Fry Another Day (7 page)

My twirling biscuit was the tallest, and that made it easy to find in the pack. I was very proud of the design. Uncle Saul and Ollie had come up with the idea when the truck was being renovated. I added on to it later.

It struck me as soon as I opened the door that the inside of my food truck was too hot and completely dark. There were usually little colored lights on the appliances and a clock on the microwave. Nothing was on.

I found Crème Brûlée. He was a little warm with his heavy coat, but he seemed fine. I checked the circuit breakers in the truck. Everything seemed okay, but the power wasn't working.

Holding my cat because I was afraid he might make a slow jog for the door, I checked the outside plug. That was the problem.

Someone had deliberately not only cut my power cord but chopped it into pieces.

I got on the phone right away with Uncle Saul. He, Ollie, and Miguel ran down to the garage after snagging the hotel security man.

I kept Crème Brûlée hidden while the security man looked at everything. If the hotel found out I was sneaking my cat inside, they might kick us all out.

“Yep.” Sid, the security man and part-time parking attendant, verified the results. “Somebody cut up your cord all right.”

By this time, other food truck vendors were parking their trucks. Other vendors who were already checked in heard what was going on. They raced down to make sure their trucks weren't damaged. The space was suddenly filled with food truck teams.

Everyone checked their trucks. The new arrivals were safe. The damage had been done before they'd arrived. Someone called the police, and the entire garage erupted in chaos.

I took advantage of what was going on and sneaked Crème Brûlée up to the hotel room in a large tote bag. I wasn't able to bring his food and litter box. That worried me some. I decided to put him in the glass shower stall with some water.

“You're going to be fine,” I told him as he meowed at me. “At least you'll be cool. Don't make too much noise or we'll both be sleeping in Miguel's car tonight. And you know how he'll feel about
that
.”

Actually, Miguel had never really had a problem with my cat riding in his car. But Crème Brûlée didn't know that. Maybe it would encourage him not to start howling.

I went back to the garage. It was really a mess by then. There were a dozen police officers walking around, searching everything, and taking pictures. The garage was cordoned off with crime scene tape.

The food truck vendors were upset. Alex was there with the sponsors and producers. The garage wasn't meant to hold that much angst.

“What am I supposed to do about my fish?” Fred Bunn asked whoever would listen. He was the owner of Fred's Fish Tacos. He was a short man, barely five feet, with crazy, curly red hair and millions of freckles.

I liked him just for his curly hair. It made me go to him and sympathize. Curly hair attracts curly hair.

“I know. I've lost a few things, too. Will we be compensated for our loss?” There wasn't enough milk, butter, or eggs left over in the mini fridge for the next challenge, and what had been left from Charlotte was spoiled.

We were lucky we hadn't shopped yet as Miguel had wanted to. I'd preferred to head straight to Columbia and shop there after being detained so long in Charlotte.

Fred looked at me like I was crazy and turned away to complain to someone else. It seemed as though my sympathy wasn't what he was looking for.

I found Miguel, Ollie, and Uncle Saul at the Biscuit Bowl. “Have you heard anything yet?”

“They're saying it was vandalism because the hotel announced that vendors from the race were staying here tonight to get publicity.” Miguel shrugged. “I don't know what they were expecting.”

“I'm not buying that explanation,” Ollie said. “Maybe if Reggie weren't dead, I might see it their way. Now I'm thinking someone is trying to sabotage the race.”

“For what purpose?” Uncle Saul asked him. “They don't like food trucks? You're being paranoid, Ollie.”

“It seems more likely that one of the vendors did this to cut out the competition,” Miguel suggested. “Anyway, the police said to stay with our food trucks and they would take our statements.”

“You don't have to stay,” I told them. “You can go upstairs and get some rest for tomorrow.”

“If there
is
a tomorrow,” Ollie grumbled.

“I'm not leaving you alone down here,” Uncle Saul said. “I don't like the looks of this, Zoe. Who knows what will happen next?”

Uncle Saul tended to be a little paranoid, too.

Alex came around to our side of the Biscuit Bowl with a big grin on his attractive face. “Don't you worry about a thing, Biscuit Bowl team. We'll pick up the tab for your damages and get these cords fixed before tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I tried not to show my dubious feelings toward him. He might not be guilty of anything.

“There's only one thing,” Alex finally said. “I can get these cords repaired
tonight
—won't cost you a cent. I can't do the same with reimbursing you for your loss on supplies. If you'll send me an itemized list of what you lost, and how much you paid for it, I can get a check cut for you by the end of the week. Best I can do.”

Bobbie Shields, wearing another colorful Hawaiian dress, came around to complain to him. “You know, I looked at my losses. I already shopped. I can't replace what I need to start again tomorrow without a check from you
tonight
. I'm not made of money.”

Alex looked uncomfortable. “I wish I could do something more, but this is it. You might be able to get a payday loan or some such in the city.”

Dante Eldridge, the owner of Stick It Here, also joined us. He was a large black man who was covered in tattoos. He wore a red handkerchief around his closely cropped hair. His tight red tank top showed the power and size of his chest and arms.

“Don't give me that poor story, Pardini. Get some money from those rich sponsors over there. Give
them
a check at the end of the week. The rest of us can barely afford to be here. We can't afford to lose all our food.”

Alex was definitely on the defensive. “Good idea! Why don't you ask each of your sponsors for money? They could get you a check. No problem.”

Dante stepped closer to him, dwarfing Alex. “I
am
my sponsor, fool. Get me some money to replace what was lost, or your luxury ride might be too damaged to drive tomorrow.”

Several other vendors had stepped closer to hear the conversation. They agreed loudly and adamantly with Dante and Bobbie.

It was almost amusing watching Alex gauge the mood and then do a quick cut and run to his RV. I could imagine that he locked himself in, too.

“Now what are we supposed to do?” Dante was furious. “There's not gonna be much of a race if there's no money.”

Reverend Jablonski came toward the group with his arms outstretched. It seemed to be a popular pose.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I, and my fellow team members, would like to help you in your hour of need. We have sufficient funds to give each of you a stake, so to speak, to begin your sales tomorrow. We incurred no losses—flour and water don't go bad. We would enjoy helping you.”

I was surprised and pleased by the offer from the members of Our Daily Bread food truck. It was truly inspiring.

I felt sure we'd be fine in the Biscuit Bowl. Our losses weren't that severe. Repairing the electric cord was good for us. We could settle up with Alex later.

Bobbie, Fred, and Dante all took loans from Reverend Jablonski. It made the vandalism a lot easier to bear. Maybe Alex would even be able to come out of his RV.

“I'm going back upstairs for another drink while we're waiting for the miracle-working electrician who's going to get all these rigs repaired tonight.” Uncle Saul slapped Ollie on the back. “Are you coming?”

“Sure. Anybody hear from Delia yet?”

“We probably won't hear from her until she gets here,” I said. “She's a big girl. She can find her way here.”

I asked Miguel if I could get the roller skates from his Mercedes. “I might as well see if I can still do this. I'd like to know tonight if I have to withdraw from the challenge.”

“Are you going to practice down here?” He glanced around at the crowded garage.

“No. I think I'll hit the pavement upstairs once I've given my statement.”

Miguel got the skates and waited around with me for one of the police officers.

We talked about all kinds of things—I stayed away from any discussion about Reggie's death or what had happened to Detective McSwain.

Instead we talked about carnival and taking boats out on Mobile Bay. We both enjoyed eating French pastry and good coffee. He even told me a few things about his legal practice, which was set up in one of the worst parts of town.

“I guess you have to go where the customers are, like I do.” I said. “Ollie told me the two of you met when you got him out of jail. I know I'll never forget how kind you were when the police thought I'd murdered the taco truck driver.”

“You're a different case. For one thing, you
paid
for services. I have a problem collecting from a lot of my clients. I'm thinking about living in my office the way you live in your diner.”

I smiled but pointed out the major difference between us. “You could go back into practice where people pay you. You don't have to build up a reputation for what you do. Everyone knows you.”

“That may be true.” He watched some of the vendors pulling spoiled meat from their freezers. “But most of my reputation isn't very good. I don't know if I could ever do legitimate legal work again after the fiasco of the election. I don't know if anyone would trust me. And there are so many people who can't afford legal advice. I think I'm where I need to be—as long as my expenses stay low and I don't have a life.”

“Well you can always come and eat at my place for free. Consider it a night out.”

“And I can give you free legal advice.” He smiled at me.

I hadn't asked, and I was dying to know. Now was as good a time as any. “Why did you agree to come with me on the race? I know you have better things to do. Not that I'm complaining. I'm just curious.”

“I thought we could spend some time together away from our normal routines. I didn't know it would be so crazy, but it's good to talk, right?”

“It's
very
good to talk,” I agreed.

Whee!

One of the many police officers in the garage finally came to take my statement. Under Miguel's watchful eye, I left out the part about what had happened in Charlotte. I probably would've added it on otherwise. I like to tell the whole story.

After the officer had nodded and given me his card, Miguel helped me hide Crème Brûlée's collapsible litter box and his food. We sneaked those things up to my room, along with the skates. My cat was genuinely glad to see these little pieces of home when I'd set them up.

“Have you sent me the supply list yet?” Miguel asked when I'd closed the bathroom door to give Crème Brûlée some privacy.

I took out my phone and pushed send. “That should be it. Thank you again for doing this. And for waiting with me downstairs.
And
for helping me with the police.”

“You're very welcome.”

We stood there awkwardly. My cell phone rang and so did his. We exchanged quick good-byes and he was gone.

I sighed and answered my phone. It was my mother in Mobile. She'd heard about the problems we were having with the race and wanted to check on me.

Wanting to check on me was the story of our relationship. My mother was a high-powered corporate attorney who was running for a judgeship even as we spoke. Her goals in life included driving me crazy and pushing me to be more like her.

Instead, I was more like my dad who wasn't a slacker but had never had the urgent need for greatness that my mother enjoyed. I looked like him, too—like Uncle Saul. The three of us shared black curly hair, even though my dad cropped his down to nothing so it wouldn't curl. I guessed it was his way of controlling what he could of his life, especially while he'd been married to my mother.

“So what's going on? The food truck murder is all over the news. Maybe you should come home before it gets any worse,” my mother suggested.

I could imagine her sitting in her perfectly organized office with her well-toned body and sculpted blond hair. We shared blue eyes, and that was about it. I loved my mother, Anabelle Chase. I just wasn't like her.

“It's okay, Mom. It didn't happen anywhere near me. I'm pretty sure the police were wrong about it, too. I think it was just an accident. They're making a big deal out of it to get more publicity. You don't have to worry.”

“Too late. I'm worried. I should send someone down there to take care of you.”

“Uncle Saul is here.”

“Exactly. That's why you should come home
now
. Don't make me come up there and get you.”

My mother had never appreciated Uncle Saul's free spirit lifestyle. I was sure that was why their relationship was quickly over when they were very young, and she'd made her play for the other Chase brother.

Uncle Saul could've run the Bank of Mobile with my father. It had been in their family for more than a century. It was his birthright. Instead, he'd opened a successful restaurant and then left to live in the swamp.

She didn't understand that he needed to be different. It had only gotten worse when she'd divorced my dad.

“I'll be home in a few days. Everything will be fine.”

“Zoe, I get your strange need to express yourself with food. But I don't want you to die doing it.”