by Penny Pike
Seconds later I burst through the door of the School Bus, let out my breath, and began yelling and screaming as I hobbled toward Jake’s truck.
“Jake! Help! Come quick!”
Jake spotted me from the service window and called out, “Darcy?”
“Hurry! She’s in Aunt Abby’s bus! Call nine-one-one!” I repeated myself several times before I saw him finally bound out of the truck, his cell phone in his hand.
“Your leg is bleeding! What happened?” he said, following me as I stumbled back to the bus.
I pressed on my calf to keep the pain at bay. The adrenaline was starting to wane. In spite of the wound, I wanted to make sure Livvy didn’t get away.
“Darcy, you need a doctor!” Jake said as we reached the bus.
“I’m okay,” I said. “It’s just a superficial cut. Hurry. Make sure she’s still tied up!”
“Who?” Jake asked.
“Livvy! She did it! She killed them both! And she poisoned Aunt Abby! I have to make sure she’s not going to get away!”
I knew I wasn’t making complete sense, but there would be time for that after the police came and took Livvy into custody. What mattered now was making sure she was still tied up in the bus. I started up the stairs.
A forceful shove knocked me back down to the ground. Livvy, her face still white with powdery residue, her hands still bound behind her back, jumped down the steps.
And right into Jake’s massive arms.
“Hold on!” he yelled as he caught her and gripped her tightly. He spun her around and grabbed her by her bound wrists.
“Let go of me!” Livvy screamed as she squirmed. She tried kicking Jake, but he held her in a death grip, giving her little room to move. By now a few of the chefs had stepped out of their trucks to see what all the commotion was about.
“Someone call the police!” I shouted.
“Anyone got any duct tape?” Jake called out to the crowd while he held Livvy firmly.
There was the roll Livvy had pulled out inside the bus, but before I could say anything, Willow called out, “I do!” She ran back to her coffee truck and returned moments later with a roll of silver tape. “This stuff is great! It fixes everything!”
Sierra and Vandy stepped forward. “Vandy, wrap her legs while I hold them,” Sierra said. She took the tape from Willow’s hand and gave it to her partner. Those years of working out and buffing up paid off as Sierra forcefully grabbed and held Livvy’s legs in a bear hug, giving Vandy the chance to wrap her up.
Moments later Livvy resembled a silver mummy, wrapped up in shiny tape from her ankles to her legs to her arms and torso. Before she toppled over, Jake laid her on the ground. When she wouldn’t stop screaming, mostly obscenities, Sierra tore off a piece of tape and slapped it on Livvy’s mouth. The onlookers cheered.
I grinned. What goes around, comes around, I thought, remembering the moment I found my aunt had been similarly silenced by duct tape.
“Did anyone call nine-one-one?” Jake asked, glancing around.
“I did,” said a tourist wearing sunglasses, a straw hat, a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a camera around his neck. “They’re on their way.”
I shook my head.
Dillon.
Chapter 27
Dillon split moments after I told him about his mom. I assumed he was headed for the hospital—and avoiding the cops. Good thing. The police arrived five minutes later. While Jake talked to Detective Shelton, Willow cleaned my leg wound with water and antiseptic and covered it with coffee filters, which she said were better than gauze. How she knew this was a mystery to me. She taped the filters on my body with good old duct tape.
After she fixed me up and told me I was going to live, I explained to the curious food truckers and straggling onlookers what had happened inside the School Bus—that Livvy had attacked me with a knife, that I’d fought back by throwing everything but the kitchen sink at her—including rat poison—and that she’d admitted to killing her own brother as well as Boris.
Jake drove me to the hospital and waited in the cafeteria while the doctor treated my leg wound. It was just superficial, and I was out of the ER in thirty minutes. I joined Jake in the cafeteria and we spent the next forty minutes drinking bad coffee that tasted like hospital antiseptic while we waited to see Aunt Abby when she got out of recovery.
While Jake got us some water, I glanced at my cell phone, willing it to ring. The nurse had promised to call, and I was dying to hear how my aunt was doing. More than that, I wanted to see for myself that she was all right.
“So how did you figure it was Livvy?” Jake asked.
I took a sip of water. “It was Dillon’s ringtone that clued me in when Livvy was in the bus. I called his number and it rang in her pocket. That’s when I realized she was the one who had attacked Aunt Abby and Dillon and took their cell phones to call me.”
Jake reached out and patted my hand. The warmth of his touch gave me a tingle that distracted me from the pain in my side.
“So,” I said, trying to wrap up the details swimming around in my head. “Livvy attacked my aunt and cousin to scare me off, then stole their phones and called me with Aunt Abby’s phone, pretending to be my aunt so I’d go to her house and discover that she’d been attacked.”
“Pretty much. She probably did it to get you out of the restaurant before you discovered any evidence, and meant it as a warning.”
“Did the police say anything about her motive?”
“Yeah, Shelton said she confirmed what she told you—that she killed her brother because he wanted to sell the restaurant and she wanted to keep it.”
“Greed?”
“More like control, I think,” Jake said. “Maybe recognition. You said she said she did most of the work, yet their father gave the majority of the business to Oliver. She probably always felt she deserved it. Turns out she isn’t a chef, only the kitchen manager. But she’d planned to hire a new chef and needed those original recipes, plus the food truck recipes, to update the menu. I guess she’d made photocopies of the stolen recipes, then tossed out the originals into the Dumpster to cover her tracks. Only, I’d happened to see her with the bags of trash.”
“But why did she pick on us—first my aunt Abby, then Dillon, then me?”
Jake shrugged. “Maybe you wrote a bad review of the restaurant in the past, and she never forgot it.”
“Very funny,” I said. But Jake was right. I had written a poor review after hearing from several people that the place wasn’t good anymore. I’d wanted to see for myself, and it was true. The place had gone downhill.
“Well, I’m glad Willow or the vegans weren’t the murderers. If they can’t kill animals, surely they can’t kill human beings. And just because Vandy ate a hamburger doesn’t mean she’s a murderer. But I kept them on my list because they didn’t get along with Boris.”
“Like you kept me on your list,” Jake said, looking at me with those dark eyes.
I smiled weakly. “Sorry about that, but I never really suspected you.”
Jake shook his head. I wondered if he’d ever forgive me.
My cell phone ring broke the awkward silence. I picked it up and said, “I’ll be right there!” After I hung up, I said to Jake, “Aunt Abby is out of ICU. I need to see her. You want to come?”
“Sure,” Jake said, rising from the table.
We tossed our drink containers into the recycle bin and headed for the elevator. Getting off on the third floor, we made our way through the labyrinth of hallways to Aunt Abby’s room, where she was still recovering from having her stomach pumped. She was sound asleep when we entered. To my surprise, Dillon was sitting in a chair by her bed. He was working on his laptop—not a surprise.
“Dillon!” I said, actually glad to see him. I was even more delighted to see him dressed in his own clothes and not like
a tourist, in spite of the fact that his faded jeans were holey and his threadbare shirt sported a picture of Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory.
“What? No nurse costume?” Jake teased.
“Very funny,” Dillon said.
I shushed both of them. “She’s sleeping!” I turned to Dillon and whispered, “Seriously, what are you doing here without a disguise? Aren’t you worried about being arrested?”
Dillon looked at Jake.
“They dropped the charges,” Jake answered for him.
“What?” I said.
Dillon nodded. “Jake talked to the detective. Told him I’d practically solved the case with my computer. Shelton let me off, since obviously I didn’t kill anyone.”
“What about the feds?” I asked. “All that computer hacking?”
He shrugged. “I still have to deal with them. But I think I’m pretty safe here. For now.”
I sighed. “Well, at least Aunt Abby is okay.” I looked down at her and gently held the hand without the IV. “Has she been asleep the whole time?”
“Pretty much,” Dillon said. “She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw me, then faded. Doc said she’ll be fine. But I think she’s off cream puffs for a while.” Dillon actually cracked a smile at his own attempt at humor. I hadn’t known he had it in him to make a joke.
“Well, let’s let her sleep. I’ll come by later and see her. I’ve got a crime scene cleaner coming to clear out the poison I threw all over the inside of the bus, so I wouldn’t recommend you crash there tonight, Dillon.”
“I’ll be fine here for now,” he said. “I’ll go home later, maybe.”
I bent down and gave my cousin an awkward hug; then Jake and I stepped out of the room.
We ran into Detective Shelton just outside the door.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him, surprised at the visit.
“Just wanted to see how your aunt was doing,” the detective said, his hands clasping a bouquet of flowers. “She’s been through a lot.”
“That’s so sweet of you,” I said, grinning. “But she’s asleep right now.”
He nodded. “I’ll just leave these and let her sleep,” he said. Was that a blush beneath his mocha complexion?
I moved aside to allow him in. He took a few awkward steps and entered the room.
Hesitating, I heard a flirty but raspy voice say, “Why, hello, Detective Shelton. . . .”
I turned to Jake. “That little faker!” I started to go back in, but Jake caught my arm and stopped me.
“Come on. Let’s give them some privacy.”
“But Dillon’s in there!” I argued.
Seconds later, Dillon appeared in the hall, a sheepish grin on his face. “Guess I’ll head home after all,” he said. “Mom seems to be in good hands at the moment.”
I smiled at Dillon and took his arm.
“How about we head home together?” I suggested as we walked to the elevators.
“You two want to come over to my place for some cream puffs?” Jake offered. “I’ve got a loft in the marina with a great view of the bay.”
I shook my head. “Sounds lovely, but I’m exhausted. I have to go home and feed Basil. And explain to my ex-boss why I never got that review of the festival or that article on the contest written for the newspaper. And start writing my cookbook. Besides,” I added, patting my stomach, “I really need to lay off the puffs for a while.”
“I hear you,” Jake said, smiling, although he looked a little disappointed. “Need a ride?”
“I’ve got mom’s car,” Dillon said.
Jake nodded and walked us to Aunt Abby’s car in the hospital parking lot in silence. But as soon as Dillon was behind the wheel, Jake pulled me close.
“Rain check,” he whispered, gazing into my eyes.
And then he kissed me.
Food Truck Recipes
Aunt Abby’s Crab Potpies
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons butter
3 cups chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup frozen peas
1/4 cup flour
2 cups peeled and diced potatoes
2 cups clam juice
2 teaspoons lemon zest
11/2 teaspoons seafood seasoning
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 pound crabmeat
1 (14-ounce) package refrigerated piecrusts
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon water
tartar sauce (secret ingredient)
Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter in large pan over medium heat.
Add the onion, celery, carrots, and peas, and cook for 5 minutes.
Stir in the flour and cook for 1 minute.
Add the potatoes, clam juice, lemon zest, seafood seasoning, and salt; bring to boil.
Cover, reduce the heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes, until the potatoes are tender.
Remove from the heat.
Melt the remaining 1/2 cup butter in a frying pan over low heat; cook and stir for 3 minutes until golden brown.
Combine the butter and crabmeat, add to the vegetable mixture, and stir.
Unroll the piecrusts, place 6 ramekins on the crusts and cut out circles of piecrust the same diameter as the ramekins to cover the pies.
Spoon the crab mixture into the ramekins.
Whisk the egg with the water and brush the cutout piecrusts with the egg wash.
Place a crust circle, egg wash side down, over each ramekin of crab mixture and seal the edges of the crust to the edges of the ramekin.
Pierce the crusts a few times with a knife or fork to create vent holes.
Place the ramekins on a foil-lined baking sheet.
Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until golden brown.
Top with tartar sauce.
SERVES 6
Jake’s Tiramisu Dream Puffs
1/2 cup water
4 tablespoons butter
pinch of sugar
pinch of salt
1/2 cup flour
2 eggs, beaten
1 teaspoon instant coffee
1/3 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons powdered sugar
3 tablespoons mascarpone cheese, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon grated semisweet chocolate
powdered sugar or chocolate syrup
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Combine the water, butter, sugar, and salt in medium pan and bring to a boil.
Remove from the heat and add the flour.
Place back on medium heat and stir well with wooden spoon for 30 seconds.
Remove from the heat and pour into a heatproof bowl; stir for 1 minute.
Combine the eggs with the flour mixture in four additions, stirring constantly until the batter is smooth.
Add the instant coffee and stir until well mixed.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Scoop the mixture into balls and place on the prepared baking sheet, leaving 2 inches between puffs.
Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown, light, and crisp; cool on a rack.
Beat the cream and powdered sugar until firm peaks form.
Add the mascarpone cheese, vanilla, and chocolate to the whipped cream and fold in gently.
Cut off the top half of each puff, fill the base with 1 teaspoon of the cream mixture (or more, as needed), and replace the top.
Sprinkle with powdered sugar or drizzle with chocolate syrup.
MAKES 8 TO 12, DEPENDING ON THE SIZE OF THE PUFF
Willow the Coffee Witch’s Cara-Magical-Cino
2 shots espresso
3 tablespoons
sugar
1 cup low-fat milk
2 cups ice
3 tablespoons chocolate syrup
3 tablespoons caramel sauce
pinch of cinnamon
whipped cream
Combine the espresso, sugar, milk, ice, chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and cinnamon in a blender.
Blend on high until the ice is crushed and the drink is smooth, 30 to 45 seconds.
Pour into two glasses and top with whipped cream.
Drizzle extra caramel and chocolate over the whipped cream, if desired, and serve with straws.
SERVES 2.
Turn the page for a sneak peek
at the next Food Festival Mystery,
Death of a Chocolate Cheater
Coming from Obsidian in summer 2015.
“Darcy, did you know chocolate is a valuable energy source?” my aunt Abby asked as she handed me one of her “homemade” lattes. By homemade, I mean she’d used her instant one-cup machine, pressed a button, and voilà. “I just read that one chocolate chip can give you enough energy to walk a hundred and fifty feet.”
“Great.” I took a sip of the freshly made hot drink and washed down a bite of a day-old brownie I’d found in the refrigerator. “I’m gonna need about seven billion of them to get going this morning.”
Aunt Abby settled onto the empty barstool at her kitchen counter with her special “Lunch Lady” mug and continued reading from the San Francisco Chocolate Festival brochure. It was a good thing I’d found the brownie, or I would have run out and bought a bag of chocolate chips. Just the word “chocolate” made my mouth water.
“And it says here that chocolate has great health benefits,” Aunt Abby said as she continued reading. “It helps alleviate depression, lower your blood pressure, reduce tumors, relieve PMS. . . .” She glanced at me.
I eyed her. “Are you hinting that I’ve been crabby the past few days?”
She raised a perfectly drawn brow at me. “I’m just saying chocolate supposedly increases serotonin and endorphin levels, in case they happen to be low.”
I knew she was referring to my recent dark mood. Ever since I had been let go from the San Francisco Chronicle three months before, I’d been helping my sixtysomething aunt serve comfort food from her Big Yellow School Bus food truck. Her “busterant,” as she called it, was parked at Fort Mason, not far from her Russian Hill home. I was working there to make ends meet now that I wasn’t collecting income from my reporter’s job—and it was likely to stay that way until I sold my future bestselling cookbook featuring recipes from food trucks, the culinary phenomenon that had recently swept the country. Then I would move out of my aunt’s RV, which was parked in her side yard . . . if I ever planned to get on with my life-after-Trevor, my cheating ex-boyfriend.