“I asked him to come. He’s an outrider. He gets supplies. Each team is allowed one person with a car for that job.” I didn’t want to go into why Miguel was really there. That was between him and me.
They both nodded as though that meant something sinister.
“What about Alex?” I demanded. “Have you found out anything about the phone call I overheard?”
“We got his phone records, but that was a dead end.” Marsh shrugged. “There’s nothing there we can use.”
“Keep an eye on Miguel,” Helms said. “That’s all we’re asking.”
“It’s for your own good,” Marsh added. “If we’re right, and Alexander was paid by someone to disrupt the race, he’ll keep trying. He may have killed at least once. If so, he won’t hesitate to kill again.”
“And he may have someone working with him, so stay sharp,” Helms said. “We think someone else killed McSwain, but it was definitely part of this whole scheme.”
“That doesn’t sound like Miguel,” I insisted. “I think you should find another suspect. I won’t spy on him for you. You’ll have to find someone else. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
Helms was apologetic. Marsh had more to say on the subject, but I insisted on escorting them both to the door.
When they were gone and the door was locked behind them, I took off my jeans and lay down beside Crème Brûlée in my T-shirt and underwear.
“Can you believe that? They think Miguel killed Reggie and had someone kill Detective McSwain. I suppose he cut the power cords to the food trucks, too. How stupid is that?”
Crème Brûlée rolled on his back and meowed for me to pet his tummy. He slapped at me with his paws.
“Yeah. There is the mystery woman. They’d have to be pretty brazen to meet right here at the hotel if they’d killed people, though, right?”
He hissed and rolled over.
“I know. Miguel is probably seeing that woman. She was really gorgeous, and she’s not his sister. But that doesn’t make him a killer.” I sighed. “I’m going to sleep now. Let’s handle all this in the morning.”
– – – – – – –
I had terrible dreams about singing and roller skating all night. I was glad when the alarm clock finally rang and it was time to get up.
I tied my skates to each other like I used to when I was a kid. I showered and dressed in jeans and a tank top after tying a scarf over my hair. I put the skates across my shoulder and got everything—except my cat—down to the food truck in one trip.
It made me feel better to see all the other food truck owners in the parking deck getting ready for the day. I’d been a little nervous going down there after being the first one to find the vandalism last night.
I’d thought later that it was lucky for me that whoever was responsible for what was going on had only wanted to cut a few power cords instead of killing someone else. Otherwise, I would’ve been a likely candidate.
A likely candidate for Miguel to kill?
Stupid thought. Where did that come from?
I shrugged it off as I stowed away my stuff and went back up to get Crème Brûlée. Delia was getting her things together. She hadn’t slept in her bed at all last night.
Was she with Ollie all night?
Eww.
My mind needed a cleansing cup of coffee after that thought. It was almost as bad as thinking about my parents doing it.
“I’m glad to see you’re back,” I burst out to keep from thinking.
She smiled, her eyes dreamy. “Ollie is quite a man.”
Double eww.
I grabbed my cat. “I have to get back down to the food truck. I’ll see you in a little while.”
So they were together. I was glad for Ollie. I hoped it wouldn’t complicate the rest of the race. Not everyone could couple-up and work together.
Crème Brûlée was already snuggling into the truck seat when I left him. A few of the other food truck drivers called out a greeting to me as I opened the back door to the Biscuit Bowl. I was completely thinking about the day ahead—not so much the roller skating or the singing as the food and how everything would go together. It was a normal thought for me each morning as I set out.
“Zoe?”
I jumped and stifled a small scream. It wasn’t because Miguel had crept up on me, I told myself. It was because I was tense.
“Sorry.” He smiled. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s okay. I’m getting ready to go.”
“Did you get your cat out here already?”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem.”
“Look, about dinner last night—”
I didn’t really want to hear it. I hailed Ollie and Uncle Saul when I saw them. I don’t know what Miguel thought of that, but I was a little irritated with him. I didn’t think he’d killed anyone, but he’d ditched me to go out with the mystery woman.
Was it my imagination or was Ollie a little more peppy than usual?
“Let’s go sell some biscuit bowls,” he said loudly and then eyed me critically. “Is that your idea of sexing up to sell biscuit bowls while you’re singing and skating?”
Of course everyone had to turn and examine what I was wearing.
“This is my idea of what I’m going to wear today,” I retorted. “I’m sure we’ll do fine.”
Delia joined us. She and Miguel stowed the rest of everyone’s gear in the trunk of his car. Nothing else was said about my taste in clothes. I was ready to go out and win the challenge.
I noticed that several of the other teams were smacking hands and doing joint cheers to get themselves going. Maybe we needed to do something like that, too. I thought we’d wait and see how we did that day. Tomorrow we’d be in Atlanta, if we made the cut. If not, there wouldn’t be much to cheer about.
Uncle Saul moved Crème Brûlée into the middle of the seat between us. He rode with me in the Biscuit Bowl. Delia and Ollie rode with Miguel.
It was almost like carnival back home, watching all the big, colorful trucks roll out of the underground parking lot. I turned on the spinning biscuit on top of my truck. I might as well give everyone in Columbia a peek at what they were missing because they didn’t live in Mobile.
There was very little traffic headed to the downtown area at that time of the morning. It was an eerie feeling. I suspected this was why we were setting up so early. The streets were empty where we were directed to park. It was just like the day before in Charlotte. As soon as the food trucks were in place, everyone began jumping out. The race directors got the cool-down tent in place, next to the stage again. As we were getting everything ready for the challenge, we could hear Alex trying out the microphone.
Chef Art poked his head in the kitchen for a moment. “Don’t forget your hats. I don’t want you to win the challenge and not have everyone see my hats on TV.”
“We’ll do it,” I told him.
“Zoe, why aren’t you wearing tight, short shorts? People want to see some skin out there. The tank top is good. Can you pull it down some—show a little cleavage? What are you thinking? Can you change into something a little more indecent before the challenge?”
“I could, but I’m not going to. I own the Biscuit Bowl. I can’t sing, but I can skate. If I fall, I don’t want it to be on bare knees. This is what I’m wearing.”
He shrugged. “Just say you don’t want to win. I’ll understand.”
I looked back to tell him that the kitchen was crowded enough with four of us back there, but he was already gone.
The biscuit dough was ready. I’d already mixed it up, rolled it out, and cut some biscuits. It had to be baked in muffin trays to make the indentation for the filling. Ollie was putting the first tray into the little oven.