I caught Greg’s eye and nodded to let him know that Buck was present, then circled back around the truck and motioned for him to join me under a nearby tree, out of sight of Comfort Foodies.
“They’re not going anywhere with the crowd building,” I said to Greg. “It will be easier to talk to them when they close down at two.”
“I agree, but what if they suddenly close up and make a run for it?”
“We’ll just have to stop them somehow. Eric doesn’t know we saw him today, and Buck is obviously helping but staying out of sight. Unless Tiffany or someone mentioned Heide as Buck’s former girlfriend, who would think to look for him here?”
“You going to tell Fehring he’s here?”
I shrugged. “I should. As soon as I tell her about Eric at Busy Boxes today, I’m pretty sure she’ll hunt this truck down and locate Buck on her own. I’d like to talk to Buck and Eric before then.”
Greg started rolling toward the truck. “In the meantime, I’ll order us something to eat. Why don’t you grab us a table?”
I looked around and spotted one close to where I’d been standing on the other side of the truck. It would give us a view of both the service window and the back door without being too close or obvious.
“I’ll be over there,” I said to Greg as he wheeled away. He noted the table I pointed out and nodded.
Two guys were already seated at one end of the table, wolfing down burgers from one of the other trucks. I sat at the opposite end and waited. I hadn’t been seated long when Detective Fehring called.
“What’s up?” she asked.
I put the phone to my ear and turned away from the two college kids. “Just some interesting stuff. Did you have a chance to look into the marks on the storage units in Santa Ana this morning?”
“Yes, and you were right. They had four units going up for auction today, and one was marked with an X just as you described. We searched it with dogs and found drugs stashed in one of the storage boxes. From the condition of the other stuff in the unit, it looks like the box with the drugs was a recent deposit. Acme handled another auction elsewhere this morning. Units are on their way there now to stop any winning bidders from cleaning out the units until we search them.”
“Well, that’s what I called to tell you.” I put my hand over the phone in case the two kids stopped eating long enough to eavesdrop. “You mean Busy Boxes in Bellflower, right?”
There was a long pause on the other end, followed by, “So did you have amnesia about Bellflower when we talked this morning or did you decide you were making it too easy on us?”
I didn’t answer her question. Instead, I said, “Listen, there were two units being auctioned off this morning in Bellflower. One was marked, but it looks like the mark was scraped off by someone…um…recently, before the auction.”
“I told you to stay away from those places,” Fehring snapped, totally missing what I was telling her.
“As I recall, you thanked me for giving you a heads-up about Santa Ana.”
Another long pause. I’m glad we were on the phone, because I was pretty sure Andrea Fehring wanted to shoot me at this point.
“I think,” I continued, “that whoever is handling the drugs, receiving or placing them, might have had other workers like Linda and knows she’s in jail. Scraping off the mark might have been a warning to their other buyers to stay away.”
“Good theory, Odelia, but you need to leave this to us. Drug runners are dangerous people. I won’t tell you again: stand down!”
Stand down? Now she was getting all official on me. Good thing I watch a lot of TV or I might not have known what she meant.
“But don’t you want to know who I think scraped the mark off?”
“You saw them do it?” Her voice went up an octave.
“Not exactly, but we did see someone suspicious. Greg and I got photos on our phones.”
“Text them to me,” she demanded, “and get out of there now.”
“We’re not at Busy Boxes. We left there almost an hour ago.” I looked up and noticed Greg making his way back to me, a cardboard box of food resting on his lap. “And we’ll send you the photos. Mine is actually a video.”
“Did you recognize the person you think removed the marks?”
“I think so, but I’m not 100 percent.”
“Then be a good girl and text me the name, too.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice like her chassis had sprung a gooey oil leak. “I’m sure we’ll be able to locate him…or her.”
“I’m looking at him right now.”
“Was it Buck Goodwin?”
“No, but you’re warm.”
“Dammit, Odelia, quit playing games before I lock you up for obstruction of justice.”
I heard the rustling of paper and turned to see the two boys wadding up their lunch trash and leaving.
“Who’s on the phone?” Greg asked as he placed our food on the table. Also nestled in his lap were two bottles of Snapple tea. He twisted the cap off of one and put it in front of me.
I put a hand over the phone. “Fehring. She just threatened to arrest me for obstruction of justice.”
“Just you?” He sounded hurt.
“She likes you more than she does me, kind of like my mother does.”
Greg laughed and stuck something in his mouth that looked like a sweet potato fry on steroids. “What is that?” I asked, still ignoring Fehring, who was on a rant.
“It’s called a sweet potato pie fry. Tastes just like the sweet potato pie Zee makes. You have to try one.”
He held one out to me. I took a bite. It was amazing.
“Yes,” I said into the phone with my mouth still full. “I’m still here.”
“So who’s in the photos?” Fehring asked.
“I think it’s Eric van den Akker,” I told her without fanfare. “Anyone mention a Heide van den Akker during any of your questioning?”
“Not that I recall. Who is she? And don’t you dare shovel any more BS my way.”
“Heide van den Akker is or was Buck Goodwin’s girlfriend. Eric is her eldest son. He’s the one we think we saw coming out of Busy Boxes this morning just before it opened. He was dressed in a dark hoodie and wearing gloves. And I think either he or his brother, Paul, is Bob Y, the reviewer with a hatred for secondhand stores and a love for food trucks. Paul used to work for Buck.”
“And which one is with you now?”
I glanced over at Comfort Foodies. The lunch crowd was starting to swell. “Eric. His mother owns and operates a food truck called Comfort Foodies. They’re parked at Cal State Fullerton right now, feeding hordes of college kids. And Buck Goodwin is with them.”
“We’re on our way,” she told me.
I looked at my husband. He was scarfing down a sandwich with gusto, looking at me long enough to give a thumbs up with the hand not clutching the yummy-looking concoction.
My attention turned from my stomach back to the call. “I thought you were going to Busy Boxes.”
“I’ll send Leon to Bellflower. I’m coming to Fullerton. Do me a favor: if they try to leave, delay them.”
“But I thought you didn’t want us involved.”
Another pause. I could almost see her aiming her gun at the phone. “I know you’ll ignore any orders to stay away, so you might as well make yourselves useful and keep an eye on them for me…from a distance. You understand?”
“Greg wants to know if you arrest me, will I be able to have conjugal visits?”
Greg nearly sprayed food across the table.
“Laugh all you want, funny girl,” Fehring said without a smidgen of humor. “But one day you’ll get into something you won’t be able to wiggle your smart ass out of.”
Now it was my turn to pause for thought. I was being brazen toward Fehring. No doubt I was overcompensating fo
r the heavy grief of losing Seamus. Dev hounded me all the time about how one day my luck would run out. Maybe losing Seamus was just the beginning—a prelude to tragedy, a trailer for coming attractions.
“We’ll keep an eye out on them for you,” I agreed. “They’re supposed to be here until two o’clock.”
“Good. I’m on my way, but in the meantime, do not engage them. You got that?”
I was about to say something snappy about already being married but wisely held my tongue. When the call was over, I dug into the food Greg had put on the table. In addition to the fries, he’d bought a pot roast sandwich and something called a chicken pot pie wrap. He’d divvied them up so we could try half of each and had already ploughed through his half of the pot roast. He was about to start on the chicken pot pie wrap.
“Oh my gawd,” Greg said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “this food is even better than you and Grace said.”
I took a long drink from the tea bottle and contemplated which treat to dig into first. I picked up the pot roast. “Fehring wants us to watch the truck and make sure they don’t leave before she gets here.” I took a bite and understood instantly why Greg had eaten his like a starving fugitive.
Greg glanced over at the truck. “I doubt they’ll be going anywhere with that crowd building like it is.”
I stuck a fry into my mouth and nodded. “I agree,” I mumbled through the goodness.
While we ate, we sent the photos and video to Fehring’s cell phone.
We were almost done eating when someone popped out of the back of the truck. It was Buck Goodwin, toting a plastic trash bag. He went to the trash can nearest the truck and started shoving the bag into it.
Greg gathered some of our trash and started toward Buck. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Going to see if he’ll talk to us a minute.”
“If he sees you, he might bolt.”
“True, but even if he does, he won’t get far on foot, providing he didn’t drive his own car here, which I doubt since the cops are on the lookout for it.”
I looked at the food truck. There was no way they could shut it down and make a dash for it in short order with that lumbering vehicle.
“Just don’t tell him the police are on their way,” I said in a hushed voice.
“And why would I do that?”
Greg rolled in the direction of Buck, who was occupied pushing his trash bag as deep into the receptacle as possible. When Greg reached him, Buck graciously stepped aside, inviting Greg to dump his trash. Then Buck recognized him, and his casual stance turned into one of indecision and defense. I half expected him to hit or shove Greg and take off. Greg was talking to him, saying things I couldn’t hear. I watched Buck’s shoulders sag and a sad frown cross his face as he looked over in my direction. I gave him a small wave and smile of encouragement. After more discussion, the two men moved in my direction.
“Odelia,” Buck greeted me.
“I told Buck how you and Grace were nearly killed in the blast at his store,” Greg told me.
“I feel real bad about that,” said Buck. “About everything.”
“So you set the bomb?” I asked.
Buck shook his head with vigor. “No ma’am, I did not. I would never destroy my store.” The conviction in his voice was unmistakable and sounded sincere. “And I would never harm people like that. Those other store owners are my friends. I’ve known many of them for years.”
It was exactly what Tiffany had said about her father.
“Then why are you in hiding?”
“I’m not in hiding.” He stuck out his square chin to make his point. “If I were, we wouldn’t be standing here talking. I’m just not making myself available until I sort things out.”
“But what about your store?” I asked. “Are you just abandoning it, leaving the mess?”
“Since you’re so interested, I’ve already called the insurance company. But until the investigation is over, they can’t do anything.”
“The police know you took off shortly before the bomb went off.”
Buck fiddled with the front of the long apron he was wearing over a black tee shirt and jeans. In spite of the cool day, he was sweating. “After seeing poor Ina at the hearing, I couldn’t work, so I grabbed a sandwich and took off for a drive up the coast to think this mess through. I do that sometimes to clear my head. I was on my way back when I heard about the bomb and about Red. That’s when I decided to stay low but close. Heide’s a good friend. She’s been helping me.”
So that was why Buck hadn’t pulled and locked the security gate across the front of his store as Bill said he usually did—he was planning on returning to the store that day. If he hadn’t left to drive up the coast, he would have probably died in the blast, and us with him since Mom and I probably would have been inside, questioning him. I shuddered.
“Do you know who did set the bomb and who killed Redmond Stokes?” Greg asked.
“I have my suspicions.” Buck looked off, his eyes scanning the crowd. “I’m pretty sure it’s the same people.”
I reached out and put a hand on Buck’s arm. He didn’t pull away. “Then go to the police.”
“I can’t.” He turned his face to me, and I saw anguish in his eyes. “At least not until I can protect Tiffany.” He glanced over at the truck. “And Heide and her boys.”
“Let the police help you do that,” I urged.
“They can’t, not like I can.”
“What do the van den Akkers have to do with this, outside of helping you?” Greg asked. Seeing Greg wasn’t playing the Eric card up front, I decided to follow suit.
“Nothing,” Buck replied, a little too quickly to be convincing.
I looked at Greg with raised eyebrows. Buck saw it.
“What?” Buck asked, his stance and voice turning defensive again. “You two know something.”
Greg cleared his throat, and I knew he was going to open the box of snakes and see what crawled out. “We know a drug business is being funneled through the auctions.”
“You know about that?” Buck took a step backward in surprise.
“Yes, and so do the police,” I admitted. “They know drugs have been exchanged through specially marked units up for auction. Linda McIntyre is in jail right now.” I let the idea of Linda spilling her guts to the cops hang in the air like a stench, even though we’d been told she wasn’t saying anything to anyone, just like Ina.
Greg adjusted his wheelchair closer to Buck. “Were Ina and Tom mixed up in this drug business? Is that why Tom was murdered and Ina won’t say anything?”
“Tom was,” Buck said quickly, “but not Ina. It’s what set off their more recent battles. Tom wanted to stock their store with the goods Linda was buying but couldn’t store, but Ina refused, saying she wasn’t about to get mixed up in it. But Tom started selling the merchandise anyway.”
I started putting the pieces together, hoping Fehring wouldn’t arrive before we heard more. “Then Linda and Tom hooked up, and Ina was out?”
“I know Tom started seeing Linda; whether it was before he got involved with the drugs or after, I’m not sure.”
“Is that why Mazie Moore decided not to go into business with Linda, because of the drug connection?”
Buck shrugged. “Could be. Or it could be Mazie was scared off by Tom’s murder. Linda had been buying up a lot of units lately and needed places to unload the goods. Her people didn’t want the merchandise, just the drugs hidden in them. She needed legitimate businesses to take the furniture and other stuff off her hands. It was a lucrative racket. Her people would front the money for the units, and she’d buy the ones they told her to buy. The goods would be moved to someone’s store, the drugs passed off to the people pulling the strings. Linda and whoever she partnered with had no outlay but received tons of merchandise they could resell with no c
ost to themselves. It was pure profit, except for the cost of moving it to the store.”
“But,” I pointed out, “it wasn’t directly tied to selling the drugs. The auctions were the mule, so to speak, moving the drugs from the exporter to the importer without suspicion.”
Buck nodded.
Greg looked at me. “The money Ina took from their accounts is making sense. Tom was already making extra money from selling the merchandise.”
I turned to Buck. “Did you know Ina had drained their bank accounts and was about to flee the country?”
Buck shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t surprise me. Too bad she didn’t hit the road before Tom was killed.”
“Do you know why they killed him?”
“No, but I’m guessing it was a warning to the rest of us. Or maybe Tom did something really stupid and pissed them off. It would be like him.”
The comment drew no argument from either Greg or me and only underlined Ina’s “stupid bastard” remark.
“And Red Stokes?” asked Greg.
The question clearly made Buck uncomfortable. “I doubt Red was involved. I’ve known and worked with the guy for years. He was too much of a straight arrow to get mixed up in something like this. I’m thinking he found out about it and raised a fuss with someone or threatened to go to the police.”
I hit Buck quick and head-on with another question. “Were you selling merchandise from these units? Or were you involved in buying marked units?”
“Absolutely not. Linda approached me, but I told her to go to hell.”
“Is that why your place was bombed?” Greg asked.
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