I winced, realizing that the person on the other side would realize that I’d both figured out what was going on and taken steps to stop it from happening. I started to move away from the door when the sound of a bomb sounded inside of the truck. It wasn’t really a bomb, because the walls and ceiling remained intact, but the sound was immense and overpowering. I dove for the crawlspace under the sink and pulled my body in tight. If the truck were going to explode, then I would be safe from pieces of metal that would fall from the ceiling.
However, nothing fell. I wanted to look out and see what was going on, but before I could locate the origins of the noise, the sound happened again. The small space of the food truck reverberated with the blast. I cowered under the sink and waited. I didn’t know what this intruder planned, but it was not good. The smell of smoke and burnt powder was strong in the small space. I was concerned about the hot dogs and the ingredients for today’s sales. They would stink after whatever the person outside was doing. I didn’t want to have to explain why my food tasted like it had been in a war zone—especially the first day after Land had jumped ship. Could that possibly be what the intruder had in mind—make my food inedible so that Land’s new truck would be the only one on the street?
Of course, that train of thought made me wonder. Was this something that Samples had planned to put me out of business? Without my truck down the street from theirs, they would get my customers as well as their own lucrative business. I hadn’t thought of myself as a threat, but if Tony was resolved enough to kill the patriarch, then I was small change in terms of murders. I rubbed my neck, thinking of Fred’s head on the counter of their truck.
The detonation occurred again. This time I poked my head out and looked toward the door. I had to say that it was still standing firm. The bar was steadfast. The knob was still there. However, at the bottom of the door were a series of holes, evenly spaced and showing the tiniest bit of light through them.
I suddenly realized what was happening. Someone on the outside of the truck was firing a gun into the truck from between the door and the frame. The bullets were entering, not through metal walls, but through the rubber flap under the door that trapped the warm air from escaping the truck.
If I hadn’t been scared to death, I would have been impressed. Except for someone who was hiding under the sink or sitting on the counter in the truck, anyone inside would be vulnerable to a bullet a few inches off the ground. The first shot would likely have knocked me to the floor, and the rest of them would have injured or killed me. It was a more certain manner of bringing down prey than random shots through the wall.
The method seemed too sophisticated for Samples, but I had to give the killer credit in that no one had solved this mystery yet. The killer was smart enough to outwit both the police and me. They’d made away with a significant amount of goods, killed four people, and now were aiming for me.
Another bullet whizzed past me. This one ricocheted and then fell near my spot under the counter. The shots were coming a little too close to me. I wondered how much longer this could last. I’d counted four bullets, but since I had no idea of what type of weapon was being used, I couldn’t predict when the killer would be out of bullets. It could be a Gatling gun with a magazine that stretched down two city blocks for all I knew. However, I knew that was unlikely, and the weapon most likely had some form of silencer since the noise had not roused anyone to save me.
Even so, I was hopeless in knowing which types of weapon took a silencer and which did not. I thought about Googling it, but it seemed pointless and I wanted to save as much of my battery as possible in case I needed it again. I checked the time on my phone. It was 4:55 a.m. I knew that Land would be driving up soon. Since he was going to prepare the Meat Treats truck for its first day of operation, he would need more time.
I texted him about what was going on. I didn’t risk making a phone call. The last time the shooter had heard me in the truck, he switched from trying to enter the truck to shooting holes in it. If he suspected I was still alive and calling for help, he could spray bullets everywhere in hopes of hitting me and putting me out of business permanently. The sound of my voice could have pinpointed my location in a space as small as my truck.
I didn’t understand why someone would put me out of business now. I’d been at Samples location three days ago, but now I was back in my old spot, which no one had even bothered to move into while I was away.
My luck. Land did not respond to the text. I knew he had to be on the way, or at least picking up the truck. The shooter’s time was limited. City workers would be arriving in less than an hour, and Land would be here soon. It was just a matter of making sure I was safe until that time arrived.
The next bullet whizzed by, bounced off the wall, and hit the cabinet just three feet from where I cowered. The acrid gun smoke was getting thicker. I could taste it in my mouth, and while I wanted to cough to expel it from my lungs, I knew that a cough would tell the shooter that I was here and alive just as much as a call to 911. I held my arm over my nose and mouth to keep out the smoke.
Another bullet shot into the room, which made seven shots. I heard the crash of glass and saw a stream of guacamole run down the cabinet, which meant my condiments were unusable now. I silently cursed at the shooter who was ruining my business.
Seven bullets meant that the weapon was not a revolver or the shooter would have to reload. He could have a garrison of ammunition with him for all I knew. So a six-shooter was out of the question, but I didn’t even know if those guns still existed. Apparently, I was going to have to catch up on gun history if I was going to make it in this business. I hadn’t expected to need such wide-ranging knowledge to operate a food truck.
The shots were coming more quickly now. I had no chance to collect myself between each deafening boom in the small space. I didn’t know how much longer I could stand the noise and the stress. The constant assault of the sound against my ears combined with the sound of my pulse pounding in my head made me panicky. I didn’t want to lose it now. I was only 25 minutes or so from help.
I didn’t hear any noise from outside for a while, but I wasn’t sure if that was a trick. I couldn’t risk taking a step on the food truck’s floor if it was prone to bullets at any second. I was going to stay put until help arrived.
However, I wasn’t sure if it would arrive. I started hearing scratching sounds on the side of the truck. They must be trying to pick the lock again. I made myself as small as possible in the space under the sink, even though I knew that a cursory glance inside the truck would show my position. I was startled to realize that the shooter was now so brazen that he would face the street with a gun in his hand and try to pick the locks to the service window.
The noise continued for a few more seconds and then bright light flooded the space. I could see the clouds of gun smoke that circled everything in the food truck. I reached out of the space and quietly opened a door. I found the pans and pulled out the largest one I could find without making noise. I wanted to be as quiet as I could.
I thought I heard the sound of footsteps on the counter of the service window. I cursed that someone was using my clean counter as a launching pad into the truck to kill me. I gripped the panhandle with both hands, knowing that I was going to go out swinging.
The smoke was still thickest to my left, so I darted left out of the space, walking crouched down as far as I could go. I moved quickly to the window and saw the outline of a figure. I swung and struck the figure on the head. The man toppled out of the truck backward and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
I looked down from the service window at the figure on the ground. I took a deep gulp and said, “Hello, Land.”
Even though he’d been climbing in the window, I knew that he’d received the text and was here to rescue me. He couldn’t be the killer. I knew that much for certain. He’d had too many chances to do me in while we worked together. A gas line turned on, a mishap with a knife, any number of things could
have led to my untimely demise. There was no way that he would have waited until he was gone to decide he hated me enough to kill me.
I jumped out of the truck. Land was out for the time being, so I walked around the truck. People were scurrying along the street to their offices. I wasn’t certain if they were all just running late or if they wanted no part of the scene on the sidewalk. I saw the shell casings on the ground where the shooter had been standing. I threw a dishtowel over them so that nothing would be disturbed. I then turned my attention to Land, who was saying something in Basque. It was probably for the best that I didn’t understand the language.
“What the hell did you do that for?” he asked as he slowly sat up. “I got your text, I was coming to help you and this is how you repay me.”
“There was someone shooting into the food truck. What did you expect me to do when I heard someone open the service window? Just sit there and wait to be killed?” I was talking very fast and breathing hard. A few people had started to congregate around the food truck, but not for the right reasons. They wanted to know what was going on, just as they had previously at Meat Treats. Fortunately, I still had my head attached to my shoulders.
“I did see someone standing by the door when I approached. He ran off when I came near. I tried the door, but it wouldn’t open, so I decided to come in through the window. I wouldn’t have bothered if I’d known I was going to end up with a knot on my head.” Land rubbed at the place where I’d hit him. He was right. He would have a swollen goose egg of a reminder of what I’d done.
“Do you have any idea who it was? Did you recognize him? It was a him, right?” I asked. I had a tendency to talk fast and talk a lot when I was stressed. I hoped that the speed of my conversation wouldn’t be an issue for Land. He was pretty good at keeping up with some of my stressed-speed conversations, but I knew that he struggled with accents and quick talking sometimes.
“I’m pretty sure it was a guy, and I have no idea who it was. I didn’t recognize him at all.” Land continued to rub the bump on his head.
Detective Danvers was in the growing crowd of spectators. He had two uniformed policemen with him. The policemen began to hold back the increasing number of people as he approached us. “What the hell is going on here, Land?” I noticed that he hadn’t even addressed his comments to me.
He pointed at me. “Maeve hit me with a pan.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Hey, tell the whole story. Someone was shooting at me while I was in the food truck. Land came in through the service window and I clocked him with a pan, thinking he was one of the people who were shooting at me.”
The detective looked from me to Land and then back again. “People? How many of them were there? Are you telling me that there’s a conspiracy going on around here?”
Land didn’t speak, so it fell on me to explain the situation. “Land says that he saw someone running away from the scene. Whoever it was had been shooting at me using a gap between the door and the floor. You can see for yourself.” I walked around to the entrance, and Danvers bent down to examine the holes around the door. Each circle was scorched around the edges. The holes looked similar to what I had seen from the inside of the truck with the added decoration of gunshot residue.
“You can’t get in this way,” I pointed out. “I barred the door when I heard someone trying to get in. I just assumed that it was an everyday mugger until he started shooting.” I pointed to the service window. “Land opened the window, and I came out that way. So if you want to see the inside of the food truck, you’ll have to go in that way too.”
Danvers used the crate that Land had brought with him to enter the truck. I pulled myself up as well, but he indicated that I shouldn’t come in. He walked around the inside of the food truck. I pointed out where I’d hidden and how my refuge had kept me safe from the bullets. I told him of my bullet count, and he wrote all of it down.
Of course, since the food truck had been the scene of a crime, it was shut down for the morning. I had the shame of having to point my regulars down to Land’s new truck, Meat Treats. The crowd down at the competition was even larger than it had been when I’d poached the spot.
I had to accept the fact that Land would not be coming back. I had harbored a small hope that Meat Treats would crash and burn given that the truck had been the scene of a murder, but apparently caffeine-craving brains had short memories. Given that the competition—my truck—had now been the scene of an attempted homicide, the choices were about even again.
By the time the crime scene investigators had finished with the truck it was nearly 11:30. The damage was relatively small, given what had happened. I had lost some ingredients and a few bowls. The rest of the kitchen area was intact.
They’d taken all of the gun casings as well, hoping that they could get some information about the gun from the shells, but I didn’t hold out much hope. The people behind this had been smart enough to fool the police so far. I figured that they hadn’t become sloppy at this point.
I called it a day and drove the truck back to the lot. However, I didn’t go home. I went back to Elm Street and parked my car. I was going to get some answers. Meat Treats had closed up, but the truck still stood in its lucrative spot. I knocked on the door and waited.
Land opened the door wide and looked at me. I was a bit surprised. Given what had happened to me this morning, I would have thought that he would have been more careful, but he likely had the notion that I’d done something to deserve bullets under the door. “Kinda busy here,” he said, walking back to the sink area.
“Here’s my deal. I’ll help you clean up this week at the end of each day and, in return, you’re going to give me the answers to any questions that I ask. Not half-truths, not lies, not omissions, but out-and-out nothing but the truth. Deal?”
He stared at me for a good minute before he answered. “What makes you think that I’m not telling the truth?”
I chose my words wisely. “Experience. Two women are in a truck for hours at a time with you, and you don’t learn anything and you don’t hear anything? I find that very difficult to believe. At some point, one or both of them had to slip and say something that could be a clue to what’s going on here.”
“So why should I tell you anything?” he asked. He folded his arms across his chest as if he’d already made up his mind to tell me nothing.
“First, I offered to help you for the first week. You have to admit that’s a sweet offer. I can bet you that Tony Samples didn’t offer to swing by and wash for you.” I raised an eyebrow to remind him that I did this every day when we worked together.
“True, but that’s hardly enough to give up everything I know.”
“Don’t tell me that you’ve forgotten about my offer to take you back if this doesn’t work out? I gave you this chance, and you know it. I didn’t make that offer to get something in return, but what happened today changed the stakes here. I got shot at—repeatedly—and I don’t like it one bit. I want to put a stop to this.”
Land looked at me and uncrossed his arms. “I understand. I wouldn’t like it either. So what’s your first question? And don’t forget to scrub the outside and the inside of the pans. You tend to go too fast on your own pans. I won’t have that here.”
I went to the sink and began my extra duty. “So tell me about the relationship between my aunt and Shirley? What was it like?”
Land cleared his throat. He looked a little uncomfortable. I wondered if it was a cultural thing, talking about two women in a relationship, or if he was concerned that I wasn’t going to like what I was going to hear. So I waited.
Finally, he spoke. “Your aunt acted like a little schoolgirl around Shirley. That’s probably the best way to describe it. A schoolgirl with a crush. Shirley was definitely in charge in that relationship. If there was something shady going on with the food truck, Shirley would have been the instigator of whatever it was.”
I was a bit surprised. Everyone else had played the �
��maybe they are, maybe they aren’t” game, but Land was straightforward in his comments. I appreciated the candor. “So what do you think they were up to? Did Alice ever say anything about it?”
Land thought before he spoke. “They were up to something. I don’t think it was something that was totally illegal. Alice wouldn’t have done that. I believe she did have her limits, and Shirley knew that. But, I think that something was going on. They were always sneaking around and whispering. It was like a treasure hunt or one of those scavenger hunt things where you have to look at clues and figure out what they’re supposed to mean. I tried one of those once and hated it.”
I could easily see Land not enjoying something that was, at its heart, frivolity. I wondered what my aunt had been up to. Something that was not illegal, but still not completely on the up and up. While I wanted to believe the best of my aunt, my father had pointed out that the transaction would have likely been flagged if it were being scrutinized by a forensic accountant. So Shirley had convinced my aunt to do this. Love could take you down the wrong path sometimes.
“What else do you want to know?” Land asked, probably afraid that I would now take the information and skip out on the offer to help clean.
I started doing some dishes in the sink to show him that I was honest in my offer. “I still don’t know where they got the money to buy the truck and get it back into shape. The ‘before’ pictures aren’t very attractive.”
Land shrugged. “I asked them once, and they said it was a secret. After that, I stopped trying to figure out what was going on. After Shirley passed away, Alice told me that I’d get the truck, probably because she wanted me to keep my mouth closed about whatever they’d been doing here.”
I recalled the nephew of the previous owner and how he’d been caught trying to help a gang of thieves. I wondered if perhaps the truck had been used for something similar with my aunt. The food truck had been parked near the government buildings. Was there a particular reason for that beyond the foot traffic? Could they have been involved with a government plot in some way? I had to admit that even the most wild of plots seemed somewhat possible at this point. My aunt had definitely been in this over her head.
MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) Page 11
