A GRAVE CONCERN (Food Truck Mysteries Book 8)

by Chloe Kendrick

  I hung up quickly and called Land. He simply said, “Be there in seven,” and hung up.

  True to his word, he was there in about seven minutes. He came through the door and gave me a long, deep kiss. My mouth responded, but my brain wondered if he was trying to distract me from the news reports.

  He finally broke it off, and I had nearly forgotten about the death of Hamilton Preston. He looked at me, his eyes boring into mine. “You’re going to insist that you saw that politician in the park, aren’t you?”

  I gave him a squeeze. “I know what I saw, and Hamilton Preston was there. At Government Square and again at the park—the same park where his body was found in.”

  Land sighed. While he was the one with more formal training in police techniques and military actions, he despised getting involved with local crime investigations. Apparently, he’d had enough of that before we met, and now he just wanted to cook and be married to me. Not a bad life, but I couldn’t help getting involved. This crime had potential ramifications for the food trucks. “I’ll talk to Danvers tonight, and see what he knows. Then we can go from there.”

  I gave him a smile and a kiss—and a reason to not call Danvers until much later.

  Chapter 3

  True to his word, Land had called Danvers late last evening. I knew from experience that Detective Danvers didn’t stop by the food truck until we were almost done for the day. In that way, he didn’t impact our sales, and he wasn’t interrupted by paying customers.

  Sure enough, Danvers stopped by at 1:30 p.m., right on time. He looked worn out, and I suspected that he’d been out on the case all night. I poured him a large cup of coffee and handed it to him immediately.

  He took a few sips before talking. “Land said that you know some information about this case. Care to share?”

  I explained how I’d seen Preston on Government Square a few days ago, dressed as a homeless man. Then I had again seen him at the park by my house while I was running and that he’d been arguing with another man.

  “Describe the other man,” Danvers said, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. I rarely got the notebook treatment, so either he thought the murder might be related to this, or he was desperate for any leads that he could get.

  “It was dusk, so I didn’t get a great look at him. He had his collar pulled up, but he was slightly shorter than Preston and had dark hair.”

  “If he was wearing a coat with the collar pulled up, could you be sure that it was a man?” Danvers asked.

  I had to think about the question. I had only assumed it was a man, because it was a man’s overcoat, but given the bulkiness of the coat, I could only see the outline of the garments and not the person. Considering that I was running in shorts at the time, the coat had seemed unnecessary. Now, maybe I could see the purpose for the outerwear.

  “If you’re taking that long to think it over, the answer is no, you’re not sure.” Danvers scribbled down some notes as to the time and the exact location in the park. “We’re not going to be able to tell if it’s a man or woman, but we can use the time and place to see if we can learn anything. The park has a history of cruising and prostitution. Capital City has been working to clean it up. You might want to keep that in mind if you’re running alone there. It’s not exactly the safest route for you. Anyway, there are cameras everywhere, so we might get lucky. Then, of course, we can start asking for alibis for that evening, too.”

  I nodded. Apparently the discussion was only going to go one way, where I was telling him information.

  I filled up his coffee again, and he headed out, still mum as to what had happened. One thing was for sure. I didn’t have much faith in the cameras, or else the police would already have a suspect in custody from the video feeds from the other night.

  Carter smiled at me after Danvers left. “You’re engaged. You’re losing that touch with other men.”

  I wasn’t amused. I had already made plans to find out what I wanted to know. The family would likely have shut down the art gallery for a few days to mourn, but I figured that the campaign staff would be more concerned about paychecks and closing up the facilities. So I would be heading to the Preston campaign headquarters after work. It was only a few streets from here, so I could make a quick trip when we were done.

  I gave Carter a smile. “Does that mean that you’re losing your touch, too?” I asked, hoping to divert his thoughts from this case.

  “If that’s your way of asking if I’ve decided what to do, the answer is still no, I haven’t.” He went back to work and didn’t ask any more questions.

  ***

  Since I was staying downtown, I locked up the truck where it was and ran the cash deposit over to Land at Basque in the Sun. The kiss I got today was not intended to make me forget looking into the murder. After a few minutes, I checked my hair, added some makeup, and left the truck to go the few blocks to the campaign headquarters.

  The door was unlocked, and so I entered the storefront space. A lone woman worked in the back of the office. She lifted her head and gave me the once-over. Granted, I was in jeans and a T-shirt, but I looked respectable.

  The office was half decorated with signs urging voters to support Hamilton Preston. His image was on most of the signs, which made the situation feel somewhat surreal. The man I’d seen as a homeless person was staring at me from every corner of the room.

  A bank of phones sat on the far wall, now silent. Chairs for the campaigners were everywhere, but many had been pushed out and not returned to their original positions, making it seem like the staff had left in a hurry.

  “If you’re from the press, the press release is on that desk there.” She pointed to a stack of papers on an otherwise empty desk. I picked one up and read through it quickly. The notice merely stated that Preston’s campaign had been suspended following the discovery of his body in the park last night.

  “Any word on the cause of death yet?” I asked. I hoped that the staff member would consider me to be a reporter and answer a few questions.

  “The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow, if I understand correctly. However, in most cases, this is pretty standard if the person wasn’t in the hospital when the death occurred,” she said in a monotone voice. I wondered if she had some real feelings for the candidate or if she’d just answered this question too many times.

  I cleared my throat. I had thought about not intruding on the woman at this point, but I decided to try a less obvious approach in hopes of finding out some details. “I really liked his opinions on the homeless in the city. Do you know of any other candidates with similar views, now that Mr. Preston won’t be running?”

  She turned to face me. “Hamilton Preston wanted the problem taken care of. He felt that they were a blight on the city. You could try checking out Chesterfield or Yarmouth. They were pretty similar in their positions.”

  I nodded. I’d wondered if he’d been against some of the locations that the people here had taken in Capital City. The Preston family had a business downtown, which would color his perspective of people on the streets in front of his business.

  “I’ve listened to them,” I lied, “but I just didn’t find them to be as riveting as Preston, especially his personal story.”

  The woman nodded her head. “Yeah, I wrote that article, but it was the real deal. Preston had some bad family situations earlier in life. He was supposed to run for office a few years ago, but a situation caused him to back out. I think the city would have benefited from him back then.”

  I nodded, hoping she would continue. It had to be lonely here, and I’ve found that most people will gladly talk when presented with an audience.

  “I liked the story. He’d been a bit of a wastrel before that. Granted, he’d run the family business, but after that failed run at office, Hamilton really turned his life around. It’s amazing what adversity can do for a person.”

  I asked a few questions, but the woman was long on generalities and short on specifics. The earlier
run had been anticlimactic. After a short run for office, he’d dropped out of the race. It had been around the time that his brother had disappeared.

  While I thought that his website mentioned no brothers, she seemed quite adamant. On the earlier campaign, she’d met the guy. He hadn’t been of the same caliber as his brother, at least in the campaign worker’s eyes, but he was definitely a member of the Preston family. She didn’t have any idea why the website said otherwise, though a look of distaste on her face suggested that he wasn’t the type to appear in a family-oriented campaign.

  I headed back to the truck with the press release, which I put in my back pocket. I went into the truck and found the hot dogs already prepared for the homeless people. Carter must have done that before he left.

  I went out to Government Square and found Delores. She gratefully took the hot dog and blessed me repeatedly.

  I took the press release out of my pocket and folded it so just the photo was visible. “Delores, do you remember seeing this man before?”

  I knew that I was coloring her testimony, since I asked the question as partly a done deal, but I didn’t care. I knew that with her issues, I couldn’t see the courts allowing her testimony anyway. Besides, I wasn’t the police, and I couldn’t be chastised for asking questions of a non-witness.

  “That’s Hammy, the pig,” she said with glee.

  I had to admit that the names Hammy and Hamilton were close, so perhaps she had met this candidate. I could imagine that Preston would want to alter his name, both for anonymity and the fact that there were very few poor men named Hamilton. The name seemed to scream wealth.

  “When did you see him?” I asked. I was so thrilled to have confirmation of what I’d seen, even though it wouldn’t stand up in court.

  “Two or three days ago. He was here for just a few days, and then he went away.” She was eyeing the hot dogs, so I gave her another. “He tried to talk to me a few times, but I just ignored him. He reminded me too much of my third husband.” She wolfed down the hot dog and left before I could ask more.

  Albert, the war vet, had been watching our interaction, and he came up to me after she’d left. “He wasn’t who he pretended to be,” he said to me.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. The man was correct, but I wanted to know why he felt this way.

  “His fingernails were clean. When I was in the army, we were always supposed to watch for anomalies. That man hadn’t been out on the streets for long. He wanted something, and I didn’t want to be a part of that. It was a trick.”

  I nodded, reminded of what I’d thought about the other man’s manicure and haircut. Who were these men, and why were they out on the streets?”

  “Why do you think they were out here?” I asked, hoping he had more information than Delores.

  “He asked a lot of questions about us. He asked Delores about my story. She made something up.” The man laughed, and its sound was a touch too loud and manic. “I don’t like people knowing too much about me.”

  I nodded. “What kind of questions did he ask?”

  “He wanted to know what branch of the service I was in, where I served, when I served, if I had family around here. I was worried that he was sent by my parents and here to bring me home. I don’t want to go home.”

  “I see,” I said plainly. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get involved more in this man’s life. I knew that I’d have to tread carefully here.

  “He’s gone, though. I made sure that he was gone for good.” A smile appeared on the man’s face and it ran chills up my spine. I didn’t like the way he’d said that, especially since Hamilton was now dead.

  “And how did you do that?” I asked. I was afraid of the answer.

  “I told him to go the park and look around. That the answers he wanted were there. He left after that, and I was glad to be rid of him.”

  Had Albert been the one who had been arguing with Hamilton Preston? And why had he wanted to know so much information about a homeless vet? Was this a campaign strategy, or something personal? I made a note to find out if Preston had any family in the military.

  I still wasn’t sure how I was going to get to see the family. Danvers was icing me out on the investigation, so I would have no official standing with the police for this case. I wondered if this was something that Land had asked Danvers to do, or if the policeman had just had enough of me getting involved in his cases.

  ***

  Land wasn’t coming over tonight, so I stopped and got some takeout on the way home. The local burger place looked good, and I brought home some fries, too. I sat down to eat with the papers I’d collected at Hamilton Preston’s campaign headquarters. I started looking through his positions on several issues. He was strong on local businesses, which wasn’t a surprise, since he and his family owned an art gallery. He was campaigning on new ordinances against the homeless, which made even less sense as to why he would have been dressed like one. He didn’t have a listed opinion on veterans, but that could easily be understood since he was merely running for city council. A quick search showed that he hadn’t served in the military, and it didn’t appear that his father had, either.

  I used my tablet and looked up Chesterfield and Yarmouth, the two candidates who the staffer at the campaign office had suggested. The first site I hit told me that both of these candidates had been running behind Preston. That would be a motive for murder, I thought.

  City council only elected nine candidates to office, so the top nine were the winners and the rest didn’t make the cut. If anyone dropped out of the race, everyone below him in the polls benefited. Was winning an election that important to these people?

  Stan Chesterfield was the first candidate I looked at, based solely on the alphabet. Chesterfield was an old name in Capital City. His father had been mayor. His grandfather had been mayor, and his great-grandfather had been governor many years ago. So it had been expected that Stan Chesterfield would breeze to victory in this race. However, he was lagging in the polls. With Preston out of the race, Chesterfield would finish at a distant ninth place, but he would manage to finish as a winner.

  I had to wonder if the Chesterfield family would kill just to get their progeny a place on city council. Would they consider it an affront to their name if the latest progeny had lost his first election? It seemed like a stretch for a murder, but people had killed for less.

  Valerie Yarmouth was a different story, altogether. She had been born in one of the poorer areas of Capital City and had gone to school here, too. She’d managed to work until her children were born, and now she was running for office since her children had gone off to college. I had a hard time seeing a middle-aged woman bumping off the art gallery owner, but at the same time, Danvers had been explicit in asking me if I could have seen a woman at the park. That had made me curious as to whether or not he had a strong female suspect in mind.

  I tried to find out more about Preston’s family, but there wasn’t much in the news about him. There was no mention of a wife or significant other in his life. The family photos showed Preston with two children, a boy and a girl. Having children who looked old enough to be in college was a trait he had in common with Yarmouth.

  The focus of most of the articles was more on the extended family and the art gallery. The Preston Gallery was one of the premiere art galleries in the state, not just Capital City. I’d gone to a few happy hours/showings there, but nothing was remotely in my price range. I could barely afford the wine. They hosted up-and-coming artists who commanded thousands for a single painting. I didn’t even spend that much on my rent for a few months.

  I put the documents away. I had to wonder again why Preston had been murdered. I had three separate areas of his life to investigate: his family, the campaign, and the odd moment when I’d seen him pretending to be homeless. Of the three, I thought that the homeless angle seemed like the best bet, since it was the most unlike himself and he’d been killed at a place where I’d seen him in disguise. So it had been
in that persona that he’d likely been killed.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, I was alone in the food truck. Carter had called sometime after I’d gone to bed and let me know that he wouldn’t be in to work until later. His mother had taken a turn for the worse, and she had been rushed to the hospital. He had to get his younger siblings ready for school before he could come in.

  I hurried through the coffee and cash to start preparing the condiments for the day. The list and the cooking directions were taped to the prep area wall, and I consulted them frequently as I chopped the cilantro for the Mexican dogs.

  I had finished the last of the condiments and had opened the window when Carter arrived. He looked worn out. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was carrying a large cup of coffee.

  “How’s she doing?” I asked, wondering whether or not to send him home.

  “Not good—at all. It’s just a matter of time, I’m afraid.” He didn’t look like he was going to cry about the news. Instead, he had no expression at all on his face. I was more concerned about the numbness than the grief, at this point. I figured that he was overwhelmed with his emotions and the impending responsibilities. I’d seen how the loss of a parent could affect a person. One of my dearest friends had lost her mother in college, and the girl had taken a semester off to deal with her grief, without dealing with grades or worries. She’d come back the next semester, but she hadn’t been the same. She’d been fun and flirty before, but after the break, she was serious to the point of ignoring everything else. I had tried to keep up with her after college, but without the common interest of school, she’d had no time for me.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m not the best at this, but just tell me what you need, and you know I’ll help in any way that I can.”