FOOD TRUCK MYSTERIES: The Complete Series (14 Books)

by Chloe Kendrick

  It still didn’t answer my questions about how he was able to afford the trucks either. The things that he was doing, the substandard materials in his products, and the occasional counterfeiting seemed to be small change compared to what was needed to buy a new vehicle and get it ready for the market. I still couldn’t make those numbers make sense.

  “I’d started working there. I’d probably been there a few months. He approached me, said he wanted to talk to me privately. I thought I’d done something wrong, that maybe he was going to fire me.”

  “Had you done anything?” I asked, wanting to know if the man’s behavior had led to the blackmail or if it had been a random occurrence. It would only aggravate my worries that I’d done the wrong thing in hiring him.

  “Not that I could think of. Anyway, he pulls me aside and tells me that he knows my secret. He’s pretty explicit about what he knows, so I mean there was no possibility that he was guessing or trying to bluff me into telling him something. I started to get excited and upset about it, and he told me that he’d never tell a soul, but in return, I’d have to do some things he wanted me to do.”

  “Like what?” I asked, wondering what other trouble Ryan had caused.

  “At first, it was just a few things. I worked a few hours off the clock once or twice. I had to do some deliveries for him with the suppliers. Nothing terrible.”

  “So when did he start suggesting that you pass the bad bills?”

  “Last month, after you announced that you’d be parking a truck in the same part of town as Curry in a Hurry. He seemed kind of pissed off about that. Anyway, he gave me the bills and told me that I needed to eat there daily and give you a bad bill each day. It wasn’t ethical, but I wasn’t afraid of getting caught. It seemed more like another one of his oddball requests. It seemed so small-time and pointless that I didn’t worry too much. He would likely get caught if he was sending me to the same place every day.”

  “Did he ever ask you to slice the tires on the new truck?” I asked, thinking back to Carter’s first day on the job.

  He laughed. “No, nothing like that. He would have me go the bank and make deposits and then withdraw almost the exact same amount. I was always like, ‘just keep what you have,’ but he wouldn’t.”

  An idea started to form in my mind. I wasn’t sure how it would work, but it would definitely involve someone who worked at a bank. I wondered what Albert did for a living. I’d have to ask him when I talked to him.

  “Any other weird requests?” I asked, my mind thrashing through the possibilities as fast as it could.

  “Not that I can think of. Isn’t that enough?”

  I nodded.

  He picked up his things and started to leave. He looked back at me as though he wasn’t sure he’d see me tomorrow. “So?”

  “See you at five,” I replied.

  Chapter 7

  The talk with Thomas had left me with two important paths to follow. The first was to talk with Albert Ruschman, who seemed to be another of the people who was passing bad twenties. The other was to find out how Pohler had learned about the faked resume so quickly. My best guess was that Pohler had hired someone to look into the matter. It wasn’t unusual for small businesses to hire an investigator or service to ensure that people were who they said they were.

  I wanted to know who had provided that service for Ryan Pohler. Had it been a one-time hire or someone that he used frequently? If I had to guess, I was going to assume that Pohler had hired someone who was just as unethical as he was. I wondered if that person could enlighten the investigation as to what he’d worked on.

  Realistically, that meant I needed to involve Detective Danvers. The Capital City Police had the manpower and the expertise to quickly find the person who had worked with Pohler. I could spend weeks, if not months, calling private investigators and firms to find out if they’d done work with Pohler. The police would likely know who to ask first and expand the search from there.

  They’d also have the authority to ask the investigator questions and find out what they knew. I had no such power. I had to rely on my charm and my brains to get people to cooperate with me. The police could use authority and intimidation.

  After I got home that evening, I called Danvers and told him what I knew. He seemed inordinately pleased that I’d fired Sabine, though in reality she had actually walked off the job by not showing up, and then not even calling to apologize. I still hadn’t heard from her, and it had been three days now. Perhaps I’d misread her, and Land was right about his sister. I couldn’t be sure since she wasn’t talking to me.

  Danvers indicated that he’d put someone on the search immediately and hung up before I could ask any questions.

  I spent the rest of the evening going over the guest list for our own wedding. The time was getting closer, and I felt very unprepared for the event. It was hard to believe that it was happening so soon.

  Land and I had not decided on the wedding party for the ceremony. I had decided not to have my father give me away. I was working and we were paying for the wedding, so I was my own person and wasn’t anyone’s to give. I had been contemplating Sabine as the maid of honor, but I was second-guessing that now, since she’d left like that. I could go with a college friend, but with my hours, I didn’t get to see them much. It felt cheap to ask one of them to participate when I would likely not have much time for them afterward either. Land had discussed inviting Detective Danvers to be the best man, but given the current relationship status between Danvers and his sister, that was also not the best idea.

  I fell asleep on the sofa and woke the next morning with the guest list stuck to my cheek. That was not an auspicious start to my day. Even after a shower, I still had a touch of ink on my cheek. I ignored it as I picked up the truck and headed to Elm Street.

  I was shocked when I saw one of Ryan Pohler’s trucks in my usual spot. While Capital City does not allow food trucks to reserve particular spots in the city, the common knowledge is that people grow used to seeing a particular truck in a spot so that they can find the type of food they want.

  I’d been in the same location for over two years without issue—until now. I pulled up and parked next to Curry in a Hurry. I wasn’t quite sure what the thinking was behind the move by the Pohler truck. First, it would leave the other location with only our new truck to serve all the customers in that locale. I pulled out my phone and texted Carter, telling him about the situation and asking him to come in a half-hour earlier if possible. This would allow more customers to sample Land’s blend of coffee, and perhaps make us some more long-term customers.

  The second thing that it did was pit our truck against theirs. I wasn’t sure of the logic there. No one would be able to find Curry in a Hurry, so their original customer base would be lower. Also the dishes served at the truck were more of the sit-down fare. Hot dogs were for people on the go, and our demographics were the folks who had 30 minutes to buy something and eat it on the run. That was one reason why Land’s truck, Basque in the Sun, started later, so that people who wanted sit down dishes for dinner could have our fare.

  However, I wasn’t looking for a fight today. I’d already seen the lengths to which Ryan Pohler was willing to go to conduct business, and I didn’t want to be in the family’s crosshairs. Their window was down, so I chose to start my own morning rituals. Thomas came into the food truck, looking more visually upset at the tactic than I was.

  “What’s going on? Why is that truck there?” Thomas stuttered out. The morning was brisk outside, but I had an idea that his teeth were chattering for another reason.

  “No idea. I came in at five like usual, and the truck was here. They must have pulled it over here last night to make sure they got the spot first. I’m not sure that’s a great move, because the neighborhood can be a bit dicey at times.”

  Thomas nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. “It’s just that I don’t trust them—at all. You shouldn’t either. Have you considered moving to
another location?”

  The mere question raised my hackles. I wasn’t the type to look for a fight, but neither was I going to run from such a direct challenge. I opened the window to see a few customers already in line. It was good to know that we had a loyal base of people; however, I knew that they’d go elsewhere if the competition offered free coffee or similar fare at a lower price. My passive acceptance of the intruding truck was postponed now that I might have a price war going on. Plus, it meant that the wedding dress of my dreams would not be in my price range either.

  By 7a.m. the other truck was still shuttered. I wasn’t sure what type of business they ran, but it seemed lackadaisical at best. “What time did you normally open at the other location?” I asked, starting to get suspicious.

  “Six o’clock sharp, every day. No questions or excuses.”

  They still had not opened the window by 10 a.m. A few people stopped and looked at the other truck before coming over, but I wasn’t sure what was going on. The permits were specific that we could not leave vehicles unattended for too long and could not leave them in one place indefinitely. I wondered at what point this would become an issue.

  Detective Danvers stopped by around 10:15. I wasn’t sure what the impetus for this visit was. It could be personal or any number of things. It was earlier than he normally stopped by, so I knew it was likely to be important.

  “So what’s up with the truck next door?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Someone got your spot?”

  I explained the situation to him quickly. He nodded, but didn’t take notes or appear too concerned.

  “This truck was reported stolen last night. And here it is today, right next to you. Interesting, don’t you think?”

  I stared at him for a second before speaking. “If I were to steal a truck—and that’s a huge if —I wouldn’t be so stupid as to park the thing right in my normal spot so that I would have to park near it. I’d park it somewhere more neutral—like maybe right outside of my apartment. Geez,” I said, rolling my eyes for effect.

  Sometimes I suspected that he really said these things just to annoy me, but at other times I worried that Danvers really thought I was that stupid and wanted to arrest me for whatever crime was on the books. It galled me when he behaved that way. I knew that if I did ever commit a crime, he’d never find out that the crime had even occurred, much less be able to figure out who did it.

  I handed him a coffee, on the house, and he took a sip. He looked again at the other truck. “I think I’m going to take a look at their truck.”

  “Are you going to call a forensics team?” I asked. “After all, it was reported stolen.”

  Danvers sighed. “Hand me a pair of gloves, will you?” He took the latex gloves I offered and put them on, setting his coffee on the counter again as I took another order. Thomas had done admirably with the prep and the service so far today. Danvers didn’t seem to give any indication that he knew who Thomas was or how he fit into the matter. The chef, however, hadn’t taken his eyes off the policeman. Perhaps he just thought Danvers to be a good-looking man.

  Taking his coffee in his gloved hands, Danvers walked in the direction of the other truck. Business had picked up, and all I could do in the matter was look sideways out of our window from time to time. I would have given anything to have been with him—well, anything but a day’s pay. So I waited for him to return.

  It didn’t take long. Danvers was back at the truck in a few minutes, looking upset. “I don’t know how you do it, but you just can’t help it, can you? You’re like a murder magnet of some sort—the Jessica Fletcher of Capital City, Scooby-Doo of the food trucks.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” I asked, feeling unjustly accused.

  “You and murders. There’s a dead body in the truck, as if you didn’t know that. I’d guess they’ve been dead at least twelve hours. At first I thought it was a kid, but it’s an adult—a little person.”

  “Bernadette!” I said before I could stop myself. Immediately, I knew that I’d said the wrong thing and too much all at once.

  “Okay, spill it. How much do you know about this murder? You knew the victim, and it’s the same woman who passed the phony twenties, isn’t it? Did you or Sabine talk to her before she died? That’s just great.”

  “It’s murder?” I asked. Danvers apparently wasn’t thinking before he spoke either.

  “Yes, it is. As if you didn’t know. Shot in the head, just like Pohler. In the middle of the forehead, just like Pohler. Found dead in a truck, just like Pohler. This is definitely the same killer as the last time,” he said emphatically.

  “Were there other things that made you think that it was the same killer?” I asked, wanting to know more.

  “Of course, but I’m not telling you about the evidence in a murder case; just know that this is the second gun death in a food truck in less than a week. It’s not like Capital City gets a ton of those every year.” His face was red, and I wondered if he was also angry that Sabine wasn’t here. Had he thought that she still worked for the truck? I wondered how much communication still passed between them, but I wasn’t about to ask now. Sabine could rat me out about the visit to Bernadette and what the woman had said. Danvers would not be happy to learn any of that, but I decided to take my chances. I doubted that the murder case would be their first topic of conversation in any meeting they had.

  I didn’t speak, and he eyed me. “What exactly do you know about this woman? How do you know her?”

  I knew I was safe on this matter, because I’d already told him about Bernadette and Pohler and had shown him the photos I’d taken. Danvers had gone straight to Pohler and found a dead body. He hadn’t followed up with the woman in the photos. I had.

  I explained how I’d found Bernadette through the café after I’d learned that Pohler had been behind the counterfeit bills. I’d talked to her, and she’d indicated that Pohler had blackmailed her into helping him pass the counterfeit bills. She hadn’t had a choice in the matter, but he’d kept it very small-time, and they’d only passed bills to my truck.

  “Why only your truck? What exactly did you do to this guy so that he picked you as the sole recipient of fake twenties?”

  “I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I think when I can answer those questions, I’ll know who killed Ryan Pohler —and Bernadette.” I felt a little choked up about the woman’s death. Ryan Pohler had been an annoyance to me, and while I wasn’t advocating his murder, his death meant little to me. However, Bernadette had been a victim of circumstances. She had just known their daughter. She’d been dragged into the situation against her will, and as such, she’d deserved a break rather than violence.

  As far as motive went, I suspected that the killer wanted her dead because he or she was concerned that the woman knew too much. She was a threat to someone—at least the killer thought so—and she’d been eliminated. I wondered what she’d known and why she had kept it to herself.

  My mind went to the others who had also passed the counterfeit bills. Would they also be in danger? Danvers had no ideas who they were, but I had one of them in spitting distance from him. I didn’t want to sell Thomas out to the police. He’d been put in an awful situation and had made a bad choice. I had no idea what Danvers would say if he knew that a potential witness was so close.

  However, I just smiled and continued working. Since he’d found the body at the peak of my daily business, I couldn’t watch much of what was going on. I had to pour coffee and take orders. I could see a crime-scene team head into the other food truck, but I never had a chance to see them leave because ten people wanted multiple hot dogs. I was happy for the business and the sales, yet I wanted a chance to see what was going on.

  By the time the lunch rush had died down, so had most of the activity on the other truck. I made a motion to Thomas, who had not said a thing despite the fact that I was sure he’d heard every word.

  I casually walked over to the oth
er truck. Danvers stood outside, waiting and checking his phone. I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Not much to tell yet. They’ve taken the body away. The killer used a small-caliber gun, which is what the first autopsy showed. There’s nothing that points to two killers yet. It’s all adding up to someone wanting to hide things about the counterfeiting. That could point to the mob or some other nefarious organization. Know anything about that?”

  I thought of Thomas’ call to the people who gave discounts on food that wouldn’t pass muster and their paranoia over my call. I wondered if they had anything to do with the killings since it came so close to the time I’d called them. What I did know was that Bernadette obviously knew more than she had let on. And I knew that my next stop would be Albert Ruschman.

  Chapter 8

  Not much was going on at the crime scene, so I took the opportunity to text Land about the developments. I also tried to call Albert Ruschman again, but I got no answer there. I found an address on the web and decided that I would be going to visit him after the shift was over.

  Land found his way over to the food truck as soon as he arrived. “How is it going?” he asked after giving me a long kiss. Thomas hadn’t spoken since Land arrived, but kept to his cleaning. Land wasn’t particularly interested in the new employee, because he’d made his opinion clear that he thought it would blow up in my face at some point.

  I explained how I’d found the food truck in my spot that morning and that no one had opened for business. Land listened to my story, gave me a peck on the cheek, and went to find Danvers.

  I kept myself busy by counting the cash while he was gone. I’d started getting the coffee ready for tomorrow by the time he returned.