Fry Another Day (12 page)

“Let's hope not. At least not during the rest of the race.”

“It's made me think a lot about my own life,” he said quietly. “You may not have noticed when you were out there last, but Bonnie has a thing for me.”

“Which one is Bonnie?” I joked.

“Go on.” He laughed. “I know you noticed. It's been that way since we met. I haven't wanted to encourage her. I'm not much of a catch.”

“She seems to think otherwise. She's known you awhile now. She must think you're worth waiting for.”

“You think?” He gazed out the side window. “It's been a long time for me, too, Zoe girl. I'm not sure I'm ready for it.”

I kept my hands firmly on my cell phone and my eyes on the traffic going out of Columbia. “I think you're probably thinking about it because you
are
ready, Uncle Saul.”

“Maybe you're right. I don't know.”

Atlanta was about four hours away, and it was supposed to be the turning point for the race. It would also be the toughest venue with more challenges, more prizes—and more than one food truck getting kicked out of the competition.

I hoped my team could keep it together. Once we got past Atlanta, it would be downhill. We'd go on to Birmingham, and end up in Mobile on Friday for the grand finale.

I really wanted the fifty thousand dollars. I could upgrade my diner with that money and only use the food truck for special occasions. It would be
awesome
.

“I'm willing to do my part,” Uncle Saul conceded. “I can always hit Ollie with a biscuit if he and Delia get too annoying. We'll be okay for a few days.”

“Let's focus on that. We need different sweet and savory fillings for the biscuit bowls in Atlanta. Stews and the usual hot foods aren't going to work in this weather. I'm thinking about chicken salad. You know, you used to make that chicken salad with the pistachios in it? Maybe we could do that.”

He laughed and slapped his knee. “That was forever ago. But I remember. I made that special honey balsamic dressing for it.”

“That's right. You tell me what you need, and I'll start working on a list for Miguel as we're driving. I want to be on top of this.”

He laughed. “I'll work on the list. You're driving.” He took out my cell phone. “How do I get this thing to make a list?”

“You might do better with a pen and paper! There should be some in the glove box.”

He took out a pen and found some paper. “You know, I saw you and Miguel outside this morning. Looks like the two of you are having a few problems.”

I dictated the supply list while Uncle Saul wrote what I said and added his own supplies.

It was a long trip to Atlanta. We stopped for lunch right off the highway. The restaurant was busy, but it was clean and the food was decent.

Delia flirted with Ollie while we ate. The two of them were acting like lovebirds, just as Uncle Saul had dreaded. It didn't surprise me, and it didn't bother me. I hoped he'd be okay with it, too. I thought he might be a tiny bit jealous since the object of his affections was back home.

I was worried about the honey balsamic dressing for the chicken salad. The ingredients that Uncle Saul had given Miguel didn't seem right. I was afraid he wasn't thinking about chicken salad when he wrote the list. It would be hard to get supplies at four
A.M.
the next morning if Miguel didn't get everything today.

“Are you sure this is right?” I asked him again.

We were at the restaurant, getting ready to go.

He glared at Ollie and Delia who were laughing at something, their heads together. “It's right, Zoe. Don't worry about it.”

I checked the list again before I gave it to Miguel. I wanted to take a look at everything for the next day. Uncle Saul and I left Miguel, Delia, and Ollie as they were getting into the Mercedes. We weren't back on the highway for more than a few minutes, with Uncle Saul at the wheel, when he began slowing down.

“What's wrong?”
Please don't let something be wrong with the engine.

“I think that's Dante Eldridge out there on the road. Where's his food truck?”

“I was hijacked,” Dante said when we had pulled to the side of the road. “I stopped for gas, and someone hit me in the head and took my truck. I got a knot the size of a golf ball and a headache bigger than my truck. I'm gonna kill whoever did this.”

In the meantime, he needed a ride. His cell phone was in Stick It Here, too. I let him borrow mine to call the police. He got in the car with Miguel, Delia, and Ollie. The plan was to get him to the next exit where he could wait for the police. It wouldn't do him any good to go on to Atlanta without his truck.

We were already in Georgia, with another hour or so to go until we reached the city. Uncle Saul and I got back in the Biscuit Bowl.

But Crème Brûlée was crying and unhappy. Before we could leave, I had to put on his harness and let him out in the grass on the side of the road.

“You should've left that cat at home, Zoe,” my uncle commented as trucks and cars streamed by us.

“I couldn't. I took him to Mom's house and he didn't want to stay. You know Dad won't keep him.”

“Probably just as well, unless you want the poor creature to starve to death.” Uncle Saul watched Crème Brûlée, who was closely studying a dead moth in the grass. “On second thought, you'd have to skip feeding him for more than a week for that to happen. How'd that cat get so big?”

“He's got very large bones. And his breed can be quite large.” I held up one of Crème Brûlée's paws. “See the size of that?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Like a lion.”

He was making fun of my cat! I scooped Crème Brûlée up after he'd finished his business and carried him back to the food truck. He didn't like being lifted. He kept slapping at me and howling until he was back in his bed again.

“He's got a real attitude problem, too.”

“Don't talk about him. He's right here between us. It hurts his feelings.”

“You are too soft, Zoe girl. Your heart must be made out of marshmallow. I hope it doesn't get burned one day.”

I didn't comment on that. Ollie called to make sure nothing was wrong. They were already at the next exit waiting for us. I explained that my cat had needed a pit stop. Uncle Saul started the Biscuit Bowl, and we headed toward the exit.

“This race is getting risky,” Uncle Saul said. “Vandalism. Hijacking. Murder. I've never seen the like. What are people thinking? Fifty thousand dollars isn't gonna make that big a difference in anyone's life. Well, it's really more like twenty-five thousand after taxes.”

“It's a lot of money, however you look at it,” I replied. “And there's the prestige. This is going to be broadcast all over the country. People are going to see the Biscuit Bowl in California and New York. All of us will be famous—but not as famous as whoever wins the race.”

He patted my hand, reaching over Crème Brûlée between us. Of course my cat had to swat at him a few times.

“Hey!” Uncle Saul yelled at him. “Don't worry, Zoe. I'll do what I can to help you win.”

“Thanks.”

I thought about Dante. He'd been alone in his food truck, like Reggie. I hoped there were enough of us to keep our truck from being hijacked.

“What would someone want with Stick It Here anyway?” I asked.

“I don't know. The whole thing is crazy.”

We went off at the exit and found the others at a more heavily traveled gas station close to the road. It was a surprise to see the highway patrol already there and talking to Dante. I decided we should wait until they were finished. The chances were the police wouldn't find the food truck right away. Dante was going to need a ride to Atlanta.

“It's easy to spot,” Dante explained to the officers. “There are sticks coming up out of the top with big, fake pieces of meat on them. The truck is white and has a lot of writing on it. You can't miss it.”

One of the officers glanced at the biscuit on top of my food truck and nodded. “I get it. One of those food truck people. They told us you'd be coming from Columbia this way.”

“That's right,” Dante agreed. “Can someone call me if you find it out here?”

The officer handed him a business card. “We'll do our best, sir.”

There was nothing else to do but head for Atlanta. I felt so sorry for Dante even though we were competitors. He was doing so well in the race. It had to be hard to want it so badly only to have someone snatch the victory away.

Not to mention that Dante made his living with his food truck in his hometown, Jackson, Mississippi. Even if he had insurance, which many vendors didn't, it might be months before he could work again.

Putting that behind us, Uncle Saul and I talked about sweet fillings for tomorrow's biscuit bowls all the way to the hotel in Atlanta. We decided to make strawberry filling, if we could find some fresh strawberries. We could drizzle white icing over the top of each one.
Yum!

Atlanta was so much bigger than Charlotte and Columbia—bigger than Mobile, too. It was like the tall buildings were mountains surrounding us. I wished I had time to wander around the shops and look at kitchen gadgets, but I knew that wouldn't happen during this trip. Maybe next time.

Traffic was terrible. We were stuck trying to get into the city for an hour. When we finally arrived at the hotel, the sponsors of the race had sent security people to watch the food trucks. No one wanted a repeat of what had happened in Columbia. It was bad press for all of us.

The hotel was nice, and right in the heart of the city. After checking in, Delia and I found out we were sharing a room again. Neither one of us cared.

“I'm going up to take a shower, Zoe,” she said with a yawn and a stretch of her lithe body. “I'll see you later.”

Dante went to find someone from the race to report what had happened. He was very generous with his thanks for picking him up. He offered us free kebabs when they finally found his food truck.

Miguel took the supply list from me and went to see if he could find everything on it. “What if I can't find fresh strawberries?”

“Blueberries would do in a pinch,” I told him. “Thanks for doing this.”

He smiled. “You're welcome.”

I really wanted him to kiss me good-bye, but Ollie and Uncle Saul were leering at us. He walked away with the list. I knew there was going to be a lot of ribbing about our budding romance. I could take it. I hoped Miguel could, too.

Ollie, Uncle Saul, and I went to find one of the security guards for the race after that. We talked to him about the extra security they were supposed to give us. The head of the security group was a little vague. He acted as if he couldn't believe we were questioning him.

“We've already been apprised of what happened in Columbia, Miss Chase. We won't let anything like that happen here.”

We left him setting up his workers around the parking lot. Most of them were yawning and inattentive.

“Anyone have the feeling they aren't that interested?” Uncle Saul asked.

“I'll camp out in the Biscuit Bowl,” Ollie volunteered. “No one is gonna cut anything while I'm there.”

“Thanks for offering, but I don't want you to sleep down here.” I glanced around. The food trucks were all in an underground parking deck again. “The fumes from the cars and trucks could kill you.”

“I've been in tougher situations, Zoe. I can handle it.”

“No. That's why they have security. It will be okay. I'd rather have them steal the Biscuit Bowl than have you hurt, Ollie.”

“Really?” He stared at me as though he found that hard to believe.

“Really.” I kissed his cheek. “Let's go upstairs.”

He shrugged, and we went for the elevator.

Uncle Saul and Ollie went to locate the room they were sharing. I went to have a margarita in the bar by myself, hoping to have a few moments to organize my thoughts.

I wasn't on the stool five minutes before Detectives Helms and Marsh joined me. My margarita showed up a few minutes later.

“We heard about the hijacking.” Helms ordered a club soda.

“Let's move this to a booth.” Without warning, Marsh picked up my margarita and walked over to a secluded booth.

“Hey!” I followed as quickly as possible considering my legs still felt stiff from roller-skating that morning and my knee was beginning to throb again. “Are you two allowed to work in Atlanta, too? Don't you have to get some kind of special permission?”

We sat down together. Marsh ordered coffee.

“We have special permission, Zoe,” Helms told me.

“What can you tell us about the hijacking?” Marsh quickly scanned the bar.

“Not much. Dante was attacked at a gas station. Someone took his food truck. We saw him on the side of the road and gave him a ride. He told the highway patrol, and we came here.”

I sipped my margarita and wished I'd ordered it from room service.

“Something is going on here,” Marsh said.

“I noticed.”
Brilliant!
“Have you figured out what it is?”

“We still believe Miguel Alexander is involved in all this,” Helms accused. “Someone is working with him.”

I started to protest and tell them why Miguel had twenty-five thousand dollars in his bank account so they would stop being so suspicious of him. But realized that he hadn't told me, and I hadn't asked. He'd tell me if he wanted me to know. I could only guess in the meantime. And if they wanted to know, they should ask him.

“I think there's a lot of money at stake,” Marsh said. “It's behind the scenes and not all what we're seeing up front. Have you got any ideas, Zoe?”

I took a big gulp of my drink to try and ease the pain. It was my own fault. I'd agreed to help them. “I'll tell you the truth. I've got two members of my team who are in love. I have a bad deep fryer that I'm hoping to have replaced by tomorrow morning. That's about all I can handle right now. If I actually hear or see something
important
, I'll let you know.”

“It's vital that we stay in contact with each other,” Helms said.

Another big gulp finished my delicious margarita. “I understand. But now I need a shower and a nap. You'll have to excuse me. If anything happens, I have your cell numbers.”

The margarita really helped me get through that. I went back downstairs to get my clothes and Crème Brûlée. Everything seemed fine. There were some food truck vendors cleaning their trucks and a few pulling into the parking lot.

I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, picked up Crème Brûlée, and pulled his blanket over him. I made sure all the doors to the Biscuit Bowl were locked.

I heard the elevator chime and started over to it, but before I could leave the passenger side of the truck, I heard an argument in the RV parked next to mine on the driver's side.

It was Alex's RV—again. I couldn't really understand what the two people were saying. It was something about money and a job someone hadn't done.

I recognized Alex's voice. The other voice was too low and raspy. It was probably the same person he'd been talking to on the phone after Reggie was killed.

This couldn't be good.

I inched around the front of my food truck to see if I could get a glimpse through one of the windows.

What am I doing?

Groaning, and not wanting to be involved, I started back the way I'd come. I stopped short as I heard a shot ring out in the parking deck.