My stomach did flips now. If he’d kill his wife, then he’d have no qualms about killing me too.
The knock came again. “Maeve, let me in. I know you’re in there. I need to talk.” It was Aaron. I couldn’t exactly figure out why he was here, but I was concerned that he was not prepared for what he’d be walking into. I didn’t want him to end up as victim number five.
Wayne sneered. “This ought to be easy. Tell him to hold on a minute.” He let the rope dangle just in front of me.
“Just a minute, Aaron. I’ll be right there.” I couldn’t think of a code or sign to warn him what was waiting inside the door. Wayne tapped the tape back in place, so that I couldn’t speak again.
Wayne opened the door, walking backward so that he would be hidden behind the half-opened door. Except Aaron had another plan, he shoved the door open as hard as he could. Wayne staggered back before the door hit him square in the face.
To Aaron’s credit, he didn’t even bother to notice Wayne’s stagger or slide down the wall. He looked at me and said, “What was that neighbor’s name?” he asked. “I went to the bank and got into the safety deposit box. There are a bunch of notations that someone named Wayne gave him cash along with someone named Hal Wallace. I thought the first one might be that neighbor, and you wouldn’t need to involve Zed anymore.”
When my response came out through tape, Aaron stopped talking long enough to realize that I was trussed up. He walked over and pulled the tape off my mouth. He started to untie my wrists when I said, “Wayne is behind you. He’s the one who killed your uncle. Be careful.”
I should have told Wayne to be careful, because Aaron left me with only one arm free to cross the room in four steps and kick Wayne in the ribs. I thought once would be sufficient, but he didn’t stop. I managed to get my arms and legs untied quickly, but not before Aaron had given half a dozen solid kicks to Wayne’s chest and ribs. The man wasn’t going to be making anyone disappear in the near future.
*
Danvers arrived about ten minutes later, barely beating Land to the door. They were both concerned, though about different things. Danvers took one look at Wayne and was obviously ready to arrest me for assault. Even after we explained at length what had happened, he was still considering it.
“He killed three people. Self-defense does apply, considering that they would have been next,” Land interjected. If I hadn’t been so on edge, I would have objected to him fighting my battle, but with my nerves as they were, I was fine with him talking for me.
The police had already been across the hall. They’d found Wayne’s wife dead. There were no indications that this was to be considered a disappearance. She’d been sliced open with a breadknife. Land told me that there was blood in the apartment and in the hallway to my place. Wayne would never have gotten away with my death, no matter what he thought.
Danvers tried to look official. “I’m just worried about that kid’s motivation. He kicked him when he was down because he’d killed the kid’s uncle.”
“That kid saved my life,” I said firmly. “You should have heard the way he talked. He’d killed Carr and Longhill just so he could keep his retirement.”
Now that things were more settled, Aaron shared what he’d found at the bank. Murray’s records indicated that he’d received equal payments from Hal Wallace, Wayne and someone at RGF. Apparently he was ready to denounce the derivatives scheme, which had been expertly hidden from the auditors and all the accountants. We couldn’t tell from the records, but Murray seemed to have made rather hasty plans to leave the country. The tickets had been purchased the day before he disappeared, and in a matter of a few days he would have been on the beaches of Cancun, if that’s where he had decided to land.
In the end, an ambulance took Wayne to the hospital for treatment under police guard. Wayne was denying everything even though there was blood on his pants. I wasn’t sure if anyone would ever learn what he’d done with Murray Longhill, but at least the Carrs would have the chance to say a proper good-bye to their husband and father.
They’d phoned in and had a squad car pick up Hal Wallace. In an attempt to save his own skin, Wallace had spilled the beans on his own part in the scheme. He’d only started to join in with the RGF scheme for derivatives as a challenge to beat a bad market. The markets had looked bleak at one point, and he’d mentioned it to Wayne, who had taken matters into his own hands so he could retire. Wallace had professed his complete innocence, but in the end, he’d been dragged into hiding the evidence and also into paying Murray to keep quiet. He had no idea what had allowed Murray to pick up on the scheme, but he admitted to paying the cash. It was Wallace, who had once been in good shape, who had visited Murray Longhill and been identified by Arianna.
Wallace denied all part in the murders. Those had been Wayne’s plans and execution, though Wallace would likely be considered an accessory after the fact, since he’d obviously deduced that the disappearance of anyone who threatened their scheme wasn’t some cosmic good will for them.
Danvers cleared the scene, and Carter, who had come to pick up Aaron, left with his charge. Aaron and Carter had talked at length while they were waiting, and Aaron had correctly deduced that Carter was uncertain that he was not involved in his uncle’s death. Suspicion of murder is never something that portends a long-term relationship. Now that this was over, Carter said that he trusted Aaron, and now Aaron had doubts – but also $25,000 – which might help him begin a life with Carter. They were still discussing their future when they left.
Danvers had been the last to leave, and he was eyeing both Land and me pretty hard before he did. It was obvious he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just sighed and shook his head as he left.
Land looked at me and shook his head. “You promised me that you’d be good. No solving crimes alone.”
“He brought me a cake,” I said in my own defense. “How was I supposed to know that he’d figured out what I knew and wanted to kill me?”
“You should have never invited a suspected killer into your apartment,” he said with finality.
I was thinking that while the opportunity for that second kiss was available, Land didn’t seem in the mood to let me show him my intent. However, a businesswoman should never let an opportunity go by.
I moved in, stood on my tiptoes, and pressed my lips against his. To my surprise, he returned my kiss with a passion I’d never seen in him. His tongue gently slipped into my mouth, and the desire and trust that I’d seen in his eyes a few days before now ran through my body as we kissed. Right now, I didn’t worry about what a relationship would do to our friendship or our business partnership. No thoughts filled my mind at all. I was giving myself to the moment and the heat of the kiss.
Something told me that this would be a venture worth pursuing.
~ END ~
A THIEF OF ANY MAN
Chapter 1
I counted the cash twice, but the results were the same both times. I was $147 short in the till.
While that might not seem like much to someone who works almost strictly on a cash basis, the discrepancy was setting off red flags with me. I was frustrated to the point where I could feel the blood pump through my head. I knew that I was not in good shape. This shouldn’t be happening. For a year and a half, I’d performed the exact same process, day after day, and I had been short no more than $0.75 total in all that time. Now for the second time in a week, I was short over one hundred dollars in a day. What was going on?
The process itself was simple. At the end of the day, I took the register receipts and summed them by hand. Even though the register would do this for me, I still did it by hand as well. Perhaps it’s the fact that my dad, who lives for accounting, taught me this, and he’s still old school. If they hadn’t retired adding machines a few years ago, I think that he’d still have one on his desk.
After I summed up the total, I compared it with the register’s answers. Then I counted the cash. Bills first, and then
the coins. I compared that to the total by hand and from the register, and then saved back an agreed upon amount for the next day’s register for change.
And for nearly two years, my system had worked like a charm. No worries and no significant discrepancies. It took a little longer than most systems, but the rate of error was minimal.
I’d seen my totals slowly rise to a point where we were now taking in more than $5000 a day, in a market where something over a thousand is the breakeven point. So life was good.
So it wasn’t like I was hurting for the money, but I’d grown up in a world where money was a math problem that needed to be solved – and I couldn’t figure out what X was in this case. It was driving me crazy.
At first, I’d suspected a bank error. They’d called twice to tell me that the amounts in the bag had not added up to the cash included with the deposit slips. There had been a month or two where I’d actually gone to just calculating the amount and stuffing the cash in the bag. Maybe I was a bit cocky, but I am a business school graduate with a long history of financial responsibility in the family. Errors do not run in my blood.
Those days were gone, though. I counted every penny now. Today was the largest discrepancy I’d had, and it had happened at the truck.
Only two people besides me had been in the truck this morning. Carter, of course, had met me at the truck at 5am to prep the hot dogs and condiments, and we’d worked together all morning. I hadn’t left the truck for a minute, and the space was small enough that I’d have noticed if he’d left his station to come up to the register.
Plus I would have felt bad suspecting him. I’d had enough trouble learning to trust him to begin with, and now that we’d finally come to an understanding, I’d hate to see it tossed away over the theft of some money. I would have gladly raised his salary if he’d needed it.
The only other person was Land Mendoza, my partial business partner, somewhat employee, and my current romantic interest. Land stood about 6’1” with dark hair and the tanned skin color that comes with the Mediterranean cultures. His physique came from some sort of exercise regime that allowed him to eat what he wanted and still look like an athlete. He was Basque, which explained why our other food truck, Basque in the Sun, served that culture’s cuisine.
Land had actually worked for the food truck before I had. He’d worked with my aunt as she’d started the truck, and he’d stayed on – even though it appeared that my aunt had promised him the truck before bequeathing it to me.
I couldn’t even think about him taking any money from the food truck. The mere thought of it kept me up at nights. I didn’t date much, and the idea that someone I’d waited for could betray me made me sick. I typically didn’t put myself on the line with men, and I wanted a certain amount of assurance that Land wasn’t the one taking money from me.
Realistically, I knew that he couldn’t be stealing money. First, if he were going to take money from the register, he could do it so much easier at the other truck, which he ran alone. Just don’t ring up the sales, and pocket the cash. I’ve seen that scam too many times; I know how easy it is. There’s no record of the transaction, and the only way to even begin to suspect the dodge is if the thief gets so greedy that the inventory totals are significantly off from the profits. However, one hundred dollars would never raise those types of flags with an accountant. Waste and rework could account for that and more.
Secondly, he was part owner of the business now. He’d taken a minority partnership in the second truck for the work he’d done, and so he had a stake in keeping the business up and running. Losing profits hurt him as well as me, especially since we’d talked a little about expanding again.
So I was stuck with money that couldn’t get up and leave – yet it had.
There was, of course, the mature way to handle an HR situation like this. I could call a meeting and explain the situation and ask for possible explanations. The downside would be that both men would think that I was speaking to them about the thefts and that I was directly accusing them. There would be hurt feelings and plenty of silent treatment all around.
Plus, that wasn’t me. I could take the steps to resolve this problem if I had to, but I wasn’t going to start by accusing my coworkers of stealing. They were the last people I would expect to be guilty of this crime.
I decided instead to buy some security cameras to watch the register. It wouldn’t come as a huge shock to anyone. I had discussed buying some security system for the food truck on several occasions with both Land and Carter. We worked with a lot of cash, and both Carter and I came in before 5am to work on a deserted city street. Extra security could help us feel safer from any criminals.
So the physical presence of the cameras could be easily explained. It was a sound business decisions and a write-off, so we would be fine. I watched our business expenses like a hawk. I still remembered how hard it was to get started at this.
I truly hoped an outside force was at work here. I had no desire to cut ties with Carter or Land over thefts. A tall man – or woman – could reach up and get into the register without too much difficulty. The order window was not that far from the ground.
That evening, after depositing over a hundred dollars less than I wanted to in the bank account, I swung by the local electronics store and picked up three cameras. I decided that three should do the trick. One would be for Basque in the Sun, which would provide Land with a modicum of security against attack, since the truck would be monitored. Two would be for Dogs on the Roll, which was our original truck and the one where I worked. One of those two would be focused on the door, which was the entry point in and out of the truck, and the other would point directly at the register, so I could watch every hand that went into the cash drawer.
Land and I didn’t have anything planned for that evening, so I was able to go to bed early so that I could get to the food truck first. I shouldn’t have worried. Carter didn’t roll in until nearly 5:45am, so I was just installing the last camera when he arrived.
“Look at you, Ms. Tech,” he said, closing the door with his foot since he was holding a large cup of coffee from a competitor.
“Look at you, Benedict Arnold,” I replied.
“It wasn’t me. Aaron bought me a cup on the way here.” Aaron was Carter’s on-again-off-again boyfriend who did have his moments of kindness – even if he did buy from the competitors.
The coffee machine hissed and reminded Carter again that we had ample coffee for the morning rush. He put on his apron and began to chop the ingredients for the hotdog condiments. Most recently it had been a Tex-Mex version with pepper jack cheese, avocado slices, and a chipotle mayo that he made from scratch.
I finished tightening some screws, and everything was ready to go. I had signed up for a service that recorded the camera feed. Otherwise, I was restricted to only watching it in real time, the difference between Netflix and old-fashioned TV-watching in the security world. So everything seemed to be ready to go. I even had a moment to check the video feed on my camera, and my phone clearly showed me standing by the register. I closed out of the app and nodded in approval.
With that done, I opened the window and started taking orders. Carter still had time to get the hotdogs ready. While we were technically open, it was the very odd customer who wanted a hot dog meal at 6am. Mainly they came for Land’s coffee recipe, which he had yet to share with me. He ground the beans, mixed them, and delivered them to the truck in five pound bags. So I had little to do with actual food prep. I made the coffee, took orders, and kept track of the cash.
That was probably better for everyone involved, since my college degree was in business administration. I could do a mean spreadsheet, but cooking was not my forte. Until I’d started dating Land, most of my evening meals had consisted of leftovers and takeout.
The day went quickly without the worries of the cash discrepancies. Business was brisk, and we were busy until nearly 1:30. Land had already parked his truck and had begun to set up whe
n we were finally able to start counting the money.
I couldn’t believe it when I counted the cash for the day and discovered that we were $97.54 short. I had to give credit to the thief. He or she wasn’t after the big dollars. Stealing was still small time for these people. I bagged up the cash, walked over to talk to Land for a few minutes, and then headed to the bank and home. Carter had agreed to drop off the truck at the secured lot, since he was getting a ride home from Aaron. He still lived with his mother and siblings. He’d cut his career at a culinary arts school short to come home and take care of his mother, who seemed to be on the mend. I knew the medical bills had to eat up his salary. I had given Carter health insurance – and a computer – as part of his compensation package here, but he’d made veiled references to constantly being short of cash. I worried about those words now.
I had a few hours when I got home to review the video feed. I sped through the feed, looking for answers to the money issue. I stopped at a few places and rewound the feed to see about a particular customer, but the only real conclusion I was able to draw from the feed was that I didn’t like the way that I looked on video. My red hair was a touch too bright, and I could clearly see my freckles, though I did my best to hide them with make-up. The Kinkaid family was Irish to the core, and I’d inherited the complexion and temperament.
No one had come near the register except for me – all day. I took a deep sigh. I had spent a few hundred dollars on a security system, and the end result was that I’d spent almost as much as what had been taken from me. I wondered what to do next.
I didn’t have much time to ponder the situation, since the door buzzed. I punched the button and opened the door to wait for Land. Tonight he had promised to cook a good meal for me. I didn’t know how he did it. After a full day of serving food, the last thing in the world that I wanted was to come home and cook some more, but Land didn’t seem to mind. He’d brought a bag of groceries; he knew me better than to assume that I had the basic ingredients for whatever he was planning to prepare.
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books) Page 72