I dialed his number and waited for him to answer. Since I was standing on the street, I went back inside of the food truck. If I was going to cry over losing this place, I didn’t want the entirety of Capital City to see me weep.
Summers picked up on the third ring. “Miss Kinkaid, thank you for calling me back. I had some confusion over the documents that you sent me and I need some clarification before I send the reports to you and Mr. Huff.”
“Are you saying that the will is real?” I asked, prepping myself for the worst.
“Not in the way that you mean, no. However, I need some more information. You were specifically interested in whether or not your aunt signed the will and the witnesses had signed the same will, is that correct?” His suave manner was gone, and he sounded a little nervous. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I realized what he was asking.
I paused, trying to understand the ramifications of his question. Was he trying to tell me that it was signed by Alice, or one of the witnesses? “Yes, I wanted to know if this was a valid will which could be probated by the courts here. Specifically, will I lose the truck?”
He let out a deep sigh. “Very good. I just found something and it struck me as extremely odd. I needed clarification before I can assert that I stand by my initial findings. As I said to you earlier, my original assessment stands. I can send you a full report by mail later this week.”
It sounded like he was trying to end the conversation, but I was having none of that. I wanted to know what he’d found and what it meant. “So, what exactly did you find that made you call me three times?”
He paused for several seconds. “Well, yes, about that. I was just concerned. It would appear that the will itself, the testament of what was to be distributed, was written by your aunt. I would be willing to swear in court that she was the one who wrote that will.”
“Would that be valid in court?” I asked, thinking of his willingness to swear in court. “What I mean is would this will be admissible? Could these wishes supersede the ones in her previous will?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m not a lawyer, but yes, I believe in this state that holographic wills are allowable in probate without witnesses.”
“Oh,” I said. I was glad that I was back inside the food truck so that I could be alone with my tears. A big drop rolled down my cheek. I’d risked my life only to lose my aunt’s legacy in the end. It seemed so unfair to me. Whoever was plotting against me seemed to have succeeded.
“However, this will has a major issue with it that would likely invalidate it.”
I perked up at the mention of the will not being valid. This entire matter was a roller coaster for me. I wasn’t sure what was around the next corner or where the next dip in the track would be. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, again, I’m not a lawyer, but this will isn’t dated. The forged witness signatures include a date that was only a few days before your aunt’s death. However, nothing in the will itself, the part that can be proved to be written by your aunt, includes a date. So this will could have been written after the last will or long before it. You’ll just never know when your aunt wrote it or if those were truly her last wishes or not. There is no part of handwriting analysis that would provide a clear determination of when something was written, just who wrote it.”
I pondered what he’d said for a moment. While I hadn’t studied the will, there hadn’t been any identifying marks on the document to tell the date or times other than the signatures. It didn’t seem like Alice to be so sloppy, but perhaps she’d been upset when she’d made the will. It could be a common mistake if she’d been upset about something. I wondered if perhaps the will could have come after Shirley had passed away. Had she perhaps realized then that she had become involved with some nasty people who wanted to harm her if they didn’t get what they wanted?
I noticed again that I was using the plural, mainly because I had a hard time believing that one person could fill so many roles in this puzzle.
“Thank you for your information, Mr. Summers,” I said, trying to maintain my cool despite the number of emotions I was experiencing. “At least there’s a resolution with the will.”
I ended the call and leaned against the counter as I felt all the energy drain from my body. This case only grew more complicated by the moment. I couldn’t understand what good a will would do if it hadn’t been executed properly.
I wanted to sit down, but a food truck isn’t exactly known for its accommodations. There was the stool I sat on to count money, but other than that, the truck didn’t have a place to relax and collect your thoughts.
Since it had served me so well the other day, I decided to sit under the sink again. I slid down under the counter and squeezed myself into the space. It was vaguely reminiscent of the days when I used to cover myself with a blanket and pretend that the world had gone away. That’s what I wanted now. I needed a sense that I was hidden from the world.
Though, even if I had wanted to hide from the world, this was not the place to do it. The space reminded me of what had just happened in the truck this week. I looked around the small space and noticed an indentation where a bullet had ricocheted into one of the cabinets just outside the crawl space. I flicked at the groove in the metal and then tapped on the wall. I didn’t think that anything was in this particular space; it seemed to be a cabinet about six inches wide. It was too narrow for pots or pans. At first glance, it just looked like a spacer to ensure that the sink was properly placed in the counter.
However, the space wasn’t just a flat cover. It was boxed in so that there was a tall thin cabinet that no one would notice at first glance. I hadn’t. I wondered about the plans for the truck. Likely, those plans just showed that the space had a cover.
I poked around at the edges, looking for a way to get into the space, but nothing was obvious. There were no outside hinges to give away the location of the entrance either. It looked like a plain metal box. Yet when I knocked on the panels of the box, they made different sounds, which led me to believe that the box was not empty.
I was starting to get impatient, which is never a good thing with me, because I tend to get impulsive and take a crowbar to whatever the problem is. I knew that the space had to have a mechanism to open the panel, and I knew it had to be relatively easy to operate. I understood my aunt well enough to know that she, too, would have taken a blunt instrument to the space if it hadn’t worked easily every time. However, as I continued to look, I wondered if my aunt had even known about this space. There was nothing in the records to show that she had known of it or used it.
I began by tracing my fingers around the edges of the box. It might have been my imagination but the edges around the top of the box felt larger. I knew that it could have been the construction of the counters, but it was somewhere to start. The counter did have a separate piece for the box, so it could have served as a lid to the space underneath.
I couldn’t find anything that looked like a spring to release the top. In frustration, I slapped my hand on the counter. A mechanism clicked, and the top moved up by an inch or so, leaving the counter at a slight upward angle. I carefully lifted the top and peered inside.
Because of the depth of the space, it was hard to see to the bottom of the box, but the light on my keychain illuminated it entirely. The contents consisted of some paperwork and a pile of watches and bracelets.
I pulled out a few of the items and inspected them in my hand. The watches were Rolexes and other high-end names. The bracelets were gold and were set with what appeared to be real gems. Since I had never been given any fine jewelry, it was hard for me to be sure.
I took the papers out of the space. It included a calendar of events and, from what I remembered about the police reports, the list of dates corresponded to the various robberies that had been committed with the help of the food truck’s previous owners. Apparently, I’d found part of a stash from one of the robberies. I wasn’t sure if this was the nephew’s sh
are of the loot for his assistance, or if the entire haul had been placed here for safekeeping and then the robbers were unable to recover it before the truck had been impounded and later sold.
An idea began to form in my mind. What if the person who had funded Shirley and Alice had known about this treasure trove and wanted the truck to retrieve the goods. From what the reports had said, the take from the heist was worth far more than the amount paid for the truck—nearly ten times over. That wasn’t a bad return on the money, much better than the measly amounts made from actually selling hot dogs.
Land had said that the two women had been on something akin to a scavenger hunt. Had they known that the truck had been used to store jewels and had hoped that they might find some of the missing items in the truck? Perhaps that had been what Land had seen when he mentioned their guilty secret. It would have been more honest if they’d planned to return the jewelry if they found it. I wasn’t sure what the rules were for finding something in a vehicle purchased at a police auction, but I was pretty sure that the insurance companies would not be in favor of “finders keepers.”
However, Shirley and my aunt had taken to the truck with gusto, even going so far as to store it in a secured lot—with surveillance cameras. That meant that whoever had funded the truck had no chance of getting a few minutes—or hours—to locate the goods and escape without notice. How frustrating it must have been to see the truck on a daily basis and know that you couldn’t get the fortune out of it without being discovered. The financier had been forced to watch the bankroll for his investment roll around town. The fortune was no closer to him after buying the truck than it had been in the impound lot.
Killing Shirley had left the truck to Alice and killing Alice had left the truck to me. Instead of bumping off a 25-year-old, this benefactor had tried to switch the will to leave the truck to Land. That left Land as either in cahoots with the killer, or someone that the killer thought could more easily be manipulated. Neither of those was a good option. I had to wonder why Land would have taken the other job if his goal were to find the loot. Working for Meat Treats put him farther away from the secret stash.
I tried to put this into perspective. I had suspected Land of the crimes off and on. He’d been so adamant that the food truck should rightfully belong to him, and he’d been possessive of it when the new will came to light. Also, Detective Danvers knew Land from earlier, though neither one of them wanted to comment on it. I’d thought that immigrants had to keep a clean police record, but I was unsure what type of offense would result in deportation.
None of this bode well for my discussion with Land. I knew I would have to ask him about the jewelry and find out what he knew. For one bribe, he’d told me more than I’d ever known about my aunt and Shirley. I wondered what he’d do for a Rolex.
First, I had to get this loot out of here. I knew I wasn’t about to take it out of the truck on Elm Street. I had nothing to carry it in, and I’d be walking in front of the police station with an armful of stolen property. So I decided that I would drive to the parking lot, transfer it to my car under the safety of the cameras, and then take it to someone for advice. I thought about involving my parents, but if my mother would be displeased with the thought of Alice being involved in a treasure hunt, she’d really be in a state if she suspected that the truck had been used as storage for hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of stolen jewelry. I knew that I could not go to them, if for no other reason than to honor my father’s wishes not to upset her.
I drove the truck carefully to the lot. I’d put the loot back in its hiding space; I didn’t want to get pulled over at this point. I was afraid that my appearance and expression would give away that something was very wrong. I couldn’t afford to have the truck searched for any reason.
I thought I saw a dark sedan follow me from Elm Street to Fifth and then along Sullivan to the secured lot. I knew I’d be safe in the lot, because no one could enter without a key card. They’d have to wait outside the fence and there would be cameras trained on them on all sides. Maybe I was being paranoid. I had to keep telling myself that no one was following me.
I parked, left the truck and scrounged through the old Buick for a plastic bag. Fortunately for me, I’m not exactly a cleanly person—outside of the food truck—and I had several lying on the backseat floor. I made my way back to the truck. Along the way, I noticed that the dark sedan had stopped alongside Sullivan. It was in a no parking zone, but it was obvious the driver was watching me. So, now I was left with the issue of how to escape from here. I could move the haul, but that would only take me one step further.
I put all the papers and jewelry into the bag and stepped outside. Since these people had already determined that I knew about the heist, I figured there was no reason that they shouldn’t see the loot that was still just outside their reach. I tried to feel sympathy with them for being so close and yet so far, but nothing came up. They were killers who deserved nothing but a life sentence.
To my credit, this time I recognized the sound of the first bullet when it whizzed by me. I ducked and started moving. I’d seen enough of the crime dramas to know that people had trouble hitting a moving target, especially one that is running in a random manner. I had to get back to the food truck door, but I took my time weaving and bobbing. I heard one other shot go off, but it didn’t come near me. Either they were unsure of their ability, or they had other plans.
I did too. I grabbed the card with Detective Danvers’ number on it and dialed. He picked up on the third ring. I explained the situation, and he said that he’d send a car out to investigate. I noticed that he didn’t deem it important enough for him to investigate personally. He was apparently too busy not solving cases for my safety to get in the way.
Sure enough, a patrol car rolled up to the lot a few minutes later. The driver of the dark sedan had seen the police car and had taken off at a safe speed immediately. I drew a deep breath. I stashed the treasure back in its hiding place and went out to meet them.
The first one to approach was older. He was bald and doughy-faced and looked to be weary of the situation before I’d even finished telling the story. He nodded when I mentioned the dark sedan. “Yeah, I saw that car leave as we pulled up, but I can’t pull them over on intuition.”
I thought of several comebacks, but I held my tongue. The other man didn’t speak. He turned away from me as soon as the story was done and called someone that I assumed was Danvers. He ended the call after a minute and turned back around. “We’re supposed to make sure you get out of here safely and that no one is following you.”
I thanked them. I ran back to the food truck and found an old backpack in the corner. I stuffed everything into the backpack and walked to my car. The police didn’t suspect anything, and I tossed the bag into the trunk of the old Buick. True to their word, the police car followed me down Sullivan until it hit Fifth and then made a right to my left.
The problem was that I had made it one more step but if the driver of the dark sedan had any sense, he would be waiting at my apartment, the very same place that had been broken into a few days ago. I wasn’t sure if they’d looked for the stolen goods or if they’d just wanted a dress rehearsal for the real thing, which could be tonight.
I drove past my apartment building going at a fair pace, and sure enough, there was a dark sedan in the parking lot. I kept going, making sure that they weren’t following me. I saw nothing in the rearview mirror and pulled into my favorite Chinese place to get a bite to eat and think about my next step. I didn’t want to call Danvers again. His lackluster response had only served to make me think that he didn’t care about solving these crimes. He went through the motions, but with no penchant for finding out what was going on.
Land was out. He was my number one suspect at this point and calling him to help hide me with the jewelry would be like handing it over to the bad guys. I didn’t want to involve my parents since they would likely walk into any trap set for them. They had
not been thinking along the same lines that I had, so I knew their instincts and suspicions would not be as heightened as mine would.
The only solution I could think of was to drop the items at my lawyer’s office and explain the situation. He’d know how to handle returning the possessions to their rightful owners and deal with the legal entanglements that might follow. I’d lived out of town at college, so I couldn’t be connected to the crimes, but I was concerned about my aunt’s reputation after I returned the items.
I managed to finish my egg rolls and started to Mr. Huff’s office. I made it there in about 20 minutes, not too bad given the traffic at that hour. Sure enough, he was there and the lights were on. I knocked on the door and went in.
He was sitting at his desk, and he began to stand as I entered. They still made men with manners, I thought. He smiled at me. “Miss Kinkaid, what an unexpected surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?”
I smiled back at him. It was good to see a familiar face, someone who could help me with these troubles. I sat down and started to explain the situation with the jewelry, when Mr. Huff stopped me.
“Do you have the items in question here?” he asked. “As an officer of the court, I can relieve you of those so you won’t suffer any undue hardship.”
“They’re in my car,” I said, and that was the last thing I remember.
When I awoke, my hands and feet were bound to the chair I’d been sitting in before my recent blackout. Of course, it was my luck that I chose the person who wanted the jewels as the one person I could trust. I raised my head and looked across the desk at Mr. Huff. He was no longer the kind and gentle man from before. He looked half-mad standing over the backpack full of goods. He had a gnarly old fist full of them and his eyes gleamed. “So, you’ve decided to rejoin us, Miss Kinkaid?” He practically laughed as he spoke.
MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) Page 13
