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  MORE PRAISE FOR

  DEATH ON EAT STREET

  “Here’s a recipe for success: Start with a likeable, engaging sleuth determined to achieve her dream, despite everyone’s objections, and add the complications of murder and kidnapping. Then stir in a large dose of family drama, a dishy lawyer, a difficult would-be fiancé, and lots of humor. Season with murder and kidnapping, then garnish with those sweet and savory biscuit bowls, and oh my, what a delicious mystery. Fast, fun, and so foodworthy!”

  —Victoria Abbott, author of the Book Collector Mysteries

  “Readers are treated to an eclectic cast of characters and a great new cozy heroine in Zoe Chase. J. J. Cook shows readers how it’s done by giving them a well-thought-out mystery that will have them on the edge of their seats . . . A great new book.”

  —Debbie’s Book Bag

  “Filled with colorful characters . . . I desperately wanted to try one of Zoe’s deep-fried biscuit bowls! The descriptions of the various sweet and savory fillings had my mouth watering. This is a fantastic new culinary cozy series with a feisty, determined protagonist who I look forward to watching make her dreams come true.”

  —Melissa’s Mochas, Mysteries & Meows

  “Witty, surprising, and sweet . . . I highly recommend this delightful cozy to anyone who enjoys cooking, mystery, and a touch of romance and whimsy . . . I, for one, am looking forward to the next book in the series. Zoe and Crème Brûlée are a hit.”

  —Open Book Society

  “Truly wonderful characters . . . [A] fantastic mystery . . . J. J. Cook has cooked up a real winner . . . I could not put it down.”

  —Escape with Dollycas in a Good Book

  “Lighthearted and funny . . . filled with delightfully eccentric and lovable characters . . . Sure to please fans who relish mysteries filled with recipes, pets, humor, and romance.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  PRAISE FOR THE NATIONAL BESTSELLING SWEET PEPPER FIRE BRIGADE MYSTERIES

  PLAYING WITH FIRE

  “Engrossing . . . J. J. Cook is a master at cliffhangers.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “I love the series and look forward to the next book. While I wait, I may just try a recipe or two from the back of the book.”

  —MyShelf.com

  “The characters are a lot of fun [and] the town is a place you’d like to visit.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  THAT OLD FLAME OF MINE

  “Dark family secrets, a delicious mystery—and a ghost! What reader could ask for more?”

  —Casey Daniels, author of the Pepper Martin Mysteries

  “This book was so difficult for me to put down, and even more difficult for me to have it end. I could have continued reading this series forever.”

  —Cozy Mystery Reviews

  “A fascinating, successful mystery. It’s hard to go wrong with an intriguing mystery involving a ghost, a strong female character in a role normally reserved for men, and a spark of romance. J. J. Cook is kindling a sizzling good mystery series.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by J. J. Cook

  Sweet Pepper Fire Brigade Mysteries

  THAT OLD FLAME OF MINE

  PLAYING WITH FIRE

  IN HOT WATER

  Biscuit Bowl Food Truck Mysteries

  DEATH ON EAT STREET

  FRY ANOTHER DAY

  Specials

  HERO’S JOURNEY

  GATOR BOWL

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  FRY ANOTHER DAY

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the authors

  Copyright © 2015 by Joyce Lavene and Jim Lavene.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-60015-3

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2015

  Cover illustration by Griesbach and Martucci.

  Cover design by Jason Gill.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  For foodies everywhere!

  CONTENTS

  Praise for Titles by J. J. Cook

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by J. J. Cook

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Recipes

  ONE

  “Can you really make a biscuit out of sweet potatoes, Zoe?” Delia asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  It was four A.M. on the downtown streets of Charlotte, North Carolina. It was dark and quiet in the city. A line of food trucks with names like Stick It Here, Meggie’s Mushrooms, and my food truck—the Biscuit Bowl—were in place as though they were waiting for the lunch crowd.

  Only extra early.

/>   It was the first morning of the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race. Ten food trucks from across the Southeast United States were competing for a fifty-thousand-dollar grand prize. Even if I didn’t win the cash, the race was being shown on national food networks, which would be good publicity for the Biscuit Bowl.

  How great was that?

  The organizers had made it clear the day before the race started that there would be plenty of challenges, and even a few tricks, along the five stops beginning in Charlotte and ending in my hometown of Mobile, Alabama.

  They weren’t kidding.

  We’d spent the night in Charlotte to be up early the first morning. Lucky for me, the race sponsors were footing the bill for the hotel and food. There was big money involved from businesses across the South, and for the charities that would receive donations from the race. The promotion was getting lots of media attention. I was happy to be part of it.

  I hadn’t been sure if my old Airstream RV, which had been converted to a food truck, was up for the long drive, but it came through like a champ. Lucky I had Uncle Saul with me to work on it as needed.

  The challenge for today had been announced the night before once all the food truck teams were in Charlotte. We were starting off with each food truck making their specialty item with sweet potatoes replacing one ingredient. Once the item was made, we had to sell at least one hundred of them in the heart of the city, and get twenty people to say they were delicious.

  I hoped my team was ready.

  “Yeah, you can make ’em,” Ollie said. “But what are they gonna taste like?”

  “They’re going to be great!” I enthused to make up for my team’s lack of excitement. “You’ll see. Get the flour.”

  My specialty was the biscuit bowl. A delicious, large biscuit made with an indentation in the middle, and deep-fried. My truck was named for it. My hopes and dreams were pinned on it.

  I made my biscuit bowls fresh every day, filling the centers with either sweet or savory foods. It could be anything from chili to spicy apples. I tried to mix it up as much as possible.

  Someday, I hoped to own a restaurant that brought people in from all over the world. I had the restaurant—well, a diner—but it needed about fifty thousand dollars’ worth of renovation to bring it up to code.

  That’s why I’d started my food truck business. It was also a good reason to enter the food truck race.

  “So you’re gonna use the sweet potatoes with the flour, egg, and milk to make the biscuits?” Uncle Saul was struggling to understand what he’d come to call food truck madness.

  His frequent rant was: I owned a restaurant for years in Mobile. I had a standard menu. Customers ordered from it. I never went through crazy changes and looked for new kinds of food to make each day.

  I knew that to keep food truck customers—my customers—coming back each day, I had to have a good mix of old and new foods. If I didn’t, they’d go somewhere else. There was a big jump in competition between when Uncle Saul had his restaurant and now.

  “That’s right.” I pushed a curl out of my face. It had escaped the scarf I’d used to keep my curly black hair down. “My problem isn’t using the sweet potatoes. It’s baking one hundred biscuit bowls in this little oven.”

  Normally, I would’ve baked my biscuits at home in the diner where I lived. I tried not to spread that information around too much. It wasn’t really legal to live in the diner. But I had to give up my apartment to afford the other payments.

  You have to do what you have to do to find your dream, right?

  I got up five mornings every week and made biscuits. I waited to deep-fry them in the Biscuit Bowl truck as I received orders for them. That way, they were as fresh as they could be when my customers ate them.

  It wasn’t an easy process, but it had worked for me. I was on the radar now. That meant a few food truck websites monitored where my truck was located each day, and a local radio station announced what my menu was. I had fans who followed me—at least thirty of them, by my last count.

  For the race, however, the judges required that everything had to be done in the food truck. I had to purchase a small camping oven for the task. We’d tried it out a few times at home. It had worked fine—as long as there were no other electric appliances running in the truck.

  You see my dilemma.

  “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to bake so many biscuits,” I explained. “It takes twenty minutes to warm up the deep fryer. We only have two hours before we start selling.”

  “It’s gonna be fine.” Uncle Saul grinned. His wild, curly black hair was like mine, but streaked with gray. He lived with an albino alligator named Alabaster in the swamp outside Mobile in a log cabin he’d built. He seemed to like it that way.

  “That’s why I brought you along.” I mixed the orange biscuit dough. “You’re the best cheerleader I have. And I appreciate you offering to leave the swamp for a few days. I know you hate being away.”

  He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I’d pretty much do anything for you, Zoe girl. Leaving Alabaster isn’t easy, since she likes to sneak into the neighbor’s chicken coop for a few free snacks. But I think Bonnie will keep a good eye on her.”

  “How’s it going with Bonnie?” I asked about the wildlife officer who was sweet on him.

  He grinned. “Don’t worry about my personal affairs. I think you’ve got enough of your own to mind!”

  “What about me?” Ollie towered above us in the food truck. He was a big man, an ex-marine, six-foot-six with a skull tattoo on the back of his bald head and neck. “Don’t I count as a cheerleader? I think I’m always cheerful.”

  “Cheerful as a rock.” Delia laughed at him. “If I had to get up every morning with you as my alarm clock, Ollie, I’d probably go jump in Mobile Bay.”

  Delia Vann had lost her job as a cocktail waitress in a sleazy dive back home. She’d been working with me in the food truck ever since. Not a big step up, but at least I respected and envied her.

  She was as beautiful as any model or actress you see on TV—tall and thin, long legs, and gorgeous hair. I was short and on the plump side. Too much good food, I guess. It was hard not to taste when I cooked.

  Ollie frowned. He had a secret crush on Delia and was trying to work out the details. The movement affected his whole face from forehead to chin. “I don’t know why you’d say that. I work well with others and maintain my cool. What more is there?”

  I saw him ogling Delia’s long legs, now in tiny white shorts. Her cocoa-colored skin was flawless. The summer had put highlights into her long, dark hair.

  Delia also had a way of handling things—mostly men—that I admired. She was so confident and poised. I was like Ollie—still trying to figure out the opposite sex.

  I thought I knew what there was to know about relationships until I broke up with my boyfriend. I’d thought Tommy Lee and I were made for each other. Then I found out he was seeing someone else. It had dented my confidence a lot. If I couldn’t figure out Tommy Lee, who could I figure out?

  “There’s a lot more to life, Ollie.” Delia smiled as she took the tray out of the small oven for me. “Sometimes I think customers run away because they’re scared when they see you.”

  I knew Ollie might be big and tough-looking, but he had a soft heart. Delia’s words had to hurt. I felt bad for him.

  Ollie had been homeless and living at the shelter a few doors down from the diner when I’d bought it. He’d led me to the diner accidentally after helping me and Uncle Saul fix up the Biscuit Bowl.

  We’d clicked right away, and he’d stood faithfully by me after I got started. He was still homeless and living at the shelter. He seemed to like it that way.

  I thought that could be a drawback for him with Delia. She knew a few wealthy men from the cocktail lounge and frequently dated them. I knew she didn’t want to work in my
food truck and sleep on a cot in the diner the rest of her life. I didn’t blame her.

  I had to keep everyone working together for the next five days while we almost lived together during the race. I couldn’t let Delia hurt Ollie in case they had a future together. I had to keep Uncle Saul from becoming too depressed about the absurdity of the food truck world.

  Hey! I was born for this. I was going to win that fifty thousand dollars—or die trying. The back door to the food truck opened. It was my sometimes attorney, Miguel Alexander. He was taller than me, but that wasn’t hard since I was only five-foot-two and three-quarters. He was darkly handsome, a little sad, and had a wonderful, sexy voice that I could listen to all night.

  I’d somehow managed to talk him into coming along for the race. I wasn’t sure exactly why he’d agreed to be there. He’d helped me out of a jam once when I was getting started with my business. I still saw him from time to time. But food trucks really weren’t his thing.

  I hoped he was there for the same reason that I’d asked him to come—that there was something more between us. He could be aloof at times, and I didn’t really know him well. He was older, worldlier than me. I knew he’d had personal problems in the past.

  None of those things would have bothered me if I hadn’t been already smarting from my boyfriend’s betrayal. Sometimes I knew Miguel and I were meant to be together. Some days I thought the only thing I knew was biscuits.

  But I’d been patient and cool. I was ready for the next step in our relationship—a real date. Just the two of us. Someplace nice.

  “How’s it going in here?” Miguel asked. “Alex Pardini, the host of the food truck show, is interviewing at the truck back from here. He should be by anytime now.”

  “It would be better if they’d given us bacon to work with instead of sweet potatoes.” Uncle Saul scowled as he monitored the biscuits that were in the little oven.

  “You think you’ve got it bad, Pizza Papa has to use them for topping.” Miguel chuckled. “The Dog House either has to put sweet potatoes in the buns instead of sausages—or he has to put the sausages into the sweet potatoes.”