I’d struck a nerve.
I decided it was a nerve I needed to bother some more.
Twenty-four
Again, I was early. I’d reached a personal best this week for being at the market early or on time.
Hobbit hadn’t been happy at my alarm, but she would forgive me. Getting ready had been weird. I’d missed Sam even more than I’d missed him the evening before, but I tried not to dwell on it.
I had plenty to distract me anyway.
Once at the market, I went directly to the spot where I thought Peyton had dug something up. In fact, I hadn’t seen her dig anything up. I’d just assumed that that was what she’d been doing.
My early arrival to the market was meant to give me some private time, but this morning I had an audience.
Apparently, it wasn’t just an old-timer vendors’ trait to get to work before the sun rose all the way. The food truck vendors also got to work early. They were all there—except Peyton, of course—their counter doors lifted open and their inside lights illuminating them harshly amid the early dawn gray.
Basha was mixing batter, Hank was cleaning large pots, Mel was browning ground beef, and Daryl was prepping wing sauces. It was impossible to walk past the trucks without the vendors noticing me, so I greeted each of them, spending a few moments discussing the finer points of their morning routines. Fortunately, they were too busy to care much about what I was up to after our friendly greetings, and I didn’t think any of them noticed me sneak around them and trudge my way over to the disturbed dirt.
I brought a small flashlight that seemed extra bright because I was trying to be covert. Nevertheless, I shined it boldly into what was left of the hole, and I saw a lot of dirt. Just like I’d seen before. In fact, it looked no more or less disturbed than it had during my first inspection. It didn’t even seem windblown. I dug around a little. And found nothing. I clicked off the light, sat back on my heels, and looked around.
There wasn’t much to see on this side of the trucks. No one cared about this little plot of land. It was ignored, which made it a pretty good spot to bury something. But what? And why?
Though I thought no one had watched me come around, it looked like I had piqued someone’s interest. It wasn’t the one I expected though. Considering our last meeting, I thought Mel was the one most likely to follow me, but it was Basha who stepped surely in my direction. There was something about her approach that made me think she had a specific purpose in mind, something more than just curiosity about what I was up to.
“What are you doing out here?” Basha said as she stopped in front of me. “And what in the world is so interesting? Why is this such a popular spot? I feel like I’m missing something.”
“It is?” I said. “Who else has been out here?”
“I saw your cousin out here, and Daryl and Mel were checking it out, too. I think I also saw that big guy from Arizona with the cowboy hat. What in the world is so interesting?”
“Basha, can you, by chance, give me a little more? Can you tell me who you saw out here first and maybe what they were doing?”
Basha’s eyebrows came together and she put her fists on her hips. “Well, let’s see. I think I saw your cousin first. Or maybe Mel. Then I saw you. Then Mel and Daryl. Lastly, that big man.” Basha looked at me. “You know him? The guy with the cowboy hat.”
“I do. He’s a police officer from Arizona. I met him when I was down there for a visit.”
“He’s . . . do you know if he’s single?” Basha blinked. She was attempting to look comfortable and modern-woman-like with her question, but no matter how much someone wanted to be a grown-up, asking such a question was never easy.
I looked at her in a new light. She was about Harry’s age. She was pleasant, and she made cupcakes.
“He is single, but I’m not sure if he’s available. We haven’t had that conversation,” I said. “I’ll do a little reconnaissance and get back to you.”
“Thanks, Becca. It’s probably silly. I’m from Greenville, but if he sticks around awhile . . .” She laughed. “I sound desperate. I’m not, but it has definitely been some time since I saw someone who made me curious, you know?”
“I do know. And that’s too bad that it’s been some time. You’re sweet, and you make cupcakes.”
Basha smiled. “I’m no spring chicken, but I’ll take your compliments and thank you for them. What is going on out here, though?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I wonder the same thing.”
She looked at me like she didn’t quite believe me. And I’d been totally truthful. Go figure.
“All right then,” she said with a shrug.
“Wait,” I said as I stood before she could turn all the way around. “You’re from close to here. Do you know where the other food truck operators are from? I knew you were from different places, but I never asked for specifics from everyone.”
“Well, I guess I’m not sure, but I noticed that Daryl has his home state business license posted right on his inside wall. He’s from North Carolina, I’m pretty sure.” She paused. “You know what, I actually asked both Mel and Hank where their licenses were—it’s not a question I normally ask. I’m not quite that nosy, but after the man from your local business office was killed, I guess that sort of thing was at the front of my mind. I made sure my license was well posted, and will do the same for my temporary South Carolina license the second I get it. I didn’t dislike the man who was killed, but he certainly was adamant about the licenses. Made me double check all my expirations on everything.”
I nodded. “Do you know where Mel and Hank are from?”
“No, it was obvious that neither of them liked me snooping into their business, so they didn’t say much and I didn’t bring it up again.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Not really. Not as interesting as whatever is happening out here.”
“Right. Walk you back?” I said.
“Sure.”
I was much shorter than Basha, but I was suddenly in a hurry. Her long legs had a hard time keeping up with my shorter ones. When we reached the back of her truck, I told her good-bye and peeled off to walk down toward the other end of the line of trucks. I snuck behind Hank’s, crouching to look down at the license plate on the back. Mississippi.
I moved to the back again and hurried to the next slot. There was no back license plate on Mel’s truck. I was flummoxed, but moved out, around, and through the next slot, in between Mel’s truck and Daryl’s truck. Daryl’s truck had a back North Carolina plate, but Mel’s truck had no front plate.
That didn’t seem right.
I ventured through to the other side, the side where the chefs could see me.
“Hey, you okay?” Mel said to me from inside his taco truck.
I hadn’t tried to hide, but I wished he hadn’t been the first one to see me appear from the slot.
“Fine, how’s the browning going?”
“Great,” he said. He smiled. “It’s not one of the harder parts of making tacos, in case you were wondering.”
He was cute and charming. But where was he from? The question was on the tip of my tongue, but my gut intervened and told my tongue not to ask just yet.
I smiled at him as I furtively looked around for a business license. I didn’t see anything that resembled one.
“Can I help you?” Mel asked, the charming smile now gone, replaced by a question in his eyes.
“No, I’m good,” I said. “Just curious about how you all go about doing what you do.”
“I see. Well, probably a lot like you do. One step at a time.”
I nodded.
“How’s your cute cousin?” he asked as he moved the large pan with browning beef off the burner.
“She’s fine.”
He set the pan to the side of the truck’s small stove top and leaned over the counter.
“Should I ask her out?” he said.
“She’s in jail at the moment, but maybe whe
n she’s released.”
He nodded. “Will do.”
Well, that wasn’t normal. I didn’t know much about human behavior, but Mel’s question about my incarcerated cousin and his indifferent follow-up response to said incarceration were not right. Not normal.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Gotta get my stall set up.”
It was a wonder I didn’t sprint to Allison’s office. As it was, I moved too hastily, as if I was scared and wanted to get away from Mel, which was partially true.
Her office door was locked, but I knew where the emergency key was located. I looked around, didn’t see anyone watching me, and reached up to the top of the door frame. I grabbed the dusty key and fumbled as I unlocked the door.
Thankfully, Allison’s computer had been left on, and all I had to do was move the mouse to wake it up. Before I’d even gotten myself adjusted on the chair, I’d typed into a search engine: Paco’s Tacos food truck Arizona.
And only another second later, a picture came up and filled the screen. It was the same exact truck that was outside in the Bailey’s parking lot.
“I don’t understand,” I muttered.
I clicked on “Get to know Paco” and was taken to a new page. The man on the page who was identified as Paco wasn’t a blond surfer dude. He was a dark-haired Hispanic man with a wide smile and happy eyes.
I read aloud, “Paco Rodriguez came to the United States only a few short years ago. The greatest day of his life was when he became an American citizen. The second greatest was when he opened his taco truck. Click here to follow Paco’s Twitter feed—you can find his truck parked through the southern Arizona area seven days a week.”
I clicked on the Twitter feed link.
There had been nothing tweeted for over a month.
I went back to the home page but saw nothing that mentioned any employees—no names, no pictures.
I pulled out my phone.
“Hey, Becca,” Sam said when he answered. “I missed you.”
“Me, too, but listen to me, Sam. Listen closely.”
“I’m all ears.”
I relayed what I’d found, and then what I thought I might have found. Sam listened and then told me that he and Harry would be at the market in only a few minutes.
I hung up the phone and sat there, trying to put the pieces together. I had no idea what anything meant.
And I had no idea why Allison hadn’t arrived yet, but I knew she wouldn’t mind me doing what I’d done.
I closed her office door, locked it, and put the key back up on the dusty door frame, and then meandered back out to the parking lot.
And Mel’s taco truck was no longer there.
“What?” I said as I looked at the gaping space, which reminded me of a kid’s missing tooth.
And then I noticed that the truck hadn’t quite left the lot yet.
I took off in a sprint.
Twenty-five
I’d gotten better. I’d become less nosy and less risky over the last year or so. I was more careful now, but the sight of that truck leaving Bailey’s made me forget all those good practices and the promises I’d made to Sam and the rest of my family about taking better care of myself.
I ran at it like it was the last truck off a dying planet.
In all fairness, it wasn’t moving very quickly. My experience with Peyton’s truck had proved that these vehicles weren’t built for speed.
I reached the truck just as it was ambling out onto the two-lane highway. It was turning right so the passenger side door was on my side. I pounded on the door, but it was a tall-enough vehicle that Mel couldn’t see who was trying to get in.
The truck stopped abruptly and the passenger door swung open.
“Are you out of your mind?” Mel said to me from the driver’s side.
“You can’t leave yet,” I said, my breathing heavy and fast.
“Yes I can. Get out of my way, or I will run you over. I swear to you I will do it.”
“Okay, but . . .” I jumped into the truck and sat on the passenger seat. I closed the door. “I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. “Get out.”
“No. You go, I go.”
Honestly, the fact that I’d put myself into a food truck with a potential killer didn’t even occur to me at that point. The overriding thought in my mind was that I wanted to know the truth. I wanted answers that would prove that Peyton was innocent, and this man could potentially give me those answers. I didn’t want those answers to get away.
“Suit yourself, but you’re an idiot.”
Mel put the truck in gear and started off down the road. I was surprised that his truck was much speedier than Peyton’s. I grabbed the seat belt and fastened it across my lap.
“Who are you?” I said.
“Name’s Mel.”
“You’re from Arizona?”
He laughed and looked over at me. “Aren’t you the little blond Sherlock?”
“That’s where you’re from, right?”
“Nope. California originally. Moved to Arizona six months ago.”
“Okay, so you might as well tell me what happened. I know you killed Robert Ship,” I said as I grabbed on to the seat and the door handle. It was at that moment that I truly realized the stupid position I’d put myself in.
Oh, you might be a killer? Let me come along for a ride in your truck.
Mel was right; I was an idiot.
“You know nothing of the sort,” he said.
“Did you know Peyton in Arizona? Why didn’t she know you?”
“Because she’s a snotty bitch.”
“Hey!”
“You asked. We worked together for two days. I thought she was hot. I asked her out. She said no.”
“So you framed her for theft, assault, and murder?”
“Actually, I was only shooting for the theft, but she kept putting herself right there. It was all too easy.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I stole the recipe the first day I was at the restaurant. Your cousin left two days later. About a week later, I heard the owners complaining about her opening the hot dog truck and the sauce she served. All I did was tell them I saw her leaving their office the day she quit. That was it. That was all they needed to have to run with their accusations. She’d ignored me. The day we’d met, she ignored me. I had the recipe. I was going to make it, bottle it, and sell it. But they believed me and went after her. It was pretty priceless, really. Then to top it off, when I went to her food truck in Arizona, ordered her food, paid for her food, said hello, she didn’t even recognize me. If you haven’t noticed, she seems to not recognize me here, either. What a bitch.”
I didn’t like him calling my cousin what he was calling her, but I had more important things to worry about. As I’d already noted, this truck could go much faster than hers.
“Mel, you need to pull over. You’re going to hurt us both, or worse.”
“What difference does that make now? You jumped in for the ride. You get to face the consequences.”
I planted my feet as firmly as possible and held on tight to the seat. Someone must have seen us leave. I’d already talked to Sam. The police would be here shortly. We just needed not to wreck. That’s what I needed to remember.
“You know, you’re right,” I said. “My cousin is a horrible person. I’m sorry about the way she’s treated you.”
“Damn straight.”
“She was just under some strain maybe. Starting a food truck has to be hard. It has to take a lot of your attention.”
“It’s not that hard.”
I looked at Mel’s profile. His jaw was set too firmly, his eyes too squinted, but at least they were looking ahead at the road.
“How did you get the taco truck?” I had to know, even though I sensed something bad must have happened to Paco.
Mel laughed. “That’s another thing. How did your cousin not recognize this truck? It was always parked close to where she parke
d hers.” He took his eyes off the road and glanced over at me. I gulped at the anger and perhaps torment I saw in his eyes. “I went to work for Paco when I left the restaurant so I could be closer to Peyton, and she still didn’t pay me any attention.”
Obsession. Scary, all-encompassing obsession. I’d never seen it in person before. It was even worse than in the movies. Mel’s entire life had, at least for a short time, been dictated by my cousin. And there was something in him that wouldn’t let her go. Was it ego? Was it fear? Or was it just simple reaction to rejection? I didn’t know, but he had become so obsessed with her that he’d lost sight of reality. Big time.
“Why did you kill Robert Ship?”
“Do I look like Paco?” he said.
I shook my head and looked at him. Had he not heard me correctly?
“Right. Well, that’s who’s on the Arizona license. That idiot Ship wanted to talk to him before he let me sign anything for a temporary license. How could I have ever predicted I would need a temporary license? I could ignore the banker, but not that ridiculously persistent license guy. I overheard that Peyton was meeting the banker at the bank the next morning. Again, she made it pretty easy for me to set her up. I called Ship, told him I was a vendor from the market and told him to meet me at the bank, that I needed to do some paperwork for both him and the bank guy, but we had to be early.” Mel laughed. “He asked if my name was Jeff. I went with it and told him yes. So easy. Killed him and then put the recipe card in his hand. Pretty brilliant if you ask me. Only problem I almost had was that Peyton was early for her appointment. She almost saw me. But she didn’t.” He laughed. “That was such a rush, getting out of there.”
“Where’s Paco?” I said softly enough that he might not have heard me.
“Had to get rid of him. He didn’t want to do this tour. When I heard that Peyton had signed up, I knew I had to go to. It was easy to request to go the same places she went. It was a long trip—and she still doesn’t even know my name.”
06 Bushel Full of Murder Page 20
