A GRAVE CONCERN (Food Truck Mysteries Book 8) (7 page)

“I didn’t tell her to do anything. She got the job on her own last night, and she started today. You have to admit that her new job is more suited to her than restocking shelves at a store.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. I was not taking the blame for his situation. Sabine was an adult who made her own decisions.

“This seems exactly like the type of thing you encourage people to do. Now you’ve got a spy in the Preston family business. No telling what you want to find out there.”

I gave him a small smile. “I’ve already found out that you care for Sabine. That’s one for me.”

He rolled his eyes at me, but some of the antagonism left his body. “You could have just as easily asked your fiancé. I told him about my interest months ago.”

“What?” I said. I cursed Land for being tight-lipped. He’d let me speculate on their relationship for months, while he’d known the truth all along. I tried to think back to see if I’d asked him directly if he had known their status. I would have to be more forthright with him on some things if I wanted to know the truth.

“Yeah, not that it’s any of your business, but Sabine and I go way back—to Basque back. Now that we’re both older, there’s no reason not to see if things would work out. Land gave us his approval, so that was that.”

I tried to think of having Danvers as a potential brother-in-law. It might put a cramp in my investigations if I had to take his position into consideration. Worse yet, we could compare notes on cases at family holiday dinners.

“Well, I still didn’t have anything to do with her taking this art gallery job. She attended the party with us last night to make it look like we were a family business operation, rather than looking for answers. She went off by herself, and the next thing I knew, she had a job.” I shrugged to let him know that I hadn’t done anything with the infiltration of the art gallery.

He made a growling sound. “That’s just like her. She is not someone who does things just because you ask nicely. I’m sure her plan is to beat you two to the punch and solve this on her own.”

I wasn’t sure that I liked being out-sleuthed by another amateur detective. “That might show up Land, but would that be wise? She’d be getting in the way of an investigation and obstructing justice.” I thought about this. Land had warned me about the repercussions of the times I’d solved cases before Danvers.  I was a mere acquaintance. It wouldn’t be good to have his girlfriend do the same. Since I was in a matchmaking mood lately, I just decided that I would have to hurry things along and solve the murder before anyone else did—just to keep the peace, of course.

“No, it would be downright stupid,” Danvers said, with a tone of total exasperation. I recognized the tone too well from our previous encounters.

“Then you need to throw some information my way, so that she doesn’t show you up.” I said matter-of-factly, wondering if this ploy would work.

Apparently, it would. Danvers scoffed at first and then opened up. “The autopsy was finished last night. The details are not going to be released, but the cause of death was a blow to the head. We haven’t found the murder weapon, and I don’t know if we’ll announce it even if we do, but it’s starting to look like the crime was not overly premediated.”

“Overly premeditated?” I asked, not sure that I recognized that term.

“A case where the motive might have existed prior to the crime, but the perp didn’t actually decide to do it until the moment it happened. I mean, who would pick a park as the place to kill someone?”

I thought back to the night where I’d seen Hamilton Preston in the park. I’d casually seen him during my run. How many other people might have seen him, as well? It was curious that no one else had come forward to report what they’d seen.

“Well, it worked. No one saw him—or her—do it,” I said.

“Yeah, but the autopsy suggested that it might have been a rock or piece of cement. That’s not exactly a premeditated instrument. It’s more the type of thing you pick up in the heat of an argument. As luck would have it, most rocky surfaces are hard to get fingerprints from, so even if we found the exact one that hit him, we still wouldn’t have much to go on.”

“So what now? Any thought on the time of death?” I asked, hoping to get as much out of Danvers as I could before he had cause to regret it. “That would help with the alibis.”

He laughed. “I know why we ask for time of death. You don’t have to tell me. And no, we don’t have much. The ME put the time as sometime between the time you saw him in the park and 24 hours later. That’s a hell of a time to ask for alibis. No one would be covered for that entire time period.”

I nodded, but I felt cold inside, thinking that perhaps I’d seen the murderer that night. I wanted to spread the word that I hadn’t seen anyone clearly. I didn’t want the killer to come after me next, thinking that I had seen his or her face.

My face must have given away my nervousness. “Don’t worry. Today’s papers will specifically say that you couldn’t tell anything about the other person in the park, other than that there was another person. That lets you off the hook.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less thing I had to worry about with this case. I didn’t want to solve it, because I was looking down the barrel of the killer’s gun or looking at the blunt weapon coming down on my head. I’d much rather be the armchair detective solving the case from the comfort of my own home.

***

Apparently today was also a day for candidates to press the flesh on Government Square. A few signs bounced around a tall dark-haired man. He was attractive in that prep-school way, and the signs announced that he was Stan Chesterfield, one of the other candidates for city council. I wanted to hear about the man’s plans for his campaign, now that one of his competitors had died under suspicious circumstances.

I tried to stand on the outskirts of the small crowd, but he soon spotted me and encouraged me to move closer. “Come on up, young lady,” he said to me, sounding like he was 50, though he was barely older than 30. He was tall, thin, and had a scruffy beard that suggested he wasn’t old enough to grow a proper one.

I inched my way up, only because I wanted a chance to talk to him. The police had ignored the angle of a competitor for city council killing Hamilton Preston. The idea didn’t appeal to them because that motive would immediately bring in authorities other than the Capital City Police. Detective Danvers pouted for ages when I solved a crime, even when he got the credit for it. I couldn’t imagine how he would react to the federal government interfering. Even if Chesterfield were responsible, a family member had been engaged to Milton Preston, so the motive could remain personal.

I stood and listened to Chesterfield as he droned on about what he would do for the city. Most of the promises were the same ones that politicians had made since time began. I wasn’t particularly impressed. Preston had picked on the easy targets, like the homeless, but he’d at least bothered to be specific. These promises were generic to the point where they could have been used in any election in any city across the country. My mind wandered as I listened to him.

I had to admit that I didn’t see him as much of a potential suspect, unless he could bore a man to death. The candidate went on for another ten minutes before he stopped talking and moved out into the dwindling crowd to meet the people. He stopped by me, flashing a smile and shaking my hand for a few seconds too long.

“I haven’t seen you before. Thanks for coming,” he said, finally letting go of my hand.

“I was at the rally two nights ago,” I said, giving the date when I’d seen Hamilton Preston in the park. “I remember it well. You did a great job there.”

His brow wrinkled as he looked at me. “Two nights ago, I was home. I took a rest from the campaign to spend an evening with my family. You must mean the night before that?” he said, making it sound like a question.

I cursed under my breath. I had wanted to exclude this angle from the investigation, but apparently it would still be open if Mr. Chesterfield didn’t have a solid alibi for the evening. That would be Detective Danvers’s problem if the federal agents became involved with a possible tampering of the election. I figured that I would still ask a few questions regardless.

I went back to the food truck again. Carter eyed me and said, “Planning on staying awhile?” He grinned as he said it, and I was happy to see that he could still smile about things.

I gave him a smile in return. “You never know. I may take a lunch break.”

The rest of the shift was uneventful. The crowd was constant and ordering more than usual. Twice, Carter had to go back and make more condiments. A good day was when he had to go back once. I couldn’t figure out what had caused the uptick in business, but I was glad for it.

Land rolled in before I left for the day, and I went over to visit him, making my third trip from the food truck that day, a fact that was not lost on Carter.

However, this was the most enjoyable of my trips today, and I told Land about the other two visitors after we spent several minutes consulting on another matter. Land was not happy about Sabine’s new job, echoing some of the same complaints that Danvers had made earlier. “What does she think she’s doing?” Land asked for the fourth time. “She’s only going to get herself in trouble.”

I shrugged. “Apparently Mr. Preston has a habit of hiring young, pretty girls for the gallery. Brianna made a comment about that.”

“He’d better leave her alone if he knows what’s good for him,” Land said. I thought it was a threat until he continued. “I remember a time when she broke a man’s arm back in the old country, when a man got too fresh with her—and she was only sixteen then.”

I raised my eyebrow. Apparently self-defense skills ran in the Mendoza family. I’d have to brush up on mine after the wedding to keep up with the rest of the family. I had to wonder why she needed martial arts experience as a teenager.

I didn’t mention that Danvers had confirmed he was dating Sabine or that I knew he’d been aware of it for months. I neglected to tell Land that I was going home to pry into Carter’s paperwork to see if I could get his father to step up and help the family. And I certainly didn’t tell him that I had an idea of who Carter might be related to.

Land was going to have an early evening, which I was fine with after our late night at the party. So we kissed again, and I headed back to the original truck. Carter had almost finished cleaning, so I rushed through the cash drawer and prepped the bank envelope for the deposit.

I took the truck back, made the deposit, and headed home.

***

While I was anxious to help Carter, it was after 7 p.m. by the time I got around to checking his employment papers. I’d taken a nap on the sofa while watching the afternoon news. There was no new information on the murder case, and the police were following up leads, which meant they had nothing.

When I awoke, the shadows fell long across the room. I turned on the apartment lights and made myself a quick dinner. I was glad of the quiet and solitude tonight. I had enjoyed our night out, but I was now remembering with a vengeance how bad it was to work the next day. I was getting too old for this.

After my dinner, which consisted of soup and a small salad since I had to cook it myself, I willed my tired body to look for the papers. I went into the office, which had been the spare bedroom of the apartment. When I’d moved in, I’d found a body in this room, which I remembered from time to time. Now was one of those times. The filing cabinets stood in a row, and I opened the drawer for
E
, as in
employees
.

I pulled it out, went to the kitchen, and poured myself some tea. I sat down at the table and started to skim through it. Carter Smith had been born on June 17th, two years later than me, making him 23. He listed his schools and his relevant experience. He had his mother’s contact information listed, as well as the names and ages of his brothers and sisters. I flipped down the page, looking for his father’s name.

Down at the bottom of the page, I found the name. He’d listed it almost grudgingly with no contact information next to the name. If what Brianna had said were true, contact information would be difficult to come by since he was homeless.

The name listed as Carter’s father was Milton Preston.

I wondered now if Milton’s undiscussed family might play a role in the murder of his brother.

My mind reeled. This was a huge piece of information that had not yet been made public. Since Carter’s mother’s name was not Preston, they either hadn’t been married when they had their children or had gotten an acrimonious divorce that had led her to take back her maiden name. Neither of those situations helped make a case for Carter’s innocence. Though it wasn’t spelled out, I assumed that all of the children belonged to the same father.

Yet it explained so much. Carter’s family had been running on a shoestring budget for ages. If Milton Preston was his father, that explained why. Milton had tried to straighten up a few times, but had failed. He had left the family about six years ago when he dropped out of sight and became one of the homeless. I wondered again if I’d really seen Carter’s father the night of the argument, or if I had correctly seen that it was the candidate Hamilton Preston instead.

Yet the Preston family had not stepped in and helped Carter’s family. That would be an ideal reason for blackmail. It wouldn’t do Hamilton’s campaign any good to have the Smith children trotted out and have to explain why he hadn’t given any money to his own flesh and blood, even when his sister-in-law was dying. I would imagine that Hamilton would have wanted that story covered up at any cost.