Fry Another Day (27 page)

Cole stayed behind, even though we'd encouraged him to come, too. “I don't know Miguel. You go. I can shake his hand later when he gets out of here.” He helped himself to another donut and sat down to watch TV.

Uncle Saul, Ollie, and I followed the doctor in blue scrubs down the hallway. He opened the door to a room, and we awkwardly went in.

There was Miguel—pale and wearing a hospital gown, his black hair mussed. There were dark circles under his eyes and a cut by his mouth. But he was smiling at us.

“I don't know how to thank you for what you've done.” I had decided I would be cool. I wouldn't get overemotional. Then his voice cracked as he was thanking us. That was it. I ran and threw myself at him, crying all over his hospital gown.

“It's okay, Zoe.” He held my hand and smiled at me. “I'm going to be fine.”

“You didn't look very
fine
in that trunk.” I sobbed. “Don't
ever
do that again.”

Ollie laughed. “I think you look pretty good for someone who let a
cop
knock him out and stuff him in the trunk of his own car.”

Uncle Saul agreed. “What happened, Miguel? How did he get the drop on you?”

Miguel was a little fuzzy on the exact details, but he knew what the end result was.

“I was working at my office and looked up. There were Detective Marsh and Tina. I thought he wanted to interview us again. I got up and walked across the room to talk to him. Tina called out a warning. I glanced her way, and something hit me hard in the back of the head. I woke up here.”

“I guess he didn't like that Tina tried to warn you, huh? That's why she ended up in the back of the car with you. She must have a soft spot for you.” Ollie continued to joke about the incident. “What do you think Marsh hit you with?”

“I'm not sure. The police probably know.”

“You're lucky he didn't shoot you,” Uncle Saul said. “He must have a soft spot for you.”

“I'm not sure how much better it would've been to die in the trunk of my car.”

“Marsh even texted me from your phone at the party to tell me that you didn't want to see me again,” I told him. “He pretended to be you and tried to convince me that you and Tina were together.”

He took my hand. “I'm sorry, Zoe.”

Ollie chuckled. “Yeah. You were lucky
Zoe
didn't have a gun.”

“You didn't believe him, did you?” Miguel ignored Ollie.

“No. Of course not.” I stared at Ollie, daring him to disagree. “That's why I came looking for you. I knew something was wrong.”

I hoped Ollie would drop the subject. We talked with Miguel for a few more minutes before the nurse asked us to leave, saying that he needed to rest.

I waited until everyone else was gone, and then I hugged Miguel and carefully kissed him.

“I'm sorry I'll miss the last part of the race. I'm sure you'll win. Be careful. We still don't know what Marsh is up to.”

“I will. You stay here and get well. As soon as you get out, we'll have a big celebration dinner.”

He smiled. “That's great. Let's start planning to have a
real
date, just the two of us. As much as I love your friends, I'd enjoy spending some time alone with you.”

I kissed him again for thinking exactly what I had been thinking. The nurse threatened to have me removed. I told Miguel good night, and the nurse watched until I had reached the elevator.

“How is Tina Gerard doing?” I asked as an afterthought, feeling a little guilty.

“She'll live.” The nurse's tone was exasperated. “Go home.”

Ollie and Uncle Saul were waiting with Cole at the taxi when I reached the street.

“I guess it's too late now to do much of anything.” I sighed, happy to know that Miguel was all right.

Uncle Saul looked at his watch. “It's four thirty. I think we can get breakfast and pick up the Biscuit Bowl before we head over to the meeting place. It's good that we didn't have to buy supplies. The contest would've been over before it even got started.”

I agreed with him.

We stopped at a fast-food place for breakfast. Not the best, but all we had time for. I bought breakfast for Cole, who'd been such a big help in finding Miguel.

Uncle Saul gave him money for gas, overruling me when I complained that I should be the one to pay for it.

“Tomorrow, after you've won all that cash, you can take us out somewhere special,” he promised. “Today, you just hold on to your money.”

I hugged him, and we went to get the food truck.

Cole watched us load up, waiting by his taxi in the parking lot of the old shopping center. “I hope you win today, Zoe. I'll be there to cheer you on. See you later, Saul. You, too, Ollie.”

“What are we doing about Delia?” Ollie asked. “Should we go and get her?”

“Sorry. I got a text from her earlier.” I'd forgotten to tell him. “She's meeting us there. One of the security men is bringing her.”

Ollie wasn't thrilled about that. “I can see dating a woman like Delia is gonna be rough.”

Uncle Saul laughed and clapped him on the shoulder before getting into the Biscuit Bowl. “You have no idea. Best get out now while you still can.”

“No way. You know how long it's been since I dated anyone?”

“Ollie, you're not that old,” Uncle Saul said. “If you won't walk away, be ready for heartbreak.”

He got in beside Ollie, and I put Crème Brûlée in his lap.

“Why are you bringing the cat now?” Ollie asked.

“For good luck. He got us this far.” I smiled and kissed Crème Brûlée's head.

“I don't think it was the
cat
!”

I got in the food truck and started the engine, humming to myself as we approached the downtown area where I might have been anyway on a normal Friday morning. It was good to be home.

Everyone was still getting set up when we arrived. The producer's assistant pointed to the area where we should park. The cool-down tent and stage weren't even up yet. Shut Up and Eat was parked in front of us.

I was surprised to see a few of the other food trucks that had been left behind in the race.

“I guess we'll help you get set up until they tell us to switch,” Uncle Saul said, observing the situation on the street.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Ollie agreed.

Antonio Stephanopoulos stopped by after I opened the back door. “Just wanted to say good luck today.”

“You brought your Pizza Papa food truck all the way down here?” I couldn't believe he did that to cheer us on.

He shrugged. “They offered us another spot on the program, and a thousand dollars, to come down here for the last day. I thought, why not?”

“Thanks for stopping by. I'll see you later.”

“Why would they pay the losers to come back?” Ollie asked when he was gone.

“To fill out the crowd and make the pictures better.” Chef Art surprised us as he walked into the food truck. “You all play fair today, and win the race. Make sure you wear your hats, especially
you
, Zoe, when they present you with the prize money.”

We all promised to wear the poufy chef hats he'd given us. I was glad it was the last day I'd have to wear it. Wearing hats made my curls cranky after a while. The hat looked like a big billowy cloud on my head that morning. Not a good look for photos, but it would have to do.

Only a few minutes later, one of the producer's assistants told us to come to the stage. Everything was set up and ready to go in the kitchen. I knew that was going to be helpful once I'd lost Uncle Saul to the other food truck.

I hoped I'd chosen the right assistant.

“Okay. I guess we're ready. Let's head over.” I hugged Uncle Saul. “I'm going to miss you today.”

“Cheer up,” he said. “At least it's almost over.”

Delia was waiting outside the food truck. She was wearing baggy jeans and an old orange sweatshirt that did absolutely nothing for her.

“You dressed down for me, didn't you?” I grinned.

“They can tell us what we have to do, but no one said anything about how we should
dress
. You'll have the cute daughter to sell product. Bobbie will either have me or Saul.”

I hugged her. “Good thinking.”

“My pleasure.” She went to Ollie's side and held his hand as we crossed the street.

It was still a little misty outside. Not raining, at least not yet. Hopefully that wouldn't happen.

Delia's trick made me wonder if Bobbie and her daughter hadn't come up with something similar to make it harder for us that day. Just making the rule that team members couldn't openly hurt the other team's chances wasn't enough to stop some creative treachery.

The sound stage was up. Patrick Ferris was there with his microphone. Two of the assistants were struggling with the lighted board while the pretty young women, in shorts and tank tops today, waited on stage, playing with their hair.

It seemed pointless to have the board since there were only two teams. Maybe it was more for the TV viewers than for us.

I saw three other food trucks parked on the street. Grinch's Ganache was there along with Chooey's Sooey and Stick It Here. Their team members were out in front of the stage with us, which made for a bigger crowd there, too.

There was also a large crowd of people from Mobile standing outside the roped-off area, probably hoping to get on television. The cameramen were up and moving around, changing their focus as the challenge was about to start.

“Good morning, foodies!” Patrick started with his usual morning greeting.

The applause was much stronger with the other food truck teams there. The people behind the rope yelled and applauded as one of the producers prompted them.

I looked at Bobbie, who was standing next to me. I put out my hand to her. “Good luck, today. I'll take good care of your daughter.”

Bobbie shook my hand. “And I'll take good care of your crew. Good luck, Zoe. May the best food truck win.”

One of the cameramen who caught the last of our conversation swooped in a moment too late to record anything. “Could you do that last bit again?”

I glanced at Bobbie.

She frowned and shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“These small moments are important, too.” He tried to persuade us.

“I think we're about to get started,” Bobbie said. “Catch us later.”

He shrugged and moved away.

“So we're down to the last two food trucks in the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race. It looks like it's going to be a good morning in Mobile, Alabama, for one lucky food truck owner. We're all excited to see who that will be.”

There was more applause and some wolf whistles. The crowd was excited and ready to go.

“As we discussed last night, the Biscuit Bowl will be giving up two team members to Shut Up and Eat. Since Shut Up and Eat only has two team members, they will give one team member to the Biscuit Bowl. Team members—switch to your new team.”

Allison came to stand between me and Ollie. Delia and Uncle Saul went with Bobbie.

“That's right,” Patrick said. “It's the big switcheroo. It's not going to be easy to win the race with newbies on your team.”

Everyone else applauded, but I noticed that Bobbie didn't. Neither did I. And Allison, Bobbie's daughter, was dressed down like Delia in a baggy T-shirt and jeans.

“Now for the second part of the Mobile challenge. Food is being delivered to your kitchens as we speak. You'll see your menus when you get back. These are in keeping with the food you've served throughout the race. Your primary food menu will stay the same.”

“How much money do we have to make?” Bobbie asked.

“I'm glad you brought that up,” Patrick answered. “Each team will have to sell one hundred and fifty of their basic menu items. That's pieces, not dollars, so there will be no tie breaking because you've equaled each other. Whoever sells that one hundred and fifty items first is the winner. Are we ready to go?”

Again there was applause and people screaming out Patrick's name as well as the names of the two food trucks.

“I can hear our name! It's louder than Shut Up and Eat,” Ollie said. “We're home!”

The two girls on stage turned on the electronic board. It went completely blank (as usual) and refused to come up again.

Patrick shook his head. “Never mind. You guys get started.”

“Should I send her out to sell biscuit bowls?” I asked Ollie when Allison was walking in front of us.

“I don't think so. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he said. “I'll go out. You keep her with you, and keep her busy.”

I took his advice. It was what I'd been thinking, too. We got back to the truck and looked for our menu.

I read the printed card. “Carrot, raisin, and apple compote for the sweet, and barbecue chicken for savory.”

“Who eats
carrots
for something sweet?” Ollie's expression said that he didn't.

“I guess whoever buys our biscuit bowls today.” I set Allison to shredding carrots. It was the only way I could imagine using them for something sweet with apples and raisins.

“I'm sure Bobbie is having the same problem,” I told Ollie.

“I could check and see what Mom is doing,” Allison offered.

“No. That's okay. Let's get our stuff ready. Finding out what they're doing doesn't really matter.”

Ollie started stewing the apples and raisins. I started making biscuits. At least I knew how many we had to have to win. The barbecue chicken was already cooked. It just needed to be warmed before it went into the biscuit bowl. That was a plus.

“I think the carrot shredder is broken.” My new crew member held up the broken article. “Mom has one. I could go borrow it.”

“We'll have to do without,” I told her. “There's no borrowing, remember? You have to do with what you have.”

Was this going to be Allison's agenda? Was she constantly going to volunteer to go back to her own food truck and annoy me to death?

I tried to be charitable—she
was
a teenager trapped into working with strangers. Maybe she was nervous. None of us had set out to do it this way, but Uncle Saul and Delia were older. They had the maturity to deal with situations that she might not have.

“This is looking good,” Ollie said of the apple and raisin mixture. “Want me to add some cinnamon?”

“Oh. Let me!” Allison grabbed the cinnamon and dropped the whole container on the floor. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

I wasn't sure if I believed her or not, but I had no plans to turn her in for refusing to cooperate so I could win the race that way. We could work around her.

I grabbed an extra can of cinnamon from the cabinet above my head. “Use this, Ollie.”

With the first tray of biscuits in the little oven and the fryer getting hot, I made some quick white icing to drizzle over the sweet biscuit bowls. Almost anything tasted good with white icing.

“I have these carrots shredded,” Allison said. “Where do you want me to put them?”

“Let me have them over here,” Ollie said. “What's that red stuff all over them?”

Allison looked at her hand. “I guess I cut myself. Sorry. I'll wash off the carrots.”

“I don't think so,” I intervened. “We're not using carrots with blood washed off of them. Go and find me a producer's assistant so we can ask what we should do without the carrots.”

She agreed and ran out of the food truck.

“That's the last we'll see of her.” Ollie shook his head. “She's a devious little thing.”

“We had to expect
something
from her. She's working against her mother.”

“We should turn her in.”

“Do you want to win like that?”

He thought about it. “Sure.”

“I don't want to. We can win on our own.”

I was putting in a new tray of biscuits, wondering how to deal with the problem of not using the carrots, when I felt someone else come into the food truck. With my head down, it was hard to see around Ollie.

I looked up, about to think better of Allison for coming back, but she wasn't there.

It was Detective Marsh.

“What are you doing here?” I tried to make a quick detour between getting food ready and finding him there with us.

“I think we'll find the killer here today. This is the end of the food truck race.”

Ollie snorted. “Right. Miguel is conscious. We
know
what happened. You might as well turn yourself in. Otherwise we'll call Zoe's friend in the police department. She'll know what to do with you.”

I wiped my hands on a towel. “Ollie's right, Marsh. Everyone knows the truth about you. We're guessing you were paid to kill Tina. Everything else was to cover that up. You'll have to leave now. We're trying to get ready for the race.”

“
The race
.” He spat back at me. “This whole race thing was a big, stupid mistake. It should have been a perfect setup. Alex was going to pay me Reggie's money plus two hundred thousand to kill his wife.”

“Reggie? He was supposed to kill Tina?”

“He didn't know what he was doing. Alex didn't, either.”

I was tired of hearing his confession, and wondered how we could alert the police. He pulled out a gun. “I need you to get me out of here, Zoe. No one is going to question your food truck leaving. You can come or go as you please. I can't hang around and wait for the police to catch up with me.”

I carefully considered my next words. “You're wrong, you know.” I put three biscuits into the deep fryer. “
Everyone
is going to question us if we leave before the challenge is done. Have you seen the police officers outside the rope in the crowd? We aren't getting out of here until it's over.”

He glanced around the kitchen. “Fine. I'll be your extra team member until we can get out. Don't think about trying anything. I know how this whole thing works. Where is that other guy who was working in here? Who's selling the biscuits?”

“I'm selling the biscuits,” Ollie said.

“Okay. You go wait outside until everything is ready.” He jammed the gun in my side. “And don't tell
anyone
what's going on if you want Zoe to live to see her prize.”

“Just take it easy,” Ollie said. “There's no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

“You're right. Do what I say, and no one
will
get hurt.”

Ollie stared at me as though he was trying to devise a plan.

I nodded. “Go ahead. Open the window and I'll hand out the food.”

“What about the other one?”

“You mean our other team member who had to go to the restroom?” I filled in quickly.

“Zoe! I hear you've lost your carrots.” Chef Art walked right into the middle of our mess.

“You're the other team member?” Marsh looked at him in surprise, probably taking in the white suit that didn't look much like something anyone would cook in. “Get in here. Ollie, you get out. Keep in mind that Zoe will die before I do if you give me away.”

Ollie agreed and went outside.

“What's this?” Chef Art asked. “What's going on? I don't recall this being part of the challenge. Who are you, sir?”

“I'm the new Biscuit Bowl team member.” Marsh smiled, painfully shoving the gun deeper into my side. “Let's all get our aprons on and do some cooking, shall we?”

“That's not my job today. I'm a sponsor. It would look bad. You two sort out your problems. Zoe—win the race.”

“You're not going
anywhere
,” Marsh told him. “Didn't you hear what I told the giant? I have a gun in Zoe's side. You do what I tell you until we can leave. You got it?”

Chef Art put down his cane and took off his jacket. “I think I understand now. What do you need me to do, Zoe?”

I tried to stay calm. Panic wouldn't help. My heart was racing, and the greasy breakfast I'd eaten was threatening to come up.

“Ollie was going to fill the sweet biscuit bowls.” I forced my tone to sound normal as I pulled up another basket of fried biscuit bowls and put another one down. “I'll bake biscuits and fry them. Marsh will put the barbecue into the savory biscuit bowls.”

“I don't have to do anything,” he told me. “I'm the one with the gun, remember?”

“Not putting out any biscuit bowls will give you away,” I snarled. “There are television cameras, producers, and assistants crawling around here like ants on a watermelon. You made Ollie leave. I need your help to get through this.”

“All right,” he said. “Just don't forget that I could kill you.”

Chef Art glanced at me with his white eyebrows raised. “You need to hire better team members.”

We were getting the first biscuit bowls ready to go in the awkward silence. It was almost seven
A.M.
I was trying to think of something clever to do that could save us all—well—mostly me since the gun was on me. Nothing came to mind right away.

Ollie lifted and secured the order window from outside.

“Look who I found waiting outside to see you, Zoe.” His voice was only weirder than the look on his face. “Your mom and dad are here to wish you well.”

“Hi, Zoe!” Daddy waved and grinned at me. “I think you're going to win this thing. It's been exciting hearing about it.”

“I'm glad you're home again.” My mother was dressed, as always, in an expensive suit, lavender this time, her blond hair perfectly framing her determined face.

“Hi, Mom.” I smiled. “Hi, Daddy. It's good to see you. We're
very
busy.”

Daddy looked surprised when he realized Chef Art was in the kitchen with me. “I had no idea you were getting help from a celebrity.”

Chef Art smiled. “I want to see Zoe win the race, too.”

“Do you have time for your old man to come in there and give you a quick hug for good luck?”

Daddy was taken aback when Chef Art and I both shouted “No!” at the same time.

He glanced at my mother, who shrugged and walked away.

“Okay,” he said. “We'll see you later for your victory dinner.”

“Okay.” I waved and smiled like a trained monkey. “Bye-bye.”

When they were gone, Marsh wasn't happy. “We're too exposed this way. Close the window.”

“I have to get the biscuit bowls through here,” Ollie said. “Read the rules. If we don't do what they say, we'll be disqualified.”

“Like I care.” He shrugged.

“You will,” he promised. “Didn't you notice the
big
interviews they do with the food trucks that are disqualified? They want you to go off about how unfair everything is. I can show you the YouTube video from when Our Daily Bread was disqualified.”

I knew there wasn't a rule about serving the food through the window, and no YouTube video. Everything would be aired with the show, whenever that would be. But it was a good play on Ollie's part. Marsh wasn't familiar with the rules. He didn't know Ollie was lying.

“Okay. Whatever it takes to get me out of here.”

“Right now, it takes getting these biscuit bowls out on the street so he can sell them.” I handed Ollie my cell phone, which doubled as a credit card machine, and gave him twenty dollars in cash to start with. “Good luck. Sorry I don't have anyone to run the food out to you.”

“That's okay.” He glared at Marsh. “Just be careful.”

“We will,” Chef Art promised.

We made more biscuit bowls after he was gone. It seemed he was back very quickly. With everything that had been happening, we were behind on having our food ready.

“Come on,” Ollie urged. “Come on! Delia is out here hardly trying to sell anything and selling more than we are.”

“We have a few
unusual
problems,” I reminded him. “Let's worry about getting through this. If we lose, we lose.”

“Don't even say that,” Chef Art said. “We can still win this thing.”

There was a knock on the back door before it opened. “Hey, I'm from the producer. He wants to know if you're up for having a crew in here taping while you work.”

Beneath the glasses—which I think she got from Chef Art's assistant—and the food truck race gear was Detective Patti Latoure. She was smiling, but I saw her sharp blue eyes zero in on the gun Marsh was holding.