“It’s easy to spot,” Dante explained to the officers. “There are sticks coming up out of the top with big, fake pieces of meat on them. The truck is white and has a lot of writing on it. You can’t miss it.”
One of the officers glanced at the biscuit on top of my food truck and nodded. “I get it. One of those food truck people. They told us you’d be coming from Columbia this way.”
“That’s right,” Dante agreed. “Can someone call me if you find it out here?”
The officer handed him a business card. “We’ll do our best, sir.”
There was nothing else to do but head for Atlanta. I felt so sorry for Dante even though we were competitors. He was doing so well in the race. It had to be hard to want it so badly only to have someone snatch the victory away.
Not to mention that Dante made his living with his food truck in his hometown, Jackson, Mississippi. Even if he had insurance, which many vendors didn’t, it might be months before he could work again.
Putting that behind us, Uncle Saul and I talked about sweet fillings for tomorrow’s biscuit bowls all the way to the hotel in Atlanta. We decided to make strawberry filling, if we could find some fresh strawberries. We could drizzle white icing over the top of each one. Yum!
Atlanta was so much bigger than Charlotte and Columbia—bigger than Mobile, too. It was like the tall buildings were mountains surrounding us. I wished I had time to wander around the shops and look at kitchen gadgets, but I knew that wouldn’t happen during this trip. Maybe next time.
Traffic was terrible. We were stuck trying to get into the city for an hour. When we finally arrived at the hotel, the sponsors of the race had sent security people to watch the food trucks. No one wanted a repeat of what had happened in Columbia. It was bad press for all of us.
The hotel was nice, and right in the heart of the city. After checking in, Delia and I found out we were sharing a room again. Neither one of us cared.
“I’m going up to take a shower, Zoe,” she said with a yawn and a stretch of her lithe body. “I’ll see you later.”
Dante went to find someone from the race to report what had happened. He was very generous with his thanks for picking him up. He offered us free kebabs when they finally found his food truck.
Miguel took the supply list from me and went to see if he could find everything on it. “What if I can’t find fresh strawberries?”
“Blueberries would do in a pinch,” I told him. “Thanks for doing this.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I really wanted him to kiss me good-bye, but Ollie and Uncle Saul were leering at us. He walked away with the list. I knew there was going to be a lot of ribbing about our budding romance. I could take it. I hoped Miguel could, too.
Ollie, Uncle Saul, and I went to find one of the security guards for the race after that. We talked to him about the extra security they were supposed to give us. The head of the security group was a little vague. He acted as if he couldn’t believe we were questioning him.
“We’ve already been apprised of what happened in Columbia, Miss Chase. We won’t let anything like that happen here.”
We left him setting up his workers around the parking lot. Most of them were yawning and inattentive.
“Anyone have the feeling they aren’t that interested?” Uncle Saul asked.
“I’ll camp out in the Biscuit Bowl,” Ollie volunteered. “No one is gonna cut anything while I’m there.”
“Thanks for offering, but I don’t want you to sleep down here.” I glanced around. The food trucks were all in an underground parking deck again. “The fumes from the cars and trucks could kill you.”
“I’ve been in tougher situations, Zoe. I can handle it.”
“No. That’s why they have security. It will be okay. I’d rather have them steal the Biscuit Bowl than have you hurt, Ollie.”
“Really?” He stared at me as though he found that hard to believe.
“Really.” I kissed his cheek. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He shrugged, and we went for the elevator.
Uncle Saul and Ollie went to locate the room they were sharing. I went to have a margarita in the bar by myself, hoping to have a few moments to organize my thoughts.
I wasn’t on the stool five minutes before Detectives Helms and Marsh joined me. My margarita showed up a few minutes later.
“We heard about the hijacking.” Helms ordered a club soda.
“Let’s move this to a booth.” Without warning, Marsh picked up my margarita and walked over to a secluded booth.
“Hey!” I followed as quickly as possible considering my legs still felt stiff from roller-skating that morning and my knee was beginning to throb again. “Are you two allowed to work in Atlanta, too? Don’t you have to get some kind of special permission?”
We sat down together. Marsh ordered coffee.
“We have special permission, Zoe,” Helms told me.
“What can you tell us about the hijacking?” Marsh quickly scanned the bar.
“Not much. Dante was attacked at a gas station. Someone took his food truck. We saw him on the side of the road and gave him a ride. He told the highway patrol, and we came here.”
I sipped my margarita and wished I’d ordered it from room service.
“Something is going on here,” Marsh said.
“I noticed.” Brilliant! “Have you figured out what it is?”
“We still believe Miguel Alexander is involved in all this,” Helms accused. “Someone is working with him.”
I started to protest and tell them why Miguel had twenty-five thousand dollars in his bank account so they would stop being so suspicious of him. But realized that he hadn’t told me, and I hadn’t asked. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know. I could only guess in the meantime. And if they wanted to know, they should ask him.
“I think there’s a lot of money at stake,” Marsh said. “It’s behind the scenes and not all what we’re seeing up front. Have you got any ideas, Zoe?”
I took a big gulp of my drink to try and ease the pain. It was my own fault. I’d agreed to help them. “I’ll tell you the truth. I’ve got two members of my team who are in love. I have a bad deep fryer that I’m hoping to have replaced by tomorrow morning. That’s about all I can handle right now. If I actually hear or see something important, I’ll let you know.”
“It’s vital that we stay in contact with each other,” Helms said.
Another big gulp finished my delicious margarita. “I understand. But now I need a shower and a nap. You’ll have to excuse me. If anything happens, I have your cell numbers.”
The margarita really helped me get through that. I went back downstairs to get my clothes and Crème Brûlée. Everything seemed fine. There were some food truck vendors cleaning their trucks and a few pulling into the parking lot.
I grabbed my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder, picked up Crème Brûlée, and pulled his blanket over him. I made sure all the doors to the Biscuit Bowl were locked.
I heard the elevator chime and started over to it, but before I could leave the passenger side of the truck, I heard an argument in the RV parked next to mine on the driver’s side.
It was Alex’s RV—again. I couldn’t really understand what the two people were saying. It was something about money and a job someone hadn’t done.
I recognized Alex’s voice. The other voice was too low and raspy. It was probably the same person he’d been talking to on the phone after Reggie was killed.
This couldn’t be good.
I inched around the front of my food truck to see if I could get a glimpse through one of the windows.
What am I doing?
Groaning, and not wanting to be involved, I started back the way I’d come. I stopped short as I heard a shot ring out in the parking deck.