FIVE WILL GET YOU TWENTY (Food Truck Mysteries Book 9) (10 page)

He took a deep breath. “That’s possible. She was quite the suspect, according to Danvers. By the time she was done accusing everyone of lying and cheating and stealing, Danvers was about ready to arrest her just to shut her up.”

“So what did she say about Bernadette?” I thought of the woman and felt sad again that she’d been an expendable pawn in a larger plot.

“Mrs. Pohler said that she knew her husband did business with her. She’d met Bernadette years ago through one of her children, but she rarely had any dealings with her.”

“So that kind of shoots the theory that she was the mastermind behind the operations. We saw Pohler meeting with Bernadette, and Thomas said that it was Pohler who met with him as well. Mrs. Pohler just doesn’t seem to be the one in charge.”

“There are other people who could have been in charge.”

I sat up straight. “What…like a Moriarty? I thought I was the one who read too many mysteries—not you.”

Land rolled his eyes at me. “I was thinking more about the mob or another organization. They wouldn’t care about what’s best for marketing. They’d just want to bleed the business dry. It would be Pohler’s responsibility to come up with a way to make the money. They’d just want their share of it.”

“But that doesn’t really fit with Pohler being killed. They’d want him alive to make more money. He’s worth nothing to them dead.”

“Not if he wanted to get out of the game. They don’t look kindly on people who want to get out of the business of making them money, especially if they could later tell the police what they’d learned.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Did Danvers say anything about Pohler deciding to talk to the police?”

“If he did, he didn’t tell me.”

“That might explain the counterfeiting too,” I added. “His operation didn’t seem big enough to handle all the details for making the phony money. If someone else was behind things, then that would help explain how he got the twenties.”

“Danvers is still trying to figure out who or what was behind all that money and the operation, but no one is talking. He can’t get any cooperation at the moment, so he’s stuck with trying to find out on his own.”

“Did you talk to your contacts?” I asked. He’d not said a word about it to me.

“Yeah, they were not impressed. This is strictly small time. The serial number is constant, so the bills can be identified easily. It’s the very last thing a good counterfeiter wants to do. They weren’t very interested in the case, because they didn’t think it had much scope.”

I chewed on my lip for a second, not sure if I should ask more. “What about Sabine? You’d mentioned something about them before,” I said finally, giving in to my curiosity.

“After she got dumped, she refused to have anything to do with him. She doesn’t even accept his calls. She’s blocked his number and won’t come to the door when he stops by.”

I thought of my attempts to reach Albert Ruschman. Perhaps that was the same thing that Sabine was doing here.

“Give me your cell phone for a second,” I asked. He handed it over, knowing better than to ask. I dialed Ruschman’s number and waited.

He picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

I didn’t speak for a second, because I was so surprised that it had worked. “Yeah, Mr. Ruschman, you don’t know me, but I’m taking over for Pohler.” I was somewhat truthful since I had thoughts of taking over some of his trucks. “I need to see you immediately.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, to the point where I thought he’d hung up. “Yeah, okay. I’ll meet you tomorrow. I know who this is, and where your truck is. I’ll be there at seven tomorrow morning.” He hung up before I could speak, and I handed the phone back to Land.

The statements sounded somewhat like a threat, and I was concerned about meeting the man at the truck at that time. The foot traffic was at that time of morning was practically non-existent, and if this man had killed two people, I didn’t want to be alone with him in the truck.

Land must have been able to read my cues. “How about I go with you tomorrow?” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. He knew that normally I wasn’t the type who wanted to be protected by a man, but at the same time, I had no desire to be attacked by this stranger.

“That would be great,” I said, showing him my thanks.

***

The next morning was a flurry of activity. Land usually only stayed at my place on the weekends since I had to be up at four, but today we both had to get ready for work at the same time. He’d suggested last night that we just tell Thomas that Land was there to check on some issues with the truck. It sounded reasonable, and he wouldn’t get suspicious about Albert Ruschman’s appearance.

Land drove us to the lot, and we parked the food truck in the usual spot. The police must have taken the truck away overnight as our regular space was unoccupied. Land pulled the truck into the space and began to help with the prep work for the day. I was practically beaming to be working side-by-side with him again. It was like the early days of our relationship. He looked up a couple of times and grinned at me, which was practically a sonnet for him.

Thomas showed up at six and stood in the doorway, uncertain of his position here today. I explained that Land had just been at my place and had come in to fix a few things and that he’d started to do the prep work after he’d completed the work.

He seemed to accept the story at face value, and after a few instructions, Land relinquished his place behind the prep area and moved up closer to me. He made the first two urns of coffee as I counted out the money.

We actually opened the window 15 minutes early, and had served nearly two dozen customers by the time that Albert Ruschman stopped by. He was a short man dark hair and dark eyes. He looked like an ordinary businessman, wearing a gray suit and tie. I could understand the abbreviation that Carter had used to describe this man. He stopped up short when he saw me. He looked me in the eyes and said, “I don’t know anything, and if I did know anything, I certainly would never go to the police.”

With that, he turned and hurried away. Land hurried after him, and I turned to get back to work.

“What was that all about?” Thomas asked. He looked puzzled by the exchange.

“I honestly don’t know. Last night he said that he’d talk to me, and today he freaks out as soon as he gets here. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

Thomas asked a few more questions about the interchange, and then seemed to shrug it off. While Carter had always been excited about the opportunity to get involved in an amateur investigation, Thomas seemed as though he couldn’t care less.

Land came back in five minutes or so—alone. “No chance. He wouldn’t say a word to me. Got into his car and drove off.”

“So what next?” I asked, wondering where to go from here.

“I already called Danvers. He’ll try to find out what Mr. Ruschman knows later today.” He gave me a kiss. “I’m going home and sleeping. I still have a long day ahead of me.”

I nodded and gave him a hug for his trouble.

Land had been right about one thing. Danvers was around at nine that morning. He didn’t wait until business was slow, but showed up as soon as he got into the office. He waited patiently for his turn, and then had the temerity to ask if Thomas could handle the truck for a few minutes before he asked to speak to me alone.

I’d barely gotten out of the truck when Danvers said, “Land said that you’d called Ruschman last night. That he’s one of the people who passed the counterfeit bills.”

“That’s right,” I said, trying to figure what he was getting at.

“He’s gone,” Danvers replied almost cutting me off. We went to his home. He’s very obviously packed up and left. Clothes and toiletries are gone, and almost everything portable is missing too. He did leave three counterfeit twenties on the kitchen counter. They’re being run through the ringer at the lab at the moment. They just let me know that they only had two sets of fingerprints on them, Pohler and Ruschman.”

“So that just proves my point,” I said. “Pohler was involved in this mess.”

“I never said that he wasn’t, but I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t the brains behind it. We’re going through his records at the moment, and he’s pretty much anything but a brain. A two-year-old could figure out what he was doing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering about the accounting.

“He was laundering the money for someone else. We’re still trying to track down the source of the funds, but it was simplistic at best. He took huge deposits with no corresponding sales, slapped it into the accounts and then drew out funds in cash. It looks like a huge piggy bank.”

“Who did you get to do the accounting?” I asked, feeling a little put out that my father or I had not been asked.

Danvers named off a firm that was well respected in Capital City. I begrudgingly assumed that they could do a competent job.

“What else have you found out?”

“Not much. The other people involved were much more savvy. The funds originated from and then were returned back into dummy accounts that were then transferred into off-shore accounts. The type of stuff you’d expect from big-time criminals.”

“So what about the trucks? Do they even belong to Pohler?” I asked.

Danvers shrugged. “In title, yes, they do, but the last four trucks were purchased after someone deposited a large sum of money into Pohler’s accounts hours before the purchase. So while he’s the owner, someone else definitely expected results.”

I thought back to Mrs. Pohler wanting to sell the trucks. I wondered how this mysterious benefactor would feel about the sale of those vehicles. Would he expect a refund for his purchases or had the money been a gift that didn’t need to be returned? I knew that I’d have to ask Mrs. Pohler that question, which I could plausibly do within the context of buying a food truck.

“Any other links to the people who passed those bills at the food truck?” I asked, thinking of Bernadette and her life cut short.

“Not so far, but we don’t expect that we will find anything. All of that was done with cash for obvious reasons, and Pohler made no records of his cash transactions. He pulled out $100 or more on several occasions over the past month, and nothing was recorded for what he was using it for.”

I thought about the counterfeit bills. Would anyone make Pohler actually pay for the bad money? That seemed to support Land’s idea that someone was behind the counterfeit ring, most likely someone we hadn’t met yet. I wondered who could be the person responsible, but nothing came to mind.

Of the people that had been involved, we had record of three of them, one dead, one working for me, and one gone. There still remained two outstanding, the older woman and the mystery person. I began to worry for Thomas. The fates of the other two made me wonder how safe he was in my truck. He seemed much too close to the action for my tastes.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took it out. Carter had texted me from the new food truck. “Found older woman” was all it said.

Without alerting Detective Danvers to the idea that I was hot on his case, I excused myself, told Thomas that I’d be gone for a few minutes, and then sprinted to the new truck and the witness.

By the time I got to Taco Inferno, I was out of breath. I’d run the entire way, and even though I was still in my 20s, I couldn’t maintain that pace for long. I took a few seconds to catch my breath on the side of the truck when I saw Mrs. Pohler standing there. She was talking amiably with Carter, and nothing seemed to be wrong. What was wrong with this picture?

I would never have classified this woman as a grandmotherly type, though if she had adult children, it was entirely possible. So much artifice was used in keeping her young that I was sure she would have resented the title that Carter gave her.

I approached the pair of them. Carter cleared his throat. “This is the owner of the truck, Maeve Kinkaid. Maeve, I see you got my text.” He gave me a wink that was both obvious and conspiratorial.

I nodded. “We’ve met briefly,” I explained, as I extended a hand to the woman.

Carter looked at me. “Mrs. Pohler was telling me that she didn’t know the bills were phony. Her husband just gave her money to buy some food on the two occasions, and it turned out they were bad.”

“I get so tired of Indian food,” she began. “I wanted something else. My husband gave me the bills. I don’t usually carry cash, but he didn’t want me to use a credit card so the other food vendors would have proof that his wife ate at the other trucks. I had no idea that the money was fake. Where would Ryan get that at anyway?”

“He didn’t have any printing equipment?” Carter asked, before I could speak. “Ink, printers, lots of thick paper.”

She shook her head. “We have two daughters, and a three-bedroom house. There’s not any space that isn’t taken up by people or business. I’d know if there were any printers installed in the house.”

“What about the books? Did you take care of the finances or did he?” I asked. She certainly had to know something about the finances of the household and the business. It was 2016 and everyone needed to know their financial outlook.

“No, I never did any of that. Ryan took care of everything.”

I was beginning to smell a lie. It was incredibly easy for her to blame Ryan for everything that had gone wrong. He was dead, murdered, and he couldn’t defend himself from any claims made against him. It would be incredibly hard to prove that he
hadn’t
been behind the currency problems and the other issues since he wasn’t here to answer questions. Perhaps he’d merely been killed so that others could use him as a scapegoat. Crimes had been committed for stranger reasons than that.

“So you can’t tell me where you got the deposits that paid for the new trucks every so many months?” I asked, wanting to put a crack in that façade. I hadn’t liked her when her truck was on Elm Street, and this interaction was making me like her less.

Her face blanched for a moment, before her composure came back. “What money?”

“As I said, the money that was deposited in your account prior to each purchase. The police have already found it.”

She tried to stammer out an answer and then stopped. She took a deep breath while I waited, and then she began again. “Those trucks were ours, and I don’t appreciate you acting like we got them illegally. We paid for them.”

I could see the wheels in her mind working. If the trucks were purchased by someone else, even an anonymous person, they could potentially belong to that person—or worse yet, they could be confiscated by the police if the matter was related in any way to drugs. In either case, she’d be without the windfall from her husband’s death.

“How?”

My one-word question threw her worse than much of what I’d said already. Her eyes grew wide and had large drops in the corners, as if she might cry. I waited for an answer, but got nothing for nearly a minute.

“I don’t know. I told you that.” Her tone was getting peevish, and I knew I didn’t have much more time to ask questions. In the very near future, I’d have to turn her over to Detective Danvers, and I would never hear what she had to say—unless she confessed to the killings.

“Did your husband have any business partners?” I asked. I still wondered if some cartel or person was behind the quick succession of trucks that he’d bought.

“Not that I know of. He had business partners in various ventures, but nothing in the food truck business.”

I already knew her response to any questions about the trucks or the business. So I skipped the possible connection to the people who had sold Ryan Pohler the cheap, moldy food. She would deny any knowledge.

“So how did you know Bernadette?” I asked, changing gears entirely.

“Bernadette was a dear friend. I used to babysit for her when she was much younger.”

I studied the woman and readjusted her age. If Bernadette was near 30, then Mrs. Pohler would have to be in her mid-forties. Perhaps ignorance was bliss, and she was living the high life since she knew nothing.

“Did you know that your husband was blackmailing her into passing phony money?” I made the question pointed to see her response.

“He’d never do anything like that,” she said with certainty, even though I knew it to be true. She certainly had an idealized vision of her husband. I wondered if I overlooked the bad in Land, and if he had a hidden side that would crop up some day?

“She told me so. She said that he forced her to pass the bills or he’d expose her secrets.”

She winced a little as I spoke. I wondered if she’d thought of something that corroborated my facts. “What secrets?” she asked finally. “I knew everything there was to know about her. She was an open book.”

“That’s not what she told me. She said that your husband had found out some information on her and was using it against her. She didn’t tell me what it was, and I didn’t ask. I thought that if it was bad enough that she would commit a felony, then she wasn’t likely to freely share it with everyone.”

“That’s just not true. If she told you all that, then why would she be killed?” The woman put her hands on her hips and glared at me.

“That’s a good question, but I don’t have an answer to that yet. I think when I find out why she was killed, I’ll know who did it.”

“Why don’t you just let the police solve this? You had nothing to with my husband while he was alive, so why now when he’s dead?”

“He made it my business when he started passing bad money at my truck. I got involved with the police investigation of that matter which led me to this case. He started it, not me.” The words sounded childish, but I didn’t care. This woman was trying to blame me for her husband’s faults, and I wasn’t in the mood for it.

The interview had devolved to this level, so I finished with one last question. “Do you know who your husband used for investigations?” Danvers had not mentioned finding the PI who had uncovered Thomas’ past, so I wanted to find out more from her if I could.

“Jack Reilly. Why? You’re not saying that you think he’s involved in this, are you? He’s a family friend.” She looked angry at the question and ready for a fight.

“No, just wanting to find someone to work with on hiring new people. It’s hard to find good help.”

She laughed. “Tell me about it. Some of the people we worked with were terrible. If they come to you looking for work, avoid them.”

On that note, I left. I wasn’t going to listen to her badmouth Thomas. Given that her husband had underpaid them and blackmailed them into felonious acts, I thought that her assessment was likely skewed in the wrong direction. I was pleased that she had given me a plausible story to use with the private investigator when I went to see him.