by J. J. Cook
“He wasn’t. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“I think we need to talk about it, Zoe.” Detective Latoure had joined us again while I wasn’t looking. “There’s a family room. Let’s go in there for a minute.”
We went in the tiny white room. There was a table and a few chairs as well as two recliners where people could relax as they waited to see their loved ones.
It wasn’t that I was all that brave or that I didn’t think I could be hurt. I just knew I couldn’t back out of this opportunity. It would never come again if I suddenly left town. There had to be another way to make this better.
We all sat around the table. Patti took a deep breath and plunged right in. “I’m sorry this is happening to your family, Zoe. I’ve tried to look into it, but it’s difficult. Detectives don’t like to share information about their cases. Talking to Frolick was like talking to a stone statue. I can’t just walk in and ask Commissioner Sloane what happened at the ball. I probably shouldn’t even know he was there.”
“I understand. You’re doing the best you can with a difficult situation.”
“But I’m hoping to get some information under the table from the medical examiner’s office. I have a friend who works there. I know she can keep her mouth shut. I’ll let you know about that. In the meantime, I caught this assault on your father. It gives me a legitimate reason to question things he’s been involved with.”
Uncle Saul thanked her. “We appreciate all you can do, Detective.”
“Just doing my job.” She sighed as she got to her feet. “I’m going to the bar where your father was found to see if I can find any witnesses. I’ll keep in touch.”
Uncle Saul and I kind of stared at each other, not saying anything. I held his hand and he smiled at me.
“We’ll figure this out. There’s bound to be something we can do.”
I wasn’t sure what that could be. Whatever it was hadn’t occurred to me yet.
Before I left the hospital, I gave the nurse my cell phone number so they could let me know when my father was awake. I had to head over to the diner to get Crème Brûlée. I didn’t want to think what kind of emotional wreck my cat would be if he had to stay by himself.
Ollie hadn’t gone back to the shelter. He and Miguel were waiting downstairs for us. Everyone was much more sober than they should have been. It was as though the Sazerac had fallen away from us along with the good time we’d had at the parade and the bar.
“Would you mind taking me to get Crème Brûlée and then over to the Biscuit Bowl?” I asked Miguel. I’d explained what happened to Daddy and his condition.
“I’d mind,” Ollie said. “You go stay at your daddy’s place the rest of the night. I’ll stay at the food truck. It’s all decided, Zoe.”
“What about your job at the shelter? I thought you were supposed to be there at night.”
“I explained everything to the director. He’s good with it.”
“I’ll help you with the biscuits in the morning,” Miguel added. “You’ve been through a lot.”
“Thanks.” I had tears in my eyes as I hugged both of them. “You two are the best.”
“I’m staying at the apartment with you, Zoe,” Uncle Saul said. “I’d say at this point that we can’t be too careful.”
I hugged him, too, completely crying by this time, and then hugged Ollie again. I would’ve hugged Miguel again, but he kissed me instead. I guess he was past the random hug stage.
“You good to drive?” Uncle Saul eyed Miguel.
“You know it. Hop in.”
Miguel and Ollie dropped me and Uncle Saul in front of Daddy’s apartment building. Marvin, the doorman, held the door for us. “I heard about your father, Miss Chase. I hope he’s all right?”
“The doctor says he’s going to be fine.” I summoned a smile. “Thanks.”
He nodded. Uncle Saul and I passed through the lobby and up the elevator. We didn’t speak until we got in the apartment.
I put my bag on the table and stared out the window that overlooked the city.
“Uncle Saul, I know we’re all afraid, but I don’t see any way around trying to figure this out.”
He sat in the uncomfortable chair and nodded. “I know, Zoe. I see it, too. How are we gonna work that out with you running the food truck almost nonstop for the next two weeks?”
“I don’t know yet, but there has to be a way.”
- - - - - - -
It felt like I had barely closed my eyes when the alarm went off. I dressed hastily in jeans and a Biscuit Bowl T-shirt and headed out the door.
Miguel was waiting at the curb at four A.M. He was a man of his word—something I loved about him. I hopped in the front seat, and we headed over to the diner.
“Is there something I can do to help make biscuits?” Miguel asked as we let ourselves inside.
“Definitely!” I yawned. “You could make some coffee.”
I switched on the lights. Crème Brûlée took a quick peek at who was there and then sashayed into the office/bedroom and went back to sleep. “It’s going to be a long day.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when I heard a tap on the window. I’d locked the door behind us, not exactly feeling safe these days.
It was Mr. Carruthers. I couldn’t believe it.
I went to the door and opened it. “It’s four A.M.”
“Actually, closer to four thirty.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m back for your next inspection.”
TWELVE
Miguel was furious. “I don’t think it’s legal for you to stalk her this way. I don’t know all the rules and regulations you follow, but this seems over-the-top.”
I kind of agreed with him, but I also wanted Mr. Carruthers out of my life. If I could get through this inspection with him, I hoped the city would do a quick change-up before next year. I might not get Mr. Sullivan again, but anyone would be better than Mr. Carruthers.
I had already closed the door to my office/bedroom. Crème Brûlée was snoring on my pillow. He didn’t look at me when I checked on him.
I hoped that was one problem out of the way.
Mr. Carruthers was going through his checklist on his clipboard again, but rapidly, without really looking at anything. We stood in the kitchen where I glanced at the clock. The biscuits weren’t made, but the coffee was on. Usually, I was out on the street at six A.M. for a good spot at police headquarters. At least I didn’t have to get things ready before eight A.M. for the food truck rally.
“I guess this looks pretty good now, Miss Chase.” He kept slowly reading through his notes.
Impatiently, I poured myself and Miguel a cup of coffee.
“Could I have one of those, too?” Mr. Carruthers took a seat at the counter. “It’s a long day starting this early, but so many restaurants are open for breakfast. You have to inspect them while you can. Nobody likes an inspector hanging around while the customers are eating, you know?”
“I can only imagine.” Since he wasn’t in any hurry to leave, I started my biscuit dough. Miguel helped me out by getting some of the ingredients from the pantry.
Crème Brûlée scratched at the door to get out.
My heart started pounding. Miguel had heard, too, and turned on the radio. I gave him a grateful smile and began cutting the vegetable shortening into the flour.
“I’ve heard people talk about your biscuits,” Mr. Carruthers said with a crooked smile. “Only good things, mind you.”
I returned his smile and thanked him. Was he never going to leave?
He started talking about his years as an inspector and about the Navy—he was a sailor for six years in his youth. I listened with half an ear. The other half was listening to Crème Brûlée, hoping he wouldn’t start meowing loudly from the office.
“I have to go now, Zoe.” Miguel’s
words were carefully chosen. It wasn’t his normal speech pattern, so I knew something was up. “I’m going to take that container of shortening out of the office over to the Biscuit Bowl so it can heat up.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I knew he had something in mind. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”
He did a quickstep into the office, closing the door immediately behind him. I kept working the biscuit dough. He came out a few minutes later with a large covered container.
I realized he was trying to smuggle Crème Brûlée out of the diner.
“I’ll get the door.” I started to clean my hands.
“No need,” Mr. Carruthers said. “I can get that for you.”
Miguel and I stared at each other as Mr. Carruthers opened the front door. I looked down at the biscuit dough, hoping I hadn’t kneaded it for too long. Too much kneading made for tough biscuits. If I could just get through the next few minutes, maybe this would be over.
The door closed behind Miguel. It was getting light. I could barely make him out as he walked to his car and stowed the container in the backseat.
“I guess I should be going, too.” Mr. Carruthers stood up and handed me my inspection card. “You’ve passed, Miss Chase. Good luck with your food truck.”
“Thank you, Mr. Carruthers.”
“And sorry to hear about what happened to your father. I hope he gets well soon.”
I watched him leave the diner, thinking that bad news traveled fast—or he was a member of the Mistics. I was probably just being paranoid. He’d probably just seen it in the paper or on TV and put me and Daddy together.
That had to be it, right?
“My hero!” I kissed Miguel. “Brilliant plan.”
“He started howling right after I got him to the car.”
“Poor kitty. He doesn’t know what to make of his new life. Our old life was very sedate and routine. I didn’t drag him around this way. He loved watching cooking shows with me. I’m sure he never dreamed he’d actually be involved.”
Miguel waited a few minutes after Mr. Carruthers’s car was gone to get Crème Brûlée. He came back in with the container and let the cat out in the office. “That was close.”
“Thanks for thinking of that. What a morning.”
I made and baked another five trays of biscuits. I could never be sure how many biscuits I’d need in a day. Since biscuits were my specialty food, they went fast.
I knew I would probably have to come back and bake again since the parade days would be longer than my usual seven-to-six working days. I thought five trays was good for a start and would take me through until lunch.
We packed the car with MoonPies, lemon pie filling, biscuits, and bottled water before heading over to the Biscuit Bowl. It was already almost seven. The food trucks had to be open at eight A.M.
The streets and parking lot were empty as we approached the area where the food truck rally was being held. It would be a good spot to sell food, away from the main parade routes, but close enough for easy access when the parades were over.
Food truck operators were outside talking, laughing, and smoking in the municipal parking lot as they waited for the day to begin. As promised, the city had set up picnic tables so our customers could sit and enjoy their food.
“Thank God you’re here,” Ollie joked when we reached the Biscuit Bowl with the first load of food. “There was a man who staggered through the parking lot on his way home from a party. I was worried sick that he might be hungry. But I didn’t need to panic. All the other food truck operators jumped on him trying to sell him breakfast. Poor man said he wasn’t hungry and threw up all over that big joker who owns the crepe food truck.”
“Nice story. Sorry you were bored. Mr. Carruthers came by again. This time the diner passed inspection.”
“So early in the morning?” Ollie glanced at Miguel. “Was he crazy or drunk?”
“Neither one, as far as I could tell,” Miguel replied. “I’m not sure it was right for him to be there, but it’s done, anyway.”
“Let’s get this food in the Biscuit Bowl,” I suggested.
Miguel said he’d go back to the car for Crème Brûlée. I smiled and thanked him.
I could see that it was going to be harder for me to be here each day than it was for some of the other drivers. Many food truck owners made their food right in their food trucks. I could only finish my food here.
I was used to going back to the diner at five or six P.M. and then getting ready for the next day with the Biscuit Bowl in the diner parking lot. For the next two weeks I was going to have to transport all the food here every day. Dragging the food over here was going to be an extra challenge, but one well worth the effort.
We got all the food stowed away by eight. The deep fryer was on, already hot and bubbling. I’d heated up the water in the warming trays and added the fricassee so it would stay hot. I could throw a small amount into the microwave and heat it up for individual servings if I needed to.
Ollie, Miguel, and I sat down for a cup of coffee and egg biscuits at a picnic table. It was very quiet, but we were surrounded by marvelous smells as other foodies got their day’s menus ready. The breeze was cool. The first day of the rally promised to be fair.
I hoped those moments were the quiet before the customer storm. Crème Brûlée was fed, and I’d walked him on his leash in a small patch of grass so he could go potty. He was asleep again in the front of the food truck.
Two hours later we were still waiting for customers. Miguel went home to get ready for an appointment with a client. The other food truck drivers started walking around and sampling one another’s food. I wasn’t hungry, but Ollie made the rounds. He passed out some of our biscuits—food truck drivers eat, too, right?—and he brought back samples from the trucks around us.
“These tuna nuggets from Charlie’s Tuna Shack are really good.” His mouth was full as he spoke. “And these spicy onion rings from Betty’s Blossoming Onions are awesome. Betty wasn’t half bad herself.”
“Great.” I was a little depressed at our lack of customers. “I can’t believe they want us out here so early every morning and no one is eating.”
“You go out at this time every morning during the week,” he reminded me. “What’s the difference?”
“I only go out so early to get a good spot. We already have our spots here. I’m just here doing nothing.”
He brought out a kabob with chunks of pineapple, tomatoes, and pork on it. “Try this. It’s from that new place, Flo’s Flaming Kabobs. I love it! Everything is served on fire. We should try that.”
“Flaming biscuits don’t sound very good.”
“You’re just in a bad mood, Zoe.” He ate the kabob. “Why don’t you call the hospital and see how your daddy is doing? That should make you feel better.”
“Maybe.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Unless he took a turn for the worse during the night.”
“Ollie!”
“Sorry.” His grin was wicked. “I’m sure he’s doing fine. I’m going to try one of Ducky’s Dancing Shrimp. Sounds good, right? Want me to bring one back for you?”
“What’s a dancing shrimp?”
“They kind of cut them up to look like little ballerinas. Cool, huh?”
“Yeah. Bring me back a dancing shrimp. I’d like to see it.”
“Want one with coconut or lime?”
“Whatever.”
I took out my phone when he left and called the hospital. I knew they had my number and could’ve called me, but what if they forgot?
“Your father is doing fine, Miss Chase,” a nurse told me. “He’s going to sit up in a few minutes and try to eat something. Your mother is with him. Maybe you should give her a call.”
“Thank you.” I looked at the phone, wondering if it was really my mothe
r with him or one of his girlfriends. It was hard to believe my mother had gone back to have breakfast with him. I knew they were still involved with each other—mostly because of me. I thought they cared about each other somewhat, but this seemed out of proportion for their relationship.
The back door to the kitchen area opened. I expected it to be Ollie with a dancing shrimp.
Instead, it was Police Commissioner Chadwick Sloane.
“Hello, Miss Chase.”
THIRTEEN
He reminded me of a gator with his sharp features and tiny dark eyes. I didn’t think he would hesitate to chew up and spit out anyone who crossed him. He was a big man—probably used to using his height and weight to intimidate others.
Maybe it was just the impression I had from him.
He took his hands out of his overcoat pockets. “I wonder if I might have a few words with you.”
I didn’t respond—still amazed to see him there.
He must have assumed that meant it was all right. He sat down on the edge of the counter where Ollie had been with his kabob only moments before.
“What can I do for you, Commissioner Sloane?” I felt trapped in the small kitchen even though I could easily have run out through the partially open back door.
I think it was the whole situation that made me feel like I couldn’t get away. For all the tough words I’d spouted about staying in Mobile, I was terrified. But I was more afraid to lose my livelihood and have to admit to everyone that I’d been wrong as I had to look for another job.
“Miss Chase, you and I seem to have a small problem.”
“Really? We barely know each other. How could that be?”
“You’ve been trying to stir the pot, haven’t you? Asking questions about that reporter’s death, trying to set my own people against me.”
I swallowed hard, hoping he wasn’t talking about Patti. I didn’t want her to get hurt in this. “Maybe you could just tell Jordan Phillips’s family what really happened to him and that would take care of the whole problem.”