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.
***
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 f
ood 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.
Chapter 2
Land had already made plans with me to come over that night, so I knew I wouldn’t be running again. I spent the time tidying up the apartment a little bit and then kicking back with a book to wait for his arrival.
Since I had to be up at 4 a.m. the next day, Land knew that it would be an early evening. He brought over sandwiches that he’d made at the end of his shift. I’d never asked him if he continued the donations to the homeless with the second truck, but I figured that he likely did.
We curled up on the couch, and Land picked a mindless television program to watch while we ate and talked. I wasn’t paying much attention to the program. My mind kept wandering back to the homeless man I’d seen. Where was he tonight?
I jerked upright when the commercial appeared. Land paused the TV and looked at me. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked with concern.
“That man,” I said, pointing to the screen. “That’s him.”
“That’s he,” Land replied, pointing out yet again that, even as someone for whom English was a second language, he hadn’t picked up 25 years of bad habits. “And who is he?”
I looked him in the eyes. I’d told Land some stories that other people wouldn’t believe over the years, but this one would strain the imagination. “That’s the homeless guy I saw arguing in the park.”
“J Hamilton Preston, the city council candidate?” Land’s eyebrow went up. “You think he was the man you saw getting donations from you and then in the park arguing with the other person?”
I nodded. “I knew he looked familiar at the time, and now I know why. I’ve seen him on TV.”
Land sighed deeply. “Let’s say you’re right. Why would he be dressed up like a homeless dude? He’s got plenty of money. His parents own that art gallery off Maple. He could buy one of our hot dogs if he wanted. Hell, he could buy the whole food truck if he felt like it.”
This was going to be a hard sell, even for Land. I recognized the man clearly, and I saw him in my mind accepting the food and then again in the park. Could I be mistaken? I knew from Detective Danvers’s lectures that eyewitness identifications were notoriously unreliable. However, I felt certain in my gut that he was the man I’d seen.
His face looked back at me from the screen. As Land said, Hamilton Preston was running for public office after years of working at his parents’ art gallery. The local papers had done interviews with him, and the public opinion was divided on his electability. Many felt that he was too pampered, having worked for his parents since he was 16. The rest of the voters were fine with a man with downtown ties running for city council.
Like I said, I was apolitical. Land didn’t even bother to follow politics, since he was still a citizen of Spain and unable to vote.
The face on the screen was youngish for his age, which I knew was around 40. This particular ad was centered on his donations to local charities and his civic work in the community. He had another commercial where he introduced his children to the audience. I had read that he was divorced, which explained how he could go out in the evening without being questioned. His children looked to be about college age, and the boy looked a bit like Carter. I just put that down to all younger people having a certain homogenous look.
Land cleared his throat, reminding me that I hadn’t answered him. “I have no idea why he’d be going out at night dressed like a homeless guy, but I swear it’s the same face.”
“Could be a relative. Cousins look alike, sometimes. Brother?” Land offered helpfully.
I wondered about that. I could easily check up to see if that were the case. Google images would answer that question in a few minutes. Land started up the TV program again, and I settled in with my tablet to find out more about the Preston family. In short order, I learned that he had two sisters, but no brothers. I couldn’t find any information on cousins, but I doubted that Preston would let a family member live on the streets during a campaign. I was cynical enough to think that he would help his family members more for the publicity aspect than out of any true compassion.
Land and I watched the rest of the program, though I now had trouble following the plotline. I kept thinking about why politicians would want to hang out with the homeless people of town. Was he trying to make a point about the population of homeless people in Capital City or trying for a photo op? It seemed unlikely. Hamilton Preston had not wanted to have any undue attention put on him.
As Land was kissing me good-night, he looked down at me from half-closed lashes. “This isn’t the end of this, is it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I want to know what’s going on. There’s probably a decent explanation for what I saw, but I want to know what it is. We do have a stake in what happens to Capital City. We have licenses and such from the city, and we wan
t to make sure that we can stay in business.” I remembered the issues we’d had trying to get those licenses, and I knew that certain candidates weren’t fond of food trucks and other street-side businesses.
He snorted. “Just make sure that you don’t get our licenses revoked by your curiosity,” he said, kissing me again.
***
The next morning, I was at the secured lot long before Carter would even be waking up. I looked around, but I didn’t see Land’s sister, either. Sabine hadn’t been around much since the announcement of our engagement, and I was concerned that she disapproved of our relationship or thought that Land was making a mistake.
The lot was quiet, though, and the guard on duty was 50-ish and overweight, definitely not Sabine.
It was only 4 a.m. when I drove to the spot on Elm Street. Even though I was usually skittish about walking downtown at night, I was determined to learn what was going on. I had a flashlight in one hand and a can of mace in the other. I was prepared for whatever I found this morning.
The streets were so quiet that my ears almost ached, straining to hear something, but there was nothing to be heard. I walked around Government Square, hoping to find the man. I found several small groups of homeless people huddled together, but none of them bore a resemblance to the man I’d met, or the politician.
I gave up after about 40 minutes of fruitless searching. The morning air was cold, another sign of the coming winter, and I was glad to be back in the warmth and security of the food truck. Carter rolled in at 6 a.m. with a large cup of coffee, not ours, and started to work. He didn’t speak to me, so I left the situation as it was. I knew that when his circumstances came to a head that he would tell me what I needed to know.
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books) Page 90