Once Uncle Saul was gone, I decided to tackle deep cleaning the kitchen in the Biscuit Bowl. I knew a lot of my usual chores had gone undone while I’d been away. Tomorrow, the kitchen would be sparkling when I accepted that fifty-thousand-dollar check.

There were crumbs and food where there shouldn’t have been. The deep fryer wasn’t too bad, since the oil was new. I cleaned out the little oven—everything would still have to be cooked in there to comply with the race rules.

The floor was awful. Ollie was bad about spilling things. I scoured and scrubbed until my fingers were sore. The kitchen finally smelled clean. I vacuumed the front seat and the back of the food truck. It was surprising what a mess Crème Brûlée had made just sleeping in the seat. At least he hadn’t been sick or used anything for his litter box up there. I felt blessed.

While I was cleaning, I was thinking about Alex and Detective McSwain again. I couldn’t help it. I wished I could figure out what had happened to them—and to Detective Helms.

Funny how my mind didn’t wander to include Tina in those thoughts.

I realized that despite Tina being injured I still considered her to be a possible suspect—without Miguel’s help, of course. She could still have set him up to take the fall for Alex’s death. It made sense in a lot of ways.

There was no proof that she was involved, which was why the police kept letting her go. They wanted Miguel and Tina to both be guilty, or neither of them. I thought that was ridiculous.

I had my eye on Tina. Well, at least I’d had my eye on Tina. I supposed Miguel was finding her a hotel room. She wasn’t really part of the race at all. I didn’t think she’d stay with Chef Art.

I hoped she wasn’t staying with Miguel.

As I was finishing up my job with the Biscuit Bowl, Mobile detective Patti Latoure rolled up in her car. I’d met her about the same time I’d met Miguel last year, after a series of unfortunate events I really wanted to forget.

“Zoe.” She nodded and smiled at me. She was of medium height and build, with suspicious blue eyes and dyed blond hair tied back from her face. She was wearing dressy black pants and a white top under her black jacket.

I’d gotten to know her a little. She was friendly, and I liked her. She’d told me she planned to be a lawyer until a friend of hers had been killed when she was in college. I knew she had a husband who hated her being a cop, and they had all kinds of arguments about it. I also knew they had no kids.

“Hi! I was kind of expecting you.”

She got out of her car and put her hands on her slender hips. I could see her detective’s badge and her gun. “That doesn’t surprise me. You’ve been raising a ruckus all the way here from Charlotte.”

I laughed, knowing her well enough to do so. “Not me personally—the race. I haven’t done anything except make biscuit bowls, serve them on roller skates and in a bikini, and find a dead man. Not much.”

She smiled, too. “I guess we’ll keep a special eye on the race events tomorrow. It was kind of a mess, wasn’t it?”

“You could say that. Come inside and I’ll fill you in. I have to work on my sweet filling for tomorrow.”

She followed me in and perched on one of the stools at the counter as I poured her some sweet iced tea and made some biscuits. I explained everything about the race from Charlotte to Mobile and let her draw her own conclusions.

“That’s a shame about the Dog House.” She sipped tea and nibbled at a biscuit. “I loved that man’s Polish sausage, even though I couldn’t look at him when I bought it.”

“I know what you mean. I guess the Dog House was in good shape, though. The race inspectors put us through a harder inspection than we get here.”

“And you say the police are sure that his death wasn’t an accident?”

I shrugged as I debated putting a little sugar into the biscuit bowls tomorrow morning. “That’s what they said. Detectives Helms and Marsh came with us from Charlotte after Reggie died and their friend, Detective McSwain, was killed.”

She seemed to be thinking about it as she ate her biscuit. I hadn’t fried it for her. She’d wanted it plain.

Ollie came in a few minutes later and sat beside her on a stool.

I wished they were real paying customers. But the diner wasn’t set up to pass inspection for more than a few nonpaying friends, and making food for the Biscuit Bowl.

“Nothing changed at the shelter while I was gone.” Ollie got some tea, too. “I didn’t expect it to. It always feels like something should change when I go away.”

Patti glanced at him as though she was trying to figure out what he was saying. “Ollie, sometimes we have to make our own changes, you know? If you want things to be different, you have to make them different.”

Delia came out of her room and joined us. I could see she was still a little upset at what I’d said to her earlier. I was sorry I’d hurt her, but I believed that what I said was true.

“Need any help with that?” she asked in a sulky voice.

“Nope. I’m fine. I’ve been thinking about putting a little powdered sugar into the sweet biscuit bowl dough for tomorrow. What do you think?”

“I don’t think it could hurt.”

Ollie disagreed. “They’re not donuts, Zoe. The middles make them sweet enough.”

I shrugged, still thinking about it as I put a few samples into the deep fryer.

“I suppose neither one of you saw anything out of the ordinary during the race.” Patti turned to them. “Those murders have been dumped right in our lap now.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Delia laughed. “I saw Ollie in a red bikini. That was out of the ordinary.”

Ollie grinned and Delia kissed his cheek.

“In a good way.” She smiled up at him. “I didn’t know a man could look good in a bikini.”

“How about you, Ollie?” Patti asked him.

“I didn’t see anything that had to do with murder or vandalism, if that’s what you’re asking, Detective Latoure.” Ollie’s tone was slightly rehearsed. He was always careful around the police.

Patti finished her biscuit and tea before she got to her feet. “I guess I’d better get going. I hear you all start early tomorrow. Let’s hope this part of the race is quiet.”

I agreed with her. “See you tomorrow.”

“And if any of you think of anything you didn’t tell the police in any of those other cities, give me a call, huh?”

“We will,” I promised for all of us.

Delia and Ollie were staring at each other as though they’d never seen each other. I took the first biscuit bowls out of the deep fryer and set them on the side to cool and drain.

“I’m going to step outside and call Miguel,” I said.

Neither one of them responded.

I went out, a tiny blossom of hope inside me that my two good friends had really found each other. Ollie deserved someone special in his life again. From what little I’d been able to glean from Miguel about his past, his dead wife was his first and last romance. He’d been unwilling to trust anyone since then. I couldn’t say that I blamed him.

It was the same thing for Delia, though not so dramatic. She deserved someone who loved her. They both did.

I called Miguel as I sat outside on the window ledge. I tried not to peek inside at what was going on. There was no answer. I left him a voice mail and walked around the building a few times. I didn’t want to go back inside right away.

The back of the old shopping center was a deplorable mess. I’d called and written letters to the city, and to the landlord, but there had been no response. Everything—including the kitchen sink and toilet—was thrown there. No wonder we had a problem with rats and bugs.

Since I had nothing better to do, I went ahead and called both offices again. There was no answer at the landlord’s number. The city clerk told me I’d have to file a special complaint form. When I told her I’d already filed that form—several times—she told me, quite cheerfully, that I’d have to wait until they could review it.