It struck me as soon as I opened the door that the inside of my food truck was too hot and completely dark. There were usually little colored lights on the appliances and a clock on the microwave. Nothing was on.
I found Crème Brûlée. He was a little warm with his heavy coat, but he seemed fine. I checked the circuit breakers in the truck. Everything seemed okay, but the power wasn’t working.
Holding my cat because I was afraid he might make a slow jog for the door, I checked the outside plug. That was the problem.
Someone had deliberately not only cut my power cord but chopped it into pieces.
EIGHT
I got on the phone right away with Uncle Saul. He, Ollie, and Miguel ran down to the garage after snagging the hotel security man.
I kept Crème Brûlée hidden while the security man looked at everything. If the hotel found out I was sneaking my cat inside, they might kick us all out.
“Yep.” Sid, the security man and part-time parking attendant, verified the results. “Somebody cut up your cord all right.”
By this time, other food truck vendors were parking their trucks. Other vendors who were already checked in heard what was going on. They raced down to make sure their trucks weren’t damaged. The space was suddenly filled with food truck teams.
Everyone checked their trucks. The new arrivals were safe. The damage had been done before they’d arrived. Someone called the police, and the entire garage erupted in chaos.
I took advantage of what was going on and sneaked Crème Brûlée up to the hotel room in a large tote bag. I wasn’t able to bring his food and litter box. That worried me some. I decided to put him in the glass shower stall with some water.
“You’re going to be fine,” I told him as he meowed at me. “At least you’ll be cool. Don’t make too much noise or we’ll both be sleeping in Miguel’s car tonight. And you know how he’ll feel about that.”
Actually, Miguel had never really had a problem with my cat riding in his car. But Crème Brûlée didn’t know that. Maybe it would encourage him not to start howling.
I went back to the garage. It was really a mess by then. There were a dozen police officers walking around, searching everything, and taking pictures. The garage was cordoned off with crime scene tape.
The food truck vendors were upset. Alex was there with the sponsors and producers. The garage wasn’t meant to hold that much angst.
“What am I supposed to do about my fish?” Fred Bunn asked whoever would listen. He was the owner of Fred’s Fish Tacos. He was a short man, barely five feet, with crazy, curly red hair and millions of freckles.
I liked him just for his curly hair. It made me go to him and sympathize. Curly hair attracts curly hair.
“I know. I’ve lost a few things, too. Will we be compensated for our loss?” There wasn’t enough milk, butter, or eggs left over in the mini fridge for the next challenge, and what had been left from Charlotte was spoiled.
We were lucky we hadn’t shopped yet as Miguel had wanted to. I’d preferred to head straight to Columbia and shop there after being detained so long in Charlotte.
Fred looked at me like I was crazy and turned away to complain to someone else. It seemed as though my sympathy wasn’t what he was looking for.
I found Miguel, Ollie, and Uncle Saul at the Biscuit Bowl. “Have you heard anything yet?”
“They’re saying it was vandalism because the hotel announced that vendors from the race were staying here tonight to get publicity.” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t know what they were expecting.”
“I’m not buying that explanation,” Ollie said. “Maybe if Reggie weren’t dead, I might see it their way. Now I’m thinking someone is trying to sabotage the race.”
“For what purpose?” Uncle Saul asked him. “They don’t like food trucks? You’re being paranoid, Ollie.”
“It seems more likely that one of the vendors did this to cut out the competition,” Miguel suggested. “Anyway, the police said to stay with our food trucks and they would take our statements.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I told them. “You can go upstairs and get some rest for tomorrow.”
“If there is a tomorrow,” Ollie grumbled.
“I’m not leaving you alone down here,” Uncle Saul said. “I don’t like the looks of this, Zoe. Who knows what will happen next?”
Uncle Saul tended to be a little paranoid, too.
Alex came around to our side of the Biscuit Bowl with a big grin on his attractive face. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Biscuit Bowl team. We’ll pick up the tab for your damages and get these cords fixed before tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I tried not to show my dubious feelings toward him. He might not be guilty of anything.
“There’s only one thing,” Alex finally said. “I can get these cords repaired tonight—won’t cost you a cent. I can’t do the same with reimbursing you for your loss on supplies. If you’ll send me an itemized list of what you lost, and how much you paid for it, I can get a check cut for you by the end of the week. Best I can do.”
Bobbie Shields, wearing another colorful Hawaiian dress, came around to complain to him. “You know, I looked at my losses. I already shopped. I can’t replace what I need to start again tomorrow without a check from you tonight. I’m not made of money.”
Alex looked uncomfortable. “I wish I could do something more, but this is it. You might be able to get a payday loan or some such in the city.”
Dante Eldridge, the owner of Stick It Here, also joined us. He was a large black man who was covered in tattoos. He wore a red handkerchief around his closely cropped hair. His tight red tank top showed the power and size of his chest and arms.
“Don’t give me that poor story, Pardini. Get some money from those rich sponsors over there. Give them a check at the end of the week. The rest of us can barely afford to be here. We can’t afford to lose all our food.”
Alex was definitely on the defensive. “Good idea! Why don’t you ask each of your sponsors for money? They could get you a check. No problem.”
Dante stepped closer to him, dwarfing Alex. “I am my sponsor, fool. Get me some money to replace what was lost, or your luxury ride might be too damaged to drive tomorrow.”
Several other vendors had stepped closer to hear the conversation. They agreed loudly and adamantly with Dante and Bobbie.
It was almost amusing watching Alex gauge the mood and then do a quick cut and run to his RV. I could imagine that he locked himself in, too.
“Now what are we supposed to do?” Dante was furious. “There’s not gonna be much of a race if there’s no money.”
Reverend Jablonski came toward the group with his arms outstretched. It seemed to be a popular pose.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I, and my fellow team members, would like to help you in your hour of need. We have sufficient funds to give each of you a stake, so to speak, to begin your sales tomorrow. We incurred no losses—flour and water don’t go bad. We would enjoy helping you.”
I was surprised and pleased by the offer from the members of Our Daily Bread food truck. It was truly inspiring.
I felt sure we’d be fine in the Biscuit Bowl. Our losses weren’t that severe. Repairing the electric cord was good for us. We could settle up with Alex later.
Bobbie, Fred, and Dante all took loans from Reverend Jablonski. It made the vandalism a lot easier to bear. Maybe Alex would even be able to come out of his RV.
“I’m going back upstairs for another drink while we’re waiting for the miracle-working electrician who’s going to get all these rigs repaired tonight.” Uncle Saul slapped Ollie on the back. “Are you coming?”
“Sure. Anybody hear from Delia yet?”