Smothered In Lies (A Mexican Cafe Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) Read online

  SMOTHERED IN LIES

  A Mexican Café Cozy Mystery

  Holly Plum

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Also by Holly Plum

  A Special Thank You!

  Copyright © 2016 by Holly Plum

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was a warm day in mid-September.

  It was a warm fall day and Mari Ramirez, the current manager of Lito Bueno’s Mexican restaurant in a small town in southern Texas, cruised down Main Street as she often did. Mari peered into the rearview mirror. The road was empty at this hour, but she caught a glimpse of herself: brown hair newly cut into bangs, dark shades, a blue button-down with matching camisole. Her faithful bulldog, Tabasco, sat in the seat beside her. He was buckled in, and he looked as happy as can be.

  Summer was ending, though Mari could hardly tell as she gazed out her window at the blasted trees and scorched asphalt. Heat rose from the sidewalks in waves, and she had to take Tabasco with her everywhere because it wasn’t safe to leave him in the car, even for a few minutes. There were times when she wished she lived somewhere more northerly where seasons actually changed when they were supposed to. Mari wondered what it would have been like to live in a place where the leaves changed color, the wind was bracingly cold, and work was occasionally canceled because of a snowstorm.

  Still, Mari was glad to be putting another summer behind her. It had easily been the most stressful summer since she had broken off her engagement and had moved home a couple of years earlier. One morning not too long ago an old friend had been found in the dining room of Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant with a knife in his back. Then, only a few weeks later, a woman Mari admired had been poisoned with Mari’s own salsa. In both cases, suspicion had immediately fallen on Mari’s family, which had owned and operated Lito Bueno’s since before she could crawl. And in both cases, it was only her luck, determination, and knack for getting into trouble that had restored the family’s good name and had brought the true criminals to justice.

  Here at the end of the summer, Mari was ready for a break. She had quit her job and had left Fort Worth in the hopes of getting away from the stress and pressures of big-city life. But the stress had followed her home and had kicked her door down.

  Growing up, things had been different. Mari had only the warmest memories of eating hot dogs in the local park on the fourth of July and sneaking out at night to hunt snipes with her brothers David and Alex. Mari's hometown had been a quieter place then. The only troubles had come from the ongoing and possibly eternal conflict between Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant and the Lucky Noodle, the Chinese restaurant across the street. It was the only Chinese restaurant in town, just as theirs was the only Mexican restaurant. For as long as Mari could remember, her father and Mr. Chun had been trying to put each other out of business.

  Mr. José Ramirez had never trusted his sons with much. Being the oldest, Mari had always been given more responsibilities. While her brothers scrubbed dishes in the kitchen, she had been promoted to manager. She couldn’t say she was sorry about it, but Mari had lobbied her dad on their behalf to grant her brothers more independence. She reflected on the latest argument she'd had with her father on the subject.

  “Those boys are a menace,” Mr. Ramirez had said, in his usual grumpy way. “They’re like the opposite of Midas. Everything they touch turns to ruin. I can’t have them running things around here.”

  “But don’t you wish they would do more with their lives?” Mari had argued.

  “If they could actually make something of themselves,” he'd said, “I could die in peace.”

  “But they can’t do that,” Mari had replied, “as long as they’re stuck back there wiping down the microwaves. Don’t you see the problem? You want them to do more, but you won’t let them.”

  Mr. Ramirez had resented the assertion that he was responsible for the boys’ lack of growth. “It’s not my fault that my sons have been fifteen for over ten years,” he'd said.

  That was how the idea for the food truck had been born. After several hours of discussion, Mari had convinced her father that the best thing for both of the boys would be a project of their own that they could operate independently of the restaurant. And if their experiment collapsed spectacularly as Mari's father expected it to do within a week or two, it would be on them. They wouldn’t be able to come in late or leave early without putting the future of their own business venture in jeopardy.

  Mari continued down Main Street until it intersected with another road. Here she turned right and continued past the railroad tracks into the older part of town. This was once an industrial center until all the factories closed down years ago. Now most of the local businesses were closed, and the district was a shell of its former self.

  About a quarter of a mile past the train tracks stood an abandoned lot. One of those run-down places whose only contribution to the world was white dust and rocks. Except around lunchtime every day now when the place came alive with food and music. As Mari drove through the yellow gate into the lot searching for a parking space, she counted half a dozen trailers and about that many port-a-potties. The number of workers running here and there setting up picnic tables and lawn chairs and boom boxes contributed to the frenzied nature of the scene.

  In the last couple of weeks, David and Alex had been working alongside several local restaurants to create a shared eating space. Inevitably, perhaps, their food truck stood directly across from the one owned by the Lucky Noodle. Mr. Chun, the owner, had granted his daughter Jia permission to participate because he thought it would boost their business. Mari wondered if the two boys had known Jia would working alongside them. She and Alex had recently dated, though the relationship had ended amicably.

  Jia was perched in the window of her truck, cheerfully spooning vegetable fried rice onto a customer's plate. She didn’t seem to notice Mari walking past. Tabasco busied himself sniffing for crumbs in the dirt as Mari made her way to the table at the edge of the lot.

  The Mexican food truck had already done her brothers good. When Mari appeared, they were both incredibly busy. Alex wiped down the surface of a table with a wet rag while David took orders from newly arriving customers. Occasionally his phone would buzz because he had given out his business number so that people could text their orders when they were on their way.

 
“I brought everything you said you needed,” Mari said. “You said you were running low on seasonings."

  “That’s great,” David replied with a look of mild annoyance. “Did you bring the diced tomatoes?”

  “Oh, no. I forgot. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay." David chuckled. "I figured you would forget, so I told Mamá to bring some extras. She’s on her way.”

  Meanwhile, Alex was on his hands and knees in the dirt picking up trash and discarded silverware.

  “You would not believe the kinds of stuff people leave around here,” Alex muttered. “I could make a killing just selling this stuff on eBay.” Seeing his sister’s stony glare, he added, “… if that wasn’t illegal. Wait, is it illegal? I’m sure it is.”

  “Probably,” Mari answered. "What did you find?"

  “Jackets, glasses, a shoelace…"

  “Wow,” Mari responded.

  “All kinds of silverware," Alex continued. "For some reason, some people bring their own silverware, even though we have plastic forks and spoons here. I keep telling them that but nobody listens to me. Yesterday, I even found a book - A Dummy's Guide to Knitting. It'll make a great Christmas re-gift to someone."

  “You mean me,” Mari clarified.

  “Let's not spoil the surprise,” Alex said, whistling cheerfully as he carried a blue backpack into the food truck. “A whole backpack. Someone might come back for that. And if not, it'll fetch an awesome price.”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re selling the things people leave here,” Mari questioned him.

  “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies,” Alex replied. Mari shook her head in disapproval.

  “But don’t let our brother mislead you,” David chimed in, carrying a stack of plates. “We’re actually selling a lot of food. We could put our dad out of business if we were competing against him. That’s how much food we’re selling.”

  “Careful now,” Mari said, “you don’t want to get too cocky.”

  “I mean, we’re not trying to be cocky, or at least I’m not.” David nodded. “But the number of smothered burritos we’ve sold in the last week alone would be enough to bury the Lucky Noodle forever if Jia Chun wasn’t selling even more food than we are.”

  “Life’s tough, isn’t it?” Mari pointed out.

  “It is. I think Jia is trying to outsell us every day on purpose.”

  “Or she could just be trying to make money?” Mari suggested.

  “Nah, she's just trying to annoy us,” David replied. "Alex thinks she has been putting spells on all of her customers to keep them coming back.”

  “Maybe you should try to make friends?” Mari said. “Learn some of her secrets.”

  “I think one of us already tried that,” David informed her.

  “Tried it,” Alex responded. "Jia and I dated for…well, way too long."

  “Yes, I remember," Mari said.

  But at that moment the air was rent by a woman’s scream.

  Mari felt a powerful sense of déjà vu as David set down his plates and began running toward the source of the noise. The world lurched and tumbled beneath her. No, not this, she thought. Not again. Not today.

  But already a crowd had gathered around the port-a-potties. David muscled his way through, and Mari followed close behind him. When the crowd parted, they saw the last thing Mari had wanted to see. A woman was standing there with a frozen look on her face. She pointed down into the dirt. There, on the ground beneath them, lay a man’s body. Blood oozed from a single bullet hole in the center of his chest.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Detective Price showed up at the scene just a few minutes after the body had been found. He got there so quickly that it was as if he had been stationed outside the lot waiting for a crime to be committed.

  The crowd parted at his approach so that he could examine the body. The detective knelt down in the dirt and checked the pulse to ensure that the man was dead. Then he stood up and looked around at the assembled men, women, and children, some of them quite pale with shock. A young boy no older than ten clutched his stomach as though about to throw up.

  “I’ve lived in this town for twenty years,” Detective Price said, “but I have no recollection of having ever seen this man. Did anyone know him? Anyone?”

  No one answered.

  “Are you telling me that no one knows who this man is?" he said in a tone of frustration. “I’m going to have to interview everyone one at a time. No one leaves until I’m finished.”

  “Check his wallet,” Mari chimed in.

  Detective Price flipped it open and pulled out a driver’s license. “Vance Gorden,” he said aloud. “Does that name sound familiar?”

  Mari shook her head.

  “Just out of curiosity, what are you doing here?”

  “I just happened to be in the area,” Mari replied.

  “Aren't you always,” the detective muttered. “Let’s chat for a minute. So, you were here doing what exactly?”

  “My brothers David and Alex started a food truck.” Mari raised her hand to wipe the sweat off of her brow. It was unusually hot, even for a day in mid-September. “I stopped by to drop some things off.”

  “How long have your brothers been running this food truck?” the detective asked.

  “About two or three weeks.”

  “When did you get here?” the detective continued.

  “About twenty minutes ago," Mari confirmed. "I wasn’t here long enough to notice anything out of the ordinary. Just some local families eating food. A few unfamiliar faces, but that’s not anything new.”

  “No arguments and no fights that you were aware of?”

  “Everyone seemed to be in a good mood." Mari shrugged. "The boom box was playing, and some of the kids were dancing.”

  “That’s terrific,” Detective Price said in a tone of deep sarcasm. “That gives me so much to go on, thank you.”

  “Did someone forget their coffee this morning?" Mari said, sounding annoyed herself.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact,” he answered smugly.

  "It didn't take a detective to figure that one out," Mari joked. "Come on over to the food truck, and I'll pour you a cup."

  "I just don't get it." Detective Price continued, ignoring Mari's offer. He scratched his head. "How is a man shot in broad daylight without anyone noticing?"

  “I don't know, Sir,” Mari said.

  “Please, tell me you at least heard what could have been a gunshot?”

  “Gunshot?” Mari said blankly.

  Detective Price nodded. “Yes. The gunshot that killed Vance Gorden. You must have heard something.”

  Mari looked slowly around the lot, her normally tan face was suddenly white. “There was no gunshot,” she stated.

  “Come again?” The detective raised his eyebrows.

  “I heard nothing. None of us heard a thing until that woman screamed.”

  “So either this killing happened hours ago, and the body was dumped here, or—”

  “Like I said,” Mari repeated, “it was incredibly loud. A lot of people were talking. Maybe we just didn’t hear it.”

  “And anyway,” David interrupted, who had been standing beside Mari through the last part of the conversation, “that man couldn’t have died hours ago because it’s not stiff.” David smirked. "Yes, I do watch television."

  “And I suppose you also heard nothing?” Detective Price asked.

  “Not a thing,” David answered.

  “Do you recognize the man?”

  “Actually...” David wrinkled his nose. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

  Mari ran to fetch Alex.

  “We served that guy lunch,” Alex confirmed. "Don't you remember, David? He asked for horchata."

  "Oh right," David answered.

  “Did you serve him today?” Detective Price asked.

  “I’d say about an hour ago. He ordered a ridiculous number of smothered burritos. I doubt he was planning on eating them all by himsel
f.” Alex shrugged like his observation was no big deal.

  “Did you notice anything else about him?” The detective studied David and Alex as if hoping to absorb more information from them.

  “Nah, that was it,” Alex answered.

  “Was he with anyone?”

  Alex nodded. “You might talk to those folks over there.” He pointed to the bench he had just finished wiping down. A man and a woman were seated there. Both of them looked as if they were in their late twenties or early thirties, and both of them wore khaki cargo pants and Texas State History Museum t-shirts. The woman trembled slightly, while the man stared into the distance with a blank expression. He looked too dazed to cry.

  Detective Price strode toward them. Mari watched him go, wondering how he could stand to wear a shirt and tie in hundred-degree weather.

  The detective approached the man and woman with his notebook in hand. He introduced himself with a handshake.

  “Did you know the deceased?” the detective asked the man and woman. For a moment it looked like neither of them were going to answer. Then, without looking up, the young man gave a small nod.

  “Death is a difficult pill to swallow,” Detective Price said, “but I’m going to need as much information as I can get if I'm going to figure out what happened.”

  “I'm Benny Park,” the man said first. He had a tan complexion and a messy head of brown hair. It looked like he had messed it up on purpose, or he had been raking his fingers through it for so long that it stuck. "I was Vance's friend."

  He turned to the woman he was with.

  “Kristi Chapmon,” the woman added. She wore a red tennis visor, and her straight brown hair was tied back in a long ponytail. “I was a good friend.” She paused for a moment. “Girlfriend, I mean.”

  Detective Price glanced up at the admission. “How long had you been dating the victim?”

  “Off and on for about two years,” Kristi replied. "And his name was Vance. I would appreciate it if you addressed him by his name and not like another number in your case file."