Surprisingly, Allison was easy to find this time. She hadn’t left the parking lot, and I spotted her just as she emerged from the taco truck, her cell phone in her hand and a serious look on her face. She stepped a few feet back from the truck and turned to face it. Her hands had moved to her hips by the time I reached her.
“How’s it going?” I said.
She looked around furtively and then leaned toward me. “Each truck has its own problem. No, I should call them challenges. Only one truck is ready to serve food. This one”—she nodded toward Paco’s Tacos—“has a grill that doesn’t heat evenly. I thought the bank guy and the business office guy were tough; they’re nothing compared to the woman from the health department. She’s something else. I understand her concerns, but she certainly has an abrupt style about her.”
“Where is she?”
“Gone, but she’ll be back tomorrow morning. Before then, we need to get the grill working, the refrigerator working better in the cupcake truck, all the barbeque sauce replaced in the wing truck, and all new cheese for Peyton’s truck. The ramen truck is fine, I guess. So that’s one out of five.”
“My kitchen’s available if anyone needs to cook or prep, and I know a couple electricians that might be able to help if we need them.”
Allison smiled at me. “Got the electricians, but Mel and Daryl might want to use your kitchen. And Peyton could use some help shopping for cheese. I bet she’d enjoy the company.”
“I can do that.” I looked around. “Sam still around?”
“He’s one of the electricians. He’s in the cupcake truck.”
“I didn’t know he could do that stuff.”
“Learn something new every day. Oh! How were Betsy and Jeff?”
“Okay. I need to follow up with them, but I have to ask you a question about Jeff. He doesn’t think he needs a business license. Sound familiar?” I said.
“I think I remember talking to him about that one time. I’ll have to check my notes in his file.” Allison frowned. “And Betsy was upset out here but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. I feel like I was remiss in my duties. I’m sorry, Becca, I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”
“Don’t be sorry. I like it when you think I’m responsible.”
“You’re very responsible,” Allison said without even a small hint of sarcasm. She looked around again, not furtively this time, but curiously, assessing the situation. “If you’re good to check with Mel and Daryl and then go with Peyton, I’d better follow up with Betsy and Jeff right away. I’ll come back out here when I’m done.”
“I can do that.”
I decided that I wasn’t sure if I was glad I was there to help, or if I wished I’d left earlier, before Harry arrived and my day took all these new turns.
I sighed and looked for Mel and Daryl. Fortunately, they were together, without Hank but in Hank’s noodle truck, the only truck the health department had cleared. I spied them through the open counter window. They were facing each other, both with one hip leaning against the inside front counter. They were in the middle of a conversation that didn’t seem either private or all that important so I approached.
“Hi, guys,” I said.
“Hello.” Both of their hips came off the counter and they turned to face me.
“I’m Becca.” We’d all introduced ourselves earlier, but considering the flurry of activity during the trucks’ arrival, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to refresh.
“Yeah, I’m Mel and this is Daryl.”
“Right. Well, I know you have some truck issues. I have a big kitchen that’s available if you need it for anything.”
“That’s very kind. Thank you. I’m fine. My issues will be resolved quickly,” Daryl said with a frown as his arms crossed in front of his chest. It was impossible not to look at his glasses, noticing that they angled sharply down to the right. My fingers itched to straighten them.
Had I insulted him by mentioning the truck issues? I didn’t think I had, but if so, he was far too sensitive.
“I think I’m all right, too,” Mel said too cordially, his surfer hair swooping just right. He was compensating for Daryl’s closed off body language. He leaned over the counter. “Does anyone else need any mechanical help? I’m good with generators.” He winked.
I was caught off guard. Was he flirting? I didn’t really think so, but the compensating had just moved to overcompensating.
“I’ll ask my sister, the market manager,” I said. “But thanks for all your patience today. We would have liked to have had your electrical hookups ready for you. Hopefully, that will be taken care of quickly.”
Still leaning over the counter, Mel didn’t miss a beat. He winked again and smiled extra big. “No problem. We can roll with it.”
“So where’s Hank?” I said.
Mel stood up. “Don’t know. I was wondering that myself.”
As if on cue, Hank appeared. He came out from between Peyton’s and Daryl’s trucks. He looked flustered, but in a buff way. He shook his head and then ran his fingers through his hair before he noticed me watching him.
“Hey, buddy, what have you been doing?” Mel said to Hank. Mel’s voice had changed from the friendly tone he’d tried to sell me to one that was laced with suspicion. He’d resumed leaning out of the counter window, but his smile was gone.
“Nothing, just checking on a couple of the generators,” Hank said. He smiled at me. “Hello.”
“The generators okay?” I said.
“Yeah, the generators okay?” Mel said.
Daryl had stepped backwards in the small space inside the noodle truck. His top half was cloaked in a shadow so I couldn’t see the look on his face, but Mel’s suspicion and Hank’s somewhat discombobulated appearance made me wonder what they were all up to.
“It sounds like your kitchen is ready to go, but I was just offering mine to these guys. Offer goes for you, too. I have a big space if you need to use it,” I said.
“I’m good. Thanks, though.” He’d hurried past me and ignored Mel as he moved toward the front of his truck, stopping there as if to wait until it was polite to disappear again.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, just let Allison know if you change your minds.”
“We’ll do that,” Daryl said. He’d moved toward the counter again and out of the shadow. He was unquestionably uncomfortable about something, or he was naturally awkward.
I looked over the three men and decided that I didn’t really need to know what they were up to. I still had some cheese shopping to do.
“See you later.”
They all muttered similar sounding farewells.
• • •
I stepped toward Peyton’s truck. Since it was last in line, it was closest to the parking lot’s entrance and exit. It had front cab doors on each side, as well as small sliding doors behind the cab and on the box part of the truck. The sliding doors were obviously an afterthought, not part of the original truck but something that must have been added when the truck became a mini kitchen. I noticed that the other trucks had only one of these doors and it was on the side that didn’t have the counter, the sides that were currently facing the empty plot of land. But Peyton’s had two.
When I was about ten feet away from her truck, I noticed the sliding door on this side shut—it rebounded first like someone had pushed it too hard, but it stayed closed on the second try.
“Peyton,” I said as I peered in through the tiny, foggy window at the top of the door. She must not have heard me as she moved toward the matching door on the other side.
It looked like she was carrying a small canvas bag and there was something about the way she held it tucked tightly under one arm that made me wonder if she was trying to hide it.
I stepped to the space between the front of Peyton’s truck and the back of Daryl’s. I moved slowly through the gap, craning my neck and hoping Peyton would come into view. I got to the other side just as the back sliding door opened and Peyton stepped out. She
looked around and I pulled back, not wanting her to see me just yet. I leaned back out and watched as she took the bag from under her arm and held it in her hands. She stared at it a long time and then brushed off what looked like caked-on dirt. She muttered something to herself but no matter how much I strained to listen, I couldn’t understand the words. She tucked the bag under her arm again and looked over the open plot of ignored land. She seemed to focus on one spot.
I looked in that direction and then back at her a few times. Was she looking at something specific or was she lost in thought, her eyes just happening to land where they’d landed?
Another few seconds later, she took a deep breath and let it out in what seemed to be a relieved sigh. She turned and disappeared back inside the truck. I went down into a crouch so she wouldn’t see me through the front windshield.
I remained in the crouch for a few long seconds. Should I go see what she might have been looking at, or should I just knock on a sliding door and then escort her to the grocery store for some cheese? Finally, I threw caution to the wind and scurried out and toward the spot in the back.
The trek wasn’t terrible, but the ground was uneven enough to slow down my scurry to a high-stepping jaunt. I stopped where I thought she’d been looking, and was surprised that there was something to see. The ground had been disturbed recently. The dirt was loose and too smooth, as if someone had dug there and then covered up the hole.
I went to my knees and used my hands to sift through the loose dirt. I didn’t have to go too deep to determine that there was nothing to find except more dirt. Was it possible that Peyton had recently dug up the bag from this spot and this was the result?
I sat back on my heels and tried to understand what might be going on, what it might mean. Peyton could see me if she happened to step back out of the truck, and a part of me hoped she would. The moment would probably be uncomfortable, but might ultimately make it easier to ask her a slew of questions that had come to mind since Harry had arrived.
But then again, if she really had done illegal things in Arizona, my methods might only make it easier for Harry to catch her. I cringed. I really hoped she hadn’t done something that would land her in trouble.
I stood and brushed off my knees before I hurried back to the truck, knocking on the back sliding door.
“Becca?” Peyton said when she opened the door. “You know there’s another door on the other side? Next to the parking lot.”
“I do, but this one seemed like the right one.”
“Okay.” She shrugged.
“I’m here to take you cheese shopping,” I said.
“That would be very helpful. Thanks!”
“How about a quick tour before we go?” I stepped up and into the truck before she could stop me or hide the bag if it was sitting out.
“Of course,” she said with no hesitation at all.
There was no immediate sign of the canvas bag, but I saw a few crumbles of dirt on the floor next to the doorway.
Similar to Basha, she stood in the middle of the truck and turned as she showed me the refrigerators, the grill, the storage shelves, and the other implements that made up her cooking space. It was efficient in ways that hadn’t ever occurred to me until today. A few square inches made for a good spatula drawer. It was fascinating in an engineering way, but I had a hard time focusing on the places she wanted me to focus on as my eyes scanned for the canvas bag. However, she got my full attention when she opened one of the small refrigerators.
“What’s that?” I asked as I pointed at a plastic-lidded container full of what looked like thick, dark ketchup. Even though Harry hadn’t told me much more than there’d been a theft of a secret tomato recipe, I couldn’t help but wonder if this might be resulting sauce.
“Oh, that’s . . .” Peyton squinted in thought and frowned a moment. “That’s a topping.”
“For your hot dogs? What kind of topping?”
Peyton laughed. “Tomato. It’s kind of amazing. I . . . well, I used to work for a restaurant that made something like it. This is my version and it’s even better, or that’s my opinion.”
“You got their recipe?”
“Heavens no,” Peyton said. “I figured out my own recipe, but I gotta tell you, Becca, they were none too happy when they tasted how close mine was to theirs.”
“Uh-oh, did you get in trouble?”
Peyton looked at me a long moment as if she wanted to say more. Perhaps confide in me? I held my breath with the hope that whatever was on her mind (and whatever was in that canvas bag for that matter) would just pop out of her mouth and we could solve all the problems that needed to be solved.
But a second later she waved away the comment, closed the fridge door, smiled her pretty smile, and said, “No, not at all. Come on, let’s go shop for some cheese.”
I scanned the compact kitchen one more time but there was no sign of the canvas bag. I watched as Peyton made sure every door to the truck as well as the panel over the serving counter was locked tight. Maybe she was just being smart and careful about the truck’s security, but I thought I saw an extra intensity to her scrutiny.
Or maybe I was just reading too much into every single move she made.
Five
“I couldn’t have just barged into her truck, Becca, you know that,” Sam said with a smile.
We were sitting on a cushioned bench on my back patio, with Hobbit, my short-legged, long-footed, brown retriever mutt, lounging under us. I’d showered and was in clean short overalls and Sam had changed out of his uniform and into shorts and a T-shirt. His legs were stretched out in front of the bench and I had my legs over his. Though we were in the shade, we’d already gone through a pitcher of iced tea; the second pitcher, half-empty, glistened on the small table next to Sam.
Peyton and I had finished cheese shopping quickly. The one grocery store I took her to had everything she needed. I’d dropped off her with her cheese and then hurried home to Sam and Hobbit.
The sun hadn’t set yet but it was well on its way. The western sky was painted with orange and yellow layers. Relaxing and cooling off might have been better accomplished inside, but our summer evening patio ritual was hard to break.
“I know, but what in the world could have been buried back there? How would Peyton have known about it? It’s strange,” I said.
“I think you should just ask her. She’s your cousin, family. You can be blunt with family. In fact, I might have seen you be blunt a time or two with those who aren’t family.” Sam smiled at me over the rim of his glass as he took another sip.
He was tan this year. He’d been helping me with my strawberry and pumpkin plants as well as caring for the rest of my yard. He said he enjoyed the labor and I’d fully admitted to enjoying watching him work. In his police uniform you knew he was a pleasant enough looking guy, handsome and almost disturbingly observant with blue eyes which seemed to change shade with his mood or his thoughts. But when he wore civilian clothes and freed his wavy hair from the gunk and threw himself into physical labor, he was downright yummy. Visions of him moving in slow motion toward me as he swung a hoe over his shoulder had recently started filling my daydreams.
I told him as much not long ago and he’d laughed, mentioning that he wasn’t quite “all that,” but since I’d fallen under his spell, he was more than happy to think of himself as “yummy.”
I knew without a doubt that it wasn’t all about the way the tan looked on him; it was the attitude that had come with the tan. My house had, step-by-step, been turning into his house, too. He enjoyed the outside work as well as the inside work helping with my jams and preserves. The meaning of home had been changing for me as well. He’d become a bigger and bigger part of the definition, and his tanned skin and burnt-tipped nose were constant reminders of those welcome and happy changes.
However, I was still completely aware of the fact that I was twice-divorced, so maybe I wasn’t very good with this sort of thing—the relationship thing. Count
ing on any of it working out might still be a bit premature.
He knew that about me, too, and had an uncanny knack for sensing when I might need a little space or was leaning toward a “freak-out” moment because everything seemed to be going too well, and that seemed so impossible considering my past experiences. He’d step back, maybe do something on his own outside, or perhaps head back into the police station for a little bit. The number of those moments had been decreasing, though. He knew it, but I wasn’t sure if he knew I knew it.
Allison thought I was being both silly and stupid and I just needed to ask Sam to marry me. I kept telling her that a third marriage didn’t bother me in the least, but a third divorce might just be too much to bear. She’d just shake her head and refrain from further comment.
“I could be blunt,” I said. “I have no problem being blunt with Peyton, but there’s more.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s in trouble, Sam. Or might be. There’s a police officer in town from Arizona. I met him when I was down there. He says she’s suspected of assault, and theft of money and a secret recipe.”
Sam set his glass on the table with the pitcher and looked at me with his serious eyes. “I think you’d better fill me in on some things.”
“Me, too,” I said.
I outlined the details regarding Harry and his reasons for traveling to South Carolina. Sam wasn’t happy that Harry hadn’t first contacted the local police department but was somewhat appeased when I told him that I’d called Harry on my way home and made plans for him and Sam to meet the next morning.
Sam made a few phone calls, including one to Harry to confirm the early morning meeting, and I managed to wrangle an invitation to attend.
However, after the calls, Sam said, “Becca, you might want to tell me about visiting police officers or potential legal issues only about a second or two after you learn about them. Not a few hours later.”
06 Bushel Full of Murder Page 6