“I’m willing to do my part,” Uncle Saul conceded. “I can always hit Ollie with a biscuit if he and Delia get too annoying. We’ll be okay for a few days.”

“Let’s focus on that. We need different sweet and savory fillings for the biscuit bowls in Atlanta. Stews and the usual hot foods aren’t going to work in this weather. I’m thinking about chicken salad. You know, you used to make that chicken salad with the pistachios in it? Maybe we could do that.”

He laughed and slapped his knee. “That was forever ago. But I remember. I made that special honey balsamic dressing for it.”

“That’s right. You tell me what you need, and I’ll start working on a list for Miguel as we’re driving. I want to be on top of this.”

He laughed. “I’ll work on the list. You’re driving.” He took out my cell phone. “How do I get this thing to make a list?”

“You might do better with a pen and paper! There should be some in the glove box.”

He took out a pen and found some paper. “You know, I saw you and Miguel outside this morning. Looks like the two of you are having a few problems.”

I dictated the supply list while Uncle Saul wrote what I said and added his own supplies.

It was a long trip to Atlanta. We stopped for lunch right off the highway. The restaurant was busy, but it was clean and the food was decent.

Delia flirted with Ollie while we ate. The two of them were acting like lovebirds, just as Uncle Saul had dreaded. It didn’t surprise me, and it didn’t bother me. I hoped he’d be okay with it, too. I thought he might be a tiny bit jealous since the object of his affections was back home.

I was worried about the honey balsamic dressing for the chicken salad. The ingredients that Uncle Saul had given Miguel didn’t seem right. I was afraid he wasn’t thinking about chicken salad when he wrote the list. It would be hard to get supplies at four A.M. the next morning if Miguel didn’t get everything today.

“Are you sure this is right?” I asked him again.

We were at the restaurant, getting ready to go.

He glared at Ollie and Delia who were laughing at something, their heads together. “It’s right, Zoe. Don’t worry about it.”

I checked the list again before I gave it to Miguel. I wanted to take a look at everything for the next day. Uncle Saul and I left Miguel, Delia, and Ollie as they were getting into the Mercedes. We weren’t back on the highway for more than a few minutes, with Uncle Saul at the wheel, when he began slowing down.

“What’s wrong?” Please don’t let something be wrong with the engine.

“I think that’s Dante Eldridge out there on the road. Where’s his food truck?”

FOURTEEN

“I was hijacked,” Dante said when we had pulled to the side of the road. “I stopped for gas, and someone hit me in the head and took my truck. I got a knot the size of a golf ball and a headache bigger than my truck. I’m gonna kill whoever did this.”

In the meantime, he needed a ride. His cell phone was in Stick It Here, too. I let him borrow mine to call the police. He got in the car with Miguel, Delia, and Ollie. The plan was to get him to the next exit where he could wait for the police. It wouldn’t do him any good to go on to Atlanta without his truck.

We were already in Georgia, with another hour or so to go until we reached the city. Uncle Saul and I got back in the Biscuit Bowl.

But Crème Brûlée was crying and unhappy. Before we could leave, I had to put on his harness and let him out in the grass on the side of the road.

“You should’ve left that cat at home, Zoe,” my uncle commented as trucks and cars streamed by us.

“I couldn’t. I took him to Mom’s house and he didn’t want to stay. You know Dad won’t keep him.”

“Probably just as well, unless you want the poor creature to starve to death.” Uncle Saul watched Crème Brûlée, who was closely studying a dead moth in the grass. “On second thought, you’d have to skip feeding him for more than a week for that to happen. How’d that cat get so big?”

“He’s got very large bones. And his breed can be quite large.” I held up one of Crème Brûlée’s paws. “See the size of that?”

He laughed. “Yeah. Like a lion.”

He was making fun of my cat! I scooped Crème Brûlée up after he’d finished his business and carried him back to the food truck. He didn’t like being lifted. He kept slapping at me and howling until he was back in his bed again.

“He’s got a real attitude problem, too.”

“Don’t talk about him. He’s right here between us. It hurts his feelings.”

“You are too soft, Zoe girl. Your heart must be made out of marshmallow. I hope it doesn’t get burned one day.”

I didn’t comment on that. Ollie called to make sure nothing was wrong. They were already at the next exit waiting for us. I explained that my cat had needed a pit stop. Uncle Saul started the Biscuit Bowl, and we headed toward the exit.

“This race is getting risky,” Uncle Saul said. “Vandalism. Hijacking. Murder. I’ve never seen the like. What are people thinking? Fifty thousand dollars isn’t gonna make that big a difference in anyone’s life. Well, it’s really more like twenty-five thousand after taxes.”

“It’s a lot of money, however you look at it,” I replied. “And there’s the prestige. This is going to be broadcast all over the country. People are going to see the Biscuit Bowl in California and New York. All of us will be famous—but not as famous as whoever wins the race.”

He patted my hand, reaching over Crème Brûlée between us. Of course my cat had to swat at him a few times.

“Hey!” Uncle Saul yelled at him. “Don’t worry, Zoe. I’ll do what I can to help you win.”

“Thanks.”

I thought about Dante. He’d been alone in his food truck, like Reggie. I hoped there were enough of us to keep our truck from being hijacked.

“What would someone want with Stick It Here anyway?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The whole thing is crazy.”

We went off at the exit and found the others at a more heavily traveled gas station close to the road. It was a surprise to see the highway patrol already there and talking to Dante. I decided we should wait until they were finished. The chances were the police wouldn’t find the food truck right away. Dante was going to need a ride to Atlanta.

“It’s easy to spot,” Dante explained to the officers. “There are sticks coming up out of the top with big, fake pieces of meat on them. The truck is white and has a lot of writing on it. You can’t miss it.”

One of the officers glanced at the biscuit on top of my food truck and nodded. “I get it. One of those food truck people. They told us you’d be coming from Columbia this way.”

“That’s right,” Dante agreed. “Can someone call me if you find it out here?”

The officer handed him a business card. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

There was nothing else to do but head for Atlanta. I felt so sorry for Dante even though we were competitors. He was doing so well in the race. It had to be hard to want it so badly only to have someone snatch the victory away.

Not to mention that Dante made his living with his food truck in his hometown, Jackson, Mississippi. Even if he had insurance, which many vendors didn’t, it might be months before he could work again.

Putting that behind us, Uncle Saul and I talked about sweet fillings for tomorrow’s biscuit bowls all the way to the hotel in Atlanta. We decided to make strawberry filling, if we could find some fresh strawberries. We could drizzle white icing over the top of each one. Yum!

Atlanta was so much bigger than Charlotte and Columbia—bigger than Mobile, too. It was like the tall buildings were mountains surrounding us. I wished I had time to wander around the shops and look at kitchen gadgets, but I knew that wouldn’t happen during this trip. Maybe next time.