Diners, Dives & Dead Ends
Terri L. Austin
As a struggling waitress and part-time college student, Rose Strickland’s life is stalled in the slow lane. But when her close friend, Axton, disappears, Rose suddenly finds herself serving up more than hot coffee and flapjacks. Now she’s hashing it out with sexy bad guys and scrambling to find clues in a race to save Axton before his time runs out. With her anime-loving bestie, her septuagenarian boss, and pair of IT wise men along for the ride, Rose discovers political corruption, illegal gambling, and shady corporations. She’s gone from zero to sixty and quickly learns when you’re speeding down the fast lane, it’s easy to crash and burn.
Terri L. Austin
Diners, Dives & Dead Ends
To Jeff, the love of my life.
Thank you for making dinner all those nights I sat in front of the computer. I couldn’t have done it without you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe my thanks to a lot of people who helped make this book a reality. To Emily Collins, my swim buddy and fellow critter, thanks for NaNoWriMoing with me. See what you started? To all my KCACG ladies — Kim Gabauer, Christina Wilson, Lindy Dierks, Paula Gill, Dawn Lind, and a special shout out to Heidi Senesac. Thank you for your friendship and holding my feet to the fire. To Shannon K. Butcher, an amazing writer and mentor — you’ve helped me more than you know. Thank you, Cheryl O’Donovan, for all your guidance. Kathy Collins, Alta Durrant, Sara Attebury, Sarah Skolaut, Janice McClain, and Barbara Herrin thanks for reading for me and inspiring me to be better. To Ann Charles, a kick ass writer, thanks for reading and blurbing. You are awesome. To Kim Carruthers and Sarah Lovewell, my beta readers, thanks so much. You guys rock. To my fellow chicks in the hen house, Larissa Reinhart and Susan M. Boyer — it’s been fun taking this journey with you. To John Snethen, thanks for all your help on all matters legal and illegal. Jeff and Colter, my go-to guys, first readers, and favorite husband and son — you two put up with my nuttiness and were my biggest cheerleaders. Even though you looked ridiculous in those skirts. But keep the pom-poms, you never know when they might come in handy. And gratitude to my daughter, Austin, who let me have her name — you’re not getting it back, so forget it. A big thanks to Kendel Flaum for all your hard work. Thank you all. You’re the best.
Chapter 1
Mondays were known for two things at Ma’s Diner: we poured lots of extra coffee and the tips sucked. After my last customer left, I counted out my money. Twenty-three dollars and sixteen cents. Hmm, food or gas?
I walked behind the counter and had just started to refill ketchup bottles when my friend, Ax, walked in. The bright afternoon sunshine flashed on his wallet chain as it slapped against his thigh.
Axton Graystone — his real name, I swear to God — was usually cheerful, goofy, and extremely mellow due to his natural disposition and the boatloads of pot he ingested. But when he stopped by the empty diner that afternoon, he was twitchy and nervous.
He plopped onto a stool in front of me and swung his overstuffed backpack onto another. His knee bounced up and down like a toddler on a sugar binge and he tapped his fingernails on the counter. “Rose, I need you to do something for me.”
“I’m not giving you my pee.” Axton had a couple of possession misdemeanors. Now the administration at the college where he worked made him take a urine test once a month.
The keys in his pocket jangled with every bob of his knee. “No, not that. I need a favor.” Worry lines creased his forehead and his pale blue eyes were more bloodshot than usual.
I glanced up from my ketchup transfusion, leaned over and stared into said bloodshot eyes. I sniffed the air around him. “You’re not stoned. Are you drunk?”
Roxy Block, my fellow waitress-slash-bestie frowned. “I thought he was always stoned.” Roxy was in a pissy mood. She’d quit smoking the day before and it was not going well. For any of us.
“Where were you last night?” I asked him. “I thought we were going to watch War of the Worlds. I made those pizza rolls you like.”
“Jeez Rose, I told you a million times, it’s When Worlds Collide. It won an Academy Award. It was like, a visual masterpiece.” Tap, tap, tap. He rapidly beat out a rhythm on the counter.
“Whatever.” I reached over and laid my hand on his, forcing him to stop tapping his nails.
Axton hopped down from the stool and went to the picture window at the front of the diner. With his hands on the glass, he glanced up and down the street — left, right, then left again. His breath made a big foggy circle next to the closed sign.
After I twisted a lid on the last bottle of ketchup, I walked to the tables around the small dining room, putting a bottle on each. “So where were you?”
His shoulders jerked at the sound of my voice. “I went to a club. Look, Rose—”
“Like a dance club?” I interrupted, a bottle dangling between my fingers. I’d known Axton forever. We’d gone to school together from first grade through high school at Huntingford Prep and the only club Axton ever attended involved Starfleet uniforms and speaking Klingon.
“I’m trying to picture you dancing.” Roxy smacked a piece of nicotine gum as she pushed a broom across the black and white checkerboard floor. “And in my mind it looks more like a seizure.” Roxy wore a very short, red pleated skirt, a frilly white blouse, and white platform shoes. A lacy headband held back her electric blue hair. Her outfit was not a side effect of cigarette deprivation. She always dressed like that.
Axton glared at her. “It was a private club. Invitation only.” He looked back at me. “That’s not the point.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans that were almost white from too many washings, then stomped back over to the counter and jumped up on the stool.
“It wasn’t the country club, was it?” I gave a little shudder. “I hate that place. I thought you did, too.” I turned to Roxy. “The last time we were at the country club, he set off the fire alarm and the entire place had to be evacuated.”
Roxy smiled around her wad of gum. “That figures.”
“Dude, that was a long time ago. And no, it wasn’t the country club. It was…exclusive. Seriously, can you do me a solid?”
Axton at a Star Trek convention? Yes. Axton, at an exclusive anything? Uh-uh. Something was way off here.
Today he seemed wired for sound, but normally he was just wiry. From his thin, five-foot-seven-inch frame, to the patchy tufts he called a beard, to the dishwater, chin-length waves that swirled around his head. The man loved all things Tolkien and cheesy sci-fi movies. Private clubs where admittance was by invitation only? Uh, no.
“Ax, what is going on? And why are you so hyper?”
His gaze darted past me, to the last glazed doughnut on the cake stand.
Roxy walked up to the counter. “Bet you went to a titty bar. You know the strippers invite everyone, Axton.” She reached out and patted his back. “Not just you.”
He blew out a breath. “It was not a strip club.”
Roxy rolled her eyes and tried to blow a bubble. She wound up with a string of gum stuck to her upper lip.
Axton looked longingly at the doughnut. “Can I have that?”
I lifted the glass dome. “Take it.”
He grabbed it and snarfed it down in two bites. “Thanks. I haven’t eaten all day.” He rubbed his hands together, wiping crumbs from his fingers.
“Hey, dumbass, we just cleaned that counter.” Roxy picked up a rag and swiped at the crumbs.
With a sigh, I took the rag from her hands. “I’ll finish this. Why don’t you take a break?”
She raised a brow. “Like a cigarette break, you mean?”
“Like a fresh air break.” I spun
her around and gave her an almost gentle nudge toward the kitchen.
Once she was gone, I faced Axton, pushed aside the salt and pepper shakers, and leaned on my forearms. I gave him a narrowed-eyed look designed to make him spill all his secrets. “What did you do last night and what kind of favor do you need?”
“Can’t tell you where I went, but I need you to take my backpack for a day or two. Keep it someplace safe.”
Now I knew something was wrong. Axton without his backpack? That’d be like Linus without his blanket. Ax toted that thing everywhere. He probably slept with it. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, no trouble.” His knee bobbed even faster than before. “Will you help me out?”
He gazed at me with an emotion I didn’t recognize. Anxiety, maybe? “Sure, Ax, whatever you need.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “It’ll only be for a day or two. Thanks, Rose.” He came around the counter and pulled me into a hug. “I’ve got to get back to work.” He quickly walked to the front door.
I followed him out of the diner, the aroma of coffee and cinnamon trailing behind me. I held up my hand to shield my eyes from the afternoon sun. “Call me later?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure.” Climbing into his Honda hatchback, he waved as he drove out of the lot.
A brisk wind kicked up and I rubbed at the goose bumps on my bare arms.
Stupid me, I should have never let him drive away.
Chapter 2
I walked back inside and scooped up Axton’s backpack, taking it into the kitchen with me. As I opened the swinging door, the smoky tang of bacon grew stronger. My boss, Ray, scrubbed the grill, and the dishwasher, Jorge, clinked plates as I moved past them into the pantry. I dropped the bag at my feet. It weighed a ton.
I sat on my haunches and unzipped it. So help me, if Ax stashed his pot in here, I was flushing it. But as I dug into the pack, I found it drug free — unless you counted the flannel shirt that almost gave me a contact high after one whiff. There was also a hardback copy of The Hobbit, two tech magazines, a laptop, a small tool kit, and a rectangular computer doodad the size of a deck of cards. Nothing unusual. At least not for Axton. I wondered why he left this with me. What the hell was going on?
I stuffed everything back inside and took a case of syrup off the shelf. I removed the restaurant-sized bottles of imitation maple goodness and stuck the backpack in the large box, closed the lid, and hoisted it back in place. Then I made some room next to the salsa and decided the condiments could play nice for a couple of days.
Roxy found me a minute later, with my hands on my hips, staring at the syrup box. “You must be really bored,” she said.
“Yep.” I followed her out of the pantry and into the dining room.
“Do you want to do something tonight or are you studying?” She walked over to the windows and pulled down the shades.
“I’m going to study with Janelle, go to bed, then get up and do it all over again. It’s glamorous, I know.” I lifted a shoulder. “But that’s just how I roll, my friend.”
“Your life kinda sucks.”
Sadly, she was right. Truth was, my life had become pretty predictable. My classes were beyond boring and I spent weekends either drinking watered down beer with Roxy or watching sci-fi movies with Ax. Sometimes when I got really wild, I did both at the same time. Not exactly living on the edge.
My name is Rose Strickland — Rosalyn to those who named me. I inherited my blue-green eyes from my dad, my A-cup boobs from my mom, and my blonde hair from them both. Where I got my wicked sense of humor and independent spirit was anyone’s guess, but the last two traits pissed my parents off to no end.
When I was eighteen, they shipped me off to the college they had chosen for me. A small, private, all-girls-all-the-time school. I hated it. After my freshman year when I insisted on changing schools, my parents insisted I leave their home and pay for college myself.
Fast forward five years, and I now was a student at Huntingford City College — not the most prestigious college in Missouri, but nearly affordable on a waitress’s salary. I took a class or two each semester in an effort to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. This semester, I figured out I did not want a career in ethics or accounting. I don’t know what a career in ethics would be anyway. Nun, maybe?
I was a twenty-four-year-old former rich girl who didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. But for sure, it wasn’t a nun.
“Well, at least I have a date with Scotty this afternoon. That’s something to look forward to.” I untied and folded my apron before laying it on the counter. Scotty, my too adorable, five-year-old nephew had challenged me to a game of Hungry Hippo. Oh, the foolishness of youth.
Roxy popped her gum. “Why was Axton acting all weird today?”
Good question. “I don’t know. But he wanted me to keep his backpack for a couple of days.”
She raised a pale brow. “Remind me again why you like that stoner so much.”
“Axton’s one of the good guys. He was there for me when I needed him. He’s true blue.”
But he had been acting weird today. I decided to call him later about this backpack business. He must have had a good reason to give it to me. I just wanted to know what that reason was.
Grabbing my purse, I poked my head into the kitchen and said goodbye to the boys, then walked out to the parking lot with Roxy. As I waved to her, I saw a black SUV with tinted windows drive by. The back passenger window was down and I caught a glimpse of a man staring out at me.
Roxy followed my gaze. “Someone thinks you’re tasty.” She wagged a finger at me. “And remember, don’t study too hard. Boys like girls with big tits, not big brains.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have either.”
I hopped into my piece of shit car and sped out of the lot.
Scotty waited for me at the door of my sister’s mini-manse. By the time my feet hit the narrow porch, he was out of the house and launching himself at me like a missile. I stumbled back from the surprise attack, but kept upright as I bear hugged him.
“Hey, Sport, how are you?”
“Good. I want to go to the park. Can we go to the park? Please, Aunt Rose, please?”
I looked down at the tow-headed love of my life and smiled. “Sure. But you need a jacket.”
He flew back into the house and I followed at a slower pace. My sister, Jacks, her blonde hair in a twist and her pretty face makeup-free, stepped into the marbled foyer.
“Did he talk you into taking him to the park?”
“Yep.”
“You’re such a softy, Rose.”
Rose Strickland, part-time student, full-time softy. “How can you say no to that sweet, little face?”
“He sure has you fooled.”
Scotty, soccer ball in hand, sped down the stairs as fast as his short legs could manage. “Got to go, Mom. See ya.” Then he ran out the front door and I swear my hair blew back from the breeze that kid created in his wake.
“See ya.” I gave my sister a finger wave.
Scotty and I walked to the park, which was a block away. The large houses in this neighborhood sat on small lots, with the occasional tree dotting the yard. It was early October. Only a few leaves had changed color, but the weather was in flux. Cold mornings gave way to mostly warm afternoons. As the sun started to fall, so did the temperatures.
The park was a hotbed of elementary action — swings, jungle gyms, those little cartoon characters on springs — all teeming with screaming kids. More nannies than moms stood off to the side and sat on benches, watching the mayhem.
Scotty ran ahead. “Let’s go.”
I ran after him to a relatively clear spot on the edge of a wooded area. We spent half an hour kicking the ball back and forth, until I kicked it too far, and it whizzed past Scotty into the woods.
“I’ll get it, Sport. You stay right here.”
I trotted off, my eyes scanning the ground for a sign
of the white and black ball. I finally spied it wedged against a sapling. I picked it up, and when I straightened there was a man in a dark suit standing a few yards in front of me.
I gasped and dropped the ball. It rolled toward him, hitting his shoe. He did some fancy maneuver with his foot and suddenly the ball was in his hands. With long fingers he twirled it in the air. “Tell your friend Axton I’m looking for him. Tell him I want what’s mine.” His voice was deep — smooth and polished. The afternoon sun at his back made it impossible to see his face clearly.
My heart started to pound, and despite the fact my legs felt wobbly, I walked toward him. “Who the hell are you?”
“He’ll know.” He threw the ball at me and I caught it without thinking.
“Aunt Rose?”
I spun and saw Scotty a few feet behind me. When I turned back toward the mystery man, he was gone. I searched the trees for any sign of movement, but he’d disappeared.
I didn’t know what Axton had gotten mixed up in, but you could bet your ass I was going to find out. Whatever it was, it involved strange men lurking in the woods. I’d read enough fairytales to know that was never a good sign.
I slapped on a smile and walked toward Scotty. “It’s time to go home, Sport.” The stranger had me spooked, but I didn’t want to freak the little guy out, I just wanted to get him safely home.
“But I still want to play.” There was a hint of whine in his voice.
I took off running. “Bet I can beat you,” I yelled over my shoulder. I let him catch up and win the race back to the house. As I ran on shaky legs, my eyes continuously scanned the area looking for the stranger in the suit.
I called Ax, but kept getting his voicemail — which consisted of Ax quoting the opening lines to the original Star Trek in a horrible William Shatner voice — and I wound up leaving him a dozen messages.
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