Except for frying up the biscuit bowls, we were ready.
Chef Art joined us, taking my arm as we walked across the street to see what was going on. “What’s this I hear about the police arresting Miguel?”
“Not arresting,” I replied tersely. “They’re only questioning him.”
“Still,” he mused, “it won’t look good for something like this to get around.”
“He’s not guilty of doing anything wrong—except maybe trusting an old friend he shouldn’t have trusted.”
He patted my hand as he drew it through the crook of his arm. He smelled like lilac water and bacon. “All I’m saying is that appearances are everything. The media hasn’t said anything about this yet. They’re still too busy talking about the murders, and asking if there’s a curse on the food truck race.”
I laughed as we approached the stage, where Patrick Ferris was getting his hair and sound checked. “Well, there you go. I think our reputation is safe.”
“Unless you win the race, Zoe. Then they’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks for having a killer on your team.”
I stepped away from him and stared hard at his friendly, famous face. “I’m not abandoning Miguel. I also have a homeless man, a waitress, and a man who lives with alligators in the swamp on my team. There will always be something if you want to find it.”
He shrugged and peered up at the stage as he leaned on his cane.
“Do you want to withdraw your sponsorship?” I asked.
“No.” He glanced back at me. “I still think you can win this. What happens to Miguel won’t hurt me. It could make or break what happens for you from all of this. Will you be famous, or infamous?”
Our conversation was cut off by Patrick finally finishing his sound check. The cameras were on, and the producers’ assistants urged all of us to applaud and cheer.
“Good morning, foodies!” Patrick’s welcome was as bright and cheerful as if we weren’t all standing in the middle of a dark street while most people were asleep. “Welcome to Hotlanta, and our third day of the Sweet Magnolia Food Truck Race. Just to remind everyone of our standings, can we have the big board out here?”
There was some problem finding the big board. Apparently no one had planned on using it first thing and it had been left in one of the production trucks. It took a few minutes to locate and set it up. The computer tech who’d programmed it was still asleep. He came running out of one of the RVs still in his pajamas.
The cameras stopped until the electronic board was set up. They started up again as the board flashed the names of the food trucks that were still left in the race.
Patrick had disappeared for the time that it took to locate the board and set it up. He bounded back on the stage a second before he needed to be on camera.
“So, we still have Our Daily Bread in the lead with points,” he read from the board.
“Points?” Ollie whispered loudly. “Who said anything about points? I thought it was last food truck standing that won.”
“Yeah,” Bobbie Shields echoed him. “What do we get points for?”
The cameras stopped rolling again and the point system was explained again by the producers of the race.
“I don’t like changing the rules halfway through the race,” Antonio from Pizza Papa said.
“The rules are still the same as they were,” I said. “They just didn’t call it points last time. Nothing has really changed.”
Bobbie muttered under her breath, but everyone else seemed to get it. The cameras came back on again, and Patrick took his spot.
“Okay. Our Daily Bread is on top. Biscuit Bowl is number two. Shut Up and Eat is number three. Chooey’s Sooey is number four. Grinch’s Ganache is number five. Pizza Papa is number six.” He applauded and whooped for everyone.
The assistants on the sidelines did their best to try and get some love from the vendors. Everyone was tired, cranky, and on edge—it wasn’t easy getting them to applaud.
Patrick laughed. “I know all of you have your challenges ready for today. Don’t forget that your main menu item has to be served upside down. You have to simultaneously face the second challenge, too. You have to sell one hundred dollars in product, and your customers have to pay in change.”
“We’ve got that,” Daryl from Grinch’s Ganache said. “Is that it?”
“I’m glad you asked. As a matter of fact, we’ve come up with a surprise challenge that will net the winner an additional one thousand dollars.”
Everyone wanted to hear that.
“What do we have to do?” Antonio asked.
“I’m glad you asked!” Patrick pointed and winked. “It’s another taste challenge! The first person to entice a customer to come here and be on camera with a short review of their food wins one thousand dollars. Simple, right? Sound good?”
Everyone in the group said it did. We were all ready to go back and get started.
The assistants started shouting and whooping, encouraging us to do the same. The crowd got louder, and Patrick began applauding. The whole thing looked good—for TV, anyway.
“All right, you crazy foodies! Go out and win those challenges!”
“Good luck, Zoe,” Chef Art said as the morning ritual ended. “I hope you have a plan.”
“I always have a plan. See you after.”
– – – – – – –
We’d decided that Delia would go out and sell the biscuit bowls again this time around. She’d put on her tight white shorts and white stiletto heels with a bright red tank top that left very little to the imagination. She freed her hair from the ponytail and swung it around her shoulders.
“You look awesome,” I whispered. “If you can’t sell upside-down biscuit bowls, no one can.”
She smiled at me. “You underrate yourself, Zoe. You’re younger, prettier, and smarter. I’m sure you’d do as well out there on the street.”
I impulsively hugged her. Her sweet perfume clung to me even after I’d let her go. “Thanks. But I’m better in the kitchen, and I don’t mind a bit.”
Uncle Saul was getting ready for the challenge inside the Biscuit Bowl. Ollie would be taking food to Delia again.
“Okay. I think we’re ready,” I called to Ollie who was also taking the change bag. “Let’s go.”
I stepped outside the Biscuit Bowl as they were leaving. It was still dark even though it was six A.M. There was a chill in the air. Fog swirled along the ground and in the taller building towers. I wished there were a cash prize for selling soggy biscuit bowls.
“Feels like rain.” Uncle Saul sniffed the air as he came out of the kitchen. “I can feel it in my old bones.”
“I wish you could feel what everyone else is doing to get around this challenge.” I watched Bobbie Shields walk by with her pretty daughter and wondered what they had in mind.
I didn’t have to wonder what the other teams were going to do for long. There was a spotlight feature with Daryl and Sarah Barbee from Grinch’s Ganache right outside our food truck. Daryl was clear on his plan.
“So what’s your plan for making it through this challenge?” Patrick Ferris asked them.
“My plan is to sell all of our delicious red velvet cupcakes with real sour cream frosting for a quarter.” Daryl smiled into the camera.
The big cowboy hat was off for once so I could see the rest of his face. He had a big nose and small eyes that looked like raisins in his leathery face.
Patrick laughed. “That’s gonna take a lot of cupcake sales to make a hundred dollars, isn’t it?”
Daryl’s smile quickly turned to a frown. “I suppose so.”
Sarah added, “But this way we don’t have to worry about people having much change in their pockets. It was my idea.”
It was one of the few times I’d heard her speak.
“Well, good luck to you. We’ll see what happens when the challenge is over.”