship. I wasn’t sure why they called her Big Amy. The girl was super thin.
“Anything I can help you with?”
Big Amy was always lovely but usually not a big talker. I didn’t want to push our luck. Bartholomew gave me a questioning looked, and I shrugged.
“We’re looking for this lady.” He handed her the phone with the picture.
“Hey, I know her,” Big Amy told us cheerfully.
“You do? How?” I didn’t like coincidences.
“She came by wanting to buy the recipe for our fried pies. She offered me a huge amount of money I couldn’t resist. I almost felt bad; she paid me for something everyone knows how to make.”
Big Amy looked like the cat that got the mouse, a little too proud of herself.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how to find her?” I asked. I was afraid I was pushing her too hard. I didn’t want her to stop talking now.
“Unfortunately she lives with Fred in the apartments across the street from TC.” This was the most Big Amy had ever talked to me.
“Thank you so much, Big Amy. This is a huge help.” I meant it. Anybody that could provide information in the next two days, I would be their new friend forever.
“His apartment is on the second floor, the last unit. Just be careful.” Before we could ask her any questions, Big Amy took off back toward the kitchen area.
“What was that all about?” Bartholomew asked me.
“I have no idea. I plan to start tipping more if this helps us.” Not sure how, since Big Jake’s didn’t take tips.
“What did I miss?” T.J. asked us.
“Big Amy just told us how to find this girl’s boyfriend.” I was so happy I wanted to dance.
“Really? Who?” T.J. was not as happy as we were.
“Some guy named Fred that lives across the street from TC. We’re heading that way now,” Bartholomew answered cheerfully.
“I wouldn’t recommend just you two going.” T.J. looked over his shoulder in Big Amy’s direction. “Fred is a sociopath. Big Amy used to date him, but he was violent. Don’t go there alone.”
Well, that explained why Amy didn’t feel bad enough not to take the money.
“Is he that bad?”
“He’s nuts, and he’s never alone,” T.J. said, a little disturbed. The last part helped me make up my mind. I was not about to walk into a group of people that could potentially beat me up.
“Fair Enough. I’ll take Bob with me,” I told T.J., trying to calm him down.
“That’s a great idea. I wish I could go with you, but I’m the manager today.” For some strange reason, T.J. looked sad.
“No big deal. Bob won’t mind at all.” Bob might be getting to rough somebody up.
“Bob is a little scary; you know that, right?”
Bartholomew and I were looking at T.J., surprised.
“You think Bob is scary?” I recovered faster than Bartholomew and asked for the two of us.
“He is extremely scary. He has this crazy intensity that is nuts. To make things even worse, he’s built like a brick house. He screams dangerous.”
I was pretty sure if Bob heard T.J.’s description of him, he would be thrilled. Bob spends a lot of hours honing his mean look. I guessed it worked.
“Well, that is good news. Now we just need to drag poor Bob with us and find this Fred guy. Nothing major.” As long as Bob was somewhere to be found. I was praying he wasn’t working on his new truck.
“Good, and be careful.” T.J. smiled at me. He looked at Bartholomew before talking. “Are you still competing in the College Bowl?”
“Yes. We just finished the registration process.” Bartholomew looked his age when he smiled. At least he was slowly returning to his cheerful self.
“Great, I’ll make sure to stop by and cheer for you,” T.J. said with a huge smile of his own.
“Speaking of College Bowl.” Big Amy said from the cash register. “Your little pie lady is planning to be there. I saw her there last week registering for a booth to sell fried pies. I’m surprised she’s doing so well.”
Big Amy did look a bit puzzled about the situation. I looked at Bartholomew in horror.
“Oh no. Please do me a favor and do not eat anything she is selling.”
“Isis, what’s going on?” T.J. was looking at me, very concerned.
“We don’t have proof yet, but we think her food might be contaminated,” I told them.
“Oh, that sucks. Can we at least pass the word to others?”
That was a great idea T.J. had.
“Yes, please. That would be a great help. Thank you so much. You guys are busy, so we’re going to get going.”
Big Amy waved and went back to the back. Bartholomew waved back.
“Try to use your phone more often, Isis, and don’t be a stranger,” T.J. told me with a smile.
“Sounds like a plan.” I gave him a mock salute and dragged Bartholomew out the door. “Don’t even think about it,” I told Bartholomew outside.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bartholomew remarked with an innocent smile.
Yeah, right. I knew better than to believe that sneaky little smile of his. “Well, at least we have a valid location for the boyfriend. I wasn’t tracking this one.”
Chapter 27
This was becoming a stimulating morning. Unfortunately, I was told once that exciting times ended up in war. Maybe I needed dull days to balance the chaos. I parked Ladybug in her designated parking space. Bob’s new truck had arrived. He got a Ram 2500 Heavy Duty work truck. Compared to the Beast, this thing was a monster. As massive as the truck was, Bob picked baby blue for the color. If he thought that made it looked less intimidating, Bob was fooling himself. Bartholomew and I did a quick double take and just smiled.
We rushed up the stairs, hoping to catch the rest of our peeps. When we entered the loft, Bob and Constantine were at the kitchen table, studying some maps. There was no sign of Eugene. Bartholomew and I joined them.
“What are you two doing?”
They looked a little too focused for my taste. Constantine got this focus when he went into war mode. He was still mad at the accountant over Bumblebee.
“Tracking the appearances of the zombies. There is no pattern,” Constantine replied, still staring at the map. “Most drug dealers have a base of operations or a hub area. You don’t just wander into other people’s territory. There’s no way she made that many connections and expanded that fast in less than six months.” Constantine was beyond himself.
“She didn’t,” I told him. Bob and Constantine both looked up at me. That much i
ntense attention from the two was a bit scary. Maybe T.J. was right about Bob. “We’ve been looking for the wrong drug, if you believe Jake.”
“What did the devil tell you this time?” asked Bob, as he straightened himself out.
“He hinted at sugar.” I needed a quick explanation; we were running out of time.
“Sugar? Is that a code name for something?” Constantine looked at Bob, confused.
“One of his weird riddles, but he was right. Our accountant is using fried pies to spread the plague. This is a plague, right?” I was still not sure if it qualified.
“Damn the devil to hell,” Bob muttered under his breath. I couldn’t help to smile. Lately, that was our favorite phrase when it came to Jake. We heard it around town, and we used it all the time. One time I let it slip in front of Jake, and he glared at me.
“Anything that comes or started with Pestilence is a plague. That woman will be the death of humanity.” Constantine was not a happy camper.
“I’m pretty sure that’s her goal,” Bartholomew added from the fridge. I guessed he was hungry as well. He was pulling covered dishes out. The rest of us looked at him. “Sorry, I’m hungry now. Big Jake’s smelled too good, made my tummy grumble.
“Open the oven instead. I made biscuits and gravy. Your plate and Isis’s are in there.” Bob said food, and I jumped at the word. I was pretty sure all those stupid shakes Eric made were speeding up my metabolism. Honestly, I eat all the time, and the boys were right—I was thinner. Bart pulled the plates out, and I had no idea where Bob found a recipe for gluten-free biscuits and gravy.
“Before you start devouring your food, explain yourself. Quickly.” Constantine stopped me midway toward the kitchen. I turned back and took a seat at the table with them.
“It all fits. In the last couple of weeks, everywhere we go people have this fried-pie obsession. The campus at A&M just picked up a fried-pie lady, randomly. Abuelita has been plotting to take down the fried-pie lady. The parents of those kids in Red Lick did not look like the type to give their kids weed, but I’m sure they gave them fried pies.” I looked at Constantine and Bob for a response.
