Fat Tuesday Fricassee (16 page)

So I worked the food truck rally for the next five days. Morning and night blurred together as the nonstop celebrations and parades brought in thousands of customers.

I baked biscuits. Uncle Saul and Ollie helped me make tons of sweet and savory foods to fill them. Chef Art donated some throws for us to give away with each meal after my plastic cups were gone. Miguel barely got the Coke barrel filled with ice and drinks before he had to fill it up again.

The weather was good—sunny and warm during the day, cool at night. We took turns staying with the Biscuit Bowl at night. There were a few break-ins at some of the other food trucks where no one was attending them. Probably most of it was crazy, excited teenagers, but losing food was difficult to make up.

My father was back on his feet quickly. He came to visit me early one morning with a pretty young woman on his
arm. I actually sighed with relief to see that whatever insanity had gripped my parents at the house was over.

Nothing else happened out of the ordinary. No visits from people dressed like Death or the ghost of Old Slac. I didn't hear anything else about Jordan's death on the news. I also didn't hear anything from his grandfather or Chef Art.

We were sitting outside at a picnic table sharing breakfast one week after Jordan had been killed. Uncle Saul had made some beignets and coffee—the beignets at the restaurant were nothing compared to his. He'd also brought some orange juice and a newspaper. We'd been checking for any news of Jordan each day.

Delia was asleep in the food truck with Crème Brûlée. Ollie was sleeping with his head cradled on his arms on the picnic table. Miguel was gone after spending the night at the truck with me. He had to meet with some clients.

Some of the other foodies were up and getting ready for the new day. There was a rhythm to the tides of people who showed up. The breakfast crowd went from around seven thirty to ten thirty with the largest number of people at nine
A.M.
The lunch crowd came in around ten thirty and lasted until three
P.M.
with the busiest time from noon until two
P.M.
Dinner lasted from six until midnight.

That gave me time in the afternoon to make food and freeze it for the next day. I baked biscuits twice a day, but in huge quantities. It made me wince to hand out the last biscuit bowls. They weren't as good as they could be, but we hadn't had any complaints.

“What day is it?” Ollie moaned without lifting his head.

“It's Saturday,” Uncle Saul told him. “Drink some coffee and orange juice. You'll feel better.”

Ollie sniffed. “Is that beignets I smell?”

“And eat one of these.” Uncle Saul laughed as he put the pastry near Ollie's arm.

“I never knew making food could be so hard.” Ollie yawned and lifted his head. “I feel like I'm on a never-ending road trip.”

“It's halfway over,” Uncle Saul said. “We've had most of the big krewes' parades.”

“What about the Order of Inca?” Ollie asked. “There's still the Order of Athena, Neptune's Daughters, and the Crewe of Columbus.”

“Eat,” I said. “You'll feel better. I'm going to get Delia.”

There had been no friction between Ollie and Delia in the kitchen. I was so thankful but felt like I couldn't say anything until it was over. It was a sure way to jinx our good luck so far.

Delia was already awake when I reached the food truck. “I'm going to run home and take a shower, Zoe. You want to come with me? Do you need anything?”

“I'm fine, thanks. I've been showering at the diner in the afternoon while the biscuits are baking. It gives me a little break from here, too.”

I put Crème Brûlée's harness on and lifted him carefully. I kissed him and explained that he needed to get some exercise in the grass. He'd been such a little trooper, too. I promised him salmon when it was over. He licked my nose without biting it. I took him back to the food truck and fed him.

Delia was gone. Uncle Saul and Ollie were still sitting at the table with the weirdest expressions on their faces.

“What?” I smiled and grabbed a beignet. “What's up with you two?”

“You should tell her.” Ollie shook his head. “She's gonna find out one way or another.”

“Didn't I say we weren't doing that?” Uncle Saul hissed.

“Does the Biscuit Bowl have a flat tire or something?” I looked at my food truck. Everything seemed okay from the outside. “Tell me.”

Uncle Saul slid his copy of the
Mobile Times
across the table top. “You aren't going to like this, Zoe. Try to be calm.”

I read the article on the front page. The byline was Bennett Phillips. It was a short piece about the medical examiner declaring that Jordan's death was a suicide.

“What?” I pulled my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans. “How can they say that?”

“It's what the man said,” Uncle Saul reminded me. “And just because you saw Jordan and he'd been shot doesn't mean he didn't shoot himself.”

“No. I don't believe it. There was no note.”

“Finish reading the article,” Ollie suggested. “The police found one at his apartment.”

I finished punching in Bennett's number. There was no answer—it went right to voice mail. I tried Tucker's number. It did the same.

“That poor family. Now they have to live with the idea that Jordan killed himself, which we all know isn't true.”

“We don't know that,” Uncle Saul persuaded. “You didn't even know this young man. He may have been suicidal his whole life.”

“Why wouldn't Bennett and Tucker have mentioned that when we talked about him? And why would he have killed himself at the masquerade ball? It doesn't make any sense.”

“What doesn't make any sense, Miss Chase?” Detective Frolick had sneaked up on us while we'd been talking. “I had a feeling you wouldn't agree with the ME's verdict. That's why I decided to pay you a visit. Consider it a courtesy call from the commissioner to your family.”

“You and I both know someone killed Jordan.” I stared him down. “Don't bother denying it.”

“I admit that's the way it looked when we found him.”

“At the masquerade ball—or in the alley?”

He grabbed my elbow. “Let's take a walk, shall we?”

Uncle Saul and Ollie were on their feet next to us faster than I would've imagined possible. They both stood a head taller than Frolick, and Ollie was wearing his mean look.

“She's not going anywhere alone with you,” Uncle Saul said. “Anything you have to say to her you can say in front of us, too. We know the whole story. Don't bother trying to cover it up.”

Detective Frolick removed his hand from my arm. “Take it easy, gents. No harm, no foul. I just thought it would be better talking about this sensitive subject in private.”

Ollie flung open the back door to the Biscuit Bowl. “In here. This is about as private as you get with her today.”

Frolick shrugged, holding up his hands as though he was surrendering, and we all went into the kitchen. Ollie closed the back door behind us.

“Nice place.” He looked around. “I always wondered what the inside of one of these things looked like.”

“Get to the point,” Uncle Saul said before I could. “Okay—but this is for your consumption only. I guess your father is good friends with the commissioner so it's okay to tell you this.” He stared at Ollie and Uncle Saul. “You couldn't tell in the garden what had happened to the Phillips's kid. Hell, I couldn't tell, either—not for sure. Then his girlfriend found the note he left. It clarified a lot of things.”

“Like what?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“The ME found gunshot residue on Jordan's right hand and the wound. That meant he was holding the gun when it went off. The GSR was on the wound because the gun was close to it.”

“So whoever killed him made it look that way. Or he was struggling with someone,” I argued. “Jordan doesn't strike me as the kind of person to kill himself.”

“We all do crazy things when we're in love,” Frolick said. “We know his girlfriend had broken up with him. We've
seen hundreds of texts on her phone from him, begging her to come back to him and threatening to kill himself if she didn't.”

I thought about Tiffany. Was he talking about her or Lisa Rakin?

Frolick didn't know that I knew about Tiffany. To say something would give it away.

Lisa, on the other hand, had only been dating Jordan a short time. How much could she have known about him? And didn't Tucker say that Jordan was too involved in his work to give any woman much attention—thus the short relationships?

When I didn't say anything, Frolick frowned and scratched his neck. “I'm gonna tell you something that only a few people know—Phillips was engaged to the commissioner's daughter. She's the one who found the note for us. She's cooperated completely during this terrible tragedy. We now believe that Phillips was at the masquerade to do her harm. The gun he was shot with was his own. We think that he meant to kill her, and maybe the commissioner, but he lost his nerve.”

I'm afraid my mouth dropped open by the time he'd finished. It explained everything so perfectly. How could anyone hear it and still have doubts?

But I did.

“It's the truth, Miss Chase. If you don't believe me, you're welcome to come back to police headquarters and look at the file. We didn't release the information about where Phillips was found to the media, but our files reflect what actually happened.”

“He's right, Zoe,” Uncle Saul said. “It makes sense. Telling everyone where Jordan was found wasn't necessary. The media had to piece it together.”

“And it would've been an embarrassment to the
commissioner and his daughter, not to mention the Mistics of Time, for anyone to know Phillips's true motive and where he was found.” Frolick watched me intently, waiting for me to acknowledge that what he said was true.

“What about my father and everything that's happened to me?”

“I don't know what's happened to you, Miss Chase, but I'll be glad to take a report on any incidents. As for your father, there's no reason to think his injuries were due to anything but a drunken street brawl. I'm sure I don't have to tell you how many of those happen during carnival.”

He was right. Uncle Saul was right. It all made sense. There was no point in butting my head against a wall trying to make something out of nothing more than a tragic incident. Jordan's death still bothered me, but I had to admit that any death where I'd found the dead person was bound to personally affect me.

I managed to smile at Detective Frolick and shake his hand. “Thanks for telling me. It was a terrible thing. It seemed like Jordan had so much to live for.”

“We just don't know what's going on in someone else's life. Maybe if Phillips had been able to move on after his breakup with the commissioner's daughter . . .” He spread his hands and shrugged. “But who knows? If you have any other questions, please let me know. Thanks for your concern.”

Ollie let him out of the food truck. I sat on the counter thinking about all of it. The one thing that didn't seem to make sense was that Jordan
had
moved on after Tiffany—with Lisa—or at least it seemed that way.

I ran my thoughts past Ollie and Uncle Saul.

“Maybe his family didn't know who he was dating,” Ollie said. “After all, he was a grown man. Maybe he lied to them.”

“Or even made up this other girl so they wouldn't know
he was obsessed with the commissioner's daughter,” Uncle Saul suggested.

“I suppose that's possible.” I glanced at my watch. It was time for me to bake biscuits. “I'll take Ollie back to the diner with me if you can handle the food truck for a couple hours.”

Uncle Saul nodded. “Please. And make sure he takes a shower and changes clothes.”

Ollie sniffed himself. “I don't smell that bad.”

I laughed. “We'll be back as soon as we can. Thanks.”

“It's gonna be good to get home to the swamp and do nothing for a while after this.” Uncle Saul smiled. “Hurry back. I'll hold down the fort.”

Cole came to pick us up a few minutes later. The city was mostly asleep, recovering from the exciting night before. The streets were covered in throws and leftover food. I didn't envy the cleanup crew who came out every day and made things look like new again.

“I saw the article about that poor boy from the newspaper this morning,” Cole said as we drove quickly down the empty streets toward the diner. “That was a terrible way to die. He never hardly had a chance to live. I feel for his parents.”

“Me, too.” We had arrived at the diner. Cole wouldn't take any money. He was always so stubborn about it. “I have to pay you. What will happen if you go out of business because people stop paying you?”