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Richards, yes. She—”
    “Does not deserve to live,” Desiree spat as she cut him off.
    “Really?” Romeo cocked an eyebrow at her, then glanced around the group, his eyes coming to rest on mine. “Well, then, you’ll be happy to know Ms. Richards was found dead . . .” His eyes shifted to Jean-Charles. “. . .in your food truck.”
    For a moment, the world stopped turning, I was sure of it, as my heart fell to my feet. Desiree’s mouth hung open. Jean-Charles paled. Only Adone seemed nonplussed.
    Christophe piped up. “A dead lady? Cool.” The boy’s fluency in English still surprised me—I kept forgetting he’d spent most of his life with his father in New York while he opened his restaurants there. At last count, he had three.
    All the adults, using the term loosely, started talking at once. Jean-Charles plucked his son from my arms, swung him to his hip, and turned to leave.
    Romeo stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We need to talk.”
    “Oui.” He drew in a deep breath, composing himself. “Not in front of my son, please.”
    Romeo nodded and let him go.
    I watched him, holding his son tight and nuzzling him as he found Rinaldo in the kitchen. A few words passed between the two men, then Jean-Charles off-loaded the small boy into the waiting man’s arms.
    Jean-Charles returned, snaking an arm around my waist. I could feel him shaking. Murder could do that.
    My pulse restarted, and I grabbed Romeo by the shoulder and pulled him around to face me. “The food truck? Where exactly?”
    “On the Babylon’s back lot.” He kept his eyes roaming over our small group. “The door to the truck was open. Security checked it out, then called us.”
    “How long ago?”
    “An hour, maybe a bit more.” Romeo paused. “She hadn’t been dead long. The body was still warm.”
    Three excited voices started babbling in French. Romeo raised his hand, silencing them. “In English, or I’ll arrest all of you.”
    They fell silent.
    “No cameras on the back lot,” I muttered, thinking out loud. “Convenient.”
    Jean-Charles scowled his displeasure. I couldn’t blame him—the situation wasn’t exactly making my day, either.
    Romeo turned to the other three, leaving me out. “I’m going to need to get statements from each of you.”
    Jean-Charles’s feathers ruffled. “You cannot be serious. I have a restaurant to run.”
    “And I have a dead woman in your food truck.” Romeo, with dark circles under his eyes and skin so sallow it appeared almost translucent, looked like the walking dead. He stuffed his note pad back where he’d found it. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”
    Jean-Charles flushed with barely controlled anger. As I turned to go, he grabbed my arm. “I am having some trouble with the new oven in Cielo. You will meet me there later?”
    I fixed him with a steady gaze.
    “Please,” he added, perhaps remembering too late that I was not one of his minions who took orders. “I know it is not convenient, but I am meeting a friend there, and I would like you to take a look. You always know what to do.”
    I weighed his words as I mentally walked through my day—I had time, but not for a bit. “Give me a couple of hours.”
    With a glance at Romeo, he nodded curtly. “I will be there.”
     
    * * *
     
    I was nursing my third Diet Coke at the bar in the Burger Palais when Romeo straddled the stool next to me. “About time you showed up,” I said. “I’m practically floating away.” I took a long pull through the straw until I exhausted the soda and pulled in air. The rude noise made me smile. Mona had always reprimanded me for doing the same thing when I was young—so, of course, I took delight in it. Still did.
    “I needed time to separate the three of them and put an officer on each one to take a statement. I don’t know anything about this Fiona Richards, but whatever she did to those folks, it runs deep.”
    “You don’t really think . . .” I