Murdered by Country Music: A High Desert Cozy Mystery

by Dianne Harman

  Next to the window was a menu written in green chalk on a white chalkboard. Just as John had chosen to do, Jacques had limited his selection to ten items, and he had carefully translated them into English, since all of them were classic French dishes.

  “I don’t want to be disloyal to John,” Marty said, “but that menu really looks good to me, however, from the age of the people I see standing outside the gate, I can’t believe many of them are going to be interested in Jacques’ food. Seems more like the type of food people our age would eat. I can’t help but think John’s truck is going to do a much better business with his western style food.”

  “I agree. It’s close to opening time, so we better see what else John wants us to do.”

  CHAPTER 3

  When Marty and Jeff walked into the Red Pony to find out what else John needed them to do, they heard Max say, “Boss, let it go. I’d like to see the guy six feet under, too, but the fact is the jerk is gonna be next to us for the entire weekend, and we gotta concentrate on those people outside the gate who are gonna want some good western food in a few minutes. Let’s give the people what they want. Come on, John, don’t let this guy get to you. He ain’t worth it.”

  “If his truck does better than mine I’ll personally walk next door and bury my best chopping knife in the middle of his forehead.”

  “John, I heard that,” Jeff said. “If you keep talking like that and anything happens to Jacques, you might find yourself in trouble. You don’t want anyone to overhear you saying things like that. We’re all set up outside. What else do you want us to do?”

  John looked around and said, “I think I’d like you both to keep the outside eating area picked up. There’s nothing worse than a lot of trash on the ground next to a food truck. There’s some big trash bins behind the beer bar in the center of the food truck court, plus I brought a couple of extra ones and put them behind the Pony. Max and I will be using those, so if you could dump them from time to time that would be a big help.

  “Les, Laura, I’d like you to do whatever Max and I might ask you to do. Could be anything from getting more bread out of one of the motor homes to helping us serve at the window. Just stand by and be ready for whatever comes up. Okay, guys,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s show time! The gates just opened, and The Red Pony is officially open for business.”

  The afternoon and night went by in a blur for Marty. She couldn’t believe how much trash people threw on the ground. Her back was beginning to talk to her from bending over. It seemed like wherever she looked she saw people drinking from flasks and appearing happier than she thought the music would have made them. The line at The Red Pony was steady from the moment they opened, but what surprised her was the number of people standing in line at the French Food Obsession truck. Several times she noticed a stunning young blond woman standing in line and thought she must be getting food for people and taking it to them. There was no way she could eat that much food by herself.

  Marty was cleaning off a couple of the tables outside The Red Pony when she saw John gesturing to her, indicating he wanted her to come into the Pony and talk to him. She walked in and said, “Looks like it’s going great. Think you brought enough food?”

  “Yeah, we’re doing fine, but I‘d like to know what Jacques is serving. Do me a favor and copy his menu down for me, would you? I’m curious about what he’s serving.”

  Marty left the truck and waved to Jeff who was pulling an overflowing trash barrel towards the large bins in the center of the food truck court. “Back in a minute.”

  “Where are you off to?” Jeff asked.

  “John wants me to go next door to the French Food Obsession and see what Jacques is serving.”

  “Well, whatever it is, they’re definitely buying. In fact, I’ve noticed a couple of them have been there more than once, like that drop-dead gorgeous young blond woman,” he said as he nodded towards the long line in front of the French Food Obsession.

  “Jeff, are you focusing on beautiful young women instead of doing what John’s asked you to do?” Marty asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Nope. I’m doing everything he’s asked, but when you see the same spectacular looking woman go to a food truck for the third time, you have to wonder if she has a thing for Jacques or what. Look over there. She’s the fourth one from the front of the line. You can’t miss her.”

  Marty looked over at the line in front of the French Food Obsession and saw one of the most beautiful young women she’d ever seen. She was talking animatedly to the person standing behind her. Her long blond hair set off a perfectly tanned body that indicated it had spent a lot of time with a personal trainer. Jade colored green eyes were enhanced by her tan. She wore short cut-off jeans which accentuated her long legs. A sleeveless cropped white tank top showed off her tan midriff and pierced belly button. Gold hoop earrings and a gold necklace completed the modern day Daisy Mae look.

  “Detective, hate to say this, but you’re old enough to be her father. Guess she just likes French food.”

  “You’re probably right, but the whole thing strikes me as a bit odd, but then again, I’ve never been to one of these music festivals before.”

  Marty walked next door to where the French Food Obsession truck was parked and stood off to the side of the line. She wrote down what Jacques had written on the chalk board and looked at it again to make sure she’d gotten it right.

  This is bizarre. This food might appeal to people of my age who are dining in an expensive fancy French restaurant but here at the festival? I can’t believe all these young people are standing in line for food like this. It makes absolutely no sense to me.

  She walked back to the Pony and stepped inside. John was busy cooking and said, “Tell me what’s on the list. I can’t take time to read it.”

  “Okay, here goes. I wrote it down exactly like it is on his menu. I think I can pronounce everything, but cut me a little slack if I make a mistake.” Marty looked at her list and said, “croissant jambon sandwich (ham), quiche Lorraine, baked Camembert, hachis Parmentier (French version of shepherd’s pie), steak tartare (a French delicacy), cassoulet (French casserole with beans and chicken), pissaladiere (French pizza), aligot (mashed potatoes with melted cheese and garlic), gougeres (cream puffs), and crème brulee (French custard). He’s put explanations for most of the dishes in parentheses next to the name of the dish.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” John exclaimed. “The only thing I can see any of these young people being remotely interested in would be the French pizza. What’s going on? I really can’t figure it out. I’m doing almost all of the cooking, so I can’t see much of what’s happening over there. Is anybody buying his food?”

  “Yes. The line in front of his truck is quite long.” She didn’t want to tell him it was much longer than the one at The Red Pony.

  “Marty, do you think he knows you’re helping me?” John asked.

  “I have no idea. Why?”

  “I’d like you to stand in line over there and order something. See if you overhear anything that might indicate why so many people are standing in a long line to buy his food. Can you do that?”

  “I can try. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If Jeff wonders where I am, tell him what I’m doing.”

  “Thanks. By the way, don’t eat whatever you get. I want to see what it looks and tastes like.”

  CHAPTER 4

  When Marty went next door to the French Food Obsession she had to stand in line for nearly thirty minutes. By now it was eight at night, and she was exhausted. The sun had set, and the festival was ablaze with lights. Most of the food trucks had been strung with twinkling lights all around them as well as lights on their canopies. She heard various kinds of music floating through the air. As she looked around, she felt like she was in a contrived fairyland, something quite surreal.

  When she was getting close to the front of the line she heard angry voices coming from behind the French Food Obsession. “Give m
e what you’ve got. You know how much you owe me,” a woman’s voice said in an angry tone.

  A man answered in a thick French accent, “Get out of here. I don’t have time for this now. When this weekend is over, we’ll talk.”

  “No, that’s what you always say, and it never happens. You’re so far behind on the child support you owe me, I should probably go to the district attorney and have you arrested, and you’d never cook again. What are you going to spend your money on? Same thing you always do?”

  “If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for disturbing the peace. Every minute I’m not cooking costs us both. Come back tonight after midnight, and I’ll pay you what I can. This is not the time nor the place for this conversation.”

  “All right, but this time you better keep your promise, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, which may very well wind up being a lot shorter than you thought it was going to be.”

  “Jennifer, are you threatening me?” the man Marty assumed was Jacques Ruchon asked.

  “Call it whatever you like. I’ll see you later.”

  A moment later a woman walked out from behind the truck, clearly agitated. Her face was red, and her eyes were flashing. She cut in front of Marty as she walked towards the central part of the food truck court. Marty looked around, but no one seemed at all interested in the woman. It was as if Marty was the only one who’d heard the angry exchange of words. The young man in front of her ordered the quiche Lorraine special. When she got to the front of the line, a smiling Jacques asked her what she would like. She ordered the hachis ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Parmentier. As she was walking away, she heard the person behind her order the cassoulet special.

  That’s weird. I wrote down all the items on the menu for John, and I don’t recall seeing the word special on anything. I must have missed it, or maybe the people who have been to his food truck before get something a little different when they say the word “special.” It’s probably like when I go to my favorite hamburger place and order my burger “animal style.” It’s kind of an inside thing, and I love the grilled onions which is what animal style means.

  She carried her plate with the hachis Parmentier in a tin foil type soup bowl into John’s truck. He looked at it and grimaced. He took a bite and said, “That fake French jerk has his nerve. That’s plain old shepherd’s pie, and it has very little meat in it. What did he charge you for that drek?”

  “I paid $7.95 for it.”

  “You’re kidding me! That’s highway robbery! It’s just a few vegetables and a couple of pieces of meat in a gravy covered with mashed potatoes. It couldn’t cost him more than fifty cents, if that, to make. That’s one heck of a markup.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. However, while I was standing in line I heard an argument between a woman and a man, who I’m pretty sure was Jacques, arguing about some back child support he owed her. Do you know anything about that?”

  John took a long drink from the water bottle that was next to him. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearly tired. “Sorry, Marty, but I’m whipped. I can’t wait until it’s time to close the Pony, and I can get some much-needed sleep. The last few days have been exhausting for me. Anyway, let me answer your question. I’ve heard rumors that he owes his ex-wife a lot of money, but I don’t know that for sure. I would imagine it’s probably true. Rumor also has it that the reason he never could pay her what he owed her, was because he spent all his money on drugs, but I can’t say that for certain either. The restaurant business is a hotbed of rumors, most of which aren’t true. That may be one of them. Since I’m not at all close to the guy, nor do I want to be, I don’t know anything about his ex-wife. I do know he’s divorced, and he’s the father of a fourteen-year-old boy. That’s about the sum total of what I know of his personal life, which really isn’t that much.”

  “After I heard the two of them arguing, I was curious what you might know about him. Evidently she’s coming back to meet him after the festival closes tonight to discuss it further. Oh, one other question. I never saw the word ‘special’ on Jacques’ menu, but the young man in front of me ordered a special and the young woman behind me did too. Is that some kind of an inside thing?” Marty asked.

  “Could be. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Let me turn to another subject. I understand the owner of the White Stallion Ranch where this festival is being held is Jeb Rhodes. I also read that he loves country music, and that’s one of the reasons he started holding the festival on his property, not too far from his ranch house. There’s a big house up on that knoll you can see from here, and I’ll bet that’s his ranch house. The reason I’m bringing it up is because I got a call from a Jeb Rhodes a few days ago asking me to give him a call. Evidently he has an extensive collection of California Impressionist paintings he’d like me to appraise. I was so busy finishing up an appraisal I was working on and getting ready for the festival, that I never had a chance to return his call. I thought I’d take a break and walk over to the ranch house. Maybe he’s there, and we can talk about his collection. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Absolutely. As hard as you’ve been working you definitely deserve a break. See you in a little while.”

  “I don’t see Jeff. Would you tell him where I’ve gone?”

  “Of course. Good luck with getting the appraisal,” John said as he turned back to the griddle and looked at the orders Laura had placed next to where he and Max were cooking. He quickly directed his attention to preparing the orders, as Marty stepped out of the food truck.

  CHAPTER 5

  Marty walked out of the food truck court and into the main area of the festival where several large sound stages had been set up. There were several large tents, and the music coming from all of them blended into the central area. She looked around wide-eyed at the mass of young people milling around in the open area outside the tents, some clearly showing the effects of substances that were supposed to be banned from the festival. The crowd was a moving swaying mass of humanity.

  She walked to the far side of the main area and showed her pass to the guard at the gate. “I have business with Jeb Rhodes at his ranch house. I’ll be back in a little while.” She walked up the tree-lined driveway to where the large rambling one-story ranch house was located. As she approached it, she heard a loud angry voice coming from the porch, so she stepped behind a tree, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

  “Brianna, you’re buzzed,” a man’s voice said. “Get in the house. I can tell you’re on something. Where did you find it? Is someone selling stuff at the festival? I know other festivals have had problems in the past, but I hired extra guards, so there wouldn’t be a drug problem at my festival. Obviously they’re not doing their job if my own daughter can get them. Where did you get them?”

  As she peered around the tree, Marty saw an older man grab the young woman’s arm and pull her through the front door. Marty gasped as she realized it was the beautiful young woman Jeff had pointed out earlier in the day. She could clearly see the young woman because of the light shining through the doorway. Marty heard the man continue to talk loudly to the young woman. “You tell me now where you got the drugs, or you won’t leave this house again for a month. Hear me, Brianna? I’ve had enough of this.”

  The man was quiet for a moment and Marty assumed the girl he called Brianna was talking. After a few minutes, she heard him say, “You promised me you’d never take a molly again, and now you’re saying you got them from someone who’s working at the festival. Tell me who, and I’ll make sure that he never sells another one as long as he’s alive. In fact, I might just be inclined to kill the scumbag who has the nerve to sell drugs at my festival which has been widely promoted as being a drug free event.

  ‘I never thought I’d say that I’m glad your mother isn’t here to see what you’ve become, but right now I am. It would break her heart to see
her daughter in your condition. If you expect to get any type of an inheritance from me, this better never happen again. I’m tempted to put you into a drug rehab facility. Maybe that would keep you off of drugs.”

  The man who Marty assumed was Jeb Rhodes became quiet, and she could hear a soft voice talking, but couldn’t make out the words. She waited for what seemed an eternity and then the front door opened wider and the older man came out on the porch, a cell phone in his hand. “Sid, I’ve got a little job for you to do tonight. I found out that one of the people who’s working here at the festival is selling a drug called molly to people, but I don’t know exactly who it is. I can’t have that. If word gets out they’re available, and combined with the heat and the music, if they take that drug we could have people dying like they did at that electronic music festival in New York a few years ago. Not on my watch. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. Here’s what I want you to do,” he said as his voice trailed off when he closed the door and walked back inside the house.

  Well, this probably isn’t the right time to knock on the door and talk to him about his California Impressionist painting collection. Think that will have to wait until the festival is over. I’ll give him a call next week.

  Marty turned, walked back down the driveway, and re-entered the festival, wondering if the young people she had noticed earlier who looked like they were under the influence of something had been sold mollies as well.

  Jeff is extremely opposed to drugs and with his background in law enforcement, I wonder if he’s noticed anything. Surely he’s aware that some of these kids are showing the effects of substance abuse. I wonder what he’d make of the conversation I just overheard between Brianna and her father. I’ll tell him after we finish up tonight. Right now I probably better get back and see what I can do to help John. Bet Laura’s whipped by now. Taking orders for that long has got to be exhausting. I’ll offer to do it tomorrow.