“Yeah, just a bruise, I think.”
As he stepped into the apartment, the snowflakes covering his dark hair quickly dissolved and left damp spots. Keeping his eyes on me, he shrugged out of his coat and hung it beside the door. “Let’s go to the bathroom where I can get a good look.”
“I’m fine, really.”
He ignored my protests and nudged me into the bathroom where he examined my forehead. “Did you put ice on this?”
“No.”
“You could have a concussion.” He looked into my eyes, not in a romantic way, but in an are-your-pupils-dilated kind of way.
He stalked out of the bathroom into the kitchenette, and opened the freezer. “Where’s your ice?”
“I don’t have an ice machine.” I curled back up on the futon and pulled a throw over my legs.
He turned and glared at me. “You really are a pain in the ass.”
“I didn’t ask you to come over here.”
“No, you never ask for yourself. For Janelle, for Axton, yes. But never for yourself. You’re an idiot. You should have called 911 and had an ambulance take you to the hospital.”
I sighed. “Do you know what it’s like to be poor? I’m not about to start racking up hospital bills. They would have told me to go home and put a bag of ice on it, which I can’t do because I don’t have any freaking ice.”
Leaning against my kitchen counter, he crossed his arms and glared at me. “Unlike you, I was poor most of my life. But your father is a goddamned doctor. You could have called him.”
“It never occurred to me, okay?” All this yelling was making my head pound harder.
He stalked toward me, stopping when he got to the futon. He leaned over and thrust his face toward mine. “There’s a difference between pride and stupidity. You crossed the line.”
“Someone ran me off the road. On purpose.”
He reared back, surprise registering on his handsome face.
I shrugged. And it hurt. “A big dark truck ran me off the road. LD has one, Brent Crandall, Crystal’s psycho ex-boyfriend, has one. Plus, Stuart Weiner drives a black SUV. Take your pick.”
“Shit.” He lifted my feet and sank down on the futon, then rearranged my legs to drape over his.
He pulled out his phone and called someone. I never thought I’d be able to sleep with half my body lying on top of Thomas Sullivan. But it didn’t take ten minutes before I was out for the count.
When I awoke the next morning, bright sunlight shone through the window and I was alone. I glanced at the clock. Shit.
I grabbed my cell and called Ma’s. “Ray, sorry I’m late.”
“Heard about the accident. Stay home.” He hung up.
It was after eight. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept this late.
I went to the bathroom, and when I washed my hands, I gazed at myself in the mirror. A large knot jutted from my forehead. Black and purple seeped downward, giving me a partial black eye. Fan-freaking-tastic.
I needed to go into work. It wouldn’t be pretty, and my customers might lose their appetites, but I wasn’t seriously injured, thank God. I just had a bump.
I took two more pain relievers and a quick shower while the coffee brewed. As busy as we’d been at the diner, I needed to get caffeinated before going in. I poured myself a cup and doctored it. I stood at the counter, blowing at the surface when someone knocked.
I opened the door to Officer Mike Goedecker, who looked very official in his uniform and police jacket with the faux fur collar.
“Come on in. You want some coffee or something?”
“No thanks, I’m good. Sullivan called last night, said you had an accident? You okay? That’s quite a lump there.”
I puttered to the kitchen. “Some asshole ran me off the road.”
He shrugged and his nylon jacket made a scratchy noise. “The conditions were terrible. We had over thirty accidents reported in a four-hour time frame. Where were you coming from?”
“Fit and Flex.”
Mike grimaced. “Maybe during the next snowstorm, you can curb your urge to work out?”
“Crystal Waters’ brother, Kyle, works there. He didn’t know she was dead.”
“God, that’s awful.” A v-shape crease wrinkled his brows. “Did you see what kind of car hit you? Model, make?”
“Big dark truck. It was deliberate. Someone rammed into me several times and tried to push me down the embankment.”
“The roads were so slick, I’m not sure anyone would have the control to purposefully run you off the road.”
I closed my eyes and replayed the events. Someone had deliberately rammed into me. They didn’t back off, they tried to plow me over.
I opened my eyes. “Someone ran me off that road.”
He looked doubtful. “Without a make or any description, there’s not a lot we can do.”
“Is there any news about Crystal Waters’ death?” I asked. “Any clues as to who killed her?”
He glanced at the floor. “Janelle Johnson seems to be the only suspect. Crystal died by blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Sheik was hit the same way. If I find out anything else, you want me to give Sullivan a call?”
“Yeah, please. Thanks.”
“Sure, and maybe have a doc look at that?” He gestured toward my head. “It looks painful.”
I finished my coffee and made it to work close to nine. Every table was full. Even Dillon was getting out orders.
I wasn’t at my speediest, service wise. But most of the customers felt sorry for me and my battered state and gave me a nice tip. Maybe I should sport a black eye and a head wound more often.
I was even slower during lunch—chicken pot pie again. But there weren’t as many customers, so that was good.
During a lull, Roxy cornered me. “Why didn’t you call me after the accident?”
“I just wanted to sleep. I was fine, really. If it had been serious, I totally would have called.”
She smacked her gum and narrowed her eyes. “So Sullivan stayed with you all night?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was on the futon when I fell asleep and he was gone this morning.”
She poked a finger at me. “Next time, call me.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “I promise.”
After we closed, Roxy and Ma insisted I go home and rest. Or as Ma put it, “You look like a shit pile, toots. Get the hell out of here.”
As I climbed into Axton’s bangled up car, Sullivan called.
“How’s the head?”
“Fine. Ugly. Mike Goedecker stopped by and you shouldn’t have turned off my alarm.”
“Sue me. I’ll call you later.” He hung up before I could interrogate him about what was going on with the hit.
A half hour after I got home, Henry arrived with a few groceries. And by a few, I mean he bought out the whole damn store.
“How am I supposed to use all this food before it expires?” I asked.
He unpacked lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, steak, chicken, apples, and bananas. Who ate radishes voluntarily? And he slung a ten pound bag of ice in the freezer.
“Boss said stock you up. So I did. ”
After he left, Ax called.
“How are you?”
“Sore. Headachy. Your car is banged up.”
“Insurance will take care of it. No big.”
“I want to pay the deductible.”
“We’ll haggle later.”
“Hey, I found out Crystal’s real name last night. Tammy Amsted.” I spelled it for him. “Her half-brother is Kyle Amsted. He’s not her boyfriend after all. And Martin Mathers took her to California last year.”
“I’ll get on it. Get some rest,” he s
aid. “And call me if you need anything.”
I managed to fall asleep and felt better when I awoke.
Janelle came over later in the evening and brought lasagna. I ate a little bit of it and washed down more pain pills. It took the edge off, but it still felt like someone sat inside my skull, beating my forehead with a hammer.
“You think this was because of Asshat and Chicken Licker?” Janelle asked. She removed her coat and arranged herself on the futon.
“Yeah. What else could it be?”
I closed my eyes and tried to remember something important. It was on the tip of my brain, but I couldn’t quite remember. “Go on home to the kids. Have you heard from the police?”
“No, thank God. And no offense, Rose, but that Dane is working my last nerve. He hasn’t come up with anything new, hasn’t had time to talk to more suspects. He keeps telling me to be patient, but I have two children to take care of. I need this cleared up.”
The next morning at work, I was pumped full of NSAIDS and feeling better. As I scampered around the diner, getting the place ready for customers, I got a call from Sarah, my alter ego from Rudy’s Roundup Restaurant.
“I can’t take anymore,” she said. “Yesterday one of our fry cooks called in sick and the place was a madhouse. The customers were hostile, Rudy’s been a pain in the neck to work for. I’ve had it. What’s your plan?”
I didn’t have an actual plan, per se. More of a vague notion these two diner dynasties should cut us some slack.
“How about we get Ma and Rudy to sit down and talk this out?” I asked.
“Rudy won’t go to Ma’s. He said he’d never step foot in there again. Called it enemy territory.”
Oh, brother. “Fine. I’ll have Ma there this afternoon at four.”
I hung up to find Roxy with a skeptical puss on her face.
“How do you plan to do that? She won’t willingly go to Rudy’s.”
“She will if we lie about it. Or if we have Ray hogtie her and stick her in the trunk.”
She shrugged. “Whichever way works for me.”
Later in the morning, while Ma used the ladies room, I filled Ray in on my idea of getting Ma and Rudy together in one room. His brows lifted slightly, he rumbled something, and nodded. I took that as permission to do whatever was necessary to broker peace.
Lunch wasn’t as crowded. The meds I had taken were wearing off, so I was happy we weren’t slammed.
As I served a customer in the far corner, I saw something yellow streak by the window.
I leaned over to get a better view and saw Dillon in his chicken suit, running down the sidewalk, being chased by a man in a trucker cap.
I set the coffeepot on the table. “I’ll be right back,” I said and strode out of the diner.
Dillon flapped his wings and as he glanced back at the man chasing him, he got tripped up in his chicken feet and fell to the ground.
I jogged toward them. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Get this guy away from me,” Dillon said. He tried to stand, but wound up rolling from side to side, unable to gain any purchase.
“I just wanted his phone number,” the man said. He held his hand out to Dillon to help him to his feet. “I’ve got a thing for chickens.”
“Huh?” I asked.
“Not real chickens. Stuffed chickens. And I’m not ashamed,” he said.
“Oh my God,” Dillon screamed in a high pitched voice, sounding like a thirteen-year-old boy whose nads hadn’t dropped. “Get the hell away from me, man.” He slapped his wings at the man’s hand.
“It’s just a fetish,” the man said. “Like people have with feet or pregnant women. It’s completely harmless.”
“No means no, mister. Even for chickens,” I said.
“I just really get off on chickens, you know.” He walked back to the street where he’d illegally parked.
I grabbed Dillon by a wing and hauled him to his feet. “You all right?”
“Dude said he wanted to cluck me. What the hell, man? I quit. I quit this stupid job. You can take your chicken suit and your no breaks and your lunch specials and shove them up your ass.” He ripped off his chicken head and threw it on the ground.
I glanced back at the diner. Most of the patrons gathered around the plate glass windows, watching the spectacle. Yeah, I was a little over this chicken shit myself.
After we closed, Roxy swept the floor and I poked my head in the kitchen. “Ma, I got a call from Rudy. He wants a truce. We’re leaving for his place in five.” Then I darted out before she could object.
But on the way to Roxy’s car, Ma did object. Quite loudly. “If that man wants a truce, why am I going to his place? He should come to me.”
I bundled her into the passenger seat and climbed in the back. “You know how men are. They like to have the upper hand, even when they’re wrong.”
We drove to Rudy’s and parked out front. Ma hiked up her polyester elastic waist pants and sauntered inside. Countrified Christmas carols played over the speakers and a dusty tree, trimmed with red balls, listed to one side in a corner.
Sarah stood near the back of the room. She saw me and winked.
“Well,” Ma demanded, “where is he?”
“Let’s take a seat,” I said. “You can be all relaxed and in position when he comes into the room.”
She pointed her finger at me like a gun. “Good thinking, toots.”
We all sat down and waited. Four and a half minutes later—I know this because Ma kept an eye on her watch and updated us every thirty seconds—Rudy strode toward us. Sarah trotted behind him.
He placed his hands on his narrow hips, his beer belly stretching the snap buttons on his brown shirt, leaving gaps between the material where his silver chest hair poked through. “I hear you want to talk to me.”
Sarah rushed to hold out a chair for him. He sat down, crossing his arms as he trained his narrowed eyes on Ma.
“I hear you’re ready to give in,” she said.
His brows rose. “Me? The way I hear tell, it’s you who wants to end this.”
Ma scoffed and wiggled her large frames. “Listen up, sonny—”
“We all want to end this,” I said. “It’s getting ridiculous. Ma, you’re losing money and we’re not making any tips.”
Rudy grinned.
Ma scowled.
Sarah piped in. “You’re losing money, too, Rudy. And I can’t keep getting my kid up at five in the morning.”
He sneered at Sarah. “If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”
“Don’t you talk to her that way,” Ma said. She bared her teeth at him. “You don’t respect anyone, do you?”
“I sure don’t respect you, old woman.”
This conversation was heading downhill faster than a speeding train with no brakes.
“You need to learn a lesson, mister. And I’m the one to teach you.” She scooted back from the table and marched out the door.
As we followed, Roxy popped her gum. “Any other brilliant ideas?”
Chapter 26
“Yeah, I want to confront Marcus,” I said. “I want to know why Clay broke into his house and trashed his place and what happened the last time he saw Crystal.”
“Next time you decide to investigate, can we go with something like the mall or a shoe store instead of muffler shops and strip clubs?” Roxy asked.
“Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
We dropped a pissed off Ma at the diner. She wouldn’t speak to us and she slammed the door with both hands after she stomped out of the car.
I wondered if I could tick off everyone in my life before Christmas. Fingers crossed.
I climbed in the front seat and Roxy and I made our way to the muffler shop. I t
oyed with the idea of calling Janelle to join us, but she had her kids and I didn’t want to disrupt her life any more. Besides, in the frame of mind she was in lately, she might get more forceful with Marcus than she needed to.
Most of the snow had melted, but dirty mounds piled up on street corners. The temps were in the forties and the sun hung low in the sky.
Roxy pulled into the muffler shop and found a parking space. John, the man I’d spoken to on my previous visits to see Marcus, pushed through the door.
“Hey, you’re that girl who was here the other day.”
I smiled my most winsome. “Yeah, is Marcus around?”
“I fired his ass yesterday. If you see him, tell him to pick up his stuff or I’m going to get rid of it.”
Hear that pounding? That was opportunity knocking. “I’m going to see him later, I can just take it to him.”
“Yeah, sure.” He led the way through the garage to a row of four silver metal lockers. He pointed to number two. “Here you go. I’ll grab you a box.”
Roxy stayed behind in the office. She’d taken one look at John and his oily coveralls and scrunched her nose. Didn’t want to get her candy pink and white polka dot dress dirty.
I opened the door to Marcus’ locker and sorted through the car mags, crumpled receipts, a jacket—I’d check the pockets later—and a pawn ticket for earrings. And it was dated four days ago. This had been what Web Head from the pawn shop wouldn’t show me. Earrings.
John walked back with a small cardboard box in his hands. “Here you go. I’ll mail his last check to him, minus what he owes me for repairs. And the gas he stole.”
“Wait, what repairs?”
“He didn’t tell you why he was fired?”
I shrugged. “He said the two of you had creative differences. You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I know exactly how he is. And if I were you, sister, I’d run a mile in the other direction. He didn’t show up for work twice last week, no phone call, no nothin’. Then Sunday night he takes my tow truck without asking and smashed the front fender. He claims he didn’t do it, but who else had a key? This is what I get for hiring an ex-con.” He waved his hand and strode off.
2 Last Diner Standing Page 21