MURDER IN THE SPOTLIGHT (Food Truck Mysteries Book 2) (2 page)

“Great. They’ll know this challenge is all you and nothing of me. I’ll get a tongue lashing while you get praised for your versatility. I can see it now.” Johnny Ruck had already questioned me once about my role in a previous episode. It was not an experience that I wanted to repeat.

He shook his head. “I’m going to provide you with the recipes and the ingredients. Then we’re going to switch places. You’ll do the cooking, and I’ll sell the products. If they want us to be outside of our comfort zone, we’ll give it to them.”

I paused and thought about what he had proposed. It made a certain amount of sense. We were to be doing something different, and swapping roles in the truck would give me more credibility as a cook as well as the owner and waitress. “Okay, so what dishes do you suggest making?”

“Marmitako,
Gerezi beltza
, and Bacalao. There are lots of chorizo recipes, but the judges might think we’re still too hot dog oriented.”

I furrowed my brows. “Could you repeat that in English? I have no idea what we’ll be cooking.”

“Marmitako is a fish stew.
Gerezi beltza
is cherry soup, and Bacalao is salt cod. The ingredients should be easy to get, and most of them are not too expensive. So we’d have enough to make a profit.” Land had already planned this out, and since my only thought had been tacos, I was more than willing to follow his lead.

Land took a sheet of paper from his pocket and began writing down a list of ingredients for me. I asked questions as he wrote, and he made notations on the side of the paper to help me remember everything that we’d discussed. When he was done, he thrust the paper at me and said, “Don’t let anyone see this. No one. I don’t want a repeat of that last time.” He was referring to the incident where someone had made off with one of our ingredients. I still had enough faith in humanity to think that it was a mistake, but Land was certain that someone had done it on purpose to win the challenge. While he feigned indifference to the entire show, Land had shown a decided competitive streak on several different occasions. He wanted to win and he didn’t trust anyone around our truck. He continued to watch out for any mistakes, keeping track of who came around to our truck and their movements.

I slid the paper into my front pocket, thinking that no one was going to go reaching in there without me noticing it. We headed back to the set to wait for our instructions. Marsha was standing outside of the double doors to the studio, checking off people as they came in. Fortunately, we were not required to make any recordings in the green room at this stage of the challenge, though people could ruminate at any time they wished. Betty Troxler practically set up a second home in there, hoping for maximum exposure.

I’d found that most of the contestants fell into one of two broad categories. The first were the truck owners who wanted their business to be recognized, feeling that honor would bring them additional revenue. The second group of truck owners was more interested in personal fame. While I was sure that they probably wanted their truck to succeed, their own personal recognition was worth far more to them.

Betty Troxler was definitely in the second category. She was in her early thirties, but she dressed as though she was a college student—or rather, how she envisioned a college student might dress. I knew from recent experience that most of us had preferred sweat pants and t-shirts that allowed us more time to study. She went for a look that was more low-cut and revealing. She still had a nice shape, but her skin and the small crow’s feet around her eyes gave away the affected look.

It’s not that she wasn’t an attractive woman. She was. However, I struggled anytime a person decided that they wanted to wear clothes that are too young for them. I hoped that I would age gracefully, not worrying what others might think. That had been one of the lessons my Aunt Alice, the relative who had bequeathed me the truck, had taught me early on. Alice had been a rebel who tried to live true to herself. Dressing for others meant that you couldn’t be yourself.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Betty was going all out for personal fame. She frequently talked about Jim Tolliver; he had been on the food truck show last season and was now a minor celebrity with his own book published and a spot on some premium cable talk show that I had to look up. I wasn’t impressed. My goal had been to make more money from this business through advertising. This was just one form of marketing that I wanted to engage in. Land hadn’t been too thrilled, but I’d pointed out to him that growth in the business would allow for a second truck that he’d be able to take on himself. That had silenced his complaints—for the most part.

When Marsha determined that we were all present, we loaded the bus and headed to the grocery store. The store was local to Capital City, and I figured that they had paid dearly to be included in the reality show. As we disembarked from the bus, Marsha gave each of us a credit card with the amount of last week’s earnings already loaded onto it. We would have 15 minutes to find the ingredients and purchase them for the money we’d been allotted. After that we would have six hours to prep for the challenge, which would include selling the products in our typical parking spots.

I took the list from my pocket and began to shop. Land had gone off in search of two of the ingredients, the salted cod and the cherries, which he felt were paramount to the dishes being successful. I had the rest. I loaded my cart with everything I needed, getting enough to make meals for close to 100 customers. That seemed adequate to make a profit from the challenge.

With three minutes to spare, I found Land and headed to the check-out. We were well under the allotted amount and breezed through the line. Of course, the bad part about doing what was asked of us was that we would likely not be included in the clips showing the competition.

Betty had apparently gone over her amount. She was asking other competitors to spot her the cash to pay for her groceries. Land gave her a smile and a definite “no.” She started to have a meltdown in line, and we decided that we’d wait outside.

Each of us had a camera assigned to us as we prepared the meals. As Land had suggested, I did most of the prep work for the meal. He cut the cod while I prepared the cherry soup and the stew. Soon we had all three dishes simmering away, and the truck smelled incredible. I was so used to the smell of the hot dogs and the condiments that they rarely made an impression on me, but these new smells fueled my hunger and made me yearn to try the dishes. I knew we had a success on our hands.

At the end of our six hours, we were ready to begin sales. Our normal spot was downtown in Capital City on Elm Street near the government buildings. It was a bit late in the day for most of our usual customers who needed a quick cup of coffee on the way to work or a bite to eat at lunch. However, we didn’t get to pick our time frame for the challenge.

True to his word, Land took over the front line duties. He opened the truck panel and began to talk to people as they walked by. It was no surprise that many of our first customers were women. Land could be charming when he wanted to be. I witnessed that every day; I just never got to see it directed at me.

Two of the women purchased the cherry soup. Another man bought the stew. A few more people came up to the truck, mainly in hopes of getting on a reality show as an interview or as a reviewer of the dishes. They ordered something and then spoke with the cameraman about the offerings on the new menu. I tried to eavesdrop, but with the food cooking, I couldn’t take my concentration off of the fare long enough to listen in.

As with most things, the interest of a few people—and the presence of TV cameras—meant that more people were attracted to the truck. If nothing else, I was glad to see that we’d get a few new customers out of the show. Normally by 2pm, we’d cleaned the truck and put it away for the day. Perhaps the late day customers would look us up for breakfast or lunch.

We both knew that one or more of our customers that day would be anonymous food critics who would sample the food and write a review of the dishes for the judging. The final decision would be based primarily on the food, but they would also give weight to the amount of money earned for the day and the originality and out-of-the-box thinking that went into the process.

I was glad in a way that I was back by the stoves and not watching the crowd, wondering who was here to critique my fare. It would have been nerve-wracking to watch all the customers, knowing any one of them could be the judge. Land didn’t even seem to notice that he might be judged for the dishes he’d suggested. He just took orders and gave change.

I knew that the people here today would be shocked to learn that we were normally a hot dog food truck. Even though I couldn’t pronounce it, I knew that Basque food was hot these days. I’d recently read an article about a new Basque restaurant in Capital City as part of the trendy new fare being offered downtown. So, not only did we have Land selling the food, we had trendy food as well.

Land asked for three more bowls of cherry soup. He used the Basque name for it, but I translated it in my head. I could barely speak conversational Spanish. The thought of learning a new language was beyond me.

I scraped the bottom of the pot to fill the last bowl. Ten minutes later, we’d sold out of the stew, and long before our time was up, we’d finished off the salted cod as well.

Since I normally take orders and ring up the customers, I can keep a running tally of items sold and how much profit is being made. Back on the stove, I couldn’t do any of that. So when it came time to count the cash, I was unsure how much we’d made.

Since this was a competition, the cameraman kept an eye on us the entire time we counted our cash. This was one of the conditions of the contest. They could review the film for the competition and see exactly how much was made. This process stopped anyone from sticking an extra five hundred or thousand dollars into the till to ensure that they were the winners.

Land took over cleaning the kitchen area. I knew it had pained him to allow someone else to despoil his kingdom, but his instincts had been good. This was definitely a shake-up and a step out of our comfort zone. Even though both of us could perform either, or both, roles in the truck, we’d grown accustomed to certain roles. I knew the judges would take kindly to the fact that we’d taken the challenge to heart.

I counted the cash as he cleaned. I went through the stack of bills twice. We’d done much better than I’d originally estimated. We’d netted nearly $3000 with our new menu. I quietly told Land about the profit, and he gave me one of his rare smiles.

After we finished our cleaning, the truck went back to the secure lot where I stored it, and then we headed back to the studio for the final tally.

Marsha took the money from us as we entered and wrote out a receipt for the total. Likely the cash would be used for a future challenge, just as it had been for this round, and it allowed her to find out who had made the greatest profit on the day. It was a shame, because I would have liked to have had that money for a day’s hard work. I still had bills to pay.

We waited around the set until all of the contestants returned. At some point, Johnny Ruck would make his appearance, announce the winners and then we were free to go home for a few days until the next challenge was ready to begin.

When the last of the contestants came in, the crew took a few minutes to tally the results. We all waited nervously, which of course the cameras caught for the episode. Jerry was talking to one of the taco truck guys, and Betty was engaged in a heated conversation with the breakfast foods woman. The minutes seemed to drag on until finally Johnny Ruck came out with a clipboard.

“I have the results in front of me here. If I don’t call your name, you’re free to go. You’ll be returning for the next challenge.” He read off a list of names. They didn’t use the names of the truck owners. They only used the truck names, which is why I didn’t know everyone’s name in the challenge.

Dogs on the Roll was not on his list.

“The rest of you will be staying here. The judges want to talk to each of you separately, and then we’ll make the determinations for who wins the challenge and who will not be returning.”

From my count, six trucks had been asked to stay. Typically that meant three trucks would be at the top and the other three would be at the bottom of the list. Land and I stood next to each other, but not talking. He had a perturbed look on his face until they called our names. He did not do well with people questioning his work, and I hoped that he could sit on his tongue long enough to get through the interview process.

As we entered the room, I immediately recognized two of the judges as our customers from earlier in the day. The older woman sitting on the right had been with her poodle and had ordered the soup and salted cod. The younger kid had come by on a skateboard and ordered the stew.

“So what made you switch positions today?” asked the woman, who seemed more focused on her poodle than the questions.

I explained our normal roles and the desire to break out of the routine in this challenge. The young man nodded a few times, as if he approved.

He then asked, “Land, I’m sure you had something to do with the menu for today. Could you explain why you chose these particular dishes for the challenge?”

Land, despite the fact that English was his second language, could be quite articulate when he wanted to be. He explained the desire to represent the Basque Country with some traditional dishes, but the need to find menu items that would appeal to the customers and had ingredients that were likely to be purchased at the local grocery store. He also talked about the need for portability since this would be eaten on the go, rather than in a sit-down restaurant. He went through each dish with thought, explaining the choice.

The young man said, “Why two liquid dishes? Any thoughts on that?”

I could see Land bristle a bit at the question, but he politely stated, “One is definitely a soup that would be served before the entrée. The other is a main dish that could be eaten alone as a meal. I wanted to offer something light that could serve as an appetizer and then two main dishes, given that this would be something ordered in the afternoon as a meal.”

The man nodded and looked at his papers. The question had rattled me a bit. I had felt so sure up to this point that we had a good shot at winning the challenge, but now I began to question every decision and all of our strategies. I didn’t want to end up in the bottom three or worse yet, be asked to leave the show so soon.

The questions continued for a few minutes before we were excused. I was too nervous to sit down on the set, so I spent the time pacing back and forth. The others were on edge as well. Betty came out of her interview crying, and I quickly recalculated the odds that we’d made the top three rather than the bottom three.

After waiting for nearly an hour, the lights came on over the set. Johnny Ruck came out of the shadows and all of the six remaining contestants lined up. Marsha stood to one side, and slid two notecards to the celebrity chef.

He quickly read off the winners. “Anthony, you came in third place today. Congratulations. Jerry, you were second. We’d like to see some more daring choices from you in the future. Maeve and Land, you won the challenge. You’ll receive a full set of my signature line pots and pans, a television commercial to be aired locally for a week, and immunity in the next challenge.” I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop from squealing and gave Land a hug. Given that we’d agreed to keep our interactions to a minimum in front of the camera, it was not the best move I’d made. I knew that Marsha would edit this into a romantic gesture for this episode, but for the moment I didn’t care.

We were escorted off the stage. The winners didn’t stay around for the lowest scoring player to be removed from the competition. It seemed like gloating in a way.

Marsha led us to the green room, where we had to share some of the answers we’d given to the judges along with our feelings about winning. Land was extremely nonchalant about the whole thing, acting as though he won every challenge. Of course, I nearly bounced off the walls, adding a nice balance to Land’s imperturbability.

We were about to wrap up the interview when the door burst open. Betty stood in the doorway. Her mascara had run down her face and her make-up had done the same. I guessed she’d lost the challenge, since the show also requested an interview with the departing contestant as well.

“Finish your gloating, and get out of here,” Betty snarled. “It’s my turn to talk.” The camera spun to get her expression on film. This was the type of drama that they lived for. Ratings came from strife, not happiness.

We shuffled out of the green room as fast as we could. I didn’t want to deal with her, and Land hated hot confrontations. We could still hear her wailing as we left the building.