1 Death on Eat Street (16 page)

The inside was classic, with hardwood floors and white linen tablecloths. There were colorful flowers everywhere. Large ceiling fans gracefully kept the air circulating, probably the same way they had for the last hundred years.

Chef Paul Dismukes was a jolly, bearded man with a broad chest and broader belly. He was tall and strong, almost lifting Uncle Saul off the floor with his bear hug.

“Saul, you old devil! You must be looking for lunch. Sit down and let me feed you.” Chef Paul caught sight of me and kissed my hand. “And who is this lovely creature? Are you married again and hiding her out in the swamp?”

“No, you fool.” Uncle Saul laughed. “This is my niece, Zoe. You remember her. She was a mite scrawnier back then. She was always eating at my place.”

“Of course! I remember.” Chef Paul moved in to give me a bear hug.

I was pretty sure a few of my ribs were cracked when it was over. He’d also managed to give me a pat on the butt. No more close contact for him.

“As a matter of fact, I have your brother and his . . . er . . .
lovely
ex-wife eating here right now,” Chef Paul said. “Let me go find them.”

“No! I mean . . . not right now.” I really didn’t want to see my parents. I was glad they had a good relationship after the divorce. It made things easier for me. But I didn’t want to be part of that right now.

“Okay.” Chef Paul shrugged. “Well, sit down, you two. I’ll have someone bring you something.”

The large kitchen was covered in stainless steel appliances and counters. Dozens of fast-moving servers and cooks jumped at Chef Paul’s commands. Fresh herbs were growing in pots everywhere with special lights, or in windows. The aromas coming from the big pots and skillets on the massive stoves were enough to set my mouth watering.

Being a guest of a chef, and eating in his kitchen, was a high honor. We were seated at a small table in a corner. One of the servers laid a white linen tablecloth for us, and a small pot of rosemary was placed in the center of the table with a lighted candle.

“You’re gonna love this, Zoe.” Uncle Saul tucked his napkin in under his chin and picked up his fork as the first course arrived.

We had salmon cakes and wild greens, which included dandelion leaves. They were tender and delicious. The salad dressing was a house secret, but I tasted a hint of honey in it.

Next came black-eyed peas, cooked until they were firm, but soft. There were shallots with them, and fresh mushrooms.

After that, we had macaroni and cheese with spicy pimento cheese instead of the regular cheese variety. Right after came brown sugar–glazed pork roast that was melt-in-your-mouth good. It was followed immediately by hush puppies, shaped like dolphins, that contained hot peppers.

Dessert was mango pie, the restaurant’s signature dessert. Chef Paul sat down with us for this last course, slurping coffee from a big mug as we finished eating.

I was so stuffed, I felt like I was going to pop. I had plenty of good ideas for the Biscuit Bowl tucked away for the future, too.

“What did you think?” Chef Paul asked us.

Uncle Saul wiped his mouth with his napkin. His eyes narrowed. “The salmon cakes were a little dry. The macaroni and cheese was a little too spicy. The pork roast was cooked too much. The pie was excellent, if you don’t count the crust.”

The two men faced each other. Chef Paul’s face was a blend of horror and amazement. The servers and cooks in the kitchen stopped running back and forth. They appeared to be holding their breaths as they waited for Chef Paul’s response.

“I can’t believe you liked the black-eyed peas.” Chef Paul started laughing and the tension broke. “You’re an old buzzard, Saul. Lucky for you, your place is closed so I can’t come and say what I think about
your
food.”

Uncle Saul laughed, too. “You did that plenty of times before I closed. And you stole that brown sugar glaze from me, Paul. You better be giving me credit on the menu for it.”

Both men laughed so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks. Activity in the kitchen picked up again—so much so that no one noticed when one of the guests from the dining room came into the kitchen to say hello.

“Zoe? Saul?” My father’s face was distressed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chef Paul scurried away like one of his cooks, supervising a big pot of dumpling soup being made on the stove.

“You said you’d take her out of town.” Daddy faced Uncle Saul.

This was the only time—when the two of them were close together—that I could see the family resemblance between the two brothers.

Uncle Saul was the eldest. He’d long ago given up any idea of trying to tame the Chase family curly hair. It looked like a bird’s nest sitting on his head. His idea of good grooming was to smell a shirt he’d worn the day before to see if he could wear it again.

My father never let h is hair get more than an eighth of an inch long. That disguised his curls and kept them under control. I was pretty sure he dyed his hair, too. Usually people with truly black hair start getting gray early.

I knew that was true. I had my first gray hair when I was eighteen!

Daddy’s blue suit was impeccable. He worked out regularly and had the polished air of a successful businessman.

“I got her out of the hospital,” Uncle Saul said, defending himself. “She’s not in any danger now that we know about the Jefferson recipe.”

“Danger? What are you talking about?” Daddy ran his manicured hand through his crisp hair. “Anabelle wants her out of this food truck business. She wants Zoe back at the bank and married to Tommy Lee. What part of that didn’t you understand in the kidnapping plan?”

“Daddy, I’m not giving up my business.”

“Hush, Zoe. You don’t have a say in this. It’s all about what your mother needs you to do. You’re lucky she didn’t come back with me to see Paul. Neither one of us would ever hear the end of it.”

My father and Uncle Saul argued a little more before Chef Paul threw them out of his kitchen. We went out the back door, the way we’d come in. My father went out front to lie to my mother, no doubt. I felt sure he wasn’t going to tell her that he’d seen us in the kitchen.

Uncle Saul started the old station wagon. “Zoe Chase, you’re gonna have to learn to stand up to that woman.”

“I thought I was doing that already. How many ways can I say, ‘I want this business’ and ‘I’m not marrying Tommy Lee’?”

“I don’t know, but next time, your parents might hire a real kidnapper who’ll take you to one of those camps up in Birmingham where they brainwash you. You better make peace with your mother fast.”

I agreed with him but didn’t know what else to say or do. “Maybe I should go ahead and move to Birmingham and change my name. They have a good food truck business going up there.”

“You have to take a stand in a seriouslike manner,” he explained as he started back to the diner. “You want to be your own woman? You gotta stop being their little girl.”

“How do I do that?”

“Search me. I’ve never been anyone’s baby. You better find out fast if you
ever
want to have your own life.”

I put that on my list of things to think about, right up there with trying to figure out what Terry did with the Jefferson recipe. Finding out that second part seemed more immediate, since people were threatening me with guns and throwing things through my windows.

Or was it just easier to handle the idea of being murdered for some old recipe than it was thinking about facing my mother?

The insurance adjuster had come and gone when we got back to the diner. Already, a truck with a small crane was putting in a new window.

“I hate insurance,” Ollie said. “That little insurance dude said to tell you that you only get one of these replacements a year. He said you need to put up some iron bars or get out of this neighborhood unless you want your insurance payment to go up.”

With his message delivered, Ollie shrugged and went back to the shelter. I thanked him as he walked away.

“I gotta go, too,” Uncle Saul said. “It’s been fun, Zoe, but I have to get home and feed Alabaster before she gets it into her head that she should eat the neighbor’s chickens again.”

Alabaster was Uncle Saul’s albino alligator. He’d kept the alligator as a pet for years. Occasionally, Alabaster wandered off and caused some problems. It was lucky Uncle Saul’s nearest neighbor was five miles away.

“I’m sorry you have to go.” I hugged his neck, standing on tiptoe. “Thanks for taking me to see your friends. I hope I can do something with the information.”

“If not, come on out and stay with me. This will all blow over as soon as someone finds that recipe. Until then, watch your back. I have an extra gun with me, if you need it.”

“No, that’s okay. I think I might get into more trouble if I start shooting people.”

Uncle Saul got in the station wagon and drove away. My heart sank a little as I watched him go. I wished I could live in the swamp with him, but there wasn’t much call for a food truck out there.

• • •

I was working on making some macaroni with pimento cheese when I saw Miguel’s Mercedes pull up. My heart did a little dance that he was there and maybe we could go back to the idea of that possible romantic dinner.

Then I saw him get out of the car on the driver’s side with Delia getting out on the passenger side. This was obviously not a romantic visit.

“Hi, Zoe,” Delia greeted me. “Miguel took me to talk to the DA. I don’t think it did much good.”

Miguel came in after her and asked how everything was going. I wanted to tell him about the cement block through the window, and what Uncle Saul and I had learned.

I was nervous, though, and fell back on what I knew best. “Would you two like to try some macaroni and cheese?”

It turned out neither of them had eaten lunch, and they were both hungry. They sat down at the counter and I ladled some pimento cheese macaroni into bowls. I had some cans of soda left and put those out.

Delia praised my macaroni and cheese. She tried to laugh off the part about her not needing a strategy for court because she was innocent. I could tell she was scared.

I glanced at Miguel. He shook his head. “It’s all going to depend on the jury she gets. This could go either way. The police certainly don’t have a rock-solid case, by any means. We’ll have to find ways to insert some skepticism into the jury. Or find the real killer before then.”

Speaking of finding the killer—or at least the reason Terry was killed—I quickly changed the subject and told him about the broken window and the information Uncle Saul and I had received from his friends.

“Art Arrington, huh?” He sipped his soda. “I haven’t heard his name in a long time. We used to eat at his restaurant. Good food.”

Without thinking, I asked, “We?”

His face changed. I was immediately sorry I’d asked. I was so anxious to hear about him that I’d put my foot in it.

“My mother and me. She was a big fan of Southern cooking. The spicier, the better. The Carriage House was one of the first places I took her when I started making some money. We never ate out much when I was a child. She loved it!” He frowned. “It wasn’t long after that she died. She was very young.”

Trying to get my foot out of my big mouth, I forged ahead. “What about you? How is the spicy mac and cheese?”

“Good.” He smiled. “Delia is right. You’re a wonderful cook, Zoe. I’m sure when you get everything up and running here, there will be lines waiting through the parking lot.”

“Thanks.” I hoped there was no damage done. I’d seen the gray cloud settle over his features. I hated that I’d caused him pain.

I was too young to really remember the Carriage House Restaurant. I figured Miguel was maybe six or eight years older than me. He must have been fresh out of law school when his mother had passed.

“I think we should talk to Detective Latoure,” Miguel said. “She might not know about the Jefferson recipe yet. It could give her another direction to look in for Terry’s killer.”

“If you think that will help, I’m all for it.” I grinned to show him I was willing to work for the team.

“Then let’s go,” he said.

“I need to get rid of some of this food that I’ve been making. Maybe the two of you could help me take it down to the shelter.”

The three of us went down that way. The consignment shop was open and had dozens of bargain shoppers inside. It was odd to see so many new and expensive cars in the parking lot. Bargain shopping apparently appealed to people who could afford much better. The shop was probably a must-see on some tourist website.

I was glad we were able to go down and check on Marty, too. The men living at the shelter were thrilled to see us bearing food. I promised them there would be more later as I worked on new dishes for the food truck.

Marty seemed to be doing fine. “I have a little headache still, but otherwise, no side effects. Thanks for asking.”

The men at the shelter were very appreciative of seeing Delia. There was plenty of whistling and “hey, baby” comments while we talked to Marty.

They’d been the same way with me the first time I’d gone inside. Now it was my food that they found attractive. That was fine. Better my food than me.

“Any news on the recipe?” Marty asked before we left.

I didn’t want to go into everything Uncle Saul and I had unearthed. It would be better to share it with Detective Latoure first. Uncle Saul always said, loose lips sink ships. I wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but I knew it had something to do with telling secrets to more people than was necessary.

“We’re still working on new leads,” Miguel said in a professional tone.

Marty smiled. “Well, I wish you luck. Stay out of dark places, Zoe. I’d hate for you to end up like me, or worse.”

We talked for a few minutes about the concrete block, and having the diner window replaced. There wasn’t much to say about the incident. Either the killer was trying to send me another message, or the police were right and it was part of being in a bad neighborhood.

“If you’re ready, we could go ahead and talk to Patti.”

“That’s fine,” I added quickly.

“Great.”

“Unless you had something else planned.” Miguel seemed a little nervous.

“No. That would be fine.” I threw in a little hint. “I don’t even have plans for dinner.”

“Good. That way if the interview goes a little long, it will be all right.”

“Sure. That would be just fine.” It seemed that Miguel wasn’t good at taking hints. “I’ll freshen up a little and get my bag.”

When we got back to the diner, I excused myself, threw Crème Brûlée out of my office/bedroom, and rapidly changed clothes to go out with Miguel. I had a beautiful wine-colored dress that was a little on the short side for me. The neckline was kind of revealing. I decided maybe Miguel needed more of a hint.

I crept into the bathroom with my cosmetics and hairbrush. Miguel and Delia were talking about the case. That gave me a few extra minutes to put on my best face.

Before I could work on my curls, there was a light tap at the door. I peeked out—it was Delia. She quickly came into the bathroom with me.

“You could do so much more with your eyes.” She took my cosmetic bag from me. “You have such pretty eyes, Zoe, with that pale blue iris surrounded by the dark blue ring. And you have great skin. Let’s try a little dark shadow on your lids to bring them out.”

I wasn’t sure exactly what to say. We were face-to-face in a very small bathroom. It struck me that I had nothing to lose.

“That dress is a knockout,” Delia said as she did my eyes. “I hope you have a little darker lipstick to go with it. That pink you usually wear is nice, but you need something more dramatic with your coloring.”

I didn’t have any other lipstick. Delia fished her own lipstick out of her bag. It was a close match to the dress I was wearing.

It was like being in school again. Delia finished my new look, chattering the whole time about various things I could do to make Miguel notice me. She pulled down my bodice to make the neckline even more revealing, and took off the tiny gold cross she wore.

“Let’s get something shiny in there.” She grinned. “We have to flaunt it if we want it to work for us, right?”

I looked in the cracked mirror and approved the job she’d done. With a little more highlight on my cheeks and eyes, I looked very different.

Delia held her head to one side and studied my hair. “You know, I think we could do something with these curls, too.”

“Thanks, but there’s always a price to pay for messing with the curly hair. I know my limitations. I like the rest of the look. You’re very good at this.”

“I have to be good at something besides waiting tables.” She shrugged. “Go get him, Zoe. From what I’ve heard, Miguel has been alone too long.”

“You’re a good person, Delia. You’ve only begun to scratch the surface of who you are, I think.” I dropped the wine-colored lipstick she was letting me borrow into my bag. “Thanks for your help.”

Delia looked at the green paper beads she’d given me the night Terry was killed. They were still in my bag, of course. I hadn’t even thought about them again.

“Do you want those back now?” I asked.

“No!” She recoiled as if I’d asked her if she wanted to hold a snake. “You keep them, Zoe. I—I can’t.”