The Mysterious Food Truck Affair

Mattie checked the time. It was close to 10 p.m. The guy was 20 minutes late. Maybe she had the wrong day? She scrolled through the email account she kept for DateMate.com. Right day. Five more minutes, then she’d leave.

“Mattie?”

She looked up, barely recognizing him from his profile photo. His healthy head of chestnut hair was reduced to anemic strands straddling his shiny dome, and he wore black framed glasses.

“Harvey?”

“Sorry, I’m late. Work.” He squeezed a smile and sat.

The server whisked to the table with menus. Was it the low light or did she scowl at Harvey? “Anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a glass of the ‘69 Cabernet.” He sounded familiar with the wine list.

“Just water for me, thanks,” Mattie said.

An awkward pause followed the server’s retreat; then Harvey and Mattie spoke at the same time.

“So, Harvey, tell me about your abacus collection.”

“You said you work for a famous mystery writer?”

They chuckled nervously at the verbal collision.

“Ladies first,” Harvey said.

“I’m the reader engagement associate for the Agatha Christie Estate in London. I answer trivia queries, research copyright, things like that.”

“You must be quite the Christie expert then.” The server brought Harvey’s wine. He picked up the glass by the stem and took a good gulp.

Mattie perked. “I’m what you call a ‘super fan.’ Agatha wrote 66 books, 14 short story collections, and over 20 plays. I’ve read them all multiple times.”

“I’ve watched the TV show with that French detective,” Harvey said.

“Belgian, actually. There’s nothing like a good murder. Agatha’s favorite murder method was poison. She knew a lot about them because she was an apothecary. Poison’s great because it’s so insidious. Silent, easy to administer and rarely detected unless you’re looking for it. That’s what most people don’t know.”

Harvey’s eyes widened. Mattie gushed on.

“In fact, a number of common plants are poisonous. Agatha was so good at turning the ordinary into the sinister.”

“Sounds like you’d be a good mystery writer yourself.”

“I’d rather be a detective. I solve little mysteries here and there.”

Mattie’s phone chimed. It was a text from her sister Rosie.

The truck just exploded at the yard. Get here now!

“I gotta go.” Mattie pushed back her chair. “Family emergency. Sorry.”

Harvey looked stricken.

On the way out, the server stopped her. “Good for you, hon. You’re the fourth date that guy has met here this month. He orders the most expensive items on the menu then goes to the bathroom and never returns, sticking the date with the check. Now he’ll have to pay for that drink, 36 bucks.” She smiled.

Mattie didn’t have time to process her luck. She rushed out.

As the subway train rattled across Queens to Astoria, she pulled out a Granny Smith from her purse and crunched into it. Some people jogged, some meditated. Mattie ate apples. She always kept a few in her purse. She texted Rosie to ask if anyone was hurt. No reply.

She galloped up the steps of Astoria station and jogged past her family’s diner, which her Greek immigrant dad had unimaginatively named “Good Food,” to the lot where commercial vehicles parked at night.

She pushed her way through onlookers at the entrance. Rosie and their parents, Dimitrios and Thessaly, huddled on the side as firefighters hosed a charred metal skeleton. The only thing that identified it was a twisted piece of metal stating “Gre,” from the truck’s name “It’s All Greek to Me!” Mattie had come up with that moniker.

“Anyone hurt?” Mattie said.

Her mother drew her into a hug. “No, thank god.”

Her father gazed vacantly at the scene. He was showing signs of dementia but bristled whenever anyone mentioned his mental lapses.

A firefighter marched over. “It looks like the propane tank. The valve either wasn’t sealed properly, or it had worn through. We also found loose wiring. That probably ignited the leaking gas. You’re real lucky no one was close by.”

They thanked him and he walked off, barking orders at the crew.

“I don’t think this was an accident,” Rosie said.

“You think someone did this on purpose?” Mattie said.

“I fired Jacko for stealing earlier today.”

“What?” Jacko had worked the truck for 14 years. He was practically one of the family.

“He was taking advantage of Papa’s … condition and doctoring invoices.”

“What condition? You mean my bad leg?” Dimitrios chimed in.

“Shh.” Thessaly put a calming hand on his arm.

“I worked with Jacko every weekend and vacation in high school and college,” Mattie said. “I never saw him take a dime.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Thessaly said. “The truck is gone.”.

“I’ll call the insurance company in the morning,” Rosie said.

“And we can buy a new truck,” Dimitrios said.

Rosie pursed her lips. Mattie knew a battle loomed. Rosie, who ran the diner, wanted to sell the truck and use the proceeds to modernize Good Food, put in a bar, get rid of the cheesy murals of the Parthenon and Mediterranean views, and update the menu with avocado toast and quinoa and chevre salads.

But Dimitrios was dead set against any change, especially selling the truck. “Liquor brings too much trouble,” he’d say. Mattie suspected the real reason was his ego and sentiment. Dimitrios insisted on keeping strict control over the truck, which was also his first business when the Zafeirakises arrived in New York City three decades ago.

“We should file a police report against Jacko,” Thessaly said.

“No,” Rosie said with surprising vehemence. “I don’t want to get him in trouble. Just … leave it.”

It seemed unlike Rosie. Mattie took in the fire scene. Something was off about it, but her mind was too scattered to grab onto the thread. Then her concentration was interrupted by her mother’s frantic waving.

“Elena! Over here!” Thessaly’s younger sister and her husband, Nick, were beelining toward them.

“What are those leeches doing here?” Rosie said under her breath.

Elena reached them. “Is everyone all right?”

After briefly hugging her aunt and uncle, Mattie announced she was going home, which was true … but she was going to talk to Jacko first.

“Hey, how did your date go tonight?” Rosie said.

“It didn’t.”

“You went into a monologue about Agatha Christie and murder.”

“He asked me. He was also a scammer.”

“I told you, wait to talk about that stuff until they get to know you. It comes off as creepy.”

Mattie stiffened. “I can hardly lie about what I do. Besides, it’s what I like talking about.” She put on a pompous British accent. “‘Murder, I have often noticed, is a great matchmaker’.”

Rosie groaned. “Miss Marple?”

“Poirot. The ABC Murders.”

“You need a dating site for mystery nuts.”

“I’ve looked. There aren’t any. See you tomorrow.”

* * *

Mattie pressed the buzzer for Jacko’s apartment and leaned into the intercom. “It’s Mattie.”

The door buzzed immediately.

He was leaning over the railing on the fourth-floor landing as she trudged up the stairs. “You heard then?” he called.

Mattie nodded, her throat sandpapered from the climb. She swallowed. “Did you hear?”

He frowned. “About what?”

“The truck blew up. A leak from the propane tank. No one got hurt.”

“What?”

The shock on his face was real. He couldn’t be responsible. He ushered her into his apartment and poured her a glass of tap water.

“I left that tank sealed tight. I never made a mistake like that.” His voice trailed off. “Wait, is Rosie saying …?”

Mattie nodded.

He sighed. “Rosie accused me of fixing invoices to skim money. I’d never do that.”

“Who else has access to the email account?”

“As far as I know, just Dimitrios.” His face crumpled. “What does Rosie have against me?” He covered his face with his hands as his shoulders juddered.

Mattie felt a pang. “I don’t know, Jacko, but I’m going to find out.”

* * *

The next morning, Mattie bit into a Gala apple as she clicked open the Ask Anything Agatha inbox and morphed into her alter ego, the very English Prunella Fernsby.

Why did Agatha Christie make Poirot Belgian, of all things? From, Francophile.

Mattie searched through her stock answer file, the vast majority of questions she received being repeats, and found the correct one. She copied and pasted it into her answer.

Dear Francophile,

The character of Hercule Poirot was inspired by Belgian refugees living in Torquay, Devon, during World War I, including the Belgian soldiers Agatha ministered to as a volunteer nurse. Agatha, who was from Devon, wrote the first Poirot novel, “The Mysterious Affair at Styles,” in 1916 in the middle of that war.

Very truly yours,

Prunella Fernsby

Mattie hit Send and hovered her cursor over the next email in the queue. She sat back. This could wait. Jacko couldn’t. She grabbed her apple.

* * *

Dimitrios and Thessaly were sitting glum-faced at their kitchen table, nursing coffee mugs, when Mattie entered through the back door. Rosie was pouring herself a cup.

“What are you doing here, Almatheia?” her father said using her full name.

She pecked his stubbly cheek. “Just seeing how you are, Papa.”

“We’re fine,” he said.

“We’re not fine.” Rosie sat at the table. “Since we’re all here, we might as well go over the situation.”

“What’s to go over? We have insurance,” Dimitrios said.

Rosie took a deep breath. “We don’t. You never paid the last premium on the truck, Papa. The policy lapsed.”

Thessaly blanched. Mattie slumped. Dimitrios banged his fist on the table.

“I paid it. I pay all the bills,” he said. “The insurance company made a mistake.”

“I’m going to go through all the files today,” Rosie said. “The truck business is also broke.”

“You’re mistaken,” Dimitrios said. “You don’t know how the truck runs.”

“Papa, Rosie’s just looking out for the family’s interests.” Mattie turned to Rosie. “Can you take us through it?” She glanced at her mother, who looked like she was in shock.

Rosie twirled her mug as she spoke. “Alicia at Gomez’s Restaurant Supplies came into the diner last week and thanked me for getting Dimitrios into the 21st century. I asked her what she meant. She said he’d been paying through PayPal. That didn’t sound like Papa. No offense, Papa, but you don’t even know what PayPal is. I wondered who was doing this, so I looked into it. I found out that they’d been doing a lot more than paying bills.

“About a year ago, the vendors doubled their prices, and they’ve kept raising them since. Every single one of them. They also requested payment via PayPal. So, I called the vendors, and they all said they hadn’t raised their prices, or at least not by that much, nor requested payment via PayPal. But the funny thing is, we were up to date with all the bills.”

“I told you,” Dimitrios said.

“I had the vendors forward me the original invoices they sent. The amounts were for a lot less than the invoices we received.”

“So, you’re saying someone is intercepting the invoices, doctoring them with inflated amounts, and then submitting them to us for payment via PayPal?” Mattie said. “They’re paying the real invoice and pocketing the difference?”

Rosie nodded. “Clever, isn’t it? The only person with access to our email, who could intercept the real invoices and send fake ones from new email accounts made to look like the vendors, is Jacko. He’s well aware that Papa doesn’t keep a close eye on the business these days.”

“I do keep a close eye, but sometimes … it’s hard to remember things,” Dimitrios said.

Mattie sat back. “It doesn’t fit, though. Jacko doesn’t think like that. He’s not devious, or frankly that smart.”

“You never know about people,” Thessaly said.

“He’s good with computer stuff,” Rosie said. “He set up the diner website. “

Dimitrios banged the table again. “This is why I only trust family. That’s what I told Jacko. I told him I can only have family in the business, and he is not family.”

“Wait, what happened?” Rosie said.

“He wanted me to make him a partner in the business. A while ago.”

Rosie folded her arms and looked at Mattie. “You still think it wasn’t Jacko?”

Mattie thought. “I’m going to go over to the lot, see if I can suss out anything from the truck.”

“Suss away, whatever that means,” Rosie said. “You’re such an anglophile. I swear, I think the stork dropped you by mistake in New York en route to London.”

“That makes two of us,” Mattie said.

“When are we getting the new truck?” her father asked.

* * *

As Mattie entered the lot, she noticed a surveillance camera on the gate post. When was that installed?

Brenda, the lot manager, was sweeping up the truck wreckage. She halted when she spotted Mattie.

“You know, if your truck had been parked in its usual spot, we’d have a major mess on our hands, and you’d have lawsuits,” she said. “A couple of trucks got dinged by flying metal, but that was it.”

Mattie realized that was what had felt wrong last night. “Why wasn’t the truck parked in our usual spot?”

“Beats me. You guys get a stall upfront because you’ve been here so long. This back area has been empty since the RVs left.”

“Can I get a look at the surveillance footage from last night?”

Brenda’s face fell. “Hon, it’s a fake camera. It’s meant as a deterrent. Keep it on the downlow.”

It wasn’t surprising. Brenda was a cheapskate. She’d only patched potholes after the tenants threatened to leave if she didn’t.

“I’m going to look around the wreckage,” Mattie said.

“I don’t think there’s anything salvageable.” Brenda resumed sweeping.

Mattie poked around the debris. A stove burner. A piece of steering wheel. Most everything was unrecognizable. Sadness engulfed her. The truck was part of their family history. Her father had used it as collateral for the loan to buy the diner with his brother-in-law Nick.

A few years back, Nick had wanted to sell the truck to fund his new day-trading business and make her father a silent partner, but Dimitrios was old school. He didn’t trust anything he couldn’t hold in his hands, like stocks. Instead, he ended up buying out Nick’s share of the truck and diner. Both businesses were earning better than ever when Nick ended his day trading stint thousands of dollars in debt. Dimitrios hadn’t wasted any time in saying “I told you so.” The brothers-in-law hadn’t been on good terms since, especially after Dimitrios refused Nick’s entreaties to let him back into the diner or the truck business. Elena had pushed Thessaly to soften up her husband, but Dimitrios was stubborn. Thessaly did manage to convince him to lend Nick money in return for promising to never day-trade again. Nick got a job bookkeeping for a small plush-toy manufacturer. He never repaid the loan.

Mattie foraged in her purse for another apple and bit into it. A Honeycrisp.

“Hey, Mattie. Long time no see.” It was Dave, the hot dog king who ran two dozen street carts that he parked in the lot. “Sorry about the accident. Your guy, Jacko, got real lucky.”

Mattie halted her chewing. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him here like 9:30 or so when I was getting the carts in. I called to him, but he didn’t respond. He seemed to be in a rush. I left, then I heard the explosion from down the street.”

Jacko. Again. Was she completely wrong about him?

* * *

Mattie stood at the window of the pizza place and watched Jacko fold his slice and bite into it. Maybe her mother was right. You never really knew people. She pulled open the door and slid along the bench in front of him.

“Hey Mattie.” His eyes were sunken in deep wells. He looked like he hadn’t slept much.

“I have more questions for you.”

“Shoot.”

“What time did you leave the lot last night?”

“Six, normal time.”

“You’re lying, Jacko.”

Guilt stole over his face.

“Dave said he saw you rushing out of the lot around 9:30.”

Jacko dropped his slice and lowered his head into his hands. “Honest, I didn’t have anything to do with the explosion. I went to get some personal stuff from the truck. I had an extra key.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I knew it would look bad.”

“Where did you park the truck yesterday?”

“In the regular spot, where else?”

“You didn’t move it to the far side of the lot, where the RVs used to be?”

“No, why?”

Mattie tried a different tack. “Jacko, I get it. You were really upset.”

“Sure, but I’d never do anything to hurt your family or the business.”

“Even after my dad said he’d never make you a partner?”

Jacko sighed. “Yeah, I was disappointed, but I knew that would be his answer. I just thought that with him getting old, maybe he’d change his mind.”

“One more thing. Do you use PayPal?”

“Who uses PayPal? I use Venmo.”

If Jacko is guilty, he’s missed his calling as an actor, Mattie thought as she headed back to the subway.

* * *

Mattie found Rosie cross-legged on the floor of their parents’ home office sorting through a jumble of papers. She sat and updated her sister on what she’d found out about Jacko.

“I knew it. I’d sue him, but he has nothing to sue for,” Rosie said.

“I can’t help but feel there’s more to it,” Mattie said. “Yeah, he lied about being in the lot, but I still think this isn’t him.”

“Don’t overthink it,” Rosie said. “But good sleuthing, Miss Marple. I guess all that Agatha Christie stuff has rubbed off on you.” She gestured at the paper chaos. “Papa hasn’t even thrown out the junk mail in months. But I found the insurance bill. It was in all the junk.”

“If the insurance bill was still coming by snail mail, that explains why it didn’t get paid,” Mattie said.

“I should’ve insisted on taking this over months ago,” Rosie said.

“It’s not your fault. He’s never going to let on that he’s losing his grip.” Mattie fished out a Golden Delicious from her purse.

Rosie gave her the side-eye. “That makes how many today?”

Mattie held up four fingers. Rosie shook her head. “How you don’t get stomach aches is beyond me.”

She went back to sorting. Mattie closed her eyes to think.

“You’re napping?” Rosie broke in. “I could use some help here.”

“I’m thinking out the truth.”

“Miss Marple, we have the truth.”

“That’s from Poirot, actually.”

Then it came to her. She knew who used PayPal — a lot, as a matter of fact.

* * *

The mood at dinner was grim despite her mother’s baklava for dessert. Afterward, Rosie went home, but Mattie watched an old movie with her parents until they went to bed. Then she moved into action.

She walked over to Nick and Elena’s house several blocks away. The TV light flickered through the gap in the front curtains, which meant Elena had likely fallen asleep watching the late shows. Mattie crept along the side of the house.

She reached the back door and slid in the spare key that her mother kept. She opened the door slowly and entered the dark kitchen. Mattie halted at the threshold and looked down the hall. Elena’s mussy hair crowned the back of the recliner. The door to Nick’s office off the living room was ajar.

Mattie sidled along the wall and dropped to all fours. She had a partial view of Elena:  head leaned back, jaw hung open, eyes closed, iPad on her lap. Perfect. Mattie crawled into the office and carefully closed the door.

She crossed to the desk and Nick’s laptop. He had used PayPal for his day trading. She needed to get into his account, but his laptop was probably password protected. She pressed a key. The password prompt popped up. Maybe they had their passwords written somewhere. She switched on her phone flashlight and rummaged through the drawers. Tape, paper clips, pens.

She scanned the light over the desk. A shine bounced off a glossy brochure featuring a palm-studded beach. She picked it up. “Capri Winds Fine Villa Living in Boca Raton, Florida.” Under it was a contract for a $389,000 house with swimming pool. She flipped to the last page. Nick and Elena signed a month ago. Where did they get the money? Did her mom know?

She took photos of the contract and then spotted a legal pad of jottings in Nick’s handwriting. Dates, dollar amounts, numbers. He was day trading despite his promise to Dimitrios. She snapped a photo of the pad. He must be doing better this time, well enough to move to Florida. He didn’t tell his brother-in-law because he didn’t want to repay the loan. Leech. Rosie’s description was apt.

She heard a thud as the recliner’s footrest snapped back into position. Elena was getting up. Mattie stood stock still. Footsteps shuffled. They neared the door, the knob rattled. Heart banging, Mattie crouched under the desk. Elena entered and closed the laptop lid. She must’ve seen the light under the door. She left, leaving the door open. Silence. No TV meant she was going to bed. Mattie crawled out. Dishes clattered in the kitchen. She slid behind the door and peeked out.

The iPad sat on a side table next to the recliner. Elena played puzzles on it. She’d removed the password because it annoyed her. Maybe Mattie could get into their PayPal via the iPad, but Elena would probably take it up to bed. The kitchen light clicked off. Mattie zipped to the table, snatched the tablet and zipped back to the office as Elena padded into the living room.

From behind the door, Mattie heard rustling. Elena was undoubtedly searching for the iPad. Her aunt sighed. The light switched off. The stairs creaked. She’d given up. Mattie tiptoed to the back door.

She didn’t open the iPad until she was back in her apartment. No password. She was in. She scanned the screen and found the PayPal icon. She clicked on it, but it asked for a password. Damn. Wait. PayPal probably sent email confirmations of transactions. She clicked on the email inbox. No password required. She skimmed down. Nothing.

On a hunch, she clicked on the account icon. A number of other email accounts unspooled, ones named “Accounts Payable” and “Accounts Receivable” and others that looked to be from the truck vendors, like Gomez Restaurant Supply. Accounts Payable was full of what looked to be the real invoices. Receivable was full of the same invoices but inflated. And there was one for “Athens Trading,” which was in use just the previous day.

Mattie studied the email addresses associated with the accounts: accountspayable63 and accountsreceivable64. In a white-bright burst, she knew who was behind the scam. But the truck? Why blow up the source of the cash flow? She closed her eyes. Think out the truth. Then it came to her. There was one person. It was time for a family conference.

* * *

Dimitrios, Thessaly, Nick, Elena, Jacko, and Rosie sat in the chairs that Mattie had arranged in a half circle in her parents’ living room. Mattie stood in the middle.

“What is all this about, Almatheia?” Nick said.

“Mattie’s been playing Miss Marple, so I’d say we’re basically performing an Agatha Christie novel, am I right, Mats?” Rosie said.

Mattie cleared her throat. “I’ve called you all here because our family has fallen victim to two fraudulent schemes. They’re related but weren’t perpetrated by the same person.” She felt eyes drilling into her.

“Over the past year, invoices from suppliers were intercepted, doctored with inflated figures, and paid to PayPal accounts set up to look like the vendors. The interceptor paid the actual bill and kept the difference. Over time these amounts added up. The scheme worked so well the thief got bolder, submitting invoices from fake companies. The truck business ran through its cash reserves, which were never high, until it was barely solvent.

“Rosie eventually discovered the scam. With a limited number of people who have access to the business email, she settled on the most obvious one, Jacko, and fired him.

“Then the truck blew up that same night, making Jacko look like the culprit again. The explosion was no accident, but the invoice scammers had no reason to kill their cash cow. They needed the money to fund their $389,000 villa in Boca Raton, isn’t that right, Aunt Elena, Uncle Nick?”

Elena went as stiff as a zombie. “How dare you?” Nick spluttered.

Thessaly was shocked. “A villa in Boca Raton?”

“You didn’t know about this, Mama?” Mattie said. Thessaly shook her head.

“But you did know about the invoicing scam because you were the one doing it,” Mattie said.

Rosie and Dimitrios stared at Thessaly. “Is that true?” Rosie said.

Thessaly hung her head. “Elena begged me. She said I owed them because the businesses would never have been successful without Nick. I wanted to help them. Elena said it would be a loan, that she’d pay back the money. I knew Dimitrios would never agree.” Tears spilled from her eyes.

“The cash was to fund Nick’s day trading, right?” Mattie turned to her uncle.

“How do you know?” he said in amazement.

Mattie took the iPad out of her bag. “I found PayPal emails connected to gmail addresses that contained the numbers ‘63’ and ‘64,’ the years that Mama and Elena were born. And I found Athens Trading was active again. It looks like you’ve been more successful this time around, Nick, because the invoicing scheme alone wouldn’t be enough to buy a house.”

“I told you I would make it. Nobody had faith in me,” he said.

Thessaly wiped her eyes and turned her sister. “You told me you would pay me back, that Nick wasn’t doing good. You lied to me.”

“Dimitrios owed me,” Nick blurted. “I put years into the diner, and he wouldn’t let me back into the business.”

“He bought you out fair and square,” Rosie said.

“The diner wouldn’t be where it is today without me,” Nick said. “I put heart and soul into it.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Dimitrios said. “How did the truck blow up?”

“Good question, Papa. Let’s get to that. At first glance, all signs indicate Jacko. But as Poirot once said, ‘It is the psychology I seek, not the fingerprint or the cigarette ash.’ This just didn’t fit Jacko.

“Who else has a motive? Mama? To cover her tracks perhaps or to put a definitive end to the fraud, but would she destroy the business she and Papa spent years building? Nick and Elena? The truck is a revenue stream for them. Their revenge is based on keeping it going, not on destroying it. That leaves … Rosie.”

All eyes focused on Rosie, who shrank.

Mattie went on. “After she discovered that the business was broke, it seemed an ideal time to get rid of the truck, get the insurance money and remodel the diner with a bar since Papa isn’t … well, himself. Jacko provided a handy scapegoat.”

A ruddy guilt flushed Rosie’s face. “I didn’t know that Papa hadn’t paid the insurance.”

“What’s going on?” Dimitrios said. “Can you talk slower?”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Mattie said. “Nick and Elena, you’re going to back out of the house purchase and pay back Mama and Papa all the money you stole.”

“No way,” Nick said. “We deserve that house.”

“We will do that,” Elena said quietly.

“Rosie, Jacko will start working in the diner as of tomorrow and he can manage the new bar, which will be funded with the repayment. Sorry, Papa, but Rosie is right. It’s time to modernize the diner. You and Mama need to retire. There’s no shame in that.”

Dimitrios looked at Thessaly, his eyes watery. She grabbed his hand and nodded.

“Now, I need an apple and to get back to my real job,” Mattie said.

* * *

Mattie and Rosie opened the menus at a trendy café. They were on a “restaurant recon” tour to prepare for the diner renovation.

“No Miss Marple jokes, promise,” Rosie said. “I also have something for you.”

Rosie was studying the menu as if it were a classified document. Mattie spotted a bald fellow with an attractive redhead on the other side of the restaurant. Was that…? It was!

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

She marched over to their table. “Harvey! How nice to see you.” Harvey looked shocked. Mattie addressed his date. “Has he ordered the most expensive items on the menu?”

“How did you know?” she said.

“He’ll be going to the bathroom soon, but he won’t return, and you’ll be stuck with the check. That’s your M.O., right, Harvey?” She turned to his companion. “He’s done it to many women. He almost did it to me.”

“She’s just angry because she didn’t get a second date.” Harvey smiled.

The woman’s eyes bounced between him and Mattie. “You know something? I believe her.” She gathered her purse and pushed back her chair.

“Wait,” Harvey said.

Mattie returned to her table, feeling the satisfaction of a good deed done. A box sat at her place.

“It’s for you,” Rosie said. Open it.”

Mattie lifted the lid and gasped. A dozen purplish apples. Black Oxfords, a rare heirloom apple grown only in Maine. She took a bite and closed her eyes to savor the flavor. Sweet, tart, spicy. Just how she liked her mysteries.