1 Death on Eat Street (13 page)

As we drove through the wet streets of the city, I thought about Delia’s offer of helping me look better for Miguel. I still didn’t think that kind of mojo was for me. Either Miguel and I had something between us, or not. I’d find out.

The taxi driver, a man named Cole, who happened to know Uncle Saul, agreed to wait for me while I went inside to see how Tommy Lee was doing. I thought I could use that as an excuse, if I needed one, to leave after a few minutes. I wasn’t sure what Tommy Lee was going to be like.

The driver and I had a pleasant conversation about gator stew that made me want to pay my uncle a visit. The weekend was in front of me. Why not? Maybe he’d have some savory recipes he’d want to share.

I checked in at the front desk. The gray-haired woman there smiled and gave me Tommy Lee’s room number. I made a quick stop at the gift shop and reluctantly purchased a get-well balloon for him.

It was hard not having the resources I’d had before. A ten-dollar balloon made me wince. I had to remind myself that Monday would be the start of a new week for my business. It could be the week everything turned around for me.

I told myself that
every
week.

The door to Tommy Lee’s hospital room was open. I knocked anyway, and went in. It was a surprise to see both my parents—and his—standing on opposite sides of his sick bed. All of them glared at me as I put the weighted balloon on the bedside table.

I ignored them. “Hi, Tommy Lee. How are you feeling?”

He didn’t look so bad. He had a bandage on his forehead. Otherwise, he looked fine. I felt guilty that he’d been injured trying to save me from Don. He’d meant well.

I didn’t feel guilty enough to get back together with him, but enough to get me to the hospital and make me smile at him.

“Hello, Zoe.” His voice was a whisper. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive. I don’t mind that I was almost killed trying to help you.”

“How do you
think
he’s feeling?” his mother (a great deal like mine) demanded. “You’ve ruined your life, Zoe, and now you want to kill my son. Have I ever told you the story of when my precious Tommy Lee was born? You know I could never have more children after him. He’s all I’ve got.”

To my dismay, Martha Elgin started crying. Herb, her husband, put his arm around her and shook his head at me. I felt terrible.

Daddy was visibly upset. My mother never cried, but she was very stern looking. I thought maybe she was practicing for being a judge. If that was the case, she’d been practicing my whole life.

“I’m very sorry about this, honey,” Daddy said. “We’ve all agreed. You need an intervention. Try not to get upset. This is for your own good.”

I started to ask what he was talking about when a dark blanket that smelled like wood shavings came down over my head. I tried to push it off, but the person holding it was much stronger than me. He picked me up and slung me across his shoulder.

“It will all be fine, Zoe,” I heard my mother call out. “We love you.”

I screamed. I kicked my feet and tried to pound on my abductor’s back with my fists. I couldn’t imagine why no one stopped him. Where were the cops, security guards, and hospital personnel?

I felt the elevator start down. Why was this happening to me? Wasn’t it bad enough I’d had to shut down the Biscuit Bowl early and come back with almost a full load of food? Did my parents have to gang up on me, too?

Assuming Daddy had hired someone to kidnap me, I knew my only hope was reasoning with the person once I managed to get out of the blanket. This whole intervention routine was extreme. I had no doubt that it was my mother’s idea.

I was bounced unceremoniously into what felt like a car seat. The driver of the car started forward right away. After a few minutes of driving, my abductor pulled the blanket from my head. I didn’t even want to think what my poor, abused curls looked like at that point.

My eyes needed a moment to adjust to the light again. It appeared that I was back in the taxi. I started to ask what was going on when I heard a familiar voice beside me.

“You been a bad girl,” Uncle Saul said with a chuckle. “I know times are desperate when your daddy calls
me
for help.”

I hugged him, glad that my kidnapper wasn’t some hired hand. I’d had a friend at Auburn who’d been through an intervention for smoking pot. She’d been held against her will for three days before escaping. She still smoked pot—she just never said anything to her parents again.

“What’s going on?” I asked him. “What kind of intervention is this? Why didn’t anyone stop you?”

“Your mother and father paid everyone to look the other way, of course. It was a brilliant plan—except for asking me to execute it. I suppose I was as close as they could imagine to the kind of person who’d do such a thing.”

Uncle Saul was a tall, strong man, used to chopping firewood and living in the wild. He didn’t look much like my father, either.

Where Daddy was smooth and always well-groomed, Uncle Saul had wild curly hair that looked like he’d dyed it in wide streaks of black and gray. His clothes were handmade and could have been something from the Middle Ages. He insisted store-bought clothes had poisons in them that caused premature death. Too bad he’d never really learned to sew.

“The best kind of intervention you’re gonna get, Zoe.” He grinned and messed up my curls even more than they were. He looked at his hand after he’d had it in my hair. “What is that junk you put in there? You need to wear your hair like mine—natural. Curly hair has magic. It shouldn’t be tamed.”

Uncle Saul hadn’t always been this way. Daddy said he’d snapped one day about twenty years ago at his popular restaurant in downtown Mobile. I could barely remember him before. After that, he’d sold everything and bought some land in the swamp where he’d built his log cabin.

“I know you’re not here to give me a curl intervention.” I was happy to see him, like always, especially since I’d been thinking about him. He rarely came to town. On the other hand, I wanted to know what was going on.

“No. I’m here to save your life. You don’t want to become like
me
, do you?”

There was a glint of humor in his bright blue eyes. I never knew when he was serious.

“My mother was looking for some way to make me quit my business, right?” I guessed. “Daddy came up with a plan to get me out of town and forget about it.”

Uncle Saul laughed and slapped his thigh. “You must be getting psychic, child. Your daddy drove out to see me and begged me to take you back with me. He said your mother was thinking about having you committed to some fancy-pants clinic in Switzerland or something. She thinks you’ve lost your mind.”

I laughed at that. “And somehow Daddy convinced her that
you
could help me find it? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Maybe
she
needs an intervention.”

“That’s about what I was thinking.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t gonna argue with him. I set this up and told him I’d take you back to the swamp with me for a few weeks. Your mother thinks that will be enough time to make you want your old job back, and to make up with your boyfriend.”

I’d heard some crazy things in my time. This had to be the craziest.

“I don’t want to go to the swamp, Uncle Saul. Even if I have to spend a month there, I’m not giving up on my dream. I love what I’m doing. My mother doesn’t get it. I think Daddy would be okay with my decision if she’d quit bugging him about it.”

Uncle Saul hugged me again, almost cracking my ribs in his enthusiasm.

“I’m not taking you anywhere, except your place. I brought some food to make a mighty fine dinner for my friend, Cole, here.” He patted the driver on his back. “Besides, I want to see what you’ve done with the food truck. How are your biscuit bowls going over?”

In short, my father’s visit had prompted Uncle Saul to come and see me to find out what was going on. I was surprised Daddy or my mother didn’t realize what a sneaky man he was.

“Did they pay you to do the intervention?”

“Why yes, ma’am, they did.” Uncle Saul grinned. “I’ve had my eye on a log splitter for a while now. I ordered it before I left home. I have the Internet now, you know.”

Talk about things not going the way people planned! The taxi driver, Cole, took us back to the diner. As though the weather was smiling at the joke, too, the sun came out and chased all the rain away.

I helped Uncle Saul and Cole take cloth bags of roots, herbs, and vegetables into the diner. I took them on a grand tour of the diner and the food truck. Uncle Saul commented here and there about what I’d done.

“I like the chalkboard on the sling-up door,” he told me. “I used to have a little sign I put on the ground. This is much better. When are you going to make me some biscuit bowls? I think I have some ideas for you on what you can serve inside.”

We talked nonstop while Cole sat at the counter drinking coffee. It wasn’t long before Ollie and Marty came down to see what was going on. Uncle Saul invited them both to dinner as he chopped vegetables and sautéed some fish and chicken. No wonder those bags had smelled so bad.

Delia had come back. She’d gone out shopping with some friends. She had several large bags of clothes. I didn’t ask where she got the money. That would have been rude.

There were introductions all around. Ollie reminded me a lot of Uncle Saul. He wasn’t as outgoing—Uncle Saul had been known for his hospitality at his restaurant before his breakdown. Ollie helped Uncle Saul at the grill while I went to work on my hair.

It was almost seven
P.M.
I didn’t know what Miguel would make of all this. I couldn’t leave Uncle Saul, even for the possibility of a romantic dinner out.

I waited by the front door until I saw Miguel’s Mercedes pull up. With one last pat on my hair, I went out to greet him and explain the situation.

“I can’t go out. I’m sorry. I was looking forward to dinner.”

“That’s fine.” Miguel smiled and didn’t look upset at all. “Am I invited to the feast?”

I was a little put out that he didn’t seem disappointed that he couldn’t be alone with me. Maybe I’d overestimated the romance part of the meal. “That would be great. I’d love to have you meet my uncle.”

My personal radar that could spot bad people was nothing compared to Uncle Saul’s. Of course, he’d had years to get his working. I was still new to mine.

Miguel and Uncle Saul shook hands. I could see Uncle Saul’s eyes narrow as he talked to Miguel. I knew he was assessing his personality. I was eager to find out what he thought.

Somehow, Uncle Saul got Miguel to put on a big white apron and had him cooking crawdads on the stove. I stayed at the oven making biscuits and then frying the biscuit bowls in the deep fryer. It was fun watching the three men make food. The diner was beginning to smell wonderful. I couldn’t wait until the food was ready.

I could see Uncle Saul was making enough food to feed a small army. I told Marty he should bring the rest of the men down from the homeless shelter. “We’ll have more than enough for everyone.”

Marty smiled and thanked me. “Your uncle is amazing. I guess you take after him, Zoe. Why isn’t he helping you with your business?”

“It’s a long story. Mostly, he can’t live in Mobile anymore. He had a popular restaurant here years ago. People still talk about eating there. From what I can tell, it was quite an experience. He helps me out when he can.”

“Sounds like some of my crew.” Marty grinned. “People need a break sometimes. I’m glad he didn’t drop out of your life entirely. Maybe he could stay around for a while to help you through this other problem. From what Ollie has told me, I don’t think you’re safe here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I’m going to find some plates and silverware for everyone. I hope all of you are hungry. I don’t think I can store any more food in the refrigerator. We have to eat all of this or it has to go home with someone.”

Marty agreed and walked back to the shelter. I found some old china plates and cups that had come with the diner. I’d washed them and stored them, though I’d had no intention of using them. This little party was more people than were legally allowed to eat here until I made other changes. But the zoning officer had said it was okay to have people there, so long as I didn’t charge them to eat.

Ollie, Miguel, and Uncle Saul were busy laughing and cooking. I waited a few minutes after getting the tables set up for Marty to return. The food was going to be ready anytime. What could be keeping them?

“I’m going to check on Marty,” I told everyone. No one replied. I wasn’t sure if they hadn’t heard me or were too busy to respond. “I’ll be back with hungry men in a few minutes.”

Crème Brûlée meowed. Otherwise, my announcement fell on deaf ears. With a shrug, I headed out into the night to see if I could help speed up the process.

I heard a noise in the back of the building. It probably wasn’t a good idea to go back there, but last month, I’d found a stray cat trapped in the trash container. I’d helped him get free and received three scratches for my efforts. Crème Brûlée had snubbed his nose at me for days afterward.

Knowing all of that, I went back there anyway. It was very dark behind the old shopping center that housed the diner, the consignment store, and the homeless shelter. There was another vacant storefront that had old sewing machines in it. Marty told me there had once been a tailor shop there. Now it was just creepy.

I’d asked the electric company a few times about repairing the streetlight behind the building. They’d told me it was on a list. It seemed to be a very long list.

Walking carefully around old car parts, broken bottles, and partial wood pallets, I searched the area, listening for the sound I’d heard up front. I didn’t call out. I was hoping it was nothing more than another cat. If it was something, or
someone
, else, I didn’t necessarily want them to know I was there.

I thought about Terry. He was killed back here. There was still crime scene tape fluttering in the slight breeze. Maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

And what if Don Abbott wanted another crack at me? I began to feel all kinds of stupid for being there.

I also thought about the green Lincoln that had come from somewhere in the parking lot to pick up Delia on the night Terry had been killed. I didn’t know who was driving that vehicle, but Delia did.

I knew she’d said the man in the Lincoln was someone important, and that she didn’t want to bother him by asking questions about Terry’s death, but maybe he’d seen something and didn’t realize it. I decided to ask Delia about it again.

I heard the sound again, the one that had sent me exploring back there. It was a groaning noise. Someone was in trouble.

“Hello?” My voice quivered and cracked. I sounded like a woman in a bad horror movie. “Is someone out here?”

A groan came back to me, muffled, but definitely there. “Zoe? Over here.”

I hesitated. It seemed like something someone would do to get my attention and then stick a gun in my face. I wanted to make sure no one was really lying on the ground, maybe injured. I just didn’t want that to be me after I responded.

“If that’s you, Don, my friends are inside and they’ll come looking for me in a minute.” I hoped that was true. Miguel, Ollie, and Uncle Saul had been having such a good time, I wasn’t sure. Delia was busy trying on clothes.

“Zoe,” the spectral-sounding voice called again. “Help me.”

It definitely wasn’t a cat. I ran toward the sound. There was a figure on the dirty blacktop. I didn’t hesitate this time. I kept going until I’d reached my target.

It was Marty. He was injured, clutching his hand to his head and moaning.

“What happened?” I helped him sit up.

“I heard something back here. I was afraid it was someone trying to reach the shelter. It happens all the time. I looked by the trash bin, and suddenly, a man jumped out at me. He hit me in the head with something. I went down, and he started asking questions.”

“Questions?” I immediately became suspicious. That attack may have been meant for
me
. “What kind of questions?”