Death on Eat Street

by J. J. Cook

  I could see Uncle Saul was making enough food to feed a small army. I told Marty he should bring the rest of the men down from the homeless shelter. “We’ll have more than enough for everyone.”

  Marty smiled and thanked me. “Your uncle is amazing. I guess you take after him, Zoe. Why isn’t he helping you with your business?”

  “It’s a long story. Mostly, he can’t live in Mobile anymore. He had a popular restaurant here years ago. People still talk about eating there. From what I can tell, it was quite an experience. He helps me out when he can.”

  “Sounds like some of my crew.” Marty grinned. “People need a break sometimes. I’m glad he didn’t drop out of your life entirely. Maybe he could stay around for a while to help you through this other problem. From what Ollie has told me, I don’t think you’re safe here.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’m going to find some plates and silverware for everyone. I hope all of you are hungry. I don’t think I can store any more food in the refrigerator. We have to eat all of this or it has to go home with someone.”

  Marty agreed and walked back to the shelter. I found some old china plates and cups that had come with the diner. I’d washed them and stored them, though I’d had no intention of using them. This little party was more people than were legally allowed to eat here until I made other changes. But the zoning officer had said it was okay to have people there, so long as I didn’t charge them to eat.

  Ollie, Miguel, and Uncle Saul were busy laughing and cooking. I waited a few minutes after getting the tables set up for Marty to return. The food was going to be ready anytime. What could be keeping them?

  “I’m going to check on Marty,” I told everyone. No one replied. I wasn’t sure if they hadn’t heard me or were too busy to respond. “I’ll be back with hungry men in a few minutes.”

  Crème Brûlée meowed. Otherwise, my announcement fell on deaf ears. With a shrug, I headed out into the night to see if I could help speed up the process.

  I heard a noise in the back of the building. It probably wasn’t a good idea to go back there, but last month, I’d found a stray cat trapped in the trash container. I’d helped him get free and received three scratches for my efforts. Crème Brûlée had snubbed his nose at me for days afterward.

  Knowing all of that, I went back there anyway. It was very dark behind the old shopping center that housed the diner, the consignment store, and the homeless shelter. There was another vacant storefront that had old sewing machines in it. Marty told me there had once been a tailor shop there. Now it was just creepy.

  I’d asked the electric company a few times about repairing the streetlight behind the building. They’d told me it was on a list. It seemed to be a very long list.

  Walking carefully around old car parts, broken bottles, and partial wood pallets, I searched the area, listening for the sound I’d heard up front. I didn’t call out. I was hoping it was nothing more than another cat. If it was something, or someone, else, I didn’t necessarily want them to know I was there.

  I thought about Terry. He was killed back here. There was still crime scene tape fluttering in the slight breeze. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

  And what if Don Abbott wanted another crack at me? I began to feel all kinds of stupid for being there.

  I also thought about the green Lincoln that had come from somewhere in the parking lot to pick up Delia on the night Terry had been killed. I didn’t know who was driving that vehicle, but Delia did.

  I knew she’d said the man in the Lincoln was someone important, and that she didn’t want to bother him by asking questions about Terry’s death, but maybe he’d seen something and didn’t realize it. I decided to ask Delia about it again.

  I heard the sound again, the one that had sent me exploring back there. It was a groaning noise. Someone was in trouble.

  “Hello?” My voice quivered and cracked. I sounded like a woman in a bad horror movie. “Is someone out here?”

  A groan came back to me, muffled, but definitely there. “Zoe? Over here.”

  I hesitated. It seemed like something someone would do to get my attention and then stick a gun in my face. I wanted to make sure no one was really lying on the ground, maybe injured. I just didn’t want that to be me after I responded.

  “If that’s you, Don, my friends are inside and they’ll come looking for me in a minute.” I hoped that was true. Miguel, Ollie, and Uncle Saul had been having such a good time, I wasn’t sure. Delia was busy trying on clothes.

  “Zoe,” the spectral-sounding voice called again. “Help me.”

  It definitely wasn’t a cat. I ran toward the sound. There was a figure on the dirty blacktop. I didn’t hesitate this time. I kept going until I’d reached my target.

  It was Marty. He was injured, clutching his hand to his head and moaning.

  “What happened?” I helped him sit up.

  “I heard something back here. I was afraid it was someone trying to reach the shelter. It happens all the time. I looked by the trash bin, and suddenly, a man jumped out at me. He hit me in the head with something. I went down, and he started asking questions.”

  “Questions?” I immediately became suspicious. That attack may have been meant for me. “What kind of questions?”

  “He wanted to know about you, Zoe. He asked me crazy questions about you and a stolen recipe.”

  FIFTEEN

  Stolen recipe?

  I helped Marty to his feet. “What kind of stolen recipe?”

  By that time, I had been missed at the diner. I heard Ollie call my name from the front of the building. I answered, and told him I needed his help getting Marty inside.

  Miguel, Uncle Saul, and Ollie ran into the alley to find us. Ollie and Uncle Saul supported Marty to get him back inside. Miguel stayed with me as we followed them.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Someone mugged Marty. He said the person asked a lot of questions about me, and a stolen recipe.”

  “You shouldn’t have been out here by yourself. Don Abbott could’ve killed you. You have to be more careful until this is over.”

  “I didn’t have much choice,” I said. “Besides, it could’ve been a stray cat. As it was, we might never have heard Marty out there groaning if I had ignored it. I can’t spend my whole life thinking that someone is out to get me.”

  “Your whole life, huh?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s only been a few days.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what I mean. Let’s go inside. I want to know more about the recipe.”

  Ollie and Uncle Saul put Marty in a comfortable chair in the television room at the shelter. He’d never made it back to ask the men if they wanted to come to dinner.

  “It doesn’t look too bad.” Ollie examined the wound on Marty’s head after cleaning it. “I don’t think you need stitches.”

  “Miguel can take you to the hospital, if you’re worried.” I wasn’t sure about Ollie’s diagnosis. “Or we could call an ambulance.”

  “No. No. I’ll be fine.” Marty smiled at Ollie. “Ollie had some medical training in the Marines. I’m sure he knows a nonlethal wound when he sees one. I trust him.”

  Ollie went to get a bandage with a smug smile on his face.

  “If you don’t feel like coming down to the diner to eat, I can bring a plate to you,” I offered.

  “I really think you and I should talk for a minute, Zoe,” Marty said. “Everyone else can go to the diner. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  He didn’t have to say it twice. Miguel and Uncle Saul went with the men to get them set up with food and something to drink. Ollie stayed behind with me and Marty. He put the bandage on Marty’s head and then sat down to hear what he had to say.

  “Things have been crazy around here.” Marty smiled and put his hand o
n the new bandage. “Thank you, Ollie. I think I might be able to shed some light on what’s going on—at least as much as I understand from my attacker.”

  “What did he look like?” Ollie demanded. “I bet it was the thief again. He doesn’t know when to quit.”

  “I’m not sure what he looked like. It was dark. I was intent on getting back here. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings.”

  “You said something about a recipe when we were outside,” I reminded Marty. “What was that all about?”

  “The man wanted to know your schedule, Zoe. He wanted to know what time you leave in the morning, and what time you get back. He asked me where you usually park your food truck. He said you have something that belongs to him. He said it was a recipe that was stolen from him, a valuable recipe.”

  Ollie snorted. “What kind of recipe? Does he think it will win a million dollars in a contest or something? That’s crazy talk.”

  “Did he say what kind of recipe?” I thought it sounded weird, too, but we already knew Terry wanted to sell something that could fit in the pocket of his jeans. That could be a recipe.

  I was with Ollie, questioning what kind of value someone could put on a recipe. It wasn’t like it was a priceless diamond or a gold coin. Who would pay a lot of money for a recipe?

  “He didn’t say.” Marty shook his head. “He seemed very sure that you have it. He wants it back. I hope he won’t try and hurt you to get it.”

  “He’d be wasting his time,” I replied. “My recipes are valuable to me, but I don’t think anyone else would pay for them.”

  Marty shrugged and declared himself ready to eat. We went down to the diner, and Uncle Saul’s eyes narrowed as we talked about the stolen recipe. “You know, I remember hearing something about a stolen recipe a few months back.” He scratched his head, trying to recall exactly what he’d heard.

  “You don’t really think all of this—Terry’s death and Don’s threats—has been about a stolen recipe, do you?” Miguel asked. “What kind of recipe is worth that much money?”

  Delia came out of her makeshift room when she heard all the loud, excited talking. When she found out what had happened, she was upset. “You should have had one of the men with you, Zoe!”

  “I would have if I’d known what was going to happen!”

  I took out my laptop and looked up “stolen valuable recipe” on Google. My search returned a slew of information. I ate my dinner, and read what I’d found.

  “Well?” Ollie asked impatiently. “What’s worth attacking Marty?”

  “How about a stolen recipe worth more than a million dollars?” I looked at my three conspirators over the laptop screen.

  “No way,” Ollie said. “No recipe is worth that much money. I don’t care how good the chocolate cake is.”

  “It was someone famous who wrote it, wasn’t it, Zoe?” Uncle Saul asked.

  “I’d say so—Thomas Jefferson. Who knew Thomas Jefferson could cook?”

  “That’s even crazier,” Miguel said. “What would Terry be doing with that kind of historic document?”

  I read from the text on the screen. “Apparently, someone stole the recipe from a museum in Virginia where it was being displayed. It was written in Jefferson’s own hand. That’s what makes it valuable.”

  Uncle Saul snapped his fingers. “That’s right! I remember now. The recipe was for crème brûlée. It was Jefferson that introduced that dessert to this country after he’d returned from France.”

  When Uncle Saul said crème brûlée, I heard my little Crème Brûlée meow loudly. He finally came out of the bedroom to see who was calling him. He walked right past all the other men and came to stand by Uncle Saul.

  When Uncle Saul laughed and scratched his ears, Crème Brûlée bit him and hissed.

  “I think that was a warning not to talk about him that way in public,” I told him with a rueful apology.

  “That’s okay.” Uncle Saul watched Crème Brûlée walk back into the bedroom, his head held high.

  “I don’t believe a taco truck driver from Mobile engineered the theft of an antique recipe in Virginia,” Miguel said. “He must’ve gotten it from someone else.”

  Ollie was done eating and tried to look over my shoulder at the laptop. “Does it say anything about who took the recipe from the museum?”

  “No. The police are baffled. The FBI was called in because the recipe was on loan from the Smithsonian. It’s considered a national treasure.”

  “Okay, like I said, Terry didn’t set this up and elude the police and the FBI,” Miguel added. “Someone else must have done the hard work. Somehow Terry was unlucky enough to get his hands on it. That’s probably why he was killed.”

  “You’ve got no real proof of that,” Uncle Saul reminded him. “I don’t see that information getting Delia off the hook for Terry’s death. Or getting Zoe off the hook from someone believing she took the recipe from Terry.”

  Miguel agreed. “I can’t even imagine telling Detective Latoure that I think this is what happened. I looked at Terry’s file. As far as I could see, Terry had never left Alabama.”

  “Who else might be interested in a valuable recipe?” I asked. “It had to be stolen for a recipe collector.”

  Uncle Saul shrugged. “Or someone interested in Thomas Jefferson.”

  I had to give him that. I could see where this could go in many ways. Terry could’ve accidentally found the recipe and planned to sell it. It would be hard to say exactly where to look for a buyer.

  “Well, at least we have somewhere to start, thanks to Marty.” Miguel nodded to him. “I’m sorry we had to find out the hard way.”

  “That’s okay.” Marty looked embarrassed by the attention. “I certainly don’t deserve any praise for being mugged. It’s scary thinking that this person is out there searching for Zoe. I hope you can convince the police that she needs protection.”

  “Never mind the police,” Uncle Saul said. “I’ll take her back with me to my place. She’ll be safe there.”

  When the four of them agreed this was a good idea, it was as bad as my parents wanting Uncle Saul to take me away and save me from my own poor choices. It wasn’t happening, either.

  “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not leaving my business. Maybe I could take out an ad in the paper, or on that old billboard right next door. I could tell everyone that I don’t know what happened to Thomas Jefferson’s recipe for crème brûlée.”

  Crème Brûlée, the cat, meowed another warning from the bedroom. We all laughed. Uncle Saul made jokes about Crème Brûlée protecting me—careful this time not to mention his name.

  Everyone was done eating and had hearty appreciation of the cooks’ efforts. Ollie walked with Marty back to the shelter, and the other residents followed.

  That left me, Miguel, and Uncle Saul drinking my special blend of coffee, talking about what had happened with Marty that night.

  “I guess they couldn’t get you out there, Zoe,” Miguel said, “so they decided to use Marty to send a message. You should really consider your uncle’s offer to leave town until this blows over.”

  How many ways could I say no? If I waited a few weeks to come back to my business, I would’ve lost all the momentum I’d gained. People forget very quickly.

  “I think it would be better to come up with a plan to find Terry’s killer,” I suggested. “Now that we know what he’s looking for, all we have to do is find out who has it.”

  “That sounds like a tall order,” Uncle Saul said.

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “I don’t have much choice. You know what I mean about my food truck. I can’t up and leave now. I’ve worked too hard.”

  “Is it worth your life?” Miguel asked in that sincere way he had.

  “Probably not. But I think we can find the killer, and that will take care of it.”
r />   “What about the man who threatened to shoot Zoe?” Uncle Saul looked at Miguel. “Could he be responsible for all this?”

  “I don’t think so,” Miguel said. “Abbott’s file looks like Terry’s file. Neither one of these men would think of a scheme like this. I think Terry fell into it, and might have told his partner about it. Abbott probably figures Zoe has the recipe since Terry was found dead in her food truck.”

  Uncle Saul nodded. “If what you’re saying is true, Miguel, there is a mastermind behind the theft who passed it off to Terry, for whatever reason. It beats me how you’re gonna figure out who it is without getting hurt.”

  “I think we both agree on that,” Miguel said.

  “I don’t agree. We can figure this out.” I challenged him and Uncle Saul. “We can do this—without abandoning my business.”

  We kind of agreed to disagree. Miguel and I exchanged good nights and shook hands. Uncle Saul hugged him.

  That was the extent of my possible romantic dinner with Miguel. I watched him leave the parking lot and hoped it would get better.

  “You like him, don’t you, honey?” Uncle Saul observed me.

  “I do. He seems like a nice person.”

  “He’s good-looking and a lawyer. Even your mother should like that!” Uncle Saul waggled his crazy gray and black eyebrows up and down. “I like him better than Johnny Lee.”

  I didn’t enlighten him as to my mother’s opinion of Miguel.

  “Tommy Lee,” I corrected automatically. “Well, that egg has already been broken. He’s like my parents. He thinks doing this business is beneath me. Not to mention that he’s been seeing someone else on the side.”

  “The disagreement about the business, I can understand. All couples disagree about something. The other is bad news, Zoe. Better dump him quick. Pick up the smart lawyer instead.”