“You all are on track to win this one, Zoe,” Chef Art said. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m glad they’re gone.” Uncle Saul took a tray of biscuits out of the oven. “And this bikini is uncomfortable. How do women wear them?”
I laughed. “You should try high heels.”
“No, thanks.”
Ollie came back again in less than fifteen minutes. It was light outside now, and he said the crowds were thinning. “It might slow down. I hope it slows down. I feel like a piece of meat out there. I’m going to have bruises from people pinching me.”
He was gone before Uncle Saul, Miguel, and I burst out laughing.
“They might have to move out of the crowd and hit the downtown traffic,” I said. “I was hoping we could sell them all right away.”
“We’ll do better than Our Daily Bread,” Uncle Saul said.
“I hope so. They’re the ones to beat.”
Ollie came back for the last two trays that made our two hundred dollars in sales. “Can we stop now?”
“Keep going until we run out of food,” I said. “I’ll go report that we made our goal.”
“We’re not going to go too much further,” Uncle Saul remarked. “I’ve only got enough gumbo for a few more bowls, and there’s only about that much left in berries and whipped cream.”
“Okay. Let’s do what we’ve got.” I took the last tray of biscuits out of the little oven and set them aside. “I’m going over to make sure they know that we won the challenge.”
Ollie came back for the last tray as I was leaving. I’d covered my bikini again and removed my chef’s hat. I walked quickly from the food truck to the cool-down tent, holding the money close to me.
But I was too late. Sales had been very good for everyone. Shut Up and Eat had finished at the same time as Stick It Here. One of the assistants marked down when I got there. Grinch’s Ganache came in after me.
I hoped the “tag” would help us out, and the fact that we’d worn our bikinis. I went back to the Biscuit Bowl to find out what the decision would be.
I explained to everyone about where we were with the challenge. Ollie threw down his chef’s hat and stepped on it before stalking off. Delia went after him.
Uncle Saul and I started cleaning up. It was too hot to wear the cover-up with the bikini. I took it off and worked.
“Zoe, you look mighty fine in that bikini.” Uncle Saul nodded to Miguel. “Don’t she?”
“I think she looks great.”
“Thanks, but it’s hard to be a business owner in a bikini.” I smiled at them both. “Not that I don’t appreciate the compliments.”
“I’m just saying.” Uncle Saul maneuvered his gumbo pot into the tiny sink.
He winked at me when Miguel couldn’t see. I knew he was trying to help me. I thought I was doing okay, finally. Miguel and I seemed to be on the right wavelength.
Ollie and Delia came back to the Biscuit Bowl, and we applauded their efforts.
“I think everyone’s done,” Delia said. “It looks like they’re all headed for the cool-down tent.”
“I’m glad we’re headed home today,” Ollie said, pulling his shirt over the bikini.
I checked on Crème Brûlée, and then we started across the street to the stage and the cool-down tent after everything was clean and put away. I saw Patrick Ferris helping the two bikini girls with the electronic board. Delia was right. It was time to wind up the Birmingham challenge.
Ollie was right, too. I couldn’t help that jump of joy in my heart knowing we would soon be going home. My bed at the old diner wasn’t much, but it was going to be good to sleep in it that night.
I heard someone calling Miguel’s name coming closer from a distance. We all looked back as Tina Gerard ran up, tears and black dirt on her face and arms. The dirt seemed to be mingled with blood.
TWENTY-SIX
“Miguel! Miguel!” She was screaming his name over and over until she threw herself into his arms. “Someone tried to kill me. They tried to run me down in the hotel parking lot. I managed to get away and I called a taxi. I rode all around the city, hoping he wasn’t following me. I tried to call you. Why didn’t you answer?”
“My phone didn’t ring,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“I just got a few scratches when I fell on the concrete in the parking lot. I thought this was over. Why would someone come after me? I’m not part of the race.”
“It may not have anything to do with the race,” he said.
“Surely this proves that I wasn’t part of what caused Alex’s death. People are trying to kill me, too. I don’t understand.”
“Did you call the police?” Miguel asked.
“No. I came straight here. I didn’t want to talk to them by myself. I was afraid I might say the wrong thing.” She buried her head in his shirt and stood there, shaking.
Patrick was waiting for the remaining food truck teams to reach the stage. I hated to leave the dramatic scene, but we’d come this far. Miguel was going to have to call the police anyway. There wasn’t much any of the rest of us could do. “Go ahead,” he said over Tina’s head. “I’ll catch up with you.”
Chef Art got out of his golf cart. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you all down there already?”
I told him about Tina’s brush with death.
“Hog feathers! Get over there and win this challenge, Zoe Chase, or you’re not the entrepreneur I thought you were.”
He was right. All the remaining teams were there. The producers’ assistants were counting the earnings again as the four food truck owners stood by watching.
Grinch’s Ganache had demanded a recount. When all the earnings for the morning were counted, the assistants returned our money. All eyes, and TV cameras, were on Patrick as he picked up the microphone.
“Everyone did an exceptional job out there this morning. Congratulations! It looks like our winner for the Birmingham challenge is the Biscuit Bowl. Not only did they sell two hundred dollars in delicious biscuit bowls, they also knew what to do with their red tag—which meant all team members wearing red bikinis.”
Ollie, Delia, Uncle Saul, Chef Art, and I were too busy squealing and hugging to even hear what Patrick said next. We finally quieted down and listened again.
“We have a tie between Shut Up and Eat and Stick It Here. The producers have decided on a tiebreaker to determine who the second food truck winner will be.”
“What happened to Our Daily Bread?” Ollie asked.
“I think we missed that,” I whispered.
Bobbie Shields was standing beside me. “They were disqualified for cheating and removed from the race.”
“Why? What happened?” I couldn’t believe it.
“They weren’t ministers after all.” She shrugged. “Someone reported seeing Reverend Jablonski on TV doing a promo for the race. He’s an escaped felon from Florida.”
“Don’t that beat all.” Uncle Saul shook his head. “And here they’ve been trouncing us right along.”
“Darn good bread makers,” Bobbie remarked.
“We’ve come up with a tiebreaker,” Patrick announced. “We’ll need the owners of Stick It Here and Shut Up and Eat to come forward. Everyone else is free to do what they want for about thirty minutes. We’ll have the beauty pageant, and the official announcement of who is going on with the race, at the stage then.”
“I forgot about the beauty pageant.” Ollie’s expression was fierce. “I don’t know, Zoe. I think I might just go on home now.”
“We’re going home in a little while,” I said. “If you back out, we’ll be disqualified, too. Please, Ollie. One last thing.”
“You know I might fall for that if I didn’t know we still had to do goofy stuff tomorrow in Mobile.” He was frowning but finally relented. “Oh, all right. As long as no one else pinches me.”
“I won’t let it happen again,” I promised, hugging him.