Fat Tuesday Fricassee by J. J. Cook Read Free Book Online Page A

have to acknowledge where they found the reporter. That could be a disaster for your family and maybe ruin the investigation.”
    Ollie looked pleased that Miguel thought he was right. “That’s not where you want to go, Zoe. Leave it alone. Let’s make some MoonPies.”
    Miguel didn’t say anything else about it as we smoothed the chocolate across the top of the graham crackers.
    But I had a terrible feeling I hadn’t heard the last of the reporter’s death.
    After the MoonPies were made and carefully put away—Crème Brûlée loved MoonPies—we took the Biscuit Bowl to the assigned area. It was a large municipal parking lot close to the parades and other festivities.
    There was plenty of room for all the trucks. A man in an orange vest told us where to park. Miguel was in the Mercedes. He followed me, Ollie, and Crème Brûlée into the parking area.
    There were ten times more regulations about how and where to park for the parades than I faced each day as a business owner. All the food trucks had to have their wheels blocked so they couldn’t move. Each truck had to have exactly twelve feet between it and the next truck. When serving, each truck was supposed to be responsible for putting out orange cones to designate where customers should stand.
    â€œGood thing you have some chairs,” Ollie observed. “There’s nowhere to sit and eat.”
    â€œThey won’t let me use my chairs or tables,” I told him. “They’re supposed to put out picnic tables.”
    â€œThat’s stupid,” Ollie replied.
    â€œIt was part of the deal the city made with local restaurants who feel like the food trucks might take away their business.”
    Miguel had to move his car to the street, but he finally made it back over to us. We had about forty-five minutes to get everything set up so it could be inspected. Even if you had a recent health inspection—as I had—you still had to have another one.
    â€œI’ve been thinking about the reporter’s death,” Miguel said as he and I were putting the cups, plates, and plastic forks away.
    â€œMe, too. Almost nonstop.”
    â€œIt could be dangerous for you to ask questions about it.”
    I knew he still had more to say on the subject. I noticed that he’d waited to say it until Ollie was outside blocking the wheels on the food truck.
    I studied his handsome face. “Are you a member of one of the secret societies?”
    â€œOf course not. Why would you think that?”
    â€œYou were almost the city’s district attorney at one time. I know a lot of people in powerful positions are members.” I turned away again to stock napkins. “Not that I’d expect you to tell me if you were.”
    Miguel had been framed for evidence tampering when he ran for district attorney. He couldn’t prove it, but many people knew it was true. He came from a family with very little money and no connections. But that didn’t mean that he wasn’t a member of a krewe or society. Not everyone in those organizations was wealthy when they started out.
    â€œI’d tell you.” He stopped and put his hands on my arms. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Zoe.”
    â€œThanks.” I smiled. “I didn’t find out that my father’s family had helped found one of the city’s largest secret societies until I was sixteen and Daddy wanted me to be queen of something. He’d kept it from me all those years, and I was his daughter. We both know people like to keep their secrets.”
    â€œI don’t have to be a member of anything to know that you could be hurt if you get involved with this. The reporter could have been killed because he planned to expose the Mistics of Time membership. I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve heard the stories. I know you have, too.”
    â€œI suppose that makes sense,” I admitted. “But I