Alex grinned and took their questions. “We’re working as closely as we can with police to find the answers to what happened with Mr. Johnson in Charlotte. You know, Charlotte has a high crime rate, right? I personally think someone tried to rob him. Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And the power?” Dante, from Stick It Here, asked.

“Dante, your truck and Roy’s are the last two still being worked on. I promise they’ll be ready for tomorrow.”

Alex made promises like he was running for elected office.

“That won’t give us much time to get our supplies ready,” Roy reminded him. “How about you give us a few minutes’ head start?”

“Or extra points,” Dante suggested.

“You two are a couple of jokesters, aren’t you?” Alex laughed, but I could see him sweating in his nicely cut tuxedo.

Lucky for him, dinner was served before things got any uglier. Not that I blamed Roy and Dante for being upset. A lot of work went into their food each day. The vandalism had caused them extra work with no guarantee that they’d be ready tomorrow when the rest of us were.

There was some good-natured joking between tables about people singing as they sold their food for the next challenge. Everyone was worried about the taste challenge. I thought that was the easy part.

To make the rest of us feel even more insecure about singing in public, Reverend Jablonski and his fellow ministers from the Our Daily Bread food truck got up and performed several hymns for us.

“They sound like the freaking Vienna Boys Choir,” Ollie remarked. “How are we supposed to compete with that?”

Chef Art squirmed in his chair. His usual white linen suit seemed to fit a little tighter than normal. “I’d say the singing isn’t going to sell biscuits. Zoe doesn’t have to be a great singer tomorrow. She needs to show a little cleavage and a lot of leg. The biscuit bowls will do the rest.”

Everyone turned to me. No pressure. I sighed and started eating.

I had to resign myself to doing whatever was necessary to win the money. It was my food truck, after all, and my idea to be here.

The sliced roast beef was dry and the gravy was lumpy. I longed for a good burrito but was too exhausted to go out and find one. It was unfortunate that there was no food truck in the challenge tomorrow with Mexican food.

Delia was working hard to impress Ollie. She was looking at him like he was a chocolate-covered donut.

Maybe that was the part I was missing with Miguel.

Chef Art looked unhappy and impatient. He left before dessert. I went with him. Four A.M. would come early, and I was ready for today to be over.

We talked about my menu plans for tomorrow, and he reminded me how important it was to keep the food ideas fresh.

“Everyone is trying to come up with great ideas, sensational eats,” he warned. “I hope you are, too, Zoe. You know how essential that is to the food truck business. Don’t pay any attention to Saul on this. He’s got his food brain stuck in the 1980s.”

I agreed with him before the elevator chimed as it reached my floor. “I’ll see you in the morning, Chef Art.” I borrowed a page from Alex. “You know I’m all about the food.”

“I hope so. Good night, Zoe.” I got out of the elevator. The doors had closed before I saw Helms and Marsh standing in front of my room.

“Zoe, it’s important that we talk to you right away.”

ELEVEN

I let the two detectives into my room. I should’ve known they wouldn’t leave me alone just because I’d ignored them. I shouldn’t have agreed to help them.

Miguel’s threats of possible dire consequences for my actions were running around in the back of my mind.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Crème Brûlée hadn’t moved from his perch on it since I’d left. Helms took the soft chair and Marsh took the chair by the desk.

“What’s wrong?” I was hoping this would be over quickly and I could go to bed.

“We know you have to be up early—so do we, of course—to go out with the food trucks.” Helms smiled at me. She was really a very attractive woman.

“Something has happened that you should be aware of.” Marsh leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “We have a possible suspect in the death of Reggie Johnson. Our person of interest may even be involved with Detective McSwain’s death.”

“Who is it?” I was ready for anything.

“We think Miguel Alexander is involved.”

Okay. “What in the world makes you think that?”

“Mr. Alexander got a sizable deposit in his bank account the day he left Mobile.” Helms stared at me as though I should immediately understand what that meant.

“Are you monitoring all our bank accounts?” That shocked me more than the stupid idea that Miguel had anything to do with the deaths in Charlotte.

They exchanged glances.

“We needed to keep track of a few accounts, yes,” Helms agreed. “There were some standouts in the group. We aren’t keeping track of yours, Zoe, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Actually, I was more worried about Uncle Saul’s bank account, if he had one. My dad always said his brother was into a few shady dealings.

“I’m sure Miguel got paid for a job,” I shot back. “He does a lot of work on credit. I think you should pick another suspect.”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars is a lot of credit,” Marsh said.

“Have you been to a lawyer lately? That’s like two hours of work.” I wished they’d go away. I didn’t want to hear any more.

“The money was wired to him from an account in the Caymans,” Helms continued. “That’s what raised the red flag for us. We can’t tell whose account that was. We’ll have more information in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t believe Miguel has any ties to the people putting on the food truck race.” I yawned, hoping they’d take the hint. “Why would he kill Reggie?”

“He does have two ties,” Marsh said. “You and Reggie Johnson. We think he may have exploited the tie with you to get involved with the race so he could kill Mr. Johnson.”

“Why is he even here, Zoe?” Helms’s face was earnest. “Have you asked yourself that question? He’s not an official member of your team. He doesn’t work for you.”

“I asked him to come. He’s an outrider. He gets supplies. Each team is allowed one person with a car for that job.” I didn’t want to go into why Miguel was really there. That was between him and me.

They both nodded as though that meant something sinister.

“What about Alex?” I demanded. “Have you found out anything about the phone call I overheard?”

“We got his phone records, but that was a dead end.” Marsh shrugged. “There’s nothing there we can use.”

“Keep an eye on Miguel,” Helms said. “That’s all we’re asking.”

“It’s for your own good,” Marsh added. “If we’re right, and Alexander was paid by someone to disrupt the race, he’ll keep trying. He may have killed at least once. If so, he won’t hesitate to kill again.”

“And he may have someone working with him, so stay sharp,” Helms said. “We think someone else killed McSwain, but it was definitely part of this whole scheme.”

“That doesn’t sound like Miguel,” I insisted. “I think you should find another suspect. I won’t spy on him for you. You’ll have to find someone else. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”

Helms was apologetic. Marsh had more to say on the subject, but I insisted on escorting them both to the door.

When they were gone and the door was locked behind them, I took off my jeans and lay down beside Crème Brûlée in my T-shirt and underwear.