“We probably won’t hear from her until she gets here,” I said. “She’s a big girl. She can find her way here.”
I asked Miguel if I could get the roller skates from his Mercedes. “I might as well see if I can still do this. I’d like to know tonight if I have to withdraw from the challenge.”
“Are you going to practice down here?” He glanced around at the crowded garage.
“No. I think I’ll hit the pavement upstairs once I’ve given my statement.”
Miguel got the skates and waited around with me for one of the police officers.
We talked about all kinds of things—I stayed away from any discussion about Reggie’s death or what had happened to Detective McSwain.
Instead we talked about carnival and taking boats out on Mobile Bay. We both enjoyed eating French pastry and good coffee. He even told me a few things about his legal practice, which was set up in one of the worst parts of town.
“I guess you have to go where the customers are, like I do.” I said. “Ollie told me the two of you met when you got him out of jail. I know I’ll never forget how kind you were when the police thought I’d murdered the taco truck driver.”
“You’re a different case. For one thing, you paid for services. I have a problem collecting from a lot of my clients. I’m thinking about living in my office the way you live in your diner.”
I smiled but pointed out the major difference between us. “You could go back into practice where people pay you. You don’t have to build up a reputation for what you do. Everyone knows you.”
“That may be true.” He watched some of the vendors pulling spoiled meat from their freezers. “But most of my reputation isn’t very good. I don’t know if I could ever do legitimate legal work again after the fiasco of the election. I don’t know if anyone would trust me. And there are so many people who can’t afford legal advice. I think I’m where I need to be—as long as my expenses stay low and I don’t have a life.”
“Well you can always come and eat at my place for free. Consider it a night out.”
“And I can give you free legal advice.” He smiled at me.
I hadn’t asked, and I was dying to know. Now was as good a time as any. “Why did you agree to come with me on the race? I know you have better things to do. Not that I’m complaining. I’m just curious.”
“I thought we could spend some time together away from our normal routines. I didn’t know it would be so crazy, but it’s good to talk, right?”
“It’s very good to talk,” I agreed.
Whee!
One of the many police officers in the garage finally came to take my statement. Under Miguel’s watchful eye, I left out the part about what had happened in Charlotte. I probably would’ve added it on otherwise. I like to tell the whole story.
After the officer had nodded and given me his card, Miguel helped me hide Crème Brûlée’s collapsible litter box and his food. We sneaked those things up to my room, along with the skates. My cat was genuinely glad to see these little pieces of home when I’d set them up.
“Have you sent me the supply list yet?” Miguel asked when I’d closed the bathroom door to give Crème Brûlée some privacy.
I took out my phone and pushed send. “That should be it. Thank you again for doing this. And for waiting with me downstairs. And for helping me with the police.”
“You’re very welcome.”
We stood there awkwardly. My cell phone rang and so did his. We exchanged quick good-byes and he was gone.
I sighed and answered my phone. It was my mother in Mobile. She’d heard about the problems we were having with the race and wanted to check on me.
Wanting to check on me was the story of our relationship. My mother was a high-powered corporate attorney who was running for a judgeship even as we spoke. Her goals in life included driving me crazy and pushing me to be more like her.
Instead, I was more like my dad who wasn’t a slacker but had never had the urgent need for greatness that my mother enjoyed. I looked like him, too—like Uncle Saul. The three of us shared black curly hair, even though my dad cropped his down to nothing so it wouldn’t curl. I guessed it was his way of controlling what he could of his life, especially while he’d been married to my mother.
“So what’s going on? The food truck murder is all over the news. Maybe you should come home before it gets any worse,” my mother suggested.
I could imagine her sitting in her perfectly organized office with her well-toned body and sculpted blond hair. We shared blue eyes, and that was about it. I loved my mother, Anabelle Chase. I just wasn’t like her.
“It’s okay, Mom. It didn’t happen anywhere near me. I’m pretty sure the police were wrong about it, too. I think it was just an accident. They’re making a big deal out of it to get more publicity. You don’t have to worry.”
“Too late. I’m worried. I should send someone down there to take care of you.”
“Uncle Saul is here.”
“Exactly. That’s why you should come home now. Don’t make me come up there and get you.”
My mother had never appreciated Uncle Saul’s free spirit lifestyle. I was sure that was why their relationship was quickly over when they were very young, and she’d made her play for the other Chase brother.
Uncle Saul could’ve run the Bank of Mobile with my father. It had been in their family for more than a century. It was his birthright. Instead, he’d opened a successful restaurant and then left to live in the swamp.
She didn’t understand that he needed to be different. It had only gotten worse when she’d divorced my dad.
“I’ll be home in a few days. Everything will be fine.”
“Zoe, I get your strange need to express yourself with food. But I don’t want you to die doing it.”
“Mom—”
“I’ll send you a plane ticket in your email. Talk to you later. Love you.”
I looked at the phone. My mother’s pretty face still lingered there, even though she’d hung up on me. Crème Brûlée was scratching at the bathroom door for me to let him out.
I took a deep breath and went to grab my bag. I’d brought duct tape to protect the corners of the room, even though his claws were cut short. I didn’t want to take any chances that I would have to pay for damages.
I certainly wasn’t going home until I got kicked out or the race was over. My mother claimed to understand, but I knew she didn’t. Winning this race meant a lot to me—more than a few cut cords or even Reggie’s death.
I was there to win!
NINE
Despite Alex’s promises that we’d be reimbursed for the losses on our food trucks, I went ahead and called my insurance agent. I figured that was why I paid those high premiums every month.
I thought Alex sounded a little sketchy about the whole thing. I didn’t need the money back right away, but I wanted my losses covered at some point. I wasn’t made out of money, even if I won the race.
I was headed down to try out my skates, and when I opened the hotel room door, Delia was reaching for it. We both laughed. We were sharing a room for the night.
“You really did some shopping,” I remarked as she passed me. A young hotel worker brought in several bags and boxes, which he put on the bed.
Delia tipped him well and thanked him for his help.
“I don’t shop all the time. A girl has to have something to wear, especially if she’s going to be on TV.” She sat down on the bed and stretched her long, slender body. “How are things going here?”
I told her about the food truck vandalism. “The Biscuit Bowl is supposed to be repaired by tomorrow. I hope so. I sent Miguel out to buy a couple hundred dollars’ worth of food.”
Delia smiled at me. “How are things going with you and Miguel?”