Fat Tuesday Fricassee

by J. J. Cook

  I held Crème Brûlée a little tighter for my own benefit and reminded myself that it could’ve been the ghost of Old Slac. Even Detective Frolick’s frown was better than that.

  “Miss Chase.” There was exasperation and impatience in his tone.

  “Detective. What can I do for you?”

  “Why are you still involved in Jordan Phillips’s death? I thought we had an understanding.” He glanced around as though he was worried about being seen there.

  “I’m not. I know you’re talking about Dylan’s death. I’d give anything not to have seen that—believe me. He called me. I didn’t know what was going on.”

  “And you couldn’t pass that on to me instead of trying to do it yourself?”

  “I operate a food truck. I didn’t want any part in this at all. If you would’ve just told the truth from the beginning—”

  “The truth can be subjective and in this case would’ve caused difficulties that you don’t comprehend.”

  “Maybe so, but you still only have yourself to blame.”

  I started to walk past him. He didn’t budge.

  “Excuse me. I have to get back to the diner so I can cook for dinner.”

  “Sometimes bad things happen to little girls who like to play games.” The words were rough and mean.

  “Stay away from me or I’ll file a stalking charge against you to add to the rest of your problems.” I could hear my voice wavering. I knew he could hear it, too.

  He stepped to one side. “The answers you’re looking for might not be good for your family, either, Miss Chase. Have you thought about that?”

  I calmly took Crème Brûlée back to the truck. Detective Frolick got into his vehicle and left the parking lot, burning rubber.

  I let out a pent-up breath and buried my face in Crème Brûlée’s fur. “I don’t like that man. What is he trying to hide, anyway? Did he kill Jordan? He acts like he did.”

  Crème Brûlée’s answer was a loud snore.

  “How can you be tired? You slept all night. I need some comfort. You’re supposed to be here for me.”

  He flipped on his side away from me as though I’d been bothering him.

  “Fine. Next time you want a special treat at the store, I’ll remember this moment.”

  The passenger side door opened. I threw my arms around Miguel, and my story about Detective Frolick came out in a nervous rush.

  “I don’t understand why that man keeps coming to see you,” Miguel said. “What does he think you know?”

  I held him tight. “I wish I could go back in time and not find Jordan’s body.”

  “I know.” He kissed me. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t understand what they’re covering up.”

  Uncle Saul stalked up to the cab of the truck. “Better get a move on it. Dinner won’t cook itself, and we’re completely out of food!”

  “Thanks for the kick in the butt.” I sighed, not wanting to go. “I’m leaving Crème Brûlée here while I’m gone. He should be fine. I just walked him.”

  “I can handle that. I’ll see you later.”

  Ollie climbed into the back of the car with all the hot bags on his lap. “So what are we cooking this time?”

  “Stoke’s Pie?” I asked him with a smile.

  “It was the best I could come up with at the time.”

  “Thanks for that. My mind was a complete blank.”

  “You’re stressed.” He shrugged. “You shouldn’t have to think.”

  “I appreciate that, but I have to think now. What are we eating the rest of the day?”

  When we reached the diner, we peered through the freezer for possible savory and sweet foods while Miguel took out bags of plates, napkins, and forks to restock the food truck.

  Ollie laughed as he took out a large package of bacon. “Black eyed peas and bacon sounds good.” He handed me the frozen peas I’d already cooked and seasoned last summer before I froze them.

  The door to the diner chimed. Chef Art strode in with a grin on his face. His RV was parked in front. “Good afternoon, lady and gents. If that’s coffee I smell, I’ll have a cup or two.” He planted himself on one of the stools at the counter.

  I had just started the biscuit dough. “How’s Tucker doing? I looked through Jordan’s phone. Can you tell if someone is suicidal from reading what they write on their phone?”

  “You never know,” Ollie said. “How much bacon do you want in the beans?”

  “You can’t have too much bacon,” Chef Art said. “Question is how hot do you make it?”

  Ollie laughed. “Can’t be too hot, either.”

  Chef Art smacked his lips at the prospect. “Zoe Chase, you were wasted at that bank, girl. Your food is to die for.”

  I grinned. “Would you mind putting your face and those words on every billboard in Mobile?”

  “Maybe one day.”

  I hoped that day would be the opening day of my restaurant. I knew Chef Art liked me and enjoyed my cooking. I didn’t want that endorsement for my food truck. There was only so much I could do with the Biscuit Bowl. But later his words could be helpful.

  “I’m riding in another parade today.” Chef Art delicately wiped his tiny white beard with a moist towelette. “You’re welcome to join me, Zoe. You could drop flyers instead of throws.”

  “I don’t think people would appreciate that when they’re expecting candy or beads. We’re doing almost more than we can handle right now at the rally. I’ve given out a thousand flyers with biscuit bowls. I hope people will remember me when carnival is over.”

  “I’m sure they will. If they don’t remember you, they’ll remember your food. That’s more important, anyway.”

  The bacon was frying and the peas were heating in the big pot. I chopped a mountain of onions for the bacon and pea savory. When I’d finished with that, I made a huge batch of icing for the sweet biscuit bowls. It was time to figure out what would be inside those bowls and get started making it.

  “What about cheese?” I asked.

  “Cheese?” Chef Art scowled. “With wine, yes. I’m not sure about in a biscuit bowl for a sweet.”

  “Ricotta. Sweet cheese with some candied fruit in it,” I suggested.

  “Add some rum to that and you’ve got a hit,” Ollie said.

  Tom, my UPS driver, whistled as he walked through the door wearing his usual brown shirt and shorts. “How’s it going, Miss Zoe? I got this big package for you. Maybe something good to eat, huh?”

  Tom handed me the large package, and I put it down so I could hand him a warm biscuit bowl.

  “That’s what I love about delivering to you. See you later.”

  I put aside the frozen peaches I’d been looking at and opened the box.

  There was a loud popping sound, and most of the box blew apart.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Everything went quiet for a minute. I was stunned, and covered in glitter and sequins, but not hurt.

  “What was that?” Chef Art asked.

  “Are you okay, Zoe?” Miguel rushed to my side.

  “Outside of looking like a party happened on me, I think I’m fine.” I needed to take a shower, anyway. I didn’t think there was a part of me that wasn’t full of glitter.

  “Someone could’ve been hurt with that,” Ollie observed.

  Chef Art frowned. “In my day we called that a surprise box. It went to people we didn’t like during carnival. No one ever suspected until it was too late. My friends and I did it to dozens of people. I wonder who sent this to you, Zoe.”

  “I think right now they must be standing in line with numbers.” I brushed off as many sequins as I could. “I’m going to take a shower now. You all carry on without me.”

  A surprise box.

  It was aptly named, I thought, as I washed off the gli
tter. There were rivers of purple, gold, and green going down the drain. I hoped it didn’t clog anything.

  Was it supposed to be a threat or a prank? I’d never heard of it before. I guess it was old school. I’d have to ask Chef Art after I got dressed—and later, Uncle Saul.

  When I got out of the shower, I still had a lot of glitter on me. I would probably have to live with it for a few days. Lucky it was time for carnival. I fit right in.

  It was difficult getting dressed in the tiny bathroom. Usually, I dashed to my temporary bedroom, but with a diner full of men on the other side of the wall, that wasn’t an option. I struggled into my last pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt. All my Biscuit Bowl T-shirts were dirty. I was going to have to wash clothes soon.

  I brushed my wet black curls and then held my head down to fluff them up. They’d have to dry a bit before I could use gel on them. I was tempted to cover them with a colorful scarf, but I knew that would be another problem tomorrow if I did.

  I went back out to the kitchen. The surprise box was on the counter. Ollie, Miguel, and Chef Art were all looking inside it.

  “Did I miss something?” I asked.

  “There was a note at the bottom.” Ollie handed it to me.

  The next one will be real.

  “What does that even mean?” I looked up at my friends.

  “I believe it’s a threat, Zoe,” Chef Art said. “I never heard of a surprise box with serious intent. It was just supposed to be a prank on someone you didn’t care for, you know? Like filling a paper bag with dog poop and leaving it for someone to step on. Just harmless fun.”

  “Eww.” Better glitter than dog poop. “You think someone is saying this could have been a bomb?”

  “Maybe it’s your friend the commissioner,” Ollie said. “You better get a robot to open your packages in the parking lot from now on.”

  Chef Art got up from his stool. “That sounds like my cue to leave. I’ll see you later, Zoe. Be careful today.”

  I finished defrosting and reheating my peaches with brandy sauce, but my hands were shaking. What if it had been a bomb? I wouldn’t have to worry about crowds today or my future restaurant. It would all be over. The thought made me shudder.

  Miguel put his hands on my shoulders. I jumped with a screech. “Sorry. Don’t let Chef Art’s words bother you. I’m sure no one was trying to kill you.”

  Ollie made a loud humphing noise. “Someone is always trying to kill someone else. And that person is the last to know.”

  I agreed with Miguel. “I think this was a stupid prank. There’s no return address on the box. I’m sure one of my old friends from school sent it. Maybe even my mother, since she seems to have gone crazy.” I finished my sweet ricotta cheese with fruit filling. The biscuits were ready to go.

  Ollie got a clean spoon and put some of the spicy black-eyed peas on it. “What do you think?”

  “It’s good. Really good.” And then the heat hit me. “Wow. That’s hot. You don’t think it’s too hot, do you?”

  “No such thing,” Ollie told me. “Customers like it hot.”

  Within the next thirty minutes, we managed to get everything ready to go. We piled into Miguel’s car and Cole’s taxi and started toward the food truck rally. Delia called, frantic because she’d already had to turn two customers away.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I told her. “Just hope we don’t run into any parades.”

  I thought about the surprise box as we got closer to the food truck rally.

  Did someone really just mean it as a prank? It seemed like it, but with everything that had been going on the last few days, I was suspicious. I couldn’t imagine Commissioner Sloane, despite his veiled threats, sending me that box. I watch TV. If I’d decided to call the police, his fingerprints and DNA would be all over it. He was smarter than that.

  We managed to avoid most of the street traffic except for some small groups of people dancing. This time of year everyone made room and shared the street with dancers and musicians. We saw some elaborately decorated bicycles that looked parade-bound. They yelled and waved as we passed them.

  “I’m a little disappointed with carnival this year,” I said as we parked the car close to the food truck rally. “It’s not the same when you’re working.”

  There was still a three-block walk carrying all the food to reach the Biscuit Bowl. Ollie, Uncle Saul, and Miguel volunteered to bring what looked like a mountain of Cokes and ice after we got everything set up.

  Delia was fending off customers who were giving her a hard time. She saw us come in the back door and gave a sigh of relief.

  “What kind of crappy food truck is this, anyway?” The man at the window was wearing a costume—Dracula, I thought. He yelled at Delia and pounded his fist on the side of the Biscuit Bowl.

  Ollie politely asked Delia to move away from the window. He stuck his mean face out at the complaining vampire. “Cut that out unless you want to end up under the truck. Come back or get lost. Your choice.”

  The vampire quit pounding and backed away.

  “Thanks, Ollie.” Delia smiled at him. “I thought my customers at the bar were bad. That man needs to go to jail for being so rude.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle the window.”

  It was the most they’d said to each other since their breakup. Not that there had been yelling or cursing. It was more a cold ignoring of each other as we worked each day. I hoped it would be better now.

  We got all the food stowed away so the hot food stayed hot and the cold food stayed cold. Once we were settled in, Ollie and Miguel set up the Cokes. Uncle Saul took the window—though his mean face had miles to go to equal Ollie’s. I wasn’t going to argue with his choice of jobs.

  “Could I take a break?” Delia asked. “My nerves are frayed.”

  “Of course.” I hugged her. “Thanks for doing this crazy job. Next year we’ll just enjoy the carnival.”

  “Thanks, Zoe. You know I’m here for you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  There was a rap on the back door. It was someone with a clipboard checking in with us.

  “Everything going okay back here?” she asked.

  “It’s been hectic, but we’re fine.” I stared at her. “Do I know you? Where’s Tiffany?”

  “She’s out sick, I guess.” She shrugged. “They called me in this morning to take her place.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m supposed to tell you that a few cruise ships are docking and we might expect an extra ten thousand people the next few days. Are you prepared for that?”

  “As prepared as I can be.” I swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She smiled. “Tiffany had a lot of information in her notes, thank goodness. Otherwise, I don’t know what I would’ve done. This was a big surprise when they called and wanted me to work.”

  “I’m sure,” I sympathized. “What a way to ruin Mardi Gras, huh?”

  “Don’t I know it?” She rolled her eyes. “Have a good day.”

  There were no other customers as I put away the paper products and straightened up the kitchen.

  “You know, Zoe, about that surprise box—” Uncle Saul began.

  I’d filled him in earlier. “Let’s not talk about it. If someone really wanted to bomb my diner, there wouldn’t be much I could do about it. I’ll stick with the things I know I can do.” I hugged him to keep my words from sounding too harsh. “Are you going to be okay if Mom and Daddy decide to get back together?”

  “That ship sailed a long time ago for me, Zoe girl.” He kissed my cheek. “I’m still young. I still have a grand romance coming my way. I don’t need Ted’s leftovers.”

  “Good. You need to find someone new.” His words had been deep and painful. I was sorry I’d brought up the subject. I’d just been trying to get away from th
e gloom and doom.

  For me, my parents deciding to get back together wouldn’t be the end of the world. Maybe it would even be a good thing. But I’d have to see it last for more than a few days to believe it.

  I stirred the peas with crumbled bacon and made sure the cheese filling was cool in the mini-fridge. The icing was ready to go. I couldn’t imagine putting that much icing on sweet biscuit bowls in one day, but with cruise ship visitors it was possible.

  It was dinnertime on the dot when we were set up. I saw the first group of partygoers in crazy costumes as they walked across the parking lot toward us.

  “Here we go.”

  - - - - - - -

  The day had been warmer and the crowds were bigger, but otherwise it was a copycat of the day before. I was so glad every day wasn’t like this. There was barely time to think much less time to plan and observe my customers.

  The food held up, but I ran out of flyers. I’d forgotten to make more at the diner before I left. Miguel offered to run back to his office and print some. I took him up on it without a pause. He could be back in ten minutes if traffic wasn’t bad. We wouldn’t miss getting out too many flyers while he was gone.

  Delia came back from her break looking wonderfully relaxed and happy. She took over filling the sweet biscuit bowls as Ollie called out and wrote down orders.

  I could hear the music as a parade passed close by the parking lot. It sounded noisy and fun. I wished I were standing on the sidewalk watching it go by instead of knee-deep in customers and black-eyed peas.

  I was just tired, I told myself, promising a few days off when carnival was over. I hoped all this work would be worth it. The money had been good so far, but I’d also put out a bunch of money. I hadn’t had time to balance my records. I wouldn’t know about any growing awareness of my food until after the celebrations were finished and life went back to normal.