1 Death on Eat Street (24 page)

“What do you think?” I was trying to be more proactive.

He nodded and smiled. “Really good. I like the spicy part. I like the whole biscuit bowl idea, Zoe. It’s clever.”

“Thanks.” I licked a little peach filling off my finger. “And the kissing? Where is that going?”

He looked at me like I’d just told him there was a bomb in the oven. “You come right to the point, don’t you?”

“Well, I’ve been hinting around at things with you, Miguel, and it doesn’t seem to do much good. I thought the direct approach might be better.”

He looked down at his empty plate. “Zoe—”

“Don’t worry about it. You won’t hurt my feelings. But you kissed me first at your office. I admit it wasn’t a big kiss, but neither was the one I gave you in the car. If that’s not what you had in mind, now’s a good time to tell me.”

“It’s been a long time for me.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sure you know about my wife and daughter. Everyone knows about it. For a long time, I never looked up from my work. I didn’t want there to be a world outside that was still turning. I pretended I was alone.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m starting to look up again.” He smiled and took my hand in his. “It has something to do with you. Maybe it’s because you’re such a good cook.”

“But? I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“Zoe, you just broke up with the man you thought you were going to marry. I think you should give yourself some time.”

“You’re worried about being Tommy Lee’s rebound?”

“Not exactly. I think you should be sure. At this point, I don’t think you are.”

I knew my deeds of the past few months were going to haunt me. Hadn’t my mother warned me of it? I didn’t think it would happen this way.

“That’s fine. I understand.” I got up and took our dishes to the sink. “For the record, Miguel, I like you a lot. I don’t plan to waste any more time on Tommy Lee. I guess we’ll see what the future brings.”

“I like you, too, Zoe. I guess we’ll see how that goes.”

Miguel helped me get the food truck restocked with food containers and other items that had to be replaced. We didn’t talk about our possible relationship. We were both very careful to stay away from that subject.

Really, I was glad that he wasn’t still working out his grief about his wife. I wasn’t worried about how I felt. I could see where he might feel uncertain about me. I might even seem a little flighty to him. After all, he knew everything about me quitting my job and upsetting my otherwise
ordinary
life. That could make someone wonder if they were only a fad.

I was tired by the time midnight rolled around. The thought of getting up at four
A.M.
wasn’t something I was looking forward to. I was excited about going back to work, a lot more excited than I was about the ordeal to come.

My mother and her assistant, Sam, along with a TV news crew, got to the diner a little before midnight. I couldn’t believe she expected to negotiate for Delia’s life with a camera crew watching. She’d exchanged her pretty suit for black pants and sweater with a black flak jacket on top.

Ollie and his friends were all in place with their baseball bats, tire irons, and other creative weapons hidden about them. The clock in the diner struck midnight.

“Here we go.” I added a small prayer for everyone’s safety.

Nothing happened.

We all sat around for an hour, drinking coffee and eating donuts that my mother had thoughtfully brought with her. She didn’t touch them, of course. I wasn’t sure if she’d ever eaten a donut. That waist didn’t stay tiny without sacrifice.

“Do you think they’re still coming?” one of the TV newsmen asked with a yawn.

“Criminals aren’t known for their punctuality,” my mother said. “Why don’t we go outside and shoot another promo for the piece?”

“We’ve already shot three promos for it, Mrs. Chase,” the reporter said. “If the killer doesn’t show up, there won’t be anything to promo.”

My mother was a little put out by his attitude. She walked over to where I was sitting on a stool at the counter. “Isn’t there someone you could call, Zoe? You know this criminal. I’m sure if you told him we were ready, he’d come.”

“I don’t really
know
him. It’s not like we’re friends. I’m not even sure who it is.”

“He must know we’re ready for him,” Ollie said. “We should’ve kept this covert. The enemy has lost the element of surprise. Once he loses the high ground, he won’t take any chances.”

“What’s he babbling about, Zoe?” my mother muttered.

“He doesn’t think he’s coming, either,” I interpreted.

“I think we’re going, Mrs. Chase.” The reporter began to round up his crew. “Next time, maybe you should get an RSVP from the kidnapper.”

“Wait!” My mother ran after him. Sam ran after her. They were all in the dark parking lot.

“Might as well head back,” Marty said. “It’s just as well this happened. At least no one got hurt.”

“Delia might not feel that way about it.” Ollie walked out the front door, his baseball bat on his shoulder.

After that, it was only a few minutes before everyone was gone. Miguel was the last to leave. “Are you still going to go out tomorrow?” He glanced at his watch. “Today, I mean?”

“Yep. I’ll manage. Thanks for all your help tonight.”

“Are you okay?” He studied me for a moment. “I mean, with this thing between us?”

I smiled. For a lawyer, he was remarkably ill at ease sometimes. The lawyers I knew, admittedly friends of my mother’s, were glib on every subject. “I’m fine.”

He shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair, and started to speak. “Good night, Zoe.”

After he was gone, I locked up and turned off the lights. The smell of coffee had managed to overpower the spicy red beans, onions, and tomatoes I’d made with okra and corn for my savory biscuit bowls.

I dressed for bed and snuggled with Crème Brûlée, who heaved a loud sigh and snuggled back without biting, for once.

“I’m not worried about it,” I told him. “Everything is going to be fine. It has to be. This is my whole new, messed-up life. It has to work out.”

• • •

I got up with the alarm buzzing and my heart pounding. I was glad to be awake after having a terrible dream about my mother trying to save Delia and failing. There were cameras taking thousands of flash pictures with my mother’s smiling face near Delia’s dead body.

It was gruesome. I was glad to concentrate on the coming day. Maybe it wasn’t going to be the big promotional boost I’d hoped for with Chef Art’s help, but at least it was something to do, and another day to do it.

I said a little prayer for Delia’s safety as I showered and dressed. I hoped she was staying somewhere decent and eating well. She deserved a new life, too, like I had. I wanted her to have that opportunity.

I fed Crème Brûlée early, which gave him plenty of time to use the litter box before we left for the day. My savory dish was hot, and biscuits were baked. Everything was ready to go in the food truck.

Ollie tapped at the front door. I opened it, happy to see him.

“I didn’t expect you to be here this morning,” I told him.

“I thought I’d try it again today. We’ll see about tomorrow. What needs to go out?”

Between us, we had everything set up in the truck within thirty minutes. By six
A.M.
, we were out on the road, headed for police headquarters. They were already talking on the radio about where food trucks were supposed to be that day.

I slapped my hand on the steering wheel. I’d totally forgotten about sending my information to the website again. With all the other things going on, and worrying about Delia, it had slipped my mind.

“Looks like we’re the first ones here,” Ollie said as I pulled the Biscuit Bowl into a parking space.

“Good. The weather is supposed to be nice today. I have spicy eggs and cheese for breakfast. All we need to do is start the coffee.”

“You’re real good at this, young ’un.” He patted me on top of the head with his big hand and wiggled his fingers. “What’s that stuff on your hair?”

“Gel,” I said, a little self-consciously. “You don’t think these curls stay like this by themselves, do you? Not in this humidity. It dries after a while.”

He laughed. “That’s good. I was having these thoughts about you and Miguel playing kissy face and him getting his hand stuck in your hair.”

“That’s not even funny. And we won’t be playing kissy face for a while. He doesn’t think I know what I’m doing. I guess no one thinks I know what I’m doing.”

“I do. You’re doing what’s right for you. Don’t worry about it. I never do.”

Somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better.

I got things set up in the kitchen and started the first batch of fried biscuits. Ollie put out the chairs and tables and wrote the day’s menu on the board as he lifted the window covers.

I was amazed to see five people already in line, waiting behind Ollie. It was barely seven thirty. Not that I wasn’t thrilled to see them—just surprised.

By eight
A.M.
, there were fifty people in line. Where were they coming from? I was out of spicy eggs before eight fifteen. It drove me crazy that there was no way to plan what I needed. I might have made all those eggs and sold none of them.

I hated to tell people that we were out of eggs. They didn’t seem to care. There were people lining up on the sidewalk as far as I could see. I started serving my lunch savory and sweet menu. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I ran out of that.

It was exciting to see so many people wanting to eat my food. It was scary, too. I hoped they weren’t going to be disappointed that they had to eat lunch food.

I thought about sending Ollie to the nearest store to buy more supplies. The problem with that was making the supplies into food. I could get by with something that I could put in a biscuit bowl that only needed to be warmed, but I couldn’t make more biscuits. When I ran out of those, I would have to head back to the diner, and the rest of the day would be lost.

“Where are they all coming from?” I asked Ollie, wishing this had been the day Miguel and Delia had been with us.

“I heard a few people saying they saw some information on the Internet and came by.” He stuffed more money into the cashbox. “We’re gonna have to dump this or get a bigger box.”

On the Internet?
I knew I hadn’t posted anything. It seemed someone else had posted for me. I didn’t mind. I was thrilled with the result. It was everything I’d been dreaming about.

By nine
A.M.
, there were two TV station trucks there—also two policemen who said we had to move the Biscuit Bowl to the parking lot. The crowds were keeping people from getting in and out of police headquarters.

“Maybe that will slow them down some,” Ollie said. “I don’t know how much more of this we can handle.”

I moved the Biscuit Bowl carefully around the crowd of people as the police held them back. I couldn’t believe how many people there were. These couldn’t only be employees going in and out of police headquarters.

The crowd followed as I parked my food truck in the lot next to police headquarters. I noticed Suzette’s Crepes took my spot in front as soon as I’d moved away. I couldn’t begrudge them that space. I also couldn’t believe people were running to be at the Biscuit Bowl when we reopened. What had gotten into everyone?

After we were resettled, the back door opened, and one of the nearly famous TV personalities came inside with a cameraman following close behind her.

“Are you Zoe Chase?” she asked in a pleasant voice. “I’m Renee Reynolds. I’m sure you recognize me from the six o’clock news. I’m here to cover your big event.”

I was flustered and uncertain. What big event was she talking about? If she meant my sudden popularity, I was totally without answers to explain it. I stared at her, and the camera behind her, not knowing what to say.

“Renee!” A booming male voice followed her into the food truck. Nearly everyone in Mobile recognized Chef Art’s voice. Renee certainly did.

“There you are.” She smiled and hugged him, mindful of her hair and makeup. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”

“Well, I’m actually a bit early.” Chef Art pushed his large form into the back of the food truck. Renee shifted to one side, kind of flattened against the wall—and Ollie.

“What are you doing here?” I’d forgotten about his pledge to help me with promotion. He was a kidnapper, possibly a murderer. How brazen could he be?

Chef Art smiled his famous smile. “Renee, could you give me and Miss Zoe a few minutes to discuss our strategy for lunch?”

I noticed he didn’t move out of the way. He expected everyone else to find their way around him. I guess that was one of the perks of being famous.

“Zoe, do you want me to stay?” Ollie’s big face was as dark as a thundercloud. He gave Chef Art such a mean look, it would have made anyone else quail in fear.

“Yes.” I folded my arms across my chest and glared at Chef Art. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”

Once the TV crew was gone, Ollie added, “Yeah. Where’s Delia?”

“Delia?” Chef Art looked confused.

“Delia Vann,” I explained. “Where is she?”

“Oh.” Chef Art grinned. “I don’t know. I love to visit with her, but not during working hours.”

Ollie put his big hands on Chef Art’s neck. Even though his hands were very large, they couldn’t quite meet above Chef Art’s white jacket. “Stop playing around. We know you kidnapped her to get the recipe.”

Chef Art’s gaze darted between us. “I swear, the closest I’ve ever come to kidnapping anyone was Miss Chase here. And that was even more like a conversation than a kidnapping. Why would I think Delia would have anything to do with the Jefferson recipe?”

Ollie and I looked at each other. I could tell we were both thinking the same thing—was Chef Art for real?

“I don’t believe you,” I finally told him. “If you came to look for the recipe, your people have already searched everything I own. I don’t have the recipe. If I did, I’d give it to the police.”

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Chef Art said in a congenial tone. “Yes, I want that recipe. I’ve offered to pay several people for it since I heard it was back on the market. I don’t ask questions about how these things happen. But I haven’t kidnapped Delia—although the idea is quite appealing.”

That was enough for Ollie. He couldn’t get his hands around Chef Art’s throat, but he did shake him a little. “Where is she? What have you done with her?”

“I assure you, my dear boy, I haven’t done anything to her or with her that she didn’t fully participate in. And even that hasn’t been in a while. I last saw her on the night my unfortunate contact for the Jefferson recipe was murdered.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t kill Terry Bannister?” I asked.

“No. Why would I? A man could get a bad business reputation that way. Terry was supposed to procure the recipe for me. I would have paid him the sum we had agreed upon. Nothing more, nothing less. Definitely not murder. I don’t do that.”

“You hire other people to do it,” Ollie said. “Admit it. You’re the one behind all of this.”

Chef Art righted his snowy white chef’s hat. “If you mean that I wanted the recipe, you’re right. I’m a collector of old recipes. The Jefferson recipe for crème brûlée would be a jewel in that collection. However, I didn’t authorize a theft, or a murder, or even a kidnapping to get it. You’re looking for someone else.”

“Then why are you here?” I demanded.

“To honor a debt. We had an agreement, Miss Chase. My motor home is outside. My publicity team is working at full capacity. I’m ready to help you cook and serve some of your delicious food—and pose for photo ops with you.”

It was overwhelming thinking about the response his presence and publicity had brought about. It was a little depressing, too. I guess I must’ve looked disappointed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You thought this was all
you
.” Chef Art pinched my cheek. “Be patient. It will come. For now, let’s give the public what they want, shall we?”

Chef Art and I did interviews with Renee Reynolds and another TV personality I didn’t recognize. There were suddenly hundreds of balloons, with the names of the Biscuit Bowl and Chef Art emblazoned on them, being given out to children.

He wasn’t kidding about his PR people working overtime. It was like a circus. Unfortunately, it was a circus that was running out of food. I was down to my last tray of biscuits, and we weren’t even close to the end of the large crowd I could see from the open windows.