Fry Another Day (16 page)

Ollie growled as we left the tent. “We weren't prepared enough.”

“I suppose not, but neither was anyone else. We did okay. Let's get cleaned up. I want to know what's happening with Miguel.”

We walked back to the Biscuit Bowl and told Uncle Saul and Delia the news. We started packing up, even though we had to wait for the official word about who had won, and what they had won.

I went to the front of the truck and checked on Crème Brûlée. He didn't like storms. His howling during the bad weather was usually even worse than the thunder and lightning.

He seemed okay. Maybe I needed to run out to the food truck with him next time there was a storm at home. I stroked his soft white tummy, and he purred for me before he started slapping with his paws.

“You are so crazy.” I kissed his little nose. “But I love you. I know I'm neglecting you a little, but I'll make it up to you later.”

“Excuse me,” a woman's voice said from behind.

I turned and faced Tina Gerard—for my money the one responsible for Miguel being questioned by the police. I would've blown her off. I felt like it was what she deserved.

Before I could, she said, “I know you're Zoe Chase. I'm worried about Miguel. Have you heard anything?”

There was a tense sadness about her that I hadn't noticed when I had seen her far away. She was beautiful and fragile, reminding me of a glass statue. Her clothes were expensive and well made. I felt sorry for her, too, knowing her husband had been trying to take everything away from her in their divorce settlement.

At least I
hoped
that's what had been going on. She may have been lying about the whole thing to implicate Miguel in Alex's death. I had to keep that in mind as I agreed to talk with her.

With everyone else packing up in back, and Crème Brûlée snoring in the front seat, I took a towel and dried off a pretty ornamental bench that was close to where the Biscuit Bowl was parked. We sat there as the heavy storm clouds moved slowly above us, promising more rain.

“I haven't heard anything from Miguel since he left with the police early this morning.” I watched her face and eyes for any sign of what she was thinking.

She broke down sobbing. I went to the truck and got her a couple of napkins.

“I never meant for anything like this to happen when I asked him for help.” She thanked me and wiped away her tears.

“What did you expect?”

“I thought he could help me keep my daughter. I didn't care anything about the money or the property. I haven't worked in years, but I'm a lawyer. I can make my own way. Alex was vindictive and wanted to destroy me. Miguel has always been a good friend. I realize now that everything I've done has made me look guilty of Alex's murder, and now Miguel is being blamed for it, too.”

“So you didn't realize that putting twenty-five thousand dollars into Miguel's bank account could make him look guilty of killing your husband?”

“No, of course not. I never dreamed someone else hated Alex enough to kill him.”

Someone else?
I caught her meaning.
She
hated him enough to kill him.

“Did you kill him, or get someone else to do it, knowing Miguel would take the fall for it?”

Her face never changed. “I'd never do something like that to Miguel.”

“Have you told that to the police?”

Her eyes shifted away from me. “I've talked to the police. They've asked me a ton of questions about Alex's death.”

“But did you tell them that you put the money in Miguel's account for him to represent you?” I had to pin her down on this.

“They never asked me.”

I stood up, anger propelling my legs like springs. “We have to go and tell them.”

“All right. I can do that.” She sniffled, getting slowly and gracefully to her feet.

The producers and sponsors of the race sounded the buzzer. I knew I had to go to the stage for the last phase of the Atlanta challenge. That wouldn't take more than a few minutes.

“I have to take care of something, but I'll be right back. You can wait here or wait in the Biscuit Bowl. Then we can go to the police and get Miguel out of this mess.”

“I'll wait. I don't want to hurt Miguel.”

She looked sincere. She
sounded
sincere. All I could do was trust her.

Unless I found out better.

Ollie, Uncle Saul, Delia, and I walked over to the stage area. Chef Art met us there with a smug smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Are we going to Birmingham?” I asked.

“I think you'll be pleased with the outcome.”

“Good morning, again, foodies!” Patrick yelled out.

There was a loud screech in his microphone. We winced and covered our ears.

He frowned at the technicians, who quickly made adjustments.

“Let's try this again. Good morning, foodies! The challenge is over, and we have a new board. Can we see that now?”

The same two women smiled and brought out the electronic board. After it was in place, it lit up briefly—then shut down again.

Knowing Tina was waiting, and that we could help Miguel, made me impatient. But I knew I had to be there to continue the race.
Two more minutes. Two more minutes.

“Okay,” Patrick said. “After these glitches, everything should be a snap.”

They turned on the board again, and this time it stayed on.

“We have our winner—Our Daily Bread. Let's hear it for them.” Patrick applauded, and everyone in the street in front of the stage applauded, too.

“No one won the first challenge because of the rain, but there were teams who worked hard despite the weather. A tie between our top two teams was settled, and we're ready to move on to the next stop in our race: Birmingham, Alabama.”

Everyone applauded enthusiastically.

“Let's take a look at the new standings on the board, and who will be going on to the next leg of the race.”

The numbers came up on the board. They were the same numbers as when we first got here. The group was silent as we waited for the decision of the producers as to who would go on.

The board went off again for a moment and then came up with the names.

Patrick read them off. “At the top is Our Daily Bread. Consistent high points. You guys rock.”

“I wish he'd get on with it,” Delia said.

“Me, too.” I took a quick peek back at the Biscuit Bowl. The large biscuit on top was spinning, but I couldn't tell if Tina had waited for me or not.

“In second place, the Biscuit Bowl.” Patrick located our little group with his gaze and pointed to us. “This team must try harder because they're
always
in second place.”

Everyone applauded.

Ollie was offended by the statement. “What does
that
mean?”

“
Shh
,” Delia said.

“The third team moving forward is Shut Up and Eat. In this weather, their sandwiches have become looser than ever.”

“Is he supposed to be a comedian, too?” Uncle Saul demanded.

“If he is, I don't think he's very funny,” Bobbie Shields said.

“And in fourth place, we have Grinch's Ganache.” Patrick finished out the lineup. “Pizza Papa and Chooey's Sooey will not be joining us for the next leg of the race.”

The cameras panned on the two losing teams. They moved into the cool-down tent for their final interviews.

“You all made it!” Chef Art cheered. “You're going to Birmingham.”

As soon as I got the word and the cameras were off the group in the street, I ran back toward the Biscuit Bowl.

“Where are you going?” Uncle Saul yelled.

“I'm going to help Miguel. Take the food truck to Birmingham.”

“Zoe, there's not enough room in there for the three of us,” Ollie reminded me.

“I'll go with her.” Delia ran after me.

“What's going on?” Chef Art was losing his happy expression. “What are you doing, Zoe Chase?”

“I'll meet you in Birmingham,” I promised. “There's something I have to do.”

I looked at the bench. Tina wasn't there. She also hadn't waited in the food truck. She was gone, and her testimony about her relationship with Miguel was gone with her.

It didn't matter. I was going to talk to Helms and Marsh anyway. Maybe Tina was too scared to tell her side of the story. I wasn't.

As soon as Delia and I were in Miguel's Mercedes, I started the car and we hit the street. I explained to her about Tina.

“What are we going to do without her?” she asked.

“I'm not sure yet. Someone has to hear what she told me. I guess that's what I'm going to do.”

We managed to find the downtown police station with only a few wrong turns. My clothes were still damp and uncomfortable from the rain. I didn't even want to think what my curly hair was going to look like that afternoon when I took the scarf off. There wasn't time to worry about it. I didn't plan to leave Miguel in Atlanta.

The police officer at the front desk was less than welcoming. “Have a seat over there. I'll call your name
if
someone can help you.”

There were several people already waiting, but Delia and I managed to find two hard wooden chairs to sit in. Most of the others around us waiting were soaking wet, too. Someone smelled strongly of whiskey. One man had a large cut on his forehead, which he was holding a napkin to while blood oozed out on his hand.

“I hope they hurry,” I said.

Delia told me to relax. “It could be a while. Just take a deep breath and think of something else. What are you planning to make for your biscuit bowls tomorrow?”

She was right. That took my mind off being in a police station. We talked about the race and everything that had happened. I fired off a few texts to Uncle Saul, asking what he thought about food for tomorrow.

It was about thirty minutes later when the man at the desk finally called my name.

“They'll see you now.” He pointed. “Go through that door and to your right.”

I thanked him. He grunted and shook his head. Delia and I hurried through the door.

The long hallway was a depressing shade of yellow green that seemed to go on forever. I was glad when we took the first right and came to another man behind a desk who showed us into a room where Marsh and Helms were drinking coffee.

“What are you two doing here?” Helms asked.

“We have new information about Alex Pardini's death that you should hear,” I told her. “Where's Miguel?”

“He's cooling his heels in one of the interrogation rooms. What kind of
new
information do you have?”

Marsh did air quotes. I hate those.

“I'd like to see Miguel.” I made my voice sound like my mother's when she was in court.

“We'd like cinnamon rolls for breakfast.” Helms mocked me. “We don't always get what we want, Zoe. New information first.”

I sat down at the table with them and poured out everything that Tina had told me. Helms and Marsh didn't look impressed.

“If she has something to contribute, why isn't Tina Gerard with you?” Helms asked.

“She got scared. The police have already interviewed her dozens of times.”

Marsh was skeptical. “Why isn't this information in any of the reports?”

“I don't know,” I retorted. “But it raises enough questions about Miguel's involvement in Alex Pardini's death to warrant his release. Besides, he has alibis for the times you think he killed people. He was with a member of my food truck team since we left home. We would all gladly vouch for him.”

I felt like I was channeling my mother. How else could I have sounded so much like a lawyer? It might be because I was spending so much time with one.

The detectives smirked and glanced at each other.

“Are you representing Mr. Alexander now?” Helms asked. “I didn't know you were a lawyer
and
a food truck operator.”

I sat back from the table and put my hands in my lap. “You're right. I'm not a lawyer. But I'd really hate for the two of you to be looking so hard at Miguel that you miss the
real
killer. How embarrassing would that be, especially since the race will be broadcast nationwide.”

I could see that made them think a bit. They excused themselves and went to talk in the corner by the drink machine. Delia, who'd stood behind me like a bodyguard, squeezed my shoulder and smiled down at me.

After a few minutes of discussion, interspersed with pointing, grunting, and arms flailing in the air, the two detectives from Charlotte came back to the table.

“Okay. We're going to look for Tina Gerard to corroborate what you've told us, Zoe. We're going to release Miguel,
for now
. If you'd like to wait up front again, he'll join you there.”

I thanked them, feeling stupidly satisfied. We hadn't really won the war, just a small battle.

Delia and I walked out of the room and back down the hallway.

“They didn't have jack on him or they wouldn't have let him go so easy,” she said.

“I think you're right. At least we can get him out of here and go to Birmingham.”

“Yeah. We have to think of something to blow those Our Daily Bread people out of the race. We're never gonna win following behind them all the time.”

I agreed with her. “We'll have to work on it. We still have Birmingham.”

“Maybe I should go shopping again. Maybe my clothes aren't right.”

I didn't think it was her clothes, but I didn't say so. It was wonderful how engaged she was in helping out. I had the best team in the world.

Miguel finally walked through the door from the long hall. Delia and I jumped up and hugged him. He looked tired. His black shirt and jeans were rumpled. I hadn't noticed that morning that he had dark stubble on his face. And his hair was almost as messy as mine.

I liked the look.

“I was wondering what happened,” he said. “They could've kept me a lot longer.”

“Not with us coming to the rescue,” I added with a smile.

“Let's get out of here.” Delia's eyes narrowed as she looked at two uniformed officers near the front door. “We don't want them to change their minds.”