Fat Tuesday Fricassee (23 page)

I walked outside, but there was no sign of Mr. Carruthers except possibly two empty disposable coffee cups. The parking lot was littered with gum wrappers and partially eaten candy bars, not to mention soda and beer cans. Two empty coffee cups didn't necessarily mean anything.

We brought everything out to Miguel's car. Delia and I barely squeezed in with the supplies, and Miguel drove us to the food truck rally for another day.

Ollie was exhausted and grumpy after being up most of the night. “There were some bratty teenagers hanging out and shooting off firecrackers every few minutes. Funny how that kind of thing is cool when you're a kid. Last night it was just irritating.”

“Go back to the shelter and get some sleep,” I told him. “You look ragged. We can keep the Biscuit Bowl running today. Take a break.”

“But what if you need me? It's a long walk from the shelter.”

“I'll send Cole or someone to get you if we need help.” I looked up into his haggard face. “Please, Ollie. We'll be fine. Let Miguel take you back and get some sleep.”

His broad shoulders sagged. “Okay. I can do that. Will you save me some grits?”

I told him I would and then shooed him out the door. I knew he'd just hang around if he could. Miguel left to take him to the shelter a few minutes later.

Delia and I distributed the food where it belonged.

“Ollie has the biggest heart of any man I've ever known.” She put forks, plates, and napkins together and stacked them. “Of course he has the biggest everything of any man I've ever known.”

I laughed at that. “I'm sure that's true. I've never met anyone like him. If he cares about you, there isn't anything he wouldn't do for you.”

Delia shook her head. “I wish it could be enough, Zoe. I really do. I know he's wonderful—why doesn't he want more for himself? Why doesn't he expect anything more than to live in the shelter?”

“You know his past. He's wounded. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. Someday he might be different.”

She sighed. “It scares me. You know my past. My father was a lot like Ollie—not as big, but good-hearted. Everyone took advantage of him. He didn't care. He was happy to help. But when it came time to help his own family, he wasn't able to give any more. Then he started drinking. I can't be with a man like that.”

I hugged her. “I understand, Delia. I do. I didn't mean anything by it. If you and Ollie can't work it out, you can't work it out. I know that from my parents.”

Customers started coming early. I figured the first dozen or so had been out all night. They had that partied-out look about them. I gave them each a sweet and savory biscuit bowl, and they drank some Cokes. A few of them fell asleep on a picnic table, and the police reminded them that they had to go home.

Miguel got back in time for the rush. The three of us pitched in together, but we missed the fourth person. I called Uncle Saul, but there was no answer. I really didn't want to bother Ollie. We'd just have to get through without either of them. I reminded myself that there were people running food trucks around me by themselves.

It was two
P.M.
when the lunch rush was finally over. Miguel, Delia, and I straightened up the kitchen. Wrappers and broken forks tended to litter the tile floor while we were busy. After that we refilled the Coke holder.

Miguel and I took Crème Brûlée out to a small area with some trees and grass at the other side of the parking lot.

Miguel said he was going to get Cokes and more ice so we wouldn't have to leave Delia with nothing while I went back to the diner to bake biscuits. We'd sold a lot more drinks than I'd anticipated. It made sense, really. People were thirsty. They couldn't drink Sazeracs all the time.

I picked up Crème Brûlée, since he would never walk across the parking lot to the other side on his leash. I found a small bench where I could sit down while he nosed around in the dirt and old leaves until he found the spot he was looking for.

I saw the new woman with the clipboard who was taking Tiffany's place. I realized that it had been a few days since I'd seen Tiffany. Maybe she was down with a cold as Uncle Saul had been.

Of course my suspicious mind came up with all kinds of
scenarios—probably none of which were even remotely true. If anything, didn't I believe that Tiffany could be involved with Jordan's death? No one would kidnap her to keep her quiet.

Another one of the food truck operators, this one from Harry's Hot Dogs, was walking his boxer in the same area. Crème Brûlée looked up at the big dog and hissed. The boxer barked at him and backed away.

Harry, as I had come to think of him, smiled. He was a clean-cut young man with spiked brown hair. “My dog's a chicken when it comes to cats. He won't take one on for anything.”

“Bad experience with claws?” I asked.

“You could say that.” He shuddered. “My ex-girlfriend had a cat. They didn't get along.”

“I know how that can be. I'm Zoe Chase. I run the Biscuit Bowl over there.”

He shook my hand. “I'm Harry Deaver. I run Harry's Hot Dogs. This place is weird at night, isn't it? I thought it would be quiet, but there's that tall, skinny guy who always seems to be watching your food truck. Isn't he a health inspector? Does he have it in for you or something?”

It had to be Mr. Carruthers. I knew he'd been watching me, despite the warnings he got at the diner. What did he want with me? How far was he willing to go to catch me doing something wrong? Miguel was right about him—I might have to take out a restraining order to get him to leave me alone.

“And that big Native American dude, the one with the big feathered headdress. I've seen him skulking around out here, too.” Harry smiled as he sat on the bench next to me. “I'm not from around these parts. But back in Texas, when we see people stalking other people, we shoot first and ask questions later. Are those two bothering you, Zoe?”

Old Slac? Had he shown up more than once? What was Bennett doing out here?

“No. The one with the feathers is Old Slac. He's a mythical figure during carnival.”

His blue eyes were very sincere, and he appeared completely concerned for my well-being. His arm snaked around the back of the bench as he moved closer. “Mythical, huh? Why don't you tell me about it?”

“There's nothing much to tell.”

“I saw that nice PR lady with the pretty green eyes and freckles get into a car with the tall, skinny man a few nights ago. She's been gone ever since. Do you know what happened to her?”

Was that what had happened to Tiffany? Was Mr. Carruthers part of everything that had been going on with Jordan? Was that why he was following me around?

Before I could ask Harry any other questions about what he'd seen, his dog gave out a loud howl and Crème Brûlée returned a sharp hiss. There must have been more than noise exchanged between them. The next thing I knew Harry's dog was running through the trees with his leash dangling behind him.

“Get back here, Balzac!” Harry chased after him.

Miguel lifted Crème Brûlée and stroked his soft fur. “Good job,” he said. “You did exactly what I told you to do if some other man talked to Zoe. Good cat.”

I smirked and took Crème Brûlée from him, smoothing down the cat's ruffled fur. He was still upset from his encounter with Balzac. “Yeah, right. He goes his own way. Unless
you promised him salmon, he wouldn't go through all that because you asked him.”

We started back toward the Biscuit Bowl. “Really—who was that you were talking to?” Miguel asked.

“He owns the hot dog place. He isn't from Mobile and was asking me about our strange customs during carnival.”

“He seemed to be doing it on a very personal level. Or were you talking so quietly that he had to put his arm around you to hear what you were saying?”

“You're not jealous of Harry the hot dog man, are you?” I smiled in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner. I was too tired to know for sure, and I probably smelled like fried biscuits. “He had some interesting things to tell me.”

“I'm sure he did.”

I gave up torturing Miguel and told him about Harry's observations. “Tiffany has been missing for the past few days. That could coincide with her getting into a car with Mr. Carruthers.”

“Although saying it was a tall, thin man could be anyone.”

We stepped into the Biscuit Bowl for me to take a quick inventory of any other supplies we needed.

“That's true, but we know he's been hanging around. He could have something to do with Jordan's death.”

“I thought we were finished with that since we know it was a suicide.”

“We were until we discovered that Bennett Phillips has been posing as the ghost of Old Slac to scare us away.”

“Did he say that when he was having a heart attack?”

“No. But he apologized and said he didn't have any choice.”

“I wouldn't want to go up against you in court, Zoe. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I'll explain on the way back to the diner. Is Delia still sleeping in your car?”

“She moved to the front of the Biscuit Bowl. Is she staying while you're gone?”

“Let me put Crème Brûlée up there and find out.” I kissed him quickly. “I was just teasing about Harry, you know. He's got nothing I'm interested in.”

He kissed me back and smiled. “You didn't see me running after him, did you?”

Delia said she'd stay with the food truck as long as she could nap until someone came up to buy something. I told her that was fine. Crème Brûlée snuggled up against her and was snoring after his exciting but exhausting time with Balzac.

Uncle Saul called and said he would be there for dinner. I thought that would be a good time for Delia to go home. I hadn't heard from Ollie. I hoped he was sleeping.

Miguel and I talked about Tiffany on the way to the diner. We got stalled at the end of one of the big krewe's parades. It was the Order of Athena. Most of the people in the parade were on horseback. The horses were beautifully groomed with ribbons in their manes and tails. The riders were dressed appropriately to be members of the order with scanty white tunics and flowers in their hair.

Miguel found it hard to believe that Tiffany was really missing and not just out enjoying carnival. “Let me look her up on my phone. Maybe we can run by her place,” I suggested. “If she's at home because she's partied too much, we can wish her well. If not, we can decide what to do then.”

“I'm not sure what that would accomplish,” he complained. “And we're on a schedule. I still have to shop and you have to cook what I buy.”

I found Tiffany's home address on the Internet. “Her apartment is really close by. If we turn right on the next street, we'll be there in two minutes.”

“All right. Two minutes there, and you go up and wish her well if she's home. Then we're going to the diner, right?”

“Right.”

Tiffany's apartment was in a nice older building that was covered with ivy. The red bricks had been painted white a long time ago so that the red peeked through in some spots. The doorways were arched, and azaleas lined the sidewalk going up to the front door.

“How are you going to get inside?” Miguel asked after parking by the curb.

“Maybe I won't have to. If she has one of those intercoms, she can answer and tell me she's fine.” I kissed his cheek. “Wish me luck.”

I walked up to the building, enjoying the riotous shades of azaleas. There seemed to be every hue from white to red and purple. The bushes were old and full of flowers like the ones at my mother's house.

There were two separate intercoms for the apartments. I rang the buzzer beside
T. Bryant
. There was no answer. I tried again, waving to Miguel. Still no answer.

I realized that it didn't mean anything. Maybe she was too sick to answer the buzzer. Maybe she wasn't sick at all and wasn't home.

I wanted to make sure, so I rang the buzzer again.

This time, she answered. “Hello?” Her voice was shaky and sounded as though she'd been crying.

“Tiffany? It's Zoe Chase. Just checking on you. I was worried when you didn't show up for work again. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Zoe. You should leave now. I'm sure you have things to do.”

“I have plenty of time. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No. I'm not going in today. I'll see you later.”

It wasn't a very satisfying conversation. She sounded upset and tearful. Something was wrong—although it could just be that she was still upset about Jordan. He may have
broken up with her, but that didn't mean she didn't care about him. She hadn't shown it immediately after his death. Some people were slower to grieve.

But I couldn't make her let me in, either, and I'd promised Miguel I'd only be a minute. I was going to have to put my feelings aside.

I went back to the car thinking about Tiffany. Who'd have guessed after our rocky start that we'd almost be friends?

“She answered,” I told Miguel as I got in the car. “She sounds upset but definitely hasn't been kidnapped, at least as far as I can tell. Maybe I should've been pushier about her inviting me upstairs. I don't know.”

I finally looked at Miguel when he didn't reply. He was sitting very stiffly with his hands on the steering wheel. His brown eyes glanced toward the backseat without moving his head.

“What's wrong?” I asked him.

“I think I might be the fly in the ointment.” Mr. Carruthers sat forward with a small gun in his hand. “Fasten your seat belt, Miss Chase. We're going for a ride.”