by Celia Kinsey
When we started singing, he jumped.
“Make a wish and blow out the candles,” I said when we were done singing.
Arnie had gone very pink. Every year on his birthday, he tells me not to make a fuss, and every year I do. He doesn’t like being the center of attention, but I believe he’d be disappointed if I didn’t at least get him a cake.
Arnie blew out the candles and went straight back to grilling.
As I was picking the candles out of the cake, Emmaline said, “That has to be one of Jax’s cakes.”
“It is,” I said. “You know Jax?”
“We used to date,” Emmaline said. “We were pretty serious.”
“What’s Jax like?”
“Weird,” said Emmaline, “and obsessive. He goes all in on everything he does. When we broke up—”
Just then a ruckus of barks and growls erupted under the food truck. Buddy and Frank were at it again. They’ve never actually injured each other, but I wouldn’t blame a bystander for thinking it was a serious fight.
Emmaline and I dragged the dogs apart. I attached Frank’s collar to the leash Arnie keeps hooked to the front bumper of the food truck for just such occasions, and Emmaline tied Buddy to the leg of a table.
“I hear Jax is engaged,” I said to Emmaline when I’d gone back to cutting cake.
“I heard that too,” Emmaline said. “I guess he’s really into her. I heard he bought her a huge diamond.”
“What’s her name?”
“Amber Frey,” Emmaline said. “She’s real pretty. Works behind the counter down at Burt’s coffee shop.”
“Coffee!” I said. “What we need with this cake is coffee.”
“You don’t even like coffee, Felicia,” Arnie said.
He’d finished grilling and come out to join us at the table.
“I’ve decided to try and acquire a taste for it.”
“We have coffee here.”
“That instant stuff you keep in case you need an afternoon pick me up? That stuff is vile. I’ll run down to Burt’s and be back in ten minutes.”
I knew I was coming off as a real flake, but I didn’t care. I wanted to see this Amber person as soon as possible. I hoped she’d be working the counter at Burt’s when I got there, and she was, unless there were two pretty waitresses at Burt’s wearing name tags that said “Amber” on them.
“You must be Amber Frey,” I said as she rung up my order. “Somebody told me you were Jax’s fiancée.”
“I am,” said Amber. She looked down at her left hand. Emmaline hadn’t been exaggerating. That diamond was huge.
“We have a mutual friend,” I said.
“Oh, who?”
“Emmaline Sanchez.”
“Oh.”
“That’s a beautiful ring,” I said.
“I love it,” Amber said. “I was so happy to get it back.”
“Oh, did something happen to it?”
Chapter Seven
“My ring dropped down the garbage disposal and got nicked,” Amber said. “But Jax got it fixed for me.”
Did he? How very interesting.
“Rings do have a tendency to slip off when you’re doing the dishes,” I said.
“That’s why I always take it off when I’m in the kitchen,” said Amber, “but I guess I shouldn’t have left it on the window sill over the sink.”
“You accidentally knocked it into the disposal?” I asked.
“No, Jax did. He was opening the window.”
“Well, they certainly did a beautiful job repairing it,” I said, looking down at the ring. “Looks like nothing ever happened to it.”
When I got back to the food truck with the coffees, everyone had gone suddenly quiet. I wondered if my odd behavior had been the topic under discussion. I decided I’d better not take off abruptly twice in the same day, and besides, I’d promised to send Arnie home after lunch since it was his birthday.
I was forced to wait until the next morning visit Jim’s Pawn Shop in Eagle’s Rest.
“I’m looking for silver dollars,” I told the man behind the counter. “Are you Jim?”
“I am,” said the man, “but if you’re looking for collectors’ coins, we don’t have much on hand.”
Jim pulled out a tray from the glass display case and pointed to a single Eisenhower silver dollar in the jumble of jewelry, pocket knives and other trinkets of dubious value.
“Are you sure you don’t have any Morgan silver dollars?” I persisted.
“Well, I did have one come in a few days ago, but I don’t think it will interest you,” Jim told me. “It was so damaged that I put it with the stuff to scrap.”
“I’d like to take a look at it anyway,” I said.
Jim brought out a plastic shoebox full of bits and pieces of broken silver jewelry. He pawed through the top layer, pulled out a silver dollar, and laid it on the glass counter.
“See what I mean?” he said. “Some idiot carved a mustache on Lady Liberty.”
I tried not to act excited. Jim might be one of those honest pawn shop owners who sincerely tries not to traffic in stolen goods, but I had a hunch he wasn’t going to be any too happy when he got a visit from the police about Arnie’s lucky silver dollar.
“I’m going to want to buy this silver dollar,” I told Jim. “Can you hold it for me until tomorrow?”
“I don’t do holds. Have a policy against it,” Jim told me. “But I’ll tell you what I will do: I was going to turn this whole box of silver in for scrapping tomorrow, but I’ll keep out this silver dollar for you. If you haven’t come back for it by the end of next week, though, off she goes to get melted down.”
I didn’t need that silver dollar held until next week. I just needed Jim to keep it on the premises long enough to get an officer from Bray Bay to come sniffing around.
I went back out to my truck and called up Scott. When I explained to him what I wanted, he tried to downplay the possibility that Arnie’s silver dollar would exonerate Bobby.
“Robert Thomas was probably the one who took it to the pawn shop in the first place,” Scott told me.
“Then isn’t it in everyone’s best interest to confirm that before his case goes to trial?” I insisted.
Officer Finch was forced to concede my point.
“I’ll be over there in half an hour,” Scott said. “After I visit the pawn shop, you and I can have lunch somewhere.”
“Aren’t you on duty?”
“I’m allowed to eat lunch on duty.”
“Well, it will have to be an early lunch,” I told him. “I have to back in Bray Bay at 11:30 at the very latest. Arnie—”
“Fine,” he said. “We can make it quick, but there’s something important I need to talk to you about.”
I waited outside in my truck while Officer Finch went inside Jim’s Pawn Shop. He came back out twice to his patrol car: once for some forms and another time for an evidence bag.
Twenty minutes later I had dozed off. Scott woke me up by knocking on the window. I rolled it down.
“Well, you were right,” he said. “That silver dollar is a perfect match for the one your cook reported stolen.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me it wasn’t Bobby Thomas who pawned it.”
“Why do I get the feeling that when I do tell you, you won’t be one bit surprised?” Scott said.
“Shall I take a wild guess then?”
“Go ahead.”
“It was Jax Edwards who used that silver dollar as partial payment to get a very expensive diamond engagement ring out of hock,” I told Officer Finch. “I’m also convinced that a bit of investigation on the part of the Bray Bay police department will reveal that Jax is also the one who robbed my food truck at gunpoint.”
“It wasn’t a real gun,” Scott pointed out as if that made a difference.
“Tell me I’m right,” I insisted.
“You’re right,” Scott s
aid wearily, “although I have no idea how you managed to figure all that out.”
“I’d have lunch with you,” I said, “except that I imagine you’ll be wanting to take that very important evidence back to the station and get on with arresting the real culprit.”
“Fine,” said Scott. “We can skip lunch, but I have something to say, and I’m not going to put off saying it any longer.”
Chapter Eight
“Go ahead,” I told Scott after the uncomfortable silence had stretched on for over a minute. “What is it that you’ve been wanting to say?”
“I want to know why you keep turning me down,” Scott said.
“I think that should be painfully obvious,” I said. “I’m not interested in a relationship. Not with you or anyone else.”
“You used to be.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“But you are interested in someone else,” Scott said.
“Am I?” I said. “I wasn’t aware I was seeing anyone. It must have slipped my mind. Do feel free to inform me as to the identity of this phantom boyfriend of mine.”
“I’m talking about Arnold, and you know it,” Scott said.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, but I could feel my face turning red.
How did he know?
“I think you do know what I mean,” Scott said. “I know you think I’m a clueless jerk who can’t take no for an answer and pathetically hangs on to the past, but I sincerely care about you, and if you’re not going to end up with me, then you deserve—”
“I’m going,” I said, and turned the key in the ignition.
“Wait,” Scott said, taking a firm hold on my driver’s side door. “I’m not done talking.”
“Well, are you going to be much longer? I have places to be.”
“You probably don’t want to hear this,” Scott said, “but I’m giving you my blessing.”
“What gives you the—”
“I’m just saying,” Scott interrupted, “I think you should go for it. I know I give Arnold a hard time, but the truth is, he’s a good guy. You could do a lot worse.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said in a small voice.
Scott let go of the door.
“I’ll enter this silver dollar into evidence down at the station,” Scott said. “When we’re done with it, I’ll call you.”
“Why should you call me?” I protested. “You know that silver dollar belongs to Arnie.”
“Just thought you might like to deliver it personally,” Scott said. Then he leaned in the window and kissed me on the cheek.
Normally, if Scott had done something like that, I’d have read him the riot act, but this time it felt like a kiss goodbye. It wasn’t until I was halfway back to Bray Bay before I realized there were tears running down my cheeks.
The following afternoon Marge came by the food truck.
“They let Bobby go!” was the first thing she said to me. I was afraid she was going to hug me, so I moved a step back. “They arrested that baker who works at the supermarket,” she continued. “I heard he confessed. Who would have thought he’d have done something like that?”
I tried to look surprised.
“That’s great,” Arnie said as he started to whip up a celebratory hamburger for Marge. Most of the time Arnie complains that I give away food, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t be raising any objections when I told Marge this one was on the house.
“I hope you get your money back,” Marge said.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s very likely,” said Arnie. He looked kind of sad as he said it.
I hoped that Scott wasn’t going to be holding on to that silver dollar much longer, and my hopes were not in vain. A few hours later, as I was wiping down tables outside the food truck, Officer Finch pulled up on the street and waved me over.
“What does he want?” Arnie said.
“Who knows.”
“He sure does show up here a lot. Are you two fixing to get back together?”
“Funny you should say that,” I said. “The subject came up just the other day.”
Arnie went back to flipping burgers with unnecessary vigor as I clambered down from the food truck. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was scowling at the grill.
When I got to the patrol car, Officer Finch handed me a manila envelope.
“It’s in there,” he said in a low voice as if he was passing contraband goods. “So are you going to tell him?”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“We’re friends,” I said. “Arnie is my best friend.”
“So?”
“I’m not ready to tell him.”
“You’ll never feel ready.”
“Mind your own business.”
“You are my business.”
“Funny.”
When I got back to the food truck, I stood outside until Officer Finch had pulled away. I wasn’t going to make some grand confession, but I still didn’t want an audience.
“I have something for you,” I said, handing off the envelope to Arnie without looking him in the eye.
Arnie opened the envelope and took out the silver dollar. He was quiet for a long time, and when I finally got up the nerve to look over at him, his eyes were watering, and he seemed to be swallowing a lot.
“How?” was all he said.
“I found it at Jim’s Pawn Shop over at Eagle’s Rest a couple of days ago. They’ve been holding it as evidence down at the Bray Bay police station.”
“How did you know to look at Jim’s Pawn Shop?”
“It wasn’t exactly a lucky guess,” I admitted. “But when you love something, it’ll eventually come back to you.”
Arnie looked at me like I was being weird.
I was being weird, but that was as close as I was going to get that day to telling Arnie that I loved him. Maybe tomorrow.
Or the next day.
Or, maybe, a few days after that.
The End
Pizza Pie Puzzler
A Felicia’s Food Truck One Hour Mystery
Book Three
By Celia Kinsey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Pizza Pie Puzzler: A Felicia’s Food Truck One Hour Mystery (Book Three)©2019 Celia Kinsey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Art: ©Freepick.com
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Find out more about Celia’s other books at celiakinsey.com
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
It wasn’t until Antonio’s Pizza Truck had been parked a block from Whispering Palms Senior Living Complex for nearly a week that I discovered who’d been poaching our customers.
Usually, by the time the middle of the afternoon rolls around, there are at least four hundred dollars in the till. For the previous week, we’d been getting the normal tourist crowd, but our usual glut of senior diners had slowed to a trickle.
I finally asked Prue, a sweet but loopy inhabitant of Whispering Palms, why all her fellow residents had suddenly lost interest in our hamburgers, fries, and chili dogs.
“Antonio gives out a senior discount plus a handful of free bottle rockets with every pizza,” Prue said.
“Bottle rockets? Do you mean a free bottle of pop, by chance?”
“Nope, I mean bottle rockets,” Prue insisted.
“You know shooooeeeeeeeee bang!!!”
You haven’t lived until you’ve witnessed a birdlike woman of mature years wearing enormous white sneakers and a blue rinse recreate the sound a bottle rocket makes.
I was still wiping tears of laughter from my eyes when Prue said, “Does your cheeseburger come with cheese, or is that extra?”
I assured Prue that cheeseburgers, by nature, came with cheese; it was right there in the name. Then I asked who Antonio was.
“Antonio of Antonio’s Pizza Kitchen,” Prue said.
“Did a new restaurant open in Bray Bay?”
“Antonio’s Mobile Pizza Kitchen, I should have said. It’s just a dinky little truck. Antonio parked it in the vacant lot right next to the complex.”
“He sells pizza out of his truck? How does he bake it?”
“Antonio has this little trailer with a pizza oven on it,” Prue explained. “I don’t care for pizza myself, but the other residents all rave about it.”
My cook, Arnie, half turned from the grill where he’d started on the patty. Prue hadn’t yet settled on the cheeseburger, but based on previous experience, there was a 98% chance she’d change her mind three or four times before returning to her original selection. “Just how much of a senior discount is this Antonio giving out?” I asked.
Prue didn’t know.
I thought Arnie looked more on edge than was warranted from a little competition, but at the time, I chalked up his scowl to worry. Our food truck wasn’t doing particularly well, not that it ever raked in the dough. Arnie blamed our constant cashflow problems on my propensity to give away food, but the truth is, it’s hard to turn a profit in food service, even considering the smaller overhead that comes along with working out of a truck in a vacant parking lot next to a car wash.
“I think I’ll wander over there and see just how wonderful this Antonio’s pizza is,” I told Arnie.
Arnie did not protest, so I left him finishing off Prue’s cheeseburger and walked the three blocks over to Whispering Palms.