MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) (13 page)

I found the plans for the truck on the table when I got home, but I chose not to look at those. Instead, I rolled them up and slid the cylinder into an old umbrella stand. I didn’t want to be reminded that I’d spent the morning hidden in a tiny space under the sink waiting for a bullet to end my life. I wasn’t sure what I did want, but it certainly wasn’t that.

I showed up the next day for Land’s cleanup at the appointed time. I had run out of questions yesterday about my aunt and the truck, so we started the cleaning process in relative silence.

That didn’t mean that no one had any questions. Detective Danvers showed up at Meat Treats shortly after we’d begun to clean. He was carrying his notebook in his left hand, and he was fumbling for a pen as he approached. “I have a few more questions for you about yesterday,” he said, looking at me.

I shrugged, but kept cleaning, glad for once that I had the protection of a scrub bush and Land’s watchful eye as Danvers came around. “What about?”

“I just find it rather fortuitous on your part that all those shots were fired, and you weren’t harmed at all. Rather like a magician’s trick.”

“I just consider it luck or maybe brains.” I didn’t want to give myself too much credit, but I had chosen the one place in the truck where I could have held out indefinitely. “Or maybe the shooter didn’t want to kill me, but just scare me out of business.” I hadn’t actually considered this last thought until it came out of my mouth, but now I had to wonder. What if the main objective of the shooter had been to scare me? Taking care of me by changing the will hadn’t worked. I still wondered if the person behind all of this had really thought it would. Even so, it seemed unlikely that this was just a scare. If I’d been clipped on the first shot, I would have fallen and been hit someplace more vital on the next shot.

“Well, he sure did a good job on that last one. I haven’t seen you in your truck since it happened.” Danvers looked from Land to me and then back again. It seemed like there was another question there, but Danvers didn’t ask it and I wasn’t sure how to answer it. We did look domestic, but it was more of my plan to get answers rather than to get a boyfriend.

“I’m just picking up some extra work,” I lied. “I don’t want to get out of practice at washing dishes.”

He grunted in reply, but then turned to Land. “So you certainly made out well in this deal. You’ve got your own Meat Treats truck now and some help with the cleaning. You must just live right.”

If Danvers’ words had been designed to instill a huge sense of doubt, they were effective. Land had definitely made out well in the latest turn of events. Not only was he running his own truck, which he’d told me so often that he’d wanted to do, but he also had me working for him. Shades of what he told me my aunt had promised him.

I thought about the will that had been found and the one that had been probated; I wondered what the purpose of the will was and why they would be linked in that manner. I had a lot of questions, and I had no more answers than Danvers did. I knew if I came up with some information, I might be able to parlay it into a dinner with him to share my findings.

Neither of the men spoke, but they each continued to stand in place. They were almost like a set of statues. I couldn’t imagine what had brought this standoff to pass. They’d been talking about my help, and by the looks of it, neither one of them really wanted it. I still hadn’t heard a good answer as to why these two disparate men knew each other. Just one more thing I didn’t understand around here.

Danvers finally walked away without saying another word.

“That wasn’t awkward at all,” I said as soon as I was sure that Danvers was out of earshot.

“I’m not sure what he’s doing right now. He doesn’t have any new leads except for you getting shot at. I think he’s just trying to stir things up so that he can get someone to react. I don’t think that strategy’s going to work. The people behind this are too crafty for that.” Land didn’t look at me while he spoke, but I was used to that. He hid his emotions well.

I looked at him and remembered that English wasn’t his first language. “Crafty” just wasn’t a word that I heard every day. After I finished pondering the marvels of language, I started thinking about what he’d said and what Danvers had implied.

Land had been very certain in his use of the plural. There were
people
behind this, not a single entity, but a group. Throughout this case, I’d been confused by the seemingly opposed events that continued to happen. I’d inherited the food truck because my aunt’s death seemed like a possible murder, but then others seemed to want me out of the way. Why give me a truck and then bump me off before I can use it?

Likewise, I was confused about the murders. Fred Samples had been killed in his truck. The food inspector had been killed in her office. Yet apart from the method, the two killings seemed unrelated, only in that the inspector gave out licenses for the trucks. Sample had never had any trouble getting his license. Only my aunt had struggled with that.

I decided that I would start sorting the threads of this case, the same as I sorted the ingredients for each condiment. Land kept all the ingredients for the relish together, even if it meant he had two sets of pickles. He kept all of the mustard ingredients together. In that way, he could see what was available and what was needed.

I decided to do the same with the clues. I would group them by who benefited. In that way, I could learn more about what evidence was there and what needed to be filled in. I hoped that it would work but I was at loose ends here. I was without a truck for one more day and my idea of fun during my free time was cleaning someone else’s truck.

That night I started to organize the things I’d learned into three sets of facts: the facts about my truck and the attempts to keep it out of business; the facts about the possible murder of Shirley and my aunt; and the facts about Meat Treats and their luring Land away from me. I tried to be organized about the matter, using different index cards to represent differing interests and motives, but in the end, what I ended up with were three stacks of attractive looking cards. I was no closer to solving this than I’d been when I started.

One thing I
had
noticed was that the last attack on me had come after Land was out of my truck. Perhaps Fred’s death had resulted from the desire to create a position for Land, so that I would be alone in the early mornings and a vulnerable target. It didn’t make a lot of sense, since it fell into the same pattern of giving me the truck and taking it away, but at least I’d made it into some sort of pattern.

I finally gave up, had a cup of tea and read a book. TV wasn’t even worth watching since I’d likely watch a crime drama where the actors figured out who the killer was in less than 48 minutes. I couldn’t do it in more than a week.

Before I went to bed, I got a call from the police telling me that the food truck had been released from the crime lab. The clerk who called didn’t have anything to tell me about the attack or what they’d discovered. She knew nothing about the shell casings or the gun, just that I could pick it up tomorrow morning after 9 a.m.

I sighed and looked at the time. It was nearly 10 p.m., which meant that I should have gone directly to bed. Unfortunately, the last minute change of plans left me unable to sleep. I had to pick up the truck, take it somewhere to clean. I wasn’t sure if it still smelled like smoke or not, but I wanted that scent out of my truck before I had to spend a whole day in there. Nothing would set my nerves on fire faster than having to be reminded that someone had taken shots at me through the door of the truck.

Once I’d cleaned up after my attempt at deduction, I hit the sheets. Mostly my dreams were about being chased. Some of my pursuers wanted to shoot me, while others just wanted to chop my head off. I got some exercise that night in my sleep, even though I never left the bed.

I woke up the next morning feeling drained. I was dragging by the time I made it to the impound lot. The police had not returned the truck to me, which would have been nice, but apparently unheard of. I signed papers for 45 minutes regarding my ownership of the truck and release forms about the state of the vehicle.

I had decided to do my clean-up work at my old site on Elm. I didn’t know of many places where I could park the truck and scrub things down. My only options were the secured lot where I kept the truck, or its usual parking space. The secured lot had no facilities for water or outlets, so I parked on Elm Street a little after 11 a.m. I kept the windows down so that the customers would know that I wasn’t open yet.

I could see Meat Treats down the block, and it looked like Land was doing a great business. There was a crowd around the truck and I recognized a few of those customers as mine. I felt myself growing angry as I thought about all the business I’d lost over the past few days and how all of the additional foot traffic I’d picked up from using the Meat Treats location would have been lost during the imposed break.

I started by cleaning up the debris left from the bullets. There were broken pieces of cookware and kitchen utensils that I discarded first. I kept a list of what I needed to replace now, and what I could wait to replace once Dogs on the Roll was operational again. The list was not long.

Following that, I threw away all of the ingredients and food that had been left out for three days. None of it would be any good, and I’d have to start from scratch for the condiments. Nothing would be salvageable. Fortunately, the refrigeration unit hadn’t been affected so the goods in the cooler were still good.

I scrubbed the walls and the floor of the truck. I could still see the holes in the doorframe as I cleaned. It unnerved me at times, but I figured that keeping busy would be the most helpful thing I could do. I’d have to get used to being in here again, and being in here by myself. Cleaning gave me a reason to be here and get used to things again.

By 3 p.m., I was about done. I opened the door to look down the street, but Land was already gone from his location. I figured that he knew I wouldn’t be there to help since I had my own truck back. Honestly, I was going to miss him. He was surly and mean at times, but it was nice to share a busy day with someone so you could process what happened and reflect on how to improve the business. I’d be doing that all alone now.

I checked the time on my phone and noticed that I had missed three calls from John Summers, the handwriting analyst. His messages sounded as if he was somewhat rattled. He stumbled over his words, not the usual suave tone I’d expected. His messages had the same effect on me. I looked around at all the hard work I’d just done and wondered, not for the first time, if I was going to lose this food truck to someone else.

I dialed his number and waited for him to answer. Since I was standing on the street, I went back inside of the food truck. If I was going to cry over losing this place, I didn’t want the entirety of Capital City to see me weep.

Summers picked up on the third ring. “Miss Kinkaid, thank you for calling me back. I had some confusion over the documents that you sent me and I need some clarification before I send the reports to you and Mr. Huff.”

“Are you saying that the will is real?” I asked, prepping myself for the worst.

“Not in the way that you mean, no. However, I need some more information. You were specifically interested in whether or not your aunt signed the will and the witnesses had signed the same will, is that correct?” His suave manner was gone, and he sounded a little nervous. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I realized what he was asking.

I paused, trying to understand the ramifications of his question. Was he trying to tell me that it was signed by Alice, or one of the witnesses? “Yes, I wanted to know if this was a valid will which could be probated by the courts here. Specifically, will I lose the truck?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Very good. I just found something and it struck me as extremely odd. I needed clarification before I can assert that I stand by my initial findings. As I said to you earlier, my original assessment stands. I can send you a full report by mail later this week.”

It sounded like he was trying to end the conversation, but I was having none of that. I wanted to know what he’d found and what it meant. “So, what exactly did you find that made you call me three times?”

He paused for several seconds. “Well, yes, about that. I was just concerned. It would appear that the will itself, the testament of what was to be distributed, was written by your aunt. I would be willing to swear in court that she was the one who wrote that will.”

“Would that be valid in court?” I asked, thinking of his willingness to swear in court. “What I mean is would this will be admissible? Could these wishes supersede the ones in her previous will?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not a lawyer, but yes, I believe in this state that holographic wills are allowable in probate without witnesses.”

“Oh,” I said. I was glad that I was back inside the food truck so that I could be alone with my tears. A big drop rolled down my cheek. I’d risked my life only to lose my aunt’s legacy in the end. It seemed so unfair to me. Whoever was plotting against me seemed to have succeeded.

“However, this will has a major issue with it that would likely invalidate it.”

I perked up at the mention of the will not being valid. This entire matter was a roller coaster for me. I wasn’t sure what was around the next corner or where the next dip in the track would be. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, again, I’m not a lawyer, but this will isn’t dated. The forged witness signatures include a date that was only a few days before your aunt’s death. However, nothing in the will itself, the part that can be proved to be written by your aunt, includes a date. So this will could have been written after the last will or long before it. You’ll just never know when your aunt wrote it or if those were truly her last wishes or not. There is no part of handwriting analysis that would provide a clear determination of when something was written, just who wrote it.”