“I’ll run back and get more.” I was excited that we’d found a way around the problem.

“I don’t think you need to.” He pointed toward the sidewalk where a woman in a green Honda was parked. She waved to him. “I think we have our product review for the taste test! I told everyone who bought a biscuit what we needed. She agreed.”

Ollie told the woman where to pull her car, and we walked her to the cool-down tent like she was precious cargo. I could see she was flustered and embarrassed, but she went through with it, giving us a glowing video review for our strawberry biscuit bowls.

“We met the extra challenge,” he said after walking the woman back to her car and giving her a chicken salad biscuit bowl to say thanks. “That’s pretty good, right?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see. It shows initiative, right? I think a lot of teams are going to be washed out.” I hoped so anyway.

We took our money to the cool-down tent as Roy Chow and Reverend Jablonski were taking theirs in, too. Some of the sponsors were there, along with the producers and Patrick Ferris.

I didn’t know how this was going to come out, since we didn’t make enough money but had completed the review.

After a few minutes of conferring and checking things out, Patrick announced what they’d decided. “Because of the bad weather, no team sold enough to meet the challenge. We had two teams who made the taste-test challenge, the Biscuit Bowl and Our Daily Bread.”

There was appropriate applause, mostly from the producers’ assistants.

“We have a question for the Biscuit Bowl team and the Our Daily Bread team,” Patrick said. “You can take your thousand dollars now or use that win to improve your standing in the race. Your decision.”

It was a no-brainer for me. “We’ll use the money to improve our standing.”

“So will we,” Reverend Jablonski said.

“Then it looks like we have a tie for the winner of the second challenge,” Patrick said. “No team will take home the thousand dollars for the taste-test challenge.”

“So what do we do in case of a tie?” Jablonski asked.

The sponsors conferred with the producers. They gave their decision to one of their assistants, who delivered it to Patrick.

“Come on. Come on.” Ollie urged them to move faster. “Who wins?”

“The decision has been made to break the tie using the taste-test videos from each of you. We’re going to show the videos again, and whoever has the best compliments about their food wins.”

“Like what?” Ollie asked.

“Words.” Patrick fumbled trying to explain. “Good. Excellent. Delicious. That kind of thing.”

We watched our video again and then Our Daily Bread’s customer video. I couldn’t tell much difference. But Our Daily Bread was declared the winner of the tie.

Ollie and Chef Art protested the decision. It still put us in the number two slot, so I was happy. All we had to do was hang in there until Reverend Jablonski messed up and the race was ours.

Chef Art, immaculate as always in his white linen suit, winked and nodded at me. I knew he was pleased despite his protests. It had been a difficult challenge in the bad weather. We were still doing better than the other teams, which meant someone else was going to be sent home.

There were high fives between the two ministers representing Our Daily Bread. Everyone was excited and congratulating one another.

Now that the challenge was over, I was starting to worry about Miguel. I thought we would have heard something from him by then. I had hoped he’d be back already.

It made me feel guilty. I’d been so worried about winning the race, I’d forgotten all about him until that minute. I wanted to help him, but I wasn’t a lawyer. I hoped he’d called someone who knew what to do. All I could think to do was to go to the police station and demand his release.

Ollie growled as we left the tent. “We weren’t prepared enough.”

“I suppose not, but neither was anyone else. We did okay. Let’s get cleaned up. I want to know what’s happening with Miguel.”

We walked back to the Biscuit Bowl and told Uncle Saul and Delia the news. We started packing up, even though we had to wait for the official word about who had won, and what they had won.

I went to the front of the truck and checked on Crème Brûlée. He didn’t like storms. His howling during the bad weather was usually even worse than the thunder and lightning.

He seemed okay. Maybe I needed to run out to the food truck with him next time there was a storm at home. I stroked his soft white tummy, and he purred for me before he started slapping with his paws.

“You are so crazy.” I kissed his little nose. “But I love you. I know I’m neglecting you a little, but I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice said from behind.

I turned and faced Tina Gerard—for my money the one responsible for Miguel being questioned by the police. I would’ve blown her off. I felt like it was what she deserved.

Before I could, she said, “I know you’re Zoe Chase. I’m worried about Miguel. Have you heard anything?”

TWENTY

There was a tense sadness about her that I hadn’t noticed when I had seen her far away. She was beautiful and fragile, reminding me of a glass statue. Her clothes were expensive and well made. I felt sorry for her, too, knowing her husband had been trying to take everything away from her in their divorce settlement.

At least I hoped that’s what had been going on. She may have been lying about the whole thing to implicate Miguel in Alex’s death. I had to keep that in mind as I agreed to talk with her.

With everyone else packing up in back, and Crème Brûlée snoring in the front seat, I took a towel and dried off a pretty ornamental bench that was close to where the Biscuit Bowl was parked. We sat there as the heavy storm clouds moved slowly above us, promising more rain.

“I haven’t heard anything from Miguel since he left with the police early this morning.” I watched her face and eyes for any sign of what she was thinking.

She broke down sobbing. I went to the truck and got her a couple of napkins.

“I never meant for anything like this to happen when I asked him for help.” She thanked me and wiped away her tears.

“What did you expect?”

“I thought he could help me keep my daughter. I didn’t care anything about the money or the property. I haven’t worked in years, but I’m a lawyer. I can make my own way. Alex was vindictive and wanted to destroy me. Miguel has always been a good friend. I realize now that everything I’ve done has made me look guilty of Alex’s murder, and now Miguel is being blamed for it, too.”

“So you didn’t realize that putting twenty-five thousand dollars into Miguel’s bank account could make him look guilty of killing your husband?”

“No, of course not. I never dreamed someone else hated Alex enough to kill him.”

Someone else? I caught her meaning. She hated him enough to kill him.

“Did you kill him, or get someone else to do it, knowing Miguel would take the fall for it?”

Her face never changed. “I’d never do something like that to Miguel.”

“Have you told that to the police?”

Her eyes shifted away from me. “I’ve talked to the police. They’ve asked me a ton of questions about Alex’s death.”

“But did you tell them that you put the money in Miguel’s account for him to represent you?” I had to pin her down on this.

“They never asked me.”

I stood up, anger propelling my legs like springs. “We have to go and tell them.”