A GRAVE CONCERN (Food Truck Mysteries Book 8) Read Free

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.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 2
     
    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