A GRAVE CONCERN (Food Truck Mysteries Book 8) (2 page)

Danvers already had a cup of coffee in his hand, so I knew that he’d gotten what he came for. Things had been quiet for quite some time around the food truck, and for the most part, Danvers’s previous visits to discuss crime had become mere chats about the weather and sports. I’d had a quiet respite in my life since my friend’s wedding back in May.

Yet I still felt a chill sometimes when I saw Danvers, thinking he was bringing us news of a murder or crime. Apparently Danvers did not have anything to say as he gave me a smile and headed back to the police offices across Government Square.

The square was literally that—a large cement square with two skyscrapers along half the perimeter and two open sides, with my truck on the Elm Street side. Huge cement balls kept trucks and cars from driving onto the square, so that pedestrians could take part in lunch in nice weather or run to their office without worrying about cars in inclement weather.

During these last weeks of warm weather, the homeless people stayed at the farthest corner away from the skyscraper where the police had offices. It was the corner nearest to my food truck. As Carter started cleaning up for the day, I counted the cash and got the bank deposit ready to go. I didn’t want to make Carter think that anything suspicious was going on. I wanted him to not have to worry about the truck.

I finished counting and stuffed the cash and receipts into the deposit bag. I turned to Carter. “Land and I were talking at his food truck,” I began.

“I’m sure,” Carter interrupted. He gave me an eyebrow waggle that had been his trademark since he’d started. Even though he was only two years younger than me, Carter could be immature for his age. He thought that Land and I were having a tryst in the midst of soup and fish entrées on the other truck.

“Land and I decided that perhaps you should have a raise,” I continued, ignoring his comments. I named a figure that would be a pleasant boost in his paycheck, while still leaving the food trucks on track to make a record profit this year. One of my goals for the winter was to design and start implementing my next business project. I wasn’t sure what it was going to be yet, but I was hoping to have it started before the wedding.

He whistled. “Thank you. You don’t know what that means to me.” He looked like he was about to say more, but then he stopped and went back to work.

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind at the moment. I started to get the hot dogs together for the homeless people on the square. We had made too much guacamole, and I liberally applied it to the hot dogs. I took out four on the first trip and gave them to some of the regulars. There was an older woman, whose name was Delores. She’d told me a few things about herself, enough to strongly suggest that she battled a mental illness. Her pronouncements about the weather and other people were invariably wrong. Albert was a younger man; I’d given him a backstory of military service and PTSD, though we’d never spoken. The diagnosis fit since he would tend to disappear into the crowd whenever there were loud noises in the area.

I didn’t see the man I had met yesterday—the familiar-looking man with the ravenous appetite. I went back for seconds at the truck, so that I would have a reasonable excuse to look around. However, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I handed out the last of the hot dogs and went back to the truck.

I said my good-byes to Carter and drove the truck back to the lot.

Land had already made plans with me to come over that night, so I knew I wouldn’t be running again. I spent the time tidying up the apartment a little bit and then kicking back with a book to wait for his arrival.

Since I had to be up at 4 a.m. the next day, Land knew that it would be an early evening. He brought over sandwiches that he’d made at the end of his shift. I’d never asked him if he continued the donations to the homeless with the second truck, but I figured that he likely did.

We curled up on the couch, and Land picked a mindless television program to watch while we ate and talked. I wasn’t paying much attention to the program. My mind kept wandering back to the homeless man I’d seen. Where was he tonight?

I jerked upright when the commercial appeared. Land paused the TV and looked at me. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked with concern.

“That man,” I said, pointing to the screen. “That’s him.”

“That’s he,” Land replied, pointing out yet again that, even as someone for whom English was a second language, he hadn’t picked up 25 years of bad habits. “And who is he?”

I looked him in the eyes. I’d told Land some stories that other people wouldn’t believe over the years, but this one would strain the imagination. “That’s the homeless guy I saw arguing in the park.”

“J Hamilton Preston, the city council candidate?” Land’s eyebrow went up. “You think he was the man you saw getting donations from you and then in the park arguing with the other person?”

I nodded. “I knew he looked familiar at the time, and now I know why. I’ve seen him on TV.”

Land sighed deeply. “Let’s say you’re right. Why would he be dressed up like a homeless dude? He’s got plenty of money. His parents own that art gallery off Maple. He could buy one of our hot dogs if he wanted. Hell, he could buy the whole food truck if he felt like it.”

This was going to be a hard sell, even for Land. I recognized the man clearly, and I saw him in my mind accepting the food and then again in the park. Could I be mistaken? I knew from Detective Danvers’s lectures that eyewitness identifications were notoriously unreliable. However, I felt certain in my gut that he was the man I’d seen.

His face looked back at me from the screen. As Land said, Hamilton Preston was running for public office after years of working at his parents’ art gallery. The local papers had done interviews with him, and the public opinion was divided on his electability. Many felt that he was too pampered, having worked for his parents since he was 16. The rest of the voters were fine with a man with downtown ties running for city council.

Like I said, I was apolitical. Land didn’t even bother to follow politics, since he was still a citizen of Spain and unable to vote.

The face on the screen was youngish for his age, which I knew was around 40. This particular ad was centered on his donations to local charities and his civic work in the community. He had another commercial where he introduced his children to the audience. I had read that he was divorced, which explained how he could go out in the evening without being questioned. His children looked to be about college age, and the boy looked a bit like Carter. I just put that down to all younger people having a certain homogenous look.

Land cleared his throat, reminding me that I hadn’t answered him. “I have no idea why he’d be going out at night dressed like a homeless guy, but I swear it’s the same face.”

“Could be a relative. Cousins look alike, sometimes. Brother?” Land offered helpfully.

I wondered about that. I could easily check up to see if that were the case. Google images would answer that question in a few minutes. Land started up the TV program again, and I settled in with my tablet to find out more about the Preston family. In short order, I learned that he had two sisters, but no brothers. I couldn’t find any information on cousins, but I doubted that Preston would let a family member live on the streets during a campaign. I was cynical enough to think that he would help his family members more for the publicity aspect than out of any true compassion.

Land and I watched the rest of the program, though I now had trouble following the plotline. I kept thinking about why politicians would want to hang out with the homeless people of town. Was he trying to make a point about the population of homeless people in Capital City or trying for a photo op? It seemed unlikely. Hamilton Preston had not wanted to have any undue attention put on him.

As Land was kissing me good-night, he looked down at me from half-closed lashes. “This isn’t the end of this, is it?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I want to know what’s going on. There’s probably a decent explanation for what I saw, but I want to know what it is. We do have a stake in what happens to Capital City. We have licenses and such from the city, and we want to make sure that we can stay in business.” I remembered the issues we’d had trying to get those licenses, and I knew that certain candidates weren’t fond of food trucks and other street-side businesses.

He snorted. “Just make sure that you don’t get our licenses revoked by your curiosity,” he said, kissing me again.

***

The next morning, I was at the secured lot long before Carter would even be waking up. I looked around, but I didn’t see Land’s sister, either. Sabine hadn’t been around much since the announcement of our engagement, and I was concerned that she disapproved of our relationship or thought that Land was making a mistake.

The lot was quiet, though, and the guard on duty was 50-ish and overweight, definitely not Sabine.

It was only 4 a.m. when I drove to the spot on Elm Street. Even though I was usually skittish about walking downtown at night, I was determined to learn what was going on. I had a flashlight in one hand and a can of mace in the other. I was prepared for whatever I found this morning.

The streets were so quiet that my ears almost ached, straining to hear something, but there was nothing to be heard. I walked around Government Square, hoping to find the man. I found several small groups of homeless people huddled together, but none of them bore a resemblance to the man I’d met, or the politician.

I gave up after about 40 minutes of fruitless searching. The morning air was cold, another sign of the coming winter, and I was glad to be back in the warmth and security of the food truck. Carter rolled in at 6 a.m. with a large cup of coffee, not ours, and started to work. He didn’t speak to me, so I left the situation as it was. I knew that when his circumstances came to a head that he would tell me what I needed to know.

I couldn’t be that sanguine about this problem with the politician, though. I felt like a snoop in one way, but in another, Land had pointed out that we were directly impacted by the actions of the city council. So my curiosity had a basis in my business, or so I told myself.

The day went fast, and I have to admit that I threw a few extra hot dogs on the grill at about 1:30 so that I would have more than enough to feed the homeless around the square.

Carter shot me an odd look, but he didn’t speak or ask questions. He’d started on some of his cleaning for the day, and he went back to it. He had begun a tad earlier than normal, but I put that down to wanting to get home to help with his mother. Most of our food business was done by then, so I hadn’t bothered to say anything about it to him.

I was a bit surprised to see Detective Danvers again that day. He hadn’t been around often in the past few months. There had been no need for his presence since I hadn’t touched a murder case since May. However, this marked the second time in two days that he’d stopped by, which made me wonder if he knew something that I didn’t.

I handed him a free cup of coffee. Carter hadn’t started cleaning the urns yet, and the rest would likely be thrown away. The gesture was akin to giving the hot dogs to the homeless, and I didn’t feel like he was begging in these circumstances.

“What’s going on here?” Danvers asked, making it sound like we were old friends instead of frequent adversaries.

“Not much. Just starting to get things cleaned up. We’re having a great fall. Profits are way up,” I said truthfully. I knew Jax Danvers well enough to know that he was leading up to something. I had no idea what it was, and so I was keeping all of my options open by being friendly and upbeat.

“Have you noticed anyone hanging around here lately?” Danvers said, trying to sound blasé about the matter.

“Just my customers,” I said, wondering what he was leading up to. Did it have anything to do with Hamilton Preston? Yet I couldn’t ask my question without giving away what I’d seen.  I wasn’t ready to show my hand to Danvers. He would suspect that I was somehow involved with whatever was going on. If I were wrong, he’d laugh louder and harder than Land had.

“Have you had any of the candidates around?” he asked, still trying to play it off.

I shook my head. “We’re two people here, and small business owners. There’s not a lot of gain to be made in stopping by. I’m interested to see how Hamilton Preston does, though,” I added.

The words had the desired effect. Danvers arched his back slightly, and his eyes widened. He wouldn’t be a great poker player. “Why is that?” he managed in a strained voice.

“Family’s downtown. That sort of thing. What about you?”

A moment passed in silence. Danvers seemed to believe that I had only mentioned the name in passing as someone he might know. However, it was fairly apparent that there was more to this story. He might know him far better than he let on.

Danvers tipped back the cup and finished the rest of the coffee. He threw the cup into the trash can and walked off at a pace that was almost a trot. Since I’d provoked a reaction but not any information, I went back to my routine of giving a few hot dogs to the homeless. I finished putting the condiments on the dogs. Carter had used his recipe that called for bacon wrapping the dogs and then teriyaki sauce and pineapple. I managed to get the bacon without much trouble and had eight dogs by the time I ran out of condiments.

I handed over the serving trays to Carter for him to wash, and I went outside to distribute food. There was a large crowd of customers today, so I wasn’t sure that I’d have enough to find Preston, but I wanted to give it a try. I was sure that he’d been the one I’d seen the other day.

I gave Delores one, and she told me that her sister said
thank you
. I wasn’t sure if she had a sister or not. She often chatted with people who weren’t there. The young man with PTSD was also on the square, and he just smiled at me as I gave him the food.

The last hot dog went to a man I hadn’t seen before. His eyes were bright and sparkling, not like the usual despondent gazes I received. He took the hot dog, and I paused a second. I may not be the best eyewitness in recorded history, but I knew hands. The hands that had taken the hot dog were manicured. Not just trimmed, but trimmed, filed, and clear coated. I nearly dropped the dog, but I gathered my thoughts and took the time to study the man. He was older than Hamilton, perhaps old enough to be his father. He watched me carefully, almost challenging me to say something to him.

He was clean-shaven, yet his clothes were decidedly old and torn. I wasn’t sure what to make of this sudden trend of men dressing down like this. Were they hiding something or just trying to get away from it all?

I started to ask him something, but he turned and left. I thought about confronting him, but what did I really have? He had nice nails and an upscale haircut. He couldn’t be arrested for wanting to look good. For all I knew, he had a family member who kept him cleaned up on a regular basis.

I stood there, watching the man and letting my mind race through the possibilities. Nothing became clear to me.

Carter came out of the truck and cleared his throat. “Hey, I’m all done. Did you want to visit Land before I leave?” He used air quotes as he said the word
visit
to let me know that he suspected we participated in more than talk in the other truck.

I shook my head. “That’s okay. I’ll text him and then I should see him later.”

He nodded and started to walk away, but then turned back to me. “Hey, about my mom, I wanted to let you know if something happened.” His words trailed off, and I suspected the worst had occurred. I braced myself for the news. “Aaron asked me to marry him last night.” The words were spoken in that same morose voice he’d just used, and I wasn’t sure how to take it.

“Congratulations?” I asked, unsure of what to say when the groom seemed unhappy about the announcement.

“Yeah, thanks, I guess.” He shrugged.

“You don’t seem excited,” I added, stating the obvious.

He turned, looked at the truck, and then turned back to me. “I’m not sure.  I worry that he’s just proposing to take my mind off of everything else. I don’t want it to be way to cheer me up. I want it to be because he can’t live without me.”

“How long have you two been together?” I asked, knowing they’d been off and on longer than he’d been working at the food truck. I wasn’t sure if he counted the entire time since they’d met, or only the months that they’d actually dated.

“Four years, but it’s not always easy. You and Land make it seem simple. Maybe that’s what I want.” His expression was wistful, almost dreamy. I wondered if he thought we’d made it look simple when Land was in jail or I was accused of murder. We’d had a few booking sheets between the two of us.