FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books)

by Chloe Kendrick

  Ninety percent of his history was related to either his personal email account, which apparently he could access at work, or accounting forums and message boards. There was one site that he visited frequently, a discussion board about particular accounting practices. I clicked on the link, and waited. The page was still active. I scanned down through it and the page appeared to be answering a question about the same accounting practices that Murray had mentioned in his emails. I couldn’t quite get the entire gist of the message, because apparently Murray’s inactive account had meant that his responses had been deleted. So it was like listening to one side of a phone call. The other users would even address him by name, and others would cut/paste his responses, but the original messages were gone. I decided to ask my dad about this rather than try to figure this one out on my own.

  I printed the pages from the forum off, along with the emails regarding the accounting practices. I tucked them all into a manila folder.

  Then I backed up Murray’s hard drive to one of the flash drives I had lying around. Then I backed up the emails and the browser history to a second flash drive. I looked down at the two sticks, wondering what to do with them. It was now that I actually missed my old apartment, where I’d had a secure hiding place for such things.

  I finally tucked them into the back of my silverware drawer behind a plastic divider that had separate spaces for each type of eating utensil. Unless a robber was going to be incredibly thorough, they would not find the flash drives.

  After that, I deleted everything again and shredded the hard drive so that everything was good and forever gone. I loaded a few pieces of software to it, and then loaded the machine in the car to take to Carter tomorrow.

  Chapter 6

  I had planned a meeting with my father for after work the next day. I had actually let Carter pick up the truck. I needed fast access to my car so that I could meet my father for drinks. I also needed my car so I could drop off the computer to Carter at the food truck. So it was just easier.

  I rolled into work around 4:45 a.m., and the truck was right where it should have been. I opened the door with one hand, trying to juggle the computer and my keys. I set the computer on the floor and got started on the morning’s work.

  “Why did you bring a computer here?” Carter asked. “They have these things called smartphones that act like a computer, but they’re much more portable.” He flashed me a smile to show that he wasn’t being as sarcastic as Land.

  I smiled. “It’s for you,” I said simply. “It was surplused from a local company, and I picked it up for a song. I thought you could use it now that I’m done with it.”

  Carter’s mouth fell open. “How did you know that I need one of these? I was thinking of taking some on-line classes on cooking, but the family computer was made in about 1700, so that was out. This looks pretty up-to-date.”

  Before I could answer, he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug. I was going to have to get used to this, I thought. Land would have grunted and gone back to work. While that technically wasn’t true, he probably would have given me a quiet thank you and gone back to work. Carter was much more open about his emotions. Or perhaps he was just normal, and I’d grown used to Land’s understated feelings. For a second, I wondered about how much time I spent thinking about him, but I had more to do at the moment.

  “Aaron had mentioned that you needed one. I had an extra lying around the house, so I cleaned it up for you.” Without getting into details about who had used the computer before him, I told Carter about the software and updates I’d applied to the machine. He was fairly knowledgeable about computers, so it was a fast conversation.

  The rest of the day went just as fast. There were no visits from Danvers, and Carter was in such a good mood that the truck cleanup was over in a flash. I grabbed the folder of information I’d gathered and headed to my car. It felt odd to be able to trust Carter with all the truck business while I went off to deal with an investigation.

  My dad had suggested that we meet at a coffee shop near his work. It was nearly 3 o’clock by the time I pulled into the parking lot. I saw my dad’s car, and I pulled in next to it.

  He was checking his phone when I walked into the coffee shop, and I was sitting down at the table before he noticed me. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?” he asked. He didn’t really wait for an answer. He motioned the waitress over, and I ordered an expresso. I was going to need some heavy-duty caffeine to get through the accounting lecture to come.

  We waited to talk about business until the waitress had delivered my drink. While we waited, my dad filled me in on family events. My mom was redecorating now that they were officially an empty-nest couple. I think that they had thought the last apartment was a trainer, and that the results could have gone either way: my getting a better place or my returning home. Since I was officially ensconced in a real apartment, they could move ahead with whatever plans they had for the house.

  After the waitress had deposited the drink and I’d taken my first sip, my father slid the folder across the table and started looking at it.

  “So what exactly do you want to know here?” he asked as he started with the forum’s message board.

  “I just want an overview. What was this guy talking about, and was he right to be concerned?” I thought about the tone of the emails and knew that he was concerned; however, other people at RGF Industries had played down the seriousness of the issue.

  “If I’m reading this set of messages correctly, yes, he was right to be concerned. The questions he had were about derivatives, which are an extremely volatile set of investments. It’s what helped cause the crash of 2008. So they need to be handled with extreme caution by someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve seen it bankrupt an entire company before.”

  “So why would the head of accounting for the company say that they were okay?” I asked. I could feel my focus return as the caffeine began to work. “Was he hiding something?”

  “That would be my suspicion, at least,” my father said. “One wrong move and he could theoretically sink the entire company.”

  I thought back to RGF’s office. I’d attributed the empty cubicles and the empty spaces to it being later in the day. However, the number of computers that were being surplused could point to a larger problem. RGF could be experiencing a massive layoff due to the mishandling of their finances. Longhill might have latched on to that, which would make him a target for anyone at the company who didn’t want that knowledge to become pubic.

  “What would happen to a company that made the wrong move?” I asked, wondering if I had something now that would help the police solve the disappearance. What if Murray had gone to the head of RGF Industries and told them about this situation? Would they have paid him off to leave? Would they have resorted to murder to keep a lid on the risky investments?

  “It could be the end of the company. The losses could be huge. I’d have to see more from the company to know the effects, but it could mean bankruptcy – and possible prison time for those who were involved. People should know better by now.”

  I pulled out the emails from Longhill to the accounting head and handed them across the table. “Here’s what I found on his computer. Does this help?”

  My father went white as he began to read the first page. “Where did you get these?” he asked me. “These emails belong to RGF Industries.”

  “I know. They were on a surplused computer I bought. I thought they might answer some questions. What’s the matter with you? You’re pale and sweating – too much caffeine?”

  My father patted down his forehead with a napkin. “No, just, um, just a surprise.”

  “What surprise?” I asked, having a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. My dad had nothing to be surprised about. He was solely a spectator in my investigation.

  “RGF is one of my firm’s clients. They have accountants who are assigned to the company, but those accountants report to me. So, technically, this is my mess.”
He took a long sip of his drink and then put it down again.

  “Wow, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.” Now I felt slightly nauseous as well. I wasn’t sure what to do with this information. RGF Industries could impact my father as well. If I could find it, the police could find it as well, which meant they’d know that my father was tangentially involved. That meant that I’d be under suspicion as well. Not of the murder, but of possibly tainting the crime scene or the evidence. The removal of files and shredding the hard drive from the computer would be looked on suspect as well.

  “You wouldn’t. I took over a bunch of accounts a few years back when one of the managers just up and left without a word. We scrambled for months to get things back under control. I took over the RGF account and it’s been mine, only in an oversight role, since then.”

  I hoped it was the expresso, but I was feeling sick now as well. “How long ago was it that the manager disappeared?” I asked, feeling like I already knew the answer.

  My dad shrugged. “Four or five years ago. It’s been a while. You were still in high school, I think.”

  “Was he balding and musclebound?” I asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

  “That’s him,” my dad said without realizing what he’d just confirmed.

  Now it was my turn to feel sick to my stomach. I’d given him a description of the man in my freezer, and my dad had identified him. I’d found the man who had shown up dead at my housewarming. It wasn’t a random event brought on by a bad address. Someone had wanted this manager’s body sent to me. I wasn’t sure why, but I knew it had to do with my father.

  While up until this moment I had assumed that the body had been dumped in my apartment by some cosmic mishap, I had been the intended recipient all along. The chances of it being a coincidence seemed far too high. The man who disappeared had been in the position my father now occupied.

  My mind came back to the present, and I realized my father was staring at me. “What’s going on with you? What is that expression?” Before I could speak, he called over the waitress and asked for a glass of water for me. He always thought that too much caffeine was unhealthy for me, though he drank it in quantities far larger than me. Since I got up every morning two hours before he did, I thought I had more than my fair claim to it.

  I tried to speak for a minute, but the words tripped over themselves trying to come out. The waitress returned and I was urged to take a drink or two before attempting to tell the story again. In the meantime, I debated whether I should tell him or not. Would he feel a need to tell his company or the police about the possible ID of the man? I prayed not, because barring a better answer, Danvers would likely make my father his prime suspect.

  I felt my heartbeat still somewhat and the churning in my stomach subsided. The shock was somewhat better than it had been.

  My father took my hand in his. “Judging from your reaction and the panic in your eyes, I’m guessing that the man you described was the one in the freezer in your apartment? Is that right? And now you think that I might have killed him?”

  I shook my head. Now the words came flowing out. “No, not at all. But I do worry that Detective Danvers might think so. All the links between you and me and the dead man are too much to be coincidence. Someone is framing you and throwing me under the bus for good measure. We need to find out who it is and stop them.”

  My dad gave me a sad smile, like the time he’d confirmed that Santa wasn’t real. “How do you propose going about doing that? What exactly are you got to tell the police? They’re going to figure this out sometime, and when they do, it will look twice as bad to learn that your father knew the dead man, and you’d kept silent. It would implicate us both.”

  “They haven’t found out yet. I have more time to figure this out before they likely have any information that could link us to the crime.” I remembered Danvers’ comment that the labs had been backed up. I knew that we’d likely have a week or more before the whole thing blew up.

  My father took a deep breath. “So how much time do you want?” My father had regained his managerial stance and spoke as if he was leading a project meeting. I wondered if anyone who reported to my father could be responsible for the murder of the guy in the freezer. Was this the work of an individual or possibly a corporation?

  “Can I have a week?” I asked. I tried to balance my estimate between the amount of time I would need and the amount of time I had before Danvers came to the same conclusions I had.

  My father sighed. “A week, but no more. Next week at this time, I’ll have to talk to the police.”

  I nodded. “Then I better get to work on this. You need to tell me all I need to know about the RGF scheme and who could be involved.”

  I’ll condense the lecture because my father went on for nearly 90 minutes about the possible scenarios where this could happen. The nutshell version was that someone fairly high up at RGF Industries had to have decided to invest in derivatives, an incredibly risky financial tool that allows companies to speculate on products. Apparently RGF had speculated heavily on oil and its prices, thinking it a safe bet that the prices would stay fairly level or increase.

  Instead prices had gone down in a big way. The price of oil at one point dropped from nearly $100 a barrel to under $40. Think about having $100 and then suddenly finding you had $40. Then multiply that by a thousand or a million or a billion. There’s nothing inherently wrong with derivatives or futures, if you are profitable with them. However, when companies don’t do well, it can be the end of the organization.

  That’s what RGF had done. RGF had apparently suffered from years of little to no growth in the marketplace, while their stockholders kept demanding more profits. To keep their jobs, the executives had bet on a future price of oil that was dead wrong. The company was suffering now and could easily go out of business.

  My father’s company was responsible for monitoring the financial performance of the company. They were supposed to report schemes like this up to management for discussions with the company. However, apparently that had not happened here, and RGF had made its bets and was now being forced to live with them. RGF had apparently covered their tracks well, and no audit had uncovered the scheme until it was too late.

  I could understand why Murray would have disappeared or been murdered. He’d uncovered the derivatives mess at his company. As a coworker had pointed out, he liked to make a scene of his discoveries, so the announcement would have been a huge ordeal. He either disappeared because of a threat or was removed. I thought back to the money he had in that portfolio. He’d come up with $50,000 in a relatively short period of time. Would he have asked for money in order to keep quiet? Had the people behind the schemes known that he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut forever and decided to quiet him for good?

  However, the manager from my dad’s company had clearly been murdered, or at least we knew that now. I needed to know the motive. Had he been in on the scheme and someone had taken him out to preserve the accounting firm? Or had he not gone along with the scheme and the same people behind Murray Longhill’s disappearance had a hand in making this manager keep quiet? The answer to that question would make a huge difference in how to go about investigating the matter.

  My dad told me that the man’s name was James Carr, and he would give me the family’s contact information tomorrow. Since we were both a little sick to our stomachs based on the revelations we’d discovered today, we chose not to eat. I waited until he left the parking lot to start crying.

  Normally when I have done something incredible, like get a lead in a case that I’m involved with, I will either gloat at Danvers or tell my parents, but both of those options weren’t available to me at the moment. Danvers would want to interrogate my father and possibly arrest him. My parents were already aware of the situation and giving me a week to prove that someone else was behind the disappearances.

  So instead I went to Land. He wouldn’t be my first choice for a sounding board, but given that he ty
pically helped me with these investigations, he’d be more likely to lend a listening ear than anyone else would.

  I stood outside of Land’s door, having not called or texted to let him know I was on my way. I was honestly concerned that he wouldn’t want to hear my story, and I needed to share this with someone I could trust.

  He opened the door. I was a bit surprised. He was shirtless, and I could see the lean flat abs that I’d only caught glimpses of before, and the flat pecs with the dark brown nipples. I was definitely distracted for a minute.

  I tried to process my thoughts for a few moments. He had to know that I was at the door, and yet he’d opened it wearing less than I normally saw him wearing at work. Had he wanted me to see him that way, or did I just look so bad that he took pity on me and opened the door regardless of what he was wearing.

  “Hold on,” he said. He went into the other room and came back with a t-shirt on. I was still puzzled, but I knew my brain was just trying to avoid dealing with the issues of my father’s business. “So what’s up? You look like someone ran over your dog.”

  That was Land all over for you. I came to talk and sort things out – and he gave me a grisly image that I didn’t want in my mind.

  I explained the situation to him in detail. He seemed to have no problems understanding derivatives. I figured that he’d probably worked with them in yet another career that I had no idea about. The man had more hidden parts of his life than I had parts in total of my life. I’d once described him as an onion that was peeled to reveal more levels than before.