FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books)

by Chloe Kendrick

  I nodded. “It means a whole lot more to me than that. Do you trust me, I mean, really trust me? Because I’m going to do something that requires you to open up to me.”

  He winced. Apparently that was not high on his list of things to do today. “What do you want?”

  “You’re ex-military, aren’t you?” I swallowed hard, waiting for his reply. In my head, I urged him on—to tell me the truth.

  He squinted his eyes and stared at me for a minute. “Yeah, I am, not sure where you’re going with this though.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “What do you know about IEDs?”

  His mouth dropped open. “Wherever I thought you were going with this, it sure as hell wasn’t there. I know enough. Saw some people lose an arm or a leg over them. Why are you asking this?”

  I explained. The NBG Security team was not going into the building to ensure its safety. It was going into the building to plant some sort of explosive. The food trucks needed to be in the vicinity so that they could detonate the bombs at the proper time. They would want to wait until all of the witnesses were inside but the defendant was not yet. If they did it right, the mob boss could be right outside or on the government square so that it could even appear as if he was the target, but in fact the bombs would be for all the witnesses and not the defendant. Without witnesses, there would be no trial and no conviction.

  “You mentioned the Russian mob before, but this is just as bad as anything they could possibly do.”

  Land’s eyes were wide now. “We need Danvers now. It’s the only way it’s going to work.” He pulled out his phone and texted Danvers a short message. He hit send and waited. After three minutes, I tried. No reply to me either.

  “Damn him,” Land said, “he’s probably doing another interview with the press. We don’t have the time to wait much longer for him. We’ve got maybe 20 minutes before the defendant arrives and this plan goes into action. We can’t wait for him.”

  I nodded in agreement. Time was running out. “Do you have any contacts that could help?”

  Land took a deep breath. “I know a guy who has radio scramblers. I’m going to call him. He can hook them up using the food truck. If he can get here in time, he can prevent the other trucks from setting off the bombs. That would be the ideal situation.”

  I swallowed hard, thinking about what I was going to say next. I was actually going to put myself on the line for a guy who said that our kiss was a mistake. I wondered if he would do the same for me. To be totally honest, I wasn’t sure. He might get his suit dirty and not look good in the media.

  As for me, I was wearing wrinkled clothes that smelled of hot dogs and coffee. I had nothing to lose in the looking good department at the moment.

  “We have to find the bombs,” I said. “Someone needs to go inside and find the witnesses and find the bombs.”

  Land nodded. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s dangerous, and if you’re close to the weapons when they go off, you could be killed. That’s too much.”

  “I could say the same to you. It’s too dangerous for you as well.”

  Land’s face told me that something was up. Maybe I just knew him well, but he would stink as a poker player.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I still do some freelance missions for companies and individuals. I might have a client for this—who wants what you do—to stop these bombs.”

  I looked at him. We had a lot to talk about when I got back. “I’m still heading in. You need to help your friend, and you need to target the trucks that have the remote controls. Any NBG food truck could have a remote to set them off.”

  I started to leave, then turned and gave him a hug. Land had been a good friend and a fantastic chef, and I wanted to let him know that, even if I didn’t have time to get a Hallmark card.

  I was surprised when he hugged me back, tightly and fully. It was not what I had expected. Now I had an even better reason to return from this mission. I had to find out what the hell that was all about.

  I took off into the building. Land had started by going to the first food truck that he saw. It was definitely a NBG truck. It had been on the report he’d given me.

  I stopped at the entrance to the building. There was a line of security guards standing by the door. Each was checking a list and either allowing people to enter or escorting them out the door. I knew better than to think that I would ever be Danvers’ plus one. Drastic times called for drastic measures. I reached in my bag, grabbed the stack of cash for the day’s receipts, kissed it as hard as I could, and threw it into the air.

  The reaction was instantaneous. People rushed out of line to grab a few dollars. They crossed the line, hoping to pick up a few dollars. The security detail had their hands full, trying to get people back in line. I ducked past two people grabbing dollar bills and headed inside. One of the security team saw me, gave a signal, and started after me. The elevator doors closed before he reached me.

  I got off on the second floor, knowing that there would be people waiting for me higher up. They were worried about the witnesses, but in the wrong way. At least now, I knew that a red flag had been thrown up. I hoped that the security detail would be smart enough not to allow the witnesses to congregate, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I started with the side of the building closest to the square, unsure of how far the radio signals could travel. I wanted to focus my search on the areas that could most likely hold the bomb. I didn’t have to search hard. In a storage closet, I found the device sitting on the floor. It consisted of explosives taped to a cheap cellphone. I took the knife I’d been carrying, one of Land’s favorites, and cut the wires. One down.

  I sent a message to Land, telling him that it was no longer just a theory and that I’d disarmed a bomb.

  The return text said, “Might have to hire you. Took out one driver.”

  He didn’t say a word about the guy with the radio scramblers, so I had to work as if he wasn’t coming. I knew that the courtrooms were on the seventh floor. So I decided to slowly work my way up. I couldn’t use the elevators, since I figured someone would be watching them by now. I would have to take the stairs. The building had two sets of stairs. The first was the standard get out of the building stairs required by the government for evacuation purposes. The second was an old-fashioned set of stairs that led from one floor to the next. I slowly went to those stairs, hoping that no one was there. The landing was quiet, so I crept to the next floor. I was extremely grateful for my sneakers and the lack of noise. I could hear voices above me, so I knew that a few floors above, I would need to come up with a new plan.

  There were no explosive devices on this floor that I could see. I checked my watch. I’d spent five minutes just on this floor, meaning that I only had about seven minutes remaining before this building exploded. I tried to focus on the task at hand and not imagine a huge fireball that used to be this building.

  The fourth floor had another device and I slashed the wires as fast as I could. At this point, I only had four minutes left. The crime boss was supposed to be here in about eight minutes, and I figured that the bombers would want to make it look as if they were out to get the defendant rather than all the witnesses. Time was running out.

  I stepped out of the closet and my luck ran out. Danvers and a group of men, all in their finest police regalia, stood just down the hall. “What the hell?” Danvers shouted at me. He gave chase and I sprinted in the other direction. The old government building had been designed with the hallways leading in a huge rectangle. My choices were limited, and if I found nothing, I’d end up right where I started—and where the group of decorated police officers stood.

  I didn’t get that far. Danvers caught up to me as I rounded the first corner of the rectangle and tackled me to the ground. He slapped a pair of handcuffs on me before I could even fight back.

  “What the hell are you doing here? I don’t know how you got past security, but I know you’re not supposed to be here. Th
is is a secure area for the witnesses.” He hauled me up to my feet by the cuffs.

  “There’s a plan. They’re going to blow up this building with all the witnesses in it. We don’t have much time.” I panted.

  Danvers looked aggrieved at me. “Is this like yesterday?”

  I told him to check the janitor’s closet. His demeanor changed drastically when he saw the disabled IED. He got on his phone and demanded that the building be evacuated immediately.

  My watch was on my arm behind me, but I knew that we only had two minutes or less remaining. My phone buzzed and then buzzed again. I thought it had to be Land, telling me to get out now. I screamed at Danvers to get moving, and he took me by the cuffs and started running toward the old staircase. He was still on his phone when the line went dead. “What the hell? What’s going on?”

  I looked out the window of the landing. There was someone using the battery from the food truck to power up a machine. “There’s a scrambler out there,” I said, trying to point at it with my face.

  Danvers looked and saw the man in front of the food truck. “I recognize him. He’s one of Land’s old friends. I’m not surprised.”

  We headed down the rest of the stairs. Land came sprinting up to Danvers, explained the situation and the two of them ran off to collect the remaining NBG food trucks—leaving me in handcuffs.

  Chapter 15

  The resulting media storm got Jax Danvers more than his share of attention. Since Land was not in a position to want notoriety, Danvers assisted him by taking credit for the entire investigation.

  Once we knew the motive, several steps were taken. The trial was moved to a secured location in another part of the state. Witnesses were given protection until they testified and no two witnesses were allowed to congregate at any time during the trial. Danvers gave his testimony and gave an hour-long interview to the local press after the guilty verdict was returned.

  NBG was indicted for its role in the conspiracy. Jacob Stanton turned state’s evidence and provided the DA with enough evidence to prove that they had bribed Linda Zoz, given me $30,000—which they then took back—and hired the snipers. Betty had become aware of the plot, and she had been coming to talk to me about the situation when she’d been shot.

  Andy Zoz, now less worried about his own life, came forward and shared that Linda had indeed taken the money from NBG. I did point out that fact to Jax Danvers on several occasions, making sure he knew that I had been telling the truth the entire time.

  As for me, I was pleased to see that Linda Zoz’s death had not been in vain. A dangerous killer and an evil corporation had both been dealt with because of her death. I knew that she would have been pleased.

  With NBG closed down, I had to pay for my own repairs to the food truck. It had hurt my bottom line significantly, since I had to replace an axel, a front panel and a tire, but it just meant that Land would have to stay in the truck with me a while longer. He didn’t seem to mind, though he didn’t come out and say it.

  ~ END ~

  A REAL GYRO

  Chapter 1

  Blood flowed everywhere. I tried not to get sick as I found a towel to help staunch the flow. The smell of the fresh blood made my stomach roil, thinking of the other times I’d encountered that smell. The blood finally stopped, and I tried to thank the applicant for his interest in being a part of my food truck. I probably failed at that when I rolled my eyes. He offered me the towel back as he walked out, but I just told him to keep it.

  The latest applicant to potentially become my new chef had nearly taken off his finger with a fancy knife trick that—obviously—didn’t work. Even though I’d pointedly told him that I wasn’t looking for a showman on the truck, he’d managed to cut some vegetables into cute flowers before he cut himself a ticket to the hospital.

  I was in the middle of trying to determine where a new food truck would be located. My current food truck, Dogs on the Roll, was doing so well that I thought a second location made good business sense. My chef was all in favor of this, since he would be in charge of the second food truck and be away from me. I dreaded not having his skills on the truck and equally dreaded the task of trying to find someone to fill his shoes.

  Another failed experiment had been Janelle Nolan, who had lasted all of an hour during her trial run. She’d sounded good on paper: good schools, good family, and excellent references. However, sometimes I suspect that personal testimonials are just a way for these people to get rid of the nuisance they hope to foist on to you. Janelle had started the shift well, but within 20 minutes, she’d unilaterally decided to open the food truck two hours later, and to add three dishes to the menu without the approval of our chef, Land Mendoza. I escorted her out as she hurled a few ugly threats my way.

  I had been worried that Land would take her side in the interview, taken in by her perkiness and missing her less obvious flaws. He had a smirk that showed in the sparkle in his eyes whenever I mentioned her now. I knew he felt I was jealous, but I had no desire to be like Janelle. Nor did I have any desire to work with her.

  I’d inherited the food truck from my late aunt, who had started Dogs on the Roll with a woman she knew and loved. After both of them had passed away, I got the truck, despite the fact that Land Mendoza, chef extraordinaire, had mentioned more than once that he’d been promised the truck in my aunt’s will. That issue had never been resolved as the will was clearly in my favor, but after working with him, I decided to give him the run of a second food truck, should there ever be one.

  Despite the rocky start to our relationship, Land and I had begun to work in harmony and the truck had flourished. Now we were looking to expand to other markets. Our plans hadn’t gotten much farther than that. We hadn’t decided on a name or a cuisine yet. Those would come later after the finances were scrutinized.

  Land was pushing for a Basque-styled cuisine, since that was his home turf. He had come to the United States several years ago, looking for a fresh start. While he’d never told me about his past, I had to assume that he’d been in some line of police or military work before coming here.

  While I liked the Basque foods I’d sampled from Land, I still wasn’t sold. I knew that it was trendy, but our current business was based on rather traditional fare. I worried about taking on such a different menu. He even had picked out a name for the truck, “Basque in the Sun.” For someone whose first language wasn’t English, I was impressed that Land had put such thought into a pun.

  One of the issues I wasn’t looking forward to with a new truck was the hassle related to getting the permits and health inspection. These things had held my aunt up for months as she tried to meet all the hurdles in order to begin operations. However, I’d been told that the number of trucks in the area was actually down, and that I shouldn’t have any issues in getting the needed paperwork. This made my decision to move forward easier.

  Land had suggested that we start with hiring a new chef to help me out. When my aunt had left me the truck, I’d known nothing about restaurant management. I had a newly-minted degree from a prestigious business school, but I had no experience in food services. Land had been invaluable in the early days, and even now, I was frightened of the thought of taking off the training wheels and trying to ride on my own. We’d still be using Land’s recipes and Land’s coffee blend, so the customers wouldn’t notice a change in personnel, but I looked to him on a daily basis to help me.

  We’d interviewed two dozen people—at least—before we settled on one. Many of the would-be chefs were hipsters who wanted to be a part of the food truck movement. Others were people who had a long work record that consisted of many three-month jobs. I wanted someone with some food service experience who wanted to perhaps find opportunity in my fledgling business.

  Carter Smith was different. He was a recent graduate from a culinary institute who had been forced to come home due to family circumstances. His father had passed away, and his mother was unable to take care of the house and his younger sibl
ings herself. The early shift until 2 p.m. worked for him; it allowed his mother to continue her nursing job on a later shift so that the kids were looked after.

  He was my age, perhaps a year or two younger. He was good-looking. It figured, since my curse was to be surrounded by attractive men with whom I shouldn’t become involved. While Detective Jax Danvers had a built physique and Land had a darker complexion and smoldering good looks, Carter had that boy-next-door look down. He had dark hair cut in a rather plain style, dark brown eyes and a broad smile that made it hard to say no to him. I wanted that smile to command customers to buy more food from him.

  Carter had started coming in on a regular basis as he tried to get things settled at home. He was working three days a week with us, which gave him four days to work with his mother and family. The arrangement so far was perfect, but of course, the real test would be when Land went to the other truck, and I had to work daily with just Carter.

  Despite how well things were going, there was one persistent thorn in my side—Janelle Nolan. I’d seen her lately in our vicinity, which likely spelled trouble. She had fulfilled some of the threats that she’d uttered on the way out of the truck that fateful day.

  About four weeks after the interview, her threats had come true when she’d swiped a truck that we’d been looking at. We had been haggling over the price with the seller when he’d called to inform us that the truck had been taken.

  I had been vacillating because I’d heard a rumor from a tarot card reader who worked on Elm Street, where we park, that the truck was haunted. While that sounds a bit too supernatural for me, the tarot card reader was a huge gossip and knew everything that went on in downtown Capital City. I trusted her opinion for reasons other than her cards.

  Land had practically howled when he heard my objection, but after all of the issues that we’d had with murder, I had begun to put a certain stock in staying away from certain elements. Haunted trucks were one such thing. The reader had been vague about the exact nature of the haunting, but to me that meant dead bodies and murder, two things that I wanted to stay away from in the future.