Fry Another Day (11 page)

He nodded and took the whole tray in one hand before he threw his ball cap up in the air and congratulated me. “You've just won the twenty-five-hundred-dollar cash prize!”

I was stunned. I was sure I looked like it, too, as the cameras all zoomed in on me. I was such a mess, it made me cringe to think that everyone would see me like this on TV. I hoped my mother wasn't watching. She'd really think I'd lost it.

The man explained that he was part of the food truck race as he counted out the twenty-five hundred-dollar bills into my hand.

I was fortunate that someone had thought to tell Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul what was happening. They got there before I could drop all the money. There was no room in my pockets for any more cash.

“We won!” Delia danced around.

Uncle Saul hugged me, and Ollie took the initiative and pulled Delia into his big, strong arms.

She stopped dancing and kissed him hard for a minute.

Ollie left her and hugged me. “Was that too weird?”

I laughed. “Not at all. I'm happy for you.”

“That's the way I like to leave 'em.” His crazy eyebrows went up and down. “Pining for more.”

It didn't take long before Alex had joined us with more cameras and his usual microphone. Local media types also took part, snapping hundreds of pictures. People asked me questions. All I could think about was getting the stupid skates off my feet. I never wanted to wear a pair of skates again.

While everyone was focused on Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul, I slipped off to a bus bench to take off the skates and socks. I had blisters all over my feet. No one ever said being in business was going to be easy.

I glanced up at the concrete stairs leading to one of the tall buildings and saw Miguel. He was talking to the same woman from the hotel the night before—the same woman who'd been in Charlotte.

So that's where you've been.

I watched him for a few minutes with her. He'd changed into a nice brown suit and a tie. A white shirt played up his dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a strawberry-colored dress with a little matching crocheted jacket that complemented it beautifully.

They were speaking intently to each other. Neither one of them seemed to notice anything else going on around them.

Who is she? Are they romantically involved?

Maybe they were talking about business. I massaged my tired ankles.

If it was business, it was something serious. Miguel had his serious face on, like when he told me I shouldn't get involved in what happened to Reggie.

I only had a second to wonder if his odd behavior was related to that.

Then I was swamped by the race proceedings again. Most of the teams had left their food trucks and wandered over to where we were. Everyone was shouting, happy, and enjoying the end of the Columbia challenge.

“All right, food truckers,” Alex called out on his microphone. “Time to go over to the cool-down tent and look at our taste-test videos before we announce today's winners—and
losers
.”

His voice was like squeaky thunder, even with the noise of the city around us. I glanced up at the stairs again. Miguel was looking down at me. I grabbed my skates and walked barefoot between Ollie and Uncle Saul back to the food truck. Delia ran ahead. She was afraid she was going to miss the announcements.

The way my feet and legs felt, I didn't care.

Chef Art was in the cool-down tent when we got there. That meant another round of photos with him. “You did good, Zoe. They're putting up a board outside to chart the standings of the teams. I have a feeling the Biscuit Bowl is gonna be at the top.”

All the teams crammed into the tent to see what people thought of their food. I kind of cringed after a few videos had people saying bad things about other vendors' food. Most of the comments were positive.

When they finally got to mine, three people who had biscuit bowls in their hands said they were delicious. One man said my biscuits were dry. Another man said he didn't like the filling. That was three out of five—not too bad. Some teams only had one good response.

Alex announced that Our Daily Bread was the winner of the taste challenge with five positive responses. The team of ministers received a bunch of freebies from Disney World, airplane tickets to exotic locations, and dinner at several nice restaurants.

Oh well.

We moved back outside. Ollie hugged me and said not to worry. Chef Art frowned but didn't say anything.

Alex unveiled the big electronic board once there was a crowd on the street. It lit up with all the teams listed, even though the names were scrambled and jumping around. They called for someone to take care of the problem while we waited.

Finally, a tech fixed it. The Biscuit Bowl wasn't number one—but it was number two—right after Our Daily Bread.

“Those ministers are gonna kill us,” Ollie growled. “The only thing I dislike more than a pious person is a pious person who outsells us.”

“Okay. These are the standings,” Alex announced. “As you can see, there are eight of you still alive. These standings are based on how well each of you did in the challenges. It reflects your continued effort as well as meeting the individual challenges. Your score will be higher if you finish the challenge, and if you win the side challenges, like Our Daily Bread with the taste challenge, or winning the cash, like the Biscuit Bowl.”

A producer whispered in his ear.

“That is to say there are still eight of you
in the race
at this moment. Excuse me.”

“Cut the PC stuff and get on with it,” Bobbie Shields yelled. “We all know Reggie is dead.”

He ignored her. “Grinch's Ganache is the winner of today's challenge!”

Daryl and Sarah Barbee took a bow. They were the only ones on their team. I didn't envy them.

“The prize for the winner today—specially chosen by the food truck race committee—is a
free
paint job for the outside of their truck at any of more than one thousand locations of Ray's Airbrush Central nationwide. Congratulations, Grinch's!”

Everyone applauded, but we were all still tense, waiting to see which of the food trucks were going on to Atlanta, and who was being left behind.

Alex dragged it out. I was sure that was his job. He announced the Biscuit Bowl again as the winner of the cash prize. He commended everyone's efforts at the singing and skating challenge. Not all eight food trucks had met the challenge. Shut Up and Eat and Fred's Fish Tacos had both been sidelined.

“I know all of you are anxious to hear the new list of trucks going forward to Atlanta,” Alex said. “But instead of me telling you, why don't I
show
you instead?”

The electronic board went blank again. The tired vendors groaned.

The tech walked up and hit it a few times on the side. The lights came on, and the remaining teams showed up in the seven slots still left.

“I knew it!” Fred Bunn threw his fish-shaped hat on the street and stepped on it. “They didn't get rid of Stick It Here when they didn't make the challenge yesterday. I'm getting a lawyer.”

Uncle Saul and Ollie were jumping up and down. Delia was applauding. The Biscuit Bowl was going to Atlanta!

– – – – – – –

We were packing up the food truck when Miguel returned. Uncle Saul had worked on the deep fryer as much as he could. He couldn't repair it. We were going to have to head to Atlanta knowing we had no way to make biscuit bowls the next morning.

Chef Art arranged a press conference for the two of us to talk about me facing certain failure the next day since I had no deep fryer. He coached me to not sound cheerful about it and wear his hat.

I managed to look really depressed and even squeezed out a few tears for him, bless his heart. The camera took a close-up of my scraped knee. If I hadn't been so tired, I would've laughed at all of it. After all, I was here. People were eating my biscuit bowls. The rest was all drama and didn't matter.

“That was good, Zoe.” He slapped my back when it was over. “This is gonna be a difficult, emotional moment for the team. Even though the Biscuit Bowl has made the cut,
will they live to fight another day?
”

Chef Art laughed and congratulated himself before he was picked up in his big RV—his face and name painted on the sides.

Delia, Ollie, and Uncle Saul were cleaning and working on a list of supplies needed for the next day.

Miguel walked over to me with his hands in the pockets of his brown suit pants. He'd removed his jacket and tie. “Sorry I was out of commission for a while.”

“We got by.”

Okay, I was a little angry. I was also
burning
with curiosity about the woman he was with. I wanted to tell him about Helms's and Marsh's accusations against him. I couldn't do it then.

“I know. I wouldn't have done it, except that it was really important.”

“I understand. It's only a food truck race.” I smiled at him. “Who is she?”

He looked a little surprised that I'd even noticed he was with her. Not a man who knew much about women, obviously.

“She's an old friend. We went to law school together. Her husband is divorcing her. He wants everything, including their young daughter. She asked me to help her.”

Hmm.
Did that mean she was an old flame kind of friend? It sounded like it to me.

“So you're leaving the race?” I took off my stupid hat. “It's okay. It must be important.”

“I'm not leaving the race. The trial isn't for a few weeks. I didn't want this responsibility. I haven't done this kind of law in a long time. Not since Caroline died.”

Caroline.
That was his dead wife's name. It was the first time he'd mentioned her name to me.

I'd had to find out her name the hard way, by asking around at the courthouse where I frequently parked my food truck. A few free biscuit bowls went a long way.

“I'm glad you're not leaving.” I searched for the right words that would help me find out if he was romantically involved with his “friend.”

I couldn't think of anything clever. I blurted instead, “Are you romantically involved with your old friend?”

Well, there it was. Not too clever, but I hoped it would get the job done. He'd kissed me and acted like I could expect more. I figured I had the right to know.

He smiled and kissed me again. “No. She really
is
just an old friend. You're the only woman I'm interested in being romantically involved with.”

Wow! Just what I wanted to hear.

I threw my arms around his neck. There were a thousand other questions I wanted to ask, but I was willing to be content with that one for now.

“There's something I have to tell you.” I explained what Helms and Marsh had told me about the large amount of cash deposited into his account.

“They better have good justification for going into my bank account. You said they're here, right? I think I'll contact the Charlotte police for some answers. Why would I even be on their person of interest list?”

I shrugged. “I think it was the money. They said it was a red flag. And they feel like you stand out like a sore thumb at the race. I'm sorry. I didn't tell them you were here because I invited you. I felt like it was none of their business.”

“I'll take care of it. I guess it was good, after all, that you were involved with them. Let's hope it stays good in the future.”

We were ready to roll. Uncle Saul rode with me in the food truck. He'd called an old friend of his from his days in the restaurant business who'd agreed to meet us in Atlanta with a used deep fryer to replace mine. It was lucky that I won the money. It would help a lot getting us a replacement.

I thought I understood why Miguel's old friend asking him to help her could be very important to him. Ten years ago, his life had been very different. He had a great career, a family. He'd probably thought everything was going his way. He'd lost everything.

I knew a little bit about his childhood. I knew he came from a large family that had very little money. He'd had to work hard to go to college and law school—too hard to stay down forever after what had happened to him.

His old friend asking him to defend her might be the place where his life would change again. He might find out that he had the confidence to move forward.

Would he be interested in a girl with a food truck and a run-down diner if his life was different?

I hoped so.

“We did okay back there.” Uncle Saul got my head back in the business at hand. “We worked really well as a team. There's only one little problem—Ollie and Delia. I don't know how much of the kissy-kissy stuff I can stand in a confined space.”

I laughed. “I'm sure it will get better.”

“I don't think the race will last that long.”

“We'll have to be patient and understanding. Ollie has been alone for a long time.”

“That's just it, Zoe. I think he's going at it too hard. I'm afraid, despite my coaching, that he's gonna crash and burn.”