by J. J. Cook
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 a
round 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 that. 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.”
All my hopes were deflated like a big hot air balloon. In other words, this wasn’t a romantic proposal. He was thinking about business, and figuring out how he could help Delia.
On the other hand, he’d said no girlfriend. I figured the no-dating part was only there because he hadn’t met the right person. Also, a business dinner could lead to something more.
“Sounds good,” I accepted. “The way things look right now, anytime would work for me.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
With that settled, we watched the rain, and my business, flow down the streets of Mobile and into the drain. I didn’t wait much longer. The sky looked heavy with water, and the weather forecast was calling for much of the same the rest of the day.
Suzette’s Crepes left before the Dog House. Delia rode back to the diner with me in the Biscuit Bowl, and Ollie rode with Miguel.
Delia had organized that switch. I wondered why—until we left the parking lot and she slapped my thigh.
“Girl, you got it going on with the handsome lawyer. I don’t blame you. Who wouldn’t want to play house with him?”
“It’s only dinner.” I assumed she’d heard our conversation. “Business dinner, at that.”
“I think that’s up to you, Zoe. I could glam you right up and Miguel’s eyes would pop out when he saw you. You’re beautiful. I love your hair, and you have great skin. Let me do this for you. He won’t think about you as a business deal ever again.”
I wa
s tempted. After all, that’s what I wanted. Knowing Delia as I did, I wasn’t sure if that was the right way to go. I wasn’t a glam kind of person. Probably more often than I liked to think about, I smelled like old grease, too.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to visit Tommy Lee at the hospital. He’s been texting me like crazy all day. He was trying to help me last night when he was hurt. It’s the least I can do.”
Delia stared at me with knowing eyes. “Now’s not the time to get cold feet, if you know what I mean. You want it, you gotta take it. Maybe if you don’t want my lawyer, I do. You go visit Tommy Lee and think about it.”
I drove back to the diner, thinking about all the strange turns my life had taken since I’d decided to follow my dream. In some ways, I guess I could see why my parents were upset. I’d done some crazy things before, but never anything this drastic. It was as though I’d become another person.
Miguel and Ollie were at the diner, waiting. Ollie had once again opened the door and blocked it for easy access. I didn’t mind him being ready to unload the food truck. He was making it a little hard not to become dependent on him.
It was still pouring rain as we unloaded everything. The biscuits and the rest of the chili went to the homeless shelter. Marty thanked me many times over. He took me aside as Miguel and Ollie put the food out for the hungry men.
“I’m sorry if this seems like I’m butting in,” Marty said. “I’m just worried about you, Zoe. You’ve had a lot going on the last few days. I hope you’re okay.”
I thanked him for his concern. “It’s been crazy, that’s for sure.”
“Ollie told me that the man who held the gun on you yesterday was demanding something he thought you’d taken from the other man the police thought you killed.” He smiled and shook his head. “Is that right?”
He looked scared. It made me feel bad that I might have, however inadvertently, brought this into his life. “It’s true, but it’s going to be fine. The police will figure it all out. I might have an idea for them, too.” I told him what I’d found out from Reggie that day. “I know it’s not a lot, but it takes us one step closer.”