1 Death on Eat Street (8 page)

“Are you sure this is going to be okay?” Delia asked again.

“I don’t have much to offer. But I could use the help, and you’re welcome to stay. We’ll have to find you a bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor.” She grinned, and thanked Miguel for his help. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without the pair of you today.”

Ollie brought a cot down from the homeless shelter for her. We made room for it in a pantry so she’d have a little privacy.

Miguel left, after wishing us luck tomorrow with the Biscuit Bowl. It was weird hearing Delia humming in the bathroom as she got ready for bed. I was used to living alone.

Everything was set for the morning. I put on a T-shirt and shorts before I snuggled in with Crème Brûlée for the night.

I was excited about taking the food truck out again tomorrow. I thought that was a good sign. Despite everything that had happened, the idea of getting up at four
A.M.
and making biscuit bowls was enough to make it hard for me to sleep.

Tomorrow, I might get a great spot and the crowds would find me. It only took one day, and big lines of customers, to have a television truck come out and change everything.

“By the end of the week, Crème Brûlée, we could be famous. We could be turning people away from the Biscuit Bowl. After that, they’d find out about the diner. We’d have to upgrade real quick to accommodate more than five people eating here at the same time.”

As if he understood, Crème Brûlée bit my hand—a love bite—and licked it.

“That’s right,” I whispered fiercely to him. “Take that, all you people who didn’t believe in me.”

I said good night, and was almost asleep, when there was a loud banging on the front door.

I’d never had any problem staying there, despite the shabby neighborhood. Still, after Terry’s death, I approached carefully, not turning on the inside light until I saw who was there.

“Who is it?” Delia was right behind me.

“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

As I spoke, I saw a man in a ski mask. He pulled out a gun and pointed it right at me.

“Duck!” I yelled, pulling Delia down with me. “Gun!”

She was on the floor before me. We lay there, covering our heads with our arms for a few minutes. I finally peeked out, and the man was gone.

I called Miguel, and the police.

Delia and I took turns breathing into a paper bag so we could calm down. I’d thought I was acting like a big baby, but she’d been scared, too. She seemed tough to me, so I didn’t feel so bad.

Police officers showed up first. We gave them what we could of a description—about six feet tall, medium build. He was wearing faded jeans and a white button-down shirt.

They took a look around, but couldn’t find anyone. Since there was no damage done to the diner, or us, I thanked them and they left again.

Fifteen minutes later, Miguel was there looking cute and half-asleep in cutoff jeans and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. He asked us questions about what had happened. There wasn’t much to tell.

“He was wearing a ski mask,” I said. “I didn’t recognize him.”

“We couldn’t see his face, but he was about the same size as Terry’s partner, Don Abbott.” Delia knitted her hands together.

“It seemed like he was trying to scare us,” I told him. “Why show us the gun and then just walk away?”

“This location, and Terry’s death, have been all over the news,” Miguel said. “There might be a few people checking out the area.”

That made sense to me. I didn’t like it any better, but it made sense. If the man had really wanted to hurt us, he could have shot us and been gone long before the police had arrived.

“I’ll talk to the police on your behalf right now, and ask for a few more patrols until things quiet down,” Miguel offered. “I think they might be willing to do that.”

I wanted to go. I really wanted to go. But if I went with him, it could take hours. I’d miss the opportunity to take my food truck out again in the morning. It was already almost midnight. I couldn’t do both things, especially after having been up most of the night before.

“Thanks, Miguel,” I told him. “I wish I could come, too, but I have to work tomorrow.”

“I’ll let you know what happens,” Miguel promised me. “Make sure you’re careful until we know what’s going on. Do you have a gun?”

“A gun?” I giggled a little at that. It wasn’t really funny. I was nervous and I sometimes giggle when that happens. I sobered at once. “No. I have an attack cat, and a few frying pans. I’ll be careful.”

After he left, I turned the lights out and we went back to bed.

“I sounded stupid out there, Crème Brûlée. I would’ve been better off biting him and licking the spot after, like you do. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about the right words.”

It took me a long time to get back to sleep. I jumped up at every noise I heard. Delia was up and down a lot, too.

The last time I looked at the clock, it was a little after two
A.M.
Morning was coming too fast. I hoped my enthusiasm would get me through another long day with no sleep.

I guess I finally fell asleep again. The alarm was suddenly going off. For a moment, I wasn’t sure why it was making that awful racket. It was four
A.M.
Time to get up and bake biscuits.

I mixed my biscuit dough together, and set the first tray in the oven. I took that opportunity to shower and get dressed. By that time, I put in another tray of biscuits.

Delia wasn’t sure what to do to help. I wasn’t sure, either, since I hadn’t had anyone helping me before. I had her look outside in the dark parking lot. We seemed to be alone.

There were no new messages or texts from Miguel. I wished he would’ve said if the police were taking the event seriously. It was hard to focus on the day ahead and get everything right.

Ready to load the food truck, I picked up a tray of cool biscuits and headed out the door with them—straight into Ollie.

At first, I was afraid it was the masked man with the gun again. The idea of having a gun at that time sounded pretty good, though I wasn’t sure I could actually shoot anyone.

I realized the person I’d run into had caught, and was holding, my tray of biscuits, which would otherwise have fallen to the ground.

“Ollie.” I didn’t know whether to be angry that he’d scared me or happy that he’d kept me from dropping the tray. One thing was for sure—he was the immovable object. I don’t think he even budged when I ran into him.

“I want to help you,” he said.

“Stocking the food truck?”

“Yes. And going with you. You need a good strong hand, Zoe. I’ve got two good arms and legs. Nobody is gonna mess with you, like that taco man did, with me there. I guarantee nobody will think about sneaking up on you and Delia.”

It made sense, I supposed, in an Ollie kind of way. I told him I’d pay him what I could. He said he didn’t care.

“No sword, though.” I made my restrictions up front.

“No sword,” he agreed. “I won’t need one with all the kitchen equipment anyway.”

I knew it was possible I could be sorry, but after yesterday, having somebody with me seemed like a good idea.

“Okay. Let’s get going. If we’re going to beat Suzette’s Crepes to a spot in front of police headquarters, we have to get there early.”

Ollie was a big help loading up, too. He could take two trays of biscuits at once.

Delia brought the water out to get the heating pan started, and put the fillings into the refrigerator. The last thing in was Crème Brûlée and his bed. He hissed at me and then went back to sleep when he was safely in the front of the food truck. I had to make room for him between the seats for me and Delia.

Ollie rode in back.

“Thanks for doing this,” I said to him again. I was still alive with excitement and energy about the coming day.

“Ain’t nothin’ to it,” he drawled. “Besides, you think I want you to get all the credit for my savory filling? I don’t think so.”

That was fine with me. We rode through the dark, nearly deserted streets of Mobile. Morning traffic was getting started in the downtown area when I pulled the food truck into the same parking space where Suzette was selling her crepes yesterday.

I hoped for the same success the crepes seemed to enjoy. Delia made some coffee and then poured a cup for each of us.

“This is all there is to it?” she asked.

“Pretty much, unless we get busy. I hope we get some morning business, too. Some people like to get their lunch early and heat it up later.”

Ollie made a face much like Crème Brûlée did when I offered him something to eat that he didn’t want.

“Heat up a biscuit? What’s wrong with those people?”

I shrugged. “It saves them another trip down later. They can eat at their desk. I did that a lot of times at the bank. I brought my own lunch. You get the idea.”

“I don’t understand why a person can’t take some time to eat without working. It’s not healthy.”

“They’re eating fried biscuits.” Delia laughed. “I don’t think they’re worried about being healthy.”

I warmed up to my subject with such an appreciative audience. “I’m hoping to sell some breakfast biscuits, too. I think people might even enjoy a biscuit bowl for breakfast. I didn’t bring eggs this morning, but I was thinking that scrambled eggs might be good. Maybe with some sausage, bacon, or peppers.

Ollie rubbed my head, a bad habit that I thought he might have picked up because he was so tall. I’d seen him do it to Marty and some of the others at the homeless shelter.

“You’re always thinking, aren’t you?” he asked with a grin. “Don’t you want to stop for a while and just enjoy?”

“I don’t think that would be good for business,” I said pertly. “Would you like to help me set out the chairs and tables, and lift the sides? I have to add your gumbo to the menu list, too.”

Ollie was ready to help in any way. He didn’t want to think about much, but he was right about using his strong arms and legs. We had the food truck set up in no time.

Delia wrote
Ollie’s Spicy Gumbo
on the menu board in a pretty script. My menus were easy to change. Uncle Saul had added two big chalkboards to the swing-open doors on the side of the food truck.

Delia used different colors of chalk to highlight my specials. She even drew some pictures of biscuits and fruit. I’d found that it was always helpful to bring a few café-style chairs and petite tables with me. My chairs and tables gave my potential customers a place to sit and enjoy their food, if they were so inclined. I thought I might invest in colorful umbrellas for my tables later, after I made some money.

My special was a plain biscuit and a cup of coffee for ninety-nine cents. Uncle Saul had told me to use my specials wisely. “Get them to try something cheap and reel them in for something more expensive later,” he’d advised.

I hadn’t had much of a chance to try this food law of economics yet. I was ready for it. I just had to put it into practice.

After everything was set up, I started cooking a few biscuit bowls. I made some plain biscuits that I could use for my special. My biscuit bowl biscuits had to be made in cupcake pans. The biscuit batter cooked up solid and round with a depression in the middle where the fillings went.

I’d experimented with deep-frying the biscuits at the diner before I went out. That had left them greasy and cold, not even good heated up.

They had to be deep-fried at the spot where I was working. That meant a small deep fryer that could do a few biscuits at a time. They came out crispy and brown. The biscuit bowls held up well to the sweet and savory fillings I’d tried. Soup was too liquid, but things like chili, stew, and, hopefully, Ollie’s gumbo worked. There was no problem at all with the sweet fillings.

“What are you all cooking in there?” Our first customer of the day walked up to the food truck. “It smells wonderful. I don’t care what it is—I want some. And some coffee with it, please.”

Ollie grinned at me. “Of course, sir. Step right up. Would you like the biscuit plain or a biscuit bowl with some cinnamon apple filling inside?”

I was totally blown away. Ollie looked so big and fierce, like a warrior from a fantasy movie. Who knew there was a great customer service rep hidden under that tattooed skull?

That man wasn’t our last customer, either. About twenty more followed him before nine
A.M.
After that, things got slow for a while. Everyone was at work. I couldn’t expect another rush before eleven.

Still, I was ecstatic. I’d made more money in that one morning than I had the other whole days I’d taken the food truck out. It was possible, if the rest of the day went as well, that I might even make enough money to pay Ollie and Delia.

Feeling very pleased with myself, I went out to make sure my tables and chairs were clean. The sun was shining warmly down on the spinning biscuit on top of the food truck. Birds were singing in the live oaks, Spanish moss swaying in the breeze from the bay. Life was good.

A man, who looked like a college student, approached. He was wearing a backpack and a red ball cap on his stringy, long hair. He walked right up to the side window. I thought I’d stand back and see Ollie in action from this angle.

“Can I help you, sir?” Ollie asked as the young man drew near.

“Yeah.” The seemingly harmless man drew a gun out of his backpack. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got in the cash drawer, Pops, and whatever Terry gave you before he died.”

Imagine that! Right in front of police headquarters!

What did he mean—whatever Terry gave him?

I looked around for a uniformed officer but didn’t see one. I tried to think of something I could do to keep our hard-earned cash from disappearing down the street in this man’s backpack.

Ollie’s eyes narrowed on the man. His face transformed. I hoped never to see him look at me that way.

The man took a step back. The gun shook in his hand. “I mean it.” His voice, which had been insolent and demanding, quivered. “I want that money, and th-that stuff.”

Ollie folded his arms across his broad, muscled chest. “You’ll have to come through me to get it, son. Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

The thief stood there for another moment. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to decide if he could get through Ollie or what. In case he decided to go ahead with his plans, I picked up one of the café chairs and held it, ready to hit him.

Lucky for me, I’ll never know what I might have done to try and stop him. The man threw down his gun and ran away, his backpack sliding down one of his arms.

I dropped the chair in relief and sat down on it. In all my planning and calculating, I’d never thought of anything like that happening.

“Are you okay?” Ollie seemed more concerned for me than for him.

“I’m fine. Are
you
okay?”

“It was just some punk. He wasn’t even big enough to keep. He had to run home to his mama. Maybe she’ll take a switch to him and teach him better.”

“I guess you were right. I’m glad you were here.”

“Why? You would’ve hit him with the chair, right? We had him covered, either way.”

“Do you think you could show me how to make that face that scared him off?”

Ollie studied me. “No. You don’t have what it takes, Zoe. Just stick to making your food. Let someone else take care of the other stuff.”