Oh, mama! That was not a skeleton she had expected to dig up. Why had Lara left out that she was related to Estie during her rant about his sexism? Was their relationship truly so contentious or was it a ruse? Did Brooke know about her assistant's previous job?
Lara seemed like an honest person, but Amy had only worked with her for a few hours. She could've been whining about Estie's abhorrence to competition to disguise the fact that she was helping the old man bring down Brooke's blossoming business. He dropped the container of salad, which had appeared on the window ledge within seconds of his order, into the bag the cashier had slid the pork into. "On the house young lady, so you know how potato salad should taste. I'm sure the stuff that truck serves isn't fit for consumption, especially if Lara is making it."
She'd had enough of his pompous superiority routine. It didn't sound like he'd ever tried Brooke's barbecue, and he was still talking smack. His ego probably had a cast iron exterior, but maybe there were some soft, rusty spots she could poke at. "Actually, I'm here to try out your barbecue so I can make sure my recipe that has pulled pork in it doesn't taste anything like what your restaurant would serve. I want my dish to taste like nothing else that people can get in Kellerton."
The hair on top of Amy's head rustled from Mr. Estie's exhale. He narrowed his eyes. "You're just another uppity woman who thinks she's better than me. Hang on to your delusion as long as you can, sweetheart, because I have news for you. Nobody beats me."
She squinted at him. Lara's description had seemed over the top, but he was acting out the outrageously sexist persona to a T. It was as if he was putting on a show for her. Amy pulled her shoulders back to make herself as imposing as possible—five foot, two inches of blonde warrior princess. "In case you haven't noticed, most people agree that women have equal rights to men now. Barbecue isn't exclusively man's domain, and I think your sexist rants are just a bluff to scare people."
He swept his arm toward the kitchen door. The cashier scurried to the back room, probably relieved to be out of the blast zone if Mr. Estie exploded from rage. Amy braced for a tirade, but the old man withered until he was leaning on the counter for support. "You have to be tough, as well as skilled, to survive in the world of barbecue. I was just trying to toughen Lara up, make her learn the ropes from the bottom up, but I guess I went too far. She was the only one in my family interested in taking over this old restaurant, and I drove her away."
When Amy returned home she pulled her car into the garage. The big, rolling garbage can sat in the corner. She flipped open the lid. She couldn't shake the feeling that Harold Estie's pulled pork was tainted. Not with revenge, but sadness that he destroyed the relationship with his niece. That somehow, by ingesting it, she would come down with a case of melancholy, as if he had sneezed regret germs onto the pulled pork. But she really needed to stop wasting food. Alex could eat it or take it to work, if he'd like. Judging from her husband's tales of lunchroom capers, anything in the breakroom refrigerator was fair game to possibly be looted by hungry employees.
In the house she searched through the freezer looking for something to replace the shredded meat in the poutine recipe. She found a package of leftover grilled pork tenderloin. Victory! She ran cold water into the sink to help thaw the leftovers from the glorious day when Alex broke out the grill for the first time that year. He had braved a breathtakingly cold rain shower to charcoal grill the espresso rub-coated tenderloins while Amy prepared steamed asparagus, chanterelle mushroom risotto, and rhubarb upside down cake.
The vacuum-sealed package sank to the bottom of the basin full of water. Her stomach was sinking, too. Was the tale of Harold Estie driving his niece away, to the kitchen of a competitor, true? He seemed genuinely regretful, but if his men rule girls drool routine was an act that show of emotion could've been too. Could Lara's cries of kitchen discrimination be diversions to draw Brooke's attention away from what she was really doing on the truck crew? Trying to ruin the business one mishap at a time, possibly to prove she was wily and tough enough to inherit her uncle's restaurant.
* * *
Amy stomped on the brake pedal. A streak of green zipped across the road in front of her. The Veggie Van, after not obeying the stop sign, had barely missed the front bumper of her precious car, Mimi the Mini. The speeding food truck hadn't even been in sight four seconds earlier when she pulled up to the intersection. She glanced at the clock on the dash. The food trucks were supposed to already be in their assigned spots for the competition. Clement Street Market was two blocks straight ahead in front of Amy, so where was The Veggie Van going?
She had enough to worry about. Wondering about possibly directionally challenged, and absolutely very late, vegetarians with terrible driving skills was not something she needed taking up space in her frazzled brain. It was Saturday morning and the winners of the Market Mash-up Melee would be announced that afternoon. Amy mentally settled into competition mode as she cruised into the market's parking lot.
Patrons would cast votes for their favorite trucks. After a month of having winners decided by a panel of judges, the public vote was an exciting twist. People didn't have to sample food from every truck, even though everybody in the Final Five was working hard to come up with the best tasting, most creative dishes possible. It could be a popularity contest more than a cooking contest. The truck with the most dedicated fans in attendance might end up the winner. The term melee definitely fit. Luckily Brooke had been posting about the contest on her social media accounts all week to let her established patrons know to come out and support her truck.
Amy had been instructed to park in the back of the market's lot, like all of the other vendors and employees, to save space nearer to the building for customers. As she zigzagged through the aisles searching for an open spot, she could see the brightly colored food trucks lined up on the patio space in front of the market. The red of Brooke's BBQ glowed like molten hot charcoal in the morning sun. There were also yellow, blue, and white trucks in the rainbow lineup. The green of The Veggie Van was absent. Since it had been traveling perpendicular to the market, in other words—away, when it almost took off her bumper had the crew or Candi forgotten something?
Amy had spent the previous evening in a community kitchen space, working beside Brooke and Lara, making trays of polenta, and a vat of butterscotch latte pudding. That morning Brooke picked up the food from the massive commercial kitchen's refrigerators, so the only thing Amy had to drag across the parking lot was herself. She never slept well before a competition, but she had gulped down plenty of coffee before leaving the house to combat the sluggishness factor.
The rumble of an engine squeezed in between all of the thoughts crowding her mind as she hiked through the already bustling parking lot. Amy glanced behind her and yelped. She lunged sideways, tucking between a dusty pickup and a minivan. The Veggie Van hurtled past, going way too fast for a parking lot where a car could back out at any moment. Getting into a traffic accident wouldn't be the ideal way to start off a food truck's day. Although being late for setup wasn't exactly a stellar beginning either.
By the time Amy regained her composure and made her way to the line of trucks, The Veggie Van was trying to maneuver into the end of the array. Even with the guidance of three market workers it still appeared to be a daunting task, as the motor home turned food truck had to squeeze between a very expensive looking Cadillac in a handicap parking spot and a light post with a burly, brick base. Amy made it inside the barbecue truck before the 30-point parking maneuver was complete. She gave Brooke a quick hug then bid a good morning to Lara and Ellie. Had she just greeted the troublemaker? Since the competition would be over in a few hours, she might get an answer to that question soon.
"I am so excited. How about you, ladies?" Amy asked as she tied the ends of a blue bandana under her ponytail.
The three other women all nodded, while Brooke punctuated the gesture with a yawn. "I just wish I wasn't so tired. I had a nightmare that woke me up at 3:00 a
.m. When I rolled over I realized Harden wasn't in bed. You know how dreams seem real right after you wake up? Well I panicked because I thought the Bigfoot that was chasing me in my nightmare had taken my boyfriend."
Lara snickered as she sliced a red onion. "Bigfoot visits suburbia to find himself a new boyfriend."
"Yeah, something like that." Brooke rolled her eyes as she used her rubber-gloved hands to rip apart a steaming hot pork roast. Some of the shreds of tender, smoky meat would end up on Amy's polenta poutine. "Except Harden had just gotten up to go to the bathroom and get a drink of water. But after freaking out so badly it took me an hour to get back to sleep."
Nervousness was taking a toll on everybody. Amy wondered how many other trucks were being staffed by tired, tense crews. Record high temperatures were predicted for the day, so the heat would drain all of the human batteries even more. A giant can of tomato sauce had been utilized as a doorstop to keep the back door of the truck open to provide more ventilation. Outside, smoke rose straight up from the smoker's stack. There wasn't even a breeze.
Brooke looked at the doorway while she continued to prepare the pork butt. She frowned and said, "Something is wrong with the generator. I've never heard it sputter like that."
Amy focused on the noise of the motor. She wasn't sure what it was supposed to sound like, but the random surges and sputters couldn't be good. The generator powered the refrigerator, several electric roasters for keeping prepared meat warm, and overhead lights. Once the order window was opened, the sun would provide enough light to work, but if the generator went kaput the same sunshine, combined with heat from the propane grill and oven, would soon begin raising the temperature inside the once again inoperable refrigerator.
Brooke sprinted out the door. Lara and Ellie stared at each other. The tandem looks of fear made Amy's stomach do a somersault. This was it. A hulking, fatal problem that could take the truck out of the competition. Unless Lara was an amazing actress, she looked just as scared as everybody else did.
The truck bounced as Brooke bounded back through the door. "The gas tank is full, but it's not running right. I tried every trick I know, and nothing helped. I don't think it's going to make it much longer."
"I'm here to help. Do you want me to find someone to look at the generator or stay in here to help with food prep while you figure out what to do?" Amy asked as she edged toward the open door. The generator was bucking and jittering across the pavement in its tormented struggle to stay alive.
Brooke leaned her forehead against the stainless steel refrigerator door. She stayed motionless for a few seconds then whacked the metal with her fist. "Whoever is screwing with me isn't going to win. I'm not going down without a fight." She turned to look at Amy. The fierceness of a cornered wild animal glinted in her eyes. "We need electricity. If you can figure out how to get us some, you'll be our hero. For now I'll keep working to get all of the food ready while the generator is still somewhat working."
"I'll see if I can find a maintenance worker or someone else from the market to help." An adrenalin blast propelled Amy down the portable steps. She wasn't going to let her new friends lose the competition because of faulty equipment.
Brooke followed Amy outside. "Thank you. We have to keep the refrigerator running or we'll be in trouble."
Brooke's boyfriend stepped from behind the massive black smoker which could hold an entire hog with room to spare. His stylishly disheveled hair leaned more toward a crazy, bed head mess that morning. He yawned as he scratched his beard.
"Harden!" Brooke exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're here. Can you look at the generator? Something is wrong with it."
He frowned. "You know I'm not good with mechanical things. Did you fill the gas tank?"
"Yes. I'm sure it's full." Brooke grabbed his hand. "Please look at it. I don't have time to troubleshoot it myself. We have to start serving in a few minutes."
Harden shook his head. "I'm a writer. I can't fix an engine."
"Well I'm going to try to fix this somehow," Amy said. She put her hand on Brooke's shoulder. "Keep getting the food ready while I round up some help."
As Amy speed walked toward the market's main door, she glanced behind her. Harden stood beside the faltering generator, staring at it with his arms crossed over his chest. Luckily the entrance door opened automatically, or she would've smacked into it in her state of extreme catastrophe-preventing concentration. The air conditioning system had already kicked on in the market, greeting her with a welcome blast of cool air to offset the heat building in her from the extra-large jolt of adrenalin. She headed straight for the market's offices, to ask if extension cords could be threaded to the truck to take over for the unreliable generator. Within minutes one of the maintenance workers was gathering the supplies he'd need to get power to Brooke's BBQ. Toby, the owner of the market, didn't want to see a team lose because of technical difficulties, so he had quickly offered to help.
Alex flagged down Amy in the dining area as she was heading back to the truck. "I didn't expect to see you in here," he said as he planted a quick kiss on her cheek. "I just came in to get something cold to drink. I figured you would be holed up in the truck preparing right now."
She flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He had timed his beverage run perfectly. Brooke's boyfriend might not be confident in his mechanical skills, but Amy knew her husband could do more than look at the equipment like it was an alien spaceship. "I'm so glad you're here. Something is wrong with Brooke's generator. The market is rounding up extension cords to run out to the truck, but could you try to figure out what's wrong?"
"Absolutely. Let's go."
"Do you want to get your drink first?"
"No." He kissed the tip of her nose. "You need me more than I need iced coffee."
Amy returned to the red truck with her personal knight in shining armor. Harden was sitting on a nearby bench, scribbling something in a notebook perched on his knees. A maintenance man was unspooling an extension cord from the bundle hooked over his shoulder. Alex squatted down next to the dying generator.
"Thank you for tracking down the guy to hook up the electricity," Brooke said as Amy climbed back into the toasty warm truck.
"My husband is going to look over the generator. He grew up working on cars and stuff, so maybe he'll figure out what's wrong."
The flat top grill was sizzling and hissing as Brooke tossed a container of sliced onions onto a pool of melted butter. The savory scent immediately filled the truck, mingling with the smoky aroma from the pulled pork which had been transferred to one of the electric roasters. The day may have been off to a rocky start, but the food smelled excellent. The unruffled food truck leader tumbled sliced redskin potatoes on another puddle of melted butter and said, "Okay ladies. We have reliable power again, so let's kick it into gear. We open in ten minutes. I need someone to slice cabbage for the tacos."
Amy jumped at the chance to put her hands to work. She needed to concentrate on something other than the newest calamity to rattle the food truck. As she focused on cutting thin shreds of Napa cabbage for the truck's famous pork tacos, she still couldn't block out the question bouncing around in her head. If her instincts were correct, and it wasn't Lara, who could be sabotaging the truck and why? Since the truck's loss would also be her loss, she would do everything possible to counteract the almost certainly intentionally inflicted bad juju.
Alex stuck his head in the open door. He nodded a greeting to Brooke. "The spark plug is bad. Not sure what happened, but I swear it looks like there's some kind of glue on it. I'll run to the auto parts store and get you a new one so the generator will be ready to go tomorrow."
"You're a saint! Thank you so much!" Brooke called as Alex disappeared from the doorway.
An air horn squawked to signal the start of the competition. Ellie scrambled out of the truck to raise the awning which covered the order window. As sunlight flooded the dark interior, Amy blinked at the solid wall of people who had accu
mulated while they were finishing the prep work. The very first order was for her potato-less poutine.
For the next two hours Amy tried to help, but mostly she just stayed out of the way of Brooke and Lara. They worked together in a graceful, intuitive dance as they whirled around the truck filling orders. Every time Amy backed out of her assigned spot at the pickup window, calling names when orders were ready, one of the women bumped into her. She was the spare cog that threw off the crew's time-honed cooking routine.
Once in a while Amy would scoot out of the truck to hand deliver a large order. It was hot outside on the cement patio area, but not as sauna-like as the inside of the truck. Working in a food truck was definitely not for wimps. She was sweating like a roofing contractor in Florida. Every time Brooke opened the smoker's door, to retrieve more luscious meat, she was enveloped in an eye-stinging cloud of smoke and steam. Lara's post was mainly manning the searing hot griddle. Ellie took orders while standing next to the broiler that was used to melt cheese on sandwiches. The ladies were tough.
While her body was busy delivering orders and sweating off five pounds, Amy's mind was trying to figure out what had happened with the generator. She wasn't a mechanic, but she was pretty sure a spark plug, even one that wasn't functioning correctly, wouldn't spew anything even remotely resembling glue. Her husband had obviously thought the occurrence wasn't ordinary.
On one of her delivery trips she discovered Alex had returned with a brand new spark plug. "I had to park a couple blocks away. The parking lot is full," he said as he knelt next to the generator. He flipped a switch, and it roared to life. The engine practically purred instead of sputtering as it had earlier. He wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "Sounds like it's running well. I'm sure Brooke doesn't have time to switch over the power from the extension cords, but I think the generator will be fine now." He flipped the switch to silence the tiny power plant. "I'm sticking around the market. I'll come back when the voting period is over, so we can watch the awards presentation together. Good luck, sweetheart."
Killer Beach Reads Page 51