Hamburger Heist Read online

  “How much?”

  “Three hundred.”

  “But there can’t have been less than five hundred in the register,” I pointed out.

  “Well, he must have spent some of it already.”

  “What about Arnie’s silver dollar?”

  “Huh?”

  “Arnie’s lucky silver dollar. It’s an old Morgan silver dollar. Has a mustache carved on Lady Liberty.”

  “Arnold might have mentioned some silver dollar.”

  “I hope you put it down in the report.”

  “It can’t be too valuable if it’s been defaced,“ Scott said. “Not with the price of silver being as low as it is.”

  “Not everything has a purely monetary value,” I said. “Did this man you arrested confess?”

  “No, not yet,” said Scott. “He keeps insisting he had nothing to do with it, and that he was elsewhere in the neighborhood at the time, but nobody ever confesses unless—”

  That’s when I hung up on Officer Finch. I shouldn’t have done it, but I was hopping mad.

  I called up Arnie, and he informed me that what Scott said was true. Arnie had just been down at the station and identified a suspect out of a lineup.

  “But are you sure he’s the robber?” I pressed him.

  “He was wearing the same yellow plaid shirt,” Arnie said. “And he’s the right body type, but no, I’m not sure.”

  “And they didn’t find your silver dollar on him?”

  “No.”

  “Who was the man they arrested? Did you recognize him?”

  “I think he’s homeless,” Arnie said. “I’ve seen him hanging around with that friend of yours, Marge.”

  Marge is a homeless lady who comes by our food truck a few times a week. She sleeps on the porch of the old house downtown that functions as Bray Bay’s public library.

  “Scott informed me that he only had three hundred dollars on him when they arrested him,” I told Arnie. “Don’t you think they might have gotten the wrong man?”

  “Who carries that kind of cash, though?”

  “A homeless person without a bank account. He could have just cashed his VA or disability check. Maybe he’s been saving up from recycling cans. Three hundred dollars isn’t that much cash for somebody to be carrying around with them, especially someone without a bank account or credit cards.”

  Chapter Four

  The next morning, I returned to the supermarket to make a second attempt at ordering Arnie’s birthday cake. His birthday was only two days away, and, given what he’d been through, I didn’t want to let the day go by without a proper celebration.

  This time Jax, the baker, was in.

  Jax was a tall, thin young man with intense blue eyes. He certainly knew his cakes. By the time I left the bakery, I was far more informed on all the variations of cake than I wanted to be. The man was obsessed.

  “He’s worse than usual today,” Franny said in a stage whisper when she caught me in the cereal aisle. “He’s always a little over the top, but when he’s in a good mood—”

  “That was Jax in a good mood?”

  You could have fooled me. Manic? Maybe. Happy? Not so much.

  “Yeah. When Jax arrived this morning, he announced that he was turning over a new leaf. He wasn’t going to gamble anymore. Then he went on about the love of a good woman, and how he wasn’t going to blow it this time.”

  “Did he recently fall in love or something?”

  “No, he’s been engaged for a while, but last week I overheard him on the phone to a friend saying something about being afraid the engagement was going to ‘be off’ if he didn’t take care of ‘it.’”

  “Take care of what?”

  “I have no idea,” said Franny.

  “No ideas at all?”

  “No,” Franny was looking over her shoulder. “I’d better go. I got written up last week by the manager for ‘excessive fraternization’ with the customers.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know that sounds bad, but all the manager meant was that he thinks I talk too much.”

  As I was walking out of the supermarket, I ran into Marge. She wasn’t carrying her usual black plastic bags, but I figured she’d hidden them in the bushes somewhere.

  “I haven’t seen you for a while,” I said. “Are you doing alright?”

  “I’m doing terrible,” Marge said. “Bobby got arrested yesterday evening. They think he’s the one who held up your food truck, but I swear it wasn’t him.”

  Marge looked like she was about to cry.

  “Why don’t we go down the street to Burt’s coffee shop,” I suggested. “I’ll buy us some coffees, and you can tell me all about it.”

  Marge started crying in earnest before we even got our order.

  “I’m not even close to being convinced he did it, either, if that helps,” I told her.

  “He can’t even post bail,” Marge wailed. “Bobby’s going to get charged with armed robbery. Do know how long people go to prison for that?”

  I didn’t, and I didn’t think Marge’s state of mind would be improved by dwelling on it.

  “Does Bobby have an alibi?” I asked.

  “He was with me all the way from noon ‘til after four.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Well, we hung out at the park for a while, then we went to the supermarket to check what they’d set out back.”

  “Was there anything good?”

  “We took some overripe bananas and a box of day-old donuts.”

  “What did you do after that?”.

  “We went down to the beach for a while and ate the donuts. Around four, we split up. I walked over to the library, and Bobby went to check his mailbox.”

  “His mailbox?”

  “Bobby has a box at the post office. He has to have somewhere to receive his disability checks.”

  “And yesterday he was expecting his check?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he do with his check?”

  “The Quick and Pick has a cashing service. He usually goes there.”

  “Have you been to see Bobby yet?”

  “At the jail?”

  I nodded.

  “I hate jails,” Marge said and started crying again.

  I reached over and patted her hand.

  “I don’t think you have too much to worry about,” I told Marge. “If the money he had on him really did come from just having cashed his disability check, then there will be a record of that at the Quick and Pick. I don’t see anyone getting convicted of armed robbery just because they happened to be the same height and weight as the real robber.”

  Marge looked far from reassured, but at least she stopped crying.

  “What was Bobby wearing yesterday, when you went to the beach?”

  “A red long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.”

  “Does Bobby own a long-sleeved yellow plaid shirt?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Marge. “But when you live like us, you pick up things here and there.”

  Later, when I called the county jail, over in Eagle’s Rest, I was informed that visiting hours weren’t until between the hours of 2 PM and 3 PM. What’s more, I had to be on a list of visitors approved by the inmate.

  “I’ll ask if the inmate wants to put you on his list,” the woman on the other end of the phone suggested. “What is his full name?”

  “Umm, Bobby somebody.”

  “We’ll need more to go on than that,” the woman said and hung up on me.

  I considered trying to track down Marge again and get Bobby’s full name but decided to take the easy way out and call Scott.

  “You want to do what?” Scott demanded.

  “I want to talk to the man you arrested.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, first off, Marge is very upset.”

  “Who’s Marge?”

  “Bobby’s girlfriend, if I’ve read between the lines correctly.”

  “Who’s Bobby?”

  “The man you arrested for holding up our food truck. Can you please just look up his full legal name for me? It can’t be confidential information since I’m sure it will be in the paper on Friday when they print who got—”

  “All right,” Scott said, “but I really don’t understand why you are doing this.”

  I waited for a full ten minutes before Scott picked up again.

  “The inmate’s name is Robert Thomas,” he informed me, then abruptly switched gears. “How about we go over to Eagle’s Rest later this evening and catch a movie?”

  I turned him down.

  I went to the food truck to open up for lunch. Arnie arrived a few minutes after I did. He was grouchy, and so was Frank, who pointedly ignored my friendly overtures and growled under his breath as he flopped down between the front tires of the truck.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked Arnie, although the circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t.

  Arnie just grunted and started slicing beefsteak tomatoes. I took out another cutting board and started on the onions. Arnie hates doing the onions.

  “Did you happen to notice what Bobby was wearing yesterday?”

  “Bobby?”

  “The supposed robber they wanted you to identify down at the police station.”

  “He was wearing the same plaid shirt,” Arnie insisted. “I’m sure about that.”

  “What was he wearing underneath?”

  “I don’t know,” Arnie said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Think about it,” I urged.

  “I guess he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath. I thought it was weird because it was pretty warm yesterday afternoon, but I could see the sleeves of the t-shirt sticking out past the sleeves of the plaid shirt.”

  “Wha
t color was it? The t-shirt, I mean.”

  “I think it was red,” Arnie said.

  “So you remember the man in the police lineup wearing a red t-shirt. Do you remember if the robber was too?”

  “Is this an interrogation?” Arnie demanded. “When you’re staring down the business end of a gun, you don’t really notice these little details.”

  I let the matter drop.

  Just as we were getting our first flush of early birds from the Whispering Palms Senior Living Complex down the street, Hank ambled over and ordered a chili dog.

  “You look a lot more cheerful than the last time I saw you, “ I told Hank.

  “You betcha I’m cheerful,” Hank said. “I just got the best piece of news I’ve had in years.“

  “Oh? Did Hank Jr. Jr. land a job?”

  “Better than that. I got a phone call from my son this morning, and Hank Jr. Jr. is back home in Montana.”

  “He just took off?” I asked.

  “I guess you didn’t know,” Hank said. “After I talked to you yesterday, I went home and found Hank Jr. Jr.’s room emptied out. At first I worried that he’d run off somewhere, but then I found the note he left me.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said he’d come up with the money for a bus ticket back home, so he was leaving.”

  “Where’d he come up with cash to buy a bus ticket?” I asked.

  Chapter Five

  “I don’t know where he came up with money for a bus ticket home,” said Hank, “and I don’t particularly care. I’m just happy he’s off my couch.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “A few hours after we got held up yesterday, you went home and found out that Hank Jr. Jr. had flown the coop.”

  “Yes.” Hank was staring at me blankly. He clearly didn’t understand what I was getting at, and I was half-glad he didn’t.

  I wondered if Hank Jr. Jr. was partial to plaid, but then realized it wouldn’t do me much good to know. Hank Sr. wore almost nothing but plaid, and it would have been easy for Hank Jr. Jr. to swipe a shirt from his grandfather’s closet.

  It seemed that the yellow plaid shirt worn during the robbery must have been discarded by the robber and picked up by Bobby, so I decided to take a different tack.

  “Are you missing a plaid shirt?” I asked Hank. “Mostly yellow with blue and green checks?”

  “I hate yellow,” Hank said. “Wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”

  “Does Hank Jr. Jr. share your aversion to yellow?” I asked.

  Hank looked at me like I was losing my mind.

  “If you’d ever met that boy,” Hank said, “you wouldn’t ask a question like that. The kid wears black from head to toe.”

  The following afternoon, once the lunch rush was over, I told Arnie I needed to run over to Eagle’s Rest to pick up some things from the restaurant supply. That was not a lie, but I omitted to tell Arnie that I was going to make a stop at the country jail while I was at it.

  I’d called the jail and confirmed that I was on the approved visitors list. I didn’t know what to make of Bobby Thomas agreeing to see me. I wasn’t sure he even knew who I was. Perhaps Marge had talked about me, or perhaps Bobby was so desperate he’d have agreed to see anyone.

  At the jail, I went through the metal detector and was ushered into a small cafeteria where a few inmates were receiving visitors.

  I recognized Bobby, sitting at a table by himself. I walked over and sat down.

  “I’m a friend of Marge,” I said.

  “Does she have a message for me?”

  “Not exactly, although I can assure you that she is extremely worried about you.”

  “I don’t understand what happened,” Bobby said. “I was just down the street from the Quick and Pick, minding my own business, when this police car pulled up, and the next thing I knew they were putting cuffs on me.”

  “You understand they think you held up my food truck on Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, they explained why I was getting arrested, but I didn’t do it,” Bobby insisted. “Please, you have to believe me.”

  “I do believe you,” I said. I mostly believed him, anyway.

  “Where did that cash you had on you come from?”

  “My disability check; I’d just cashed it at the Quick and Pick.”

  “That’s what Marge said. It shouldn’t be too hard to prove that part.”

  “I haven’t even seen the public defender yet,” Bobby said.

  “What about the shirt you were wearing?” I asked Bobby. “That’s the other main reason they’re convinced you’re the culprit.”

  “I found it draped over a bush by the dumpster out back of the Quick and Pick,” Bobby said. “It looked nice and clean, and I liked the color, so I took it. It never occurred to me that someone had thrown it away because they didn’t want to be recognized.”

  “You didn’t happen to see a Darth Vader mask lying around there too, did you?” I asked.

  Bobby said no. I let the matter drop. I tried to reassure Bobby that everything would be all right, but I wasn’t very convinced myself.

  After I left the jail, I headed for the restaurant supply. On the way there, I spotted Jax, the baker, coming out of Jim’s Pawn Shop on Main Street. I slowed down, and as I passed, I watched him in my rearview mirror as he did a little jig on the sidewalk, his long legs flailing and his thin face split in a broad smile.

  Chapter Six

  The next day was Arnie’s birthday. On the way to work, I stopped by the supermarket bakery and picked up the birthday cake.

  “Jax is a wizard with frosting,” I said to Franny. “You didn’t exaggerate when you told me he’s too good for a supermarket bakery.”

  It was a beautiful cake. I’d originally requested a basic sheet cake with “Happy Birthday, Arnie” written on it, but Jax had rejected that idea. Instead, I’d ended up with a replica of the food truck, complete with Arnie and me piped in royal icing into the serving window. Jax had even added Frank peeking out from behind a tire.

  The cake was perfect. I was impressed at the level of detail, especially considering that Jax hardly ever visited the food truck.

  I parked around the back of Hank’s carwash and unloaded the cake and a package of birthday candles. I stuck my head in at Hank’s office.

  “Come over and help me sing Happy Birthday to Arnie,” I told Hank.

  Hank got up from his chair and followed me over to the food truck.

  “I found out where Hank Jr. Jr. got money for his bus ticket home,” Hank said as we crossed the parking lot.

  “Oh?”

  “He has an online girlfriend,” Hank said. “They game together. My daughter-in-law was livid when she found out. She’s worried that Hank Jr. Jr. accepted money from some weirdo posing as a seventeen-year-old girl from Omaha, but I think she’s just being overprotective.”

  “How did Hank Jr. Jr.’s parents find out about his girlfriend?”

  I wanted to make sure the girlfriend wasn’t just some story Hank’s grandson had concocted to explain his sudden windfall.

  “My daughter-in-law figured out Hank Jr. Jr.’s password and got into his phone. She saw a bunch of messages they’d sent each other.”

  That put Hank Jr. Jr. out of the running as a robbery suspect, I decided. But I was still curious about something.

  “Did you ever figure out what happened to your Darth Vader mask?” I asked Hank.

  “Funny you should ask,” said Hank. “I got a visit yesterday afternoon from a very frightened eleven-year-old and his mother.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was some kid who walks through the alley every day on the way to school, and he’d noticed the mask through the window. I guess he got it in his head to steal it. The day it went missing I’d left the door unlocked. I guess while I was around front, dealing with a clogged washer nozzle, the kid just walked in and took it.”

  “Did the kid bring the mask back?”

  “Yeah, he was so scared he was shaking. I would have lit into him, but he started to cry. I figure he learned his lesson.”

  “This eleven-year-old didn’t happen to be freakishly tall for his age, did he?”

  “Nah,” Hank said. “He was a shrimpy little thing.”

  We’d reached the food truck, and I’d paused just out of Arnie’s field of vision while I quizzed Hank about the disappearance of his mask. Hank and I tiptoed to the one table farthest from the food truck while I lit the candles with Hank’s lighter. I’d just lit the last candle when I heard a low growl come from underneath the food truck.