There was no doubt in my mind that I wasn’t waiting at home for news. I pieced together a plan that I thought might work and told them what I thought we should do.
“Uncle Saul, you have a lot of friends around the city that you could call. Ollie, let’s go back to the shelter and see if we can find anyone who will help us search. Mobile is our home. Marsh and Tina don’t know it like we do. Let’s find Miguel.”
THIRTY-TWO
Uncle Saul called all of his old buddies and gave them a description of Miguel and the Mercedes. When I told Chef Art what had happened, he volunteered all of his security guards to help us search as well. They had SUVs, which was good since none of the rest of us had cars. I didn’t want to drive the Biscuit Bowl all over town searching for Miguel if I didn’t have to.
“This is developing into a large search party,” Uncle Saul said. “Maybe the four of us should split up and go with each of the teams. We actually know what Miguel and his car look like. It might save a lot of wrong guesses.”
“That’s a good idea,” I agreed.
“Yeah!” Ollie seconded me. “I’ve always wanted to ride in a big black SUV with a bunch of security guards. Do I get a gun?”
“We’re only looking for someone,” Delia reminded him, her hand on his chest. “We’re not shooting anyone—at least not yet.”
He pouted but went along with the plan.
I stayed with Cole in the taxi. I had the feeling that he’d know Mobile better than the security people Chef Art had employed. He’d know the areas where someone might be liable to dump a car or a person. The security guards basically knew the area Chef Art needed them to know.
At least those were my thoughts at the time.
Cole had a cell phone to keep in contact, so I gave my cell phone to Ollie, who didn’t have one. Delia and Uncle Saul had their own phones. The security guards probably had phones, and radios, too, but I wanted to stay in touch with my team, not them.
“Where are we going first, Zoe?” Cole asked as everyone got into their vehicles and started their engines.
“I think we should check down by the docks. What do you think?”
He nodded. “I’m with you. Lots of places to hide bodies down there.”
I let out a little squeal even thinking that Miguel might be a “body.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean just bodies. Did I say that? No, people hide all sorts of stuff down that way.” He shook his head and started the taxi. “Never mind. I’ve never been good with words.”
We drove slowly through the dark city. There were some bars and nightclubs still open, but mostly Mobile wasn’t a party town—except during carnival. There weren’t a lot of people on the street. Traffic was light.
I wished we had a big searchlight mounted on the side of the taxi. Some of the areas were too dark to see into the nooks and crannies. Waiting until morning might have been better. But there was no guarantee that we’d be able to find Miguel alive if we waited.
I got a call from Patti, relayed by Ollie to Cole’s phone. A police officer had stopped at a convenience store for a soda. He thought he might have recognized Tina and Marsh.
“He said they were driving an old blue Mustang. He had the license number. The police are following up on that,” Patti told me.
“Any word on Miguel or the Mercedes?” Not to be ungrateful for the update, but I was a lot more concerned about Miguel than what happened to Tina and Marsh.
“I have dozens of officers checking the city,” she replied. “We’ll find him, Zoe.”
“Thanks.”
“Why is Ollie answering your phone?”
“He didn’t have one. I tried to spread the phones out so everyone had one. Chef Art’s men had their own.”
“Chef Art Arrington? What does he have to do with this?”
I quickly explained that we thought we’d stand a better chance with Chef Art’s security team if each group had someone who could recognize Miguel.
I thought she might be annoyed that we’d set out on our own. Instead she laughed. “Probably a good idea. But this conversation never happened, understand?”
I agreed and thanked Cole for the use of his phone. We were driving very slowly through some terrible neighborhoods once we got close to the docks.
During the day, these areas were populated with snack food vendors and antique dealers trying to make a quick buck from the cruise ship passengers getting on and off the big ships.
I had brought the Biscuit Bowl down here a few times, but the money wasn’t as good here as it was by police headquarters, the courthouse, and other areas farther into the business district of the city.
“It’s dark as blackstrap molasses down here.” Cole squinted into the blackness. He had his window open as we cruised slowly by the warehouses and port offices.
“If you were going to dump a car”—I swallowed hard on the word dump—“where would you do it?”
He thought about it a few minutes before answering. “I’d take it down near the cruise ship berths. People work down there twenty-four-seven now with the ships going in and out all the time. Who’d notice another car?”
“And a dead body?” My voice trembled as I asked.
He shrugged. “The bay. That’s always been the best place to get rid of someone.”
I pulled myself together and assured myself that Miguel wasn’t dead. We needed to find his car, and that would lead us to him.
“Okay. Let’s check out those parking areas.”
Cole was right about a lot of cars being parked down there. It was impossible to simply scan the parking lots and decide if a black Mercedes was there. We had to drive slowly between the rows of vehicles and check each one.
It was taking forever, and I was getting impatient. It had already been an hour since we’d split up. Anything could happen in an hour.
At least there were streetlights. Their weird orange glow made everything look like something out of a horror movie. At each turn, I looked for zombies or some other supernatural creatures.
I could tell Cole was uncomfortable, too, despite his nonchalant demeanor. He slowly closed his window and peered out from behind its meager protection.
“Look there!” I pointed to a black Mercedes. “I think that could be Miguel’s car!”
Cole pulled over close to it, slowly and carefully. I compared the license plate—there were no other distinguishing marks—and knew that it was the right one.
“We should call everyone,” he said. “We shouldn’t try to do this alone, Zoe.”
“But what if he needs us before everyone else can get here?” I was already getting out of the car.
“Okay. I’ll call Saul. He can call everyone else. At least wait for me.”
I ran toward the Mercedes.
The car was locked. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get inside it. I looked at the trunk. How many times had I seen dead bodies stuffed in trunks in the movies and on TV?
“Do you think the tire iron can open the trunk?” I asked Cole when he finally caught up.
He was glancing around the parking lot with a baleful eye. “Probably. Yes. But your Miguel won’t like it if we pry it open. Best to wait for the cops.”
“Give me the tire iron. I’ll open it.”
He argued with me for a few minutes, but it was halfhearted. He didn’t want to use the tire iron on the trunk, but he really didn’t care if I did it. He finally handed it to me and stood back.
Before I could use it, Cole’s cell phone rang. He answered it in a low tone and then handed it to me.
It was Ollie. “If you find the car, I saw Miguel take a key out of a magnetic case once when he was representing me. It’s next to the front driver’s side, under the car.”
I gave the tire iron, and the phone, back to Cole. I felt a little out of the loop—I didn’t know Miguel’s home address or that he kept a key under his car.