Diners, Dives & Dead Ends

by Terri L. Austin

  Now I knew more about Sullivan’s business, but I still didn’t know anything about him personally. “What about Sun Kissed Tanning? What do they have to do with all this?”

  “Manny takes bets on the games, football, basketball,” he made a motion with his hand, “standard stuff.”

  “I still say we should go to the police,” Sheila said.

  “It could ruin me. What about my city council seat? What about running for mayor?”

  I raised my brows at Packard’s level of denial. I wanted to tell him that ship had already sailed. But politicians were slippery little bastards, so who knew? Maybe he would become president after all this.

  “I’m not worried about your political career, Packard. I’m worried about Axton and our family.”

  “Right, of course, sweetheart,” he said in a placating, condescending tone that made me want to pick up the wooden mallard sitting on his desk and throw it at him. “But think about the practice. If I’m involved in a scandal, how are patients going to trust me?”

  “Aren’t they going to know about your money troubles anyway?” I asked. “I mean, the car was just repossessed. What about the house? Are you behind on that, too?” I knew it wasn’t my business, but since I’d been dragged into it, I wanted to know.

  Packard shot me a look that was pure venom.

  “We’re not behind on the house, are we Pack?” Sheila asked. Her voice sounded thready. She clutched her throat.

  “Of course not, honey.” His eyes shifted downward.

  “Oh my goodness, we are,” she whispered. She looked ten years older now than when we first walked in the room. She’d pulled into herself. All the anger drained out of her and she now sat huddled in the chair.

  “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

  “Like I said, I can get the hard drive to Sullivan,” I said. “But what about the money?”

  Sheila rubbed her arms like she was cold. “Don’t we have that in investments? Can’t we sell our shares in the market and pay this guy?”

  Packard bowed his head. “The market’s been crazy this year. I’m not really sure how much we have.”

  “You already sold them, didn’t you?” she whispered.

  Packard didn’t look at her. “About six months ago.”

  “We don’t have anything left? It’s all gone?”

  “I’m so sorry.” He dropped his head on his desk and began to weep.

  Sheila went over to comfort him. She cradled him in her arms, making soothing sounds like she would with a child.

  I quietly let myself out of the office.

  Chapter 26

  I checked my texts on the way to my car. The first was from Jacks. She wanted me to call her immediately. I knew she’d want to talk about my mom’s little tantrum this morning. I was going to postpone that talk for as long as I could.

  The second text was from Kevin. I ignored it.

  The third text, from Eric, said he was at home for a change, and my computer was ready. As I drove to his house, my mind went over all the information Packard told me. Most of it I had already guessed, but it was good to have confirmation.

  Axton stole Sullivan’s hard drive to get the list of people who owed Sullivan money. Now how could I use that information to get Axton back?

  I arrived at Eric’s house and knocked the door.

  He opened it with a smile. “Hey, Rose.”

  I stepped inside. “Hi. How come you’re not in the office today?”

  “I’ve been averaging sixty hours a week, so I stayed home to fix your computer problem.” He pointed to a laptop that wasn’t mine. “Ta da.”

  “What is that?”

  “You’re new — well, newly refurbished — laptop.” He opened the lid with a flourish. “What do you think?”

  “I can’t afford this.”

  “Don’t worry kid, I had it sitting around. Consider it a loaner until you can buy a new one.” He pressed the power button. “I downloaded your hard drive onto this. Your old laptop was beyond repair. But I was able to salvage all your data.”

  “Wow.” I turned to him and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “But you might want to invest in more memory, though.”

  “Eric, I can’t afford a new TV right now, let alone money to update my computer.”

  “Whatever you say. Let me get you something to drink. You want a beer?”

  “Got a Coke?”

  He went to the kitchen and came back with a cold can of no name soda. “Will this do?”

  “Yep.” I popped the top and took a sip. “So, let me catch you up on the latest.” I gave him the lowdown on Sullivan from last night — minus the handholding — and filled in the blanks where Packard was concerned.

  Eric whistled. “You cram more into one day than I do in a week. What’s your next move?”

  I’d been thinking about that on the way over. “Can I use your phone?”

  “Sure. In the kitchen.” He pointed down the hall. It was a small space with the original nineteen sixties tile covering the wall, counter, and floor in a weird maroon-slash-dusty pink combo.

  Scrolling through my phone, I paused for a second to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I didn’t have much choice really. I was out of ideas. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed the number on Eric’s phone.

  Sullivan answered after two rings. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Rose.”

  Silence. The kind where you heard crickets chirp. Finally he asked, “Why are you calling from Eric Smith’s house?”

  “For shits and giggles, of course.”

  More silence.

  I sighed. “Jeez, he was fixing my busted computer, all right?”

  “And you’re calling me, why?”

  I shifted from foot to foot, looked out the kitchen window into Eric’s back yard. “I thought we could talk about the weather or football. Halloween’s coming up, we could talk about that.”

  “Rose.” It sounded like a warning.

  I began opening Eric’s cabinets — which were mostly bare — and his fridge — which was mostly filled with beer. Calling Sullivan made me antsy. But at least this time I was speaking to him on my own terms. This felt better, safer, than seeing him face to face.

  “I know Packard owes you money.”

  “I thought we decided you were going to mind your own business.”

  “Axton is my business.”

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

  “What do you want in exchange for Ax?”

  “You finally asked the right question,” he said softly.

  “So what’s the right answer?”

  “You can’t give me what I need.”

  “Who can?”

  “Packard Graystone.”

  “He doesn’t have the money, Sullivan. You can’t get blood from a stone, not even a Graystone.”

  “Ah,” he said, “but Packard isn’t a stone, is he? He just needs the proper motivation.” I heard a click. He’d hung up on me.

  “Well,” I said to the receiver, “that was helpful.” I didn’t even have the chance to bargain for Axton with the hard drive.

  I told Eric about the call and Sullivan’s response.

  Eric had a look on his face that was part concern, part exasperation. “Rose, this guy is a dangerous criminal and yet you keep making contact with him. Why is that?”

  “I want to get Axton back safe and sound.”

  “And?” he asked, rubbing his head.

  “And what? And nothing. I just want Axton back, that’s all.”

  He tilted his head and raised his brows. “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

  I choked out a laugh. “Into him, as in attracted to him? He kidnapped my best friend,” I said, gawking at him as if he had lost his marbles.

  “Uh huh.” He shook his head. “Why do chicks always go for the bad boys?” he muttered to himself.

  “Calm down, Dr. Phil. I do not want to date him or see him or anyth
ing else with him.”

  After a full minute of staring, me looking at him defiantly, Eric looking unconvinced, I was the first to blink.

  “Are you sure I can’t pay you for the computer?”

  “Forget it, kid. Just enjoy all fifty-four of those gigabytes.”

  I took my new laptop and went home.

  My super had put the new mattress inside my apartment, but hadn’t moved it to the frame or taken off the heavy plastic encasing it.

  It was thicker than my last one and black instead of bright orange. I ripped off the plastic and wrangled it over to the frame. I sat down to give it a test drive. Very comfortable. So comfortable, I decided to kick off my shoes and take a nice long nap.

  But fifteen minutes later, my phone rang. It was Sheila and she was incoherent.

  “Rose, coming out…grocery…man…Packard…,” she sputtered.

  “Sheila, calm down. Where are you?”

  “Homph,” she said. She’d begun to do that thing when you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, so you gasp for breath every few seconds.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be right over.”

  I drove to Sheila’s house, and when she opened the front door, she threw herself into my arms, sobbing.

  “Come on, let’s go inside.” I all but held her up as I guided her into the house. I led her to the sofa and tried to pull away, but she clung to me. I gently disentangled myself from her grasp.

  “Where’s Jordan?”

  “He’s…at….soc…”

  “Soccer?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you have to pick him up?”

  She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue.

  “Where do you keep the booze?”

  She tried to catch her breath, but still couldn’t manage a sentence, so she just pointed to the kitchen.

  I searched the cupboards until I finally found the alcohol cabinet above the oven. I pulled down a bottle of whiskey, found a glass, pouring two fingers worth.

  I walked back to the living room and handed it to her as I dropped down on the sofa. “Here, drink this.” I flashed back to Sullivan doing the same for me.

  With trembling hands, she took it and sipped as she stared at the large family portrait above the mantle. After she drank half of it, she seemed calmer. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She took a deep breath. “I stopped by the grocery store. Not that we have much money to buy groceries. Anyway, I put the sacks in the trunk, and as I was getting back into the car, a tall man in a dark suit was suddenly standing next to me. He was this close.” She held her hand about an inch from her chest. “I tried to get into the car, but he held the door and leaned in so that I couldn’t move.” She covered her mouth with one hand, tears running down her cheeks.

  After a couple of minutes she was able to go on. “I was so scared, Rose. I’ve never been that scared. I didn’t know what he would do.”

  “Did he have a scar right here?” I pointed to the corner of my left eye.

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “Yeah, he did. Do you know him?”

  Henry The Henchman. “We’ve met,” I said. “So what happened after that?”

  “He told me he knew about Packard’s life insurance policy. He said his employer would get his money, one way or another.”

  I guessed this was the motivation Sullivan was talking about. I didn’t think he would hurt Packard. Probably just trying to scare the crap out of him. But terrorizing Sheila was just plain cowardly. After all, she wasn’t the one who had gotten their family into this mess.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  She sipped more whiskey. “I don’t know. All I can think about is Jordan. I don’t want him in the middle of this.”

  “Is there anywhere you can go? Any family out of town?”

  Her fingers fluttered over her puffy face. “My sister lives in Florida.”

  “Maybe you should go for a visit.”

  “I don’t want to leave Pack.” She slouched against the couch and leaned her head back. I think the whiskey had kicked in.

  “Pack should go with you.”

  She looked over at me, her swollen eyes slightly glazed. “He has to work. It’s the only money coming in. It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t go. He still thinks if he scrapes together enough cash, he can win it back.

  “I was going to be the first lady of Huntingford. I bet I could have made vice president of the Junior League if I was first lady of Huntingford.” She quietly talked to herself as she stared at the olive green curtains framing the windows.

  Sheila had left the building. She couldn’t make a rational decision right now if the president of the Junior League asked her to wrestle in Jello at the next fundraiser.

  I patted her leg. “I’m going to go. Call me if you see that man again, okay?”

  “I would have worn my new pink silk hat to the mayoral inauguration.”

  It took all my willpower, but I waited until I got back to my apartment before I called Sullivan. I didn’t trust my driving while royally pissed skills.

  He answered on the first ring. “Yes, Rose?”

  “That was cowardly. I don’t know why I expected more from you, but I did.” I paced the small space of my apartment as I talked to him.

  “Should I pretend to know what you’re talking about?”

  “Sheila, Henry, life insurance policy. Ring a bell?”

  There was a long pause. “Sorry, I don’t have a clue.”

  “You ass, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I want to make a trade.”

  Sullivan sighed. “I hate to repeat myself, but you seem to be a slow learner so I’ll say it one more time. You. Don’t. Have. What. I. Want.”

  “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  He chuckled. “Goodbye, Rose—”

  “I can get the hard drive.”

  There was another one of those long pauses. “How?”

  “Will you trade Axton for it?”

  “Do you really have the hard drive? It wasn’t in your apartment the first night we met.”

  I gripped the phone so tight, my fingers tingled. “You searched my apartment? You are such an asshole.”

  “Do you have the hard drive or not?”

  It creeped me out to think of Sullivan riffling through my personal shit. The next time I saw him, I was going to punch him right in the face. “Let’s just say I have access to it.”

  “What about Packard’s end of the deal?”

  “I think you’re the slow learner. He doesn’t have it. Period.”

  “Then he’d better get creative and find it. When Packard has what he owes me, then we can trade. But no one screws me over, Rose. No one.” He hung up.

  I was scowling at the receiver when I heard a knock on my door. I hung up the phone and pulled the stun gun from my purse. I had even started taking the darn thing into the bathroom with me.

  I looked out the peephole and jerked away from with door like I’d been burned. My dad was here.

  Chapter 27

  I have three standout memories of my father. He taught me how to ride a bike when I was five, clapping as I rode around our driveway by myself for the first time. I remember he hugged me after my role as Wendy in the eighth grade production of Peter Pan, and how proud he looked when I graduated from high school. For the most part though, my father was always working. And even when he was home, he was holed up in his study.

  I thought of him as my mom’s backup. Whatever my mom wanted, he enforced. I think because he loved her, but mostly just to make his home life easier. My dad would nod vaguely when she categorized my sins, pointed out my flaws, or lectured me on what a bitter disappointment I was, and why, for the love of God, couldn’t I be more like Jacqueline?

  Consequently, I never felt close to my dad. He was a shadow in my life. A ghostly presence that hovered in the corners of my memories. Really just a piece of scenery. And he certainly
never visited my apartment once in the five years I lived here. I wasn’t even aware he knew the address.

  I tucked the stun gun — or Sparky, as I had started to think of it — back in my purse, tightened my ponytail, and opened the door. “Dad.”

  He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Rosalyn,” he said with a nod.

  “Hi.” After a few awkward seconds, I stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He stepped inside and looked around. “So, this is your apartment?”

  I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. “Yep. This is it.”

  He nodded the whole time like a bobble head, his hands shoved into his front pockets. “Well, this is…uh. Dane Harker called and said you’d been vandalized.”

  “Someone broke in and stole my computer. Dane likes to exaggerate a bit. Really it was no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. How did they get in?”

  “I guess my locks were pretty old. They’ve been replaced.”

  “You had renter’s insurance, right?”

  “Already got a new computer.” I pointed to the computer Eric loaned me, which sat on the floor next to the futon. Did I feel guilty for misleading my dad? Nope. The last thing I needed was my dad feeling sorry for me. Or worse, thinking I was incapable of taking care of myself and running off to share that news with my mother.

  “Good,” he said. He glanced around the room again. “You don’t have a table. Where do you eat?”

  I thought about my little bistro table that had been smashed to splinters. “I’ve been meaning to get one. I’ve just been so busy lately.”

  “That’s good.” He rocked up on his toes, then back on his heels.

  “Would you like to sit down?”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised, like he’d never heard of this so called sitting before. “Thank you.” He hitched up the legs of his pants and folded himself onto the futon. With one hand, he pressed on the mattress. “This isn’t quite a couch, is it? What do you call this?”

  “It’s a futon, Dad.”

  “Oh, right. Do you sleep on it, too?”