Death on Eat Street Page 6

  “Oh, right.” Tommy Lee took out a small ring box. “I want to end all your disbelief, honey. I’m asking you to marry me.”

  He looked so sure of himself sitting with the bulwark that was my parents for support. He opened the box and slid it across the table toward me.

  It was a beautiful engagement ring. Big square diamond in the middle, lots of smaller diamonds around it. Nothing particularly imaginative about it, but it was really big and definitely expensive.

  I closed the box and slid it back toward him. “No, thanks. Try Betty.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” My mother drained another glass of wine.

  “Throw the boy a bone, pumpkin,” my father said.

  “Excuse me. I have to go to the ladies’ room.” That was one sure way out.

  “Do you really have to go or is this just an excuse?” My mother’s blue eyes narrowed to razor slits as she searched my face for the answer.

  “I really have to go, Mom. All this excitement has been too much for me.”

  She threw down her linen napkin (actually my napkin) on the table, got up with a labored sigh, and let me out of the booth.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “I’m old enough to do this by myself, thanks.”

  “You’ll leave before we’re finished with this conversation.” She looked accusingly into my eyes. “That’s not going to happen.”

  I didn’t blink, but I did cross my heart. “I’m only going to the ladies’ room, Mother. I’ll be right back.”

  She sank back down. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

  It was more than enough time. I was out of Wintzell’s in two minutes, and hailing a taxi in three. Lunch was over. I wanted my food truck back. I asked the driver to go to police headquarters.

  No amount of pressure was going to make me get back together with Tommy Lee. It wasn’t only seeing him with Betty last night. It was also the past few months. He’d berated me about my decisions. He’d scoffed at my diner, and my food truck. He’d even refused to eat a biscuit bowl. We were over.

  It was hard enough making decisions about my future without the people closest to me giving me grief every five minutes. I couldn’t get rid of my parents. I knew they’d come around eventually—they always did.

  I knew Mother and Daddy were unhappy about the decision I’d made. They couldn’t be all that surprised.

  I kind of had a history of suddenly standing up for myself. Like that time at Auburn when I refused to write another sexist paper for my sexist civics professor.

  Waiting for things to turn around was fine. I thought of myself as a patient person. Once the football was dropped, I kicked it. It was the same in this case.

  I couldn’t help it. I’d tried to live the life everyone wanted for me. It hadn’t worked. Now I was going to find what did work. Maybe it wouldn’t be food, although that was hard to believe. The only thing I liked better than making good food was eating it.

  First I needed my food truck back. Next, I planned to gear up for Dauphin Street again tomorrow.

  I paid the taxi driver when we reached police headquarters. He wished me well and said he was glad it wasn’t him going in there. I tried to assure him that I had already been cleared of a murder charge. He didn’t seem impressed by that, either.

  Detective Latoure told me it would be at least an hour longer until my food truck was released. “We’re doing the best we can, Zoe. Be fair. We found a dead man inside it. It has to be processed.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll wait.” I sat down in one of the hard wood chairs at the front of the office. They definitely needed some comfortable furniture.

  “Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “I’ll give them another call.”

  “Thank you.”

  I was watching the police drag in people they’d arrested. It was a terrible waste of time since I could have been cooking for tomorrow. I felt like my presence was necessary, though. Detective Latoure couldn’t ignore me if she saw me every time she looked up from her desk. Proximity is important.

  I saw Miguel about to leave the office, and thoughts of baking flew from my mind like four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

  SEVEN

  “Miguel!” I called to him over the constant flow of people.

  “Zoe?” He looked surprised to see me there. “Have you been here waiting the whole time?”

  “No. I just got back from lunch. Did you decide if you can defend Delia?”

  Miguel stopped. “Let’s step outside for a moment so we can talk.”

  I walked out with him. The day seemed suddenly brighter. Where had that blue sky been hiding when I’d been out before?

  Knowing his tragedy made me respect him even more. I wished I could say something about the untimely death of his family. I would’ve liked to give him my condolences, no matter how much after the fact.

  Of course, saying something would mean I’d been gossiping about him. I didn’t want him to think that was going on.

  As we hit the sidewalk outside the building, I noticed two food trucks parked there. There were long lines at Suzette’s Crepes, and at Charlie’s Tuna Shack. I hadn’t realized I could park my food truck here. I made a quick mental note to check out the regulations. Business seemed to be brisk. The area could handle another vendor.

  “You mind if I get something?” Miguel nodded at the food trucks. “I skipped breakfast this morning, too. Would you like anything?”

  “No. That’s fine. I’ll get a table.”

  I hated it, of course. I was jealous of every minute Suzette was selling crepes and Charlie was selling tuna. I begrudged them every dollar they brought in. It was so hard getting my food truck up and going. I hoped later to look back at this and realize it had all been worth it.

  Even though I put on a brave face for my parents, sometimes I was terrified. If I failed, I’d be back working at a bank, or someplace similar, again. And then I’d be afraid to dream.

  I tried not to think about it that way. Once Mobile discovered my biscuit bowls, I was going to be a sensation—and so was my food.

  There was an open bench—no table, but better than nothing. Miguel came back a few minutes later with a big hunk of roasted tuna on his plate, and some sweet tea. He sat down and balanced his plate and drink on his worn briefcase.

  “I’m going to take Delia’s case,” he told me. “I believe her when she says she’s not guilty. I understand Patti’s point of view. She doesn’t really have any viable suspects. Delia’s been intimate with Terry Bannister. They broke up, and there was a fight. That gives her motive. Ex-lovers make the best murder suspects.”

  “If that’s all she has, it should be easy to beat the charge, right?”

  “I don’t know. She was also at the scene. We know Terry wasn’t killed in your food truck, but the ME thinks he was killed behind the shopping center. That gives her opportunity. We’ll know more when the report is finished.”

  “What about me talking with her right before I found him?”

  “That gives us something to work with on Delia’s behalf.”

  “I’ll be glad to testify for her, if that would help.”

  Miguel smiled at me in a strange, kind of quizzical manner as he chewed his tuna.

  “You don’t even really know her, Zoe. Why would you go out on a limb like this for her? She was completely surprised when I told her you’d offered to pay for her defense. She didn’t even know your name. I had to explain that you were the woman with the food truck.”

  “I don’t really see it as going out on a limb. Testifying that she’s a good person isn’t going to hurt me. And I was talking to her at around the time someone had to put Terry in the truck. Besides, I don’t have to know someone well to know about them. Take you, for example.”

  He swallowed his tuna quickly. “Okay. Take me, for example. Am I
a good person?”

  I used his question as an excuse to deeply study his face. The sun showed a few childhood scars at his chin and forehead. He had deep smile lines fanning out from his dreamy eyes. In their dark depths was the soul of an artist.

  “Yes. You are a very good person.” I smiled at him and felt my heart flutter a little. He was so different than Tommy Lee. Not that I should be comparing them, since I wasn’t thinking about dating Miguel. Still . . .

  He laughed outright at that statement. “And you can tell this by looking into my eyes?”

  “No. I have an extra sense about this. I got it from Uncle Saul. He loves food, too. We can tell things about a person by looking at them. Delia is a good person, too.”

  “Any witches or voodoo priestesses in your family tree?”

  “Not that I know of. I suppose it’s possible. I’ll have to ask Uncle Saul. My parents would never discuss something like that, even if they knew about it.”

  He finished eating and drank the rest of his sweet tea. “I guess that’s good enough for me.”

  “So . . . are you?”

  “Am I a good person?” He threw his plate and cup into the trash. “I believe people show themselves with their deeds. In which case, you are a good person, Zoe Chase. I guess we’ll have to know each other a little better for you to know if your assessment of me is correct.”

  I was more than willing to go along with that plan. The sun had warmed the day considerably, and I removed my peach-colored jacket. The white silk top beneath it was pretty and feminine. I thought it showed off my skin . . . and other attributes . . . very nicely. I hoped Miguel would notice.

  “That’s fine.” I tried to keep my tone cool and light. “What do we need to do first for Delia?”

  “She’ll have a bond hearing this afternoon. I don’t think she’ll make bail.”

  “How much do you think it will be?”

  “I’m not sure. Nothing, if a property owner agrees to put up collateral. As long as she doesn’t skip town, the property goes back to the owner after the trial.”

  “Okay. I can take care of that. What about looking for the real killer so we can clear Delia’s name?”

  “That’s Patti’s job. Do you need a lift somewhere?”

  “I’m going to wait for them to finish whatever they’re doing with my food truck. Thanks. You know the police aren’t going to look for anyone else, right? Delia’s a good suspect.”

  “I serve the court, Zoe. I don’t believe the police quit looking because they think they have the killer. Patti will follow through. She’s a good cop.”

  “I suppose you know best. I thought finding the killer would be top of the list, that’s all.”

  “Giving Delia a good defense is top of the list for me. I’ll interview as many people who knew Terry as I can find. People might be willing to testify on Delia’s behalf. I’ll let you know if anything out of the ordinary comes up. Patti will take care of it, if it does.”

  That was much different than I’d expected. I thought we’d be investigating, too. Maybe Miguel had too many expectations of the Mobile Police Department. I was sure they’d do their best, but they were understaffed and underfunded, like all police departments. They’d probably welcome a little help.

  My cell phone rang—it was Detective Latoure. My food truck was being released. All I had to do was go to the impound lot and sign for it.

  “I might need to take you up on that offer of a ride,” I told Miguel. “Do you know where the impound lot is?”

  He knew where it was. We got in his car and drove there. Along the way, we talked about general subjects. He liked Mardi Gras. I liked Mardi Gras. He had his tonsils. I had mine removed when I was six.

  “What made you decide to become a lawyer?” I asked as we followed slowly through some heavy traffic.

  “I was the first person in my family to graduate from college. I wanted to impress people. That’s why I joined a big law firm for a while. It was good money. When I realized that wasn’t what I was looking for, I joined the DA’s office. I wanted to make my mark on the world and put away bad guys.”

  I wanted so badly to ask about the accident that had killed his wife and baby. I looked out the window at the road construction that had slowed our progress. It would be cruel to bring up his loss.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” He spared me a sidelong glance. “It’s okay. Everyone does.”

  “I know you ran for district attorney,” I answered as kindly as I could. “You didn’t win, and left.”

  Maybe everyone asked about his tragedy, but I couldn’t.

  “That’s putting it short and sweet. Thanks.”

  “And you became the champion of the underdogs, like Ollie and me.”

  “I wouldn’t call the only daughter of Ted and Anabelle Chase an underdog. Why didn’t you become a lawyer? I feel sure your mother urged you to.”

  “Well, for my family, I’m an underdog and underachiever, I guess. We always lived in this big house over on Julia Way. I wanted to live in the swamp with my uncle. He has a rustic log cabin that he built himself.”

  “You graduated from Auburn with a degree in business.”

  “Yes, thank God. I barely made it, though. They created the phrase ‘skin of your teeth’ for me.” I glanced at his profile as he drove. “You’ve been checking up on me.”

  “I admit it. I wanted to know all about you because I thought I was going to represent you. My father built houses. He always taught me to study the foundation before building. It makes sense with clients, too.”

  “Then you know why I’m not a lawyer. I could barely stand being at the bank for the last five years. All those unhappy people. I went home every night and watched the food channels. I wanted to make people happy with my cooking.”

  “I take it that wasn’t something your parents had in mind?”

  “No. They’d rather see me married and having babies than anything else—since I’m not a lawyer. The bank was only a stopgap until that could happen. Not now. I’m dedicated to my calling.”

  “Feeding people?”

  “Yes. I like looking at their happy faces as they eat my food. It’s what I was meant to do.”

  We’d reached the impound lot. The guard at the gate knew Miguel and asked for my ID. He pointed out where the food truck was parked.

  I told Miguel he could drop me right where we were. I didn’t want to take up any more of his time. He insisted on driving me to the spot.

  “I hope you have your keys,” he said.

  “Oh yes. Not a problem.” I fished them out of my bag.

  I hadn’t thought to bring a towel or anything to clean the seat in the Biscuit Bowl. Maybe the police crime people had done it. I opened the driver’s door. It wasn’t bloody, but eww.

  “Something wrong?” Miguel asked when I hesitated.

  “No. Everything’s fine. I have some spray cleaner and paper towels in the back. I’m going to clean up a little. There was a dead man in here recently.”

  Miguel waited. He’d wanted to help, but I insisted I could do it alone. Even when the seat had been cleaned, I was reluctant to get behind the wheel. I couldn’t get the image of Taco Terry out of my mind. I didn’t know what I was going to do. My life was invested in the truck. I had to get back on the road with it.

  “Still thinking about the dead man?”

  Miguel’s voice behind me made me jump.

  “Yes. I’m afraid so.” I felt a little foolish. “Once I get back in there, I’m sure everything will be fine. It’s just convincing myself that he isn’t there anymore.”

  “I have an idea. Give me the keys.”

  I handed them to him, the little ceramic biscuit dangling at the end. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making a new memory for you. Get in. We’ll drive around th
e impound lot. That way, I’ll be the last person you remember sitting here.”

  It was so sweet that I almost started crying. I knew he was a good man. Who else would even think of suggesting such a thing?

  I got in on the passenger side. Miguel started the food truck. The police had backed it into the spot so it was easy to pull out. I did similar parking wherever possible.

  “Thanks so much for doing this.” I smiled at him, hoping my eyes weren’t glistening with tears. If he’d remarked on it, I would’ve told him I had allergies.

  “No problem. It’s not easy getting over your first dead body.”

  “You’ve seen a lot of them?”

  “I’ve seen my share.”

  “Not because you’re a lawyer. My mother would never leave the house again if she’d ever seen a dead body that wasn’t at a funeral.”

  He laughed. “It comes with the territory when you’re an assistant DA. It never gets any better. You have to develop a tough skin for it, like cops do.”

  He didn’t look very tough. I wondered what he thought of me.

  I admit that I took advantage of him and had him drive the food truck around the impound lot a few times before I took over. When I finally got behind the wheel again, Miguel was right; all I could see was him driving me around, trying to help me feel better.

  “I think I have it. Thanks again.” On impulse (it was either this or hugging him) I said, “I want to cook for you. Dinner would be nice. I have to work tomorrow. What about tonight?”

  It was about as forward as I had ever been with a man I didn’t know well. Since Tommy Lee had been my only boyfriend since college, I wasn’t even sure I was saying it right. I winced, waiting for his response. It was too late to develop that tough skin Miguel had talked about in case he said no.

  “I’d love to. At the diner?”

  “Absolutely. Seven P.M. Don’t dress up. I can’t guarantee that the counter stools won’t ruin good clothes.”

  “Great. See you then.”

  I drove the food truck back to the diner with a light heart and a smile on my face that wouldn’t quit. I even turned on the spinning biscuit on top of the Biscuit Bowl and enjoyed the funny looks I got from people as I passed.