Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4)

by Terri L. Austin

  Her smile was as artificial as the voice that greeted us at the door. “Of course. Right this way.” She clip-clopped into the hall and led me through a door that wound downward to the basement level.

  The women’s restroom was blindingly white—counters, floors, walls. Upstairs, it was like walking around in an ice cube. This would be like taking a tinkle inside a cloud.

  Alice checked under all ten stalls. When she was sure the coast was clear, she leaned against the counter and exhaled, exploding air out of her lungs. “Oh my God, you don’t know how exhausting it is to censor yourself all day.”

  I propped my hip against the wall. “He’s got the whole place rigged?”

  “Yes. Cameras and audio. People have been fired for the smallest infractions. One man was let go when he took home a used pad of paper. And it wasn’t even decent paper—it was that unbleached recycled pulp stuff. When an accountant privately criticized Mr. Sanders, she was cut loose the next day.”

  I set the bottle on the counter. “What’s the deal with the birch sap? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s another one of his obsessive”—she peeked toward the closed door as she whispered—“all-natural ideas. He’s got a ton of them. What’s the scoop with this dead guy, anyway? What was his name, Robert something?”

  “Huggins.” Andre and I should have come up with a backstory. Poor planning on our part. I had no idea what he was telling Wyatt upstairs. I didn’t want our versions to clash, so I kept it vague. “Mr. Thomas has been hired to sort out Mr. Huggins’ financial matters.”

  Her brows furrowed. “What does that have to do with Mr. Sanders?”

  I shrugged. “Mr. Thomas never gives me details. I just follow along like a good soldier. You know how it is.”

  “Huh, I sure do.”

  I crossed my legs, settling in for a nice long chat. “I heard Mr. Sanders is working on a fabulous spa. Surely you’ll get a discount for treatments. That’s something, right?”

  “Yeah, if it ever gets built. He keeps running into obstacles. It should have been completed almost a year ago, but we’re still in the ground-breaking stages.”

  How very interesting. “So what’s the holdup?”

  “Wrong shipments, workers not showing up on time. When contracts get held up, the work can’t proceed. Sanders has been bugging about it, and it’s made him more of an ass than usual.”

  That tingle in my bones started to hum. Was someone sabotaging Wyatt Sanders or was he in over his head on this project? “This building is pretty impressive.”

  “Took over three years to complete. But four senior staff members have quit in the past few months, right after the move. No explanation, no notice. Ladies’ room talk says they didn’t agree with Mr. Sanders sinking so much money into the birch sap water facility. I think they just didn’t like the new building.”

  I glanced around, my eyes sensitive from the lights bouncing off the tile. “Go figure.”

  “I hate it here too. It’s not just the building, though. It’s Wyatt Sanders and his 24/7 surveillance.” Sounded like two other Horsemen I knew. Carlucci and Sullivan were equally as paranoid. It was almost like the fight club honchos didn’t trust each other. No honor among criminals?

  Alice continued to talk, using her hands to help tell the story. “So every Friday, we have our weekly ‘truth-outs.’ That’s what he calls them instead of shout-outs.”

  That was possibly the lamest thing I’d ever heard, and I’d suffered through a semester of Psychology of Feelings. “Sounds like torture.”

  “You’re not kidding. We’re supposed to be able to tell our truth and share visions about the company—not a good idea. Mr. Sanders doesn’t want to hear any ideas other than his own. I figured out pretty quick that the walls have eyes and ears.”

  “That is super creepy, Alice.” I rubbed my arms. “What’s going on with the white outfits?”

  “Do not get me started. Do you know how hard it is to keep white clean in the middle of a muddy parking lot? It’s impossible.” She hissed the last word. “I need to get out of here, but I have student loans.” We fell quiet for a moment, then she glanced into the mirror, ran her fingers through her straight, shiny hair. “Okay, we’d better get back.” Reaching for the door, she inhaled deeply and pasted a smile on her face.

  I grabbed the bottle of birch sap water and trod back up the stairs. Andre waited from me near the automatic front doors.

  “Thank you, Alice. It’s a lovely building, truly stunning.” Andre and I walked out into the heat. He tried to speak to me, but I held up one finger. “Shhhh. This whole place is bugged,” I whispered. “Wait until we get in the car.”

  Pete stood next to the SUV’s bumper with his beefy arms crossed. The suit sleeves bunched along his biceps. Perspiration dampened his short, dark hair. “How’d it go?”

  “Very interesting. Now we’re heading to see a friend. White Oak Towers.”

  He blinked once, which I took for agreement.

  Back in Andre’s car, he started the engine and glanced over at me. “The whole place is bugged, huh? Between that and the glass walls, I suspect Wyatt Sanders is a control freak. He knew exactly who you were.”

  I was stunned. I’d have sworn he didn’t recognize me. “How do you know?”

  “He asked about you and Sullivan. He saw you last night, wanted to know if Sullivan had sent us. I told him I’ve never met anyone named Sullivan and your personal relationships have nothing to do with me. All true. So what did you find out?”

  I shared my meager discoveries. “My takeaway is that Wyatt Sanders is an asshole. Possibly a sociopath.”

  “Yes, that was my conclusion too. He looks straight through you and tries to mentally dissect your personality. It was rather off-putting.”

  “Looks like we wasted our time. Want to try some fermented birch sap water?” I held out the bottle.

  “Absolutely not.” Then, “How is it?”

  “I’d rather drink my own urine.”

  “More information than I needed to know, Miss Strickland.”

  White Oak Towers was a large building on the edge of a gated community. Its mirrored windows and sleek architecture didn’t exactly fit in with the posh, traditional houses that surrounded it, but it was beautiful.

  In the lobby, black onyx floors and sleek steel fixtures were modern, but cold. The doorman checked our IDs. I was more than a little disturbed that we also had to submit our fingerprint for a biometric scan.

  I glanced up at Hardass as we rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. “Think they’re going to jack our fingerprint? Keep it on file? Use it for nefarious purposes?”

  Andre stared straight ahead. “Doubtful, but always possible. Villains are constantly on the lookout for nefarious opportunities.”

  Was he making fun of me? It was so hard to tell with him.

  We stopped in front of unit 1106, where the TV was audible through the door. When I knocked, the sound cut out before Tyler Godfrey answered.

  Other than the shaggy blond hair, he didn’t remotely resemble his driver’s license photo. Mainly because his face was bruised. Both eyes were purple, the left one swollen shut. A painful-looking cut bisected his chin, and his nose appeared to be broken. Again. “Yeah?”

  I smiled. “Hi, I’m Rose Strickland, this is Andre Thomas. We have some questions about Rob Huggins. Can we come in?”

  He began inching the door closed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry.”

  “Tyler. Please. It’s important.” I shoved at the door, squeezed through the crack. He automatically moved back, and Andre slipped in behind me.

  Tyler peered at us through his one good eye. Though he didn’t offer an invitation, he turned and limped to the living room.

  “Can we sit and talk for a little
bit?” I asked, lagging behind.

  Tyler started to rub his bruised cheek, but gasped in pain and withdrew his hand. “Yeah, have a seat.”

  A picture window took up an entire wall. In the distance, I could see the green grass of a nearby golf course. Tyler’s furniture was straight out of an IKEA showroom. A weight bag hung in one corner.

  “Sullivan got you this place, yeah?” I sat on a bright coral sofa. Andre stiffly sat next to me, his hands resting between his knees, keeping as silent as a mime.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sullivan’s my boyfriend, Tyler. I know all about the fight club. And I know his company owns this place and leases it to you.”

  Tyler picked up a Navajo-print throw pillow before folding himself carefully into the chair. Dirty mugs and empty protein shake bottles littered the laminated coffee table. “It’s nice to have my own space.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He eased back, groaning in pain. “I used to live in a two bedroom with four other guys. Sucked, not having any privacy. But once I started winning consistently, Sullivan moved me in here. It came furnished and everything.”

  “What else does Sullivan take care of, financially?”

  He cocked his head slightly. “You’re dating him. Shouldn’t you know?”

  “He doesn’t tell me everything.” I nearly scoffed at the irony. “I just wondered if Rob Huggins’ agreement with Carlucci was typical. Paying your fees, room and board, transportation.”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “I was at the fight club last night but had to leave early. Did you win?”

  A lopsided grin turned his face from battered to gruesome. “Yeah. Both fights.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t run out of gas after the first bout,” Andre said.

  “I do a lot of cardio training.” Tyler pointed at his face. “This will take a while to heal up, though. I probably won’t fight again until September.”

  “What kind of financial cut do you guys get,” I said, “if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “The cover charge is divided equally among all the fighters, but if you win the first fight, you get an extra three thousand. Two fights, and it jumps to five. Not bad for a night’s work. Of course it disappears as fast as I can make it.”

  “Steroids?”

  “Not me. Rob does that shit. I can’t afford it. Doping gets very expensive.”

  My gaze roamed over his face, his raw knuckles. “Despite making all that money, you’re in debt to Sullivan. Right?” I sort of hoped he’d deny it. Always looking for that stupid silver lining.

  “We’re all in debt. The stable owners pull the strings. That’s why I started fighting in the first place, because I owed Sullivan so much money. He recruited me, told me I needed to work off my nasty poker habit. He pays for food, training, and medical, but there’s a cap. Anything extra comes out of my earnings. Eventually, I’ll have to pay him back for everything. Now I’m deeper in debt than ever. It’s like the mafia: once you’re in, you never get out.”

  Andre rubbed his hands along his thighs. “That’s not quite true, is it? If you win a certain number of fights, they let you go.”

  Tyler laughed and immediately clutched his side. “Damn, that hurt. No one’s ever won that many fights. No one ever will. Rob’s living in a fantasy world, thinking he can beat the system. He’ll end up working for Carlucci ’til the day he dies. Just like I will for Sullivan.”

  Chapter 14

  Macabre words, considering…

  I hated how the club worked. The next time I saw Sullivan, I planned on letting him know exactly how much, but I didn’t kid myself—ultimately, my view on the subject wouldn’t matter. Sullivan made it clear he didn’t want me butting into his business. That didn’t mean I was going to keep quiet about it. Holding these fighters financially hostage was wrong on every level.

  When Tyler began speaking again, I refocused on the matter at hand.

  “You’re not here to talk about me, though. You have questions about Rob?”

  I’d come to the conclusion there was no easy way to break the news gently, so I came right out with it. “I’m sorry, Tyler. Rob’s dead.”

  He became utterly still. “Dead? Rob’s dead? How? When?” He talked so fast the words ran together. “Ah, man, did he commit suicide or something?”

  My eyes widened in shock, and I felt Andre’s arm stiffen beside me. Tyler was the first person who didn’t jump on the murder bandwagon. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Heard he had old lady problems. He wanted out of the club. Talked about it constantly, even though Carlucci treated him well. When you said Rob was dead, I guess I figured he finally gave up. So was it a car accident? A heart attack? What the hell happened?”

  I decided to hedge. “The results aren’t conclusive. Now that Rob’s out of the way, you’ll be the number one seed, right?”

  Tyler sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. Bad way to get it. I’d rather earn it.”

  “What does being the number one seed get you?” Andre asked. “Extra benefits? A newer car?”

  “Probably. Most of all, I’ll get respect. Rob dying, man, that’s bad news. He’s got a kid, you know.”

  Baby Olivia. “What’s going to happen to Rob’s fiancée, Sofia? Will she be kicked out of the condo? Is Carlucci going to help with expenses?”

  “Doubt it. Once you’re knocked out of the fight club, the gravy train ends. You go back to living in a dump with four other guys.”

  “Anything you want to tell us about Carlucci and Sanders?” Andre asked.

  “I don’t really know anything about them. Their stables train at Buster’s gym—we all do—but each team has its own training schedule.” He leaned back and closed his one good eye. “I am sorry Rob’s gone. He was a hell of a fighter.”

  “Did Rob do anything that could be considered cheating?” I asked.

  “No. Why, what have you heard?”

  “Nothing, I was just fishing. We’ll get out of here so you can get some rest. Need anything before I leave? Water, tea?”

  With tentative movements, Tyler rose from the chair and moved to the sofa. “Yeah, I have another shake in the fridge. If you could get it for me, that’d be great.”

  As Andre walked to the foyer, I scooped up all the empty glasses and took them with me to the kitchen. Sitting on the counter were four plastic amber bottles of pills. Like the snoop I am, I scanned the labels. Nubain. Oxycodone. Xanax. Ambien. Just like the stash Rob had hidden away, except his hadn’t been packaged in nice, legal bottles. A doctor’s name was printed on the side of the label. Cadewell. That was the doctor Sofia had mentioned.

  “Rob,” I called, “do you need a pain pill or anything?”

  When he didn’t answer, I stuck my head out of the kitchen. He was already lying on the couch, snoozing away. Since I was here, I quickly washed his used cups, set them in the rack to dry, then opened his fridge. On the second shelf sat six unopened bottles of SanderSprings Birch Sap Water. Did Wyatt provide it to all the fighters? I grabbed one along with the protein shake and took them to the living room, placing them within reach on the coffee table. I also left one of my business cards, before tiptoeing out the door.

  Andre waited for me in the hallway, ready to crow. “Tyler immediately suspected suicide. At least one person doesn’t buy into your murder theory.”

  I didn’t bother to restate my case. It didn’t matter what Andre thought, I wasn’t giving up, not until I’d exhausted every investigative avenue. “Tyler had pain pills in his kitchen. Dr. Cadewell prescribed them. He’s the doc for the fight club. Also, he had birch sap water in his fridge. Why do I find that so suspicious?”

  “Because it is. When I met with Wyatt this afternoon, he didn’t seem like a
man who’d go out of his way to offer freebies. Especially to the competition. I’ll run a check on this Dr. Cadewell when we get back to the office.”

  We headed to the elevator and I jabbed the down button. “So how’d I do with Tyler? Did I miss any important questions?”

  “We probably could have interrogated him about Buster Madison. That man definitely knows more than he’s telling. Did you think Tyler was genuinely surprised by the news of Rob’s death?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you?”

  We climbed onto the car and began our descent to the lobby. “You like to believe everyone’s telling the truth, Miss Strickland. You should know better by now.”

  “Not true.” Maybe it was a little true.

  We stopped by the front desk to sign out, using only our fingerprints. The guard nodded as Andre and I headed outside into the late afternoon steam bath.

  Pete stood near the SUV, waiting. “Everything all right?”

  “Yep. Just give me a minute.”

  With a nod, he hopped into the car and started the engine.

  I glanced up at Andre. “I have the cocktail party thing tonight. Hopefully, I’ll talk to some of our players. Since you’ve stubbornly refused to go shopping with me, why don’t I catch a ride with Pete?” I liked teasing Hardass. One of these days, I was going to drag him kicking and screaming to the mall. Preferably on a Saturday.

  “All right,” he said, “but be careful. If Rob was killed, asking too many questions could trigger the wrong person. And Carlucci has seen you with Sullivan, which makes you even more conspicuous. Perhaps I should accompany you tonight, Miss Strickland. I don’t like the thought of you going in there alone.”

  “I’m not trolling a seedy bar in Glendale. It’s an opera house fundraiser. The worst that can happen is I’ll fall asleep during one of the speeches.” Besides, I’d have enough performance anxiety with my mother hovering over my shoulder all evening. I didn’t need Hardass adding to the pressure. “Anyway, I do better flying solo at these things. If I discover any earthshattering revelations, I’ll call you. Promise.”