1 Death on Eat Street (19 page)

She looked worried. I felt bad for even thinking of telling him. “No. I won’t say anything to Ollie.”

“Thanks, Zoe.” Delia seemed relieved. She started right in by taking out the apples and slicing the cheese.

Outside, our first customers of the day were ready for biscuit bowls with sausage gravy. I’d put a little extra cayenne into the gravy. One man was surprised when he tasted it, raising his eyebrows and fanning his mouth with his hand.

“Hot!” He bought two more to take upstairs with him. He told Delia that he was a lawyer representing a man the police were questioning for robbery that day.

“Well, you’ll need all the extra spice you can get then, won’t you?” She smiled and winked at him as she gave him his biscuits. “Don’t forget to stop by for lunch. We have some really good pimento cheese and macaroni.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“Don’t forget to say thank you,” I murmured after he was gone.

“Sorry. I felt like we had a connection. I didn’t want to waste it. I’ll say thank you from now on.”

The rest of the day was a repeat performance of the early morning. We were swamped with customers until about ten. That slowdown gave us enough time to get ready for the eleven-thirty crowd.

The Dog House was there again, late. I wasn’t giving up my prime spot today. Suzette’s Crepes was missing, but Charlie’s Tuna Shack showed up. There was also a food truck I hadn’t seen—Yolanda’s Yummy Yogurt. Yolanda offered fresh fruit mixed into homemade yogurt. I saw people walking over there after leaving our food truck. Some went straight for the yogurt.

Yolanda’s food truck was decorated with fruits that hung from the sides like fish in nets. They also played Bob Marley music to attract customers.

“Maybe we should play music,” I suggested.

“Nah.” Ollie didn’t like that idea. “It would probably throw off as many people as you’d get from it, Zoe.”

“I don’t know,” Delia said. “Maybe something jazzy and cool might be good.”

I tabled all of the music ideas as the lunch crowd got busy. It was all we could do to keep up with the customers waiting at the window. I was seriously worried about running out of macaroni and cheese. The food was bulky in the small container I had for it. The soupier savories went further.

Around twelve thirty, I took out my last bowl of macaroni and cheese. There were plenty of biscuits today. It was hard getting the exact number right without knowing how many people would show up. If I made too much of any food, it could go to waste and cut into my budget. If I didn’t make enough, my customers would go somewhere else.

Things started slacking off again at about one thirty. Good thing, too, because I saw my mother seated at one of the café tables. She was staring at the food truck with an occasional angry glare at the spinning biscuit on top.

“I think that woman out there may be an unhappy customer.” Delia pointed to her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was giving us the evil eye.”

I took off my apron. “That’s my mother. The only thing she can do is stare at us until we catch fire. Could you two handle the truck for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” Ollie said. “Take all the time you need. I’d feel better if you sit so she can’t see us.”

I laughed at that. That stare my mother was giving us was a winning technique for her in the courtroom. She was famous for it, but I hadn’t been afraid of it for a very long time.

“Mother.” I sat opposite her with my back to the food truck to hide Delia and Ollie from her angry eyes.

“Zoe.”

“Nice day, huh?” I looked around at the sunshine and the blue sky above us. “If you’re hungry—”

“Do you
really
think I’d eat food from a truck in a parking lot?”

“It’s
my
truck,” I reminded her. “I made the food.”

“That doesn’t change my feelings on the matter.”

I tried not to get angry or offended by her attitude. Sometimes it was hard.

“Then why are you here?”

She took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you, alone—without your father. I was really hurt when you sneaked out of the restaurant and left us there with Tommy Lee and your engagement ring.”

“I was very hurt that you thought Uncle Saul should kidnap me and drag me into the swamp with him so I’d lose my business.”

“I don’t think that’s the same thing at all. I’m talking about
family
. You still remember that word, don’t you? You’re talking about this crazy thing that you’re doing that’s ruining your life.”

“I won’t ever forget that you’re my family. I love you and Daddy. But you can’t tell me how to live my life anymore. I love my business, too, and I’m starting to be successful at it.”

She made a hissing noise, not unlike the one Crème Brûlée makes right before he bites. I’d never noticed the similarities before.

“You’re selling greasy food that you make in an old diner, out of a motor home that scares me when I look at it. Why would you consider this to be successful?”

I knew I could never explain it to her. I wasn’t even going to try anymore. When she was standing in line outside my fabulously famous restaurant, hoping to get a table, she’d understand.
Maybe.

“And I’m not marrying Tommy Lee. I know you love him. I know his parents love me. We’re not right for each other.”

“If it’s about that girl from the bank, men sometimes lose their way, Zoe. We have to make allowances for them.”

“Seriously? Did Daddy—?”

Her normally pale face turned a little red. She glanced away, as though she didn’t want to meet my eyes.

I took that as a yes.

“I’m sorry.” I think it was the first time in my life that I empathized with her. I loved my father, but I suppose I always knew something was up with the many scenic vacations that he took alone.

“That’s neither here nor there. And if you don’t want to marry Tommy Lee, I’m certainly not going to try and force you to do so.” She took my hand and leaned forward across the table. “But Zoe, look at the people you’re making friends with now. Who is that tall man with the tattoo, and the woman in the tight shorts with too much eye makeup?”

“I hired them to work with me.” I didn’t plan to help make her point about the quality of my friends.

“And that lawyer you’ve been hanging around with.” She scowled. “I hope you aren’t seeing him as a replacement for Tommy Lee. He’s a lawyer, so that’s in his favor. But he dropped out of the real world. He actually represents a lot of felons—at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Like
me
?” I felt the argument coming and tried to keep it from happening. “There’s nothing between us, Mother. He was there the night the police found Terry in my food truck. He was nice to me. That’s it.”

“Except that you’re having your father pay him to represent your friend, the cocktail waitress.” She nodded at Delia.

She’d known all along. She probably knew Ollie lived at the homeless shelter, too. I had no doubt that she’d made it her business to know everything that I was doing.

“It’s true. It doesn’t mean anything about me and Miguel. I wish you and I wouldn’t always go between not talking at all and arguing. We used to talk, when I was in school.”

She smiled in a superior fashion. “That was back when you were willing to listen to reason.”

I got up. “I have to go. Once lunch is over, it’s time to go home. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Everything doesn’t have to be good or bad between us.” She stood up, too, and hugged me. “Let me help you. I know you’re in debt for all of this. Let’s move on, okay?”

“I’m not done with
all of this
. This is my life. You can be part of it, or we can live in the same city and never see each other. I agree about moving on, but not in the direction you want.”

I went inside the food truck and hid, knowing she’d leave. Ollie and Delia looked at me like I was a stupid kid. I’m sure they were listening. Both of them were so far removed from having arguments with their parents. It made me feel young.

“She’s gone,” Delia said. “I’m sorry you’re having family trouble.”

Ollie snorted as he laughed. “I haven’t seen anyone in my family in over ten years. At least you still
have
a family, Zoe. You should work it out with them—except that she’s totally wrong about Miguel.”

I thanked them and got busy cleaning. Delia and Ollie were laughing and joking as they were outside cleaning the tables and chairs.

Looking at the cash drawer, I could see we’d had a great day. I wasn’t crazy enough to sit there and count it, but the drawer looked pretty full. We’d still have a few people who’d stop on their way home after work. There were still biscuit bowls to sell.

Miguel stopped by on his way into police headquarters. He told Delia that the police were going to drop the charges against her.

“Thank you so much.” She hugged him in response. “You’re the best.”

“I appreciate that. Try to stay out of trouble. The police, and whoever killed Terry, are still looking for the Jefferson recipe. I don’t know that they won’t have another go at you.”

Delia and I exchanged looks. I wanted to urge her to tell Miguel about Chef Art being in the parking lot the night Terry was killed.

“I’ll watch my back.” Delia didn’t mention it. “I’ve done it for a long time.”

“Are you going to look for another place to live and work?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet.” She smiled at me. “I’ve really enjoyed working with Zoe. I’d like to stay on, if she’ll have me.”

“Of course. You’re a lot better at the window than Ollie. Customers aren’t crazy about his mean look.”

Ollie wasn’t happy with that. “I’m good at the window. I kept that jerk from taking your money, didn’t I? But if you want to keep me making savory fillings, that’s okay, too.”

“You can always scare off thieves,” Delia said. “You’re close enough to put your big, handsome face in the window when I give you the signal.”

“Handsome, huh?” Ollie viewed himself in the stainless steel plate on the food truck wall. “You’re right. I can keep the biscuit bowls coming, and still scare off people I don’t like.”

He made his mean face, obviously knowing exactly what I’d been talking about. We all laughed. Miguel said he had to go inside and talk to Detective Latoure.

I accompanied him out of the food truck. I wouldn’t give away Delia’s secret about Chef Art, but I could keep Miguel up to speed by telling him about being kidnapped.

“Are you okay?” he asked when I told him about what had happened.

“I’m fine. He didn’t try to hurt me, or even threaten me. He wants the recipe. I think he may be involved with what happened to Terry. Maybe even before that—to Terry’s friend in Atlanta.”

I’d already walked up the stairs to police headquarters with him. At the large concrete landing, we stood and talked for a few minutes.

“Without proof, there’s nothing Detective Latoure can do,” he told me. “I’ll tell her about Chef Art. She won’t like it. Nobody wants to go after a beloved icon. Still, it would be worth her knowing so she can keep an eye on him.”

“I might be able to help with that proof.” I hadn’t planned on saying anything to Miguel about the benefit dinner, but I needed a date for that night, and he sprang to mind. I figured the worst he could say was that he was too busy.

“That sounds a little risky, Zoe,” he said after I’d explained about the dinner.

“Maybe not as much if I’m not
alone
,” I hinted. “I could bring someone with me.”

He frowned. “I don’t know about Ollie in a group like that.”

I wondered if he was
completely
obtuse. “I was thinking about
you
, Miguel. You know all about the recipe. You’d be good to have there as backup.”

“Let me know about the date, and I’ll try to go,” he said. “I still don’t know if that’s a good idea. It could be dangerous if Chef Art is involved in this.”

“He’s not going to be able to do much. There will be a ton of famous people there, and chefs making all kinds of food. It might be hard for him to step out and kill someone.”

Miguel agreed. “Keep me updated.”

I watched him walk inside the building. It was a little victory—he hadn’t entirely blown me off. He didn’t seem very excited about it.

Ollie, Delia, and I sat around playing cards for a while. Business was very slow until about four thirty. A trickle of late lunch customers stopped by then and took food home with them for dinner.

I wrote a supply note. I was quickly running out of to-go boxes. I hadn’t planned on using so many. They weren’t cheap, either, but if customers wanted them, I’d have to keep them in stock.

By five thirty, the building seemed to mostly be empty. The other food trucks were leaving. We were securing everything so we could do the same. It had been a good day in many different ways. I knew Delia was happy not to be under suspicion for Terry’s death, and I was happy that Miguel might go with me to the benefit dinner.

We drove back to the diner. Nothing seemed to be out of place, or broken. I hoped whoever was responsible for hurting Marty, and throwing the cement block through my window, was busy looking in another direction.

I thought about Chef Art again. I knew Miguel was right. The police wouldn’t want to confront him. Still, the timing, and his motivation for killing Terry, seemed to make him a perfect suspect.

I figured he thought Terry had the recipe with him. Maybe he’d planned to buy it from him. Something went wrong, and Terry died. Now, the Jefferson recipe was lost again. If Chef Art had killed these men, he probably wouldn’t be satisfied until he found it.

There wasn’t a lot of food leftover to take to the homeless shelter. Ollie and I took what we had. All of the men seemed grateful for it. I talked with Marty for a while to see how he was getting on after being mugged on my behalf. I made sure he got biscuit bowls with sweet and savory before anyone else.

“I’m fine,” he told me. “Still worried about you, Zoe. People have been killed for this recipe. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I don’t, either,” I agreed. “I think the person looking for the recipe may understand that I don’t have it.”

“Why do you say that?”

I told him about my conversation with Chef Art. “I think he believed me about not having the recipe. I guess we’ll see if things get quiet again around here.”

“I guess we will. But be careful in case it isn’t true.”

We talked about how things were going at the shelter. I finally said good night and went back to the diner. Crème Brûlée was cranky because he hadn’t been fed immediately when we got back from police headquarters. I endured his love bites and let him lick them. Afterward, he settled down, purring, and I went in to make a little something to eat.

Ollie had stayed at the shelter. Delia was making herself a grilled cheese sandwich. I let her make one for me, too. We ate them with only coffee to drink. Every meal doesn’t have to be elaborate. I was too tired to do anything more than get ready for the next day.

Delia helped me with the dessert fillings. I made another batch of Ollie’s gumbo, since that had gone over well last week. We didn’t talk much. I guess we were both tired.

Once the food was ready for Tuesday, Delia yawned. “I love working with you, Zoe. But these hours are killing me. Who gets up before noon?”

“People who want to sell breakfast biscuit bowls and have the best spot for lunch.” I yawned, too. It was contagious.

“I guess so. I appreciate you paying me today. Working with you is the first money I’ve made during daylight hours in a long time.”

I had been happy to pay Delia and Ollie fifty dollars each for their help that day. I’d been surprised by how much money we’d brought in. At that rate, I’d have some savings put away toward my restaurant in no time.

“I was glad to have you there.” I started to ask her again about Chef Art, and if she might change her mind about taking that information to the police. Really, I was too tired to argue about it again. Tomorrow would be another day.

Nothing unusual happened that night. It gave me the sense that I’d been right about Chef Art being behind the theft of the Jefferson recipe, and possibly Terry’s death. I wasn’t sure why he’d believed me when I’d told him that I didn’t have the recipe, but I was glad of it. Trying to get my business up and running was hard enough. I didn’t need the extra strain of dealing with those other problems.

• • •

I got up right away when the alarm went off at four
A.M.
Crème Brûlée protested my moving him on the bed by clutching my arm in his two little paws. It would’ve been sweet, except for his slightly extended claws. They left tiny red imprints in my arm, not quite breaking the skin.