MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1)

by Chloe Kendrick

  I made a noise that suggested I wasn’t quite coherent yet. He took that for agreement.

  “You have no idea how hard it’s been to get my hands on these baubles.” He set down the goods and looked at me. “You have no idea what I’ve done to get them.”

  I looked straight at him now. “I have a very good idea of what you did to get them. I, for one, don’t think that it was worth it.”

  He held up a particular bracelet and let it dangle from his hand. It sparkled in the half-light of the desk. “It was worth every moment of it. Do you see this inscription? It’s from me to a particular lady friend. She hocked this pretty trinket after I had to let her down easily. I had to get this piece back before anyone could see the inscription.”

  I felt sick to my stomach. Whatever romance Mr. Huff could still muster was nothing compared to the lives of the people he’d killed. But I looked at him and wondered how he had the strength at his age to chop off people’s heads and conk others hard enough to give them a concussion. I suddenly realized why I’d been so easily subdued here. “You have an accomplice.”

  I didn’t need an answer to see that I was right. I had felt all along that someone else had been involved and working at slight cross-purposes to the killer in the case. Now I had the reason why. Mr. Huff had enlisted the help of another person involved in the matter, one who had to go along with Huff’s demands but who also had his own motivations for the crimes.

  “So you’ve figured it out for yourself? This is just like one of those old murder mysteries. The heroine figures out the scheme but at a point where it’s too late to do her any good. Oh well. Yes, I had an accomplice. No surprise there. I can’t decapitate like I used to 20 years ago.” He held up a frail arm that I could have easily snapped—if I hadn’t been bound—and with the likely accomplice somewhere behind me.

  “So you paid Shirley and my aunt to buy the truck so you could get the jewelry?”

  He grinned broadly. “Yes. Shirley thought it would be great fun, the idea of finding the missing stash of jewels, which of course was a wonderful benefit, but I had the added goal of getting this particular piece back. I thought I could count on family to keep their word.”

  I had a sick feeling in my stomach. When I’d talked to Shirley’s executor, he’d laughed at the idea that their rich relative had fronted the money for the truck, but apparently, he’d done just that. Of course, the executor had no way of knowing that their relative wanted to score a fortune in stolen jewelry and trinkets inscribed to his mistress. I mentally kicked myself, thinking that I wouldn’t be here if I’d just asked more questions. Who knew that I wasn’t nosy enough?

  “So what happened? Shirley decided to keep it for herself?” I wanted to keep him talking as long as possible. The longer I could stay alive, the better my chances were that someone would miss me and come looking. It wasn’t a great plan by any standards; it barely constituted a plan at all, but at this point, it was all that I had.

  “No, dear. Once again, it was love. Shirley decided that she was going to get out of the stolen goods business and just be a food truck waitress. They were at the truck night and day, which didn’t leave me any time to find what I needed.”

  “Shirley had been one of the people who robbed the stores?” I asked, wishing again that I’d overcome my own fears and asked that lawyer, Mr. Smith, about Shirley as well as Alice.

  Mr. Huff nodded. “She was a very resourceful woman who needed lots of money to stay afloat after her husband passed away.”

  “So you got rid of Shirley?” I felt a sick feeling creep up my throat. If he’d do that to his own family, then I had no doubt that he’d do worse to me. Though I wasn’t quite sure what could be worse than death.

  “I didn’t, but a friend did it for me. I should have inherited everything, but Shirley must have suspected something because she wrote a will in the days before her death. She left her interest in the truck to your aunt, which meant that the truck and its possessions were even farther from me than they’d been before. Now they belonged to Alice—or rather, the reward for returning them would have gone to your aunt. I met her once, and that was enough to convince me that she wouldn’t go for any story of treasure or romance. She would have stomped off to the police in no time and turned all of it over to them, ending my quest. So she had to go as well.”

  I didn’t like hearing about my aunt’s death in this manner. He was so cold and calculating about the woman that I’d loved so dearly. I was relieved to hear that she’d not been part of a criminal plot to take the jewels, but her own moral certitude had gotten her killed for the same loot. I still didn’t understand the will there, so I asked. I wanted to make sure this lasted as long as it could. “But my aunt’s will?”

  He sighed. “Old ladies and their wills. Your aunt asked me about wills and I explained how a holographic will worked. She left the truck and everything in it to Lander Mendoza, which fit my plan perfectly, but then she came in and had a new will done after that. What could I say? I couldn’t just tell her that I had plans for her untimely death.”

  I looked at him. “How did you do it? Their deaths, I mean. They looked almost natural.”

  He smiled. “It was natural. They both had peanut allergies, and I had a bag of peanuts. I just put some in your aunt’s car and left them there overnight. The next day, I removed them from the car, but the allergens were enough to cause her to stop breathing. Easy as that. They thought it was karma that they were allergic to the same things. I just found it simplified the process of getting rid of them both.”

  My mind wandered back to the will. “Why was Land perfect as the beneficiary?” I asked. I wondered if Land was standing behind me now, as he’d stood behind me so many times in the food truck. If he’d wanted to kill me, why hadn’t he just done it then? He could have cut me open with any of the knives in the truck.

  Mr. Huff laughed again, which sent shivers down my spine. “If you don’t know, then I’m not going to tell you. Go to your grave with one last question. It’s good for your afterlife, I hear.” He nodded, and a bag was placed over my head. I tried to shout, but I only received another hit on the head. Darkness returned.

  When I awoke, I was still in darkness. The bag had been removed; however, even when I opened my eyes, the space was pitch black. I held my eyes open, knowing that they would eventually adjust. I wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew that if I was in a place where I was able to see and speak without supervision, than I was also in a place that was dangerous to my life.

  Slowly I began to make out shapes and fixtures. I was surprised to discover that I was back in the food truck. I wondered how the conspirators had gotten me back into the secured lot, but then I remembered that my purse had been with me, containing everything they needed to enter the lot and open the truck. I should have just run out a red carpet for them.

  Now that I could see outlines and shadows, I looked around to see what was going on here. I knew that they wouldn’t just keep me here indefinitely. The lot would open in the morning. People would be coming in and leaving. I could shout out and draw attention if given that window of opportunity.

  I knew though, that whatever plan Mr. Huff had devised, I would not see daylight. He’d been quite explicit that I’d be dead. So something would be happening to me in the food truck soon. I looked around to see if he’d developed any plan to make the truck explode. He’d been fond of accidents and other deaths that did not appear to be murder in the past, so I slowly let my eyes run around the space, looking for modes of murder.

  I’d nearly made it around to the oven when I saw the means of my destruction. I’d had to crane my head practically behind me to see at this point. Perhaps I wasn’t meant to see what was going to be my demise. Some gizmo that appeared to be two pieces of some stiff material was stuck into each side of the 220-volt outlet used by the oven. The two pieces had been tied together with wire and then a roll of paper towels had been placed next to it. Someone had kindly moved a bowl of g
rease next to the paper towels, leaving a wonderful fire-starter ready for me.

  I knew that I didn’t have much time. I could see a few sparks popping out of this makeshift contraption. I didn’t want to have the health inspectors be right, given that they had given my aunt such a hard time. The police, aided by the bureaucracy, would easily believe that I could have left things in such a way as to start a fire with me inside.

  Since there was only a single stool in the space, I was trussed up, but I wasn’t tied to any fixture in the food truck. So, with some careful movements, I was able to stand. Not that doing so did anything to help me. I was still trapped inside the food truck, bound, without keys to unlock the exits or start the motor.

  I watched as the sparks now skittered across the counter. The contraption was working. I wasn’t sure how someone had learned such a method for burning down a place, but I figured that with Mr. Huff’s clientele, he certainly could have found a way to meet an arsonist.

  My first order of business was to get the ropes off me. Fortunately for me, Land was a stickler about his knives and so I knew exactly where to move. It took a lot of coordinated effort for me to shift myself to the knives without falling over. Two knocks to the head and the resulting headache, along with my bound feet, meant that I had to jump in small steps, each one jarring my headache. I wanted to stop, but I reminded myself that I’d rather have a headache than no head at all.

  I finally made it to the knives, but then I had to manage to lean on the counter far enough to grab a knife from the butcher’s block. It took me several attempts to grab the carving knife. I wasn’t about to try to use that on my hands for fear of chopping off my fingers or slicing my wrist. I gave another jump and landed with my ass on the counter. Not something I’d do during a normal workday, but at the moment, cleanliness was not my major concern.

  I leaned down and sliced through the knots in the ropes around my ankles. My feet came free quickly, and I shook them out to get the blood circulating in them. I had a hunch I was going to need two feet in working order in the next few minutes.

  The sparks were still skidding across the counter. I wasn’t about to touch the gizmo attached to the 220 volt outlet. However, I was concerned the sparks could now reach the paper towels. They had not caught fire yet, but I knew it was only a matter of moments before they did.

  I could now use my feet to slide back on the counter and grab a more suitable knife for the rope around my wrists. I found a smaller paring knife. While it cost me precious seconds, I felt that in the long run I would be better off if I wasn’t bleeding. The more cynical side of me wondered if the police found me in the back of the truck with knife cuts on my wrist, would they conclude that my sad life was the motive for a suicide?

  My wrists slowly came free, but not before the sparks did their damage. The roll of paper towels shot up into flames like an Olympic torch. The room was suddenly illuminated, and I could see how little I had to work with here. I knew that using water to put out the first was wrong. Splashing water from the emergency reserve tanks would make an electrical fire worse. It might put out the paper towels, but would fry me in the process.

  The person who’d left me here had kindly removed the fire extinguisher, which of course had been my first thought. So now, I was left to my own resources. I knew that they couldn’t take everything from the truck, so I was left with the materials at hand.

  I had more light to work with, but in this case, that wasn’t a good thing. The fire was quickly spreading to the bowl, and ashes floated from the paper towels into the grease. I moved the bowl and ran some water on it in the sink. At least I was safe from that measure. I still had the growing electrical fire.

  I remembered some of the manuals I’d read about the safety of the food truck and food services. I had to admit that I wished I’d paid more attention to the details when I’d looked through the pages. Now it was all scrambled in my mind.

  I had a paper fire and an electrical fire. So that meant that water was out to extinguish the electrical fire. I remembered that the most common advice for an electrical fire was to get the hell out of there and call 911. However, since someone had kindly taken my keys and phone, I had no way to leave the truck and no way to call anyone. My only choice was to battle it.

  I started going through the cleaning supplies, but most of them were spray bottles, and I didn’t want to shoot liquid on the fire that would only serve to make it burn faster or brighter. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or the reality, but I felt a little lightheaded from the heat and slowly building smoke. I knew that this had to be over soon.

  After finding nothing that would be guaranteed to put out the flames, I then started looking at the food supply. I didn’t find much in the way of great ingredients to help me there either. I threw sugar on the flames but that only served to melt the sugar. Great, I thought, I’ll have a crème brûlée corpse.

  Then I picked up a bag of flour, but that wasn’t a good idea. The flour began to explode as it lay on the flames. I didn’t know what chemistry class I’d missed, but that was definitely not the solution.

  The smoke was getting thicker and the food ingredients in the air did not help me to breathe any better. My lungs were sucking in as much air as they could, struggling to find some oxygen, but I knew the levels had to be getting low.

  I remembered enough about fire safety to bend down as the hot air rose. I was soon crawling around the food truck, looking for more supplies to throw on the fire. In the corner, I found a twenty-pound bag of individual salt packets. I thought I remembered something about salt and fires. At this point, I hoped that it had been something good and not another warning like the flour had been.

  I stood up and began to choke before I could even lift the salt. The air here was thick and acrid. I tugged my shirt over my head and wrapped it around my face. I could breathe a little better now and I leaned down for the bag of salt.

  With all the strength I could muster, I threw the packets at the fire. The flames burned brightly for a few seconds as the paper packets caught fire and burned. However, the fire started to die as quickly as it had flared. The flames by the outlet were nearly out, and the roll of paper towels had quickly become a smoldering mess.

  Even so, I was not in a good place. The air in the food truck was thick and heavy, telling me that the oxygen was mostly depleted. I could fill my lungs and get nothing but smoke. I felt lightheaded and nauseous as I fought off sleep.

  I was so close to surviving another round with Mr. Huff, but I wasn’t sure how to jump this final hurdle. Now that the fire had settled down, I lay on the floor and tried to breathe in air from the bullet holes in the door. Outside I could hear the sounds of traffic.

  At first, I thought I was imagining things, but the sound of sirens was growing louder, closer. I wanted to believe that they were coming for me, but frankly, I doubted that any nighttime emergency vehicles would be out looking for food trucks that were lit up on fire.

  I couldn’t see anything, but I heard the sound of voices as the sound of the sirens became nearly deafening.

  I could hear people outside, and I lifted a weak arm to pound on the door. I wanted them to know to hurry so that I could breathe again. The door opened and I tumbled out into the nighttime air.

  Chapter 12

  It wasn’t long after I was able to say two words without coughing like I had a death rattle, that Detective Danvers made it over to where the EMTs were checking out my vital signs for about the seventh time.

  “Not making enough profit here by yourself?” Danvers asked, looking over the scene. “Decide to go for the insurance money and get caught up in the fire?”

  I winced. I’d been right. My death would have been assumed to be the result of my botched attempt to burn the thing down.

  “I was put here after I was knocked out, tied up, robbed and hit again. It’s been a bad night.” I had a coughing fit after that, so I missed what Danvers said in return.

  Somewhere a
round that time, Land showed up. I kept my distance from him. I wasn’t sure of what his relationship to Mr. Huff was, or what his mysterious secret was that would keep him in the lawyer’s sway. However, I was having none of it.

  Danvers sensed the tension and looked at Land. Land gave a shrug, which only made me more suspicious than ever. They appeared to have a camaraderie that seemed very odd. Basque food truck chefs and Capital City police detectives typically had very little in common.

  I slowly began to explain what had happened in the past several hours. Danvers and Land both went in and checked out the storage box under the counter while the techs took photos of the truck and fire damage. When they returned, each of them had a different look on his face.

  “So the jewelry from one of the heists was in the box, you said?” Danvers asked as he took out a notebook and began to scribble things down as fast as I spoke.

  I coughed again and continued. “They followed me here. You can check the police logs about that. I called, and they escorted me to the street.”

  Danvers nodded and wrote some more.

  “Then I went to Mr. Huff’s office and that’s when all hell broke loose.” I coughed again and knew that Danvers would want to know more about my actions, but I was hoping that it could wait until I could take a proper breath.

  “Why there?” he asked.

  “He was my aunt’s lawyer. This had been my aunt’s property. I wanted advice. I didn’t want to be knocked on the head and nearly burned alive.”

  Danvers asked a few more questions as Land looked on. The EMTs motioned for me to come back and take in some more oxygen. I was glad to do so.

  A crime scene tech came out of the food truck with the device that had been used to start the fire. He pointed at me and then pointed at the device. I wasn’t sure if I was in trouble or not. Danvers strode over to me. “This was the fire-starter. The tech just told me that it’s fairly well-known in the prison system, but that he doubted a recent college grad with little work or life experience could have come up with it on her own.”