“This potentially puts you in a very awkward place,” he said. “If anyone finds out that you’re working with them, it could be bad for you. If a killer is part of the race, your life could be in danger.”

I kind of laughed it off. “It’s not like I know anything, at least not anything that anyone else doesn’t know. I thought it was better to humor them, you know? They promised to stay out of my way. What have I got to lose?”

Before Miguel could answer, there was another loud rap at the door.

“Zoe?” Alex’s voice came through the door. “It’s me. Could I have a word?”

Miguel opened the door. He and Alex exchanged a few inquisitive stares and shook hands while I put on my shoes. Miguel left the door open, standing right in the middle of the opening. The smile on his face was challenging.

I didn’t like Alex, knowing what I knew, but it wouldn’t do me any good to antagonize him. I looked up and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Alex chuckled. “Working on tomorrow’s challenge, I see. Good job! I’m sure you’ll be fabulous.”

“Thanks. Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

“Zoe, I’ve heard an ugly rumor about someone in Charlotte saying that I had something to do with what happened to Reggie Johnson. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No. I can’t imagine who’d say such a thing.” I couldn’t resist adding, “You didn’t, did you?”

“Absolutely not! I’m all about the food truck show. Reggie’s death hurt us all. It’s a black mark on this race that can never be removed. I want you to remember that.”

If his words had been any more rehearsed, I would’ve been able to see him practicing in the mirror.

I thought about what he’d said—what could he have to gain by killing Reggie?

I could understand why Detective McSwain was killed. He was asking questions. At least that made sense. Poor Reggie didn’t know much about anything.

“I understand, Alex. I don’t want anything else bad to happen during the race, either. I came to win the money and show people my food. That’s it.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought. Let’s keep the competition fair and friendly. I’ll do my best. I know you’ll do yours.”

I closed the door behind Alex as he left. For a moment, Miguel and I didn’t move or speak.

“I think he knows that I told the police about what I heard. Somehow he found out. I’m doomed.”

– – – – – – –

There wasn’t enough time for Miguel and me to continue where we left off before Delia returned.

“Oh!” She smirked when she saw the two of us together. “Shall I leave and come back later?”

Miguel cleared his throat. “No. I’m the one who should be going.”

“Thanks for your help with the skates. Will I see you at dinner with everyone else?”

“I won’t be at dinner tonight, Zoe. I have to meet someone. I’ll see you in the morning at four. Bye, Delia.”

I immediately thought of the beautiful mystery woman from Charlotte. Did she follow him here?

He left quickly, and Delia put her hands on her hips. “Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish. What’s so important that he couldn’t be here for dinner?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’ll be fine.” She put down her bag. “Now, let’s get you all dressed up, just in case he puts in a surprise appearance!”

I didn’t get dressed up, despite Delia’s blandishments. What was the point? Miguel wasn’t going to be there. I was exhausted and wouldn’t have gone down at all if it wasn’t a requirement of the race.

I had to keep reminding myself that just because Miguel kissed me didn’t mean we were going to sit around holding hands and gazing at the stars together all the time. He had a life. I had a life. I wanted him to be part of my life. Hopefully he wanted me to be part of his.

All the talking to myself, and to Crème Brûlée, as Delia showered and changed clothes, didn’t help at all. We headed downstairs for dinner with Ollie, Uncle Saul, and Chef Art.

Delia was beautiful in her slinky, sparkly gold dress with matching spike heels. I was just me in jeans and a Biscuit Bowl T-shirt. My black curly hair was looking good, though. I put on some eye makeup and lipstick since the dinner would be taped and shown on TV, too.

I told Delia about Miguel kissing me by the trash bin. She wasn’t all that impressed. I wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but I thought it was a good start.

We got out of the elevator on the ground floor, and I immediately saw Miguel near the front door of the hotel. He was wearing a nice suit and had his arms around the same woman I’d seen him with in Charlotte.

She was tall and beautiful, dark haired, and dressed in a fabulous red cocktail dress. They walked out of the hotel with her hanging on his arm. What an awesome couple they made.

Delia patted my arm. “Don’t worry. It looks like he has something going on with her right now. You’re bound to be next in line. He’s just getting his feet wet with you right now. 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!

“Ladies!” 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.

“Have you talked to Alex yet?” Chef Art asked after I sat down.

“You 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.”

“I 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.

“It was a good challenge today, people. Tomorrow will be even better.”

“What about the dead guy?” Daryl Barbee yelled out, still wearing his oversized cowboy hat.

“And 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.