Fry Another Day by J. J. Cook Page B

That’s the way it is with men. He’s probably getting ready to break up with her.”
    I didn’t argue with her even though my careful research into his life hadn’t included a woman he was close to besides his sister and grandmother.
    Race officials were springing for a big dinner each night where we would talk about what had happened that day and what we were doing the next day. They were using one of the hotel’s private dining rooms.
    We were supposed to wear the clothes we wore in our food trucks to identify ourselves to TV viewers. Most of the other teams and sponsors were there already. Hardly anyone was dressed like they had been in Charlotte earlier. I felt a little underdressed in my T-shirt and jeans, but at least my Biscuit Bowl T-shirt would be clear on TV.
    I saw our table and waved to Uncle Saul.
    I avoided the chair beside Ollie, figuring that he had probably left it open for Delia. He was already staring at her like a large puppy with a tattooed head. It was probably all he could do not to let his tongue loll out!
    â€œLadies!” Chef Art greeted us, pushing to his feet.
    With Delia taking the chair beside Ollie, I took the open spot beside Chef Art. The single open chair taunted me. It was where Miguel would have sat if he wasn’t out with that exceptionally beautiful woman.
    â€œHave you talked to Alex yet?” Chef Art asked after I sat down.
    â€œYou mean has he accused me of trying to get him in trouble?” I ordered a margarita from the passing waiter. “Yes. I assume he talked to you, too.”
    His bright blue eyes were worried. I could tell because his left one was all twitchy. “There’s a lot of money riding on this thing, Zoe. Don’t screw it up. I like you. I really do. I like my money better. Leave Alex alone, and stay away from the police. Let this thing play out.”
    â€œI will.” I thought about Helms and Marsh. They probably weren’t too happy with me right now after I’d ignored their summons.
    They were supposed to
wait
for my reports on the race, I considered sulkily, not call me every few minutes. How was I supposed to keep our arrangement a secret if we met in the lobby all the time?
    Everyone had ordered their drinks and dinner. I was working on my second margarita. It was almost nine when Alex addressed the crowd. I was beginning to think he was born with a microphone in his hand.
    â€œIt was a good challenge today, people. Tomorrow will be
even
better.”
    â€œWhat about the dead guy?” Daryl Barbee yelled out, still wearing his oversized cowboy hat.
    â€œAnd our money that we lost in the vandalism,” Roy Chow from Chooey’s Sooey called out. “My power is still not on in my truck.”
    Roy was dressed conservatively in a suit and tie. When he was in his food truck, he and his three-man team wore matching New York Yankees baseball uniforms, down to the cleats on his shoes.
    Not sure what that was supposed to mean to his customers, but he
was
from New York.
    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.”
    â€œAnd the power?” Dante, from Stick It Here, asked.
    â€œDante, 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.
    â€œThat won’t give us much time to get our supplies ready,” Roy reminded him. “How about you give us a few minutes’ head start?”
    â€œOr extra points,” Dante suggested.
    â€œYou 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