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him.
    Hmm. Not a terribly nice or reputable guy. He apparently had anger-management problems, in addition to being a bully, a liar, a slob, and an arrogant SOB.
    That certainly increased the list of possible suspects.
    Well, at least Aunt Abby wasn’t the only one who’d had run-ins with Oliver Jameson. But how would I narrow the list down? That was the question.
    Before I shut off the computer, one more link regarding tomorrow’s Crab and Seafood Festival caught my eye. Oliver Jameson’s name reared its ugly head once again, this time protesting the event.
    â€œEnough with these pseudo food festivals that are attracting the wrong kind of people to our neighborhoods,”
Jameson was quoted as saying.
“These greasy-spooners calling themselves chefs could be selling all kinds of crap. Those questionable food trucks are littering our beautiful city. Send them to the zoo to feed the animals and leave this area to those of us who run reputable establishments, like Bones ’n’ Brew.”
    Again, wow. If Aunt Abby really had put that knife in Oliver Jameson’s back, I probably wouldn’t have blamed her, nor would a lot of other people.
    My cell phone chirped. I checked the text message. Aunt Abby had typed, Dinner ready .
    OMW , I texted back, letting her know I was on my way. Before I turned off my laptop, I did a quick search for food trucks at Fort Mason. Yelp listed a dozen of the ones that claimed semipermanent spaces, like Aunt Abby’s Big Yellow School Bus. I recognized all of them and in fact had sampled from most. I did a quick scan of the various reviews.
    â€œThe Love Potion Number 9 from the Coffee Witch is incredible!!!”
wrote Ann P. from the Mission.
    â€œLoved the Sushi/Salsa Wraps at Kung Fu Tacos! I’ll be back!”
wrote Janet F. from Pacific Heights.
    â€œTry the Red Velvet Dream Puffs from the Dream Puff truck—they’re to die for!!”
wrote Colleen C. from Noe Valley.
    â€œI’m totally addicted to the Principal’s Potpies at the Big Yellow School Bus!”
This one was signed Dillon W. from the Marina.
    Dillon W.? Hmm.
    The glowing reviews continued until I found myself nearly drooling on my laptop. But it was the last one at the bottom that really caught my attention.
    â€œI was checking out the food truck scene at Fort Mason the other day and overheard some guy complaining there were too many trucks invading the city. Turned out he was the owner of a restaurant across the street. I guess he doesn’t appreciate the competition. Doubt his place willlast long with awesome food trucks like this.”
Signed, Food Truck Fan.
    I had a feeling Fan was talking about Oliver Jameson.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    I awoke at six thirty the next morning, temporarily forgetting I didn’t have a regular job anymore. I made myself a breakfast of yogurt, strawberries, toast, and one of those flavored, one-cup coffees, which would keep me going until I could get to the Coffee Witch. After I showered, I dressed in my uniform—khaki pants and a plain red top. I slipped on my red laceless Converse All Stars, said good-bye to the Disney gang, and headed over to Aunt Abby’s to help her prepare for today’s Crab and Seafood Festival.
    While I’d never worked at a food festival before, I’d certainly gone to many of them in my capacity as a food critic. It was one of the better perks of the job. I loved the Gilroy Garlic Festival and the Ghirardelli Chocolate Festival, but the Crab and Seafood Festival was one of the best, in spite of my distaste for mollusks. The event was held at various spots along the marina, including Fort Mason, with views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the boats at the yacht club, and the expansive, grassy lawns. Various musicians played throughout the day, everything from indie pop to alt-rock, from blues to zydeco, adding to the celebratory atmosphere. You couldn’t help but