Last Diner Standing, page 18
A horrible stench rose from Henry’s sleeping bag. The fart of death.
I scrambled up the stairs, readjusting my ponytail as I climbed. I walked through the kitchen door and the bracing scent of brewed coffee hit me in the face. I need a cup or six.
I glanced at the wall clock—five-twenty. I still had time to get to work.
Sullivan walked into the kitchen, dressed in the clothes he wore the night before. He looked good in the morning. The beginnings of a beard covered the planes of his face and his longish hair was in disarray.
“Good morning.” He walked toward me and reaching out, brushed my upper cheek.
“Sorry I stole your sleeping bag.”
“You were tired. I did all right on the couch,” he said.
“But you stuck me next to Henry. He’s smelly and he slobbers like a dog.”
“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
“Is Ax up?” I asked. “I need to bum a ride to work. I left his Honda at the diner yesterday and never went back for it.”
“I’ll take you. Want to run home and change first?”
Is this what a morning after would be like? Tender caresses and driving me home? No, in my fantasies there were way more sexy parts. Plus, I wore fancy lingerie and my hair looked fabulous.
“Yeah, that’d be great.” I used the bathroom and when I came out, Sullivan handed me a travel mug of coffee. I would have kissed him if—A) we had that kind of relationship and B) I didn’t have morning breath. So I said thanks and let it go at that.
Instead of heading outside to Stoner Joe’s truck, Sullivan used the connecting door from the kitchen to the garage. I grabbed my purse and followed.
A black Mercedes with tinted windows sat where the SUV with the shattered back window used to be.
“When did you get this?” I climbed into the passenger seat. The interior smelled delicious. A combination of new car, leather, and Sullivan.
“Yesterday.”
As we drove, I dug out my notebook and made a few notes from last night. “Feel like calling Martin Mathers today and questioning him about Crystal?”
“Absolutely not. And you’re not going to either.” He shot me a warning look that I could see, even in the dark. “He may be a crook, but he’s still the chief of police.”
He pulled into my apartment lot. Expecting Sullivan to wait in the car, I was surprised when he cut the engine and followed me inside. I hoped I hadn’t left any unmentionables lying around. I peeked in the door before entering. No bras or panties visible, thank goodness.
Sullivan made himself at home on my futon while I took a speedy shower and threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt. For vanity’s sake, I even put on a little makeup and lip gloss.
When I emerged from the steamy bathroom, Sullivan eyed me from head to toe. He also held my phone in one hand, wiggling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Roxy just called. Wondered why you were late. Your mother left a bitchy voicemail, said you were rude last night. Dane left a message and said he’s looking into the list of suspects you sent. How sweet.”
“Give me that.” I made a grab for the phone, but Sullivan held it out of reach. I extended my arm further, lost my footing, and wound up sprawled across his lap. We stared at each other for one long moment before I hastily climbed off him and tugged down the hem of my shirt. “Give me the damn phone.” I held out my hand, palm up.
He continued to gaze at me, his eyes turning to a darker, burnished gold before he dropped it in my hand. I grabbed my jacket and didn’t look at him again as I walked out the door.
We didn’t speak on the ride to the diner. But when he parked at the back door, he placed a hand on my arm. “I’ll be busy today. If you find out anything new, call Henry.”
“Do you really think you should be driving around in broad daylight? You’re a target. And not just to the hit man, but with the police.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t stay cooped up in that house one more day.”
I understood his predicament and would have felt the same way, still I worried. “Be safe,” I said.
“You, too.”
I hopped out of the car and strode in through the kitchen.
Ray stood at the counter rolling out biscuits. He hadn’t shaved. His shaggy mane was a tangled mess beneath his hairnet and his black t-shirt was inside out.
Jorge brushed glaze on cinnamon rolls. “Hey Rose. Ray and Ma were up all night roasting chickens.” No wonder Ray looked exhausted.
I grabbed an apron and tied it as I walked into the dining room. Ma sat at the counter. With her eyes closed and her chin propped on her crossed arms, she snorted softly. Once again, no Dillon.
I gazed past her to Roxy, who made the shushing gesture. “She’s worn out.” She waved me over to the window.
I kept an eye on Ma as I walked from behind the counter. “How long has she been like that?”
“Half an hour. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.” Then she smacked my arm. “You had sex with Sullivan and didn’t tell me? WTF, Rose?”
“I didn’t have sex with him,” I kept my voice low.
“Then why did he answer your phone this morning?” she hissed.
“Because he’s an intrusive ass. And what about you and Tariq?”
Her cheeks turned red, clashing with her blue hair. “Not yet.”
I raised a brow. “Oh, really?”
“Fine, not technically.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but before I could question her further, Ma suddenly popped up. “What?” She whipped her head around and spied us. “What happened?”
“You took a snooze, Ma,” I said.
She sniffed and rubbed her tired eyes beneath her frames. “I don’t have time to snooze. I’ve got chicken and rice to get in the oven.” She slid off her stool and slowly made her way to the kitchen.
“I’m worried about her,” Roxy said.
“Me, too. She’s not going to be able to keep up this crazy pace.”
Roxy smacked her gum. “She won’t listen to us. Rudy’s going to have to call off this breakfast crap first.”
After I rousted Dillon from the office, Roxy and I plucked the chairs from the tables. By the time we flipped the open sign, customers were lined up.
We busted our humps serving breakfast and lunch, and by the end of my shift, I was tired and hungry. I didn’t even have time for my breakfast omelet.
Jorge stepped out of the kitchen, tossed a dish towel over his shoulder. “Hey girls, I’m worried about Ma and this lunch thing. She was up all night and I don’t know how much longer she can keep up the pace.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m worried, too.”
“She reminds me of my abuela,” he said. “Loud and feisty. She needs to slow down.”
“But she’s so stubborn, and Rudy is such an ass, I don’t see either one of them giving in,” Roxy said. She plopped down on a chair and pulled her tips out of her pocket. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m going to have to pick up a second job or Ma’s going to have to quit giving away food.”
Jorge patted her shoulder on his way to the kitchen.
I whipped out my phone and glanced at my messages. One from my mother, one from Janelle, one from Jacks. I called Janelle first.
“Rose, it’s not good news. Dane says they might arrest me for Chicken Licker’s murder any second. But I’m not guilty and I’m not taking a damn plea. I think I might head out of state tonight.”
“Janelle, no. Please don’t do anything rash. After work I’m going to question Brenda’s husband, Dave. Then I was going to hit some pawn shops, see if Marcus has been around.”
“Why the pawn shops?” she asked.
“Marcus steals cars, chops them. I think whatever he finds in the cars, he takes to pawn shops.”
Frankly, I was desperate, but I didn’t want to tell her that. My theory was if Marcus had pawned something he stole, it might be enough to get him arrested, and then maybe the cops would start looking at someone besides Janelle for Crystal’s murder. After all, he was with her a couple days before she died. It was a pretty crappy theory, but it was all I had.
“I’m going with you, Rose,” Janelle said. “This is my life, and I can’t leave everything to you.”
“Please, just stay home with the kids.”
“No, I have to do something,” she said. “I can’t sit around this house. I’m going crazy.” She and Sullivan had something in common.
Then she began sobbing. Janelle was the toughest person I knew. To hear her cry like that ripped at me.
“We’re going to find who did this, okay? I’ll pick you up after I get off work.”
I hung up and found Roxy staring at me. “Things aren’t looking good for her, are they?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Next, I called Jacks.
“Hey, wanted to remind you about the cookie exchange Tuesday night,” she said.
Crap. Every year, my sister and her friends got together, drank too much eggnog, bitched about their overworked doctor husbands, and tried to out-Martha each other in the cookie department. Me? I stopped at the Walmart bakery and bought thirteen dozen sugar cookies.
“Jacks, with all that’s going on right now with Janelle, I’m not sure I can make it.”
“Oh.” There was a lot of judgment and hurt in that little word.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be there—”
“No, I get it. It’s a stupid party. You’ve got more important things to do. Don’t worry about it.” Her pitch rose with each word.
“I’ll be there.”
“It’s fine. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up.
“Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Roxy asked.
“Christmas sucks,” I said. “And I have to go to the cookie exchange party.”
She curled her lip. “Gross.”
I decided not to return my mother’s call. Between my sister and Janelle, I couldn’t add Barbara’s drama to the mix. Not today.
Roxy and I scrambled to clean the diner and headed out at four. Before I left, I grabbed the yellow pages from under the counter. I needed the addresses for the pawn shops in town.
We climbed into the Honda and I let it heat up. The day was cold and overcast. So far we’d only had the occasional flurry, but I had a feeling the real stuff was on the way.
“Before we go to Janelle’s, I need to swing by Rudy’s,” I said.
Roxy raised a brow. “What’s your plan? Going to have a shootout?”
“I’m hoping for a cease fire.”
I drove to Rudy’s and pulled around the back of the strip mall. I hopped out of the car, Roxy hot on my heels.
“I hope this is a good idea,” she said.
Me, too. I knocked on what I assumed was the kitchen door.
A skinny guy in his late twenties opened it. “Who are you?”
“Let me talk to one of your waitresses. I’m from Ma’s diner and I come in peace.” I held up Spock fingers. Thanks, Ax.
“Hang on.” He shut the door in my face.
A moment later, it opened again and a red-haired woman with bright orange lipstick stepped outside. She wore a blue Rudy’s uniform with a flared skirt and fringe on the sleeves. Thank God Ma let us wear what we wanted. Roxy would be stifled in a dress like this.
“Who are you?” she asked. Her gaze trailed over Roxy’s purple dress and the layers of lacy petticoats.
“I’m Rose, this is Roxy. We work at Ma’s Diner.”
“I’m Sarah. What can I do for you?” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve got a full house, so make it quick.”
“Do you like this breakfast situation?”
She sighed. “No. I’ve got a kid in grade school and I have to drop him off at my mom’s at five-thirty every morning. I’m thinking about looking for a new job.”
“How’s breakfast going? You guys breaking even?”
She scoffed. “Are you joking? Rudy’s giving it away like the town whore. Free pancakes—which are cheap enough—but when people eat stacks and stacks of ’em, it adds up. And the fruit toppings are expensive, especially the blueberries.”
I nodded. “Yeah, likewise with lunch. I suggest we pool our staff and have a little sit down with Ma and Rudy. You think if she backs off of lunch, he’ll give up breakfast?”
She looked skeptical. “I don’t know. He’s a stubborn bastard.”
“Yeah, Ma, too.”
“Let me feel him out and I’ll call you.” We exchanged numbers and I climbed into the car.
“Think it will work?” Roxy asked.
“Hope so. Lunch is wearing Ma out.”
She patted my head. “You’re such a little peacemaker.”
Chapter 23
Dave Hutchens worked at Watley’s, an upscale grocery store on the ritzy side of town. I never shopped here. Too expensive. Muzak played over the sound system—an upbeat version of O Little Town of Bethlehem.
Roxy hummed along as she, Janelle, and I cut through the bakery aisle to the meat department. I took in all the artisan breads. Smelled heavenly.
The end caps were filled with Christmas baking supplies which reminded me that I needed to buy some sugar cookies. If I waited until the last minute, I’d be stuck taking off brand Oreos. Then Jacks would really be pissed.
We stopped at the meat counter where two burly men in bloody smocks and latex gloves helped customers. I grabbed a number tab from the top of the counter. Lucky thirteen.
“Who the hell can afford to shop here?” Janelle asked. “Look at that turkey. It’s all organic and skinny and shit. Looks more like a chicken than a turkey. Costs three times as much as a butterball.”
Roxy groaned. “Please don’t mention chicken. I can’t take it.”
We had a five minute wait, and when a man with frizzy hair and a mustache called our number, all three of us stepped forward.
“We’re looking for Dave Hutchens,” I said.
“He’s in the back. Can I help you with something?”
“Nah, we need to talk to Dave. It’s important,” Janelle said.
The man went behind the glass and spoke to one of the two men using cleavers to hack away at a hunk of beef. He put down his cleaver and wiped his bloodied hands on his apron. He frowned as he approached us.
“What can I do for you?”
Dave Hutchins was pleasant looking. Late forties, had most of his salt-and-pepper hair. Nothing to get worked up over, but not bad. No wonder Brenda fell for Sheik and his seductive moves.
“We’d like to speak to you in private, if we could,” I said. “It’s about Brenda.”
The frown deepened, causing lines to form across his forehead. “What about Brenda? Is she all right?”
I glanced around at the customers waiting for service. The girls and I were quickly getting hemmed in by all the grocery carts. “We need some privacy.”
“Come on.” He moved around the counter and led us through the store, through the employees only door, toward the loading dock. The doors were closed, but it was still cold.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. “Not supposed to do this here, but what the hell, right?”
Roxy closed her eyes and took in a lungful of secondhand smoke. “Mmmm.”
I nudged her arm. “Focus.” Then I turned to Dave. “Mr. Hutchins, we’re looking into the attack on Sheik Johnson.”
He frowned again. “That asshole slept with my wife.” He threw down the smoke and twisted his shoe over it. “What is this about? I thought you had a message from Brenda.”
Janelle and I exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” she said. “Sheik’s my ex-husband.”
Dave laughed without humor. “You have my sympathy.”
“I guess you must have been pretty angry when you found out not only did Brenda have an affair with Sheik, but she gave him money, too.”
He shifted from slightly tense to a defensive posture, stood straighter, hands fisted at his sides. “What the hell? What money?”
Whoops. “Brenda loaned Sheik money. I guess you didn’t know.”
He gazed a stack of wood pallets. “You’re telling me that everything we worked for, all the years of saving to retire a little early, and she just gives that son of a bitch money?”
“Must have sucked. Knowing Brenda gave her lover money and in return he gave her the clap,” Roxy said. I elbowed her in the side. “What?” she asked. “It’s all true.”
Dave’s color became mottled. “Brenda and I have been married twenty years. Twenty goddamned years. And she pisses it all away. Says she’s in love with this new guy.” He turned to Janelle. “Your husband.”
“Ex,” she said.
Dave didn’t let her correction stop him. “Said she’s going to leave me for him.” He pointed a thumb at his chest. “What about me? Am I disposable? She’s tired of me, so she can just throw me away?”
Dave’s anger was palpable. I took an involuntary step backward.
“Where were you last Saturday night?” I asked.
“Around one a.m.,” Janelle said.
He was breathing heavily, a bulging vein in his neck fluttered. “I don’t have to tell you shit. Get out of here. All of you. And the next time you see Brenda, tell her I’m not giving her a dime. And I’m taking the boat.” He stomped off, kicking out a stack of cardboard boxes, sending them crashing to the concrete floor.
“Wow, I thought Brent Crandall had anger issues.”
“Wait, who’s that again?” Janelle asked.
As we walked back to the car, I reminded her about Brent and gave them the lowdown on how angry he was at losing Crystal. I also told them about the hidden camera, secret tryst, police chief connection to Crystal.
“What a mess. Asshat and Chicken Licker deserved each other,” Janelle said. “But finding her dead, it’s stuck with me, you know?”
Roxy nodded. “Me, too. I dreamed about it last night.”
I didn’t want to talk about it, so I changed the subject. “Dave Hutchins was certainly angry enough to hit Asshat. His wife was having an affair and the whole STD scenario, but what would his motive be for killing Crystal?”
Roxy and Janelle both shrugged.
