by Sandi Scott
“No!” Ryan nearly shouted. “I mean, no thanks. I'm good. Listen, though ... I'm about to start a pretty complicated project, and I really need to avoid any distractions. How about if I put your charger on the front porch for you? That would save you a few minutes, too.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess,” Ashley was puzzled. “All right, I'll talk to you later after we visit the other lot. I love you.” She disconnected the call and turned to Patty.
“That was just really strange,” Ashley said.
“Why? What happened?” Patty gave her a quick glance before returning her attention to the road.
“Ryan got all flustered when I said I was coming to get the charger,” Ashley replied. “He's going to leave it on the porch. I swear, it's like he didn't want me to come inside the house for some reason.”
“Oh, I wouldn't worry too much, chérie,” Patty laughed. “Our men can both behave a little oddly now and then. I'm sure he's just busy and distracted.”
“Maybe,” Ashley said, doubtfully. After a second, she shook her head and said, “Oh well, if there is something going on, I'll find out soon enough. Let's go food truck buying, round two!”
CHAPTER TWO
“I WON'T BE BUT A HALF a minute,” Ashley told Patty as she opened the passenger door and stepped out of the van. “I see the charger on the porch rail. Let me grab it, and we can head out again.”
“Works for me,” Patty winked at her. “I think we can spare those 30 seconds or so. Without jinxing things, I think it's safe to say we'll be in business long enough to cover that time!”
“The plot thickens,” Ashley said as she climbed back into the van and fastened her seat belt. “Ryan's car is in the drive, but it doesn't look like he or Dash are in the house. He told me that he was going to leave the charger out for me so that he wouldn't get distracted from the major project he was starting.”
“Maybe Ryan took Dash for a walk to settle the pup and clear his own mind,” Patty said. “Do IT guys get the equivalent of writer's block? And talk about distracting — Dash would definitely keep me from being able to concentrate. You said the other day that even when he's in the backyard he's barking at birds and squirrels.”
“Yeah and Dash gets so excited that he runs smack into the French doors,” Ashley laughed. “You're probably right. I'm sure I'm reading more into the situation just because Ryan was acting so weird when I called.”
Patty agreed. “Like I said before, our men have their moments when I have no idea what they're thinking! Anyway, we're at the truck lot now.” She leaned down and peered through the windshield. “I can see what Cal meant about having to pick through the possibilities. Some of those trucks look like a deep breath would knock them over.”
“They do, don't they? The whole place is kind of creepy looking; like a food truck graveyard, full of rusted and abandoned vehicles! But I see some that don't look too bad,” Ashley replied. “We do need to remember Cal's advice about having someone else inspect any truck we're interested in.”
Before they cleared the van doors, an older man hustled up to greet them. “Welcome to New Again Van and Truck Resales,” he called out. “How can I help two such lovely ladies today?” His leer was barely concealed, and Ashley and Patty exchanged eye rolls.
“The lot isn't the only creepy thing,” Patty whispered. Ashley giggled and then shushed her friend.
“Let me introduce myself,” the salesman continued, grabbing first Patty's hand then Ashley's, and shaking them enthusiastically. “My name is Barney Smerna, and I'm the owner of New Again where I promise to get you on the road with the perfect food truck for making your fortune. What exactly are you looking for today?”
Struggling to not roll her eyes yet again, Ashley answered, “We're interested in a food truck. We need an 18-footer, and we need for it to have a large flat-top griddle, at least one four-burner stove with an oven, and one or two deep-fat fryers. It also needs to be compliant with all the state requirements and in good running order. We have a checklist of the other things we're looking for.” She motioned to Patty, who handed him the list that Cal had helped them update earlier.
“I do believe I can take care of you,” Barney said, winking at them. “Let's step over here and take a look at a couple of trucks. I'm sure we can make a deal that will be good for you and for me.” He led them over to a rusty unit.
“Uh-uh, nope,” Patty stopped. “I can see the sink clear through the side of that truck. We want to serve people good food, not ptomaine! Mr. Smerna do not waste our time showing us anything like that. We may be new to the food truck business, but we are not stupid, and we are experienced caterers. You're not going to get away with selling us a piece of junk; if you try it one more time, you won't be selling us anything at all!”
Ashley snorted softly at the look of shock on the older man's face. She wondered how many times he'd played on the vulnerability and insecurity of first-time buyers to foist off trucks that were only worth their value as scrap metal. He'd definitely met his match if he thought he could put one over on Patty LaFontaine. She'd done her homework, and she was fierce when she thought someone was disrespecting her or trying to cheat her.
Changing direction abruptly, Barney said, “Sorry, my assistant must have moved a few trucks around without my noticing. The one I had in mind is over here. It's an older model—from about 1999—and it's got a few miles on it, but it's still in great shape with a lot of life left in it.”
Patty narrowed her eyes at him, but she nodded and followed him in the new direction. Tickled, Ashley trailed along behind them, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
“As I said, this one's a 1999 model, and it has about 90,000 miles on it, but it's in tiptop shape. It would make a great starter truck.”
Patty glared at him. “Really? In what universe would anyone think a 20-year-old vehicle with that kind of mileage is a great anything? Keep going, you haven't impressed us yet.”
Wiping nervous sweat from his forehead, Barney showed them several other trucks, none of which met their requirements, although some units were in better condition and came close to what they needed.
“'Scuse me,” a middle-aged man interrupted, scowling at them. “Boss, I gotta go to the parts store. That Hawk over there needs a new fuel filter, and I gotta replace some of the hoses to the stove and stuff.”
“You need to wait a bit Ray,” Barney replied. “As you can see, I'm showing these lovely young women around the lot, trying to help them find their perfect truck match. I need you to stick around while we're busy, in case someone else needs some help.”
Ray muttered something under his breath. Ashley was pretty sure she didn't want to hear the language he was using. “Whatever,” Ray grumbled. “Just don't blame me if that tub isn't ready when you promised it.
“That's fine,” Barney snapped, clearly irritated by his employee's attitude. “Go to the office and cover the phones for now.” Turning his back on the younger man, Barney spoke to Ashley and Patty. “Now, where were we?”
“Mr. Smerna, Barney,” Ashley said gently. “Let's simplify this process a bit. We don't want anything more than five years old, and we don't want it to have more than 50,000 miles on it. We need the equipment on the list and we need it all to work. Do you have anything that fits that description? Because if you don't, we need to move on to find another dealership.”
Barney sighed, tilted his head, and said, “Yes, I have one more truck to show you. I think it will fit the bill. Let's take a look over here.”
“Then why didn't he show us that one first?” Patty muttered under her breath. Ashley waved her hand at her friend and turned to follow the dealer across the pavement.
He led them to a much better-looking truck painted a pale teal with soft coral, brown, cream, and gold trim. The exterior had a few paint scratches, but a cursory look over it didn't reveal any serious issues. Barney opened the door and ushered the ladies inside.
“Now this looks much better!” Patty
exclaimed. Ashley noticed that Barney relaxed visibly at her words. “It has all the equipment, and the layout isn't bad. It's not arranged quite as efficiently as the one we saw this morning, but it would work well enough. Everything looks clean, and I don't see signs of wear and tear. How old is it, and how many miles has it been driven?
“This unit just came in yesterday,” Barney responded, “so Ray and I haven't completely finished going over it. However, it's three years old, the odometer shows 50,876 miles, and so far everything has checked out mechanically. Ray hooked up the electricity and the water yesterday afternoon, and the generator worked fine. The flat-top, oven, stove, and hot water heater all seemed to be working properly. We both took it for a test drive, and there were no problems during the drive. You'd probably still want to have Ray check the engine, but I don't think he—or you—will find any problems.”
“And what kind of price are we talking about for this one?” Patty asked.
“Well,” Barney answered, “let's go to the office and talk about it. I need to take a look at the paperwork and do a couple of calculations, but I'm sure I can match your budget.”
Ashley and Patty looked at each other quickly before nodding okay, and the trio walked back to the small metal building that served as the New Again office. When Barney opened the door, Ashley realized that there was barely enough room inside for a small metal desk, a single file cabinet, and two folding chairs for visitors. She and Patty settled into the chairs while Barney pulled a folder from the file cabinet.
“Okay, let me see here.” Barney mused as he scanned the papers in the folder. “I believe—yes, I can make you a great deal on that truck. I can let you have that one for $80,000, which should make your payments somewhere around $1,333 a month plus interest if you're financing it for a standard 60-month term.”
“Actually,” Ashley said, “we were planning to make a large down payment, so we'd only need to finance about $30,000 of the price.”
“Well, if you can pay $50,000 in cash, I'd be willing to drop the price to, say, $75,000. And, if you were to finance the balance for a shorter period—say 36 months—I could maybe knock a little more off the price. How would this work for you: $50,000 as a cash down payment, with a payoff in three years, for $73,000?”
Before Ashley could say anything, Patty spoke up, “Could you excuse us for a moment, so we can discuss this? It shouldn't take too long.”
Barney nodded and stood up. Ashley and Patty realized that they would also have to stand and fold their chairs for him to get out of the building. Once he was outside and the door closed behind him, Patty spoke up. “That price is much closer to what we were expecting,” she said. “I bet we could negotiate the price down even lower if we act like we're willing to walk away. I think we should offer him $70,000. That way, we might be able to get it for around $71,000 or $72,000.”
“Well, I think the $73,000 is a good price,” Ashley said. “But if you want to give it a shot, I'm willing to watch and learn.” They laughed together at the picture her words conjured up. “We need to insist that the deal will not be final until a mechanic of our choice has given us a thumb's up on the road worthiness of the truck and until we've had the equipment checked out as well.”
“Absolutely,” Patty agreed. “So, let's call that creepy little guy back in and see if we can close this deal.”
After Ashley waved him back, Barney came into the small room and sat behind his desk. “Well, ladies, what have you decided?”
Ashley looked at Patty and shrugged to let her friend know to take the lead. “Mr. Smerna,” Patty said, “we like the truck, but the mileage is on the high side. We were thinking that $70,000 would be a more appropriate price. After all, we're going to have to pay for someone to check everything for us, so that we can be sure we're getting value for our money.”
Barney looked like he wanted to argue, but after staring into Patty's eyes for a few seconds, he dropped his head into his hands and sighed. “I see your point, but $70,000? I can't go quite that low. How about you come up a little, and I come down a bit, and we split the difference at $71,500?”
Ashley and Patty exchanged a quick glance, then Patty stuck her hand out to shake Barney's hand. “That sounds fair, Mr. Smerna. I believe we have a deal, depending on the results of the mechanic's inspection.”
KEEP READING Charlotte Murder—find it at your favorite retailer here: www.SandiScottBooks.com
PREVIEW: Crêpe Murder
The following is a preview of Crêpe Murder, the prequel to the Seagrass Sweets Cozy Mystery Series.
CHAPTER ONE
ASHLEY ADAMS LEANED back in her computer chair and stretched out her arms. “Hooray!” she exclaimed. She’d been on the computer for hours—lots of hours. Her eyes burned, and her legs felt like she had forgotten how to use them—but she was done. She had been working on one of her boyfriend Serge’s white-hat hacking projects since—hmm, just how long had it been?
The couple had come all the way from Texas to Paris-oh my gosh-France to work on a bunch of security jobs across the city. Now they were testing out the security protections for a real estate management company named L’Ancien Chêne, which translated to “The Old Oak.” The goal was to hack into the company’s computer system a multitude of different ways, find out what was vulnerable and what wasn’t, and then try to sign up with a fake ID to rent one of their apartments for about a tenth of what it was worth.
Ashley had not only managed to do so, and she had finished all her reports about the loophole as well. Although it was unlikely anyone else would discover what she had, it was divulged in the report anyway. Serge had promised to take her out to her favorite restaurant—an expensive treat—if she could find and document a novel way past the security. Serge didn’t think I could do it, Ashley thought. Why? Because he couldn’t! Chuckling to herself, she emailed the report to Serge, cc’ing it to his boss and to the owner of L’Ancien Chêne as well.
“Ooh la la”, she said to herself, “I think someone owes me a dinner at L’Oiseau Bleu!”
Careful not to bonk her elbow into the countertop, Ashley slowly stood up, stretching her legs and arms. Their Parisian apartment in the 14th Arrondissement was cozy, which, in Texas, would have meant tiny and possibly even a little bit cramped—but that view! Her front window faced the area behind the buildings surrounding her block. That area had its own little courtyard and a whole extra row of houses tucked between the buildings. It was likely that the houses must have been carriage houses or servants’ quarters back in the old days but now they were separate apartments. Everyone had flower boxes on their windowsills and all the patios and balconies had wrought-iron railings. The tiny folding wood table on which she had her laptop was in front of the French doors leading to the balcony, and every time she looked out, no matter how gray or dark it was outside, she had to pinch herself. She was in Paris!
Whether she and Serge would stay there was another question. He didn’t seem to like the apartment any more. “Too small and not the best neighborhood.” Ashley didn’t know what he was talking about. She loved it here. Okay, the apartment was small. The fridge was only a little larger than a college dorm fridge, and the kitchen also contained the washer/dryer in place of a cupboard. There was no oven, only a ceramic range top and a microwave. Counter space was nonexistent, they had room for a tiny electric coffee pot but nothing else. As well, there was nowhere to sit other than at the kitchen table or on the bed, no living room at all. If they were both going to work at the same time, Ashley had to sit cross-legged on the bed with her laptop. The sink was built into the back of the toilet. To wash her face, she had to close the toilet lid and straddle it—so weird—but she was in Paris!
Ashley’s one grumble about the apartment was not being able to bake. A baker by nature she delighted in creating baked goods of all types. Bread, cookies, pastries, pies, cakes—oh, how she loved to make cakes—macarons, and Napoleons, Ashley’s first vision of moving to Paris with Serge had entailed her
self piping rows of macaron shells onto sheet pans. When she was a little girl, she’d dreamed of making wedding cakes as tall as the Eiffel tower—not getting married, just making the cake. Instead, all she was making was lines of code. Although it wasn’t her life’s dream to be the world’s best programmer, she was good at it, and it paid well.
Sighing, Ashley took a shower and put on real clothes—black jeans and a mauve peasant blouse—rather than the scruffy sweats she’d been wearing for three days straight. She put on lipstick and grabbed a string bag in case she found something at the market that she had to have. The best cure for feeling sorry for herself while she was in Paris ... was experiencing Paris!
BY THE TIME ASHLEY returned to the apartment, there was a receipt in her pocket and a smile on her face. She had just signed up for a cooking class at L’Oiseau Bleu. It was expensive and intense, almost five hundred Euros for two weeks of eight-hour classes. She would be with a small group of five students, though, making real food. Okay, the food wouldn’t be served at the restaurant unless the owner, Monsieur Lemaire, gave them permission, but it would be eaten by the staff on duty, and the second week would be all baking.
The class started tomorrow. I am so excited, and I can’t wait to tell Serge!
“YOU DID WHAT?” SERGE demanded angrily.
Ashley’s heart sank. “As a treat, I signed up for a cooking class at L’Oiseau Bleu,” she repeated. “It’s a two-week class, eight hours a day, costing five hundred Euros, which is going to come out of my pay for this last job. I need a break, Serge. I can’t stand the sight of code anymore, and frankly, I did a great job. I deserve this.”
“I’m not saying you don’t, babe. I’m just saying ...” There was a brief pause before Serge continued more calmly, “That’s two weeks that I don’t have you to cover projects for the company.”