by J. J. Cook
“Okay. But don’t blame me if they eat the flyers.”
I ended the call. “I have to go. You keep working on that phone, Mr. Phillips. Let me know if you find anything.”
“Let us give you a lift to the food truck rally,” Chef Art offered. “It’s the least we can do.”
The front door chimed again. “Delia!” I was surprised and happy to see her. “How’s your sister doing?”
She looked wonderful in a lemon yellow top and skinny jeans. Both men appraised her as they might have a valuable painting.
“She’s gonna be fine, Zoe. I was glad I was there during her surgery, but I knew you needed me. Mama and the other kids are still there with her. They understood when I told them I had to go. I got back as soon as I could.”
She walked over and hugged me despite my being covered in flour and vegetables.
“I’m so glad to see you.” I tried not to get her dirty. “I could really use an extra hand.”
“What can I do? Where’s the Biscuit Bowl?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cole’s taxi bump into the parking lot outside. “We’re about to move a lot of food over there now. Let’s get it out to the cars.”
I was lucky to have the taxi, and I took advantage of the BMW. There was just enough room for everything and everyone that needed to go to the food truck rally.
I would have felt bad not riding with Cole, even though I would’ve liked to have a look at Jordan’s cell phone. Now that he had it, Tucker didn’t seem to want to let it go. Not that I blamed him. Knowing everything that was in my phone, I could see where it would be bittersweet for Jordan’s grandfather to look at it.
Delia rode in the BMW—in the front seat with Chef Art. They’d had a brief relationship that had ended soon after we’d met. It wasn’t a serious relationship, but I wondered what they talked about going back across town.
I knew Delia had some wishful thoughts about Chef Art at one time. He was rich. I understood her quest for a better life. She’d been raised very poor with a large family. She was always looking for a way to move up.
I wasn’t much help with that. All I could offer was friendship and what wages I could afford. That’s why I always encouraged her to look for something better. She was my friend. I hoped she’d find what she was looking for.
It took five of us to transport the food to the Biscuit Bowl from the street. It was a stupid rule not to allow any vendors’ cars into the parking lot. I was sure I wasn’t the only one having a food problem.
We got there just in time for lunch. There was a big parade going on a few blocks over in midtown. The crowds from this morning had evaporated—probably to watch the parade. I was sorry we’d had to turn some people away but was hoping to be ready for the next rush.
Ollie was standing outside with a forbidding expression on his face and dozens of flyers in his big hands. I wasn’t sure if anyone would have dared to ask for a flyer. I couldn’t fault him for being in a bad mood.
“It’s about time,” he said. “Miguel and I have had it rough. There were a few people whose heads I would’ve liked to knock together. I didn’t. But only because I didn’t want you to get a bad reputation.”
I hugged him. It was like hugging a rock. “I’m so sorry. I appreciate that you stayed here and handled it. Where is Miguel?”
“Walking Crème Brûlée in the grass.” Despite the hug and the apology, he was still stiff and angry. “That cat has a personality problem. He tried to scratch me again.”
“Where do you want this food, Zoe?” Cole struggled with a large container of berries.
“Thanks. Let’s get it all in the kitchen.”
I waited while Cole, Chef Art, and Tucker took what they were holding into the kitchen. There wasn’t enough room for all of us in there at one time.
I went to find Miguel and Crème Brûlée. My cat was doing his usual tricks—standing and staring, alternating with meowing and rolling in the grass.
“I can’t tell if he likes being out here or not,” Miguel said with a smile.
At least he was still smiling.
“He really likes being out here. He’s just being difficult.” I took the leash from him. “Thanks for thinking of him.”
Miguel put his arm around me. “I think he only likes you, Zoe.”
I lifted my cat and cuddled him. He swiped at me with his paw and nibbled on my chin. It wasn’t painful.
“I hope you’ve got a lot of food.” Miguel followed me to the front of the Biscuit Bowl. “Those people this morning were really hungry. I felt like we were in a bad zombie movie.”
I laughed as I made sure everything was set up for my cat. Crème Brûlée was exhausted from his trip outside. He settled down right away and was snoring before I closed the door.
“Thank you for being here. Ollie is still mad at me. I hope he’ll take the rest of the day off and come back tomorrow. Delia is back. I think the two of us can handle it.”
“I still have some time,” he said. “I can help.”
“That’s very nice of you, but I don’t want to take advantage. I might need you tomorrow. I don’t want you to see my call on your phone and ignore me.”
He put his arms around me and kissed me. “I don’t think so. I’ll stick around so you can let Ollie go home.”
“You’re the best. I’m surprised someone didn’t snatch you up before I could find you.”
“I don’t think that was possible.” He kissed my nose and smiled.
“If we’re finished with the lovefest out here,” Ollie interrupted, “we need to get this food put away. I’m not even sure there’s room for it.”
He was right. He was also still angry. Chef Art and Tucker had dropped off the food and left. Delia was already in the kitchen working. Cole was relaxing in the shade at a picnic table with the food I’d made him earlier.
I left Miguel and took Ollie’s arm until we were behind the Biscuit Bowl so we could talk. “I’m really sorry this happened. I didn’t do a good job planning for it. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t for you being here. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
He glared at me. “Zoe.”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.” He grabbed me and gave me a big bear hug that took me off my feet. “You did the best you could. I’m not mad—not at you, anyway. We should’ve been able to close if we didn’t have any food. That’s a stupid rule for the food truck rally. That’s what I’m mad about. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.” He put me back on my feet. “Why don’t you take off the rest of the day? I might need you later and you won’t be so tired.”
“I’m not tired. I’m good.” He motioned to the Biscuit Bowl. “Is she okay with me being here?”
I knew he meant Delia. “Let’s not go through this again. I need you to work together even though you broke up. You said you could do that.”
“And I can. I’m just saying she might not be able to do it.” His face was set in tense lines. He wouldn’t admit how much the breakup bothered him.
“All right. We need to get all this food put away and get ready for lunch. Miguel is staying, too. Let’s hope the crowd is as big as it was this morning.”
SIXTEEN
It didn’t take long to find out.
We’d barely put the food where it belonged when crowds began surging through the parking lot.
“Looks like the parade is over.” Ollie took his spot by the open window.
“How do you want to do this, Zoe?” Delia asked.
“I’ll handle frying the biscuit bowls,” I told her. “Ollie has the window. You fill the dessert bowls, and Miguel fills the savory bowls.”
“I see them coming!” Ollie called out.
It was the last sane thing anyone said for three hours. It was an onslaught of hungry revelers wearing beads and carryi
ng stuffed animals and Frisbees. They wanted everything—ten savory biscuits and ten sweet biscuits. They ordered in dozens instead of singles. It was like nothing I had ever done.
Our downfall was not having something to drink. People ordered biscuit bowls and asked for soda or sweet tea. We had neither. Some of them went to look for food and drinks together, leaving without my biscuit bowls.
It had always been a problem for me, but at the usual spots there were other food trucks that only served beverages, or people brought their own drinks from home. Once in a while someone might not be happy that they had to go to more than one food truck, but not often. It was very noticeable here.
“There goes another one,” Ollie said. “We gotta do something about this, Zoe. It’s too hard to get through this crowd loaded with biscuit bowls and find someone with a Pepsi.”
“I know, Ollie, I know.” I was busy getting another dozen biscuit bowls out of the fryer. “There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”
“We don’t have room in here for drinks, too.” Delia passed several more sweet biscuits to Ollie.
“Maybe you need a big ice chest with bottled or canned drinks,” Miguel suggested. “When this calms down, we could get something and set it up.”
“Good idea.” I smiled at him. “I like originality from my highly paid employees.”
He grinned as he passed five savory biscuit bowls to Ollie for an order. “We aim to please.”
We worked well together. It went so quickly that I hardly had time to look up before it was three P.M. and the crowd was finally disappearing.
“I hear there’s another parade getting started on Dauphin Street. It’s one of those put on by a big krewe, Cosmic Cowboys of Wragg Swamp. Should be a good one.” Ollie turned away from the window. “I’m glad they’re gone. I hope there’s food left. I’m starving.”
We took what we could find to eat and went outside to drop down at an empty picnic table, exhausted, eating lunch quietly under the cloudy skies. The rain had stopped, but it still looked threatening for later in the evening. We could hear the sound of marching bands and cannon fire sprinkled with fireworks.
“I have to go back to the diner and make more food.” I was almost too tired to eat a chicken stew biscuit bowl. It was delicious but almost too much work. “First I have to buy food. I’m out of everything but flour, shortening, and baking powder.”
“Make me a list,” Miguel said. “I’ll shop for you. You can get started on the biscuits.”
“Great idea.” I was grateful for his support. “How am I going to keep up with this for two weeks? I’m already exhausted.”
Delia rubbed my back. “We probably need to do this in shifts. That way everyone has a chance to rest. Miguel and I could take a shift, and you and Ollie could take the next shift.”
“Miguel already has a job,” I said.
“Which is going to be slack for the next two weeks, anyway, during carnival,” Miguel reminded me. “Most people put things off until after the holiday. I can work with you.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at him and yawned. “Maybe we can do this thing.”
“Of course we can!” Ollie devoured three biscuit bowls with pork fricassee that he’d saved for himself from the morning rush. “I gotta tell you, Zoe: that chicken is good, but not as good as my pork.”
I laughed. “I guess I’ll get more ingredients for another fricassee.”
“I’ll be glad to make it for you during my off shift. I like to cook at night.”
“Sounds great. Thanks, Ollie. I want to go visit Daddy for a few minutes before I go back to the diner.”
After dividing up all our ideas, I was so grateful to have such wonderful people working with me. I hoped someday to be able to repay them for what they’d done.
My phone rang as I was making a shopping list for Miguel. It was Tucker.
“I think I’ve found something, Zoe. Jordan had a lot of writing in the phone. He also had interviews and appointments with people he was researching. I think I know what he was doing at the Mistics of Time ball. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“You can meet me back at the diner. I’ll be cooking there for a while in about an hour. Let’s see what we can find.”
Delia agreed to stay at the Biscuit Bowl. She was still kind of fresh compared to the rest of us. There didn’t seem to be a big rush on the way until supper. We could restock and be back by then.
Miguel dropped me off at my mother’s house. I felt bad that I hadn’t seen my father since he was conscious. Miguel left me with a quick kiss after scanning my shopping list to make sure he understood everything. He might not be a cook, but he was the best assistant ever—with benefits.
“I’ll see you back at the diner,” he said. “Be careful.”
“It’s just my mother,” I joked. “How bad can it be?”
“You know what I mean. You’re still involved with whatever happened to Jordan Phillips. Don’t take any chances.”
“I won’t. I’ll see you later.”
My mother’s housekeeper, Martha, greeted me at the door, but I paused at the downstairs bathroom to freshen up a bit before going to see Daddy—I knew I smelled like fried biscuit bowls. My face was sunburned and my hair was going crazy. There wasn’t much I could do about either of those things. I washed my face, smoothed back my hair, and spritzed on some perfume. That was the best I could do.
“He’s in the blue bedroom.” Martha was waiting when I came out of the bathroom. “Can I get something for you—tea, lemonade? Wesley made some wonderful cookies this morning.”
Wesley was my mother’s chef. Normally I would’ve jumped at the chance to eat anything he’d made, but I was still too full. “Nothing to drink, thanks. But I’ll take a few cookies to go.”
She went to get them and I went upstairs.
This house on Julia Way would always be home to me. It was a two-story 1920s Victorian that didn’t show a bit of its age. It had been wonderfully cared for up until my mother took possession of it when I was a child.
Since then she’d obsessed over every aspect of the house and grounds. Her legacy to whoever got the house from her would be dozens of improvements and additions. I loved the old place, but I wouldn’t have wanted to live there.
Someday I pictured myself living in an apartment above an exclusive restaurant—my own, of course. It would be in one of the older parts of the city with a wonderful view of the bay. I added to my dream on a regular basis as I watched home improvement shows between cooking shows on TV.
I wondered if Miguel would be part of that. We weren’t to that commitment stage in our relationship. I wasn’t sure if we ever would be, and I didn’t really care at that time. I was doing what I’d always wanted to do with great friends around me. I couldn’t complain.
Tiptoeing across the floor upstairs to reach the guest room, I thought Daddy might be sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb him if that was the case.
I peeked in the doorway and immediately flattened myself against the wall, barely breathing.
My mother and father were kissing. It was enough to addle my brain.
What should I do? I dared another glance.
She was almost lying across him. They were as entwined as the moss in the big oaks outside. I hadn’t seen them do anything like this—well—ever. I felt sure they had at some time, but maybe not since I’d been born.
I decided to clear my throat in a polite manner. They’d break apart and try to be presentable.
I cleared my throat. Neither one of them looked my way or moved.
I did it again. Louder.
That worked. My mother got quickly off the bed, smoothed her hair and top. Daddy smiled at her and squeezed her hand.
What are they doing?
They’d been divorced for twelve years. Was this some knee-jerk reaction to my father
being attacked? Obviously they hadn’t thought this through before going at it that way.
I put a big smile on my face and walked into the room as though everything was fine. “How are you feeling, Daddy? I’m glad you’re out of the hospital. I’ll bet you’ll be glad to go home—to your apartment—soon.”
“I’m doing just fine, baby girl.” He held out his hand to me.
I have to say that he didn’t look as pale and pathetic as one might expect a person to be after going through what he had. His eyes were sparkling and there was a lot of color in his face.
“I thought I’d stop by to see if there was anything I could do before I start making food again for the Biscuit Bowl. You wouldn’t have believed the crowds that were out this afternoon. I expected that I had enough food for the whole day, but it didn’t work out that way.”
“Zoe, your father needs his rest,” my mother said. “We should talk about things downstairs.”
Was she kidding? She was all over him. Was that a hickey on her neck? I still couldn’t believe what I’d seen.
“In a minute.” I smiled at her. “I have a few questions for Daddy.”
“I’ll just wait downstairs, then,” she said. “Don’t be too long.”
Once she was gone, I desperately wanted to ask him about the two of them. Had this been going on for a while? Were they getting back together?
Instead I chose the easier subject—Jordan’s murder and Daddy’s attack.
“Did you see anything or anyone?”
“I didn’t, Zoe. I admit to having had a few too many. I walked out of the bar and some crazy person attacked me with a knife. I was lucky other people were coming out of the bar, too. They scared him away.”
“It wasn’t the ghost of Old Slac, was it?”
“No, of course not. But I think seeing him was a warning that this was going to happen.”
“Daddy, I know this is a difficult topic, but is there any way to find out if Jordan Phillips was a member of the Mistics?”
He closed his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t pursue this, honey. I don’t want to visit you in the hospital. You don’t understand how important secrecy is for the Mistics of Time.”