Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (16 page)

Annoyance registered in Carlucci’s sky blue eyes for a brief second, then it was gone. He smiled in greeting. “Jennifer, darling, what’s wrong?”

She stopped next to him, and with her free hand, rubbed his upper arm. “I just heard the news. Rob Huggins is dead. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Instead of responding to her, Carlucci’s gaze fell on me, sailing over my face, my breasts. Not sexual, merely calculating. “You’re Rose Strickland. I saw you last night. It’s nice to meet you in person.” I could only presume that Carlucci compiled as much research on his business associates as Sullivan did. Therefore, I was certain he knew everything about me, from my job with Andre to my shoe size. Though Andre had warned me to be careful, there was no reason to. We both knew the score.

When Will shook my hand, he made eye contact and held it for a moment, not in the sexually suggestive way Hank Rutherford had, but with sincerity. Carlucci had a knack for making you feel like you were the only person in the room. My bullshit meter was flashing like a siren, yet I could see where he might fool some people. No wonder his business had flourished. You weren’t just buying a sedan, you were making a friend for life. “Al here says you’re in the market for a new car.”

How very strange. Will’s wife just told him that Rob was dead, but instead of grief and shock, he was trying to make a sale.

“I’m sorry to hear about Rob,” I said. “How devastated you must be.” My tone implied otherwise.

“Yes, I am devastated. Rob was a good man and a hell of a fighter. He’ll be missed.”

“Especially by his fiancée and daughter,” I said. “They’re struggling right now, but then you know that, don’t you? I’ve heard about your dedication to charity. Do you plan on extending that same attitude to Sofia?”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.”

For some reason, I wasn’t reassured. Those words could be taken as a threat or a concession.

“You’ve met Al,” Carlucci said, tipping his head toward Bosworth.

Jennifer glanced between us, a scowl on her orange lips. “How do you all know each other?”

“Rose came into the complex, looking for a car and asking about Rob.” Al flashed his teeth in a bright grin. “I take it you found what you were looking for? No need to search any further?”

He wasn’t referring to cars. He stood there smiling, talking about a man’s death like it wasn’t a big deal. Sick bastard.

Carlucci pointed his champagne flute at the third man in the group. “Dr. Ethan Cadewell, this is Rose Strickland. I believe she’s a close friend of Sullivan’s.”

Up close, Ethan Cadewell was superficially handsome, but I sensed a ruthlessness in him. Maybe it was his reptilian eyes—bright green and slightly bloodshot—or the cruel angle of his smile. Either way, I disliked him on sight.

“How do you do?” I said. Sullivan was every bit as dangerous as these three men, but this trio made my skin crawl. How could Sullivan stand to be in business with them? I wouldn’t trust Carlucci with the spare change at the bottom of my purse, let alone hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Ethan gave me a smug nod. “I do very well. From what I heard, Sullivan picked you up and dragged you kicking and screaming out of the building last night. You must have made him very angry.” My fingers itched to slap the smirk off his face.

Jennifer followed the conversation with a look of utter confusion. “Who’s Sullivan? What happened last night?” She turned to Carlucci. “I thought you had a business meeting.”

He spared her an indulgent glance. “I did, darling. Rose crashed it. Very brave of her.”

“Or very stupid,” Ethan said.

They all stared at me, waiting for something. A show of anger? A flash of embarrassment? They’d be waiting a long time. I was tired of being the source of their amusement and decided to go for the jugular.

“The cops believe Rob committed suicide. But I’m thinking it’s murder.”

Not one of them even blinked, except for Jennifer, and I’d discounted her long ago.

“What are you talking about?” she asked. She smacked Carlucci’s arm. “What is she talking about, Will?”

“I have no idea. Now, I really should mingle. Good to meet you, Rose.” He took Jennifer’s arm and steered her away. The other two men followed, with Ethan Cadewell glancing back at me, sadistic mirth glimmering behind his evil eyes.

Utterly defeated, I watched them leave. I hadn’t learned a damn thing. No confessions. No overt signs of guilt. Nada.

As I walked toward the house, the strains of music stopped mid-song and Mitzi Rutherford walked in front of the orchestra. She picked up the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, and introduced an opera singer.

If I had to stand in this heat and listen to an aria, I’d lose what little patience I had left. Ergo, time for a bathroom break.

With everyone’s attention diverted, I slipped into the house. The cool air was a balm. Between the hot sun and facing off with Will Carlucci, I’d worked up a sweat.

I set my glass on an end table and dashed down a hall before a waiter could check me. The first room to my left, a large living room, was occupied. A girl I judged to be two or three years younger than me sat in a brocade chair, her legs draped over the armrest. The lime green dress covered in sequined lace was so damn short, I was subjected to a view of her bare hip. She wore her blond hair long and straight. And her skin tone reminded me of a slice of cantaloupe. Unless I was way off-base, I’d just found Candi Carlucci.

She texted feverishly, which was a feat in itself, considering her right hand was encased in a hot pink cast. Shoulders hunched forward, her pouty lips pulled downward into a frown, Candi’s thumbs were a blur across the screen.

I moved into the room, noting the expensive antiques—a grandfather clock and a portrait of a sixteenth-century man with his hunting dog.

“Hi,” I said.

She finished texting, then glanced up. Like her stepmother, she applied her makeup with a heavy hand. Eyelids should not shimmer that much. Even her long fake nails were coated in crystals. Everything about her was blingtastic.

“Hey.” Her smile was as bright as her body glitter, her eyes devoid of intelligence. “Who’re you?”

I plopped down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes. “Rose Strickland.”

“Candi Carlucci.”

I tipped my chin. “Nice to meet you. I see you’re as thrilled about these shindigs as I am.”

Something changed then. The smile dimmed. As her eyes swept over me, there was a canniness to them that hadn’t been there a moment before. “They suck.”

I glanced at her cast. “How’d you wing yourself?”

“I wrapped my car around a light pole.”

“Yikes. I guess you got lucky then, huh?”

She’d begun texting again, and her thumbs paused. “The police said if I’d driven the car just a few inches to the left, I’d be dead. So yeah, I got off lucky.” Texting resumed.

“I met your mom and dad outside. They seem nice,” I lied.

That finally got her attention. She swung her legs forward, and the skirt hiked up past her hooha. Lime green panties. Nice touch.

After tossing her phone into her beaded bag, she whipped a hank of hair over her shoulder. “Don’t get it twisted. That bitch is not my mother. They’ve only been married for a couple of years.” She said it with such venom, I knew I’d touched a nerve.

“Wicked stepmother, huh?”

“If by wicked you mean she’s a disgusting slore, then yes.” A slut whore. Redundant, but telling. Candi
really
hated her stepmonster. “Who dragged
you
to this thing?”

“My mom. She’s like Martha Stewart, but not as nice.”

She stared down at her nails. “My dad will get bored with Jennifer soon enough. He’ll trade her in for a younger model with less mileage. Just like he does with his cars.” Ouch.

“I met Al at the dealership the other day,” I said. “He had a picture of your parents in his office.”

“Uncle Al and my dad grew up together. He’s always around.” Standing, she tugged on her skirt and finally covered herself. She was obviously tired of walking down memory lane. I needed to find out if she knew anything about the fight club before she slipped away.

“I’m sorry about Rob Huggins. I take it he and your dad were really close.”

Surprise flashed across her features. “Rob? What happened?”

I stood as well. “He’s dead. I thought you must have heard by now.”

“Are you serious?” Moisture glimmered in her eyes. “Rob’s dead?”

As hastily as I could, I pulled a tissue from my purse and thrust it into her hand. “You two were friends?”

“We were much more than that.”

Chapter 16

Tears spilled onto her cheeks, leaving behind inky mascara trails. “Rob was so…He listened, you know? When my mom died, he was there for me. Then we kind of slipped into a relationship. Not a serious one,” she said hastily, leading me to believe it had been serious on her end.

This was the first I’d heard about Rob hooking up. It took me by surprise, especially after meeting Sofia. If she knew Rob had been stepping out, she would have killed him herself.

My breath caught in my throat. I’d completely discarded Sofia from my suspect list. I’d taken her grief at face value. How many times had Andre warned me about that? I packed that little nugget of info away. I could take it out and examine it later. Right now, I needed to focus on Candi. “I heard Rob was engaged.”

“He was, but they took a lot of breaks. Sofia was always busting his balls. We comforted each other.”

“You met him through your dad?”

“Yeah.” She dropped back into the chair with a sniff. “My dad sponsors fighters. He clicked with Rob immediately.” She gazed up at me, her face covered in red splotches, her eye makeup streaked to her temple. “He and I clicked too. Once Sofia had the baby though, we stopped fooling around.”

I stepped closer to her. “I’m sorry, Candi.” There it was again.
Sorry.
What a useless word in the face of death.

“Thanks for telling me about him. How did you know, anyway?”

“I heard it through the grapevine.” I handed her one of my cards. “Feel free to call me if you want to talk or anything. You don’t know me, but sometimes it’s easier with a stranger.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. You’re probably the nicest person I’ve met at one of these things, Rose. You should call me sometime. We can hang out.”

“I’d like that.” She gave me her number, and I entered it into my phone. Sure, I wanted more information about Rob’s life, but Candi was hurting. If she needed a shoulder, I’d be glad to lend her mine. “I’ll be in touch.”

“I appreciate it.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to find the bathroom and clean up.” 

When she left, I walked back to the sofa and fell onto it. So Rob had a secret affair with Carlucci’s daughter. If Carlucci found out, he might have ended Rob for touching Candi. Was he that protective? Perhaps Candi was a woman scorned. But would she be able to create an elaborate scenario, making his death look like a suicide? I didn’t think so. Same rules applied to Sofia. Could she lure Rob to his death, feed him a bottle of pills, and force him to wash it down with booze?

I sat down to ponder it. Here was my dilemma—I liked Sofia. She loved Rob, was worried about his health and his future. She was insistent that he’d been murdered. Why would she want me to find Rob’s murderer if she’d killed him herself? Answer: she wouldn’t.

Will Carlucci, however, was at the top of my list. He didn’t seem to give a crap that Rob was dead. Rob made him a lot of money over the years, but Will acted as cold and remote as a glacier.

Then there was Ethan Cadewell. A first-class dickhead. He was definitely skilled enough to make Rob’s death look like a suicide. And he had access to all those pills. Was he the source for the drugs I’d found hidden at Rob’s condo? Possibly. I needed to dig into Dr. Ethan’s background a little more, see if I could find anything on him. To be involved in the fight club, he had to be dirty.

What about Blondie from the fight club? When I’d asked if he killed Rob, he didn’t shut me down. What motive did he have for wanting Rob dead?

Lots of suspects, but so far, not a lot of clues.

I slipped my shoes back on and my phone vibrated. When I glanced at the screen, I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Is this Rose Strickland?” I knew that gravelly voice—Buster.

“Mr. Madison?”

“Yeah. Listen, I’ve been thinking…it’s not right what happened to Rob. I can’t let it rest. I need to talk to you. Get some stuff off my chest. If they kill me too, then maybe I deserve it.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact about his own death, icy waves of fear danced up my spine. “That’s not true. No one deserves it. Tell me what you know, and I’ll get you some protection.”

“Who’s going to protect me, doll? The cops? They’re useless. Can you meet me at the gym?”

“Of course. In an hour?”

“Yeah, I’ll be here. Come alone. Don’t bring that stiff you were with yesterday. He used to be one, didn’t he? A cop?”

“Yeah, and I should really bring Andre with me. He might be able to help you.”

“No. I’m not going to talk if he’s here. Makes me uncomfortable with those eyes of his.”

I didn’t want to leave Andre out, but I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by either. “All right. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll leave the back door unlocked.”

I’d have just enough time to stop by my apartment and change clothes. These shoes had to go. Before leaving, I called Pete and told him I’d be heading home soon. All this time he’d been parked in the SUV, waiting at the edge of the property.

I left out my plans about driving over to Buster’s gym, though. Pete would have ratted me out to Sullivan. If Buster didn’t want to talk with Andre in the room, he sure wasn’t going to spill all of his secrets in front of Sullivan.

As I slipped out the front door, I heard the headache-inducing notes of an operatic solo coming from the back of the house. I didn’t bother to say goodbye to my family. My mother would harass me and Jacks wasn’t talking to me. I didn’t want to deal with either of them right now.

I noted Will Carlucci’s bodyguards were missing. He and Jennifer must have left the party. Maybe the Carlucci clan didn’t appreciate opera either.

I gazed out over the lush property. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of purple and hot pink. Too bad the temperature hadn’t cooled down.

Ethan Cadewell stood on the bottom step, waiting for his car to arrive. He glanced up at me as I approached the valet stand. “Hurrying home for a cozy night with Sullivan?”

I handed my ticket to the valet. “Just out of curiosity, what do the fight club guys have on you? A hooker habit? Or are you sneaking meds from the hospital pharmacy? I know you’re not patching up fighters out of the goodness of your heart.”

His green eyes narrowed, and his cheeks flushed at the accusation. Oops, I’d hit a sore spot. Hoped it hurt like hell.

“Does your wife know about the fight club?” I asked.

He took a step closer, his smile brittle. “What about you? Do Mommy and Daddy know you’re dating a hardened criminal?”

“Nope. Maybe you can tell them before I have a chance to meet your wife. We have so much to talk about.” I pulled my lips into a grin. “I think I’ll let Sullivan know you’ve been threatening me. He’ll frown on that.”

His smile faded, but the bravado didn’t. “If he had to pick between you and me, I’d put money on me. My skills are invaluable to the club. He can find another piece of ass anywhere.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Dr. Cadewell?” The valet had brought around Ethan’s car. He stood next to the driver’s side door, patiently waiting.

With a sneer, Ethan turned and strode away. Before climbing in, he dug out his wallet and threw a bill at the valet. As he sped off, I saw a red and white decal attached to the bottom of his rear windshield and it sparked my memory. I’d seen one like it recently, couldn’t put my finger on it. I’d stop and think about it later. Right now, my curiosity was in overdrive.

What did Buster want to tell me? What did he need to confess? He had to receive some compensation for training the fighters, but he sure as hell wasn’t getting rich. Buster’s house was in foreclosure. So what kept him linked to the fight club? Drugs? Gambling? A secret love child? Possibilities swirled around my head like cartoon birds.

The valet finally arrived with my car, and I tipped him a couple of bucks. It was all I had to spare.

I reached the end of the private road and picked up Pete’s tail. He stayed no more than two car lengths behind me during the twenty-minute drive to my building.

When I reached my place, the sun had fully disappeared. Pete followed me through the dark parking lot and into the building, but I didn’t allow him to enter my apartment. Instead, I banished him to the hallway.

With my back against the door, I kicked off my heels and sent Jacks a brief apology text for leaving her stranded with Mom. Next, I quickly changed clothes, throwing on the same jeans I’d worn yesterday, but shrugged into a fresh t-shirt. Not standard-issue detective wear, but it would have to do. Five minutes later, I was once more sitting in my car.

“Where are we headed?” Pete asked.

“I have an errand.” I slammed the door on any more questions and waited for him to climb into the SUV before pulling onto the road. As I drove, I debated about calling Andre. He wouldn’t want me going to the gym by myself. Although it didn’t feel right, leaving him out of the loop. He’d given me an AmEx card with my name on it and everything. I kind of owed him.

At the next stoplight, I speed-dialed his number. “Just letting you know I made it out of the party in one piece.”

“Did you learn anything?”

“Yes. Then I got a call from Buster. I’m meeting him at the gym because he wanted to talk alone. Thought I’d give you a head’s up.”

“Miss Strickland…Rose, listen to me. Under no circumstances are you to go to that gym by yourself. Do you understand?”

“Since I speak English fairly well, yes. I’ll call you after I’ve talked to him.” There. I’d done my duty. When Andre called back a moment later, I declined the call and switched the ringer to vibrate.

On the ride downtown, I checked the rearview every few minutes, making sure I could spot Pete. He kept up with me, and I hoped to hell he hadn’t notified Sullivan.

The gym was located in a neighborhood that bordered Glendale. When gang shootings happened, they usually occurred in this area. Fortunately, I had Pete and his trusty gun backing me up.

Parking in front of the gym, I cut my lights and hopped out of the car. Pete stood next to the SUV, twisting his head to glance up and down the street. “What are we doing here, Rose? Do you know what kind of shit goes down in a neighborhood like this?”

“I’m going to talk to Buster. It’s a private conversation. Why don’t you stay with the car? That way, no one will steal your rims.”

He shook his head. “Boss won’t like it.”

I dropped my keys in my purse. “Boss never needs to know.” Without waiting for his reply, I darted between the narrow gap separating Buster’s place and the tattoo parlor next door, slinking through the shadows to the back of the building. The lack of security lights left me in total darkness. I tucked my phone in my pocket and dug out my stun gun. Visually scouring the area, I detected no movement. Andre would be proud that I’d taken his training to heart. If he ever talked to me again. After tonight, he might decide to fire my ass for real.

A chain-link fence marked the edge of Buster’s property—a five-by-ten stretch of patchy weeds. Not even enough room to park a car.

As I approached the back entrance, I stopped in my tracks. The door wasn’t latched. A thin sliver of light cut through the shadows. Buster had said he’d leave the door unlocked, not open.

I glanced over my shoulder, searching the night. Nothing moved. A few streets away, I heard traffic whizzing down the main drag, but not a sound came from inside the gym.

Buster had explicitly said to come alone. And alone meant no Pete. With cautious steps, I walked toward the door. Using the back of my hand, I pushed it open a little further and slipped inside.

The locker room smelled of mold and body odor. Potent and manly, but not in an appealing way. “Buster?” I called, my voice echoing off the dingy tiled walls.

I stopped to listen. He didn’t yell back. Something was off, and I wasn’t talking about the strong urine smell wafting from the urinals. Time to call for backup.

I dialed Pete’s number.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Come around back, would you? I think something’s wrong.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right there.”

I stayed put until Pete eased open the back door, his gun held down against his left leg. I never knew Pete was a lefty. Not very observant of me.

“What’s the situation?” he asked.

“The door was ajar. I called out, but Buster didn’t answer.”

“Stay here. I’ll check it out.” He attempted to walk past me, but I grabbed the back of his shirt in my fist.

“Nope. You follow me. He might be fine. Maybe he fell asleep or something.”

“Rose, if the boss—”

“I’m not arguing.” God, I was starting to sound like Andre. My voice even carried the same ring of authority. I stepped around him. “Stay behind me.”

I pulled my phone back out. Armed with my Android in one hand and my zapper in the other, I inched further into the room, past lockers and benches. To my left stood a row of empty communal showers.

I made it to the locker room door, opened it a crack, and peeked into the gym area. The large room was pitch black. I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to make out shapes. I could spot the fence circling the ring and a punching bag near the barred windows. The rest was a blanket of darkness.

Pete literally breathed down my neck—long, hot puffs of air. “I don’t care what you say,” he whispered. “I’m taking point on this. If you got a problem, you can bitch to Sullivan about it later.”

“Fair enough. But I’ve got a flashlight app on my phone. I’ll stay at your elbow and light the way.”

“Yeah, okay. Keep to my right.”

“Buster?” I called again. If he were here, his office light would be on, and it wasn’t.

Pete stepped through the door first, his gun at the ready. I stayed close to him, hugging his side. I used my phone to guide the way as we crept into the gym. The locker room door swung shut, cutting off the light at our backs.