Eric jumped out of his seat and rounded the desk. “My God, Rose, are you all right?” Placing his hands on my arms, gave me a once over.
“I’m fine. I was at your place when it happened. Really, I’m fine.”
“You think Sullivan did this?” Eric asked.
Roxy propped her hip on the edge of his desk. “Yes.”
I stepped out of Eric’s hold, pulled up a chair, and dropped into it, rubbing a hand over my eyes. I was tired beyond belief. “I don’t know for sure. Probably.”
“Why?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Another warning? Quit looking for Axton, quit asking questions, blah blah blah. Anyway, I can’t afford a new laptop. Is this one fixable?”
Eric glanced down at the broken hinge and hit the power button. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks. I get paid next week, so let me know how much—”
“Rose, stop. I’m not charging you. This will be a test of my skills. I welcome it.” He stepped back to the desk and dismissed me, focusing instead on the laptop.
“Thanks, Eric, I’ll see you later.”
I dropped Roxy off at Ma’s and headed to Walmart, where I bought makeup, toiletries, two pillows, two bras, two packages of underwear and socks, a phone charger, and the largest coffee pot on the shelf. I swung by the grocery store and stocked up on generic pop tarts and ramen noodles, then I stopped by a mattress store and bought a new firm futon, which the salesman promised, would be delivered the next day. My last pit stop was Goodwill where I scoured the racks for a limited amount of jeans, t-shirts, and sweats. With my depleted bank account, I was lucky the volunteer at the counter took pity on me and tossed in two blankets.
Back at my apartment, the super left the new keys in my mailbox as promised. I hauled all the bags up the stairs. I didn’t even hesitate at the door. I was operating on fifteen cups of high octane coffee and zero sleep. If there was a destructive maniac waiting for me, I’d whack him over the head with my Walmart bags, then tase the crap out of him with my new stun gun for good measure.
It took less than twenty minutes to unpack my worldly goods. Wasn’t too hard since I didn’t even have a dresser to unpack things into. As I looked around my barren apartment and the empty futon frame, my anger grew. It was a craptastic futon, but it was mine. My futon, my clothes, my milk. Someone invaded my privacy and not only destroyed my stuff, but my peace of mind. Not someone. Sullivan. He followed me, kidnapped me, threatened my friends and family.
I whipped out my cell and the notebook paper Sheila gave and punched in the number I’d dialed just two days ago.
He didn’t answer, went straight to voice mail. Which pissed me off even more.
“Hey asshole,” I yelled into the phone. I paced from my bathroom door to my kitchenette and back again, my phone hand shaking with agitation. “I just want to know one thing. Did you get your rocks off when you slashed my panties, you perv?” I jabbed the end button and paced back to the living room. I was fired up and needed to get out of there.
I jumped in my car and drove to Roxy’s. She answered the door wearing a traditional, but super short pink and white kimono. “I’m going to talk to Sheila. You in?”
“Yep.” She slipped her feet into wooden sandals.
“Don’t you want to change?
“No, why?”
When we got to Sheila’s house, I parked on the street. Roxy whistled as we walked up to the front door. “Nice digs, huh? And you grew up in a place like this?”
“Not exactly, but close enough.”
“Do you miss it?”
I thought back to the house where I’d been raised with my mother’s coldness and my dad’s apathy. I’d never felt at home there. “No.”
“Well, I’d miss it.”
Sheila answered the door and she didn’t look good. Instead of the pulled together, suburban mom outfit she usually sported, she wore dirty jeans and a faded green t-shirt. Her hair looked limp and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“Hi, Sheila. This is my friend Roxy. We need to talk.”
Sheila’s gaze flicked from Roxy’s bright blue hair, down to her kimono, her bare legs, to the sandals on her feet. She paused a beat before her ingrained manners kicked in. “Hello, Roxy. Nice to meet you. Come in.”
Roxy openly looked around the foyer, taking in the marble tile and the crystal chandelier. “This is really nice,” she said, her voice a little hushed.
“Thanks. Would you like some tea or coffee?”
“Coffee would be great,” I said.
“This way.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen.
I spotted a pile of mail on a small table in the foyer. On top was a letter from Huntingford Bank and Trust.
“Roxy.” I pulled her next to me. “Keep her busy for a second.”
Roxy nodded and followed Sheila.
I quickly rifled through the mail. There were several bills from different credit card companies. I held the letter from the bank up to the light, but couldn’t see a thing.
I desperately wanted to know what was inside. If Packard had a gambling problem, a bank statement would reflect that. If he owed one hundred ninety-six thousand dollars to someone — cough, Sullivan, cough — he must be in real financial trouble.
“Rose,” Sheila called from the kitchen.
I jammed the letter in my purse, my heart beating so fast I thought I might have a heart attack there on the spot.
“Sorry,” I said, hustling into the kitchen, “I have to keep retying these stupid shoelaces.”
“I keep telling you to get new laces. Ones that aren’t so long,” Roxy said. She pointed to me and shook her head. “Every day we go through this.”
Sheila poured two cups of coffee and set them on the counter in front of us. She grabbed a bowl of sugar and a carton of creamer from the fridge and placed them with a couple of spoons next to the coffee. “Any news on Axton?”
“We’re making progress,” I said. “Are you okay, Sheila? You look tired.”
She ran a shaky hand through her hair and tried to smile. She failed. “I don’t know what’s going on with Pack.”
“I came to tell you we followed him last night.”
“He said he had a city council meeting.”
“Yeah, well he lied,” Roxy said.
I dug my elbow into her side and frowned.
“What’d I say?” she asked.
“He lied to me?” Sheila placed a hand over her heart. “If he didn’t go to the meeting, where did he go?”
“There’s an old school out in the country,” I said. “They have illegal gambling there.”
“I know Pack likes to gamble a little. Why would he lie to me about it?”
“I think he likes to gamble more than a little, Sheila. I think Packard has a problem.” I felt like crap springing this on her, but I knew that somehow it was all tied up with Axton’s kidnapping.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know my husband.” She grabbed a hand towel from the counter and refolded it. “He likes to play a little poker. He likes to go to Vegas a couple of times a year. That’s not a problem.”
“Then why did he lie about it?” I asked.
She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Maybe he just wanted to have a few hours to himself. He deserves it, you know. He works really hard.”
“Why wouldn’t he just go to a casino then?” Roxy asked.
Sheila put her hands on her hips. “How do I know you’re not lying? You could be making all this up. And Axton’s probably not even missing, he’s probably out somewhere living it up while Packard’s getting questioned by the police.”
“Why would we lie about this, Sheila?” I asked. “What would we have to gain from it?”
“I don’t know. But following my husband is…intrusive.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You came to me.”
“Well, that was a mistake. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’s just stres
sed from work.”
“Sheila—”
She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted her chin toward the door. “You need to leave.”
I shot Roxy a look. We hopped off the barstools and headed for the door. As we walked to the car, I glanced back. “That woman is in deep denial.”
“Yep. She’s also in deep shit,” Roxy said.
I nodded in agreement. “By the way, I stole her bank statement.”
Chapter 23
“You, Rose Strickland, are turning into a criminal. And I’d like to take a little credit for that.”
I laughed and started the car. “I need to stop by the police station.”
Roxy snorted. “Gonna turn yourself in?”
“I have to get a copy of the police report from last night. My landlord needs it.”
Ten minutes later, I parked across from the police station and pulled Sheila Graystone’s bank statement from my purse. I held it in my hands and stared at it. I felt weird about taking it, but I had to know what kind of trouble Pack was in.
Roxy tapped her finger on the plastic bag window. “You hoping the information will jump into your head or are you going to open the damn thing?”
“I suppose I should, since I went to the trouble of stealing it.” I squared my shoulders and ripped the flap, pulling out the piece of paper inside. “Wow.”
She leaned over and peeked at it. “What? What’s it say?”
“They’re overdrafted to the tune of fourteen thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money.”
“No shit,” Roxy said.
“And the rest of their mail? All credit card bills.”
“He makes a butt-load of cash though, right? I mean he’s a doctor, and all.”
“A doctor who is in debt up to his eyeballs.” I shoved the statement back in the envelope, and stuck the whole thing in my glove box. Although I felt guilty for stealing Sheila’s mail, getting Axton back was more important than mail theft. Well, maybe not to the postal service.
Roxy and I walked into the police station and up to the reception desk. I was beginning to know my way around here and that probably wasn’t a good thing.
Officer Delany, whom I spoke to on my first visit, was on duty. Her gaze swept over me, then moved to Roxy. Her bored expression didn’t change. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here for a police report. Someone broke into my apartment last night.”
“What was the name of the officer who responded to your call?”
“I don’t remember. I wasn’t paying attention.” I think I was in shock the night before. Watching the police, my neighbors, seeing my things broken and scattered, had left me numb. It wasn’t until Roxy arrived with her cleaning supplies that I woke up from what seemed like a really bad dream.
Officer Delany sighed. “Wait over there and someone will be with you shortly.” She gestured to a small room across the hall. It had a vending machine and four black padded chairs.
Roxy sat and texted while I wandered around. Cops may not care about Axton or all of my worldly possessions being trashed, but apparently they loved softball. Years’ worth of team photos covered the walls. My gaze drifted over last year’s picture. Police Chief, Martin Mathers, held a trophy in one hand. His other arm was thrown around the shoulder of a grinning Officer Andre Thomas. The two looked very chummy. Roxy was right. Officer Thomas might not be on the hard drive list, but he could be doing dirty work for his softball buddy.
Speak of the hardass, five minutes later he walked into the room. My life just kept getting better and better.
He hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Well, Miss Strickland. Seems you can’t stay out of trouble.” He gazed briefly at Roxy before staring me down, like if he looked at me hard enough, I’d confess all my sins.
Roxy lowered her phone and snorted. “Yeah, like it was her fault.”
“Have any ideas on who would do that, Miss Strickland?”
Yeah, I could come up with a few names, and his just leaped to the top of the queue. “No. I don’t.”
He raised one brow and continued to stare.
“You know what?” I said. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you today, so can I just get the report?”
“Come with me.”
Roxy rolled her eyes and went back to texting, while I followed him to his corner cubicle.
He typed something into the computer and grabbed a piece of paper from his copier. “Read this over, make sure all the information is correct.”
I read through everything I had told the police the night before. “It is.” I hitched my bag up on my shoulder and turned to leave.
“Miss Strickland.”
I faced him.
“It seems like large pieces are missing from your story. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
I peered at the ceiling, my brow furrowed as I pretended to think. Then I looked back at him with a blank expression. “Nope.” My eyes lowered and snagged on a gold pen sitting on his desk blotter. I’d been seeing a lot of those lately.
I marched forward and grabbed it. “Where did you get this?”
He frowned. “Why?”
I rolled the pen in my fingers. Dane and Manny. They both had pens just like this one.
“Miss Strickland?”
He stared at me like I’d lost my shit. Maybe I had, because I was starting to think everything was a conspiracy. I dropped the pen on the desk and left his cubicle. I couldn’t even think straight. I was a paranoid, frazzled mess.
I made it to the front of the building without getting lost this time. Roxy saw me and hopped up, following me outside.
Before I could cross the street to my car, someone called my name. I turned around and saw Dane in front of the City Hall. With a briefcase in one hand and a phone in the other, he jogged toward us.
“My God, Rose, I just got a call from Andre. He says someone broke into your apartment.”
I hadn’t seen Dane since the other morning in the diner. And my conversation with Roxy had me second guessing his motives about helping me. Was he one of Sullivan’s lackeys sent to spy on me?
“Yeah,” Roxy said, “someone trashed everything she owns.”
“Are you all right?” Dane frowned, little lines creased his forehead.
“Yeah. I was out when it happened.”
His blue gaze scanned me. Then he suddenly dropped his briefcase pulled me to him, buried his face in my hair. “What if you had been home? You could have been hurt. God, you could have been killed.”
“I’m going to go sit in the car, now,” Roxy said.
He pulled back and cupped my cheek with his palm. “Rose.”
My heart skipped two beats. I wanted to believe he was genuinely concerned for me, and not there because of Sullivan. “I’m fine.” I bit my lip as he continued to scrutinize me. “Really, Dane, I’m okay.”
He hugged me again. My arms crept around his waist and hugged back. He tucked my head under his chin, stroking my hair. It felt foreign to be comforted by someone. It felt…good.
When we pulled away, I wiped at my eyes, and did that little not-a-real-laugh-just-an-awkward-pseudo-laugh. “So,” I said, staring at the white gazebo in the park across the street. The afternoon light was fading, leaving orange and pink streaks across the sky.
Dane cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Who do you think did this?”
My eyes met his. “I think it may have been Sullivan.”
“Who the hell is Sullivan?” His look of angry confusion seemed real. If Dane was in collusion with Sullivan, then I was my parents’ favorite daughter. Or he was an amazing actor. In that moment, a weight lifted off my shoulders and I believed Dane was for real.
“Who is Sullivan?” His mouth twisted into a frown, and there wasn’t a hint of dimple in sight.
“Oh, um, the guy who broke into my apartment. You know, BJ.”
“You know his real name?”
“Yeah.”
“Have yo
u seen him again?”
Should I lie and have a guilty conscience or tell the truth and let Dane drag me back to see Officer Hardass? “No, I just figured it out.” I waved my hand like it was no big deal. But Dane was a better lawyer than I was a liar.
“Like hell. You have seen him again. When? Where?”
“Calm down. I found his phone number, okay? That’s how I know his name.” I looked him right in the eye as I said it. It was the truth. Just not all of it.
“Where did you find his phone number?”
I huffed in exaggerated annoyance. “I’m not on the witness stand here. I’ve been through a horrible experience and you’re questioning me like Officer Thomas did. What the hell?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried.”
“Okay.”
“Look at me,” he said. “Things are getting dangerous. You can’t go around asking any more questions. This Sullivan guy did this because you identified him. Think of yourself, of your own safety. Let the police find Axton.”
He looked so concerned, so sincere. “You may be right, but the police aren’t as interested in Axton as they should be.”
“They’ll find him.” He rubbed my arm with one hand. “Try not to worry.”
“Sure.” I nodded, absently. I wanted to believe him, I just didn’t.
Dane smiled. “Good. Now until the police find Axton, maybe you should stay with your parents or your sister.”
“That’s an idea.”
He leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Let me take you out to dinner tonight, hmm?”
I put my hand on his chest. “I can’t.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
I realized Dane was the type of person who heard what he wanted to hear. And he wanted to hear I would stop searching for Ax so he didn’t have to worry about me.
I felt a twinge of sadness as I made my way to the car.
When I got home, I went to the bathroom, and after washing my hands, realized I didn’t have any towels to wipe my hands on. I held up my dripping fingers and heard a ping at my window. Then another. I pulled the curtains aside and saw Kevin standing in the side yard beneath my window. A yellow halo from streetlight bathed him in a florescent glow and he held a toaster-sized CD player above his head.
Diners, Dives & Dead Ends Page 16