Free MURDER TO GO (Food Truck Mysteries Book 1) by Chloe Kendrick Page A

did. Land got a firsthand glimpse into how well I could lie in a pinch.
    The woman came back to the entryway, carrying a sheet of paper. “This is a note he gave me one day, requesting some things from the store. He even signed it. This might help, but if I were you, I’d look twice at this will. No one came here to have him sign it.”
    “Thank you for your time,” I said as I turned to leave. Land followed behind me.
    We got back to his Camaro. He didn’t unlock the doors immediately, which left us to look at each other over the top of the car. “What’s up with this? Is this your idea of a joke?” I noticed that Land was always concerned about somebody making fun of him. Between being right and being respected, he didn’t leave much room for being fun.
    “No, I’m getting the idea that this will was forged. The witness’ deaths were just too convenient, and now we hear that Boyko couldn’t have signed the will. I need to have someone take a look at this and tell me if the handwriting is really my aunt’s. Do you have any papers that I could use for comparison?”
    Land nodded, but the sparkle that had been in his eye was gone—probably along with his hopes to own the food truck. It would seem this had been an elaborate hoax to get me out of the way by getting me away from the truck.
    Land drove us back to the truck in silence. He managed to scrounge up a list of instructions my aunt had left him about closing the truck each afternoon. He gave it to me with a frown. “This should do it. Make a copy and give it back to me.” I wasn’t sure why he needed it. He had closing down to a science. For a second, I wondered if he was being sentimental about my aunt. After all, he’d worked with her for months, day in and day out. Perhaps he missed her too.
    I nodded. I took the papers and headed home to find a handwriting analyst.

Chapter 6
     
    Finding a handwriting analyst proved more difficult than I had expected. The general public has little need for handwriting analysis. Either most of the experts are employed directly by the police, or they are consultants who charge exorbitant fees to testify as witnesses in a variety of civil and criminal matters. In the end, I had to pay another visit to Mr. Huff, who seemed less than pleased to see me again so soon.
    “My dear,” he said as he shuffled to his desk. He waited to speak again until he’d settled himself in his chair. He leaned back so that he could see me out of his bifocals. His eyes looked split, the lower half larger than the upper. “Why exactly do you want a handwriting analysis done? I don’t think it would put you in a good light to be dabbling in a field closely related to the matter of the will.”
    “I have a strong suspicion that the will was forged,” I said. I explained how both witnesses had recently passed away. If the culprit had forged the will and wanted to use the names of people that could not testify in court, then the will had been created within the past two weeks, long past the time of my aunt’s passing. I explained how Boyko had no visitors and had been comatose for the last several weeks. “There’s a strong case that he never saw my aunt. If he didn’t see her, then he couldn’t have signed her will.”
    He nodded. Mr. Huff had sat up straight during my explanation. I must have gotten his full attention. “That certainly does put a different spin on things, especially the part about cancer. You do know that the police have been by here to ask about you. I had to tell them about the will and all. They were very interested to hear about that.”
    I rolled my eyes. As if Danvers didn’t have enough to nail me with, now he knew about the possible new will. In his eyes, I would have killed people and hidden the will, which made no sense since it would not have given me the truck. I wasn’t sure what he’d say about the fact that I was actually the one who had turned the will over to the estate. That only served to make