THE REAL GYRO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

left. It made no sense to put the truck here and not be open for sales. I knew enough about the business to know that no one could close up for very many days without it affecting the bottom line. Food trucks could make a good living, but it required a lot of time and planning. A good portion of my business was repeat customers, who knew where I was parked and that I would be available every day for coffee and a hot dog. Janelle couldn’t build up that loyalty if she pulled stunts like this.
    Some trucks drove around or traveled on a schedule throughout the city. However, many of these trucks had to rely on first time customers all day or people who made a note to stop at a particular truck on a particular day. Being stationary meant that you could build up a following, even if it was not quite the open road that some food truck owners desired.
    I knocked on the door to Janelle’s food truck, but there was no response. I walked around to the front of the truck, but the keys weren’t in the ignition either. I circled the food truck twice, wondering if Janelle had closed her window just to avoid talking to me. I had been rather obvious, storming over there with Carter in tow. She would easily figure out what I wanted and how I felt. She could have just closed up to avoid a confrontation.
    I was about to start back to my food truck and save my rant for another day, when I noticed a dark stain under the truck. At first, I thought the truck might be leaking oil or some other fluid needed to drive the truck, but as I approached, I noticed the dark coppery tone to the fluid. I’d seen that stain before—at crime scenes.
    There was nothing wrong with the truck, but I suspected that there was something wrong with its owner.

Chapter 3
     
    As much as I didn’t want to interact with him, I called Detective Danvers. While he was currently annoying me with his secrecy and his attitude toward our moment , he was a good detective who knew his way around a homicide scene. I had to admit to myself that I thought this was likely the scene of a murder, and he was the man to call about it.
    I knew my way around a crime scene too. I stood back and motioned for Carter to step away. Then I dialed Danvers’ number and waited. He picked up with a charming, “What?”
    I explained the situation, and after he finished calling me the Typhoid Mary of homicides, he said he would be right there.
    Given the locale, he was being literal. Within two minutes, he was striding across the government plaza. He saw us standing by the truck and walked up to where we stood. “Well?” he asked, almost accusing us of ruining his day in one word. I knew that he had to be tired, so I cut him some slack about his attitude.
    “There is some fluid leaking from the truck. I thought it was oil, but it has the color of blood to it. The truck’s closed up, and I don’t see the keys, so I called you to check it out.” I pointed to the spot on the ground where I’d seen the liquid. The pool of dark liquid had grown since I’d looked at it last. Given that we’d heard nothing from inside the truck, a growing pool of blood was not good news.
    Danvers knocked on the door, identified himself, and waited. No response came from inside. He walked around the truck, tugging and yanking on doors and windows, trying to get the truck open. No luck.
    He checked above the visor and under the floor mats. He slid a hand into the pouches in the door and looked in the console of the dash as well. All of those places did not have keys in them.
    He repeated the process again before he motioned to Carter. “If this is like Maeve’s truck, two men should be able to yank hard enough to get the window to pop up. I don’t see any external locks, so it’s relying on a single latch lock inside.”
    Carter nodded, and on the count of three, they tugged on the window. It moved but didn’t break free. I looked up into the truck from the sliver of an opening between the counter and