by J. J. Cook
I hugged her. “Thanks. Will you stay until six? There shouldn’t be many people. Call if it gets busy.”
“Sure. But think about this, Zoe,” she said. “And get back here as soon as you can. I don’t want to face a ravenous crowd of drenched parade watchers alone.”
I thanked her for being such a big help and left with Miguel and Ollie. Miguel had found an app for his phone that showed which streets were blocked off for the big parades. We avoided those areas, but it still took an extra twenty minutes to drop Uncle Saul off at Daddy’s apartment on the way to the diner.
He protested between sneezes all the way. “You’re gonna need me tonight, Zoe girl. Things could change suddenly and you might get hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m going to make biscuits and get the food ready for dinner. I won’t meet with Dylan until later. I’ll have Ollie and Miguel looking out for me.”
He seemed pacified by that idea and went inside the apartment building after I promised that I would call when I heard anything else.
Miguel still wasn’t happy about it. “You’re determined to be part of this, aren’t you?”
“Not at all. Tucker and Jordan’s girlfriend were both at the diner this morning. I didn’t offer to help. Same thing when I called Tucker after he left the phone for me to find.”
“Why is Tucker Phillips—a millionaire and a man who has many friends in this city—turning to you for help? Have you thought about that?”
“I agree with Miguel,” Ollie said. “I don’t trust that man.”
“He thinks Jordan and I are tied together because I found his body. It’s a philosophy thing.”
“Maybe so, but it’s a bad philosophy thing, Zoe. He should hire a private detective, not try to get you to figure this out for him.”
“It’s going to be fine now that we know a little more,” I assured him with a bright smile. “Dylan is Jordan’s friend, a co-worker. He might know what Jordan was working on when he died. He might be able to give us insight into Jordan.”
“Or he might be the one who killed Jordan.”
“No denying that, young’un,” Ollie chimed in after being quiet for so long that I almost forgot he was in the backseat. “This could be a good thing, or it could be a trap.”
We pulled into the diner parking lot and I got out of the Mercedes.
“It’s not a trap, Ollie. You should’ve heard his voice. He was terrified.” I had to dig around in my bag to find my keys. “This is something I was meant to do or I wouldn’t have found him. You should understand that, Miguel.”
I could tell he didn’t understand at all. I opened the diner and started mixing biscuits, all the while thinking about the meeting with Jordan’s friend. Would he be willing to talk to me when he saw I wasn’t Jordan?
Ollie was humming as he searched through my freezers. “We need something exciting for dinner tonight. Something to spice things up and make people think food truck food is the best!”
Miguel made coffee. “Is there something I can do to help?”
“I might need some things from the store.”
“Why don’t I ever get to go to the store?” Ollie asked.
“You don’t have a car,” I answered with a smile. “Anything exciting in the freezer?”
“You’ve got a huge amount of mushrooms in here. What about some mushroom chowder?”
“Mushroom chowder?”
“Like clam chowder, but with some of these fat mushrooms. You’ve got plenty of potatoes, too.”
“Sounds good. Do I have everything else for it?”
“Looks like you’re out of fresh onion, celery, carrots, and garlic. Want to use powdered?”
“No, thanks.” I glanced at Miguel. “Would you mind?”
“Not if you’ll forget about talking to Jordan’s friend tonight.”
I thought he was kidding at first, but he was serious.
“Miguel, I have to find out what Dylan knows.”
“I’ll go, too,” Ollie volunteered. “I’ll go to the store, too, if you want.”
“Do you have a driver’s license?” Miguel asked.
“No. You know I lost it with that bus thing. But I can drive everything from a motorcycle to a tank.”
“So you drove the Biscuit Bowl back here from Uncle Saul’s place with no license?” I asked.
Ollie shrugged and took out the mushrooms.
“I’ll go,” Miguel said. “I’m not much of a cook like you two, and our time is limited before we have to head back to the food truck rally.”
“I’ll make a list.” I hoped he’d give up on the idea of convincing me not to meet with Dylan.
“I’m not kidding about this, Zoe.” Miguel was steely eyed. “This thing with Jordan has been one problem after another. It’s dangerous. If you like, I’ll tell Tucker he should quit bothering you with it.”
“I can handle Tucker. And I’ll think about Dylan while we cook,” I promised. “Can we talk about it when you get back?”
“All right. But it has to be a serious conversation! You’re taking this too lightly.”
“It will. I promise.” I kissed him and made up a quick list.
When he was gone, Ollie started peeling and chopping potatoes for the mushroom chowder. “I thought we were gonna get to mix it up, Zoe. What happens about Jordan now?”
“We go to see Dylan.” I put a tray of biscuits into the oven and tried to decide what to make for the sweet biscuit bowl filling. “I think Miguel will feel better if he goes, too, don’t you?”
“I think he was already planning to go even though I can take care of one punk reporter by myself. I think you’ll need more to convince him than that, young’un.”
I took a deep breath. “How about I’m going to meet with Dylan—with or without him.”
Ollie punched one fist into the palm of his other hand. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. When do we go?”
TWENTY-THREE
I talked Miguel around when he returned with his car stuffed full of fresh produce.
“With all three of us, it can’t be too bad, right?” I suggested.
“It could be a disaster,” Miguel said. “But I can see you’re determined to go through with it. I think there’s less of a chance for trouble with me and Ollie there, too. I wish Saul felt better. We can’t have too many backups as far as I’m concerned.”
Miguel was talking to me as I finished baking biscuits. I was only listening with half an ear as I mentally calculated if there were enough sweet and savory fillings for the rest of the day. I thought I was doing a better job deciding how much food we needed after a week, but it was scary each time. I knew it was a lesson in cooking for crowds that I wouldn’t forget.
My sweet filling was finally cool. I was making a coconut custard with a dash of brandy that Ollie had suggested. It was really good. He’d wanted to add mint, too, but I thought that was too much.
“Zoe? Are you listening to me?” Miguel asked. “Your life could depend on making this man think there are more of us than he’s going to see at the meeting.”
“I hope not—but I was listening.”
“You’re going to have to tell him right away that you have people in the car waiting for you and something at home that will ruin his life if you don’t get back safely.”
“Like one of those letters you give your lawyer to give to the newspaper if you die,” Ollie agreed. “I’ve seen those in the movies.”
“Is that what you’re talking about?” I asked Miguel.
“Something like that,” he agreed. “Ollie and I will be right there with you. But if we could make Dylan think there was more than just the three of us, he might think twice about trying anything stupid.”
“I can do that.”
Ollie tasted the garlic soup I had been simmering for Uncle Saul. �
��This stuff is great! Too bad it’s too thin to go into a biscuit bowl. Maybe we could thicken it up.”
“Maybe later.” I transferred the soup to a covered dish. “Right now everything is ready. Let’s get back to the Biscuit Bowl. I don’t like leaving Delia there by herself too long.”
We piled everything into the car and then made a brief stop at Daddy’s apartment. I left the soup with Marvin, the security guard, who promised to take it right up to Uncle Saul.
There was nowhere to park when we got back to the food truck rally. It had become the staging area for a 5K race with about two hundred runners all limbering up in the street. Everyone was dressed in green, gold, and purple. Some wore masks or had feather boas on their shoulders. There were even some runners with fool’s hats on, their bells ringing when they moved their heads.
“We can’t get through,” I said. We had so much food, plus drinks and ice, that had to go to the Biscuit Bowl. “I don’t know how we’re going to get it there.”
An older man with a golf cart came to our rescue. We loaded up his little green gator cart three times. The front of the cart was painted with a gator’s face and teeth. The back had a short, stubby tail that swished from side to side when the cart was moving.
“I just like gators.” Frank Curlee grinned when I asked him why he’d painted his cart to be a gator.
I told him about Uncle Saul’s albino gator, and he vowed to watch for my uncle’s arrival at the rally. “I’d love to have a conversation with him! I had three gators that I kept in my swimming pool for a while. The city said I couldn’t keep ’em there anymore. This little cart, and my memories, are all I got left of them.”
It was hard to imagine why anyone wanted to keep alligators. I knew I wouldn’t want to. I was always afraid with Crème Brûlée when we visited Uncle Saul’s cabin. Alabaster had snapped at him several times. I was pretty sure he’d make a nice snack for her.
I thanked Frank for his help and gave him a coconut custard biscuit bowl. I scribbled Uncle Saul’s phone number down. “I’m sure he’d like to talk to you, too. There’s nothing he likes to talk about more than food and his gator.”
He bit down hard on the biscuit bowl and smiled like a gator—a toothless one. “This is very good! Why haven’t I had this before? You’re a culinary genius filling these little biscuit bowls, Zoe!”
“We’re right over there in the parking lot.” I laughed. “You can’t miss us. We have the big biscuit on top. Usually, I’m parked in front of police headquarters five days a week. Sometimes I take the Biscuit Bowl out for special events like this one.”
“Police?” He shuddered. “Why in the world would you park there?”
He and Uncle Saul would get along just fine.
“Business is good over there,” I explained. “I have to park somewhere people are going in and out during the day.”
“And whose kin did you say you were?”
“Chase,” I repeated. “My uncle is Saul Chase, and my father is Ted Chase.”
“I know those Chase brothers. I knew their daddy well. He was a good man. Those boys of his were always fussing and feuding. Never saw two brothers who loved each other more, though. You take care, little girl. Keep makin’ these biscuit bowls!”
“Thanks. I will!”
Miguel took Delia home while Ollie and I unloaded the food. We were going to be shorthanded with Uncle Saul out sick, but Delia needed the break. It hadn’t been all that busy while I’d been gone, but I knew it was tiring just sitting there waiting, too. I didn’t expect anyone to be there twenty-four hours a day.
“So what are you gonna say to this man tonight?” Ollie asked as he spooned the thick chowder into the warming trays. “Got any ideas?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping he’ll want to do the talking. He’s a reporter. He should like to talk, right?” I filled the refrigerated trays with the coconut cream filling. “What do you think I should say to him?”
“Miguel is right—you should play it cool. Don’t let him know that you don’t know what he knows.”
“What?” I laughed. “How else will I get him to tell me what he knows?”
He waggled his brows, making the tattoo on his head move. “You could use your feminine wiles. He’s a man. You’re a woman. I mean, he’s gonna know right away that you’re not Jordan, isn’t he? You need another way to approach him. Showing him that you’re a woman and making promises you won’t keep is the standard way.”
I felt bad that Ollie’s experience with women had led him to that conclusion.
“I suppose he’ll know right away that I’m not Jordan and that I’m a woman. I’m hoping to convince him that I was Jordan’s friend, too. We can talk about Jordan, mourn him some. I don’t think I have to seduce him to get him to talk.”
“But why would he spill the beans to you? You’re gonna have to convince him—especially if he’s afraid for his life.”
“Because he wants to unburden himself? And he wants to talk about Jordan with someone else he thinks knew him, too.”
“Better rethink that. He doesn’t want to be unburdened. He wants someone to worm the truth out of him. A sexy, seductive lady, like yourself.”
“You must be talking about someone else!”
He put his hands on my arms. “Zoe, you are one of the sexiest women I’ve ever known! You’re cute and petite. And you’re just sexy. Hot!”
“Thanks.” My face felt a little flushed. “I wouldn’t know where to start using my, er, sex appeal, though.”
“I’ll show you.”
He put one hand on his hip and held the other hand in the air as he sauntered through the limited space in the kitchen with his butt swaying.
I barely contained my laughter.
“Why, Dylan”—he raised the pitch of his voice—“you should tell me everything you know about Jordan. I really want to help him . . . and you. Give me a chance to make you feel better.”
Ollie bent forward slightly and pushed out his chest.
That was too much. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Is that how I’m supposed to sound?”
“Well you have more”—he waved to my bosom—“but you get the idea.”
“I don’t think I’d be very good at that, but thanks for the suggestion.”
“Don’t give up so easy. Girls do it naturally,” Ollie barked in the tone I’d heard him use on the other men in the shelter when they wouldn’t listen to him. “Try it, Zoe. You can do it.”
“All right.” I turned around and rolled up my T-shirt under my breasts, tying it tight behind my back. I pushed my black curly hair free of its restraint and turned around with my lips puckered. “Don’t you want to tell me all your secrets, Ollie?”
I fluttered my lashes and thrust out my breasts.
Ollie stared at me for a moment before he got up from the counter. “That was good. That was very good. I think he’ll talk to you if you approach him that way. I would. I mean—I have to go and stock the cooler. Keep practicing. You’ll be great.”
TWENTY-FOUR
The Mobile Carnival Museum highlighted the history of Mardi Gras in Mobile, its true birthplace. It was mainly for tourists, but schoolchildren visited here, too. There probably wasn’t a child in the city who couldn’t talk to you about designing costumes and constructing floats.
There were also videos of parades and past coronations. The photos in the gallery went back to 1886. Everything anyone needed to know about carnival was located here.
There were two tour buses outside the museum—probably a special event, since I knew the museum had closed much earlier. I could see all the floral decorations through the windows. Women danced by in masks and silk gowns, as did men wearing fancy French costumes from the 1700s. I could hear a small quartet of musicians playing inside. Tables were elaborately decorated with fine china, silver, and leftovers from t
heir champagne supper.
I wondered how this would all go down with a museum full of people. I hoped it wouldn’t spook Dylan.
There was light drizzle in the streets after the food truck rally had closed down. It didn’t hamper celebrations on the way from the municipal parking lot to the museum. People danced in the rain even when there was no music. Three men played guitars on one corner with a hat to catch coins. Horse-drawn carriages were making the rounds with lovers kissing inside them.
I wished I was doing any of that with Miguel instead of being exhausted and waiting for a man I didn’t know to give me information about his dead friend. I started to call the whole thing off several times on the way there, but it had been so hard to talk Miguel into believing it was something that I should do. I couldn’t just back out.
Ollie’s advice about seducing the information from Dylan wasn’t right for me. I would have felt stupid enough if it was only me and Jordan’s friend. Ollie and Miguel would be right there, too. I stuck to my belief that Dylan would want someone to talk to about Jordan like a friend. If it didn’t happen that way, I didn’t think it would happen at all.
“Just remember,” Miguel said as we waited outside the museum, “we’re right here with you. Tell him there are other people, too. Don’t let him intimidate you.”
“Okay.”
“You can still call this off,” he reminded me.
“I’m fine.”
Ollie hugged me. “Remember to talk sexy, like we practiced today. You’ll be great. I almost”—he gulped—“well he won’t have a chance.”
“What?” Miguel asked with panic in his voice.
“Kidding!” I said, though Ollie didn’t like that I sounded as though I might back out. “Quiet! Someone’s coming.”
My heart was pounding and my breathing was shallow as the figure walked toward me. I knew Ollie and Miguel were behind me, but they were in the shadows of the trees and the museum building.