MURDER IN THE SPOTLIGHT (Food Truck Mysteries Book 2)

by Chloe Kendrick

  I felt my face flush. “You just had a coroner check me out? Did I look dead to you?” It felt too close to death, like having a mortician do your make-up or something.

  “No, but you’re not yourself. I was concerned. I thought you might be suffering from shock, and the doctor concurs.”

  I looked in Danvers’ eyes, but I saw nothing that looked like concern. I shook my head. “The ME doesn’t get to diagnose too many cases of shock, because all of his clients are dead. I’m fine.”

  Danvers pulled out his phone. “I’m either calling Land or your parents. Your choice.”

  I growled to myself; I didn’t need him trying to diagnose me as a werewolf too. Finally, I said, “Parents.”

  I gave Danvers the number, and he made the call. Twenty minutes later, my mother came to pick me up. I have to admit that I felt better just getting into her car with the comfort of knowing I would be cared for. I wasn’t so far gone that I hadn’t noticed that Danvers had not answered my questions about the footprints. I still kept thinking that there had to be some way for him to slice the throats of two women and get away without getting his shoes soaked in blood.

  I must have said some of my musings out loud as my mother blanched as she looked at me. “What are you talking about? Gads, that cute detective was right. You do need some help. I’ll take care of everything.”

  I didn’t bother to protest the implications of calling Danvers cute. Her next question on the matter would be asking about his marital status. I decided to stop that line of questioning. I professed that I was very freaked out.

  My mother took me to my parents’ house. She put me in bed, threw an extra comforter on the bed, and then left the room for a while. She returned with a variety of suggestions; I guessed that she had found most of them on Google as ways to help alleviate sudden shock. In fairness, I must have been suffering from some degree of shock because I submitted to every last one of the treatments.

  Chapter 8

  Finally exhausted, I went to sleep. It was so nice to be back in my old bed without the cares of adulthood, that I slept until nearly 7 a.m. I got out of bed feeling somewhat better. I was still shaken, but I no longer felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

  Land had already agreed to take over the truck that morning, so I took my time with a second cup of coffee. My mother had made a pot, and it was nice to drink someone else’s coffee for a change. I checked my phone and saw that I had a text from Land telling me that the studio executives wanted to meet with all of the contestants at 10 a.m.

  I cursed the whole business. A meeting at 10 a.m. not only meant that I had to rush around to get ready, but it also meant that we would likely lose a good chunk of our lunch business for the day. Given that we’d missed several lunches already due to the show, I was resentful about missing another. I still had a business to run and money to bring in.

  I made it to the truck by 9 a.m. I worked for about 40 minutes before we closed the window and Land drove us to the studio. All of the food trucks were waiting in the parking lot, which made finding a spot more difficult. I made sure to lock all the doors, but given that we didn’t have a competition that day, I doubted that anyone would want to break in this time. The damage had already been done.

  Land and I walked to the set in silence. He hadn’t asked me any questions about my experiences with the dead women. He hadn’t so much as mentioned Danvers or the police or what I thought. I highly suspected that Danvers had told him about the shock and sending me to my parents’ house to recuperate, but Land remained silent.

  We reached the set, and all eyes turned to look at me. I figured that they’d all heard that I’d been the one to find the bodies yesterday. Knowing some of the contestants, they were probably disappointed that they hadn’t found the bodies if there was any publicity to be had from the discovery. Fortunately, Danvers’ insistence on finding me a place to stay for the night had shielded me from the press, which I was grateful for now. But at the moment, it was difficult to take the prying eyes of the other contestants. I would have been a wreck if there’d been a camera and microphones.

  Johnny Ruck was standing in front of the group, waiting for me to approach. The overhead stage lights flashed on, and I knew we’d be filming soon. He cleared his throat and fumbled around, looking for the script. That action made Marsha’s absence noticeable, and no one spoke as they all remembered what had happened to her. He managed to upend three stacks of paper before he found what he was looking for.

  Finally, he started. “It’s with great sadness that I have to report to you that two members of our family were found dead yesterday. We lost a talented member of the production staff and a wonderful food truck owner whose screen presence cannot be replaced. As a result, we’re going to close production of the show for one week. That will give us time to hold the funerals and mourn the loss of these dear souls.” He finished and dropped his head as if he were in prayer.

  I looked around at the other truck owners. Some had their heads down and a few were scanning the room, like I was. I stood there silently, waiting for Johnny Ruck to speak again.

  “You’ll be notified of the dates and times for both funerals. For the sake of the show, I will expect you to be at either one funeral or the other, if not both, as a sign of respect for the dead. Plus it’s likely that many of the network entertainment shows will be covering the funerals. I want my show to be front and center for that coverage.”

  No one spoke, so we all just stood there. I wasn’t sure if it was from the unattractive honesty of his statement or the possibility that one of the contestants might have slit the throats of two women.

  Ruck looked around at us and continued, “I want you all here next week at this time. I will tell you that our next challenge will be a mystery ingredient. If you get a chance to plug that in the funeral coverage, I would ask that you mention it. That is all.”

  No one moved for a moment, and then Anthony started to the exit. We all started heading toward the long hallway to leave when I heard a voice call my name. It was Johnny Ruck. He was walking briskly to me. “Maeve, I need to see you and Land in my office please.”

  The rest of the contestants looked at each other, but not at us. Perhaps they thought, as I did, that we were going to be let go from the competition. I’d found the bodies—and given the chance that I could mention those gruesome images to the press, the other contestants or anyone else—I had to be a liability. If I was in this for the fame, this would be a ticket to being interviewed on all the talk shows and entertainment shows on television. Yet even as I thought that, I knew I could never profit off someone’s death in this manner. It wasn’t me.

  Johnny Ruck led us to his office, which was located in the same suite as that of Jim Jackson. However, his office was larger and splashier. There were photos of him with movie stars and politicians. He had awards from TV shows and restaurant guides. The entire office was a shrine to his career. He sat down in a leather chair behind an oversized desk.

  He urged us to sit down and paged a secretary to get us some sparkling water. I was puzzled because that did not seem like the beverage of choice when forcing someone to leave your show. I didn’t speak, and neither did Land.

  Finally, Johnny said, “I need your help. I need someone on the show as a contestant who can be my eyes and ears.”

  Land spoke up first. “Sir, that’s very kind of you, but we’re here to win a contest. If we’re busy investigating what is going on here, then we won’t have sufficient time to do our very best during the competition. We came here to win the competition and get the appropriate level of promotion from that win.”

  Ruck looked from one of us to the other. “Fine, you do this for me, and I guarantee that you’ll win the contest. That’s how bad I need a spy here.”

  “Can you do that?” I asked, thinking that perhaps I was still in shock to be hearing this. He was offering to throw the competition to us if we helped him learn more about what was going on at the studio.
It seemed unlikely—and possibly immoral. I was less worried about the morality than the logistics, if I was honest with myself. The fame from winning the food truck show would catapult my career to a place where I wouldn’t have to move back home.

  He gave me the same grin he’d used on set so many times before. “Honey, I can do any damned thing I want. I hire the judges and I tally the results. Marsha was a wonderful woman and a damned good employee. I don’t know where I’ll find another one like her. I want whoever did this to pay for it. If that means you win, so be it. Dogs on a Roll isn’t a bad truck. There’s a chance that you could win this on your own, so your taking the championship wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.” His face had grown red during his speech, and I believed his words. He was either a very good actor or he was sincere.

  Land, apparently, was more skeptical. “Can we get that in writing? Just to be on the safe side.”

  Ruck nodded. “I’ll write it up and get my lawyers to draft it. I’m serious. I’ll give you access to everyone here at the studio and all the truck owners too. I want this solved. I won’t be able to get contestants for another season if they’re being systematically slaughtered.”

  “Why us?” Land asked, still not willing to accept the deal. I was less willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Land seemed downright skeptical.

  “Because I heard from Detective Jax Danvers that you two solved another series of crimes before, and that you did a good job at it. He said that of all the folks in the contest, you two would be the most likely to give me the information I wanted and that you’d be most likely to get to the bottom of these crimes. That’s a pretty good recommendation in my book.”

  I was surprised to hear that Danvers had said anything nice about us. He never seemed that happy to have me around. Maybe I wasn’t reading him correctly. Land seemed to take it in stride, so I still was no closer to finding out how these two had interacted before. It was more of a mystery to me than these deaths, which I still wanted to rid from my mind.

  “In the meantime, here’s a copy of the ME’s report. I thought you might want to look at this while we get the papers drawn up.” He shoved a rather thick manila folder over toward me. I wondered how Ruck had gotten a copy. Given the fact that barely twenty-four hours had gone by, the ME had apparently put a rush on it and offered a copy to the famous chef.

  I thought about opening it, but I was still a bit squeamish from yesterday. Fortunately, Land picked up on my reticence and took the folder from me.

  He began to flip through the pages, careful not to drop out any of the photos. I wasn’t sure that I could have handled that yet. I knew if we looked into this, then I would need to get over it, but the level of blood and violence had shaken my little peaceful world. This was definitely a topic that was not covered in business school.

  Land turned to face me. “To answer the questions you had yesterday, the women were knocked unconscious by a blow to the head. So they didn’t feel anything happen to them. That’s why they wouldn’t make a fuss when they were killed.”

  “Do they know what they were hit with?” I asked, feeling myself drawn into this despite the fact that I was still skittish about the whole matter.

  “Not yet, but this is just a preliminary report.” He turned to face Ruck. “If you can get us the final copy when it comes out, that would be a big help to us as well.”

  Ruck nodded and wrote something down on a pad of paper.

  He looked at me, staring squarely at my face. “Are you ready for the rest?”

  I nodded slowly. I knew that I might not be, but if we were going to look into this, I had to get past the stress of finding them. Deep down, I knew I was strong enough to get through this and manage, but right now, it didn’t feel like it. I wanted to go back home to my parents’ house and crawl back into bed.

  “The blood patterns and blood flow suggest that their necks were sliced after they were already dead. The coroner isn’t sure why they would have been cut after death, but the blood didn’t move like it would have in life. They haven’t found the cause of death yet, but as I said, this is a preliminary document.”

  Johnny Ruck had not said a word during any of this. He’d grown a few shades whiter during Land’s discussion, but he remained quiet. He didn’t have to speak, I thought, as long as he holds up his end of the deal.

  “Mr. Ruck,” I asked, feeling more in a detecting mode at this point, “do you have the names and addresses for the other participants in the competition? That may come in handy if we need to talk to them this week. Otherwise, we’d be forced to ask questions during the funeral or wait until we all come back in a week.”

  He nodded. He clicked his mouse a few times on the computer and a sheet of paper hummed out of the printer. “I included the contact information for Marsha. I thought that perhaps you’d want to find out more about her as well. I have no idea why anyone would want to harm her.”

  Land took the sheet and tucked it in a pocket. He stood to leave and I followed suit. While I wasn’t a follower by nature, in this case, I wanted us to look like we were of one mind, so I put away my independence and stood when he did. This would be a long case indeed if I had to do that very often. Land wasn’t good at showing his emotions so I’d have to follow whatever leads he provided me.

  We walked out of the studio and to the truck before Land spoke. The parking lot was nearly empty, and there were no signs of any of the other food trucks. That made it safe to talk without anyone overhearing us.

  “I don’t like this,” I said. “I want to win the contest fair and square. I don’t want to win because we did a favor for the producer, even if it keeps the show on the air.”

  Land smirked. “Don’t be naïve. This type of thing happens all the time. These shows are about as real as a soap opera. Nothing in that contract says that we have to sit back and that we can’t work hard to win. I plan on working as hard as I can on this, but I wanted some assurances that we would not be penalized for helping out—especially if Mr. Ruck doesn’t like what we find. I wouldn’t want to be kicked out because he liked the killer.”

  “You mean my theory that someone from the studio is behind this?” I thought about how that would reflect on the show and the studio, if an employee were behind all of the pranks and the murders. “That would definitely not be something he’d be happy to hear.”

  Land nodded. We had reached the door to the food truck, and Land pulled something off the door. It was another note. I recognized the gray lined paper. He read it aloud, “Stay away from the murders and stay away from Ruck—if you know what’s good for you.”

  He handed it to me. It looked similar to the other note, though I was no handwriting expert. The author had used block lettering like last time, which is hopelessly easy to imitate. I could have probably written a few similar notes given the time and the energy.

  “So now what?” I asked. “Apparently someone else knows what we were asked to do. It won’t be long until the whole show knows.”

  Land rolled his eyes. “They would have anyway. We’re going to be asking questions of everyone associated with the show. It wouldn’t take long for them to figure out what we were doing, especially if they look up the fact that you got yourself involved in another murder case a few months ago. They’ll know exactly what you’re up to.”

  He had a point. My involvement in the prior murder case had been front page news, and my name along with that of the food truck had been plastered all over the media. Even my mother could have found that on Google.

  Chapter 9

  The following two days we worked the regular shift with the truck. We decided to do this partly out of deference to Marsha and Annabella, but also because we both needed the income that the truck provided. Without funds, we weren’t going to be able to ask questions of anyone. We’d be in line at the unemployment offices, and I’d be back on my parents’ couch.

  The days went fast. We served our regular customers who had a million questions about the
murders. I refrained by reminding them that we couldn’t talk about the show per our non-disclosure contracts. That didn’t satisfy as many people as it had earlier. These latest events were something much more intriguing than a reality show, and the customers knew it as well as we did. The questions were pointed, asking me who I thought had killed them and if I’d taken any photos of the crimes. In this iPhone world, people were expecting photos of the crime scenes posted on Facebook and Twitter. Frankly, it had never even occurred to me.

  I didn’t need any of those things to remember the scene. I was still having nightmares about finding the two women, and I felt that I owed them a modicum of respect in solving these crimes. I had hopes that finding justice for the women would help my sleep.

  The third day was the funeral for the two women, a joint service followed by separate graveside ceremonies. We had let our customers know that we wouldn’t be on Elm Street that day, and the fact that we’d be at the funerals seemed to give us a legitimate reason to be gone. Most of them wanted details, so they were willing to see us leave, provided that we told stories the following day.

  Land and I decided to go together to the services, feeling that there was strength in numbers. He was also being a bit too paternalistic for my tastes at the moment. While I appreciated that he was concerned about me, the constant watch on my moods and emotions got tiring after about three minutes. However, I didn’t make a fuss. The thought of doing this on my own was overwhelming.

  The services were being held at a local funeral home, which boasted the unusual title of being the largest in Capital City. The two services needed every bit of space that they had today. Johnny Ruck had been right about one thing. The press was all over the place. A security detail had been added for the event. I was surprised to see Detective Danvers dressed in a police uniform and guiding traffic. He put a finger to his lips, and I understood the signal that I wasn’t supposed to talk to him or mention him. I guess he was following that old wives’ tale that the murderer always came to the funeral of the victim. Given the number of people at the event, it was not helpful in the least.