by J. J. Cook
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
It was Miguel. I sagged in relief, and started breathing again. “You scared the life out of me. What are you doing here so early? Did something else happen?”
“No. I didn’t have any meetings today. I thought I’d come by and check out the food truck business in Mobile.”
“I have the flyers, Zoe,” Delia said. “Hello, Miguel!”
As Delia and I were setting up the food truck, Miguel offered to help. “I can do something, too.”
I noticed that he wasn’t wearing his usual suit and tie. He looked much better in his jeans and pale blue T-shirt, a dark blue waterproof jacket covering them. I couldn’t believe he wanted to spend the day in the food truck.
My little heart was beating double-time at the thought! I kind of realized then that I liked him a lot.
I knew I couldn’t afford him. I didn’t want my father to pay my lawyer to help me serve biscuit bowls.
“I don’t know,” I hesitated. “I’m not sure I’ll make enough money to pay both of you. I’ve had days when I didn’t make enough money to buy supplies for the next day.”
He shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride. You don’t have to pay me. Neither does your father.”
That alleviated my problem with him. I was still a little unsure about what had brought him there. It would have been nice to think he wanted to spend time with me. It was probably more like he was worried about me.
While I wasn’t crazy about that idea, I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get to know him better. I thanked him for his offer and sent him to bring out the rest of the biscuits.
I went back for water to put in the warmer and almost walked into Ollie, who was carrying the pot of chili.
“This is good,” he told me. “It needed a little cayenne. I added it. Don’t worry.”
I didn’t mention that he’d told me not to depend on him. I was glad he was there. If he decided to stop helping at some point, I’d have to get over it. In the meantime, it looked as though I had a full crew.
Crème Brûlée was always the last on board. I tried to make sure he’d visited the litter box before we left. Usually, he was good for the day after that. If not, I had his harness and could walk him a little in the grass. I was a little worried about the tuna—his little tummy sometimes had problems with fish. There was nothing I could do about it then.
Ollie rode with me to police headquarters. Miguel and Delia took his car. They were going to park in the public lot that adjoined the building complex and join us there.
Suzette’s Crepes beat us to the prime location. I sighed but took the second spot without complaining. People would be willing to walk the few yards that separated us.
“I’ll take care of this.” Ollie started to get out.
“No. It’s fine. Like we told him yesterday, it’s the early bird. He got here first. That’s okay. We have biscuits, scrambled eggs, and chili. People will find us.”
Ollie wasn’t happy with that. I finally convinced him that it was for the best. The sky was turning gray as we set up. A light rain was falling. People were running by with newspapers over their heads.
I hoped the rain would be gone by lunchtime. Ollie had set up the tables and chairs between us and Suzette’s Crepes. Miguel had put up the awnings, and I’d filled out the menu. We were ready for customers.
While Ollie stirred the chili, and Delia was ready to take orders at the window, Miguel and I sat in the front of the food truck and talked.
“What did the police say about Don Abbott?” I asked him for news.
“He made bail, and they had to let him go. I showed Delia his picture. She said she recognized him as Terry’s friend and his partner in the taco truck. That was about it. She said they argued about money sometimes.”
I made a face. “What’s going to happen next with Delia?”
“Well, nothing has changed in her case. Don Abbott may be violent, but he has a good alibi for where he was when his partner was killed.”
“So we’re right back where we started.”
“Not exactly. What do you think Abbott wanted from you? Have you thought about it at all?”
I admitted that I had thought about almost nothing else. “I don’t have any idea what he thinks I have. Believe me, Terry and I didn’t spend any quality time together when he was in my food truck. I don’t know why someone put him here.”
I glanced around, uncomfortably, at the seat I occupied.
“It sounds like it could’ve been Abbott that put him here. He obviously knew you and Terry had a disagreement. It would be the perfect way to throw off suspicion. But it would help if we had some idea of what Terry had that was so valuable.”
“I don’t know. I keep thinking about it. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I barely knew Terry. Why would anyone think he’d give me something valuable?”
“I hope we find that out before Delia’s trial,” Miguel said. “She’s got a record, mostly petty violations. But she has one arrest that helps the police—she was picked up with a gun last year. Since she had a relationship with Terry that ended badly, she’s the perfect suspect.”
I agreed with Miguel. I hoped the police would sort it all out in time. Whatever Terry had, people were willing to kill for it.
Customers started coming up. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle again. The smell of biscuit bowls frying had enticed them to visit us. Delia was smiling and courteous as she asked for their orders and took their money. Ollie was dipping steaming bowls of chili, even though it was still early.
We had a break at about nine thirty. I was glad because all of the scrambled eggs were gone.
Note to self: make more eggs next time.
Ollie and Miguel were outside, drying off the café tables and chairs. Delia was helping me get ready for the lunch crowd. I was expecting it to be huge.
“I don’t know how to thank you for giving me this chance, Zoe.” Delia fussed with some paper towels, eventually putting them in the trash.
“I’m glad to have you. You might not want to thank me once the big lunch crush starts.” I smiled at her.
She looked even prettier without all the glitzy makeup, her hair down on her shoulders. She still needed feeding, though.
She laughed. “Once you’ve been in as many tough scrapes as I have been, honey, you don’t get too messed up over things.”
I thought about the questions Miguel and I had posed to each other earlier. “Delia, do you have any idea what Terry’s partner could’ve come looking for at my place?”
“You know, I thought about it after you told me what happened last night. I don’t know, Zoe. Abbott is a crazy man. It could be anything.”
“Was there something special—something valuable—that Terry had that Don could be looking for?”
“Honey, Terry Bannister never had a blessed thing that was worth spit unless he got rid of it. He’d never hold on to something that way. If he was skulking around your parking lot at the diner the night he was killed, you can believe he was trying to sell whatever he had.”
Her tone was ironic, but I couldn’t help noticing that her hands were trembling.
“How long had you and Terry been broken up when he was killed?”
She smiled in an especially girlish way. “When weren’t we broken up? The longest we were together was a few months. Then he’d start drinking, and that would be it. I’m not gonna let no fool slap me around. I’m my own woman. Just because I make my money waiting tables doesn’t mean I’ll put up with stuff. You know what I mean?”
I agreed with her. “I’m sorry for all the questions. I know the police have asked you plenty.”
She put her hand on my arm. “You’re no bother, Zoe. You have such a good heart, it makes all of you glow.”
“Thanks. Would you like a
biscuit bowl?”
“Except for that. You have to quit feeding me. I’ll look like a buffalo in no time. I don’t want to end up looking like my mama. All she could wear before she died were these big, flowered dresses that hung down to her ankles like sacks. Shoot me if I ever get that bad.”
I laughed at her request. “I’m sorry. It’s what I do. And I’m sorry, too, about your troubles with the police. I’d like to help, if I can.”
“You’re helping plenty. I got myself into this pickle. I’m praying Miguel can get me out. If he doesn’t, it’s all on me. It’s the life I’ve led. I didn’t know any better. Maybe if I have to go away for a long time, I can come out with a degree. I’ve always wanted to fix people’s hair. I think I’d be good at it.”
We spent the next few minutes with her giving me tips on different ways I could wear my curly hair. I knew none of them would work. My mother had tried everything when I was in school. My hair always went its own way. Short of shaving it off and wearing a wig, it always would. I’d come to terms with it.
Customers began to come in fitfully as it got closer to lunch. By ten thirty, we had a line from the window. I could still see people passing us to go to Suzette’s Crepes. I sent Delia out on the sidewalk to give away menus and entice others to come to us instead.
At eleven, another food truck pulled in beside us. It was the Dog House—with the head in the front and the tail in the rear. They sold all kinds of hot dogs and sausages along with French fries and onion rings. The wonderful aroma almost overshadowed my biscuit bowls.
I didn’t know the owner of the Dog House, but I remembered seeing him talking to Terry on Dauphin Street after we’d had our run-in.
I started wondering how well the Dog House man knew Terry. Maybe he could shed some light on what Terry had that may have gotten him killed.
It was a remote possibility. If Delia didn’t know, it seemed unlikely the Dog House man would. Still, Delia was running out of options. As Miguel had said, she needed a hand. It was worth asking.
I asked Delia to come inside the food truck. She went back to the window to take orders. Miguel was frying biscuit bowls, and Ollie was filling them. They wouldn’t miss me for a few minutes.
“I’m going to say hello to the man in the Dog House,” I told them, leaving out the part about asking questions. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You’re doing such a great job. Thanks for your help.”
Miguel wasn’t fooled. He put the next batch of biscuits into the deep fryer and nudged Ollie. “I’m going with her.”
I wasn’t fooled by him, either. I saw right away that he was carrying a small gun. He had it in a holster under his jacket.
“I should go,” Ollie said. “You make the food.”
“Ollie, we talked about this,” Miguel said. “I’m not on parole. You need to stay out of trouble.”
I was walking out of the back of the food truck when Miguel came after me, apparently having convinced Ollie that he shouldn’t accompany me.
“What’s up?” Miguel asked. “Did you think of something?”
I told him about the day Terry and I met. “I saw the Dog House owner talking to him later. I thought he might know something about what Terry was into. I don’t know.”
“Okay. You should’ve said that. Don’t try to do anything foolish, Zoe.”
I didn’t think trying to keep Delia from going to jail was foolish. I didn’t say so because there wasn’t time to argue about it. The man from the Dog House was walking toward us as we went around the back of the food truck.
“There you are,” the Dog House man said. “I heard Terry was killed at your place. You don’t know what kind of mess you’re in.”
THIRTEEN
Miguel got in front of me like a Secret Service agent. His hand went to his gun.
I saw the look on the Dog House man’s face. I knew this could end in a nasty confrontation if I didn’t step in.
“Hello. I’m Zoe Chase, owner of the Biscuit Bowl. I don’t think we’ve actually met, even though I’ve seen you around.” I stuck out my hand and smiled at him.
“Zoe—” Miguel warned in an icy voice.
The Dog House man, however, responded with surprising civility. After a cautious peek at Miguel, he stuck his hand out and shook mine. “I’m Reggie Johnson, owner of the Dog House. Terry told me about you, and all the fun you two had in the back of your food truck.”
“First of all, unless you call me hitting Terry for making a pass at me fun, we didn’t have any fun in my food truck. I was thinking you might know why Terry was killed.”
Reggie shook his head. His brown ponytail, which stuck out of the back of his Dog House baseball cap, flopped from side to side. He wasn’t an attractive man. Most of his teeth were missing and he had deep acne scars on his face. He and Terry looked a lot alike—and they both smelled like old grease.
“I might have an idea.” He looked down his twisted nose at me. “What’s it worth to you?”
“Maybe you should tell me what you know and we’ll discuss it.” He wasn’t out-bartering me.
“How about you trade sites with me today, and I’ll fill you in.” Reggie spit in his hand and held it out to me. “Deal?”
Reluctantly, I shook his hand. I tried not to feel bad about giving up my spot at police headquarters. People would find me anyway. Letting his spit-filled hand touch mine was a whole other thing. I kept reminding myself that there was hand sanitizer in the food truck.
“Okay,” Miguel said. “What do you know?”
Reggie scratched his head under his ball cap. “That day on Dauphin Street, Terry told me that he had something worth a pile of money. He wouldn’t tell me what it was. I asked, believe me. He said he already had a buyer for it. He was selling it that night. It’s probably what got him killed.”
“Did he say what he was selling?” I asked.
“He didn’t give you any indication what the item was or where he’d acquired it?” Miguel questioned.
“Nope. One thing I do know—it was in his pocket.”
“You mean a particular pocket?” I started thinking about all the pockets it could have been in.
“I mean—it was in the pocket of his jeans. He kept fiddling with it while we were talking. I kept egging him on, hoping he’d show me. No dice. Are you ready to switch places?”
It was what I’d agreed to. I had the spit in my hand to prove it. I told him I was ready. Miguel and I went back to the Biscuit Bowl.
“I don’t think that was much of a deal, Zoe,” Miguel said. “All we learned is that whatever we’re looking for is small. We’re no closer to figuring out what it is.”
“We’re closer,” I disagreed. “We know it’s small and valuable. We know Terry might’ve had it on him when he was killed. We know he was trying to sell it. All we have to figure out is what it is.”
“You’re not going to have a very good day with your food truck parked way over there,” Miguel observed.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”
What I should’ve said was, let me worry about it. I proceeded to do just that. Miguel was right. Customers were less likely to walk farther on a rainy day like this. I’d baked a ton of biscuits and made a boatload of chili. The homeless shelter would eat well that night.
Still, I knew I’d do it again to help Delia. She deserved a break. It could change her life for the better. Marty, at the homeless shelter, had told me many times that an act of kindness could make a difference in the lives of the men he cared for.
If he could make that kind of difference, so could I.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to go hungry. There would be plenty of biscuits and chili. I wasn’t sure what Crème Brûlée would eat when he ran out of cat food, especially since he could be finicky at times. I was pretty sure I could convince my father to loan me some money for t
hat. He’d enjoy it a lot better than taking care of my cat for a few weeks.
Reggie backed his Dog House out of his parking place and we switched positions. I saw “Suzette” watching us from the street as we changed places. It probably wouldn’t matter much to him. Reggie’s menu wasn’t a conflict with crepes.
No sooner had we changed spots outside police headquarters than the cloudy sky above us decided to throw buckets of rain our way. The heavy rain swamped the sidewalks and the parking areas, flowing like streams under and around the Biscuit Bowl.
“It might not matter that we switched places,” I said to Miguel from inside the food truck.
We hadn’t even had time to put the tables and chairs back outside.
“What do you do in a case like this?”
I shrugged. “I give it a while, and then I go home. There’s not much else to do.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were hoping this would be a big day for you.”
“Well, at least I didn’t lose anything by taking Reggie’s offer.” I was still cleaning my hands with sanitizer. I wasn’t sure anything less than a hot bath would actually take care of the problem. Too bad all I had at the diner was a shower. I’d have to make do.
“And you may be right about what we learned from Reggie,” Miguel offered. “Knowing that what Terry was trying to sell was small cuts down the possibilities.”
“Thanks. It was the best I could do. Maybe the next person I think about questioning will have more information.”
“I’d like to take you out for dinner, to celebrate even a small break in the case,” Miguel said. “That’s assuming you can clear it with your boyfriend. I wouldn’t want to cause any problems for you.”
My heart was racing. Was this a romantic invitation? Was this the chance to learn more about Miguel’s life that I was looking for?
“I wouldn’t want to cause any problems for you by accepting, either.” I smiled at him. “Would your girlfriend mind if we went out for dinner?”
“I don’t really date—no girlfriend. Even if I did, she’d have to understand that I occasionally have dinner with clients that happen to be women.”
