Fat Tuesday Fricassee (12 page)

“I still have some time,” he said. “I can help.”

“That's very nice of you, but I don't want to take advantage. I might need you tomorrow. I don't want you to see my call on your phone and ignore me.”

He put his arms around me and kissed me. “I don't think so. I'll stick around so you can let Ollie go home.”

“You're the best. I'm surprised someone didn't snatch you up before I could find you.”

“I don't think that was possible.” He kissed my nose and smiled.

“If we're finished with the lovefest out here,” Ollie interrupted, “we need to get this food put away. I'm not even sure there's room for it.”

He was right. He was also still angry. Chef Art and Tucker had dropped off the food and left. Delia was already in the kitchen working. Cole was relaxing in the shade at a picnic table with the food I'd made him earlier.

I left Miguel and took Ollie's arm until we were behind the Biscuit Bowl so we could talk. “I'm really sorry this happened. I didn't do a good job planning for it. I don't know what I would've done if it wasn't for you being here. I hope you'll forgive me.”

He glared at me. “Zoe.”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” He grabbed me and gave me a big bear hug that took me off my feet. “You did the best you could. I'm not mad—not at you, anyway. We should've been able to close if we didn't have any food. That's a stupid rule for the food truck rally. That's what I'm mad about. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.” He put me back on my feet. “Why don't you take off the rest of the day? I might need you later and you won't be so tired.”

“I'm not tired. I'm good.” He motioned to the Biscuit Bowl. “Is
she
okay with me being here?”

I knew he meant Delia. “Let's not go through this again. I need you to work together even though you broke up. You said you could do that.”

“And I can. I'm just saying
she
might not be able to do it.” His face was set in tense lines. He wouldn't admit how much the breakup bothered him.

“All right. We need to get all this food put away and get ready for lunch. Miguel is staying, too. Let's hope the crowd is as big as it was this morning.”

It didn't take long to find out.

We'd barely put the food where it belonged when crowds began surging through the parking lot.

“Looks like the parade is over.” Ollie took his spot by the open window.

“How do you want to do this, Zoe?” Delia asked.

“I'll handle frying the biscuit bowls,” I told her. “Ollie has the window. You fill the dessert bowls, and Miguel fills the savory bowls.”

“I see them coming!” Ollie called out.

It was the last sane thing anyone said for three hours. It was an onslaught of hungry revelers wearing beads and carrying stuffed animals and Frisbees. They wanted everything—ten savory biscuits and ten sweet biscuits. They ordered in dozens instead of singles. It was like nothing I had ever done.

Our downfall was not having something to drink. People ordered biscuit bowls and asked for soda or sweet tea. We
had neither. Some of them went to look for food and drinks together, leaving without my biscuit bowls.

It had always been a problem for me, but at the usual spots there were other food trucks that only served beverages, or people brought their own drinks from home. Once in a while someone might not be happy that they had to go to more than one food truck, but not often. It was very noticeable here.

“There goes another one,” Ollie said. “We gotta do something about this, Zoe. It's too hard to get through this crowd loaded with biscuit bowls and find someone with a Pepsi.”

“I know, Ollie, I know.” I was busy getting another dozen biscuit bowls out of the fryer. “There's nothing I can do about it right now.”

“We don't have room in here for drinks, too.” Delia passed several more sweet biscuits to Ollie.

“Maybe you need a big ice chest with bottled or canned drinks,” Miguel suggested. “When this calms down, we could get something and set it up.”

“Good idea.” I smiled at him. “I like originality from my highly paid employees.”

He grinned as he passed five savory biscuit bowls to Ollie for an order. “We aim to please.”

We worked well together. It went so quickly that I hardly had time to look up before it was three
P.M.
and the crowd was finally disappearing.

“I hear there's another parade getting started on Dauphin Street. It's one of those put on by a big krewe, Cosmic Cowboys of Wragg Swamp. Should be a good one.” Ollie turned away from the window. “I'm glad they're gone. I hope there's food left. I'm starving.”

We took what we could find to eat and went outside to drop down at an empty picnic table, exhausted, eating lunch quietly under the cloudy skies. The rain had stopped, but it still looked threatening for later in the evening. We could
hear the sound of marching bands and cannon fire sprinkled with fireworks.

“I have to go back to the diner and make more food.” I was almost too tired to eat a chicken stew biscuit bowl. It was delicious but almost too much work. “First I have to buy food. I'm out of everything but flour, shortening, and baking powder.”

“Make me a list,” Miguel said. “I'll shop for you. You can get started on the biscuits.”

“Great idea.” I was grateful for his support. “How am I going to keep up with this for two weeks? I'm already exhausted.”

Delia rubbed my back. “We probably need to do this in shifts. That way everyone has a chance to rest. Miguel and I could take a shift, and you and Ollie could take the next shift.”

“Miguel already has a job,” I said.

“Which is going to be slack for the next two weeks, anyway, during carnival,” Miguel reminded me. “Most people put things off until after the holiday. I can work with you.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him and yawned. “Maybe we can do this thing.”

“Of course we can!” Ollie devoured three biscuit bowls with pork fricassee that he'd saved for himself from the morning rush. “I gotta tell you, Zoe: that chicken is good, but not as good as my pork.”

I laughed. “I guess I'll get more ingredients for another fricassee.”

“I'll be glad to make it for you during my off shift. I like to cook at night.”

“Sounds great. Thanks, Ollie. I want to go visit Daddy for a few minutes before I go back to the diner.”

After dividing up all our ideas, I was so grateful to have such wonderful people working with me. I hoped someday to be able to repay them for what they'd done.

My phone rang as I was making a shopping list for Miguel. It was Tucker.

“I think I've found something, Zoe. Jordan had a lot of writing in the phone. He also had interviews and appointments with people he was researching. I think I know what he was doing at the Mistics of Time ball. Can you meet me somewhere?”

“You can meet me back at the diner. I'll be cooking there for a while in about an hour. Let's see what we can find.”

Delia agreed to stay at the Biscuit Bowl. She was still kind of fresh compared to the rest of us. There didn't seem to be a big rush on the way until supper. We could restock and be back by then.

Miguel dropped me off at my mother's house. I felt bad that I hadn't seen my father since he was conscious. Miguel left me with a quick kiss after scanning my shopping list to make sure he understood everything. He might not be a cook, but he was the best assistant ever—with benefits.

“I'll see you back at the diner,” he said. “Be careful.”

“It's just my mother,” I joked. “How bad can it be?”

“You know what I mean. You're still involved with whatever happened to Jordan Phillips. Don't take any chances.”

“I won't. I'll see you later.”

My mother's housekeeper, Martha, greeted me at the door, but I paused at the downstairs bathroom to freshen up a bit before going to see Daddy—I knew I smelled like fried biscuit bowls. My face was sunburned and my hair was going crazy. There wasn't much I could do about either of those things. I washed my face, smoothed back my hair, and spritzed on some perfume. That was the best I could do.

“He's in the blue bedroom.” Martha was waiting when I came out of the bathroom. “Can I get something for you—tea, lemonade? Wesley made some wonderful cookies this morning.”

Wesley was my mother's chef. Normally I would've jumped at the chance to eat anything he'd made, but I was still too full. “Nothing to drink, thanks. But I'll take a few cookies to go.”

She went to get them and I went upstairs.

This house on Julia Way would always be home to me. It was a two-story 1920s Victorian that didn't show a bit of its age. It had been wonderfully cared for up until my mother took possession of it when I was a child.

Since then she'd obsessed over every aspect of the house and grounds. Her legacy to whoever got the house from her would be dozens of improvements and additions. I loved the old place, but I wouldn't have wanted to live there.

Someday I pictured myself living in an apartment above an exclusive restaurant—my own, of course. It would be in one of the older parts of the city with a wonderful view of the bay. I added to my dream on a regular basis as I watched home improvement shows between cooking shows on TV.

I wondered if Miguel would be part of that. We weren't to that commitment stage in our relationship. I wasn't sure if we ever would be, and I didn't really care at that time. I was doing what I'd always wanted to do with great friends around me. I couldn't complain.

Tiptoeing across the floor upstairs to reach the guest room, I thought Daddy might be sleeping. I didn't want to disturb him if that was the case.

I peeked in the doorway and immediately flattened myself against the wall, barely breathing.

My mother and father were kissing. It was enough to addle my brain.

What should I do? I dared another glance.

She was almost lying across him. They were as entwined as the moss in the big oaks outside. I hadn't seen them do anything like this—well—ever. I felt sure they had at some time, but maybe not since I'd been born.

I decided to clear my throat in a polite manner. They'd break apart and try to be presentable.

I cleared my throat. Neither one of them looked my way or moved.

I did it again.
Louder.

That worked. My mother got quickly off the bed, smoothed her hair and top. Daddy smiled at her and squeezed her hand.

What are they doing?

They'd been divorced for twelve years. Was this some knee-jerk reaction to my father being attacked? Obviously they hadn't thought this through before going at it that way.

I put a big smile on my face and walked into the room as though everything was fine. “How are you feeling, Daddy? I'm glad you're out of the hospital. I'll bet you'll be glad to go home—to
your
apartment—soon.”

“I'm doing just fine, baby girl.” He held out his hand to me.

I have to say that he didn't look as pale and pathetic as one might expect a person to be after going through what he had. His eyes were sparkling and there was a lot of color in his face.

“I thought I'd stop by to see if there was anything I could do before I start making food again for the Biscuit Bowl. You wouldn't have believed the crowds that were out this afternoon. I expected that I had enough food for the whole day, but it didn't work out that way.”

“Zoe, your father needs his rest,” my mother said. “We should talk about things downstairs.”

Was she kidding? She was all over him. Was that a hickey on her neck? I still couldn't believe what I'd seen.

“In a minute.” I smiled at her. “I have a few questions for Daddy.”

“I'll just wait downstairs, then,” she said. “Don't be too long.”

Once she was gone, I desperately wanted to ask him about
the two of them. Had this been going on for a while? Were they getting back together?

Instead I chose the easier subject—Jordan's murder and Daddy's attack.

“Did you see anything or anyone?”

“I didn't, Zoe. I admit to having had a few too many. I walked out of the bar and some crazy person attacked me with a knife. I was lucky other people were coming out of the bar, too. They scared him away.”

“It wasn't the ghost of Old Slac, was it?”

“No, of course not. But I think seeing him was a warning that this was going to happen.”

“Daddy, I know this is a difficult topic, but is there any way to find out if Jordan Phillips was a member of the Mistics?”

He closed his eyes. “I wish you wouldn't pursue this, honey. I don't want to visit you in the hospital. You don't understand how important secrecy is for the Mistics of Time.”

“So you think your people did this to you as some kind of warning to keep your mouth shut?”

“No. Of course not. I'm just saying that we take a sacred blood oath not to talk about our membership. I have to respect that.”

“Daddy, a man is dead. I don't know if he was killed because he infiltrated your society or if it was something personal.”

“I know, honey. But—”

“Was he a member of the Mistics of Time or not?”

“He wasn't,” he blurted. “But I don't think he was killed because of that.” He took a breath and frowned. “I think you were channeling your mother there for a minute, Zoe. You looked and sounded just like her on a bad day.”

That made me stop and think. The one person I didn't want to grow up to be was Anabelle Chase.

“I'm sorry, Daddy.” I hugged him.

“Mind the stitches, honey.”

Seriously? After what I saw?

“I didn't mean to interrogate you, but I'm having some problems with Chadwick Sloane. I think he was threatening me. And I saw what looked like the Death figure, in the food truck. It was the same as finding Jordan Phillips.”

“Hush!” He put his hand over my mouth and looked around the bedroom as though he was afraid someone might hear me. “Where did you see Death?”

“In the back of my food truck. I told the police.”

“Bad idea.” He shook his head.

“I was afraid it was another dead man.”

“And you aren't supposed to know that was Jordan Phillips in the garden,” he scolded. “All right. You already know. You have to
pretend
you don't know.”

“Daddy, his father and grandfather are devastated. They want to know what happened to him. Imagine if this was me. Wouldn't you do whatever you could to find out how I died?”

“Zoe, I'm sure Chadwick put this in blunter terms than I'm going to. These are warnings. Stay out of it. Yes, I feel terrible for the young man's family. I wish I could help, but I can't—and neither can you.”

His eyes were intent on my face as he spoke. I could tell he was still scared for me and him. I hugged him again and promised not to do anything else that could cause trouble.

I didn't mean it, but I said it to keep him from worrying. I had another piece of the puzzle—Jordan wasn't a member of the Mistics. I hoped I could take that information, scanty as it was, and find the other pieces that would lead us to his killer.