Death of a Crabby Cook (23 page)

Five long minutes passed before I heard the sound of the ambulance arriving. By then Aunt Abby had grown even more pale and drowsy. She could barely keep her head up.

“Over here!” I called to the ambulance driver as the emergency vehicle pulled up to the food trucks. I was waving and yelling like a madwoman, trying to get their attention. As soon as they saw me, three EMTs ran from the transporter to the School Bus. Two entered; the third remained outside, talking on a radio. I backed out of the way to let them through.

“Ma'am? Can you tell me what happened?” one of the EMTs asked as she began examining Aunt Abby. The woman was talking to my aunt, but I answered for her.

“I . . . I think she was poisoned!” I said.

The male EMT glanced around, looking for evidence of poisoning. “What did she take?”

I pointed to the cream puff wrapper on the counter. “That's the last thing she ate before she got sick.”

He nodded. “Food poisoning?”

The female helped Aunt Abby up to a standing position and the two of them began escorting her slowly through the bus, carrying most of her light weight on their shoulders and arms.

“I don't know,” I said, wringing my hands. “All I know is someone left a cream puff on the service counter with a note. It was addressed to me.” I hesitated before saying more. While the note was signed
“J,”
anyone could have written that. Getting Aunt Abby to the hospital was imperative at the moment.

I followed them out and watched as they laid Aunt Abby on a gurney. A small crowd had formed, mostly food truckers.

“I'll need that wrapper,” the male EMT said.

I bounded back into the bus, grabbed the wrapper, and handed it to him as soon as I returned to my aunt's side. While the female EMT tended to Aunt Abby, the male EMT took it with his gloved hand, pulled out a plastic baggie from his pocket, and tucked the wrapper inside.

I nodded. “Will she be all right?” I felt tears fill my eyes.

“We'll take her to SF General. They'll probably pump her stomach,” the female EMT said. One of the EMTs entered the back of the ambulance, while the other two hoisted my aunt on board.

“Can I ride with her?”

“No, ma'am,” the female EMT answered. “You can meet her at the hospital.”

“Aunt Abby,” I called out, letting her know I was there. “I'll see you at the hospital in a few minutes, all right? They're going to take good care of you.”

I heard her moan beneath the oxygen mask. The doors closed and I watched as the ambulance pulled into the street. It sped off, lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Someone bumped my shoulder. I whirled around and
glanced at the growing crowd that had gathered. The two vegans stood next to Willow, gawking at the drama they had just witnessed. The guys from the bacon truck and the curry truck stood back, watching from afar. Even Cherry Washington had appeared—from where? I wondered—as had Livvy from Bones 'n' Brew across the street. In addition there were a number of rubberneckers who happened to be in the area, curious to see what had happened. As I skimmed the crowd of people, I wondered if Dillon might be among them in some kind of costume. If he was, he'd done a good job of disguising himself.

And Tripp?

“Darcy?” A voice came from behind me.

I turned around to see Jake standing there frowning, a puzzled look on his face. “What happened?”

I was momentarily struck dumb.

“Darcy? Are you all right?” Jake asked. He reached out for my arm.

I stared at him for a moment before saying, “Did you drop off a cream puff at Aunt Abby's bus?”

Jake's frown deepened. “A cream puff? No.”

“It was a Key Lime Dream Puff. Someone left it on the counter for me with a note signed
J
.”

Jake looked utterly confused. “Darcy, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't leave you a cream puff.”

I pulled the note from my pocket. “And you didn't write this?”

He read it over. “No. That's not my handwriting.”

“The question is, how did your cream puff end up on my aunt's counter with the note, just waiting for me to gobble it up?”

His eyes widened with surprise. “I have no idea. Seriously.”

“You made Key Lime Dream Puffs today, didn't you? You make them every day, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, my aunt ate the one intended for me, and now she's on her way to SF Gen because she's been poisoned.”

Jake looked dumbfounded.

“Did you notice any of your cream puffs missing?” I asked. Someone could have bought one, poisoned it, and set it on the counter for me to eat. Jake thought for a moment. “Not that I know of . . .”

“Then how did one of your cream puffs end up at Aunt Abby's bus?”

Jake shrugged. “I have no clue, but somebody is obviously trying to make it look like I poisoned your aunt. The same way he tried to make your aunt look like she murdered Oliver.”

I knew he was right. “So you have no idea who might have taken one of your puffs?”

“No, I wish I did. . . .”

“Well, let me know if you remember anything. Right now I have to get to the hospital,” I said. “And call the police.”

I didn't have time to talk to Jake anymore. I was sure he'd hadn't try to poison me or my aunt—we'd been through too much together—but I was at a loss as to who might have done it.

I returned to the School Bus and pulled out my cell phone. Detective Shelton was unavailable, so I left an urgent message for him to contact me and explained that
my aunt had been poisoned. Then I made sure all the food was put away so it didn't spoil, turned off a couple of appliances, and closed the blinds.

Suddenly I felt the bus sway. Someone had come aboard.

“Listen, Jake, I can't—”

It wasn't Jake. Instead, I was surprised to find Livvy standing in front of me.

“Need any help?” she asked. “I heard the news. So sorry about your aunt. Is there anything I can do? I'd be glad to help you clean up or drive you to the hospital.”

The hospital. How was I supposed to get to the hospital without my car? I dropped down on the nearby stool and let the tears spill down my face. My dear, sweet aunt had been poisoned and was no doubt in the emergency room, having her stomach pumped. This couldn't be happening! The killer seemed to be trying to murder us all, one by one.

Livvy came over and put a hand on my back. “She'll be all right, I'm sure,” she said gently. “I didn't know her well, but she seemed to be quite a character.”

I sighed and wiped my eyes with a paper towel. “I just don't understand what's going on around here! Why is someone trying to kill these food truck chefs?”

“It's not just the food truck chefs,” Livvy pointed out. “My brother was murdered too, you know.”

“Of course,” I said. “I'm sorry. I'm just not thinking right.”

“It looks like you've got everything put away. Let me drive you to the hospital. You're in no condition to do anything but be there to support your aunt.”

“That's really sweet of you, Livvy,” I said, sliding off
the stool. “I'd like to get there as soon as possible. And my car is in the shop.” I glanced around to make sure everything was put away, turned off, and cleaned up. As I picked up my purse, I noticed one of Aunt Abby's recipes clipped to a holder.

A thought came to me. “You remember those recipes you found hidden under your brother's desk?”

Livvy nodded and glanced around the bus.

“Did you ever find other recipes, recipes that might not have been Oliver's?” I was entering uncomfortable territory here. Jake had gone Dumpster diving to retrieve those stolen recipes and I didn't want to give away that he'd found them.

“Other recipes?” Livvy said. “What do you mean?”

“I mean recipes that might have belonged to some of the food truckers here.”

Livvy stared at me. “I don't understand.”

I took a deep breath, trying to fine-tune how I was going to phrase my next words. “Um, my aunt found one of her secret recipes in the trash—written in her handwriting. I just wondered if they turned up in your brother's office.”

“Not that I know of,” she answered. “The only ones I found were his.”

Well, either someone else threw those recipes in the Dumpster that night—or she was lying. And why would she lie?

“Where did she find them exactly?” she asked.

I swallowed. “In the Bones 'n' Brew Dumpster.

Her eyes widened. “You think Oliver might have stolen them?”

I shrugged.

“But why?” she asked.

“Maybe to build up business again,” I offered. “Maybe he thought having those recipes would bring in more customers.”

“I really doubt my brother would steal recipes—or even buy them, for that matter,” Livvy said, not meeting my eyes. She nervously glanced around the bus again. “I think you're really off base here, if that's what you're implying.”

I suddenly realized I'd overstepped my boundaries, suggesting her murdered brother might have been a thief.

“I just thought, since the restaurant was losing business and Oliver was planning to sell it, maybe he—”

“Wait a minute!” Livvy said. “He wasn't planning to sell. I mean, sure, he talked about retiring from time to time, especially when he was feeling burned-out by the day-to-day business. But it was our family heritage. It meant too much to him.”

Hmm,
I thought. Maybe Livvy didn't know about Oliver's plans to sell the place after all.

“Did he ever do business with that meat delivery guy, Tripp Saunders?” I asked. Maybe Tripp and Cherry had done the dirty work for him—and he'd paid them for their services.

“Tripp Saunders? No, the name doesn't ring a bell. He drives a meat truck?”

“He drives the Meat Wagon. Delivers meat to various food trucks and restaurants. Kind of scruffy looking. Wears these fancy cowboy boots. I just wondered if Oliver knew him.”

“I don't think so. We get all of our meats from Bar None Ranch.”

I switched off the lights and picked up my purse. “Well, thanks for your help. I need to get over to the hospital and see how my aunt's doing.”

“Let's go,” Livvy said. She turned and headed for the bus steps.

“Wait a sec,” I said. Realizing Dillon had probably not heard about his mother, I pulled out my cell phone and punched his number.

The theme song from the classic Pac-Man game filled the bus.

Livvy automatically reached in her pocket, then froze. She looked at me, her eyes wide.

I'd forgotten that Dillon's phone had been stolen by the person who'd attacked him and my aunt.

I felt my skin turn ice-cold.

What was Livvy Jameson doing with Dillon's cell phone?

I stared at Livvy's pocket a little too long. In the moment it took me to recognize Dillon's ringtone and realize what that meant—that Livvy was the one who broke into Aunt Abby's house, bound and gagged her and Dillon, left the threatening message, and stole their phones—I knew it was too late to run.

She smiled.

She knew I knew.

And she seemed to take delight in that fact as she pulled out a long kitchen knife from a slim side pocket of her chef's whites.

She raised the knife, ready to lunge. No poison or frozen meat from Livvy. This time it was a sure thing.

With her body blocking the bus exit, I was trapped. There was nowhere to run or hide.

I did the only thing I could do—I screamed bloody murder.

Livvy reached over and switched on the blender that sat on the back countertop. The loud whirring covered my screams for help. Pulling a roll of duct tape out of another pocket, she yanked out a couple of inches and tore it off with her teeth.

It was the perfect size for gagging my scream. I had to
think fast. Stall for time. Get her talking. Distract her. It was all I had until I thought of something better to do.

Then she lunged at me.

I dodged her and backed up a foot or so in the small space, holding my hands and arms up defensively. Frantically, out of the corner of my eye, I searched for something to use as a weapon.

First I used my mouth. “You didn't come over here to help me clean up and take me to the hospital, did you, Livvy?” I yelled over the high-pitched noise. My plan: let her know I was slowly figuring things out, then make her feel smart for being such a clever killer.

“Boy, aren't you the brilliant detective,” Livvy said. “You ought to go on one of those game shows. Bet you'd win a car or something, with deduction skills like that. Nothing gets by you, does it? Except maybe a murderer.”

She was so enjoying this. I felt my forehead break out in beads of sweat. A trickle ran down my back.

“But why?” I asked, still scanning the area for something to use to defend myself, other than my words. “Why kill your own brother?”

“None of your business, Nancy Dweeb,” Livvy snarled. “No one will ever know it was me. I'm too good at shifting the blame on everyone else
but
me. First your annoying aunt. Then her nerdy son. Then those small-time crooks, Tripp and Cherry. Next it will be sweet Jake's turn to be the killer. After all, it was his cream puff that poisoned your aunt. I just hope it did the job before she got her stomach pumped.”

In an effort to stall her, I started bombarding her with questions. Maybe she wasn't as smart as she thought she was and I'd soon have some answers.

“The detective will figure it out eventually, Livvy. You made some mistakes.”

“Like what?” she asked, suddenly taken aback at the challenge.

“First of all, you said you wanted to rejuvenate the restaurant, but your brother wanted to sell the place. That didn't compute.”

“Yeah, that's right,” she said, shrugging. “His old ways were killing our business. But he didn't like change. I told him I wanted to use the old recipes but just update them, you know, for today's customers. But he wouldn't let me touch those recipes. He had the chef memorize them, and then hid them.”

I pushed ahead. “So you lied about what time you'd arrived at the restaurant the other night. You were the one who ransacked your brother's office, then made it sound like an intruder did it.”

“Yeah, and you almost caught me,” she said, “but it was worth it. I finally found Ollie's recipes, so those, plus the ones I got from the food trucks, were all I needed to keep the restaurant going—and give it new life.”

“But why did you need his recipes? You're a chef. You must have them memorized too.”

She grinned. “Actually, I barely know how to make toast. I manage the kitchen, wear the outfit. That's all.”

Whoa. She had me fooled all along.

“So you
stole
recipes from the food trucks and planned to have the chef use them?” I said.

“Actually, Cherry stole them for me.”

I blinked, surprised. “Why would she do that?”

“Let's just say that Cherry and Tripp sort of worked
for me. When I found out about their little fake-ID business, I asked them to help me out with a few things.”

“You mean you blackmailed them, don't you?” I said.

“Whatever. Doesn't really matter now. The restaurant is mine, and I'm keeping it. I fired the old chef. I'm hiring a new one to update Ollie's old recipes, along with using some of the food-truck recipes. I'm giving the place a whole new look and taste.”

“Did Tripp and Cherry help you with the murders too?” I asked.

She laughed. “Those two clowns? Give me a break.”

“So you poisoned the crab bisque and fed it to your brother.”

She nodded. “It wasn't hard making it look like your crazy aunt seasoned it with rat poison. And after that argument they'd had, it was perfect timing.”

“Buy why did you kill Boris? He had nothing to do with your restaurant.”

“That buffoon. He found out Tripp and Cherry were helping me score the food truck recipes. Meanwhile, Tripp was blackmailing Boris about his drug-dealing history. If it got out that he was dealing again—and Tripp could make it look like he was by planting fake evidence—then Boris could lose his business. Tripp needed Boris as the go-between for Tripp's fake ID business.”

“But Boris wanted out, didn't he?” I suggested, remembering what Boris had said the night I'd overheard him. “And you were worried he might expose your relationship with Tripp and Cherry. So you went to Boris's truck, threw ground pepper in his face, and bludgeoned him with that big hunk of frozen meat.”

A wave of nausea passed over me as I thought of Aunt Abby. Was Livvy right? Had Aunt Abby taken a lethal dose of poison with that cream puff?

“You've gone through an awful lot of trouble, Livvy, killing your brother, then Boris, and trying to make it look like someone else. Was it really worth it?”

“Shut up, you nosy pig!” she shouted over the blender noise.

With the duct tape still in one hand, she lunged the knife at me with the other. One way or another, she was determined to shut me up. In the small space between the back storage cupboards, the counter on one side and the refrigerator and sink on the other, I didn't have much room to maneuver. I took my only option—I dropped to the floor, got on my back, and started kicking. If only I could reach a frying pan or—

I felt the tip of the knife slice my left calf. I cried out in pain and grabbed my bleeding leg, curling up in a ball.

Livvy raised her hand again, ready to bring the knife down on me one final time.

I reached out and pulled open a drawer underneath the work counter. Swinging it with both hands, I knocked her legs out from under her. She fell to the floor. I tried to get up so I could escape, but she still blocked my exit.

I started grabbing everything I could get my hands on to pummel her. I threw an eggbeater down on her, followed by a toaster, a blender, a can opener, and finally a coffeemaker. She looked as if she'd been in an appliance shop during an earthquake.

I started to step over her when she grabbed my ankle.

I fell back to the floor, barely missing the corner of the counter, landing on my side and getting the wind
knocked out of me. With my face pressed to the floor, all I could do was gasp for breath.

Then I saw something hidden under the stove. Something I'd forgotten about. Just as I reached underneath for it, Livvy took another swipe at me, tearing my shirt and narrowly missing my side.

I looked up and saw Livvy reared up on her knees, holding the knife.

She'd tried to stab me again!

She raised the knife once more. Adrenaline kicked in. I pulled out the small box I held in my hand, tore off the lid, and threw the grainy contents in her angry face. A cloud of fine powder circled her head a few seconds before she started coughing violently.

Rat poison.

With Livvy racked by coughs, I rose and grabbed a nearby apron to cover my mouth and nose so I wouldn't inhale the poison. Then I sat down on Livvy's back, hard, flattening her like a human pancake.

Holding my breath, I grabbed one of Livvy's hands and yanked it behind her back, then wrapped the apron string around it, grabbed the other one, and tied them together with the apron strings, trussing her up like a turkey on Thanksgiving. Ripping the duct tape off her wrist where it had stuck, I secured the strings with the tape.

Seconds later I burst through the door of the School Bus, let out my breath, and began yelling and screaming as I hobbled toward Jake's truck.

“Jake! Help! Come quick!”

Jake spotted me from the service window and called out, “Darcy?”

“Hurry! She's in Aunt Abby's bus! Call nine-one-one!” I repeated myself several times before I saw him finally bound out of the truck, his cell phone in his hand.

“Your leg is bleeding! What happened?” he said, following me as I stumbled back to the bus.

I pressed on my calf to keep the pain at bay. The adrenaline was starting to wane. In spite of the wound, I wanted to make sure Livvy didn't get away.

“Darcy, you need a doctor!” Jake said as we reached the bus.

“I'm okay,” I said. “It's just a superficial cut. Hurry. Make sure she's still tied up!”

“Who?” Jake asked.

“Livvy! She did it! She killed them both! And she poisoned Aunt Abby! I have to make sure she's not going to get away!”

I knew I wasn't making complete sense, but there would be time for that after the police came and took Livvy into custody. What mattered now was making sure she was still tied up in the bus. I started up the stairs.

A forceful shove knocked me back down to the ground. Livvy, her face still white with powdery residue, her hands still bound behind her back, jumped down the steps.

And right into Jake's massive arms.

“Hold on!” he yelled as he caught her and gripped her tightly. He spun her around and grabbed her by her bound wrists.

“Let go of me!” Livvy screamed as she squirmed. She tried kicking Jake, but he held her in a death grip, giving her little room to move. By now a few of the chefs had stepped out of their trucks to see what all the commotion was about.

“Someone call the police!” I shouted.

“Anyone got any duct tape?” Jake called out to the crowd while he held Livvy firmly.

There was the roll Livvy had pulled out inside the bus, but before I could say anything, Willow called out, “I do!” She ran back to her coffee truck and returned moments later with a roll of silver tape. “This stuff is great! It fixes everything!”

Sierra and Vandy stepped forward. “Vandy, wrap her legs while I hold them,” Sierra said. She took the tape from Willow's hand and gave it to her partner. Those years of working out and buffing up paid off as Sierra forcefully grabbed and held Livvy's legs in a bear hug, giving Vandy the chance to wrap her up.

Moments later Livvy resembled a silver mummy, wrapped up in shiny tape from her ankles to her legs to her arms and torso. Before she toppled over, Jake laid her on the ground. When she wouldn't stop screaming, mostly obscenities, Sierra tore off a piece of tape and slapped it on Livvy's mouth. The onlookers cheered.

I grinned.
What goes around, comes around,
I thought, remembering the moment I found my aunt had been similarly silenced by duct tape.

“Did anyone call nine-one-one?” Jake asked, glancing around.

“I did,” said a tourist wearing sunglasses, a straw hat, a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a camera around his neck. “They're on their way.”

I shook my head.

Dillon.