Last Diner Standing, page 19
Yeah, my thoughts exactly. I mentally crossed him off my suspect list.
In the car, I grabbed the yellow pages and handed them to Janelle. “Let’s start hitting the pawn shops,” I said. I wasn’t sure how late they stayed open, and it was already five o’clock.
Turns out, some pawn shops stayed open until midnight. Since I’d never been in one, at first I found myself spellbound by the disparate and bizarre array of items. Rifles lined the wall next to guitars. Tools were stocked side by side with well-worn cowboy boots. All types of jewelry—real and fake—sparkled in glass cases.
At the fifth shop, Janelle and I wandered around and looked at the handguns in a locked cabinet—who knew they made pink revolvers—while Roxy stared at the moose head mounted to the wall.
By now I had my story down pat. The four other places knew Marcus, but claimed not to have seen him in weeks. Hopefully we’d hit pay dirt soon. I was tired, my feet hurt, and I was starving.
I walked to the front counter where a bald man wearing a leather vest watched my approach. He was covered in tats. Even his bald head had a large spider web inked on the dome.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. He laced the words with a healthy dose of innuendo and leaned his arms on the counter.
Janelle propped her hip on the case next to me. He glanced up at her, but his eyes quickly settled back on mine.
“I’m in a bit of a bind.”
“Tell Jay all about it, sweetheart,” he said.
I placed my hands on the counter. “My friend, Marcus Walker, pawned something for me, but I lost my ticket.”
He shook his bald web head. “That’s a damn shame, honey. Wish I could help you out.”
I leaned closer. “You could give me some peace of mind. If I just knew my item was safe, I’d sleep a whole lot better. Just until I find the ticket.”
His gaze strayed from my eyes, to my flat chest and back again. “I’m not supposed to do that. It’s against policy.”
“I’ll never tell,” I whispered.
“Sorry, honey.”
I pushed off the counter and left the shop. Janelle and Roxy followed.
“I can’t believe you girl,” Janelle said. “Flirting with a man like that. You really do love me, don’t you?”
Roxy caught up to me and bumped her hip into mine. “Wait until Sullivan finds out he’s got some stiff competition.”
“I think you’ve got the stiff part right,” Janelle said. “I thought baldy was going start humping her leg right there in front of us.”
I lightly slapped her arm. “Don’t be disgusting.”
After I dropped the girls off and before heading home, I stopped at Axton’s.
“You’re just in time for Henry’s pot roast,” he said. “I’ve already eaten and you are in for a treat.”
I walked into the house and took a deep breath. Normally Ax’s house smells of eau de pot, but since Henry had taken up residence, it smelled like a home.
Ax led me into the kitchen where Henry stood, his meaty hands shoved into reindeer oven mitts. “I was saving this for Sullivan, but he’s late.” He took a foil-covered plate from the oven and pealed back the layer of aluminum.
Steam wafted up from the plate and my stomach growled. “This smells delicious, Henry.”
He handed me a knife and fork and set a napkin-lined basket of biscuits in front of me. “I made honey butter.” He went to the fridge and grabbed a plastic container and placed that on the table, too.
I smiled up at him. “You don’t want to bake thirteen dozen cookies for my sister’s cookie exchange, do you?”
He frowned and sat next to me. “When do you need them?”
I cut a piece of roast. “I was just kidding. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s just that I have this chocolate espresso cookie recipe I’ve been wanting to try.”
“Only if you want to. It’s Tuesday night.”
“I need to start a list.” He rose from the table and left the kitchen.
Ax plopped down across from me.
“Where’s Sullivan?” I asked. I forked the food in so fast, it burned my mouth.
“Out doing Sullivan like stuff, I guess. Called and said if you showed up, to wait for him. Oh, I found out some crap on our crew.”
He hopped up from the table and came back a few seconds later with brightly colored folders. “Each player has a different color.” He handed me the yellow folder. “Clay is Colonel Mustard.”
I set down my fork, and flipped through the pages. Clay had a record from the eighties—burglary, assault. No shock there. But according to his stats, no arrests since.
“Okay, who’s Professor Plum?”
“Stuart Weiner. That, by the by, is the least pimp ass name ever,” he said.
“I concur.” I flipped through his stats. “Mmm, Stuart’s done hard time. Manslaughter, assault with bodily harm.” I glanced up from Stuart’s mug shot. “Didn’t Marcus do a stint in prison?”
Ax flipped through the green folder. “Mr. Green, aka Marcus Walker, served thirteen months of a two-year stint from June twenty-oh-one to July twenty-oh-two. Leavenworth.” He glanced up at me. “Good memory.”
“Stuart was there at the same time. Coincidence?”
Ax shrugged. “Possibly. Stuart spent a total of fourteen years in the hoosegow. Probably did time with a lot of people.
“And the only thing I found on Brent Crandall was a charge of vandalism on Crystal’s car. Apparently, they got in a big fight and he busted the headlights on her Camaro.”
I finished gobbling my roast and slathered honey butter on a still warm biscuit.
Ax rubbed his hands together. “Guess what Henry made for dessert? Chocolate pie. From scratch. I’m going to be sad when that dude leaves.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Wish I’d left room. I’m stuffed. Tell Sullivan I couldn’t stay. I’m heading to Fit and Flex before they close. See if I can find Crystal’s boyfriend, Kyle. Diane said they were hot and heavy during workouts.”
“Will do. I’d go with, but I promised Joe I’d make some more brownies tonight,” Ax said.
I washed my dishes and left them drying in the rack by the sink. In the living room, Henry sat next to Stoner Joe on the sofa, watching a Law and Order repeat. The blinking Yoda Christmas lights edged around the window caught my eye. When Ax said he loved Christmas, he wasn’t kidding.
“Thanks for dinner, Henry, it was great.”
He twisted around. “Did you get a piece of pie?”
“Next time,” I said.
I glanced at Stoner Joe who was practically catatonic. I poked him in the arm and he didn’t respond.
“Ax,” I called.
He stepped into the room as he unwrapped a stick of butter. “Yeah?”
“Take it easy with the brownies. I’m not sure Joe’s brain can handle much more.”
“Will do, Rosie.”
Chapter 24
Fit and Flex had its own freestanding building next to the library. The large, foggy plate glass window was trimmed in silver garland and as I peered inside, I didn’t see any flabby people working out. Truth in advertising.
Nautilus equipment filled the middle of the room. Treadmills and ellipticals lined the walls. The mingling smells of sweat and pine-scented air freshener weren’t pleasant.
I walked to the desk situated between the locker rooms, where a tanned guy with overdeveloped muscles smiled at me. “Hey there. I’m Zeke, how can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Kyle.”
He peered around the room. “Did you have an appointment?”
“No, I just wanted to chat with him for a sec.”
“Well, we’ve got a special holiday discount. We’ll get you into shape for the New Year. New Year, new you.”
“Maybe next year, next me.”
He shrugged, running his glance over me with a look of disappointment. Thanks to my mother, I was immune to that look.
“Kyle’s probably working out. Walk around, you’ll find him.” Since I didn’t know what Kyle looked like, that might be a problem.
I weaved my way through the equipment, caught admiring glances from two guys on the treadmills. Suck on that, Zeke.
I finally spied a man in his late twenties with spiked blond hair performing butterfly presses. Thick muscles layered his arms and legs and fat veins trailed across his skin like highway lines on a road map. The guy from Crystal’s framed picture.
“Kyle?” I asked. He looked like he was in the zone—eyes closed, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line. When he opened his eyes, bright blue irises stood out in contrast to his tanned face.
“Yeah,” he said, continuing to bring his arms together, blocking his face from view every other second.
“I need to talk to you about Crystal Waters.”
He stopped. “Who are you?”
I offered my hand. “I’m Jane.”
He grasped it for a brief shake. “What’s this about?”
I swiveled my head and took in the men and women watching us. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
He grabbed a white hand towel and rubbed his face with it. “Sure.” He led the way through the machines, toward the back of the building to a small office. He gestured at the sofa while he grabbed a Gatorade from the small fridge in the corner, twisted off the cap, and took a long pull on the neon blue liquid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How do you know Crys?”
“I was hoping you could tell me the same thing. I know the two of you were a couple.”
Laughing, he shifted his eyes to the floor, his shoulders shaking. “Crys and I aren’t together. I’m gay. She and I…we’re complicated. But what does this have to do with you?”
It dawned on me that this guy was talking about Crystal in the present tense. He didn’t know she was dead. Had the police not gotten around to questioning him yet? And how the hell was I supposed to break the news?
I took a deep breath and looked at his Adam’s apple, unable to meet his gaze. “Kyle, I don’t know how to tell you this.” I swallowed and forced my eyes to his. “Crystal’s dead.”
He laughed again. “What?” His gaze darted over my face. “What?” he asked, soberly this time.
“The police found her body. She was murdered.”
He slammed the bottle on the desk. “What are you talking about? Crys isn’t dead. I talked to her two days ago.”
I stood. Guilt and sympathy flooded me. “I’m so sorry.” I turned to go, but he caught me by the arm and drew me back. I winced at his tight grip.
“No, you’re going to tell me what happened. Crystal’s dead? How? Why? Why didn’t the police call me?”
I pulled away and he let me go.
“The police came by to question my friend, Janelle Johnson, about Crystal. Apparently, they found Crystal’s body, but I’m not sure about any of the particulars.” Liar. I could have reported her death Friday, but I didn’t. Now that I saw the pain in this man’s eyes, I felt terrible.
“Can you tell me about the men she was dating?”
“Janelle Johnson?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sheik’s ex-wife?” He seemed in shock. I wasn’t sure what to do for him.
I took his arm. “Why don’t you sit down?” He let me lead him to the sofa.
“I can’t believe it. Dead? Are you sure? Did that Janelle have something to do with it? Did she kill Crys?” He looked up at me, anger coloring his features, turning his tanned cheeks deep red.
“No, I swear to you she didn’t. I want to find out why Crystal was killed. I want to know who she was dating and why she was asking Freddy Libra about money the other night.”
He blinked up at me. “You know about the money?”
I nodded. “I know Sheik had a bunch of cash he was tossing around and after he was bashed on the head, the money went missing.”
He swallowed. “I know where it is.”
Now it was my turn for shock. “What?”
He nodded. “Crystal gave me a bag full of it, found it in the trunk of one of those cars Sheik has on his lawn. She told me to hide it. She said Sheik had stolen it.” The cars, of course. They were so broken down, it never occurred to me Asshat might have hidden the money in one of them.
It hit me then—if Roxy and I had found the money, would we have ended up dead in the trunk of a car? I shivered at the thought.
“Kyle, you have to turn that money over to the police. First Sheik was bashed in the head and now Crystal’s dead. Whoever wants that money isn’t afraid to kill for it.”
“I promised I wouldn’t give it to anyone but her. I’m not sure what she would want me to do.”
“Who did Sheik steal the money from?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”
I parked myself in front of him, crossing my legs. “All right, let’s start at the beginning. How did you know Crystal?” I reached into my purse and pulled out my notebook.
“Her name wasn’t really Crystal Waters. She was my sister, well, half-sister. We shared a dad. He was a bastard. I didn’t know about Crys until two years ago, when she showed up and said we were related.”
“What was her real name?”
“Tammy Amsted. She changed it to something she thought was peaceful.” Tears filled his blue eyes. “Now she’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He wiped at his eyes. “Okay, what else do you want to know?”
“Who was she dating?”
“Crys needed men’s attention, you know? I didn’t blame her for that. It was how she was raised. Her mother was a drug addict and our dad, well, like I said, he was a bastard. He beat the crap out of me and my mom until he left. But Crys…he did more than that to her.”
“She was seeing Martin Mathers?”
I didn’t want to throw his name out there. Like saying Voldemort or something, but I needed to know everything Kyle knew.
“Yeah. I warned her about that. Police chief, married. But she claimed he loved her. He paid her bills, gave her presents, took her on vacation to California last year. But she was also dating Sheik. She actually loved that asshole.”
“What about Brent Crandall?”
“That guy’s crazy. He was so jealous of her, pressured her to stop dancing. He even followed me around for a while. Threatened me. Told me to stay away from Crystal or he’d cut my dick off. She broke up with him over that.”
That put a different spin on things. I’d almost felt sorry for Brent. “Was he abusive to her?” I was just thinking out loud, trying to reason this out.
Kyle thrust his fingers through his short, blond spikes. “Not physically. Like I said, the guy’s crazy. He would check her phone, follow her around, constantly question her about the other guys she was dating, dancing for. He was possessive and it scared her. Bashed in her car lights one night when she was over at my place. She didn’t want to call the police, but I insisted. Do you think he killed her?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think anything right now. Do you know Clay Davidson? Crystal wasn’t sleeping with him, was she?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. She thought he was a creep, but he owns the club, so she always kept him happy, if you know what I mean.”
“Extras?”
“Yeah. He expects the girls to have these stupid quotas. That’s how Crys justified what she did. Said she made her quotas that way. But our dad screwed her up. I didn’t judge.”
“What about Freddy Libra?”
“She thought Freddy was a joke. He’s not the real owner, you know. Well, he is on paper, but Clay is the man behind the curtain.”
“What else do you know about Clay?”
Kyle leaned back and blew out a breath. “Nothing.”
“And Stuart Weiner?” I asked.
“Crys mentioned him a couple times. He works for Clay or something?”
“What about Marcus Walker?” I asked.
“I met him with Sheik once.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “I told her to get help, you know. Like see a shrink, go to school. She was smart, but she didn’t always act like it.”
I scribbled off my phone number. “If you think of anything else, call me. And I’m so sorry about your sister, Kyle.”
“She wasn’t a bad person. She was just messed up. Who isn’t?”
I stood and slung my purse over my shoulder. “Where are you hiding the money? You don’t have to tell me, in fact, I’m not sure I want to know, but it’s safe, right?”
“It’s locked away, that’s all I’ll tell you.”
I left him with his grief.
Fat snowflakes fluttered in the cold night air and stuck to the ground. I let Axton’s hatchback heat up as I shivered in the front seat. My one cheap glove offered little protection against the freezing steering wheel.
I ran over the pertinent events in my head, leaving out Vi, the hairdresser, Bank Teller Brenda, and her angry husband, Dave. Sheik stole the money, possibly the hit money to kill Sullivan.
He was indiscreet, tossed it around at the strip club that Clay owned. Crystal knew he stole it and she wanted her share.
The next day, Janelle confronts Sheik, and after she leaves, he gets slammed over the head. Sheik’s brother, LD, gets roughed up. Probably because of the missing cash.
Crystal comes to the club and asks Freddy about the money and leaves with Marcus. Next, she winds up dead, and the only one still around to tell me anything was Marcus. Why was he with Crystal that night?
And what about Clay? If he was behind the plan to kill Sullivan, how could we get him to leave Sullivan alone?
The snow started coming faster and I flipped up the speed on the wipers. They pushed at the accumulating snow, carving out a space on the windshields, both front and back. It was piling up quickly and I wanted to get home and get warm. Make a cup of instant cocoa—the kind with the tiny, hardened marshmallows—maybe call Sullivan, bounce some of these ideas off him.
Carefully and slowly, I pulled out of the parking lot and took the outer road toward home. It was hard not to stare at the snow as it swirled toward me, like some real life snow globe. The street was a narrow two-lane affair that curved down a steep hill next to a tree-filled embankment where the branches turned white with snow.
