JUSTICE is SERVED
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES #7
Chloe Kendrick
Copyright © 2015
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 1
I had to watch Gina’s wedding from the food truck window. She and I had been hanging out again since I’d involved her in my last investigation, which had been about six months ago.
At the time, I hadn’t realized that she was engaged. We’d talked mostly about bloodhounds and dead bodies. Boyfriends and fiancées had not come into the scene.
After that case was complete, the four of us had gone out a few times together before Gina broached the subject of the food trucks catering their wedding. “I think it would be a great idea if you could,” she’d said with the same enthusiasm that she’d shown for hunting down dead bodies in a parking lot. “Of course, we’d pay the going price for catering and all.”
Truth be told, I had no idea what catering went for these days in Capital City. For the most part, I jealously guarded my weekends. I had to get up at 4am or earlier every day of the workweek, and now that I had a boyfriend, I wanted to spend some quality time with him as well. Weekend events just ensured that I had no free time, which was not a lifestyle I wanted. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the money and I was proud of the expansion the company had made in the past two and a half years, but I was a firm believer in work-life balance.
I tried to demure from the catering gig, but Gina was persistent. She pointed out that a cousin was arranging the flowers and another college friend, who I honestly didn’t remember, had been hired to do the photography. “It’s a way that I can include all the people I’m close to without having a wedding party of twenty,” she said earnestly. I did have to admit that I would prefer not to be forced to wear a bridesmaid dress.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but she was so sincere that I agreed to look into pricing out a catering job. I have to admit that I was shocked by what I learned. Apparently the wedding industry is one big racket, designed to make the most possible money from blushing brides and starry-eyed grooms. I cut the cost to $25 per person for Gina, and it would still be about a $2500 day for the food trucks. I was thrilled with the idea of an extra day’s pay that week, even though I wasn’t thrilled about working that extra day.
The thought was made better only by the fact that Land had agreed to work the day with me. I was a bit nervous about attending our first wedding together, since we’d never really discussed long-term plans with each other. I knew that I was in this relationship for the long-run, but where that road took us had never really been a topic of conversation. I certainly didn’t want to hold this conversation on a day when we were serving hot dogs to 100 wedding guests.
Gina had decided to do an outdoor wedding in early May, which I thought was incredibly risky. The weather in Capital City could be anything from balmy and perfect to icy rains. Land and I would be the only people guaranteed to be under cover. Everyone else would be at the mercy of the elements.
Even the bride and groom would be outside at Siever Park, overlooking the Lewis River which cut just to the south of town. The river had been named after the famous explorer. Legend had it that he and Clark had spent a few snowy days in the city’s vicinity during their trek across the United States.
However, much to everyone’s surprise the day of the wedding had dawned sunny and clear. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue that you normally saw in postcards. The ground was firm, but it had rained a few days before, so the grass had become a brilliant shade of green. The truck had no problem in parking close to the wedding location without sinking into mud. I could see some slight tracks in the grass, but a good day’s sun would perk it up again in no time.
I hadn’t seen the bride or groom that day. At the rehearsal, we’d been given so many directions for what to do that I’d written a three-page list. I’d shown it to Carter who laughed at the bride and expressed an entire lack of interest in his own ability to now marry a man if he wanted.
Land and I set up and started following the directions as best we could. The menu was to be hot dogs and two of the Basque entrees that the second food truck served. It was a bit awkward, since Dogs on the Roll had never served Basque food except during our trial run. Land had equipped the new truck with everything he needed to do a full-on Basque menu. So we were stuck with trying to make dishes without the luxuries that Land typically had at his fingertips.
In addition, Gina had wanted twelve different condiments for the guests. On a good day, we served four different condiments. Now we were expected to prepare three times that amount, which added up to a large amount of preparations.
Still I couldn’t complain. Gina had come up with the buns for the hot dogs. She’d actually found a retailer who would heat-stamp the couple’s name and the date on to the side of hot dog buns. So the buns read “Trent and Gina”. After this event was over, I planned to find this vendor and find out the cost to create advertising buns for the truck, though I wasn’t sure about purchasing ads on a product that would only last as long as the meal.
Land started the set-up, and I began to cut ingredients for the condiments. Usually I counted the register and made coffee, but for this event, the drinks were being handled by a separate bartender, and we had been paid in advance. So Land gave me gentle instructions with a few stray kisses on how to chop the jalapenos for the Mexican dogs and how to grate ginger for the glaze for the sweet and spicy dogs. I’d honestly thought that ginger came in a jar, which made Land snort before he got his reaction under control. This was why I hired good chefs for the trucks.
I finished my prep assignments, so I took the additional time to look around. From the window where customers ordered, we had a panorama of the wedding venue. Off to the left was the makeshift church with the view of the river behind them. Someone had already placed the chairs in rows and delicately placed a white runner where the bride would come down the aisle. A gentle breeze made the white streamers flutter in the air.
To the right was the reception area. Sixteen tables were spread across the grass, each holding eight people. I had thought the number of available seats to be overkill because Gina had only invited 100 people, but she apparently had family and friends that did not care for each other, so packing them all at the same table did nothing to help their demeanors. So instead she spaced them out in an elaborate seating chart that used more plotting than a mystery novel. Some tables held eight people while others held two.
The only reason that I cared was because I learned quickly that I was responsible for the tablecloths and linens for the event as the caterer. The extra tables ate into my profits, as they were. Still I was the perfect caterer and only whined to Land about the added expenses. At the rehearsal, I’d only nodded and smiled, though I wished that people could put their grievances aside for a single day.
Now that I saw the sea of white tables on the greening grass, I had to admit that the effect was attractive. On the tables were fresh cut daffodils and tulips, and the air smelled of spring.
Land was still busy cutting up ingredients for t
he condiments, and he grunted to let me know that I should follow suit. I took the list and selected two or three of the easier preps to complete while Land stirred the glazes.
“I was just admiring the tablecloths,” I said, trying to justify my own sloth.
“You should admire them for what they’re costing us,” Land said without looking up. He pushed some more vegetables in my direction for me to cut. I got back to work.
Land isn’t a total slave driver when it comes to work. He can be romantic. He stopped for the wedding, and we watched the wedding together. Land reached over and held my hand during the vows, and I have to say that the gesture was as close to a discussion about intentions as we’d had.
I knew that I didn’t want a big wedding. Perhaps it was my father’s genes, who always kept a tight rein on the cash and looked to the practical, but I couldn’t see spending $20,000 or more on a single day of my life. I loved to shop, but I could control my desires in order to look at the bigger picture.
Granted that Capital City had finally paid out the reward money from the investigation that Gina and I had worked on together, but I’d socked that money away in the bank for future expansions. Much as I cared about Land, I wasn’t about to take all that money and spend it on a single day. I had to admit though that this event appeared as if Gina had spent every last cent of the reward money on it.
With the wedding over, Land and I got busy. The guests came swarming over to the truck, and we began serving dogs to 100 guests. Our activity level was no more than a typical day at work. However, we hadn’t worked together in a while, and in this venue, we were both serving at the same time. This led to a few incidents of nearly colliding with each other. We took wide berth around each other when possible and kept at a steady pace.
The time flew by. I missed the first dance because of a wedding guest who demanded seven dogs for himself. I wasn’t sure if he was planning on a hot dog eating contest at the table, but it seemed a bit excessive. More than likely, he was just ordering more because the dinner was free.
I missed the cake cutting because a guest who had apparently thrown up his dinner came back for more. Land just rolled his eyes at the man, who was plainly too drunk to recognize the sarcasm in the move. He strolled away just as Trent shoved a piece of cake in Gina’s face. I cringed, and Land laughed. “I can tell I won’t do that at our wedding.”
I was a bit shocked. Even though we’d dated for nearly eight months at this point, we had navigated the relationship with few discussions about where our relationship was going. I was fine with that, since I’d learned that I was fine with taking things slow. We each had our own apartments, and I was in no hurry to share my space. My apartment was my first real grown-up space, and I enjoyed having the place to myself. I had just turned 25, and I knew that I had years before I worried being an old maid forever.
“Don’t even think about it,” I shot back. “If you’re spending the rest of your life with someone, then you should respect them enough not to mess up their make-up.” I’d switched the pronouns to a generic “they.” I tried to be nonchalant about the pronoun switch, but for someone born in the Basque region of Europe, Land had an excellent grasp of English. He would have recognized the pronoun change immediately since he still complained about people using “they” when they actually meant “he or she.”
He nodded, but didn’t say another word. We were interrupted by a man wanting to find the restroom, and another couple who was looking for the bar. Given their unsteadiness, I thought that they likely should replace the bar with a good glass of water.
I did come out from behind the counter long enough to catch the bouquet. Gina had insisted upon me participating, and to my surprise Land encouraged me. I thought that Gina spent a few second too long trying to position all the women before throwing it. My suspicion was correct, because in a matter of seconds, the bouquet practically nailed me in the face. I had little choice but to grab it or end up with flower imprints on my cheeks. Land didn’t say a word when I returned to the food truck with the flowers. He just smiled and kept putting things away.
At 8pm, we began our clean-up. Gina had reserved Siever Park until sundown, and the floodlights in the park had started popping on, which acted as a warning for people to begin leaving. The bride and groom came by and thanked us personally for the food and catering. Guests had been complimenting them all evening on the cuisine, and a few guests had asked for our contact information for their own weddings.
I honestly wasn’t sure if we’d do a lot of weekend events. At 8pm on a Saturday, I was likely to be at home with my feet propped up streaming something on TV. The knowledge that I’d have to get up at 4am on Monday loomed over me. I preferred my time off.
Land and I had split up the clean-up duties, which was unlike most of our work. There was no till to count, so I had to figure out what to do. I started with collecting the linens from the tables. I took a large duffel and walked to each table. I slid the tablecloth off the table without taking the centerpiece away and stuffed each one in a bag.
When I got to table 15, I was appalled. Someone had smeared mustard across the tablecloth. I groaned, knowing how difficult mustard is to remove from fabric. I left this tablecloth out of the bag and finished collecting the others.
I took the offending linen back to Land and showed him. “Look at this,” I said, holding up the cloth.
Land furrowed his brow. “What table did this come from?” he asked after a few seconds.
“Fifteen, the one closest to the table for the wedding party,” I said as I pointed out the table. “Do you think we should try to find out who sat at that table and see if we can figure how why they’d do this?”
Land shook his head. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
He gently took the linen and reversed it, so that now I could see it as it had been on the table. The mustard stain wasn’t a random squirt. The stain spelled out the word “help.”
Chapter 2
I just stood there for a moment, trying to process what I was seeing. Someone had written “help,” but why? It seemed more logical that if someone was in trouble that they would merely lean over to the person next to them and ask for assistance. Instead, they had written the word large enough to be seen by me – or by anyone else who went by.
My thought processes were trying to understand this. My first thought was that the writer had to be the last person at the table. Otherwise the other guests would be asking why “help” was being written across the tablecloth, which would defeat the entire purpose of the message. So that would help me find out who was behind this. I would have to ask Gina who sat at this table, and if they were having any kind of problems at home.
I wondered if the guest had been drunk and thought that this was an appropriate joke for the caterer who also dabbled in crime. It would be a twisted but effective jab at some of my past adventures in crime. Since Gina had been involved in at least one matter as well, it was likely that the people here had heard about that case and my solution to it.
“First thing you need to do is blot it dry, so that it doesn’t stain the rest of the material,” Land said. I wanted to ask how he knew about mustard stains, but decided that it would be better not to ask. When he wasn’t explaining guns and explosives, Land had an alarming amount of mundane knowledge regarding household chores.
“Then what?” I asked, curious to see if he knew the entire process.
“Dishwashing soap and white vinegar. Works every time.” He shrugged to indicate that he thought everyone knew this piece of information. Either I’d missed that day in school, or I’d not eaten enough mustard in my day.
I grabbed the cloth, but not before taking a few photos of the tablecloth. I would either have to replace it or explain to the rental agency why it was ruined, and documentary proof might be helpful, especially if I tried to contact the person who had done this.
I stormed off in the direction of the restrooms. I had hoped to get out of here early enoug
h to have a romantic dinner with Land. I hadn’t eaten anything during the reception except for a small piece of cake. After making hot dogs for 100, I hadn’t really felt like eating my own cooking. We had discussed going to a small bistro that had opened recently. It was far more fun to check out the competition when Land was with me.
Of course, the women’s restroom was locked. The park closed down fairly tightly at dusk, and the sun was just tucked away under the horizon. I sighed and looked around. I wasn’t too concerned about traffic, so I tried the men’s room. No one was in sight, so I was fairly certain that I wasn’t interrupting anyone. Just in case, I knocked before entering.
The plain cement walls and tiled floor echoed the squeak of the door opening. If I’d been a superstitious person, I would have worried about the noise and the general isolated feeling. It had all the makings of a horror movie. However, I was made of sterner stuff, like wanting my entire deposit back on the linens. So I pushed on.
I walked to the sink and pulled a number of paper towels from the dispenser. I blotted at the stain, wondering who would have done this. Was this a real plea for help or a hoax perpetrated by someone with a wasteful sense of humor? I leaned towards the latter. Given the number of murders I’d been involved with, people would have known about my exploits and perhaps poked fun at a young woman who had experienced more death than some undertakers.
Given my assumptions, I wasn’t particularly worried about the guests at the wedding. I would mention the incident to Gina, who would share a laugh with me. I finally thought I’d gotten most of the moisture out of the cloth and looked around. The park district had definitely not gone all out with the facilities. The mirrors over the sink were silver-framed, but they’d grown tarnished to the point that the frames were now dark. I looked at my reflection and saw how tired I looked. Catering events would not be in the future for Maeve Kinkaid, I thought.
JUSTICE Is SERVED (Food Truck 7) Page 1
