MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) by Chloe Kendrick Page A
Authors: Chloe Kendrick
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I swear that she treated them like children. So I put them in with our books.”
She handed the book to me. “Alice would sit and read whenever she had a chance. She always did.”
I did too. I opened the copy of Catch-22 my mother had given me and started reading. My mother made frequent trips in to see if I’d fallen asleep, but I hadn’t. I was just quietly reading, which was something of a change.
I was nearly done with the book when I found a piece of paper tucked between the pages. At first, I just assumed that it was a bookmark, a remnant of something left over from Alice’s last reading of the book. However, on closer inspection, the paper had writing on it. I opened the folded page and started to read.
“I, Alice James, being of sound mind and body…”
I stopped. I knew what this was immediately. My aunt had left a will in her book, quite an odd place to keep one of her most valuable documents; but Alice had always been her own woman. I would not have expected her to do things the normal way.
I read through the rest of the document. Allowing for a few sundry bequests, she’d left the food truck to Land Mendoza and I received the rest of the estate. So Land had been telling the truth about the food truck. I wondered why she’d changed her mind to leave it to me.
I had a thought, and checked the date next to Alice’s signature at the bottom of the page. It was May 23 rd , two days before her death and two months after the will which had been probated in court. This will had been written in her own hand, which looked familiar to me, but I wasn’t an expert. Two witnesses had signed the document as well, though I didn’t recognize either of them as being people I’d met through Alice. They were strangers to me.
I called my mother, who rushed into the room, thinking that I was having a brain hemorrhage or something similar.
I showed her the document and explained the situation with the dates. “What’s up with that? What do we do?” I asked, not sure what the process involved.
“Burn it,” my mother said simply. “Burn it and forget you ever saw this.”
I was shocked to say the least. My mother was always a big proponent of doing things by the book. She always paid her parking meters and never took two spots in the mall parking lot. Now she was suddenly advocating that I burn a legal document and keep what wasn’t mine.
“Why would you say that?” I had to wonder if my mother was just reacting this way because a lack of income would mean that I’d have to move back in with her. Did my own apartment mean so much to her that she would break the law for it? Or was she thinking that a court battle would burn up the small amount of savings I’d stored up?
“This is only going to cause more trouble. You’ve got enough trouble with the food truck, and you don’t need any more. If people think that you got it illegally, things will only be worse. I wish Alice had left you some books and some cash, like a normal person,” my mother said with some bitterness.
I had to admit that she was right on one count. I was already suspected of killing three people. I really didn’t need to add thief to the list. I had enough problems already.
However, as much as I wanted to ignore my problems, I couldn’t. I had loved Aunt Alice, and if she’d really wanted to leave the truck to Land, I would see that it was done. This didn’t make me a saint or a martyr. I was just someone who wanted to do right by my family.
Besides, I wasn’t familiar with the value of the entire estate. While the truck would be a business that would provide me with an income for years, a bequest of the residual estate could be a large sum of money as well. That might be enough cash flow to allow me to keep my apartment and perhaps even buy a car that was made in this century. The thought cheered me.
Even fuzzy-brained as I was, I won the argument with my mom. She used some very colorful language to describe her relatives,
She handed the book to me. “Alice would sit and read whenever she had a chance. She always did.”
I did too. I opened the copy of Catch-22 my mother had given me and started reading. My mother made frequent trips in to see if I’d fallen asleep, but I hadn’t. I was just quietly reading, which was something of a change.
I was nearly done with the book when I found a piece of paper tucked between the pages. At first, I just assumed that it was a bookmark, a remnant of something left over from Alice’s last reading of the book. However, on closer inspection, the paper had writing on it. I opened the folded page and started to read.
“I, Alice James, being of sound mind and body…”
I stopped. I knew what this was immediately. My aunt had left a will in her book, quite an odd place to keep one of her most valuable documents; but Alice had always been her own woman. I would not have expected her to do things the normal way.
I read through the rest of the document. Allowing for a few sundry bequests, she’d left the food truck to Land Mendoza and I received the rest of the estate. So Land had been telling the truth about the food truck. I wondered why she’d changed her mind to leave it to me.
I had a thought, and checked the date next to Alice’s signature at the bottom of the page. It was May 23 rd , two days before her death and two months after the will which had been probated in court. This will had been written in her own hand, which looked familiar to me, but I wasn’t an expert. Two witnesses had signed the document as well, though I didn’t recognize either of them as being people I’d met through Alice. They were strangers to me.
I called my mother, who rushed into the room, thinking that I was having a brain hemorrhage or something similar.
I showed her the document and explained the situation with the dates. “What’s up with that? What do we do?” I asked, not sure what the process involved.
“Burn it,” my mother said simply. “Burn it and forget you ever saw this.”
I was shocked to say the least. My mother was always a big proponent of doing things by the book. She always paid her parking meters and never took two spots in the mall parking lot. Now she was suddenly advocating that I burn a legal document and keep what wasn’t mine.
“Why would you say that?” I had to wonder if my mother was just reacting this way because a lack of income would mean that I’d have to move back in with her. Did my own apartment mean so much to her that she would break the law for it? Or was she thinking that a court battle would burn up the small amount of savings I’d stored up?
“This is only going to cause more trouble. You’ve got enough trouble with the food truck, and you don’t need any more. If people think that you got it illegally, things will only be worse. I wish Alice had left you some books and some cash, like a normal person,” my mother said with some bitterness.
I had to admit that she was right on one count. I was already suspected of killing three people. I really didn’t need to add thief to the list. I had enough problems already.
However, as much as I wanted to ignore my problems, I couldn’t. I had loved Aunt Alice, and if she’d really wanted to leave the truck to Land, I would see that it was done. This didn’t make me a saint or a martyr. I was just someone who wanted to do right by my family.
Besides, I wasn’t familiar with the value of the entire estate. While the truck would be a business that would provide me with an income for years, a bequest of the residual estate could be a large sum of money as well. That might be enough cash flow to allow me to keep my apartment and perhaps even buy a car that was made in this century. The thought cheered me.
Even fuzzy-brained as I was, I won the argument with my mom. She used some very colorful language to describe her relatives,
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