1 Death on Eat Street (17 page)

“What’s wrong?” I thought that was a weird reaction.

“Nothing.” She bit her lip. “Terry gave them to me. I—I don’t want to think about it.”

She abruptly left the tiny bathroom. I followed behind her.

What was bothering her about the beads? Maybe bad Mardi Gras memories? People gave out beads, kind of like these, along the parade route every year. These were paper instead of plastic, and they were bigger, but there was nothing unusual or particularly offensive about them.

Miguel and Ollie were standing there, watching us. No doubt wondering what we were doing in the bathroom together.

“Ready?” Miguel asked.

I smiled. What was I thinking? Both of these men had been married. They were used to the ways of women. “Yes. Let’s go.”

Delia’s cell phone rang again. She stepped outside to answer it.

“I’m going to hang around the diner awhile,” Ollie said. “Delia might need some help.”

“Okay. I’ll see you both later.” There was the proof I needed that Ollie was interested in Delia. I was happy to see it.

Miguel and I got into his Mercedes. He pulled out into the Saturday afternoon traffic.

I was wondering if I should throw out a few more hints or let him pick up on it by himself. I decided it would be a waste of my great dress, and Delia’s makeup talents, not to try sending a few ideas his way.

“I didn’t think I’d be going to police headquarters again until Monday with the food truck,” I told him. “Lucky for me I don’t have to dress up when I’m making biscuit bowls.”

“I suppose so.” He glanced at my dress. “That could be a mess if you had flour all over it.”

Okay.

“Delia is a good person. I appreciate you representing her. She wants to be a hairdresser when this is over. She did my eyes. Good, huh?”

“Very nice.” Miguel didn’t even look at me that time.

Maybe he wasn’t ready yet. Or maybe I wasn’t very good at this anymore, like I had been in college. I used to be good at catching a man’s eye. Probably all of that skill had deserted me while I’d been safely dating Tommy Lee.
Use it or lose it.

When we reached police headquarters, Miguel parked the car and came around to open my door. I decided to try one last time to get his attention.

Carelessly, I dropped my handbag on the ground at his feet. “Oops. Sorry.” I bent over to pick up everything that had spilled out.

Being a gentleman, Miguel helped me. It was still daylight, the sun shining off the car and windows in the building. I knew he had to be on eye level with my neckline and the little gold cross Delia had let me wear.

“No problem.” He politely handed me my bag.

That was it for me. Miguel wasn’t into it. Better to focus on what I had to say to Detective Latoure.

The police station was less crowded than the last time I’d been there. The officer at the desk called Patti Latoure for us. A few minutes later he told us to go back to the office on the right.

Dismally, I regretted wearing my good dress. I wasn’t sure if the chairs we’d sat on were grimy or had gum on them. If Miguel had noticed me at all, it wouldn’t have been so bad.

“Miguel.” Patti shook his hand as we walked into his office. “Zoe. What brings the two of you in on such a nice Saturday?”

“We have some information about Terry’s death,” I told her. “It could make a difference in the case.”

Patti gestured toward the two chairs in front of her desk. She sat down in the worn leather chair behind it.

“I thought I’d made it clear that you should be glad to be off the hook, Zoe. Why are you still pursuing this?”

“Let me explain.” I told her about the cement block in my diner window, and about Uncle Saul’s friends. “We know that Terry was probably killed because of this recipe. I know it sounds absurd, but I think that’s what we’re after.”

Patti smiled, almost despite herself, from the wry expression on her face. “Good work, Zoe. You’re right. Bannister and the man who took the Jefferson recipe have something in common. They’re both dead.”

“What?”

“We received word that the police in Atlanta were looking for Terry Bannister in relation to another homicide there. They think Terry Bannister took the recipe from the man in Atlanta who’d stolen it and then killed him.”

I glanced at Miguel and then back at Patti. “So you’ve known the whole time?”

“Not the whole time. I congratulate you on finding out about the Jefferson recipe. And I’ll say it again—stay out of it. You can guess from your broken window that you’re not in the clear as yet. As long as the recipe is out there, you’re not safe.”

“What about my client, Delia Vann?” Miguel asked. “I assume charges against her will be dropped in light of this news.”

“Don’t assume anything.” Patti shuffled through some papers on her desk. “You know how this goes. If we drop the charges against your client, the real killer will know something is up. We want to keep him guessing. I hope we’re one step ahead of him.”

Miguel nodded. I could see he wasn’t happy with that verdict, but he understood after years of being a prosecutor.

“Do you have any idea where the recipe is, or who paid to have it stolen?” I asked.

“We’re working on that,” Patti said. “It’s too soon to tell. We have a person of interest we’re following.”

“Is that Chef Art?”

Patti frowned. “This isn’t a guessing game! Stay out of it!”

“What about Don Abbott?” I ignored her. “I’m pretty sure he came after me because he knows about the recipe. I don’t think he’s smart enough to be the one behind all of it, do you?”

“You’re very good at interrogation, Zoe. Maybe you should consider a career in law enforcement.”

“I don’t think so, although I’d be happy to have all of you come down to the Biscuit Bowl for lunch during the week.”

Patti frowned. “Let me repeat my warning. I can’t say this strongly enough. Two men have already died because of this stolen recipe. Don’t make me have to explain your death to your parents.”

“I appreciate the warning. Believe me, I won’t be part of this anymore.” I smiled, and shook her hand, after getting to my feet. “Thanks for your time.”

“My pleasure.” Patti nodded at Miguel. “I’ll be in touch.”

As we walked out of police headquarters, Miguel said, “I’m glad you’re going to stay out of the investigation, Zoe. I think you’ve come close enough as it is.”

“She didn’t tell us much. At least I didn’t get much out of it, besides her confirming what we already knew. Did you get more out of it than that? I mean—maybe your old DA instincts kicked in?”

He laughed. “I think you’re giving Detective Latoure too much credit. She knew about the recipe and how it was stolen because the Atlanta police told her. A person of interest means she doesn’t have much real proof. She’s fishing for something right now. Probably hoping she can find the recipe and it will lead her to the buyer, and the killer.”

“Which probably means she could use a little help.” I waited for Miguel to unlock the car door and then scooted inside. “It sounded like a cry for help to me.”

“Which part of what Patti said made you think she was asking for help?” Miguel put on his seat belt and started the car. “I think she was telling us to stay away from what’s been happening. Just because we know about the recipe doesn’t mean we have to be involved in the search for it.”

“Did you see that poor woman’s desk? She’s so underwater, she’s like a lobster! I don’t think she could ask outright, but I think she could use a hand.”

“Not from you.” Miguel backed out of the parking space. “I think she made that very clear.”

I shrugged. “I guess we heard two different things.”

“Zoe, I don’t want you to be on my client list again. Trust me on this. You’ll only get hurt if you get involved any further.”

“I won’t do anything illegal,” I promised. “I’d like to see that recipe, wouldn’t you? And like Patti said, having the recipe in police hands would mean that I’d be safer. Delia, too. The killer won’t have to go after us anymore.”

“I want to go on record as being against this idea.”

It was very formal, but he
was
a lawyer, after all. They tended to be a little formal—at least the ones I’d met. Believe me, my mother had thrown enough of them my way to see if any of them were marriage material.

I realized that was the downside of breaking up with Tommy Lee, too. Once I was on the market again, I’d be fair game for every relative and friend who had a single man in mind for me.

“I appreciate your help, Miguel.”

“But you won’t leave it alone, will you?”

“I guess we’ll see. Right now, I don’t have any idea how to pursue this. If something comes up . . .”

Traffic had been light on the roads back from police headquarters. We’d made the drive very quickly. Miguel parked his car outside the diner. I was ready to say good-bye and go inside. It seemed obvious to me that my romantic notions about him were only fancy.

“Zoe, anything you do could put you back on the killer’s radar,” Miguel argued. “If you find out anything, promise me you’ll give the information to the police.”

“I will.”

He didn’t look like he believed me. “Be careful.”

I got out of the car and went around to the driver’s side. I could see, through the new plate glass, that Delia and Ollie were cooking something. I thought I might as well ask Miguel if he wanted to stay and eat.

He didn’t seem to even think about the question before answering. “I’d love to, but I have a desk full of paperwork that needs to be done. I’ll talk to you later, Zoe.”

I watched the Mercedes pull back out into traffic, feeling properly rebuffed. Maybe I thought Miguel was cute, but I was beginning to feel that he didn’t share my view of a possible relationship between us.

Maybe what people had said about him—that he was still grieving for his wife—was true. It was depressing thinking about it. Since I didn’t want to share those feelings with Delia and Ollie, I put on a big smile and went into the diner.

The aromas from the cooking food were heavenly. Delia and Ollie suddenly seemed to be very close. They were laughing and working on dinner. Ollie snaked one long arm around Delia, supposedly to get the cayenne. I’m sure Delia and I both knew better.

“Zoe!” Ollie finally noticed me. “We thought we’d start dinner. I hope that’s okay. Delia is a wonderful cook.”

“That’s fine,” I told him brightly. “What is it? It smells great.”

Delia’s face was flushed from the heat of the stove. I thought she’d never looked prettier, even without all the makeup she wore when she was working at the bar.

“It’s an old recipe my granny used to make,” she explained. “You had all the ingredients. I wanted to do something for you. You’ve been so kind to me. I didn’t expect you back for dinner, but that’s okay.”

“I can’t wait to try it. I’m going to change clothes. I’ll be right back.”

I felt a little out of place. I could hear Ollie and Delia laughing and talking while I was in the bathroom putting on jeans and a blue tank top. Clearly, they were interested in each other. I didn’t want to intrude.

On the other hand, it wasn’t like I had someplace else to go. I was happy for them. I let go of my disappointment with Miguel and joined them.

By the time I’d fed Crème Brûlée, dinner was sizzling on the plates. We sat down to eat together. Delia and Ollie asked what I’d learned from the police.

“It wasn’t exactly a give-and-take of ideas,” I explained.

Delia nudged Ollie with her elbow. “You can tell she hasn’t spent much time with law enforcement. It’s never a give-and-take with them, Zoe. They pump you for information and then send you on your way.”

Ollie agreed. “It’s the nature of the beast. They don’t want you to know what they’re doing. You’re supposed to tell them everything
you’re
doing.”

I chewed and swallowed some of the spicy peppers, sausage, and onions. “At least I know that what my uncle’s friends told him was true. There
is
a stolen Jefferson recipe, and it’s valuable enough to make someone kill for it.”

“What’s it for, the recipe?” Delia asked.

“Crème brûlée,” I explained. “It seems that Jefferson brought that recipe, and others, back from France when he went there in 1784. The recipe is written in his own hand.”

“And that’s what makes it valuable,” Ollie said. “Valuable to some people, anyway. Collectors, I imagine.”

I told them what Uncle Saul’s friend had estimated the value of the recipe to be. Ollie let out a long, low whistle. Delia smiled and shook her head.

“I’m not sure exactly where to go from here.” I explained about Chef Art Arrington. “I was thinking I could go out there and ask him, see what his response would be.”

“No!” Delia said loudly.

Ollie also disagreed. “I remember him. He sounds like bad news to me, young ’un. Let the police take the risks. That’s what they get paid for. Besides, they know what they’re doing. You stick to making food.”

I was surprised that they didn’t think it was a good idea to circumvent the system. After all, they had both lived outside the system for a long time. Their responses made me rethink a plan to get in to see Chef Art.