by J. J. Cook
“We’ve been thinking about it the wrong way.” I jumped up and rummaged around until I found Detective Latoure’s phone number. I arranged for her to meet me at police headquarters in thirty minutes and called a taxi.
I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, pushed my feet into tennis shoes, and plopped Crème Brûlée into his basket. He didn’t appreciate that at all, but I didn’t want him to wake up and find me gone. No telling what kind of trouble he’d get into. Besides, it was dark, and I didn’t want him to be scared.
My curls were a mess. I scowled at them in the mirror. I didn’t have the heart to wash and fix my hair, so I pulled on a bright blue cap to hide them. “It’s your own fault if you don’t like it,” I told my sometimes pesky black curls. “Every once in a while, you could stay in place by yourselves.”
I looked as good as I was going to look. I grabbed Crème Brûlée and my handbag before I shot out the door. I locked it behind me, even though it seemed to be a useless gesture. If someone wanted to get in, they’d just break a window. Leaving the door open might be the lesser of the two expenses.
Despite the argument with myself on the matter, my more practical side won out, and the door stayed locked.
Detective Latoure was waiting for me when I arrived at police headquarters. I paid my driver, who wasn’t happy about having a cat in his car, and went to meet her, holding Crème Brûlée.
“You brought your cat with you?” she asked. “Did he eat the startling new clue you think you’ve discovered that made you call me at this ungodly hour?”
“He gets scared at the diner if he’s alone too long.” I shrugged and readjusted Crème Brûlée’s weight in my arms. “We haven’t been there that long. He still misses the apartment.”
Patti put her hands over her ears. “Please! I don’t want to know that you’re living in that old diner.”
“Oh, sorry. Well, anyway, Crème Brûlée has nothing to do with finding the recipe.” I explained my new theory about the clues Terry had left behind for Don to find. “We have to look at the taco truck again. I think I understand what Terry was trying to tell Don.”
“That’s over at the impound lot.” She looked at Crème Brûlée. “I suppose he has to come, too?”
Crème Brûlée hissed at her as though he knew Detective Latoure was trying to exclude him.
“He won’t be a problem. He’ll stay in his basket in the backseat. I promise.”
Patti smiled and made the mistake of trying to stroke my cat. She pulled her hand back quickly and sucked on her bloody finger. “I think he hates me. But with that body, I don’t think he could get out of the basket if he tried.”
I didn’t tell her that Crème Brûlée could indeed get out of the basket. I didn’t want to stand out here or take him home. I wanted to take another look at the taco truck.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Patti shrugged and pulled out her keys. “My husband doesn’t like it when I go out at this time of night without a partner.”
I laughed as we walked to her car. “He must hate you being a detective.”
“You could say that. I was going to be a lawyer when we met in college. He’s never gotten over me changing my mind. He really didn’t like it when I worked vice.”
“What made you change your mind? I can’t imagine my mother suddenly deciding to be a cop.”
“A friend of mine in college was killed.” She opened the back door of her car for me. “It was one of those random things. He was mugged and put up a fight. There’s not much you can do against a shotgun. I knew I wouldn’t want to defend his killer in court. I know everyone is entitled to good representation. I couldn’t be that person.”
“What about your husband?” It surprised me that she was willing to open up to me this way. Maybe she was still half-asleep.
“He works as a corporate lawyer.” She grinned. “We’re not exactly on the same wavelength, if you know what I mean. We tough it out like everyone else does.”
“That must be hard.”
“You have no idea.” She got in and started the car as I put on my seat belt. “What about you? Are you crazy, or just a rebel?”
“I think maybe a little of both. I take after my Uncle Saul more than my parents.”
“I knew Saul. He was a devil. When he was younger, people thought he was a genius in the kitchen. I never could figure out why he gave it all up. He could’ve been as famous as Chef Arrington.”
“That’s the crazy part, I guess. He suddenly decided it wasn’t for him anymore. Now he lives in the swamp with an albino alligator.”
“I’ve heard rumors that there was a woman.” Patti glanced at me for confirmation as we stopped for a red light on Government Street.
“I guess I was too young for that. If there was a woman who brought him down, I’ve never heard anything about her. But you could be right.”
We’d reached the impound lot. The officer let us through the gate. There were tall lights shining down on all the vehicles there, trying to prevent theft. They gave the whole area a weird orange glow. I saw Terry’s taco truck right away.
I left Crème Brûlée sleeping in the back of the car. Detective Latoure and I walked to the taco truck. She opened the door with a key from her pocket.
“So, what’s the new insight?” Patti hopped up into the back.
“It’s this.” I carefully pulled away the green chili calendar from the back door. “I was thinking maybe watch your back could have more than one meaning. What if it meant the back door? And we were all looking for something that held green chili. This calendar has different chili peppers on it every month. I got a free one, too. This month is green chilis.”
As I spoke, I looked at the back of the calendar image. There was something taped to it. My heart skipped a beat as I excitedly pulled the tape from it.
The paper was very fragile. No telling what kind of damage had been done to the old recipe. It was still intact, signed by Thomas Jefferson. It was amazing to see it.
“You know, they had a lot of different ways of spelling the same words we use today,” I told Patti. “I probably should be wearing gloves. I didn’t think of it.”
“You found it!” She smiled and held out a large plastic bag that she withdrew from her pocket. She put on latex gloves and carefully handled the recipe. “I didn’t think we’d find it.”
Now for the second part of my plan. “Since we found it, I’d like to use it to get Delia back.”
I could see her immediately recoil from the idea. “Absolutely not! This has to be returned right away.”
“If you return it right away, there won’t be any reason to keep Delia alive,” I reminded her.
“You don’t even know for sure what happened to Miss Vann. She could’ve left town, for all you know, Zoe. I can’t risk this recipe to let you play around at being a detective.”
I’d thought about this objection before I’d called her that night. “What about if you keep this a secret for another day or two and we make a copy of it? I could try and exchange that for Delia. If nothing else, I could possibly draw out the killer with it. That would be even better for you, right? You’d have the recipe and the person who killed Terry and Don.”
She thought about it for a moment. “You couldn’t use the real recipe.”
“Okay.”
“But maybe I could keep this quiet for a few days. What are you thinking?”
TWENTY-NINE
We had to find a good forger to fool anyone with the document I planned to trade for Delia. Uncle Saul suggested Ben Weathers. Miguel and I went to visit him at his antique shop on Friday morning.
“Did Uncle Saul mention that his friend did time in prison for forgery?” Miguel asked as we drove to South Water Street.
Rain had come in from the gulf and was sweeping the streets of Mobile. Not a good day to be out in the food truck, and yet I
felt a little let down that I might lose all the momentum I’d gained with Chef Art’s help.
Delia needed rescuing, I reminded myself. My plan had to work. Miguel wasn’t pleased with my plan when he’d heard it. “Did I mention how many things could go wrong with this plan? I can’t believe Detective Latoure is going along with it.”
The proof of Detective Latoure’s willingness to try and catch the killer—as well as taking the credit for finding the Jefferson recipe—was in my lap.
A historian from the Mobile History Museum had authenticated the recipe yesterday. He’d agreed to keep quiet about the find. He’d put the document into a protective envelope where it could be viewed without being touched. He’d also warned that the recipe needed to be returned as quickly as possible, as he ogled the slice of history.
“It’s going to be fine, Miguel,” I told him. “There are always things that could go wrong, but that doesn’t mean they have to go wrong.”
“You walking around telling everyone that you have the recipe and are going to sell it to Chef Art is a bad idea. Don threatened you, and he wasn’t even sure you had it. How do you think the killer is going to react with the certain knowledge that you have it? He’s killed at least two people already to get the payoff from Chef Art.”
“I’ve thought of that. And that’s why I’m staying at my father’s apartment until this is over. He has security. After today, I’ll only have a good copy of the recipe, so it can’t be lost again. The worst that can happen is that the killer will figure out where to find me, and he’ll kill me before I can sell the fake to Chef Art.”
“Oh. If that’s the worst that can happen—I think we should scrap this idea and come up with another one.”
I put my hand on his arm as he drove. “Don’t worry. I know this is going to work. Uncle Saul says we can trust Ben Weathers to keep his mouth shut about the forgery. Detective Latoure will have people at the benefit dinner. It’s all going to be fine, and we’ll have Delia back.”
I wasn’t as sure as I sounded, but what choice did we have? I figured the biggest risk was the killer trying to get the recipe before the dinner. I hoped staying at my father’s apartment would take care of that. In addition to security at the apartment, Detective Latoure had two men stationed downstairs in the lobby. I was probably safer there with the fake recipe than I had been without it at the diner.
Miguel parked the car in the same spot Uncle Saul had parked when we’d visited Ben. “I hope you’re right. It seems risky to me. As Detective Latoure pointed out, we don’t even know for sure that the killer has Delia.”
“I think we’re pretty clear about that.” I got out of the car. “Delia didn’t just run off on her own. If it wasn’t for my mother messing up the exchange, we’d have her back already.”
Miguel came around the side of the car. “I can see there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind.”
“That’s probably true. Shall we do this?”
Ben was thrilled to get a look at the Jefferson recipe. He spent ten minutes marveling at it, turning it around, and examining every part of it.
“I love holding history in my hands. You know, this seems like only a recipe, but Jefferson and his chef—who was Sally Hemmings’s brother, by the way—changed how we think about food in this country. It would’ve been tragic for this to have ended up in a private collection.” He looked up and grinned at me. “Unless of course it was mine.”
I could appreciate his sentiments. It was fascinating. It struck me even more so because crème brûlée was involved. What were the chances?
“Now, let’s see. I think I have exactly the right paper here to make this realistic.” Ben put on his glasses and slid a piece of antique paper from a plastic pouch. “If someone who knows what they’re doing looks at this too close, you’re dead. I could tell you that it’s a forgery with a few minutes to examine it. You need to do what you have to do and get out of there, Zoe. I wouldn’t want Saul saying I got his niece in trouble.”
Of course, Ben didn’t know what we had in mind. I’d only told him the barest information. It was better that way.
Detective Latoure was hoping that Chef Art wasn’t the killer and wasn’t the person who’d kidnapped Delia. Neither one of us could be sure. She certainly didn’t want to arrest the popular celebrity, especially not at his own, very high-profile, party.
I didn’t want that to happen, either. It would make me doubt my instincts about Chef Art. When I’d called him, and told him I had found the recipe, he’d almost sounded disappointed.
I couldn’t tell; maybe he was disappointed that he might have to kill me, or that he’d have to pay me the million dollars he’d promised Terry.
Whatever it was, I didn’t let it get to me. I had to steel myself in case Chef Art was the culprit. If I was wrong about him, I was wrong.
Ben began copying the information from the Jefferson recipe to the forgery with excruciating patience. He offered several times to let us leave the recipe with him and pick it up later. I didn’t have to nix that idea. Miguel said no very quickly.
That meant I had to wait on his customers that came in while he was working. There weren’t many on the dismal day. One man came in for a chair Ben had procured for him. A woman came in to browse but left without a purchase.
“Hey!” Ben looked at me over the top of his glasses. “I’m doing this for free, Zoe. The least you could do is sell something for me.”
“Sorry. I was trying. She wasn’t interested.”
“She sounded interested to me. I thought you’d be a good salesperson since you have that food truck and all. How’s that going, by the way? You were all over the news with Chef Art. Is he your new mentor?”
“Not exactly. He kind of owed me a favor.”
Ben grunted. “I guess that runs in the family, or I wouldn’t be doing this, either.”
“Great. Can we have a little less talk and a little more forging?” Miguel said.
“Keep your pants on,” Ben said. “This has to be done just right. If I misspell one word, it could be a dead giveaway.”
The rain came down even harder, making the antique shop seem smaller and darker. No other customers came in. Miguel spent most of his time on his cell phone with a client. I walked through Ben’s shop looking at all the wonderful old pieces he had there.
“I’m done.” Ben took off his glasses and blew on the ink he’d used from an old fountain pen. “Like I said, someone who knows his business is gonna spot that this wasn’t written with a quill pen. That would be bad. If you’re trying to sell this to a person who is only looking to turn it over and make some money, you should be okay.”
I knew he was trying to get more information from me about what was going on. I hoped he could stay quiet about what he knew. It was a big secret to keep for someone like him.
“Thank you for your help.” I picked up the forgery and looked at it.
“You’re welcome. Tell your uncle I owe him one less favor. Someday, he’s gonna owe me a favor or two.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Ben squinted up at me as he looked at the real recipe again. “You know, I’d heard this was lost—that the sale to Chef Art didn’t go through. You aren’t involved in that, are you, Zoe?”
“Not at all.” I smiled at him as I took the Jefferson recipe. “I wouldn’t do anything like that, Ben. My mother would prosecute me in court herself.”
Miguel and I left the shop, darting out into the heavy downpour. When we were inside the car, he said, “You’re a very smooth liar, Zoe.”
“I wasn’t lying. I’m not involved in the sale to Chef Art. I’m only trying to get Delia back.”
He laughed as he started the car. “Selective truth, then.”
“Maybe. I guess we better get the real recipe back to police headquarters before Detective Latoure sends out a search party for
us.”
We went over the plan again as we drove across town in heavy traffic. It seemed no one wanted to be out walking or riding their bikes on a day like this. That led to more cars on the road.
I was surprised when we got to police headquarters that Suzette’s Crepes was parked outside. The weather was so bad that I knew no one would stop to eat. Still, there was a strong part of me that wished I was out there, too.
Miguel and I ran upstairs. We returned the real Jefferson recipe to Detective Latoure. She took a look at the forgery and pronounced it ready for the benefit dinner.
“Are you ready, Zoe?” She stowed away the plastic envelope that held the million-dollar recipe.
“As soon as I pick up my dress from the cleaners, I will be. I’ll be glad to get this over with.”
“Just remember we need you here by four P.M. to fit you with the wire. Make sure you keep to yourself the rest of today. You don’t need to put yourself in harm’s way any more than necessary. Let us do our job.”
“Of course.” I smiled at her. “I completely understand.”
She grimaced. “You’re a terrible liar. Just be careful, huh? I don’t want this whole thing blowing up in my face.”
After Miguel telling me I was a great liar, I was surprised at Patti’s words. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to do anything to get myself killed before I go to Chef Art’s benefit dinner.”
She glanced at Miguel. “Imagine that being your only motivation.”
“I guess everyone is different.” Miguel shrugged and picked up the forged recipe. “We’ll see you tonight.”
“Are you going to keep that?” I nodded at the recipe in his hand as we left Detective Latoure’s office and headed back downstairs. “That would mean you have to go to the dinner tonight.”
He looked a little red-faced as he gave the fake recipe to me. “I’m sorry, Zoe. You know how I feel about it. You’ll be in good hands with the police. There wouldn’t be anything else I could do to make it any better.”