Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (3 page)

“Yeah. I also called his ex-fiancée and the gym where he works out. No one’s seen or heard from him. One of my students is a cop. I talked to him about it, and he said there wasn’t much the police could do. He suggested I come here.”

“He was right. The police aren’t helpful in cases like these. They lack the resources to look for an adult who might have left on his own.” I could attest to that. When my friend, Axton, went missing, the police hadn’t done diddly. I went looking for him myself, and the journey took me down a strange path that changed my life forever.

“Rob is one of the most self-disciplined, regimented people I know,” Kai said. “If he couldn’t make it into work, he’d have called me.”

I leaned toward him. “For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing by coming here. Sometimes you have to trust your gut. I can look into this for you.” Whoa.
I
could look into this for him? Without consciously realizing it, I’d just axed Andre out of the equation. I mulled it over for a second. Nope, I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. Instead, I felt like I’d just landed a champion fish.

Kai rolled his lips inward. After a moment, his eyes found mine. “This is going to sound crass, but I don’t have a lot of money. Even if Rob is missing, I’m not sure if I can afford to hire you.”

With that admission, Kai stopped being a trout and my compassion took over. When Ax disappeared several months ago, I
was
Kai. Helpless, desperate. Poor. Well, I was still poor. My free time was limited these days, but I wanted to help him find his friend. If I could show Hardass that I was ready to be let off the leash at the same time, I’d call it a win. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll dig around, ask a few questions. If I find any evidence, we’ll work out a plan. Something you can afford.” And then I’d inform Andre that I’d taken a case behind his back.
No harm, no foul.

“Really?”

“Really. Now, tell me everything you know about Rob. And I mean everything.”

Kai swallowed and glanced down at his worn tennis shoes. “This is confidential, right?”

“Of course.” Probably.

“Rob’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but he’s into some questionable stuff.”

My antennae practically vibrated. “Go on.”

“Maybe he just went away for a few days. He’ll turn up like nothing happened. If he comes back…
when
he comes back, I don’t want to be the person who got him into trouble.”

“What if he didn’t leave on his own, Kai?”

I saw the doubt in his brown eyes. Still, he hesitated.

“Look,” I continued, “unless it directly affects my investigation, I’ll do everything I can to keep his secret. What is he doing that’s so questionable?” If it involved drugs or kids, I’d go straight to the police. Confidential only covered so much in my book.

“He’s a fighter—mixed martial arts. There’s this underground fighting ring. It’s pretty hush-hush.”

That didn’t sound too awful. Brutal, yes, but not horrible. “Who runs it?”

“I’m not sure. Rob doesn’t talk about it, but I think Will Carlucci might be mixed up in it somehow.”

I paused and frowned, trying to place the name. Then it came to me. “The car guy, right? The one who used to dress like a cowboy?”

“That’s him.”

Will Carlucci owned several dealerships in town. A few years ago when he only sold Hondas, Carlucci used to pop up in cheesy late-night commercials. When he started selling swankier cars, the commercials stopped. “You think
he’s
running a fight club?”

Kai shrugged. “Rob does odd jobs for Carlucci—those are his words. He’s never gone into specifics, but one day Rob drove up to the dojo in a brand new Escalade. Had all the bells and whistles.”

“What makes you think he didn’t lease it or something?”

Kai let out a laugh. “You don’t know anything about fighting, do you? It’s an expensive sport. Gym fees, equipment, special food and supplements. I don’t pay Rob much of a salary. He teaches a few kids’ classes in return for a membership to the dojo and a couple hundred bucks a month. No way could he afford a car like that.”

“So you think Carlucci gave it to him as some kind of payment?”

“All I know is once a month, Rob fights. Sometimes he comes to work looking like hell, covered in bruises, his face completely swollen. At first it scared the kids, but now they’re used to it. I don’t know if he wins or loses. Either way, he drives a pretty nice car for a guy who does odd jobs.”

“You mentioned an ex-fiancée?”

“Sofia Morales. Maybe she knows more about the club than I do. They had a baby about six months ago, but they run hot and cold. And right now, it’s freezing. I guess she moved back to her parents’ place.”

I wrote down her name along with Carlucci’s. “You said they’re on and off. I guess they argue a lot?”

“Wow.” Kai whistled. “That’s an understatement. Rob might not talk about the fight club, but he’s always giving me an earful about his baby mama drama. Sofia wanted to get married soon—a big wedding—which he couldn’t afford. She wanted Rob to quit fighting and get a regular job. They have a pattern. They argue, she leaves, and they usually make up a few days later. This time, it looks like she means it. That tore him up, you know?”

“How long has she been gone?”

“Four or five weeks, maybe. Before their latest split, Sofia barged into the dojo and interrupted Rob’s class. She had the baby in her arms and was screaming about a bounced check. The baby was crying, the kids in the class were terrified. I had Rob take Sofia into the office, and finished the class myself. I told him if it happened again, I’d have to cut him loose. That kind of behavior isn’t professional. Anyway, the next day they’d broken up for good.”

I made notes and tapped my pen against my thigh. I had a missing fighter, a broken relationship, money troubles, and an underground fighting ring. It was entirely possible Rob Huggins bugged out on his stressful life. Just packed it in and split. But Andre was always telling me to consider all the possibilities and not jump to conclusions, so I decided to keep an open mind.

And as for this fight club…if anyone would know about illegal shenanigans in this town, it would be my boyfriend, Sullivan. He was a criminal, after all. His vice tended toward gambling, but he knew the big players. Maybe he could steer me in the right direction.

I glanced at Kai once more. “Is there anybody who’d want to hurt Rob? Does he have any enemies?”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “No, man. I can’t think of anyone. Lately, I could tell something was on his mind. I figured it had to do with Sofia.”

“You said he belongs to a gym?”

“Buster Madison’s place, on Fifth and Dogwood. If you go down there, be careful. The neighborhood is sketchy.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you have a picture of Rob?”

Kai dug his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen, and showed it to me. “Our kids won a competition in January. Rob was really proud of them.”

Rob Huggins stood in the center of five kids, their little fists lifted in a striking pose. He towered over them, and the tank top he wore showcased his massive tree trunk arms. With buzzed hair and meaty features, Rob wasn’t particularly attractive. If it hadn’t been for those ginormous muscles, he wouldn’t have left an impression.

“Can you send me this picture?” I gave Kai my phone number and sat in thought as he texted.

“What about Rob’s parents?”

“They live in Nebraska or Iowa. Someplace like that.” Kai tucked his phone away. “He’s never mentioned any brothers or sisters.”

I rattled my brain for more details, but came up blank. “I think this is all I need to get started. I’ll be in touch as soon as I find anything.” We both stood and shook hands.

Kai walked to the door, but before crossing the threshold he turned back. “Rose, do you think he’s all right?”

“Even though it’s out of character, he might have gone off for a few days.”

I calmly trailed Kai to the door, but the moment he left I rushed back to my computer. Andre had access to special PI databases, but since they were expensive, he only subscribed to the bare minimum—phone numbers, addresses, criminal records, and DMV stats. That’s where social media came in handy. People post all sorts of personal information I wouldn’t otherwise be able to legally obtain.
Thank you, interwebz.

I looked up Rob’s address. He leased his condo from Carlucci Enterprises, and his car was also registered with the company. Seemed that Kai might be correct. There was no reason why Will Carlucci would finance Rob’s life, not unless he gained something from it. I definitely needed to find out more about this secret fight club.

Next, I checked out Rob’s ex. Twenty-six-year-old Sofia Morales had never been arrested, but she’d racked up three speeding tickets in the last two years. The only property she owned was a used generic SUV—not a pimped-out ride like Rob’s Escalade. She worked at a cosmetics store at the mall. From her glammed-up driver’s license photo, it showed. Lots of wavy hair, red lips, and spiky lashes. That kind of look took time and effort. I was lucky to swipe on a coat of lip gloss every morning.

Kai had said Sofia was living with her parents, so I searched for them and noted the address. They owned a house in southern Huntingford, near the Glendale border. Not the safest area in the city. I’d definitely have my stun gun handy when I went to interview her.

After Sofia, I plugged in gym owner Buster Madison. At fifty-two, Buster looked exactly like what he was—an aging middleweight boxer who’d taken a few too many hits to the schnoz. According to Wikipedia, he turned pro in the eighties, but after two years of mostly losses he called it quits and started training fighters in his own gym. The second ex-Mrs. Buster divorced him in ’91, and he’d been single ever since. He lived in a raised ranch house in a middle class neighborhood. All in all, he seemed like a perfectly normal guy. Nothing about him stood out, unless you counted his cauliflower ears.

Then I came to William Anthony Carlucci, who resided in a fifteen thousand square-foot house in one of the ritziest parts of town. Divorced and remarried. He owned eight car dealerships. According to his website, he donated generously to charity, sat on the Children’s Hospital board, and was an active member of the community. He was also a member of the Huntingford Golf and Country Club. The same club my parents belonged to.

I could always ask my mom to introduce me to Carlucci, but she’d exact a high price. The cost? She’d chip a few layers off my pride and self-respect. As always, Barbara Strickland would be my last resort.

I studied the photo of Carlucci from a local newspaper article. He was hearty and attractive, if you were into men with overly tanned skin and blinding white teeth. His thick dark hair was on the poufy side, and his lips were more smirk than smile. His wife, Jennifer—fifteen years his junior—was aggressively blond. And he had a twenty-one-year-old daughter named Candi.

Yep. Candi Carlucci. She could totally clean up in the porn industry with a name like that.

Armed with a bit of info, I left the office with a spring in my step. After all the drudgework Andre had been assigning me, I finally had a real case. A secret case that I’d have to squeeze in between two jobs and the occasional hookup with Sullivan. But I wasn’t complaining.

Chapter 3

Huntingford is a town divided. Up north, the wealthy live in their mega mansions and hire maids to clean them. On the south side, collars are true blue and the worker bees learn to make do early in life. Social momentum isn’t much of a factor here. It’s been my experience that for the most part, people accept their preordained roles and stay there. I should know, because I broke that rule.

As a child, I grew up in the swanky part of town. Born to wealthy parents, I was treated to deportment classes—which, according to my mother, never took—attended a private school, and wore only designer labels.

Then almost six years ago, my parents and I had a blowout over my life choices. I thought I should have some, they felt otherwise. So I moved out, started serving up short stacks, and never looked back.

I’m the black sheep of our little Strickland clan. That’s the role
I’ve
come to accept.

The farther south I drove, the smaller the houses became. Brick fences gave way to chain-link; stucco turned to clapboard. Close to the Huntingford-Glendale border, I sped over graffiti-tagged bridges and past strip malls containing payday loan outlets and liquor stores. Patchy yards surrounded grungy houses, but occasionally a well-maintained neighborhood sprouted like a mushroom.

It was in one of these enclaves that I found Maria and Juan Morales’ white fifties ranch. The lawn, while tiny, was thick and lush. A late-model Mustang sat in the drive. New rims. Custom wheels. I noticed a red and white decal in the corner of the rear windshield. Maybe this was Mr. Morales’ baby. I assumed it belonged to a man, not because I was sexist, but because I played the odds. That Mustang was all testosterone and testicles.

As I trotted to the front door, I glanced up and down the street. A group of kids played a few houses away, and a group of women huddled near them. When the ladies spotted me, they stopped talking. I waved, but no one returned the greeting.

I stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. A moment later, a young man in his late teens or early twenties answered. Ah, so this was the Mustang owner. Since he was shirtless, I got a good look at his torso—nice muscles, but not excessive. And he came equipped with an attitude, scowling at me through the screen door.

“We already got Jesus, lady. Go away.” A TV and a crying baby blared in the background.

“My name is Rose Strickland. I’m here to see Sofia,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

As he looked me up and down, his surly expression didn’t change. “Just a minute.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Sof, somebody’s asking for you.”

A moment later, Sofia Morales popped into view. She was even more beautiful than her license picture. Long, dark waves fell over her shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes smoldered with just the right amount of smoky shadow. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m looking into the disappearance of Rob Huggins.” That sounded more dramatic and official than I’d intended, but it got her attention. “Kai Adams contacted me. I work for the Thomas Detective Agency.”

Sofia’s brows swooped downward. “So Rob’s really missing?” Inside the house, the baby’s shrill scream rose in pitch. Sofia nudged the young guy out of the way. I took them for brother and sister—they shared the same straight nose, the same almond-shaped eyes. “Go put a shirt on, Franco. It’s almost time for dinner.”

With a sneer, he walked away.

Sofia motioned me inside. I followed her around a wall which partitioned the rest of the house from the entryway. The living room was crammed with furniture and a small playpen had been shoved into one corner.

She switched off the TV before scooping the baby from its cot. It stopped crying the minute she picked it up. Tears and snot and drool mixed together, and the whole disgusting combination dripped off the kid’s chin. Kind of gross, but I guessed once you gave birth to it, you became immune.

“This is my daughter, Olivia.” Sofia perched on the edge of a blue rocker, holding the baby on her lap.

“She’s gorgeous.” This kid was no Scotty, but her brown eyes and long, wet lashes were pretty cute. I sat on the sofa and tried to ignore the spicy aroma wafting from the next room. An older woman moved in and out of view, placing bowls of food in the center of the kitchen table. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need to ask you about Rob.”

As Sofia bounced Olivia on her knee, she frowned. “I didn’t take Kai seriously when he said Rob was missing. But I was running late for work this morning, so I didn’t have much time to chat. Are you sure about this? Maybe…” She stopped talking and smoothed one hand over the baby’s head. “Maybe he finally had enough and left us.” Whatever their differences, it was obvious she still cared.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Tuesday night.” She still didn’t glance up, but stroked a tuft of Olivia’s thin hair. “We had a big argument a few weeks ago, and I moved out. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured he was giving me time to cool off.” She shook her head and lifted her chin. When her eyes met mine, they were filled with tears. “Rob loves me. Us. But we’re not a priority.”

“And what is Rob’s priority?” I asked.

“I don’t know if Kai told you, but Rob is into mixed martial arts. Fighting is the only thing he really cares about. I’m tired of being second place.”

“Has he ever done this before? Taken off without telling anyone?”

“No. But he’s always talking about moving to a bigger city, where he could train at a better gym. Maybe St. Louis or Chicago.”

“So you think it’s possible he up and left? Without saying a word?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, and lowered her shoulders. “Not really.”

“What about his family?”

“He wouldn’t go there. He’s not close to his parents.”

“Kai said no one from the gym has heard from him either.”

Sofia worked her knee up and down, bouncing the baby faster. “You’re starting to worry me. What should I do? I can’t go to the police.”

“Because of the fight club.”

Her eyes widened. “Kai told you about that?” She sat in silence for a minute, while the baby chewed on her own fingers and cooed. Finally, Sofia roused herself. “You can’t say anything about the club. Not to anyone. The men in charge are serious about keeping it a secret. By even discussing it, we could all be in danger.”

Danger? My stomach clenched at the word.
Maybe you should tell Andre about the case
. I immediately discarded the idea. If he found out that I’d taken this case behind his back, he’d fire my ass on the spot. “I’ll be very discreet, I promise. Who’s in charge of the fight club?” I removed the notebook from my purse.

Sofia pulled a breath and held it. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“You can’t go to the police. With a baby and a full-time job, it’ll be hard to search on your own. Talk to me. Please.”

After a long moment, she sighed. “Rob claims he does odd jobs for Mr. Carlucci, but other than working a few hours a week at the dojo, the only thing Rob does is train for his fights. He never has any cash, but he drives around in a brand-new car. When I suggested he sell the car to pay some bills, he blew up. His temper and mood swings have been off the chain lately. He hates it when I nag him about money, but a new car doesn’t pay the light bill, does it? Or feed my kid. Do you know how much diapers cost or what the doctor charges when Olivia gets an ear infection?” Her voice became louder with each word, until she was yelling. “Having a kid is expensive. It’s time for Rob to grow up.” The baby started to fuss, and Sofia’s mother popped her head out of the kitchen.

“What’s going on in here?”

Sofia briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Mom.” Her mother shot me a questioning glance, before disappearing from view.

I turned my attention back to Sofia.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so stressful. I never get enough sleep, and I need to start looking for a second job. My parents help out, but they’re struggling as much as I am.”

I felt for her. I barely had enough money to scrape by, and I was only taking care of myself. Although I pitied Sofia, I needed to stay on point. “So, have you been to any of Rob’s fights?”

She shook her head and blinked rapidly in an effort to keep the tears at bay. “That damn fight club. I warned him so many times—if he wins his first bout, he can fight again that night. Lately, he
always
wins. But I don’t know how much more he can physically take. Rob thinks if he earns enough money from the fights, he can sign on with a decent training team and get a chance at going pro. He’s obsessed. And he’s stupid, because it’s never going to happen. If he’s not with a decent training team by now, he never will be. He’s thirty-two and his body is shot.”

Before I could ask another question, Franco sauntered into the living room and flopped down on the sofa next to me. He’d found a t-shirt, but he hadn’t lost the bad mood. “Are you talking about that prick who knocked you up?”

“Watch your mouth,” Sofia said.

“He’s an asshole. You haven’t heard from him in days. Move on, Sof.”

I twisted my head to study him. He wore a diamond stud—fake—in his right lobe. A few acne scars dotted his cheek and chin. I wondered where all this hostility was coming from. “I take it you and Rob don’t get along?”

Without turning his head, he slid a glare in my direction. “He’s not good enough for Sofia. She lived with him, took care of him when he got injured. Yet my parents are the ones paying for his kid. He’s a wannabe. She’s better off without him.”

Sofia jumped to her feet, jarring Olivia, which caused the baby to start howling again. “Shut up! I’m tired of you shit-talking Rob. He’s not a saint, but he’s the father of my child.” She hoisted the baby on her hip and pinned Franco with a glare. “Not another word, do you understand me?”

Sofia’s mother thrust her head into the living room once more. She said something in rapid Spanish, and Sofia snapped back, shouting over the baby’s screams.

Then she gestured for me to get up. “You need to go.” She rubbed her free hand along Olivia’s back in a soothing motion.

I pulled a card from my pocket and laid it on the coffee table as she stomped out of the room. A moment later, a door slammed and shook the entire house.

I gazed over at Franco. “That’s a nice Mustang you’ve got. Is it new?”

He threw out a sneer, the kind that only snotty adolescents could pull off. “What business is it of yours?”

Absolutely none, but that had never stopped me before. “Anything you can tell me about Rob? His habits, his friends?”

“Nope.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Why the hell would I talk to him? He’s a douchebag.” Then he stretched out his long legs, blocking off my exit and forcing me to walk around the coffee table on my way to the front door.

Well, I’d learned a few things from this little side trip. Franco was a dick, and while Rob may have loved his kid, he hadn’t exactly been a hands-on dad. I wasn’t sure how that helped me, but I stored it away in my mental folder.

Outside, I climbed into my car, rolled down my window, and cranked the air. While I waited for it to kick in, I did a quick search on my phone. Carlucci Motors was open until nine p.m. Since it was only seven fifteen, yippee for me.

I drove east, taking an exit that would lead me to car heaven. Most of the dealerships in town were clustered together on what used to be sixty or seventy acres of farmland. Carlucci had the prime spot, right in the middle of the long stretch of road. The vehicles faced outward, watching the flow of traffic—red, black, and silver inanimate puppies, waiting for adoption.

I parked on one side of the lot, then strolled past the pretty new cars, wishing I could afford to drive something from this century. It was good to have dreams.

Colorful pennant banners overhead swayed with the gentle breeze. The sun eased toward the horizon now, flashing brightly off the hoods of all those cars. Hundreds of them. Squinting, I stopped to peek at the price on a sedan and nearly swooned from sticker shock. Looked like I’d be driving the crapmobile for a few more years.

With a sigh, I forced myself to stop petting the pretty blue Honda and walked into the vast showroom. The one-story glass building was so large it reminded me of an airport. With separate sections for each car brand, I wasn’t sure where to look first. Pausing, my glance bounced over all the new models.

A very smiley man in his thirties walked toward me. “Hey there. How are you today?”

“Doing well, thanks. You?”

“Can’t complain.” He chuckled, as if he’d told a joke. “So, you’re looking for a car.”

I couldn’t fault his deductive skills. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Mr. Carlucci.”

His fuzzy blond brows lowered slightly. “Mr. Carlucci doesn’t sell cars. But I’ll be happy to help you find what you’re looking for. I’m John, by the way.”

I’d decided on my approach during the drive over. Since the fight club wasn’t public knowledge and Sofia said the men in charge could be dangerous, I thought my best avenue would be pulling out the mom card. I didn’t like to use Barbara Strickland’s name in vain, but sometimes my family connections came in handy. “I’m Rosalyn Strickland. I’ll only speak with Mr. Carlucci directly.” I tried my darndest to channel my mother’s superior tone.

John the Car Salesman lost his smile real quick. He wasn’t going to get a sale, so why waste another minute on me? “I’ll get the manager for you.” Without waiting for my reply, he whipped out his phone and tapped out a text. “He’ll be here shortly. Have a look around. There are sodas and coffee down the hall.” Then he strolled off, in search of more lucrative prey.

I shifted from one foot to another, waiting a good five minutes before a middle-aged man in an expensive light gray suit appeared. He was neither attractive nor unattractive. With more salt than pepper in his lacquered hair, he had the polished veneer of a televangelist. A gold pinkie ring flashed as he held out his hand.

“Al Bosworth.”

“Rose Strickland.”

Acknowledgment flared in his nondescript brown-gray eyes. “You’re John and Barbara Strickland’s daughter?”