Fat Tuesday Fricassee by J. J. Cook Page B

Old Slac—is a sure sign that death is coming. As for you seeing another man dressed like Death in the Biscuit Bowl, I’ve never heard of it as an omen, but you should leave with your father right away.”
    â€œSince when is the ghost of Old Slac a real thing?” I asked. “Is that supposed to be the ghost of Death I’ve seen, too? Come on, Chef Art. I can’t believe you think any of that stuff is real.”
    He hurriedly gave the waitress a hundred-dollar bill for our coffee and beignets. “You’d better start thinking it’s real, my dear. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Go away for a few months. Have a nice vacation. Maybe by that time this whole thing will have blown over.”
    I felt like the proverbial rats were deserting the sinking ship—and I was the ship. Chef Art headed out of the café almost as quickly as Tucker Phillips. One minute they were begging for my help, and the next they were writing my obituary.
    Their attitudes were even worse than those of my mother and father.
    The parade was over when I stepped outside. Traffic was back to normal. I hailed a taxi for a ride back to the diner, hoping I’d find some sanity in the task of getting my food ready for tomorrow.
    I opened the back door of the taxi after seeing the familiar flamingo sticker on the window. It was my uncle’s friend, Cole.
    - - - - - - -
    I wasn’t surprised to find Uncle Saul lounging in the backseat. “Get in, Zoe girl.” He grinned. “The ghost of Old Slac might want to take a potshot at you from a roof.”
    I got into the taxi and slammed the door behind me. “I’m glad you think it’s funny. No one else does.”
    â€œThat’s Saul for you,” Cole said from the driver’s seat. “How you doin’, Zoe?”
    â€œI’ve been better,” I replied honestly. “I hope you’re good, Cole.”
    â€œCan’t complain. It’s time for carnival. Greatest time of the year!”
    â€œI used to think that, too.” I stared at Uncle Saul. “So what happens now?”
    â€œI don’t know. I left before your mother killed your father. I was hoping we’d bump into each other. Where are you off to?”
    â€œI have food to make,” I told him briskly. “This is a big chance for me with the Biscuit Bowl. I know I don’t have to tell you that. I’m not wasting it because the ghost of Old Slac, or a disappearing dead man, tells me I’m in danger.”
    â€œI think I can help you with that. Disappearing dead man, huh? I didn’t hear Ted or Anabelle talking about that.”
    â€œIt happened this morning while we were setting up the food truck. I didn’t have a chance to tell anyone because they were so busy figuring out how to get me out of town.”
    We talked on the way to the diner with Crème Brûlée snoozing on my lap.
    I told him everything that had happened since I’d found the body at the ball. Cole made remarks as we went along. Traffic was heavy as people rushed to get from place to place without finding themselves in the middle of a parade. There were also a few thousand extra people in the city for the festivities.
    When Cole stopped to let us out at the diner, he frowned at me. “Bad luck to see the ghost of Old Slac. I’ll pray for your daddy, Zoe. You let me know if you need any help.”
    I reached in the taxi window and hugged him. He always refused my money. “Thanks. I’m going to make you a big platter of food with some homemade MoonPies.”
    He blushed and muttered a few words I couldn’t understand before saying good-bye.
    Ollie was waiting in front of the diner. He and Uncle Saul shook hands. “Good to see you, Saul. How’s that gator?”
    â€œShe’s doing better. Bonnie gave her some antibiotics and it picked her right up. Those albino gators get sick easy. That’s why they don’t