by J. J. Cook
I took the phone from her and put it in my bag. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“I know you’ll do your best. I knew your father once. He’s a good man.”
Cole’s number was on my cell phone. He was waiting at the street by the time I got out of the building. It was still raining, but poncho-clad revelers were out now. If there had been a parade scheduled, it wasn’t happening in the rain. Many of the floats were made of tissue paper and cardboard. Only the big parades at night would continue despite the dismal weather.
But that didn’t stop street musicians from playing jazz at the corner or a few clowns who were handing out throws along the street. Everyone was eager to party—and hopefully to eat.
“I hope I have some customers now,” I told Cole as I closed the back door to his taxi. “The Biscuit Bowl is parked with the food truck rally. Can you take me there?”
“I sure can. How’s your daddy doing? That was a terrible thing that happened to him. You think it really was the ghost of Old Slac?”
We talked about all of the old myths and legends surrounding the carnival in Mobile. Most people thought our city had copied the celebration from New Orleans, but it was the other way around. Mardi Gras happened in Mobile fifteen years before New Orleans was founded. Their celebration might be better known, but it was certainly not as old. I liked to think that our carnival was more exciting, too.
“I’m glad you gave me a call,” Cole said. “I’ve wanted to taste your homemade MoonPies ever since you mentioned them. My mouth has been watering. I’m going to put up my no-call sign and eat an early lunch with you, Zoe, if that’s okay?”
“That sounds great.” We’d just reached the food truck rally in the municipal parking lot. Maybe I’d left it empty, but there were people everywhere now. “Looks like we’re busy.”
I walked quickly past Ducky’s Dancing Shrimp and Betty’s Blossoming Onions, which both had lines going around their trucks. My heart started pumping as I reached the Biscuit Bowl—a huge crowd was waiting outside.
I took Cole into the kitchen with me. Ollie was zooming around like a madman.
“Where the fudge have you been, young’un?” he demanded, not stopping between dropping biscuits into the hot oil and drizzling white icing on some that were already fried. “These people are crazy. They want every kind of biscuit bowl we have. Some of them just bought plain biscuits so they wouldn’t have to wait.”
“You know what I was doing.” I took off my poncho and put on my apron.
“How’d that go?”
“I don’t know yet.” I took over the biscuits in the deep fryer, and Ollie went to the window.
“Let me give you a hand with these napkins and such,” Cole said as Ollie floundered, trying to find the plates, plastic forks, and napkins.
“Thanks.” Ollie smiled at Cole. “You’re exactly what we need right now—another pair of hands.”
Cole had a smoker’s wheezing laugh. “I’ve never seen so much activity since my wife had twins.”
We all laughed at that and then had to pay attention to what we were doing. Ollie took the orders and set up the food. I cooked the biscuit bowls and filled them. We were already running low on MoonPies. I put three aside for us to make sure we got some before the crowd devoured them.
The customers kept appearing. It wasn’t long before we were running out of pork fricassee. I could see the bottom of the last metal container we’d brought with us. There were still plenty of biscuits and lemon pie filling. But what were we going to do about our savory biscuit bowls? It wasn’t even lunchtime.
“I have to go back and get something together,” I explained to Ollie. “I was prepared for our usual crowd at police headquarters. These people are eating us out of food.”
He nodded. “You go on. I can hold ’em off.”
“Can you take me back to the diner, Cole?” I asked him.
“I can, but I sure hate to miss this.” He grinned. “This is a lot more fun than driving a taxi. And it smells a lot better.”
“I’d really appreciate it. I’m making you a plate right now.”
“Okay, Zoe. Let’s go.”
I got his plate of food, including a MoonPie, and covered it with plastic wrap. I started to push open the back door and almost pushed it into Miguel. “What are you doing here?”
“I came by to see if you needed any help.” He glanced at the long line of customers. “It looks like you do.”
I hugged him. “I have to go back to the diner and find something savory for the biscuit bowls. I completely underestimated what we needed. We’re almost out of food.”
“Miguel! My man!” Ollie handed three sweet biscuit bowls out the window to a customer. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you—except for that time the police hauled me in for breaking and entering. Step up here and deep-fry some biscuits.”
Miguel removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. “It’s a good thing I’ve got some experience with this. Hurry, Zoe.”
Cole and I waded through the crowd to reach his taxi. There were so many cars parked outside the parking lot that the police had shut down the street. It was going to be difficult to get back to the diner.
But Cole maneuvered his taxi through the cars with one hand, the other wrapped around a MoonPie. “This is the best MoonPie I ever ate. You are a good cook, Zoe. No wonder people love your food.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
Uncle Saul called as we were trying to get across town to the diner. Other roads had been closed due to impromptu parades that were choking traffic across the city.
Cole and I were behind a group of musicians marching down the middle of the street, their instruments covered in plastic to protect them from the rain. There was also a group of scantily clad young women wearing crowns and sashes. They rode in convertibles with the tops down despite the rain. They waved and smiled even though their hair was wet and their faces were shiny with water.
“They’re releasing your father,” Uncle Saul said. “I’m at the hospital now. The doctor said he shouldn’t stay by himself for a few days. Your mother is taking him home with her.”
“Is that a good idea?” I had disturbing memories of some of the last fights between my parents. I couldn’t believe that would be good for someone who was just discharged from the hospital.
“I offered to say at his apartment with him. She won’t hear of it. I’ll be over there at your mother’s if you need me. How’s business?”
“I didn’t even come close to making enough food. I’m on my way back to the diner to get more. Ollie and Miguel are holding down the fort.”
“I’ll see if I can come over and give you a hand after we get your father settled in. I’m sure your mother will go back to work. I could leave him with her housekeeper. The doctor said he’ll sleep a lot for the next few days.”
“You just take care of Daddy, Uncle Saul. I’m glad he’s going home. We’ll work out the food at the Biscuit Bowl. Bye. Love to you and Daddy. Keep an eye on Mom.”
He chuckled. “Maybe I should’ve brought Alabaster to guard your father. See you later, Zoe.”
Cole had made it to about a block from the diner by weaving in and out of traffic. People had abandoned their cars to stand on the sidewalk, watching parades and the occasional homemade float go by. Sometimes I forgot how exciting carnival was. With so much going on, there was no time to be bored.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I told him as he was beating his hands on the steering wheel to keep time with the music outside.
He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You sure? I don’t mind waiting if you don’t.”
“It’s gonna take me a while to get all the food together, anyway. Maybe you could come get me after the parade is over.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be there.�
��
I got out of the taxi. I could see the diner from there. I was surprised to see a strange car parked at the door. It couldn’t be a customer. I wondered who the shiny brown BMW belonged to.
Thank goodness it wasn’t the car Mr. Carruthers drove!
I danced a little to the music flowing up the street. Even here, beads, tiny stuffed animals, and other throws had been left behind by the festivities. When I was a child, I picked up the leftovers whenever I could. My mother said they were dirty. I thought they were the most beautiful things in the world.
But I was an adult and couldn’t go around picking up beads—or even the tiny pink plastic elephant on the ground.
Or maybe I could.
I snatched up the elephant and stuck him in my bag. I looked around like I was expecting someone to be watching me. I hugged the secret that I’d done something I wasn’t supposed to like I would have a recipe from Uncle Saul.
I didn’t have to wonder for long at the occupants of the BMW. Chef Art and Tucker Phillips emerged as I got there.
Could this day get any more complicated?
“Good morning, Zoe,” Chef Art said. “I guess almost afternoon, eh?”
“Miss Chase.” Tucker nodded as the breeze from the bay played with his long hair.
“Gentlemen—I don’t know why you’re here. But if you have something to say, it will have to be while I’m cooking. The Biscuit Bowl is about to run out of food. I’m facing a cooking crisis.”
“Well, let me help you with that,” Chef Art volunteered as I opened the diner door. “You and I have made some sweet sustenance together in the past.”
“That’s true enough. I’d welcome the extra hands.”
“I’m not so good in the kitchen,” Tucker admitted as he held the door open for me. “I’m here because I got a call from my son. You’ve been a busy lady.”
FIFTEEN
I went inside, dropped my bag behind the counter, and peered into my refrigerator and freezer. What could I throw together for the rest of the day? I was prepared for such emergencies, though I’d never experienced them before. When there was a sale on any food I thought I could use, I bought it in mass quantities. I would never use a frozen biscuit, but I would certainly cook with frozen chicken, steak, or vegetables.
I was going to have to go shopping or entice someone to do it for me, probably tomorrow. I had enough chicken to make some spicy chicken stew that might go the distance. I also had some frozen berries that I could make into compote. I didn’t see the lemon pie filling lasting all day, either.
“I hope you’re not beating yourself up about running out of food.” Chef Art had already removed his white linen jacket and carefully rolled up his white shirtsleeves. “There isn’t a professional cook in the world that hasn’t faced that problem at one time or another. It’s what we all secretly yearn for and yet despise.”
I passed him an apron. “You’re quite a cooking philosopher, sir. I hope you’re as handy cutting vegetables.”
“I think you’ll probably be faster at that. Let me take the stove. I’m superior when it comes to actual cooking.”
“Okay. I’m superior at chopping. We’re a good match.” I took out the frozen chicken. “We’re making stew for my savory biscuit bowl. And a berry compote for my sweet. I’m not sure how many biscuit bowls we’ll need. I guess I’ll do five trays. We’ll see from there.”
Chef Art chuckled as he put the chicken into a pot. “I hope you don’t use frozen bird all the time. I understand an emergency. And may I suggest that you get an oven in that little food truck kitchen of yours?”
“It just can’t handle the electricity. I took out the microwave during the food truck race, but I need it on a regular basis.”
“Maybe you need a new food truck.”
I put a plastic container full of fresh carrots, celery, peppers, and onion on the counter to chop. “For that money I can remodel the diner. Eyes on the prize, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Tucker said. “But my son said you have some ideas about Jordan’s death. Perhaps you could share those with me?”
“Only if you’re interested that my father was attacked—probably to keep him quiet about Jordan. Having a visit from Commissioner Sloane was inspiring, too.”
He frowned. “Chadwick Sloane tried to warn you off? What did you say?”
“I didn’t say much of anything.” I chopped carrots a little faster thinking about it. “But then I started wondering what Jordan was doing at the ball and why that got him killed. I went to your son hoping he might have some ideas. Someone gave me Jordan’s cell phone. The police had already confiscated his laptop. I haven’t had a chance to look at the phone yet.”
“Where is it? Let me see it.”
“It’s in my bag.” I pointed under the counter. “Take a look.”
Chef Art and I worked in comfortable silence for a while with only the sound of vegetables being chopped and chicken sizzling with garlic and onion. When the veggies were in pieces, I started defrosting the berries I’d saved from last summer. I’d got a good price on a large quantity from the produce market.
“I can’t see anything on this,” Tucker said. “I think it’s broken.”
I took a quick peek at it. “Nope. It’s password protected. We’ll have to figure out what password Jordan would’ve used.”
I showed him how to try different passwords and left him to it. I could hear him muttering for the next twenty minutes as he tried words and phrases that didn’t work.
“I can’t think of anything else he might have used.” Tucker shook his head in frustration as he stared at the phone. “Maybe I could hire someone to do it.”
“Someone who might be a member of a secret society who will tell everyone what we have?” I reminded him as my first batch of biscuits was baking.
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Have you tried things from his childhood?” Chef Art asked him. “That’s what I use as a password on my phone.”
Tucker went on trying everything he could think of as he muttered, and occasionally cursed, under his breath. “This is stupid. Why does anyone do such a thing? I open my phone and there it is.”
“I guess you don’t have anything to hide.” I added sugar and some lemon to my mixed berry compote.
“What did Jordan have to hide?” he asked.
“Maybe something he was killed for.” A tray of biscuit bowls came out golden brown and smelling like heaven.
“That stuff smells mighty good,” Tucker said. “It’s getting close to lunch. Maybe I should call Bennett and see if he has any idea what the secret password could be. Did he give you the phone?”
“No. I can’t say who it was. I’m sorry.”
“Kind of crazy giving a reporter’s phone to a foodie.” Chef Art laughed. “You were bound to try foods as passwords.”
“What about a girlfriend?” I suggested. “Was Jordan dating anyone?”
“Yes. He was going out with a lovely young lady the last few weeks. I can’t think of her name right now.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to call Bennett.”
The door to the diner closed behind Tucker. “This has driven him crazy,” Chef Art said. “Not that I blame him. We’ve been driving all over the city trying to find out what really happened to Jordan. I’m glad I don’t have children. They’re a nuisance when they’re small and a worry when they’re grown.”
I grinned at him. “You really are full of philosophy today.”
“Things like this make a man reevaluate his life.” He tossed some spices and herbs into the pot with the chicken and vegetables.
“Mind how much liquid is in there,” I mentioned. “You might have to drain some so it doesn’t soak into the biscuit.”
He stared at me. “I don’t know ano
ther chef I’d take that from much less a food truck cook.”
“That’s because you’re Chef Art. No one knows more than you about cooking.” I smiled to ease the sarcasm. Only a year ago I would’ve felt the same way about him. Knowing him personally made him more human, easy to tease.
“That’s right,” he agreed with a grin. “I wouldn’t have minded having a daughter like you, Zoe. A girl after my own heart. I’m afraid if I’d really had a daughter, though, she would’ve been made out of marshmallow cream and would’ve hated to cook.”
“Is that what you’ve been reevaluating?”
“That, and my mission here on earth.” He stirred the chicken. “I’ve been thinking about starting a cooking school. I’d start here in Mobile. Maybe go nationwide after we test it. You could come and work for me.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think teaching is my calling.”
“You could do it part-time when you aren’t working the food truck,” he continued. “You could make extra money toward your remodeling project.”
It was tempting, but my time was limited. I couldn’t splinter my energies. I had to stay focused. “Thanks. I don’t think so.”
He shrugged as I moved another tray of biscuits out of the oven.
Tucker came back inside with a wide smile on his face. “I think I figured it out. You were right, Miss Chase. It was his girlfriend’s name—Lisa.”
I looked at the phone again. “You did it! Now you have to search through the files to see what he was working on that might have gotten him killed.”
I had the last two trays of biscuits in the oven. The chicken stew was done, and the berry compote was in a metal container ready to go.
My phone rang. It was Ollie. He was hyperventilating because all the food was gone. “Are you coming back soon?” he asked. “If not, I’m closing down. People are really angry when you don’t have food in a food truck.”
“No! You can’t close down. It’s against the rules. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Give out flyers and tell people they get a discount when they come back.”
