Diner Impossible, page 19
Roxy wasn’t big on affection. Nevertheless, I wrapped my arms around her and let her sob. “Nothing’s wrong with you. Boys are dumb.” I rubbed circles along her back. “Look, go home. Get some rest or go take in a movie. Just relax.”
“Think Ma would mind?” she asked with a sniff.
“No. The rain’s kept things slow this morning and she’s in the kitchen looking at a gadget catalog. Splash some water on your face, it’ll make you feel better.”
I opened the door.
“Rose? I can always count on you, you know?”
“Ditto.”
I left her, and as I walked back through the dining room, my gaze took in the customers, seeing if anybody needed anything. They all seemed too cool for school, so I walked into the kitchen, found Ma harassing poor Ray.
“I’m telling you, son, that’s too much flour.” She started to nudge him out of the way. “Here, let me show you.”
Ray rumbled deep in his chest.
“Ma, Roxy’s a disaster. Boy trouble.”
She looked up and adjusted her frames. “Figured as much. And that Brian is a gigolo. Half the Trekkers in the tri-state area have fallen for his schtick. Roxy got snookered.”
“He was just a rebound anyway. I told her to go on home. Hope that’s okay.”
“Sure, toots. Let her rest. I’ll take her something for dinner later on. Comfort food. Let’s go work the room.” She slung her arm around my shoulders and together we reentered the dining room.
Roxy emerged from the bathroom and slunk off to the kitchen without waving goodbye. She had me worried. Usually, she shook off setbacks. But this thing with Tariq knocked her on her ass and kept her there.
Ma and I easily handled the customers. But around eight-thirty, things turned ugly. Not with the weather. With the SPuRTs.
Stomping in from the rain, shaking their coats and umbrellas all over the floor, the Starfleet crew arrived—only eight of them, but Captain Smith was large and in charge of this little party.
“Rose,” he said, walking to the counter. The other Trekkers pushed together two tables and sat down. “I’d like to discuss the events which occurred last night.”
“Sure. Give me a minute to check on my customers.” I grabbed both high octane and decaf carafes and strolled around the room. Then I sailed past Captain Smith, assuming he’d follow. I led him to the storage closet/office and settled on the desk.
He closed the door and regarded me with cool eyes. Locking his hands behind him, forcing his belly out even further, he simply stared and waited. Little did he know, I’d been through this a million times with the master. Sullivan’s silences were much more effective.
“If you want to have a stare-off, I need to get back out there,” I said. “We’re short-handed today.”
“The conduct you and your friends displayed was abhorrent. Childish, violent, cowardly.”
I held up a hand. “Cowardly? How so?”
“You simply ran away. A child behaves that way, not a full-grown adult.”
“Um, Beehive wanted to brawl with Roxy. So, yeah, we left before things got worse. And I hate to break it to you, Mark,” he stiffened at the use of his name and thrust his chin out a little further, “but Beehive shoved Roxy first. So, it was game on.”
“Her name,” he said with exaggerated patience, “is Lieutenant Junior Grade Katherine Donner.”
I stood. “I don’t care if her name is Tanya Tittyshaker, she pushed Roxy. No one,” I pointed a finger up toward his nose, “no one pushes my Roxy and gets away with it. Now, I have to get back to work. Did you come here to eat or start trouble?”
His brows lowered. “If that missing uniform doesn’t mysteriously turn up within twenty-four hours, I will call the national president of the KAWs. This chapter will be disbanded, dishonored, and blackballed from all future Star Trek Cons.”
“Forty-eight hours,” I said. “Because I can tell you right now, the number one suspect is Sid Rivers. He had the most motive.”
“Sid? Why Sid?”
I gave a little laugh of disbelief. “Because Dale/Divak stole Sid’s girl. If Sid stole the uniform, he’d not only be able to offload it to some lucky Trek fan, he’d get back at Dale, who’s being suspected by his own band of brother KAWs. Thus, Sid would have his revenge, a dish best served cold. And it is very cold…in space,” I said, quoting Ricardo Montalbán. Axton made me watch every Star Trek movie at least three times. And Sid was right, The Wrath of Khan was the best of the bunch.
Captain Smith shook his head. “Sid would never do that. He’s deeply hurt by Melissa Sue’s betrayal. But he’s an officer through and through.”
“Right.” I shoved my hands in my back pockets. “You realize that this is all fictional rank? I mean, you understand this is make believe?”
His face slipped into an angry countenance. “Of course. Do you think us imbeciles?”
“Um.”
“Find who did this. Or I’ll go up the chain of command. Forty-eight hours, as you’ve requested.”
He flung open the door, ready to march out, when I said, “We add a twenty percent gratuity for parties larger than six.”
His shoulders stiffened and he stalked down the hall.
Ha! We never added gratuity. But I didn’t trust those Fleeties. And I wasn’t about to get fleeced on a tip.
*
I was dog tired by the end of my shift. The SPuRTs ate more than the Klingons. And were way messier. Without Roxy, it took twice as long to clean up. Ma wanted to help, but she needed to make a supply run, so I insisted on doing it alone.
In the office, I called Ax and gave him the lowdown on the Captain Smith’s latest threat. He was understandably upset, but unruffled. That’s Ax for you.
“Hey,” he said, “Melissa Sue wants us to come over for dinner tonight at seven. She wants to explain the situation about her affair with Dale.”
I rubbed my forehead. I was tired of everyone’s secrets. “Ax, I don’t really care and it’s none of my business.” Besides, I was going to fail my mid-terms if I didn’t get some study time in.
“She doesn’t want you to think she’s as slutty as a Delta,” Ax said. “And they’re a highly promiscuous race.”
“Fine, I’ll drive.” That way, I could scoot along if things got weird. And with the Klingons, things usually got that way pretty quickly. “Why don’t you bring Dale?” That way I could hear both sides of the story in one sitting.
“I don’t know, they haven’t really spoken since Melissa’s breakup with Sid.”
“Tell Divak to suck it up. It’s for the good of the KAWs.”
“Will do. Thanks for doing this, Rose.”
I hit the end button and shoved the phone in my pocket. Ax didn’t have anything to thank me for. I hadn’t found the missing uniform, I hadn’t cleared the KAWs’ good name. And I didn’t even want to think about Delia Cummings. I was floundering there, as well.
I grabbed a broom from the office and had walked into the dining room when the little bell jangled over the door. Dane Harker stood tall, handsome, and professional in his London Fog coat and plaid Burberry scarf.
When he saw me, dimples appeared on either side of his cheeks. “Hey. I thought of something this morning,” he said, propping his huge black umbrella on the red floor mat. “Completely unrelated to Delia Cummings’ death, but I thought I’d drop by and mention it.”
I leaned the broom against the wall, walked behind the counter, and poured him a cup of coffee. “You want the last donut?” I nodded at the cake stand where one lonely blueberry remained.
He shrugged out of his coat. “No thanks.”
I supposed he didn’t get that toned by indulging in donuts. I would never get that toned.
Dane gracefully moved to the counter and slid onto a stool, folding his hands around the warm, ceramic mug. “That rain is freezing.”
I leaned my elbows on the counter. “So what’s this interesting tidbit?”
His eyes sought mine over the rim of his cup. “There was a country club charity benefit last month. Julia Baxter’s purse went missing. I overheard her complaining about it to Mills. He said she’d probably misplaced it, but she was adamant that someone had taken it. It didn’t go any further because, of course, you can’t accuse Huntingford’s most prominent citizens of theft.”
“Of course. Such paragons are above crime.” I rolled my eyes. “So why is this important?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought about it while I was shaving this morning and thought, ‘I should tell Rose.’ This is the useless trivia you seem to thrive on.”
“What is the deal with that club? Events are a freaking snoozetown, then later, you find out it’s this little microcosm of every vice imaginable.”
Dane laughed. “A lot of business goes on there. You catch people in a relaxed setting, their guard is down—it helps grease the wheels. For instance, I knew Keeler would be at the dance the other night.”
“I thought you were babysitting a MILF, but you had an ulterior motive?”
He shook his finger at me. “That joke just keeps getting funnier every time you tell it.”
I zipped my lip.
“Anyway, I knew Keeler would be there. Bought him a drink and talked about my client who was scheduled in his court this week. Kid comes from money, but his parents are a little too hands off. He needs guidance, not punishment. He got in with a bad crowd. I believe he can turn it around. Keeler agreed to give the kid probation with a stipulation that he goes to rehab and enrolls in a mentor program.”
I scooped a rag and held it to my bosom. “And to think, it all happened at the country club dance.”
Dane set his mug down on the counter. “Make fun all you want, but I’ve seen people join and their careers take off. The ones who don’t get the shitty cases and work twice as hard. Backroom deals are frowned upon, but that’s the way of the world, Rose.”
I dropped the rag on the counter. “Maybe I should join. I’m tired of working twice as hard.”
“You don’t always play well with others. I’d call you more of a rebel than a joiner.”
I thought about it for all of four seconds. “Yeah, you’re right. Is that what happened with Mason Mathers and his drug problems? A backroom deal to keep the little snot out of trouble?”
“Yep,” Dane said. “You didn’t hear this from me, but the kid had enough pills on him to open his own pharmacy.”
That made sense since I saw him the previous night selling pills outside the bowling alley. I wasn’t sure that sweeping Mason’s crimes under the rug was the best course of action for him. He was so young and so very screwed up. He needed serious help.
“Do you appear in Keeler’s court very often?” I asked, grabbing the sugar caddies.
“Every once in a while. Usually, I get stuck before Judge Frank. He’s a tough old bastard. I like Keeler better.”
“What’s so great about Keeler?” I began shoving pink, blue, and yellow packets along with sugar into the holders.
“He’s pretty relaxed. Keeler’s known for his less-than-harsh sentences, whereas Judge Frank enjoys doling out maximum penalties.”
Dane finished his coffee and slid the empty mug toward me. “Thanks. I needed a jolt.”
“Thank you for stopping by and letting me know about Julia’s purse.” It had nothing to do with my case, but it was sweet that he thought about me. And I made sure he kept his hands and lips to himself today.
“Have dinner with me one night this week.” When he saw the hesitancy on my face, his next sentence was a rush. “Just as friends. I may have some useful info on Charlotte and David Ashby by then.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that to Sullivan.”
His eyes became serious, and the smile faded away. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
I wasn’t talking about this with Dane. “You’ll call me anyway? If you find out anything Ashby-wise?”
He nodded and without another word, grabbed his umbrella and coat before heading back out into the rain.
Chapter 23
I promised my mother I’d meet her at the club that afternoon for tea. I could finally quiz Charlotte Ashby and subtly ask her if she knew her husband had been doing the nasty with Delia Cummings. If so, she would get bumped up on my suspect list. But I wasn’t sure I could do subtle. Maybe I needed my mother’s help on this one. Or maybe I’d rather chew dirt.
Since I’d already worn everything I owned that was even remotely appropriate for a club event, I decided to borrow something from Jacks. Even if it gave my mother serious palpitations to see me wearing hand-me-downs.
First, I needed to stop for lunch. I was starving and didn’t imagine I’d get anything more than a cucumber finger sandwich at tea. As I waited in the drive thru line, my phone rang.
Officer Hardass calling me during daylight hours. It must be dire.
“Miss Strickland, I’ve spoken to Captain Bentley. I will accompany you to his home where we will stay no longer than thirty minutes.”
I handed my money to the fast-food lady with a hummingbird tattooed on her beefy bicep. “What time?”
“Six o’clock,” he said.
I wasn’t sure if the captain could shed any light on Delia Cummings’ death, but any info I could get on the Mills/Ashby/Keeler triad might be helpful. As I tried to catch the bag of nuggets the woman threw into my car, I noted the address and promised Andre I’d be there at six on the dot.
On the drive to Jacks’ house, the rain finally let up. The sky was still gray, heavy with clouds, but at least it wasn’t pouring.
My sister lived on the north side of the city. Her home, while beautiful, was clone of every other house in the subdivision. Brick fronts. Varying shades of taupe.
I pulled into her driveway, and as soon as I hopped out of the car, my five-year-old nephew Scotty was out the front door, zooming toward me. He hit my legs, wrapping his little arms around them so tightly, I almost fell over.
“Hey, Sport. How are you?”
“I am excellent, Aunt Rose.” Since he was missing his two front upper teeth, it sounded more like ecthelent. Which was adorable. Tow-headed, bright blue eyes, and the cutest little smile ever. He’d be a heartbreaker one day, that was for sure.
When I picked him up, he clung to my neck. But honestly, the kid was getting so big, I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to carry him around. “Is excellent a new word?” I asked, staggering toward the house.
“Yep. Mom bought me a book and we learn a new word every day. It means really cool.”
“How’s soccer going?”
“You haven’t been to one of my games. And I am excellent at kicking.”
I kissed his cheek. “Yeah, you are. But I work every Saturday, Sport.”
“Your job is dead though.” He crinkled up his face and looked at me with somber eyes.
I stopped. “What do you mean my job is dead?”
“That’s what Grandma calls it. A dead job. She says you’ll never get nowhere in a dead job.”
Ah, dead end. “I like my job. I can eat all the pancakes I want. Every day.”
He gasped, showing me the missing space where his teeth used to be. “With thyrup?”
I looked him in the eye. “I eat pancakes that are swimming in syrup.”
“That’s excellent, Aunt Rose. Don’t sound dead to me.”
“Me neither.”
I made it up to the bricked front porch and set him down. Jacks held the door open and the biting wind lifted her bouncy, blonde hair away from her face. She wore a sweater and a pair of jeans that were made to look distressed. My jeans were frayed at the hem, not by design, but by being washed ten million times.
“Scotty, you know you’re not supposed to go outside without an adult, and you’re not even wearing a coat. It’s cold out there. Go sit on the sofa for ten minutes. No TV.” Jacks stepped aside and let us in.
“Ah, man.” He stomped his little foot and trudged to the living room.
“The joys of motherhood,” she said. “Ready to raid my closet? You haven’t done this since you were thirteen.”
“And you punished me by telling everyone I’d French kissed Bradley Stombach, the dumbest jock in school.”
Her jaw dropped. “You did kiss him.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t need to blab about it.”
“Well, that’s what you get for wearing my clothes without express permission.” She marched up the stairs.
“Should I have brought a notary public with me today?” I asked, following behind her.
“I think I’m safe. Your style has changed in the last eleven years.”
Now that was the truth. We walked into her master bedroom. It was gorgeous—spacious, warm, and filled with dark, carved furniture. The enormous bed, with its persimmon-colored duvet, didn’t even make a dent in the space. I wanted to flop myself down in the middle of the fluffy softness and fall asleep for a couple of days.
But Jacks had other ideas. She walked to her closet and threw open the double doors. The center island was a dresser with drawers encompassing it. Her clothes were organized by type. For instance, long-sleeved blouses took up the top half of a wall. They were categorized by color—starting with white, working their way through the rainbow to the end, where the black shirts hung together in solidarity.
And so it went. Dresses—long, short, day—and separated by seasonal material. Suits, coats, jackets, sweaters. A lot of the garments still had price tags swinging from them. I had no idea where Allen kept his golf shirts and sweater vests. He probably felt lucky that she even let him sleep in this oasis with her.
Jacks pressed a finger to her lips and studied her clothes canvas. “I think pink.” She withdrew two suits. One with a fuchsia skirt, the other, a long-sleeved rose jacket with matching slacks.
“Slacks please,” I said.
“Try both on, then we’ll see.”
I took the hangers from her hand. “Jacks, I don’t have to look like a fashion plate, I just have to look presentable enough so Mom won’t bitch.”
She shooed me. “Into the bathroom. Oh,” she snatched a blouse from the rack, “take this, too.”
