Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4)

by Terri L. Austin

  Chapter 12

  After Sullivan left, I stood alone in the library, staring at row after row of those damn books. His parting words left my heart bruised. I’d been doing him a favor, keeping him away from my parents. I wasn’t embarrassed by him. He was the one who never talked about his family, his past.

  Sullivan and I had argued before, but never like this. This fight ran deep and personal—cutting to the heart of our differences. I wanted more from him. Was that fair of me? Probably not, yet I couldn’t continue a relationship where I didn’t know anything real or meaningful about the man I loved. Obviously, he didn’t trust me with his history, and that hurt like hell.

  I roughly swiped at the tears coursing down my cheeks. It took a while before they finally dried up.

  I emerged from the office to find Henry, Sullivan’s head henchman, waiting outside the door. With a large scar cradling his left eye, an enormous physique, and surly countenance, his scowl could make grown-ass men curl into a fetal ball and beg for mercy. Needless to say, I’d found him intimidating at first. Now, we were friends.

  His dark, compassionate eyes scanned my face. “Figured you could use a little sugar.” He held up a baggie filled with chocolate chip cookies.

  I took them, smiled a thanks. But after the emotional argument with Sullivan, I felt sick to my stomach.

  My pride didn’t allow me to ask about him. He didn’t want to drive me home himself? Fine. No skin off my nose.

  Then Henry handed me a key. My key. The one I’d given Sullivan. “The boss said you’d need this.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Was this Sullivan’s way of telling me goodbye? No, I couldn’t believe that. He’d have the guts to do it himself. He was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.

  With numb fingers, I took the key before following Henry outside. As he held open the passenger door to the SUV, I barely looked at him. The empathy on his roughly hewn face was more than I could take.

  He didn’t speak on the ride to my place, but he patted my shoulder before dropping me off at my apartment door. Since my car wasn’t in the lot, I figured Roxy planned on picking me up for work in the morning.

  I dragged myself up the stairs, undressed, and fell onto the futon. Replaying my fight with Sullivan over and over, I didn’t get a wink of sleep.

  Eventually, I gave up and crawled out of bed around three thirty. Not wanting to brood, I called the only other person who’d be up this early. Ray swung by and gave me a ride to work, barely grunting when I muttered a thanks. I started a pot of coffee, then texted Roxy to let her know I was all squared away.

  Around the diner, I found plenty of things to keep me busy, like cleaning dozens of frames holding all the old family photos and reorganizing the pantry in alphabetical order. A little after five, I started to refill the sugar caddies when Ma walked in.

  “Morning, toots.” She glanced around the dining room, taking in the shiny napkin holders. “Place looks good.” Tipping her head back, she gazed at me through her trifocals. “You look tired, though. You doing okay?”

  I mustered a smile. “Yep. Never better.”

  “Uh-huh.” She stared at me a moment longer and strolled back into the kitchen.

  Roxy walked in a moment later. She wore a hunter green corset over her plaid dress and a white lace cap. Thigh-high boots completed the ensemble. Medieval serving wench met stripper chic—a classic.

  Her brows lowered when she saw me. “What the hell happened with Sullivan? I got one measly text saying you were fine.”

  “Sorry. Last night was a cluster. He took me back to his place, we had a huge fight, and he walked out.”

  “He just abandoned you at his house?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You all right?” She stared at me with a mixture of worry and pity.

  “Fine.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Really, Rox, I’m okay.”

  “Sure you are.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “So, Sullivan runs the fight club, huh? Guess we should have seen that coming. Does he know about the drugs and steroids?”

  Good question. One I’d been asking myself repeatedly. “Don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t you ask him about it?”

  “Not exactly. We got sidetracked with personal stuff.”

  “Oh.”

  Roxy knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t want to talk about it, so she let me change the subject. “Did you or Sugar learn anything else about Rob?”

  “Yep.” She took a few more slurps from her cup, then walked to the front table and began removing chairs. “With Rob out of the picture, Tyler Godfrey slips into the number one seeded slot.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Sugar talked to the other fighters and got an overview on how it works. The more fights they win, the more perks they get. Sitting in the number one position has its advantages.”

  “Rob was flat broke. He couldn’t even afford diapers for the baby. Being the number one seed hadn’t done him much good.”

  “Yeah, but he lived in a nice condo. Drove a new car. Perks.”

  I trailed behind her, placing caddies on each table. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, I stayed up on that dais thing and talked to the girls. They were wicked pissed that you left with Sullivan. No other girl has been able to get his attention, and the fact that he dragged you out of there made them very jelly.”

  I’d never figured Sullivan for a cheater. Despite his criminal endeavors, he was a straight shooter in that department.

  “Sugar’s coming by after work,” Roxy said. “She’ll tell you everything firsthand.”

  “Good deal. And thanks for driving my car back.”

  She glanced up and her eyes met mine. “I’m here. If you need to talk or whatever.”

  “Okay.” I grabbed my phone and texted Axton a good luck message. He’d be dressed to impress today, and I hoped the new clothes would give him a boost of confidence with his secretary crush.

  At six sharp, I flipped the open sign. All the Monday morning sourpusses wandered in, needing a major caffeine fix. Ma remained in the kitchen while Roxy and I worked the crowd alone.

  Around ten thirty, five female senior citizens—AKA Ma’s posse—shuffled into the diner. After pushing two tables together, I immediately plied them with coffee and donuts. “Good morning, ladies. How are you today?”

  Ma’s friend, Addie, glanced up at me. She wore a soft blue sweater despite the sweltering heat. With fuzzy white hair and wrinkly cheeks, she looked like everyone’s sweet old granny. “My shoulder hurts like a goddamned bitch, and I’ve got bursitis in both knees, that’s how I’m doing.” She reached into her purse and removed a silver flask, pouring a generous amount of clear liquid into her coffee. “Have fun while gravity’s still on your side, honey, because getting old is a fucking nightmare.”

  “Good to know.” I patted her shoulder, hopefully not the sore one, before poking my head into the kitchen. “Ma, your pals are here. Addie’s hitting the sauce early. Better keep an eye on her.”

  “That’s not booze. She mixes up her Metamucil and uses it throughout the day. She pours it from a flask because she likes the shock factor.”

  Ma followed me back to the dining room and sat next to her friends. With their heads together, they whispered back and forth. Poor Dora had to keep turning up her hearing aid. As I took care of my other customers, I overheard a few words: Sally, hussy, teach, lesson. I didn’t know what they were brewing up, but it didn’t sound good. They disbanded thirty minutes later.

  At one o’clock, Roxy took a full tub of dishes to the kitchen, and I flipped the closed sign. A moment later, Sugar sauntered into the diner. Her 1940s-style sailor romper was edgy and adorable
at the same time. She paired it with white platform shoes and topped her waves with a jaunty shipman hat.

  She stopped and placed her hands on my upper arms. “Thank goodness you’re all right. Roxy and I were really worried when you disappeared. She said your boyfriend had a freak-out last night.”

  That was one way of putting it. “I’m fine.”

  She leaned back and studied me with a furrowed brow. “Are you sure? You seem frownier than usual.”

  “I’m frowny?”

  “Kind of. Don’t be such a sad kitty, Rose. Things will be all right.”

  “I’ll work on it. Roxy said you found out some stuff about the fight club?”

  She meandered to a stool and I got a gander at the back of her shorts—what there was of them. They were so skimpy the lower half of her ass cheeks were completely exposed. Well, she wasn’t a burlesque dancer for nothing. Girl wanted to show her goodies to the world, might as well get paid for it.

  Roxy reentered the dining room. “Hey, Sugar. Did you fill Rose in?”

  “I was just getting to it.”

  I crossed the diner and planted my elbows on the counter. “Commence.”

  “I talked to the guys in the locker room. Those men were muy caliente, ladies.” Sugar fanned herself with one hand. “Anyhoodle, all of the Joes have to be personally invited by one of the head honchos. No one gets to squeeze in—except us. The cover charge is five hundred a pop.”

  I whistled. “There had to be at least two hundred people there last night. That’s a hundred thousand dollars. Why would anyone pay that kind of cash when they could attend a legitimate fight?”

  “Legit fights are few and far between, and they’re stricter,” Sugar said. “In the fight club, these guys stomp and gouge and butt heads. All sorts of illegal moves.”

  “I’ll bet they rake in a ton of cash from all the bets too.” I traced a finger over the pink Formica.

  Roxy grabbed a rag. “Yeah, the dais girls talked about it. That’s how Carlucci, Sanders, that blond guy—and I guess, Sullivan—make their money.”

  “They take a percentage?” I asked.

  Roxy raised her shoulders. “I don’t know the details, but that would make sense.”

  “And,” Sugar said, “you were right about the party buses, Rose. The Joes park at a bar or wherever, the party bus shows up and takes them to the fight.”

  Good to know I was right about something. “Whose stable does Tyler Godfrey belong to?”

  “I don’t know,” Sugar said.

  Silence ensued, and I thought about all that I’d learned. The bets, the club, the Horsemen. Unfortunately, I didn’t come to any conclusions about Rob.

  Roxy twisted the rag in her hands. “Rose, I hate to ask this, but do you think Sullivan had anything to do with Rob’s death?”

  Slamming the brakes on my jumbled thoughts, I looked her straight in the eye.

  “No. He didn’t even know Rob was dead.”

  Relief colored her features. “Good. I mean, I figured probably not, but…”

  I understood. Sullivan was unpredictable and complicated and a mystery. Even to me. Maybe especially to me.

  “By the by,” Roxy said, “I couldn’t find out anything about the psycho blond guy. No one even knows his name. The girls try to get his attention, but he acts all distant and standoffish.”

  “He’s very cocky,” I said. “Rob’s death didn’t take him by surprise. That dude is definitely on my suspect list.”

  “Too bad,” Roxy said. “You know what they say, all the cute ones are either married or murder suspects. Also, everyone thinks Wyatt Sanders is a weirdo. Which he is. He always sits in the corner by himself and never makes eye contact. Carlucci and Al, they go to the fights to have a good time. They tip really well too.”

  My phone vibrated, and Sullivan appeared on my screen. A selfie I’d taken of the two of us, lounging on my futon. It was good to know we were still on speaking terms.

  “Gotta take this.” I stepped away from the girls and answered on my way to the office. “Hey.”

  “Rose.” My teeth practically chattered from his frigid tone. He was still angry. That made two of us. “I’m sending Pete to follow you, and I’ll text you his phone number. If you manage to give him the slip, I’ll have to fire him. His continued employment is in your hands.” Then he ended the call.

  Jackass.

  I practically stomped back into the dining room, grabbed a rag of my own, a bottle of cleaner, and started scrubbing the tables. I couldn’t think about my personal life anymore. I needed to prove Rob’s death hadn’t been a suicide. The harder I thought, the harder I scrubbed.

  I barely heard Sugar say goodbye, and after she left, Roxy kept casting furtive, lingering glances in my direction. I just ignored them.

  I needed to hightail it to Andre’s office and tell him about the fight club. I also wanted to pay a visit to Wyatt Sanders. I wasn’t going to stop asking questions. If Sullivan didn’t like it, screw him. Oh wait, I wasn’t supposed to focus on my personal baggage. Right.

  Roxy and I finished cleaning the diner. While I untied my apron, she leaned her elbow on the counter.

  “What do you think Ma and her friends are planning?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t begin to guess.” I felt a little guilty that Ma and her troubles were the last thing on my mind. “We’d better figure out what she’s up to and talk her out of it.”

  “Like she’ll listen to us,” she mumbled around the wad of gum.

  I swung through the kitchen door with a reluctant Roxy on my heels. From the sink, Jorge eyed us, pointed at Ma with a sudsy finger, and made a circular motion around his temple. “Loca.” That didn’t sound promising.

  I approached Ma slowly, making no sudden moves. “Hey there. Did you have a good chat with your gal pals?”

  She continued filling multiple round cake pans with yellow batter. “Do you know what Beatrice Hopkins told me? That Sally Dawkins is riding in the limo with Byron to the cemetery. She’s already got her claws into him. We’re just going to have to prove she’s a no-good, money-grubbing, man-stealing gold digger.”

  “Okay.” I pried the spatula from her hand. “What’s your plan?”

  Ma’s smile made me shiver. “The less you know, the happier you’ll be.”

  I glanced over at Roxy. “Say something,” I mouthed.

  “If you need help, Ma, let us know.”

  That wasn’t the kind of advice I’d been looking for. I opened my mouth to protest, but snapped it shut. In the past, Ma and Roxy always had my back when it counted. How could I do any less? “She’s right, Ma. We’re here for you.” I shoved the spatula back into the batter. “Just keep it legal.”

  Roxy snapped her gum. “And if you can’t keep it legal, don’t get caught.”

  “I’m not making any promises, girls. Go on. Scoot. I’ve got baking to do.”

  Roxy and I waved goodbye to the boys and left the kitchen. I grabbed my purse and duffle bag from under the counter. “You know she’s up to no good.”

  “Totally.” Roxy draped the strap of her purple pony purse across her bodice. “Why can’t she just join a mommy porn book club like everyone else?”

  “Beats me.”

  She whipped out my keys and handed them over. “Here you go.”

  “Do you need a ride home?” I asked.

  “No. Sugar went to run a few errands. She’s coming back to pick me up.” Roxy glanced out the window and pointed at the black SUV parked in the lot. “Looks like you’ve got a shadow.”

  “Yep. Sullivan insisted.”

  “Rose, whatever is going on between you guys, he’s crazy about you. And you feel the same way about him.”

  “Today, I think I’m more pissed off than anything else. See
you tomorrow.”

  I took my duffle bag to the bathroom to change into my office attire. After talking to Wyatt Sanders, I needed to track down Tyler Godfrey. He had a very good reason for wanting Rob out of the picture—who wouldn’t want to be the number one seed? I added buying a dress for the cocktail party to my list. No time to think about Sullivan.

  When I stepped back into the dining room, my feet screeched to a stop. Sofia Morales sat at the counter. With a sniff, she gazed over at me. Her pretty face was devoid of makeup. Tears filled her swollen eyes, and she clutched a soggy napkin in her fist.

  “Sofia. What are you doing here?”

  “I called the PI office. Mr. Thomas told me where I could find you. You’re not a real detective, are you?”

  “I am.” Not legally. Not technically. But I’d solved prior cases, and that had to count for something. “I was on my way to the office right now.” I walked forward, dropped my bag at my feet, and sat next to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Rob’s dead.” She took a shaky breath. “They’re saying he killed himself, but it’s not true.”

  “I’m so terribly sorry.” I should have ignored Hardass and called Sofia the moment I heard about Rob’s death. Guilt swelled up in my chest, crowding out everything else. I patted her shoulder. “What happened? Start from the beginning.”

  She told me all the facts, the ones I already knew—about Rob being found near the lake, the drugs, the bottle of whiskey. And the missing phone.

  “They think he threw his phone in the lake, drove up to the service road, and downed a bottle of painkillers. He wouldn’t do that, Rose. He wouldn’t kill himself. Not like that. He had a gun. Why not shoot himself?” That was the same question I’d asked.

  Sofia began crying in earnest. Sobbing, she bent over the counter. Her hair fell forward and curtained her face. “He was messed up and stubborn. Those steroids were going to kill him one day if the fighting didn’t cripple him first. But he didn’t take pills. Please believe me. Please.”