FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books)

by Chloe Kendrick

  “Not breathing is usually fatal,” I agreed.

  “The police were very suspicious, but I had my doubts. For starters, she was in her car, apparently alone because the police, for all their scrutiny, never found any evidence of anyone else being in the car with her. No hair, no fiber, no DNA. I just can’t see Alice sitting by idly while someone sticks her full of drugs or allows someone to cut off her air supply.”

  “I’m all out of love,” I crooned in a horribly off-key voice. This was why I was now a food truck operator and not a karaoke queen.

  “Not that Air Supply. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing either. I’m the mother. I know these things.” She sniffed, but no signs of any waterfalls appeared. Since my mother was the one who had taught me humor as a tool to deflect awkward situations, I knew she would recognize it. Even so, it had kept the tears at bay.

  “So what do you think happened?” I asked. I recognized that this was going to be a long haul for me. There were no quick answers when the body was gone, and the police had no evidence. Everything would be speculation and rumor.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was just Alice’s time to go. Sometimes you just have to accept that. I miss her every day though.”

  “Me too,” I replied, thinking of the good times I’d had with my aunt. “So why a food truck?”

  “Alice always recognized a trend. She was good that way. She saw that this market was about to take off, and she wanted to jump on it. The work would appeal to her. She moved around. She didn’t work in an office. She met lots of new people. She would have suffocated, pardon the expression, if she’d worked in an office. It just wasn’t her.”

  I nodded. My mother was right about that. Alice was not the type to be tied down to an office job. I couldn’t see her in a 9 to 5 environment, though I wondered how she’d done with 4 to 2. Even so, in listening to the other owners, the food truck was a major cash investment to get started. I wondered where Alice, who had tended to live from hand to mouth, had found the cash to start her own truck.

  I decided to stay at my parents’ house for dinner. I thought I owed it to my mother since I’d taxed her emotions with my questions plus, of course, making food all day left me with no desire to come home and do it again. I thought I deserved a meal prepared by someone else.

  After I finished my second helping, and put some more in a bowl to take home, I said goodbye to my parents and headed home.

  My apartment complex bore an eerie resemblance to the Bates Motel. It was a series of one level apartments slung out around the circumference of a parking lot. Just by pulling into the driveway, I could tell that my front door was open. My heart froze. I knew that I’d locked the door that morning and I hadn’t been home since. I felt a lump in my throat as I thought that I could be the next person to have my head removed from my body. I pulled close to the door of my apartment and put my headlights on bright. The lights allowed me to look inside of my place.

  There was no movement inside the apartment. I had no pets, so there was no concern that I was going to be chasing after Fido all night. I grabbed my gun out of the car’s console. While I wasn’t a huge fan of weapons, my father had insisted that I learn how to shoot when I began to go downtown at 4 a.m. and carry large sums of cash. I thanked him now as I pulled it out.

  With the headlights still on, I approached the apartment. I realized that if they were planning on hurting me that my shadow was making an easy target. However, my rationale was that if they wanted to kill me, there were millions of better ways to do it than to break into my home, leave the door open and shoot me upon entry. On the other hand, the subtlety of my aunt’s death, compared to the gruesome nature of Fred Samples’ death, meant that this killer was nothing if not versatile.

  I made it to the door unscathed and looked in, gun still in my outstretched, locked hands. I tried to mimic the hundreds of cop shows I’d watched in the past six months. At least my hours of television had come in handy for something. I slammed my body against the wall, only because I’d seen it done on Law & Order. I took one trembling hand off the gun and turned on the lights. The living room flooded with color and detail. Nothing was stolen that I could see. I repeated the routine with each room of the apartment. I found nothing out of place or missing. Frankly, there wasn’t much to take. I’d only been here a few months, too short a time for me to build up the collection of garbage people accumulate over a lifetime. However, I did wonder why my flat screen and my tablet weren’t touched.

  Still shaking a little, I held on to the gun with one hand, like a safety blanket that could blow a hole in you. I walked back out to the car, turned it off, and returned to the apartment. I double locked the door and made a cup of coffee. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well stay wide-awake.

  Chapter 4

  I was late to work the next morning. Land had picked up the truck from the lot and returned it to the same place where we’d been yesterday. He was slicing mushrooms when I arrived.

  Without looking up, he asked, “Up too late killing someone else?” Land looked up and flashed me a smile, all the while continuing to move his knife without missing a beat or cutting off a finger.

  I ignored him and started on my tasks for the morning. For someone who was speaking English as a second language, he certainly had sarcasm down. I began preparing the grills and getting the coffee ready to go.

  “You’re awfully quiet today,” he tried again a few minutes later.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I replied, thinking again of the open door and the untouched apartment. “My apartment was broken into.”

  He scoffed. “Are you surprised? You live in the shitheel of town. I’m surprised you aren’t knifed on a nightly basis.” He held up his own knife to prove his point.

  I shrugged. “It’s home. I like it.”

  “So what did they take?” he asked, going back to his work.

  The coffee starting brewing and I took a moment to check to see how the beverage looked. My customers liked it very dark and strong. I couldn’t blame them. I’d need something too if I had to sit in a cubicle all day.

  “Nothing at all. I must have scared them.”

  He stopped cutting. “Seriously? Who did you piss off? The only time thieves don’t steal something is when they’re there to damage you instead. You need to take care of yourself. I need this job to keep my green card,” he reminded me.

  It was nice to be needed. The coffee looked dark and smelled wonderful. I waited until the pot had finished percolating, and I poured myself a cup. I drank it black, not wanting to waste any more inventory than I needed to. Every bite I took came out of the profits.

  “So did my aunt ever say anything to you about the permits or inspections for this truck? I was curious, based on something my mother told me last night.”

  Land laughed. I hadn’t heard him show any signs of amusement or pleasure that I could think of since I’d been here. It was a pleasant laugh, and I wished I could hear it more. I was surprised by that thought and quickly shoved them from my head. I didn’t need anything from Land, or any other man for that matter. Dating was the last thing on my mind, and yet that thought troubled me.

  “Yes, your aunt complained all the time about the inspectors and the permits. She apparently was like you in that you both had a knack for pissing people off.”

  “Do you remember the exact story? My mother was rather vague on the whole thing. I just thought it interesting. This place seems like it’s in top shape.”

  “It is,” Land said proudly. “There’s never been any problem with the cleanliness here. I ran my parents’ restaurant back in the Basque Country. Nobody ever got sick there. Not once. So I know how to keep a restaurant running.”

  “I think I’m going to look into this after the morning rush,” I said, watching him. “I’m going to go to the Consumer Affairs Bureau and see if I can shed some light on what happened.”

  He shrugged as if the business didn’t need my h
elp at all. I went back to work and handled the crowds with less stress than the day before. It’s amazing how people can get used to anything with practice. I handled more than 100 cups of coffee in the first hour alone, and several customers bought dogs at 8 in the morning. Land’s food is delicious, but hot dogs for breakfast are not my thing.

  When the crowd thinned out some, I hopped down from the truck and headed into the government building. I hadn’t had much of a chance to admire the building when Detective Danvers had marched me in there yesterday. The tall, imposing structure had a directory of offices in the lobby, and I took my time to find the offices for Consumer Affairs and the health inspector.

  I took the elevator up to the Consumer Affairs bureau first. They were on the tenth floor, and I decided to go sequentially. The bureau was liberally named. The lobby consisted of three hard plastic chairs in the center of a small square room. On the far wall were two windows. One had a woman on the other side that was helping someone with a question. The other window was vacant with no indication whether that was a temporary condition or if I should ignore it.

  When it was finally my turn, I cleared my throat and began the story I’d been working on while waiting. The beauty of the story was that it was fairly close to the truth. So I had very few lies to remember. “Hi, I just had some questions. I inherited a food truck. I wanted to find out about transferring the permits and licenses to me.” This was the lie, because my aunt had put all the permits in the name of the corporation for just this reason.

  “What’s the name?”

  I gave her my aunt’s full name, watching carefully to see if the name provoked any reaction from the woman. It didn’t. She looked just as bored with the name as she had with the customer before me. Either she was a good actress, or she hadn’t been involved in the perfidy that surrounded my aunt’s problems with the permits.

  She clacked away at the computer for a minute. “The permits were granted to a corporation, not to your aunt. So if you are in charge of the corporation, you’re set.”

  I gave her my best attempt at a relieved smile. “Thanks so much. Could you print off the history of the permits? I wanted to have that too, just for my records.”

  She hit a few keys and the laser printer by her desk began to whir. Several pages slid out of the machine before it stopped. “Looks like there were some issues with this permit,” she said. She scanned the sheet of paper and clucked her tongue several times. “Something about the number of permits being issued. Huh, I’ve never heard of that before.” She scanned the papers again, trying to find something.

  Finally, she handed the sheets of paper over to me. “Not sure I can tell what exactly happened here, but it looks like your aunt was denied a permit before she was allowed to have one. Not sure of the reason. I’ve never seen the excuse given.” She shrugged. “Eh, I’ve seen clerks get pissed off and just deny all the permits for a day. It’s not right, but it happens. I’m not their boss, so it’s not like I can do something about it.”

  I wasn’t satisfied with the answers, but I wasn’t about to share the story of the headless truck owner and the non-theft break-in of my apartment. They had their lives and their issues. I knew that this would just elicit another shrug.

  I took the papers and thanked her. The next stop was three floors up. The health inspector, Linda Zoz, according to the directory, appeared to be the same one that had given my aunt so much trouble. I remembered my mother’s vague mention of a weird last name that started with an X, Q or Z. At least here, a clerk couldn’t give half-explanations. This inspector would have to give me some answers.

  I knocked on the door before entering, the product of good manners and years of prodding from my parents. The door creaked open as I knocked. Figuring that the last person had not been raised properly, I pushed the door open and entered.

  The flash was blinding, accompanied by sharp pain. After that, there was nothing.

  I slowly lifted myself from the worn carpet as I woke up. The files of the office had been strewn across the floor like a confetti parade. Some had even fallen on top of me, which showed how little consideration I was given.

  The office was much like the one I’d just left. The room was square with hard plastic chairs, except these chairs had been flipped over. It looked as though there had been a struggle here, but I didn’t see anyone.

  I looked around for a human to report this to, but no one was available. I slowly got up and walked toward the window in the wall. I staggered a bit, because the growing lump on the back of my head ached. I touched it. My hand was slightly bloody when I pulled it away.

  I shouted but received no answer. I stuck my head through the window and immediately wished that I had not. I saw a repeat of the last posture of Fred Samples. Someone had cut the head off a woman, presumably the health inspector, and rested it on top of a pile of papers that were now soaked in blood. Her eyes were open, and her mouth formed the same O-shape as that of Fred Samples. The rest of her body had collapsed onto the floor where it, too, pooled blood on the carpet. This was much closer and much more intense than the food truck had been. I was only inches from the body, and I had been in the same room with the person who had done this.

  I felt ill. The morning coffee and hot dog rose up and I vomited on the floor. Twice more, and then I was down to just the dry heaves. The coughs that racked my body made my ribs ache. I finally stopped throwing up long enough to call 911. I reported what had happened and what I’d found. They assured me that they would be on their way. I called Land to tell him that he’d have to work without me. He sounded nonchalant about it, as if my help wasn’t needed. I didn’t tell him about the dead body, mainly because I didn’t want to hear about the growing body count in my presence.

  Having done those two things, I slumped down against the wall and waited. I didn’t have to wait for long. Detective Danvers was at the door in seven minutes by my watch. He still looked as cute. He was wearing an identical jacket and pants, which made me wonder if he wore these all the time or if he had duplicates. Either one would be telling.

  I’d spent the last seven minutes realizing what a dilemma I had on my hands. I’d already been warned about my possible involvement in a murder. Now I was the only person present at the scene of yet another murder. The only proof I had of another person at the scene was the goose egg that was growing on the back of my head. This was not a pretty situation.

  Danvers showed up before my thoughts could go much further than that. I wasn’t running on all cylinders, so it was probably a good thing that he interrupted.

  He looked down at me. I didn’t bother to get up. “What do we have here? Maeve and another murder. It sounds like that should be a book title.”

  I just rolled my eyes. I wasn’t up for verbal repartee at the moment. My head hurt too much.

  I just watched as the team of crime scene investigators flooded the place, looking for clues amidst all the papers on the floor and desks. Someone took the head and body out on a gurney.

  After about ten minutes, an EMT approached me. At least he didn’t have an accusatory look. He was young and thin with a cute smile. I tried to chide myself for being shallow at a time like this, but my chider wasn’t working. I wondered if he was a safer choice for a companion than Danvers or Land. “Ma’am, I need to check that head wound.”

  He helped me to my feet. I swayed a little as he led me to an open chair. He and another EMT performed the usual tests for a concussion. I remembered who I was, what year it was and the name of the current president.

  My head throbbed when the EMT put his hands on my scalp and began prodding at the wound. I thought I might cry at one point. The pain shot through my head, feeling as though it might explode from my eyeballs at any moment. I shut my eyes and bit down on my lip.

  The EMT motioned to Danvers, who walked over to us. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to report back, since you had asked. The victim has a concussion. It’s not a serious one, but she will nee
d monitoring. The angle and position of the wound are such that she could not have inflicted the injury herself.” He stopped talking and began filling out the paperwork on his clipboard.

  Danvers looked at me. “So you weren’t responsible for this?”

  I contorted my arm around behind my back and tried to reach up to my head. I couldn’t do it, not even after a yoga class. The EMT was right. There was some small comfort in the fact that I was innocent of one of these beheadings. “Not at all. I came in to talk to the health inspector about the truck, and I found the room like this. Next thing I knew I was face down on the carpet with an aching head.”

  Danvers actually looked concerned for a moment. “You’re lucky to be alive. You could have ended up another headless corpse.”

  I nodded, thinking that it would have saved me this headache. I put my head between my hands and thought about falling asleep. Danvers shook me gently. The pain made my head shoot up. “What?”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to fall asleep after a concussion. Do you have anyone who could drive you home?” I did notice that he didn’t offer to drive me. I wouldn’t have minded a police escort after finding my door open last night.

  “My apartment was broken into last night,” I said, allowing my thoughts to spill out of my mouth.

  “Did you call the police?” Danvers asked, taking out his notebook and scribbling something in it.

  I snorted. “Right, because the 911 operator would have believed me and not thought that I was some stupid young girl who forgot to close her door before leaving. Be honest. No one takes young women seriously, especially about a crime without a victim.” I was pleased with my articulate speech on sexism in the police, but I knew that it wouldn’t get me anywhere. This would be marked up to me trying to point the blame on someone else. “I’d almost rather go to a hospital, but I’m not. I’m going home and I’ll be damned if someone is going to attack me in my home.”