A GRAVE CONCERN
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES #8
Chloe Kendrick
Copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
I got my head for business and numbers from my dad, who is a hardcore numbers addict. He understands finance and taxes like nobody I know. I love to sit and crunch numbers sometimes. It calms me. However, I like to think that I got my empathy and compassion from my mother. She always has a kind word for people, and while she might be pushy when it comes to asking about my love life, she truly has a heart of gold. There are much worse people in the world to take after.
That’s one reason why I give away hot dogs. Not to everyone who comes to my food truck, Dogs on the Roll, but at the end of the day, the truck typically has 5-7 extra hot dogs and some spare condiments. I make up the remaining hot dogs with the condiments of the day and give them to the homeless people who reside on Government Square. Since Dogs on the Roll has become a fixture on Elm Street, it’s become a daily practice of sorts for me.
Fall was quickly approaching. Technically, the calendar said it was already fall, but the temperature hadn’t gotten the message. Today had been a clear 75 and sunny. While the truck was still open for business during the winter, I always tried to be a bit more generous at this time of year, making sure that these folks had a good meal in them. Soon they would hopefully move into the local shelters before the true cold came to Capital City.
I’m sure the homeless issue occurs in most cities, but this time of year also brought the elections, and for some reason, the small congregation of homeless people downtown had become an issue for the city council this year.
Capital City has a council of nine men and women who serve under the mayor. They’re elected every two years while the mayor is elected every four. This frequency in voting for the elected leaders means that campaigning is nearly a constant fact of life in the area.
I tend to be a fairly apolitical person. Don’t get me wrong. I vote and participate in the elections and watch the debates. I’m just not the type to get into a big fight on social media about my views. My thoughts on homelessness were that nobody deliberately wants to be without a place to call their own.
By the time that fall rolls around, I typically have a group of regulars to feed. They know that I give away the hot dogs shortly after I close at 2 p.m. I’m open for breakfast and lunch, with the majority of hot dogs being sold at the lunch rush. I am majority owner of a second truck that serves a more upscale Basque cuisine for dinner, so all of the major meals are covered. I know that Land gives away his meals, as well, though it’s more awkward to pass out soup and entrées than it is to distribute hot dogs.
That second truck is run by my business partner and recent fiancé, Land Mendoza. He’s Basque and an incredible cook, so I don’t have to worry about work after 2.
Today I handed out eight hot dogs. The truck’s chef, Carter Smith, had been over-optimistic when he threw on the last batch of dogs. I slathered on the last of the condiments and took them out to the people on the street, three at a time.
Part of me worried when a regular didn’t show up for a few days, but today everyone I knew was accounted for. I even had two new faces that I didn’t recognize. The first ate with all the grace of a ravenous dog. I watched him, unable to pull my eyes away from the gorging. Part of the reason was the manners, but the other part was that I was sure that I’d seen this man before. Not in this context, but somewhere that I couldn’t recall. Since I was only 25, I couldn’t blame my age, but the thought nagged at me. Where had I seen this face before?
Typically, I was able to determine where I knew someone from, and then it became a task of trying to remember their name. Yet, I couldn’t place this man at all, which made me wonder if I’d only met him briefly, or had just seen him from a distance.
I shrugged it off and gave the remaining hot dog to an older man who waited patiently to the side. I’d noticed him watching us as I’d been trying to place the previous customer. He thanked me quietly and went on his way.
Since I was feeling virtuous for my daily good deed, I stopped and got a couple of cookies from a local bakery on the way home. I was glad I had a sugar fix, because when I arrived home, the most recent bridal magazines had arrived.
I know that I never wanted to be one of those brides who spent thousands on a wedding. However, since my engagement, I had been known to look wistfully at the dresses, imagining my auburn hair falling over the shoulders. With Land working tonight, I had a night to myself. I curled up with a meal that he had made and left for me. He knew I often ate takeout or from a box, so he liked to leave nutritious things for me, as well.
Of course, I wouldn’t be able to fit into those dresses if I kept eating like this. My poor metabolism was used to few calories and lots of time on my feet. Now I was eating a healthy, filling dinner most evenings, and I didn’t want to become one of those brides who puts on twenty pounds just before the wedding. I value my health enough that I didn’t want any extra weight since I had an active job.
So on my evenings off and without Land, I’d taken to jogging. I’d run frequently when I was in college. The constant pressure and exams had stressed me, and running had helped me to relieve some of that stress.
I finished lacing up, tucked my phone into my sweats pocket, and headed out for my standard three-mile run. I don’t go too far from home, usually a quick run around the apartment complex and a mile through the local park. I usually don’t listen to music when I run. The time gives me an opportunity to people-watch, plus I feel safer when I know that no one can sneak up behind me like they could if I had earbuds in place. In the years since I started working at the food truck, I’ve seen more than my share of violence, and it’s made me more aware of personal safety.
I was rounding the bend to start heading home through the park when something caught my eye. Two men were arguing in the distance. One man was tall and thin—and a stranger to me. The other looked familiar, and I thought it was the man I’d seen at the food truck today, the man who had seemed familiar when I gave him food at the end of my shift. His profile was unique with the strong jaw and aquiline nose.
The situation struck me as odd. While I didn’t live far from downtown, seven miles or so, the homeless really aren’t known for their migratory habits. The evening was warm, so theoretically he wouldn’t need to travel for shelter tonight. Downtown would have worked just fine.
So what was he doing here? For a moment, I worried that I’d been followed, but as I continued to run, neither of the men even bothered to look in my direction. They were definitely involved in some kind of argument. I couldn’t hear the words, but it was clear from their defensive postures and the way they angrily threw their arms up that the conversation was not a friendly one.
I shook off the feeling I’d had and picked up the pace. I didn’t want to be in the same place as these two men. I looked back from time to time, but no one was following me. I finished up my run, took a shower, and went to bed early.
***
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The next morning started early, as they always do. I was up at 4 a.m. and showered and dressed quickly. For some reason, I wanted to see if the homeless man from yesterday was around. I picked up the truck at the secured parking lot and was at my spot on Elm Street by 4:45 a.m. The morning was dark and quiet, and the doors remained locked until Carter showed up at 5:30 a.m. While technically Carter should be at work by 5 a.m., we both knew that he could finish his prep work in a matter of 45 minutes. Combined with the fact that most of the early customers were not big hot dog eaters, Carter likely had two hours to get ready. He used that knowledge to his advantage.
The coffee was already brewing, and the cash had been counted for the day before he had arrived. I was waiting not so patiently when he showed up.
He saw my stance and stammered out an apology. “Sorry. Rough night with my mother. Aaron offered to pick me up, or I would have been even later. She’s at Mercy General. They admitted her last night.”
Carter had moved home after college to take care of his ailing mother. He rarely spoke about her other than to explain why he was late or tired. Beyond helping to pay for her medical bills, she had three younger children at home, which Carter and Aaron helped take care of. I assumed that Carter and Aaron were on again at the moment; they tended to fight, break up, and get back together on a regular basis. It made me appreciate the low-key, no-drama relationship I had with Land. That was more my style.
“How’s she doing?” I asked, thinking he would deflect the question as he usually did.
“I don’t think she’s going to make it,” he said plainly as he chopped up the avocados for the guacamole for today’s toppings.
The words stopped me in my tracks. “How are you doing? What can I do to help?” I asked.
I’d expected some emotions from him with this revelation, but he seemed almost numb to what he’d just said.
“I’m going to have three kids to raise. Alone. I’m probably going to have to get a second job, and I don’t know what else.” Carter continued to chop as if he were talking about the weather.
Mentally, I made a note to see if we could afford a raise for Carter. Now that Land was part owner of the second truck, I’d have to consult him before making decisions about payroll and employees. Carter had been a reliable member of the team since we’d opened the second food truck, and I hated the thought of him not being able to make ends meet. I knew this was definitely my parents’ genetic material at work, wanting to help out but checking the numbers before acting.
“Do you need some time off?” I asked, thinking that it might help to be away. He’d be able to handle things at home with the kids.
“That’s the last thing I need,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I need the income, now more than ever, and I don’t want to be sitting around thinking about this. I’d rather stay busy.”
I nodded. “If you need any time off or anything else, let me know,” I said, getting ready to open the window for the day.
I thought about going out to see if the homeless man was in the square this morning, but running out of the food truck after Carter had just shared this news with me seemed crass and likely to be taken the wrong way. My curiosity about the man could wait.
The day went smoothly. I tried to keep an eye on Carter, but for the most part, he was the same as always. I doubted that I would have been able to tell that he was grieving, if he hadn’t shared his family news with me.
I didn’t see any signs of the homeless people during the day, but the truck was busy enough that I only had a spare minute here and there to check. I wondered what had become of the man who had been arguing in the park last night. Had he won the argument? What had been so important for him to travel seven miles just to fight?
As the afternoon began, Land pulled up in the second truck. I excused myself and left Carter alone in the truck to handle things while I went over to talk to Land. It seemed reasonable, since Carter’s pay rate would be one of the items of discussion.
Of course, it wasn’t the first thing that we discussed. I stepped into Basque in the Sun and was immediately greeted with a kiss. Land was not the type to give me a peck on the cheek. Out of view of the public, he held me tight and kissed me in the same manner we’d first kissed. It curled my toes and momentarily made me forget why I’d come over here. That was just one of the reasons that we didn’t work together in one food truck these days.
When we finished some minutes later, Land smiled at me. “How was your evening?”
I told him about my run, to which he furrowed his brow. “Running? Really? What have you done with the real Maeve?” A grin played at the corner of his mouth as he razzed me.
I ignored his comments and opted instead to tell him about the homeless man and the fight in the park. He rolled his eyes at my narrative, but he didn’t comment. I already knew that he would be concerned about my personal safety more than my discovery of a good mystery. That was the way he thought.
“And to think I just scrubbed out the truck’s sink last night,” he said nonchalantly. “So is your bickering homeless man here this morning? Did you ask him why he was arguing with someone?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been too busy with Carter,” I explained. I told Land the situation, and he readily agreed to the raise. He was typically of the opinion that if I felt we could make it work, then the numbers had to be feasible.
However, Land did surprise me with a short discussion of FMLA, bereavement leaves, and such. He was always a surprise to me. I wondered where he’d picked up that information. Land’s past was still something of a mystery to me. I knew parts of his history and family, but even so, he would sometimes spring something on me that reminded me I didn’t know everything.
“Do you think he’ll leave?” Land asked. “He has health care here, but I wonder about the hours and the other benefits.”
I wasn’t sure. I’d thought of that earlier, but I didn’t want to make this situation all about me. I felt bad for him and wanted to support him first. The thought of looking for a new cook was daunting, and the longer I could delay that decision, the better. It was tough to find a good cook who was reliable and would work for what we paid.
We spoke some more, and Land gave me a final kiss before I went back to the food truck.
Carter was there with Detective Jax Danvers, who was not a welcome sight. I wondered immediately if something was wrong with Carter’s mother, but from their conversation, it was much too lighthearted to be an announcement of that sort. Besides, if she were at the hospital, the police wouldn’t deliver the news.
Danvers already had a cup of coffee in his hand, so I knew that he’d gotten what he came for. Things had been quiet for quite some time around the food truck, and for the most part, Danvers’s previous visits to discuss crime had become mere chats about the weather and sports. I’d had a quiet respite in my life since my friend’s wedding back in May.
Yet I still felt a chill sometimes when I saw Danvers, thinking he was bringing us news of a murder or crime. Apparently Danvers did not have anything to say as he gave me a smile and headed back to the police offices across Government Square.
The square was literally that—a large cement square with two skyscrapers along half the perimeter and two open sides, with my truck on the Elm Street side. Huge cement balls kept trucks and cars from driving onto the square, so that pedestrians could take part in lunch in nice weather or run to their office without worrying about cars in inclement weather.
During these last weeks of warm weather, the homeless people stayed at the farthest corner away from the skyscraper where the police had offices. It was the corner nearest to my food truck. As Carter started cleaning up for the day, I counted the cash and got the bank deposit ready to go. I didn’t want to make Carter think that anything suspicious was going on. I wanted him to not have to worry about the truck.
I finished counting and stuffed the cash and receipts into the deposit bag. I turned to Carter. “Land and I were
talking at his food truck,” I began.
“I’m sure,” Carter interrupted. He gave me an eyebrow waggle that had been his trademark since he’d started. Even though he was only two years younger than me, Carter could be immature for his age. He thought that Land and I were having a tryst in the midst of soup and fish entrées on the other truck.
“Land and I decided that perhaps you should have a raise,” I continued, ignoring his comments. I named a figure that would be a pleasant boost in his paycheck, while still leaving the food trucks on track to make a record profit this year. One of my goals for the winter was to design and start implementing my next business project. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be yet, but I was hoping to have it started before the wedding.
He whistled. “Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.” He looked like he was about to say more, but then he stopped and went back to work.
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind at the moment. I started to get the hot dogs together for the homeless people on the square. We had made too much guacamole, and I liberally applied it to the hot dogs. I took out four on the first trip and gave them to some of the regulars. There was an older woman, whose name was Delores. She’d told me a few things about herself, enough to strongly suggest that she battled a mental illness. Her pronouncements about the weather and other people were invariably wrong. Albert was a younger man; I’d given him a backstory of military service and PTSD, though we’d never spoken. The diagnosis fit since he would tend to disappear into the crowd whenever there were loud noises in the area.
I didn’t see the man I had met yesterday—the familiar-looking man with the ravenous appetite. I went back for seconds at the truck, so that I would have a reasonable excuse to look around. However, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I handed out the last of the hot dogs and went back to the truck.
I said my good-byes to Carter and drove the truck back to the lot.
A GRAVE CONCERN (Food Truck Mysteries Book 8) Page 1