Fry Another Day (6 page)

“Where have you been?” Miguel asked when the other woman was finally gone. “Were the police bothering you again?”

“No. It was just the opposite.” I explained what had happened as Miguel drove his car toward the interstate highway and Columbia.

I didn't ask about
her
.

– – – – – – –

“Why would someone involved with the race want to kill off the contestants?”

We were gridlocked in heavy traffic leaving the city.

“I was wondering the same thing.” I longed to ask about his beautiful companion but couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. We weren't a couple
yet
. I had no claim on him. Besides, they were just talking.

And asking now would mean admitting that I'd seen them together and hadn't casually walked over and spoken to them. I felt stupid either way. I wondered what Delia would have done in these circumstances.

“It doesn't make any sense,” Miguel continued about Reggie's death. “The sponsors would lose their money and the charities wouldn't get anything. The whole thing would be ruined.”

“Sometimes it's hard to figure why people do the things they do.”

“I know.” He glanced at me as traffic began to pick up. “So, are you going to sell the food while you roller-skate and sing tomorrow?”

“Probably skate, if I can find a cheap pair of skates.” I felt so awkward even talking to him. “I don't know about the singing.”

“Not a problem about the skates.” He inclined his head toward the backseat. “Compliments of the race. They gave out a pair of skates to each team. I went ahead and grabbed a pair in your size.”

“How did you know what size to get?”

He glanced at my feet. “I noticed when you kicked your shoes off in the car the other day. Six and a half, right?”

I arched my brows and smiled in what I hoped was a provocative manner. “It's nice to be noticed.”

Ugh! That was awful.

I'd never been good at one-liners. I should have known better. Maybe he wouldn't notice.

Oh, right.
He smiled and didn't seem to take it the wrong way.

I really liked his smile. His eyes were such a perfect shade of brown—sort of like chocolate, but sexier.
Very nice.

“I notice you
all
the time, Zoe. I can't imagine a man who wouldn't.”

My heart beat fast.
Is that good? It sounds good.

Or was he saying I flirted a lot? I did flirt a
little
, but not so much.

After that, I tried to keep the mood going. I brought up all kinds of subjects—except the one I
really
wanted to ask about.

He responded and admitted all kinds of crazy stuff about himself—really opening up for once. We laughed about the floats at carnival last year. It was great. It felt natural to be there with him. I hoped he felt the same.

There were several accidents on the road and police everywhere as we were leaving North Carolina. I decided it would be a good time to get out my cell phone and start making my shopping list since Miguel was going to have to concentrate more on the road.

Uncle Saul had already left me a few voice mails about food ideas.

Even though we weren't talking, I was thinking about Miguel and the death of his wife and child ten years ago. It had happened around the same time that he was framed for falsifying evidence when he'd run for district attorney in Mobile.

It was as though his life had stopped then. He'd quit the DA's office and opened up his own legal practice. Everyone in the city now knew him as a street lawyer who would help anyone in a jam. That's how I'd met him. He'd been Ollie's lawyer.

I knew Miguel was still getting over that tragedy—if anyone could ever really get over something like that. From what I could find out—and I had investigated
extensively
—he'd never even dated during the last ten years.

It didn't matter to me. I was willing to wait for the butterfly to emerge from the cocoon. I wanted to be the one he thought about when it was the right time for him.

I just hoped the mystery woman in Charlotte wasn't in line before me.

My cell phone rang as I was making my list. It startled me, and I dropped it on the floor. It was the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department.

“Miss Zoe Chase?” the unfamiliar voice asked. “We're gonna need to talk to you again.”

Miguel and I were less than thirty minutes outside of Charlotte. We turned around and drove back to police headquarters.

The man on the phone had been vague. It wasn't Detective McSwain, and yet the caller had said it was
about
him.

“I gave Detective McSwain my business card after I talked to him about Alex Pardini and Reggie,” I explained to Miguel. “He said he might need me to testify about hearing the argument and the phone conversation. This seems too soon for that.”

Miguel didn't like it. “They need to work on the investigation. They shouldn't call you for more information every few minutes.”

I knew he was trying to protect me, and I felt good about that.

I couldn't afford to pay him. I could hardly ask him to act as my legal counsel if I needed one.

My father had paid my legal fees with him last year when I'd been investigated for murder. I wasn't involved in the same way this time—although Reggie had been part of what had happened last year, too.

I didn't have much money of my own—everything I had was sunk into the business. I could offer him food. That was about it.

We parked the car and went inside the police station. I asked for Detective McSwain. The officer at the desk looked at me a little strangely and then asked us to wait. He said someone would come and talk to us right away.

A few minutes later, Detective Macey Helms came out and shook our hands. She was an attractive, heavyset black woman with braided hair. Her deep purple suit was very nice. I complimented her on it.

“Thanks.” Her voice said she wasn't impressed. “If you two will come this way.”

We went with her to a small conference room. The metal bar on the table reminded me that criminals were interrogated here. It made me uncomfortable, which was probably a good thing. I have a way of running off at the mouth sometimes. I was sure this wasn't an appropriate moment for that. I clamped my lips closed as I sat down.

Just let Miguel do the talking. Don't say anything you'll regret.

Another detective, who introduced himself as Stanley Marsh, stood at the side of the room while Detective Helms sat down with us. He looked like he was in his thirties, maybe, with dirty blond hair and blue eyes. His clothes were worn and dirty. Maybe he was an undercover cop.

I could tell Miguel was a little agitated. His face was alert as he spoke to the two detectives. “What's going on? Miss Chase understood that she was here to speak to Detective McSwain.”

Detective Helms put a card on the table. “Recognize that, Miss Chase?”

That was easy enough. “Yes. It's my business card. Was there something wrong with giving it to Detective McSwain?”

The two detectives glanced at each other.

“We found your card on Detective McSwain's
body
a short while ago,” Detective Helms said in an accusatory tone.

I sat forward in my chair. “Body? He was perfectly alive and well when I saw him last. You can ask all the police officers who were out there with the food truck race. I barely even talked with him alone.”

“A short while ago, Detective McSwain was found dead. He appears to have been the victim of a hit-and-run.”

“That happened very quickly,” Miguel added. “We were only thirty minutes out of Charlotte.”

“So the two of you were together?” Detective Marsh asked.

“Yes. We've been together since I left Detective McSwain.” I peeked at Miguel. He didn't seem to have a problem with me saying that.

“What did you and Detective McSwain talk about?” Marsh was standing against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

“He asked me a few questions about Reggie Johnson the first time. Later, I told him that I'd heard Alex Pardini from the race talking about killing Reggie.”

Helms nodded to Marsh. “The dead man from the food truck.”

Marsh moved toward the table. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him that I barely knew Reggie. We were both from Mobile and had food trucks. That was about all we had in common. I was walking past an RV when I heard Alex talking to someone about Reggie's death like it wasn't an accident and there could be more to come. Alex was talking about covering it up.”

“And you and Mr. Johnson were both competitors in the food truck race, no?” Helms suggested.

“Not really.” I smiled at both of them, not wanting to sound superior, but let's face it—the Dog House wasn't a real competitor with the Biscuit Bowl. “I make most of my food from scratch. Reggie put hot dogs on buns and dressed them up.”

Marsh slammed his hand on the table. “Did you kill Reggie Johnson, or were you in
any
way responsible for his death?”

Miguel sat forward. “What's this about? I was with Miss Chase when she was speaking to Detective McSwain. He never said anything about her being responsible for Mr. Johnson's death. In point of fact, Miss Chase was constantly with others, who will be glad to vouch for her entire morning.”

Detective Helms made a dismissive motion at Detective Marsh. The man immediately backed off to stand against the wall again.

“Here's what we've got,” Helms said. “We have a food truck driver who was found dead after a strap was cut that held his refrigerator in place. That happened
before
the race. We had reason to think it might be suspicious even without what Miss Chase just told us. We have a fine detective who was found dead as he was investigating that death. We know Detective McSwain wasn't
accidentally
struck by a vehicle. And we have your business card in his coat pocket, Miss Chase. How do you think all those things go together?”

I started to speak. Miguel put his hand on mine.

“Miss Chase isn't a police officer. She doesn't have any idea how those things go together.”

“Okay.” Detective Marsh tried a new approach. “Why was your business card the
only
one Detective McSwain took from all the food truck drivers that were here in Charlotte?”

I started to speak again. Again Miguel said I shouldn't answer.

“You did your part,” he argued. “Let them do their jobs.”

– – – – – – –

An hour later, Miguel and I were walking out of the police station. The police had asked a lot of the same questions over and over. I only had the same answers. Eventually I guess they got tired of my answers, but there was nothing they could charge me with so they let me go.

“So you think it's okay to go to Columbia now?” I asked him.

“Yes. I think you were very clear on what you had to say.” He squeezed my hand. “Good job, Zoe.”

“Thanks. I hope they didn't think I had anything to do with it. Reggie was obnoxious, but I wouldn't have killed him—although Ollie said he would have.”

“I'm glad you
didn't
say that.” Miguel smiled as he opened the car door for me. “The police didn't suspect you of anything. They were just trying to get an idea on what occurred here. You happened to be part of that.”

I had ten calls from Uncle Saul on my phone. He kept asking where we were and how close we were to Columbia. I suppose we would've already been there without the police detour.

After I talked to him, I turned to Miguel. He was intently staring at the interstate highway again.

“Do you think Detective McSwain was killed because he was investigating what I told him?”

“I think we should leave it alone, Zoe. We don't want to be involved in this any further.”

“I kind of feel responsible, if that's what happened.”

“The police will take care of it. It might not be safe for you to walk around asking questions, in case Alex is involved with what happened. You don't want to end up like Reggie.”

I looked out of the side window, watching the landscape change from big city to rolling hills and small communities. Charlotte was a nice place, although my memory of it might be colored by the two deaths that had just occurred there.

I had a lot of questions that Miguel didn't want me to ask. I was a little afraid to ask them, too.

Not only because someone might kill me, but with Alex involved, I could be kicked out of the race.

I was happy to see the signs for Columbia. I hadn't exactly been up for initiating another conversation like the one we'd had before as we were leaving Charlotte. I was worried about Reggie and Alex, and Detective McSwain. The food truck race had suddenly become even more stressful.

Columbia was a clean city, smaller than Charlotte. It was also warmer and more humid. I had the GPS coordinates in my phone for the hotel we were staying at. Miguel's Mercedes was a little too old to have GPS built in, even though it was in immaculate condition.

“Pull off on this exit,” I told him. “It looks like the hotel is close to downtown this time.” In Charlotte, the hotel had been outside the city.

“What are you doing about Crème Brûlée tonight?” he asked.

He was asking because I'd had to sneak my cat into the hotel last night. The hotel wasn't pet friendly. I'd already looked up the hotel in Columbia. It wasn't pet friendly, either.

I had to leave the air-conditioning on in the food truck all night anyway, but I didn't want Crème Brûlée to get scared and start howling.

“I'm sneaking him in with me again, I guess,” I said.

He shrugged. “Where's the next turn?”

I glanced at my phone. “One mile on the right. We should see the signs for the hotel from the road.”

Maybe he was making conversation by asking about Crème Brûlée. Maybe he was looking for a way to break the silence between us without bringing up the police problem in Charlotte. Either way, I was happy to oblige.

I told him about the biscuit bowl fillings we were working on for tomorrow, and the plans I had to remodel my restaurant at home, if I won the prize money.

“You really love making food, don't you?” A smile tugged at his lips.

“I do. Food makes people happy. They go out and have a good meal and leave their problems behind them for a while. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“No.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. “There isn't.”

We found the multistory hotel easily. Uncle Saul and Ollie were waiting in the bar on the ground floor. Miguel and I checked in at the front desk and then joined them.

I was reluctant to bring up what had kept me in Charlotte, but I knew they were going to find out anyway. I explained the whole thing when we sat down.

Miguel sipped his Corona and didn't say a word.

Ollie was full of questions. “So they think Reggie was murdered and this cop was killed because you asked him to look into the conversation you heard between Alex and some mystery guy who might have killed him?”

“When are you gonna learn to keep your pretty mouth
shut
, Zoe?” Uncle Saul shook his head. “You didn't get that from your daddy's side of the family, I can tell you that. The Chases know how to keep secrets.”

Miguel saluted him with his bottle.

I was conscious of the fact that there were dozens of people from the food truck race in the bar and felt exposed by the conversation. “I don't want to be the next victim, do you?”

“What about Alex?” Ollie said loud enough to turn heads.

“
Shh!
” I reminded him. “We don't know what's going on with that yet. Let's not rock the boat until we're ready to swim.”

“Right.” Ollie scrutinized the other patrons of the bar. “The killer could be right in here with us.”

“Maybe.” I glanced around. “But why would anyone want to kill Reggie? He wasn't a great threat as a competitor. He was by himself, unlikely to win the race. It doesn't make sense. Why not kill someone from Grinch's Ganache or Our Daily Bread?”

Uncle Saul made a disbelieving face. “You think those two are the front-runners, Zoe?”

“I think so. What can't you do with bread? Who doesn't love cupcakes? It won't matter what the challenge is; bread or cupcakes will win every time. Besides, the bread truck people are
ministers
. Everyone loves ministers.”

“What about Stick It Here?” Ollie said. “Everyone loves pot stickers.”

“Not so much, maybe,” Uncle Saul observed. “And they weren't very creative with the last challenge.”

Miguel called for another Corona. Ollie and Uncle Saul both had their drinks refreshed.

I decided I only needed one margarita. I got the keys from my uncle to go out and check on Crème Brûlée. I'd have to decide if it was late enough to try and sneak him inside.

There was an underground lot where all the food trucks were parked. It was easy to tell that the hotel had been chosen because there was plenty of room in the parking area. The trucks had to be plugged in and air-conditioned to keep the food fresh.

The Biscuit Bowl's twirling ceramic biscuit wouldn't have fit inside anything less than twenty feet high. There were colorful additions on some of the other food trucks, too, like the giant loaf of bread on Our Daily Bread and the sticks coming out of Stick It Here. Grinch's Ganache had a big cowboy hat on top.