FIVE WILL GET YOU TWENTY
FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES #9
Chloe Kendrick
Copyright © 2016
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 12
Chapter 1
I’d worked hard for a third truck. Over the past few years, I’d been kidnapped, attacked and accused of murder, and despite all of those obstacles, I’d come out of those situations with a fiancé, a new apartment, a thriving business and as of 2 p.m. yesterday, a third food truck. Not bad for someone who hadn’t yet reached thirty.
Land and I purchased my business’s third truck from a vendor who had recently gone out of business. Land had kicked in twenty-five percent of the down payment so that his stake in the business remained constant, and the money I’d been saving from the business, along with a reward I’d received from a previous murder case that I’d solved, made up the rest.
I ruminated after the purchase that it had been much easier to handle the acquisition of a truck when I’d been the sole proprietor. I’d been able to make the decisions about the name, cuisine and workers without too much discussion.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Land dearly, but many times when two people have to make decisions, they have differing opinions. That was how things were with the new truck. We’d gone round and round about the name and the decisions on the staffing for the truck.
We’d easily decided on the fare. Land had suggested tacos, and he’d made a compelling case, explaining that a taco truck’s operations worked much like Dogs on the Roll, which served hot dogs. The basic fare was spicy meat—beef, chicken or tofu, which I counted in the meat category. Then the different toppings and condiments could set the truck apart. So it seemed an easy choice for us.
However, for the name, Land had been set on Taco Inferno, making a play on words from the 1970s song, Disco Inferno. Like a CIA operative, he played the song for me repeatedly, as if torturing me with lyrics that were derided before I was born would make me change my mind. I was a bit concerned to learn that Land had such a passion for disco, or bad puns, or both.
Even so, I had finally relented on the name. I thought that the older people would moan at the weak pun, but that most of the younger crowd frequenting the truck would have no idea where the name came from. If someone mentioned the name, I would play dumb and remind them of my age.
The staffing of the truck was another matter. I couldn’t play dumb on that one. I had hoped that Sabine, Land’s younger sister, would agree to be the operator of the third truck. She’d developed some of the same cooking skills that Land had, and I had worked with her successfully for a short time while our other chef was out on personal business. She had fit well into the truck, and I thought that she would do well with the new truck.
Land, on the other hand, wanted the current chef on the original truck, Dogs on the Roll, to operate the new truck on his own. We would then find a new chef to work with me on the original truck. Despite my acumen for business—and expanding the business as well—I was no one’s idea of a great cook. I could definitely handle cooking the hot dogs, but the prep work needed to make the different condiments that people had come to expect from the truck would be more than I could do.
Even though Land was the minority owner and I could have outranked him, there was one glitch with that idea. We were engaged, due to be married in only a few months. Therefore, his opinion was equally as important as mine was in the business, so long as those decisions were financially feasible and designed to help us in the long run. I had been leery of having a business partner and romantic interest wrapped into one, but so far, Land had proven to have a great head for business and some fantastic marketing ideas.
In the end, we compromised. Carter, the current chef on Dogs on the Roll, would move to the new truck. Sabine would take over as the chef on the original truck, a job she’d done for months last fall.
We had no trouble agreeing that the new truck could not be on Government Square. The two trucks we owned were already there. Dogs on the Roll took the early shift and served hot dogs and coffee through lunch. Basque in the Sun took a split shift and served dinner with more complex entrees.
There was no place in that schedule or location for a taco truck. Land had suggested a site near the courthouse. It seemed appropriate since we were often involved with the law, and one of Capital City’s police stations resided in a high-rise on Government Square.
The only problem was that a few other trucks worked that area, all owned by Ryan Pohler. Ryan had a reputation in the food truck business, and it wasn’t a good one. Unlike my business, which had grown slowly over the course of a few years, Ryan had opened seven trucks in the first year, and three more in the past year.
Land liked to call him my archenemy, but I thought that term was too strong. I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t hate him. “I just don’t see how he can do it,” I’d said in one of our many conversations about the man. “I can’t see how he could possibly get so many trucks in that short of a time period.”
“And yet, he did,” Land said with his usual pithiness. Land was not known for communicating all of his thoughts and feelings. He’d kicked around the world and had a number of careers before settling down in Capital City to become a food-truck chef and owner—and fiancé.
He always claimed that my aunt had promised him the food truck as a bequest in her will, but she’d left her estate to me instead. I reminded him that he’d now be inheriting the truck via our marriage, but he doubted that my aunt had been that prescient to know that Land and I would meet and fall in love.
If I’d been entirely superficial, it would have been a given. Land was of Basque descent, which meant that he had olive skin with dark hair and eyes. The years of military service and other activities had left him with a lean, muscular body that was quite attractive, which I could attest to these days. At a deeper level, he was profoundly loyal, intelligent and not afraid to follow me into danger to solve a murder.
***
The city had created a food festival to highlight area restaurants. And, now that I owned a third truck, I was enormously thrilled that I would get to show it off on this warm spring day. Some of the eateries were traditional sit-down places that were serving a few menu items, while they had invited food truck owners to each bring one truck to the event.
For me, it was a no-brainer. Taco Inferno was the truck of choice for today’s event. Residents of Capital City already knew of the first two trucks, and both were financially supporting themselves and me. I wanted as much publicity for this new food truck as we could get. There would be discounted fare as well as full-priced items. Land and I would hand out flyers for the other two trucks.
Carter had asked for help inside the truck since the city was expecting over 100,000 people to attend the event. They’d closed off Maple and Walnut Streets for the pedestrians and allowed the food trucks to all park at one end of the barricaded streets.
I wasn’t thrilled when I walked by for the first time and saw one
of Ryan Pohler’s trucks sitting next to Taco Inferno. Curry in a Hurry was one of the latest of the Pohler trucks, and the one, I noticed, closest in proximity to our truck in its usual location by the courthouse.
“Great,” I said, looking at the line of customers for the curry truck already. My spirits fell slightly looking at the number of people going to the competition.
“Archenemy,” Land added with a smile.
“Enough jokes,” I retorted and handed him a stack of flyers for the food trucks.
Land’s sister, Sabine, was serving at the truck, and she only saw the other line as a challenge. Land growled a little at the sight of his sister leaning over the counter of the truck to show off her beautiful body. Sabine was the female equivalent of her brother. She was toned with dark hair and eyes and gorgeous. She grinned at the customers and lured more than a couple of customers, mostly men, to the truck.
I had a hunch that Sabine’s boyfriend, Detective Jax Danvers, wouldn’t appreciate the idea that his girlfriend was happily using her beauty for commerce. Though they’d dated for nearly a year, they were still very quiet about the relationship. We didn’t go out with them on double dates or run into each other at family occasions. I wasn’t sure what they were still hiding, but neither of them wanted to talk about their relationship or its future. I suspected that it was serious, but Land seemed to think that it would burn out shortly.
I spent 20 minutes trying to explain the concept of food trucks to one particular man at the event. “Taco Inferno is a play on words,” I explained.
“It makes is sound like you’ve burned the food,” he said, staring at the truck. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
I tried again to explain the concept and the need for a catchy name for the truck. Apparently, what I said must not have made sense, because he went to the Pohler truck and ordered a nice dish of Chicken Marsala.
“You’re doing it again,” Land said, looking entirely unfazed by the events. “You’re comparing yourself to someone else. That will drive you crazy. You should be happy with your path and your life.”
Despite my undying love for my fiancé, sometimes he sounded like a fortune cookie. Even though I knew that he was right, it didn’t make his words any easier. I was competitive by nature, and years of spreadsheets and profits and losses had made me unsure how other people seemed to be expanding faster than we were. Even if each truck was ridiculously profitable, he would be able to add one truck a year—at most.
The rest of the day went fairly well though. We handed out over 3000 flyers at the event. If even 10 percent of the people who took one bought a taco from us, that would be 300 new customers for the truck. That would be a great day for our business.
Pohler made it all the worse though at the end of the day. He stopped by, shook my hand, complimented me on the third truck and ordered two beef tacos. He was a short man, probably in his mid-forties, who exuded confidence and smugness. He had dark hair that was slicked back, and he had an obviously painted-on orange tan. If I was trying a bit too hard to match his success, he was trying too hard to show that he’d become a prosperous business owner. He took the tacos and walked back to his truck to eat.
“Should we do the same?” I asked. I liked Indian food, and Land had lived all around the world, so I was sure that he’d prepared and eaten the cuisine before.
He nodded. I went over and got orders from Carter and Sabine, who had not yet eaten this afternoon either.
His truck, Curry in a Hurry, was nicely appointed, but I noticed that it didn’t have the amenities that our newest truck possessed. The refrigerator was smaller, and the prep area didn’t have a place to hold knives and other utensils.
I let Land order for everyone. Likely, he knew the cuisine better and would know what Sabine wanted. I figured that I’d likely eat some of his and whatever he ordered for me. It took two of us to carry all the food back to the truck, and we dined in the prep area during a lull in the customer traffic.
The marsala was good, though the meat was a bit tougher than I’d expected. The saag paneer was not great. Land took two bites and threw it away. He made a face and explained, “The cheese tastes bad. Geez, what did he use—Velveeta?”
I laughed, thinking he’d done that entire thing to make me feel better, but since he’d legitimately thrown it in the trash, perhaps he’d been honest about the bad taste. I was curious as to what the bad taste was all about, but I wasn’t going dumpster diving to learn more. Still, I prided myself on the taste of our fare as much as its sales.
The rest of meal was good, and we finished off the dinner as a horde of dinner guests came up to the counter. Sabine took orders and made change as if she’d done this for years, and Carter had the tacos up and out in minutes. The truck seemed to be running fine.
Sensing my own thoughts that the business was under control, Land took me by the hand and informed the pair that we’d be back in a bit. I got an eyebrow waggle from Carter, which I chose to ignore. Carter, though only two years younger than me, had an adolescent sense of humor at times.
The walk did me good. Land and I walked hand-in-hand, just looking at the various restaurants and displays. Capital City had been trying to attract a younger, more vibrant crowd to downtown, and new restaurants and food trucks were a part of that plan. “See, all of these restaurants are here, and you’re not competing with them. So you should give Ryan Pohler’s trucks a rest too.”
I nodded. My business plans were proceeding beyond my dreams. So I should hardly be jealous of someone else who was two steps ahead of me. However, at the same time, he was so condescending at times that it made me want to scream. I’d been patronized all through school for liking numbers and accounting, as though women couldn’t handle numbers. Add to that my acumen with a spreadsheet, and the attitudes had been haughty on a good day.
We talked about the new truck and the upcoming wedding and our future. Land had a way of knowing my mood and trying to balance out my stress. I always felt at ease with him, and I hoped that this equilibrium lasted forever.
When we got back to the truck, the crowds had thinned out. Sabine was tabulating today’s till, and Carter was hard at work cleaning the prep area of the new truck, which he would be working alone starting tomorrow.
Sabine finished first and gave me a total that far exceeded what I had imagined for the day. Perhaps Land was right that just beating your own goals was enough. I fought the urge to re-count the money to be sure, but I resisted. I wouldn’t treat her as I’d been treated. She went to the prep area and set about finishing the rest of the cleanup.
Carter took the truck back to the secured lot, where we now rented a decent chunk of territory with three trucks. I had driven the Buick, since there was barely room in Land’s sport car for two of us, much less three.
The evening was over early, for which I was grateful. The new week started tomorrow, and not only would I be working with Sabine instead of Carter, I was keyed up about the new truck, its location and its ability to make a profit.
Land kissed me at the door to the building, long and passionate, reminding me of what I was giving up by going to bed early and alone. I sighed as I went upstairs to prepare for a new week.
***
Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. I had terrible dreams about our trucks being driven over a cliff by Curry in a Hurry as Ryan Pohler laughed at us. The smell of acrid smoke and our cuisine filled my nose, even though it was all in my head. I woke feeling grumpy and resentful.
Since I was awake, I made myself some coffee and reviewed the initial figures I’d drawn up for the truck. Everything was fine as far as I could see, but I was still concerned. While the earlier trucks had been an adventure and a lark, I was feeling the pressure of knowing that now my business decisions affected not only me, but also Land and others. The days of my moving home to live on my parents’ couch were long gone. That was an option I could no longer fall back on. I had responsibilities, and sometimes they w
eighed upon my mind.
I picked up the truck early. The other two trucks were right in place, and I knew that my fears were likely unfounded, so I made my way to Elm Street. I pulled into our normal space and began the morning’s preparation of coffee for the businesspeople who worked at nearby Government Square. The early morning crowd was the group that typically put us over the top in terms of profitability.
A key part of that was Land’s special blend of coffee, which he still wouldn’t share with me even though we were to be married in a few months. Sabine had told me that Land refused to share it with her either, even though they were blood. Land’s grandfather had come up with the particular ratio of beans and had sworn Land to secrecy for some reason. He did promise me that he’d tell our children, which I think was just his way of finding out if I wanted children—which I do.
Land always made it in bulk, sharing some with his family and the rest with the food trucks. It was a habit he’d started when he’d worked for my aunt, and he’d continued to make it for our ever-growing fleet of trucks.
Sabine turned up shortly after I arrived. Even though Land had expressed his doubts about his sister’s reliability, she’d been a model employee for the truck. She poured herself a large mug of the coffee, which she liked to say was her due since it was a family recipe. She put on an apron and got to work.
I opened the window and started filling coffee orders. Sabine had begun work on the condiments for the day, which typically would not be required until nine or so. It was the rare customer who wanted a hot dog for breakfast.
Sales were brisk that morning, and I kept busy. I was glad of the work, because I would have otherwise worried myself sick about the opening of the new truck. The plan was for it to be in place and operational by 9a.m., and so I was glad when that time came and I hadn’t heard from Carter. That meant that all was well—or he’d slept in and missed the whole thing. Thoughts like that made me want to check up on him.
FIVE WILL GET YOU TWENTY (Food Truck Mysteries Book 9) Page 1
