Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4)

by Terri L. Austin

  She pulled away and crossed her arms. “That’s too bad. Because whoever did this, whoever killed Rob, deserves to be put down.”

  Apparently I’d also underestimated her need for vengeance. “If you want to help, tell me what you know about Buster. Who would want to kill him?”

  “I have no idea. I met him a few times. He seemed harmless. If Rob was murdered, whoever killed him probably killed Buster too?”

  “That’s the way I see it. Can I ask you something else? It’s kind of delicate.”

  “Rose. We’ve done nothing but talk about personal stuff tonight. Ask away.”

  “I heard Rob was thinking about throwing a fight. For Sanders.”

  She drew a deep breath. “Well, that makes sense. It’s not like it’s unheard of. Of course, if Daddy found out…” She finally saw where the answer might lead—straight to Will. “No! No way. My father would not kill Rob.” When I said nothing, she grabbed my forearm, lightly digging her long nails into my skin. “I mean it. Besides, he wouldn’t kill Buster, he’d just fire him and make his life a living hell. Daddy knew what Rob meant to me.”

  “He did?”

  “Of course. Rob kept our relationship from Sofia, but I didn’t care who knew about us.”

  “Oh.” There went my overprotective father theory. I didn’t really suspect Carlucci anyway. If he decided to murder people who’d pissed him off, I’d be at the top of his list.

  When we reached the club, Howie parked in front of the main entrance. I slid out first, adjusting the short skirt as soon as my feet touched the pavement.

  Candi followed, and as I watched her scoot across the seat, she left tiny purple feathers behind. Whoever had to detail the Hummer wasn’t going to appreciate it.

  As I waited, Henry pulled into the crowded lot and looped around, searching for a parking place.

  After adjusting her bodice, Candi smiled with the same vacant, sparkling grin she’d used when we first met. This time, I saw cracks in the façade. “You can wait for us out here, Howie. I’ll call you if you’re needed.” She tugged my hand and pulled me to the door where a group of hipster dudes waited to get in. “You’ve thrown down some heavy questions tonight. Now, I want to cut loose and get shitfaced. You like tequila?”

  Tottering after her, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Henry had found a parking spot. He climbed out of the car and hotfooted it to the entrance just in time to take the tickets from me and hand them to the bouncer.

  “You good?” he rumbled in my ear.

  I nodded and let Candi pull me inside, where strategic spotlights bathed the room in a red glow, creating a decadent atmosphere. Bright scarlet cloths draped each table and the chairs were covered in plush velvet. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and opposite the bar, a gold-fringed curtain concealed a semi-circular stage.

  Voices, mostly male, filled the air with noise and laughter. I disentangled my hand from Candi’s and walked deeper into the club, looking for Roxy. “Let me find my friend, and we’ll hook you up with a drink.” I walked a few more paces, then saw a bright blue head bob into view. Roxy sat front and center. I motioned for Candi to follow me.

  When we reached Roxy, I smiled at her outfit. Instead of trying to sex herself up to fit the venue, she’d gone with a flouncy white dress covered in red strawberries. Two bearded bikers with an obvious love of tats shared her table. Over their plain white t-shirts, they wore leather cuts bearing their club name—Original Outlaws. Leather in this weather? Go figure.

  I tapped Roxy’s shoulder, and she smiled up at me. “You made it.”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss Sugar’s big night.”

  “The show’s about to start. Sit down.” She caught a glimpse of Candi, hovering behind me. I introduced her, and Roxy shouted out the name of Sugar’s biker friends. Milk and Cheese? Mike and Weeze? I couldn’t really hear, and I didn’t care enough to ask for clarification.

  Candi grabbed a chair and wedged herself between the two men. Maybe her way of dealing with Rob’s death was to flirt through the grieving process.

  After a moment, Cheese-Weeze stood and walked to the bar, returning with three shots of tequila for us girls.

  “When does Sugar come on?” I asked Roxy.

  “She’s closing. Who’s this chick again?” She nodded in Candi’s direction.

  I leaned into Roxy and explained as briefly as I could. Then I turned and glanced behind me, searching for Henry. He stood at the bar, and when he saw me, raised his glass high in the air. I waved back.

  The lights flickered a couple of times, then cut out altogether. A hush fell over the room and when the curtain parted, a spotlight flooded the stage. Out vamped a very Marilyn-esque blond in a white beaded dress. She danced to a slow, dirty jazz tune, and as she lost various articles of clothing, she used her white fans strategically.

  The difference between straight-up stripping and burlesque involved the use of pasties and the lack of a pole. Also, when Marilyn finished her performance, her g-string was free of dollar bills. Burlesque might be classier, but I had a feeling stripping paid a lot better.

  After she left the stage, the curtains closed. That’s when I noticed Candi sitting on Weeze’s lap. I wondered if her father would approve, but it wasn’t my business.

  “Potty break?” Roxy yelled in my ear and grabbed her strawberry purse. She parted the crowd, and I followed in her wake. Since the audience was made up almost entirely of men, we had the restroom to ourselves.

  Roxy used the facilities, and I checked my phone as I paced back and forth across the honeycomb-tiled floor.

  “That’s Carlucci’s daughter, huh?” Roxy asked.

  “Yep. She’s going to take over her dad’s business one day.”

  She stepped out of the stall and flounced her petticoat before meeting me at the sink. “Is she smarter than she looks?”

  “She’s very bright. Nice too. I like her.”

  “Of course you do.” Roxy grabbed a paper towel and dried her hands. “You have two modes, Rose. You either like someone or suspect them of wrongdoing. There’s no in-between with you.”

  “Not true. I’m not that crazy about my mom, and I don’t suspect her of criminal mischief. Unless bad parenting is a punishable offense.”

  She snorted. “Have you found any new clues?”

  I filled her in on my night, finishing up with the death threats against Carlucci.

  “Who wants to kill him?”

  “I’d love to find out. You know, I’d assume Carlucci himself was the target in all this, except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Buster’s death. Buster knew Rob had been killed, he had something to tell me, and he was deep in debt. No reason to kill him if you want to hurt Carlucci.”

  Just then Candi walked through the door. “Hey, ladies. You’re missing the show. The last girl danced with a martini shaker. She used it like a maraca, then doused herself. It’s a wet pasty contest out there.”

  Roxy pointed at Candi’s broken arm. “What did you do?”

  “Car accident. Ran straight into a tree.”

  “She lost her license,” I said.

  “DUI?” Roxy asked, disapproval clear from her narrow-eyed scowl.

  “No way. I’d been at the fight club all ni…” When she realized her slipup, talking about the fight club in front of a stranger, Candi’s flow of words halted mid-sentence.

  “It’s fine. Roxy’s my bestie. She knows all about it.”

  “Yep. So spill. You were at the fight club.” Roxy made a circle with her forefinger, signaling Candi to continue.

  “Yeah, I was overseeing the money for my father. And I wasn’t drinking. He’s told me from day one that business and booze don’t mix.”

  “Wait, what do you m
ean, overseeing the money?” I asked.

  “The four owners send a rep to watch the money count at the end of the night. All the bets and ticket sales get added up after the last fight. The banker holds the winning bets until the four owners or their reps sign off.”

  “Who’s Wyatt’s rep?”

  Candi fiddled with a curl and laughed. “That control freak? He wouldn’t trust anyone to touch his money. Daddy usually has Al do it, but since I want more responsibility in the business, I did it that night.”

  “So you were sober?” Roxy asked, prodding Candi to finish her story.

  “Right. Not a drop. The last thing I remember is taking the money to Daddy. After that, it gets hazy. I guess I got into my car to drive home and when I woke up, I was in the hospital with a major headache. Like someone had taken a baseball bat to my skull. Not surprising since I had a concussion and my car was completely totaled. I lost my license because they thought I fell asleep at the wheel. Reckless driving on top of all those speeding tickets. But Daddy hired a really good attorney, so I only got community service. I can start driving again in four months.”

  “You’re lucky it was just your arm, by the sound of it,” Roxy said.

  “You’re not kidding.” Candi pulled a roll of mints from her bag. “Anyone?”

  I shook my head, but Roxy indulged.

  “It’s been fun, girls,” Candi said, “but I’m out. Weed and I are going back to his place.”

  Weed. Only marginally better than Cheese, but it made much more sense. “What about Howie?”

  “He’ll follow along and wait in the car. It’s what he’s paid to do. Thanks for the invite, Rose.” She waved at Roxy. “Nice to meet you.” Then she twirled and left, leaving a pile of tiny purple feathers littering the floor.

  Roxy headed out too. “Let’s go. I don’t want to miss another performance.”

  We slipped into our seats as the next girl began to dance. She was on the voluptuous side, rounded in all the right places. Her patriotic routine included sparklers, pinwheel pasties, and the splits. Kind of like an R-rated version of a Miss America talent contest.

  Since Candi left, we had an extra chair at our table. I excused myself and dashed to the bar. I fended off a couple offers to buy me a drink and elbowed my way next to Henry.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. “Is someone bothering you?”

  “Cool your jets. We have an extra chair. Want to join us up front?”

  He shook his head. “I like to keep an eye on the crowd. Can’t do that from the front row. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  I wandered back to the table and watched a few more ladies dance. Then it was time for Sugar’s big finale. She stepped out in a tight black dress that flared at the knees. Her shiny pink-red hair flowed over her pale shoulders, and when she slowly lifted her eyes to the crowd, they went crazy, clapping and whistling. Sugar was definitely the star attraction.

  Then the music started—a fifties tune, both sexy and gritty. She gyrated her hips in time with the beat and pranced around the stage. First she peeled the gloves from her fingers, teasing the audience with just a glimpse of her wrists. Next came the dress. Underneath, she wore retro underwear that would have looked like granny panties on me, but she managed to make them seem sexy.

  From nowhere, a swath of sheer material unfurled from the ceiling. Sugar used it as a prop, shielding herself as she shed her corset. Draping her body in fabric, she stripped down, until she wore nothing but pasties and a flesh toned g-string. Then Sugar clung to the material, wrapping it around her hips. As it ascended upward, she flung out her leg and arched her back. In a move that stopped my heart, she let go, hanging upside down, and disappeared from view.

  The crowd went insane. She received a standing ovation that went on for several minutes.

  I turned to Roxy. “She’s incredible.”

  “She’s got a gift.”

  Dressed in a black kimono, Sugar once more stepped onto the stage to take another bow, and that’s when I decided to leave. “I’m going,” I yelled in Roxy’s ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I grabbed Henry on my way out of the club and together we walked outside.

  We didn’t say much on the way to Sullivan’s house. Though I was tired, my brain tried to arrange all the facts I’d learned tonight. But nothing fit quite right. I felt as if I were butting my head against a wall. Not a fun exercise.

  Once we arrived, Henry started for the kitchen. “You want a snack?”

  “No thanks. I’m going to grab a shower and go to bed. It’s been a hell of a day.”

  “Milk and cookies? I made some macadamia nut chocolate chip earlier this morning.”

  “When do you sleep?” I shook my head. “Thanks anyway.” Yawning a goodnight, I drifted up the stairs to Sullivan’s room.

  I stripped down—in a much less spectacular fashion than the burlesque performers. In the master bath, I nearly sprinted to the steam shower. I rarely had enough hot water in my apartment to take more than a quick rinse, but standing underneath all those pulsing jets, my muscles melted into butter. All the tension in my shoulders and neck eased, and I used handfuls of Sullivan’s expensive body wash, lathering myself in his delicious scent.

  With my eyes closed, I allowed myself to relax. Until a warm hand descended onto my shoulder. I let out a startled yelp and turned to find Sullivan standing behind me, wearing nothing but a smile.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you. Mind if I join in?”

  I slipped my hands up his chest and anchored them behind his neck. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

  Chapter 22

  My pink skin tingled against Sullivan’s white button-down that I’d requisitioned for a nightshirt. Crawling beneath the fine charcoal gray sheets, I wiggled closer to him.

  With his arms propped behind his head, he gave me a lazy smile. “I like coming home to find you naked. Kind of made my day.”

  “It was the highlight of mine, that’s for sure.” My purse sat on the end of the bed. I reached for it and grabbed my phone. The alarm was set for four a.m. I could really use more than three hours of sleep, but I’d managed on less.

  “Still no headway in finding Rob’s murderer?” he asked.

  “No. Just more clues. I still like Sanders for it.”

  Sullivan reached up and stroked my cheek. “You need to get some rest. Maybe you’ll be able to think more clearly in the morning.”

  “It is morning.” I fell back onto the pillow.

  He turned off the light and cradled me in his arms.

  The next thing I knew, my alarm beeped. I sat straight up, with that disoriented feeling you get from sleeping in a bed that’s not your own. As I reached for my phone, I remembered that I was in Sullivan’s house.

  He slumbered on, and I envied the crap out of him.

  As gently as possible, I scooted out of bed. My duffle lay on the floor near the footboard. I snagged it on my way to the bathroom, easing the door closed before flipping on the lights.

  Staring bleary-eyed at my reflection, I scrubbed a hand over my face. The half-moon circles beneath my eyes were dark against my pale skin.

  I automatically went through my grooming routine with my eyes half closed, but I did take time to apply a little concealer and blush—I didn’t want Sullivan to see me looking like a ghoul—then dressed in a pale pink t-shirt and jeans. When I reentered the bedroom, Sullivan was gone.

  Trotting down the stairs, my nose followed the trail of dark roast. I required a megaton of coffee in the worst way.

  In the kitchen, Sullivan sat at the granite breakfast bar and Henry, wearing a white chef’s apron, moved between the sink and stove. My stomach growled at the sweet aroma wafting from the oven.

  “Good morning,” Henry rumbled. He
removed an oven mitt to pour me a to-go cup of coffee, placing it on the bar next to Sullivan.

  While I looked like shit warmed over, Sullivan, despite the dark stubble covering the planes of his face, seemed wide awake. No purple eye circles for him. He wore a crisp green t-shirt that smelled of fabric softener and faded jeans.

  He smiled at me, a wolfish, satisfied grin. Reaching out, he latched onto my nape and gave me a kiss that turned my brain to mush. “Good morning,” he purred against my lips.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Henry watching us. He grinned as Sullivan let go of my neck.

  The next instant, Pete strolled into the kitchen. “Hey, lovebirds. Coffee ready, Henry?”

  Yeah, this was the part I hated. This awkward morning after in front of an audience.

  I straightened and cleared my throat. “Henry, are you ready to go?”

  “Not so fast.” He opened the oven door and removed a baking pan, then scraped something into a plastic container. “We need snacks to get through the day. These are breakfast cookies. Full of nuts, whole grains, and dried fruit.” Then he grabbed two lunch boxes off the counter. “Turkey and arugula on homemade whole wheat bread. No time for quinoa salad today. Maybe tomorrow.”

  While Henry removed the apron and shoved his arms into a dark suit jacket, Pete snatched a cookie and immediately dropped it on the counter. “Hot.”

  “No shit, genius.” Henry turned to me. “Now we’re ready to go.”

  Sullivan spanned my waist with both hands. “Have a good day.” He stood and kissed me soundly before picking up his coffee cup and sauntering out of the kitchen. “And make sure you eat,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Henry sat at the corner table once again while I bustled around the diner, filling saltshakers and stocking each table with ketchup bottles.

  Roxy made it in a few minutes after I did and headed straight for the coffeepot. A miniature straw boater perched at an angle on the top of her head. The pastel blue and white striped dress was trimmed in eyelet and short enough to reveal her bare thighs. When she bent over to grab a spoon, I got an eyeful of her frilly blue bloomers.