Diner Impossible, page 5
The fresh, rich smell of brewed java filled my tiny room. I wished I had some cookies to go with it. Too bad I missed out on that chocolate soufflé earlier.
Roxy propped her hip against the counter. “You’re going to have to ask her about his affair with Delia. Awkward?”
“Totally. And my mom will be side-eying me the whole time.” I filled two mugs with steamy coffee, then plugged in the USB drive Andre had thrown at me. From my purse, I grabbed my pen and notebook, then we settled in at the table.
On the screen, one file popped up: Delia Cummings. I clicked it open. There were crime scene shots, including several of her dead body, an autopsy report, the homicide detective’s notes.
“Holy shit,” Roxy said, pulling her chair closer. “This is the official file.”
I clicked through all of it without taking the time to read it. Just to know exactly what I had. Then I went back to the beginning and started from page one, reading every word, and studying every photo. The roast I’d eaten earlier turned in my stomach. The medical examiner filled in an intricate, detailed checklist that noted everything from Delia’s earrings to the contents of her bedside drawer (pad of paper, pen, a vibrator, and a bottle of hand lotion), to the cause of death. Laceration of the thoracic aorta.
At a close up of her chest wound, I shuddered.
“Get off this picture. Go to the next one,” Roxy said.
I clicked on a zillion more photos of the body from every angle imaginable, the crime scene, more pictures of the knife wound, and up close and personal autopsy shots. I forced myself to examine them, but Roxy stood and paced the apartment, unable to look. Once I made it past the photos, she resumed her seat.
In the detective’s notes, we learned that the police questioned her neighbors. I made a note of their names: Brad and Eileen Whitehead were home that night, Tanya Delinksky, had been out of town. The Whiteheads hadn’t heard anything unusual. In fact, it wasn’t until Delia failed to show up for work the next day that her body was discovered. When she didn’t answer her phone, Martin Mathers sent a squad car to check on her. The door to her condo was unlocked and Officer Michael Cribbs found her in bed. Dead for at least eight hours.
Uniformed officers canvased the area, questioning all the residents along the street and the neighbors butting up to Delia’s small back yard. No one heard anything. No one saw anything out of the ordinary.
The rumors that she’d been pregnant were true. Sort of. Until very recently she had been pregnant. So recent, that her HCG levels were still elevated, but no fetus. Did she have an abortion? Delia told Randa Atherton she’d had a miscarriage, but was that true?
“I wonder how long the pregnancy hormone stays in your system?” I glanced at Roxy.
She looked a little pale.
“I don’t know. This is all so gross. She was a person, but they talk about her like she’s a lamp.”
“They have to. Otherwise, they couldn’t do their job.”
We finished reading through the file, but it didn’t give any clue as to who killed her. The murderer brought his own weapon, which suggested the crime was premeditated.
Unless she and Martin had argued, Delia fell asleep, and Martin whipped out a long, serrated knife he just happened to be carrying? No, that didn’t work. It felt like I was trying to force a square peg into a round hole.
I turned my attention back to the screen. According to the report, the police had taken Delia’s computer and sent fibers in for analysis. They’d collected all of her personal information and put a rush on everything, but there were no leads.
Her parents, Stan and Marie Cummings, were her next of kin. I made a note of that, too.
The facts didn’t tell me anything. All I had were rumors. Rumors that Martin Mathers had knocked Delia up and then killed her. But if that were true, surely he’d have known she wasn’t pregnant at the time of her death.
I pulled the memory stick from the computer and laid it on the table.
“What do you think?” Roxy asked. “Police Chief or other?”
I chewed my lower lip, lost in thought. “If he did it, why not make it look like an accident? Surely he’s smart enough to figure that out.”
She stood and stretched. “Doesn’t sound like a crime of passion. She was killed in bed, no signs of a struggle, no sign of a break in, and nothing appeared to be missing. So what do we do next, Nancy Drew?”
I took our cups to the sink and gave them a quick wash. “We need to figure out who hated Delia enough to kill her. Do you think one of Martin’s enemies could have done this?”
“Possible. And that Randa Atherton skank didn’t have any love for Delia. Maybe we need to make an enemies list. Put her name at the top.”
I faced her, wiping my hands on a red plaid dishtowel. “Have they had the funeral yet?”
“Let me look.” She took my chair and tapped away on the computer while I dried the mugs.
“Visitation’s Sunday afternoon.”
“We should go.”
With a yawn, she stood and retrieved her coat. “Sounds good. Maybe Sullivan can help you out with this. Since he’s one of Mathers’ main enemies.”
I followed her to the door. “The police chief is Sullivan’s guy on the inside. They’re not enemies.”
“They’re not exactly friends though, are they?” She waved and trotted down the stairs.
I closed the door and pulled back the curtain, watching from the window until she started her car and drove away.
I got ready for bed and while I was drifting off to sleep, Sullivan called.
“Sorry it’s so late. My night’s been crazy.” His voice was warm and deep and sexy.
“S’okay. Hey,” I said, stifling a yawn, “do you know David Ashby or Judge Keeler?”
He paused so long, I nodded off.
“They always gamble with Mathers,” he finally said. “I believe Delia and Ashby were fucking each other behind Martin’s back.”
That made my eyes pop open. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”
“I was hoping you’d come to your senses. I should have known better.”
“About this affair,” I said, “how sure are you?”
“Fairly certain. She looked at him like she knew him intimately.”
“Is that the way I look at you?” I didn’t have much of a filter at the best of times. But after midnight, it all came tumbling out. “Forget I said that.”
“No, I don’t think I will. Goodnight, Rose.”
Chapter 7
Saturdays were always busy at the diner, but not this one. We would have been slammed if not for the torrential storm. And on top of the bad weather, Ma was MIA. By six-thirty, she still hadn’t shown up and only two regulars wandered in.
Roxy sat at the counter, shaking her foot in agitation. “Guess what I saw this morning? Tariq posted pics of himself with not one, but two hoes hanging all over him. At a club. At three a.m.”
I patted her shoulder as I walked by. “No more cyber stalking Tariq. You’re moving on, remember?”
Nodding, she crossed her arms. “Right. I’m over it. He’s lucky I ever looked his way. Do you know he likes to watch himself in the mirror during sex? And don’t even get me started about oral.”
I cringed. “Wasn’t going to. Ever. And you’re better than this, Rox. You’re going to find someone amazing.” I wished I had a magic wand to mend her broken heart. But this was something she was going to have to go through. Didn’t mean I had to like it. If I ever got within striking distance of Tariq, his nuts were in danger of some serious rackage.
I wandered around the near empty diner, peering out at the sheets of rain lashing against the picture window. “Where’s Ma? I’m starting to get worried.”
“Maybe we should have gone with her to the KAWs versus SPERMs thing yesterday.”
“SPuRTs,” I said.
Roxy tried calling Ma’s phone. “No answer.”
I dug out my own phone. “I’ll call Ax.” When he didn’t answer either, I tried his home.
Stoner Joe, Axton’s roommate, answered on the tenth ring. “Dude. It’s, like, nighttime.”
I didn’t bother to argue with him. Futility, thy name is Joe. “Hey, can I talk to Ax?”
“Rose? Hey, Chiquita. How’s it hanging, dude?”
“Low and to the left. Is Ax there?”
“He’s with his Klingon homies, man. He never showed up last night. I’m hoping he got lucky. With a lady of a different species. You know what I’m talking about, Rosarama. Like uh, uh, uh,” he grunted.
I sighed and hung up. “Apparently, Axton didn’t make it home last night.”
Roxy glanced at me, her blue eyes troubled. “Where could they be?”
“Don’t worry, Ax will take good care of her. And if anything had happened, we’d have heard by now.”
I shoved my phone in my pocket and walked into the kitchen. The room smelled of smoky bacon and yeasty goodness. Jorge, the assistant cook/dishwasher stood at the counter rolling out biscuits and Ray lifted a tray of rolls from of the oven.
“Did Ma make it in?” Jorge asked. Short, husky, with his arms sleeved in colorful tattoos, he always had a ready smile and a calming presence. I’d never seen him flustered.
I smiled back, taking in the dark circles ringing his eyes. “Not yet. You look tired, Jorge. Little Maria keeping you up?”
“She’s teething. Won’t last forever, right?”
“Probably not.” I glanced at Ray. “Have you heard from Ma since yesterday?”
“Uhn.”
“Come on, Ray, full sentences. I know you can do it.” Jorge chuckled.
“No,” Ray said.
“Do you know where she could be?” I asked. Ray shrugged.
Blowing out a breath, I walked back to the dining room. Despite the downpour and freezing wind, seven more regulars tramped in throughout the morning, dripping wet, in desperate need of hot coffee.
Roxy and I worked in tandem and shared the counter. Ma didn’t come in everyday, but she always gave us a heads up. And she never missed a weekend. Her absence made me nervous.
Finally around nine, she, Axton, and Klek-Brian staggered into the diner, shaking the water from their coats and hanging them by the door. Axton and Klek, still in Klingon garb, shuffled to the counter. But Ma had a pep in her step and a crinkled silicone prosthetic stuck to her forehead.
Roxy stood, hands on her hips, working her gum like it was a second job. “Where the hell have you guys been? Rose and I have been worried sick. There’s a little thing called a phone. Next time, use it.” She slammed her hand onto the connecting door and stomped into the kitchen.
“What bit her butt?” Ma asked.
I grabbed cups and poured coffee for all three of them. “When you didn’t show up this morning and didn’t answer your phones, we started to get worried. How was the Trekkie thing?”
“We like to refer to ourselves as Trekkers,” Ax said.
Roxy reappeared with plates of biscuits and gravy. She slapped them down on the counter. “So what’s the story?”
“Oh, it was real exciting.” Ma stirred two packets of sugar into her cup. “Sorry I didn’t call, hon,” she said to Roxy. “But we’ve got a mystery on our hands.”
“It was a freaking nightmare,” Ax said. “Not only did we epically fail in our battle for laser tag dominance, when we went to hand over the prize, it was missing. Now the SPuRTs think we’re holding out on them. They called us thieves and insulted our honor.”
“Things got pretty heated. I thought there might be a fight,” Ma said.
“Pahtk,” Klek spat out, holding his mug in both hands.
Ax nodded. “For sure, dude.”
“What’d he say, Axman?” Ma asked.
“He called them a foul name. They’re jerks for blaming us. Someone stole that prize, but it wasn’t a KAW.”
“Balth.”
“We have honor,” Ax translated.
A table of four bundled into their coats and as they left, a gust of frigid air and rain blew through the diner. Only three dawdlers remained. Since they were nursing their coffee, we had a couple of minutes to spare.
“BaghneQ?”
“Crap on a cracker, would you just speak English?” Roxy asked.
“He wants a spoon,” Ax said.
She grabbed one from the container beneath the counter and slid it to him.
Klek grunted and eyed her, his gaze resting on the row of black velvet bows marching down the front of her red dress. The skirt of which was so short, every time she spun around, she flashed her frilly bloomers.
“Seloh.” Lowering his voice, he drew out the word. No mistaking what he wanted this time.
“Cut it out,” she said. “You’re being gross.” Klek shrugged and sipped his coffee.
“Okay, kids, break it down for me.” I rested my elbows on the counter. “What happened and start from the beginning.”
“Well, the laser tag was a kick, toots,” Ma said. “It’s on the second floor of the movie theater. Never knew what was up there before.” Part of her Klingon crinkles started to come unglued around the edges and flapped away from her forehead.
“It was a close game,” Ax said. “We were neck in neck, each of us with only two guys left, but first Aktuh Godar went down. That’s Jason. He works at the Snack-N-Shack by the Huntingford Mall.”
“Qu’vatlh!” Klek thumped his fist on the counter, making his baghneQ leap in the air.
Ax tilted his head toward his friend. “He’s still a little bitter. Anyway, then Sid Rivers shot Divak Khard and it was all over.” Ax shook his head, causing his frizzy black wig to wiggle back and forth. “Sid and Divak got into a fight. Punches were thrown. It was a real bummer, man.”
Roxy propped her hip against the counter. “So you lost. What next?”
“We had dinner at that Chinese Buffet off Maple,” Ma said. She knocked back the rest of her coffee and set the mug on the counter with a thunk. “It wasn’t that good, but at five-ninety-five, it wasn’t that bad either.”
“Their egg rolls are tasty,” Ax said.
I snapped my fingers. “Let’s focus, people. You ate dinner, what next?”
Ax narrowed his eyes in thought. “We stopped by The Carp for a few drinks.” The Carp, a local bar, featured live music on the weekends. But they were known for their cheap beer and bad décor. “Then we went back to Divak Khard’s house for the award ceremony.”
“Tach,” Brian nodded. “HIq.”
“Yeah, we drank some beer. Divak, that’s Dale Marsh, went out to his car to get the victory prize. But it was, like, gone.”
Ma slowly peeled back the latex forehead. “I got a glimpse of it before we played laser tag. It was something. A costume—”
“Uniform,” Ax corrected.
“Right, a uniform just like the one Captain Kirk used to wear.” She pulled the prosthetic from her skin, wincing as she tugged, causing her own natural wrinkles to deepen. “An exact replica.”
“William…Shatner…signed it…himself.” Ax thrust his hands forward with each word and did his best James T. Kirk impersonation to demonstrate the awesomeness of such an item. “We keep it in a glass frame.”
“How big is it?” Roxy asked.
“About twenty-four by thirty-six inches,” Ax said. “The Fleeties think we’re holding out on them. They’ve accused us of being sore losers and questioned our manhood.”
“They accused the boys of having tiny pee pees,” Ma said.
“Why were you out all night?” Roxy asked.
“There was a trial of sorts,” Ax said. “Not binding for the KAWs of course, but the SPuRTs insisted.”
“How can a frame that big just disappear?” I asked. “It’s not like you can stick it in your pocket and walk off with it.”
“That’s the question. And the mystery.” Ma tossed her ridged forehead onto the counter. It looked disgusting, a floppy piece of skin next to the ketchup bottle. Plus, her own forehead was bright red and the front of her hair lay flat while the rest stood on end. “You’re going to help us, right, Rose?”
“Um.”
“We can’t make any promises.” Roxy grabbed a rag to wipe down her tables. “We have a murder to solve and that takes precedence.”
Way to be discreet, Rox. “I’ll try to find out what happened, Ax.” How could I say no? He was always there for me. Besides, we had a habit of exchanging favors. I saved him from kidnappers, he plied me with pizza and leant me his car for a week. And this KAW stuff was important to him.
He raised his fake black brows. “What murder?” he whispered. I shot Klek a glance. “I’ll call you later.”
Ax tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Got it.”
Chapter 8
While the rain had slacked off, heavy, gray clouds clung together and threatened more bad weather. Unlocking the driver’s side door, the icy wind slithered through my coat, making me shiver.
I let my car heat up, then pointed it toward the exclusive gated community, The Greens, where my parents lived.
Pulling up to the guardhouse, I smiled at Ben. Retired from the police force, he had to be pushing mid-seventies. Today, he covered his gray hair with a knit cap to ward off the chill.
“How are you doing, Miss Strickland?”
“Can’t complain. How about you, Ben?”
“Knee’s giving me a fit.” He gazed up at the rain-swollen clouds. “Be glad when summer gets here.” He pressed a button and the wrought iron gates slowly opened. “Have a great day.”
I waved, zoomed through the wide streets, and pulled into my parents’ drive. The Strickland home was stunning. A sprawling three-story with floor-to-ceiling windows. It sat in the middle of a yard filled with maples and oaks, their naked branches rattling in the wind.
I hustled up the path, slick from rain, to the front door where my mother stood, arms folded, foot tapping.
“I’m not late,” I said. “I told you I’d be by after work.”
“Let’s go. Annabelle’s waiting.” She wore a tan overcoat and a silk scarf patterned in swirls of brown and bronze.
