I laughed. “Of course I trust you! Thanks for thinking of it. Please thank Chef Art for me, too.”

Crème Brûlée was done eating. He was trying his best to get on the bed. I picked him up and lay down with him, snuggling into his soft fur.

“Between the race and the murders, it’s enough to drive a person crazy.”

He softly meowed and bumped his head against mine. We fell asleep that way.

– – – – – – –

My cell phone woke me up about an hour later. It was my mother again, checking on me. She wanted to know all about Alex’s death and my involvement.

“When is all this supposed to be over, Zoe?”

“I’m in Birmingham today. I’ll be in Mobile tomorrow. One way or another, it will be over Friday.”

“Well that’s good news at least.” She started to say something and changed her mind. Instead, she questioned, “What do you mean one way or another?”

“I mean, either I’ll win or I’ll lose.”

“What about that poor dead man? Bless his soul. He was good-looking, wasn’t he?”

“And he wanted to ruin his ex-wife’s life.”

“You know, I hear those kinds of things all the time. Sometimes it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

I looked at the time. “I have to go, Mom. I’m going to be late for dinner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Be careful out there. You never know what those other food truck people are thinking.”

I got up and dressed quickly. I’d brought a nice pair of white pants and a matching halter top. It looked good with my summer tan, and even my curls cooperated. I slipped my feet into matching white sandals and was ready to go.

I had to sort out Crème Brûlée before I left. It wasn’t easy. He was tired of the whole experience and didn’t want to cooperate. I finally coaxed him into drinking some water, and then he rolled over and ignored me.

“You’re the one who’ll be sorry later when you’re lonely,” I promised him.

Ollie, Uncle Saul, and Delia had all called me, wondering where I was. They were already downstairs. I slipped into the large room booked for dinner that night and took my place at the table as though I’d been there the whole time.

“Where have you been?” Uncle Saul asked. “I was afraid they were going to disqualify you. I hope the cameras didn’t catch you coming in.”

“I was only a few minutes late. Mom called. You know I had to talk to her. We’re close enough that she could’ve driven up here.”

Patrick Ferris started messing around with the microphone, which meant we were about to get started. Ollie asked me where Miguel was. I started to explain, but Chef Art shushed me.

“Is this thing on?” Patrick asked with a laugh.

There were a few snickers from the greatly reduced group sitting at the big tables.

“Good evening, foodies. It’s nice to see some of you still in the race—at least until tomorrow. Birmingham is gonna sort out the winners from the losers before we move on to Mobile.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Bobbie Shields said. “Let’s get on with it. Where’s dinner?”

Patrick kept his million-dollar smile in place. “I think I see dinner coming right now. I’m hungry, too. But first, I’m sure you’re all dying to know what’s in that pretty package in the middle of your table.”

I hadn’t even noticed the package until he’d said something. I had a lot on my mind. I saw the elaborately wrapped package and reached for it—too late. Chef Art grabbed it first.

“Now what do you think is in here?” He pulled at the beautiful lavender-colored ribbon.

“Like he doesn’t know,” Ollie muttered.

When the package was unwrapped, he read the card inside, as everyone around us was reading their cards. Waiters began serving the meal. Chef Art finally passed the card to me.

“Now that you’ve had a chance to see your personal information,” Patrick said, “I’m going to explain what it means.”

My card said: Do it in the red. I had no idea what that meant.

“We’re gonna get cutthroat here, campers! That personal message you received is your tag for tomorrow’s challenge.”

“What kind of tag?” Ollie snatched the card from me.

“What does it say?” Uncle Saul asked.

“What do you mean by tag?” Reverend Jablonski asked from his usual table at the front.

“Tag. You’ll understand better when we talk about the next part of tomorrow’s challenge. Two food trucks are going home tomorrow before we head to Mobile. They won’t pass go, and they won’t collect fifty thousand dollars. Remember that when you figure out what your tag is all about.”

That brought a round of applause from everyone at the Biscuit Bowl table, Shut Up and Eat, and Grinch’s Ganache. I didn’t applaud, and neither did the team at Our Daily Bread’s table.

“We don’t understand, Patrick,” Reverend Jablonski said. “Could you be clearer?”

Patrick laughed a trifle like a bad guy in a B movie. Kind of bwahaha. “That’s up to you, Our Daily Bread team. No one will force you to use your tag. However, a word of warning: I’m sure the other foodies in this room will use theirs. Especially once they hear the challenges for tomorrow.”

I stared at the empty chair next to me where Miguel should’ve been sitting. I wasn’t a bit interested in the dried-up chicken, green beans, and rice on my plate.

It was hard to get into the spirit of the race knowing that the police were questioning Miguel again. I wished there were something I could do to help. Sitting here and playing games wouldn’t make any difference. It made me want to give up and go home.

That’s not a bit like me, but I hadn’t been sleeping well in the hotel rooms, and the stress of being part of this race, let alone a murder investigation, was beginning to take its toll on me.

“What about us, Zoe?” Ollie asked. “What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about giving up and spending my time helping Miguel stay out of jail instead of worrying about whether or not we’re going to get tagged in this race.”

I explained to him that the police had Miguel and Tina, while new girls in bikinis brought out the electronic board again. The cameramen were setting up the lighting. A makeup artist was checking Patrick’s face. It all seemed so pointless.

“But that’s good news that Helms believes him, right?” Ollie asked.

“I hope so, but she’s not the only one involved.”

“Zoe, there’s nothing you can do for Miguel,” Chef Art said. “If you quit now, think how that will look for me. I have a lot at stake. If you do your best and don’t win, that’s different. No one likes a quitter.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t think how else to help him.”

Delia hugged me. “I completely understand. You have to do what you think is right.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Ollie said. “We’ve been through a lot to get to this point. If you give up, that means we did it for nothing.”

“He’s right.” Uncle Saul surprised me by agreeing. “Miguel wouldn’t want you to quit, either. He’s a smart boy. He knows how to handle this type of situation.”

“Fine.” Chef Art threw down his napkin. “I’ll send my lawyer over to help the two of them, Zoe, if you stay in the race. Happy? Will you stay?”

It was a generous offer. Chef Art’s lawyer could do a lot more for Miguel than I could hanging around the police station. Even though I knew Chef Art was offering to help for his own purposes, I didn’t care.

“Okay. We’ll go on. Thank you.”

“Now what about tagging?” Ollie asked me again.

TWENTY-THREE

Before I could admit that I had no idea what the tag was all about, Patrick got everything set up and was ready with tomorrow’s challenge.