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

“I am. My mother said that Mr. Carlucci could help me find a car.”

“Will doesn’t do that anymore. He leaves the day-to-day operations of the business to me. But I’ll be happy to show you anything you want to see, Rose.”

Damn. Getting access to Will Carlucci was proving to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. Asking my mom for help might be in the cards after all.

Since I’d thrown her name around, I now had to extract myself from this situation gracefully. And graceful wasn’t really my strong suit. “Actually, I’m just starting my search. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

As though that was a problem he heard often, Al Bosworth nodded vigorously. Not one hair on his head moved. Amazing. “I’ll get you some information about the different models, and you can start comparing. Do you have any idea of what kind of vehicle you’re looking for?”

I batted my eyes. “Blue?”

He laughed, as though my simple-minded answer was charming.
Oh, silly women and their lack of automotive knowledge.
“Come with me.” He sailed down the hall, and I followed to his office. The pale blue walls were covered with awards.

“These are impressive,” I said.

He smiled—all teeth—and sat behind his desk. “We’re proud of our success.”

“Have you known Will long?” If I could gather a few facts on Carlucci, maybe this trip wouldn’t be a complete failure.

“Years and years,” he said, rummaging through the bottom drawer of his desk. “We grew up together.”

I moved across the room and sat in one of the guest chairs. “Really? Now you’re working together.”

“We’ve always worked together.” He dropped a handful of colorful brochures on his desk and picked up a framed photograph. “This is the two of us on our first lot.” He handed it to me. “B&C Auto. Right off Junction Road. It was a great experience.”

I glanced at the photo and smiled. Both men wore their mullets loud and proud. Carlucci even sported a thick mustache. His suit was Miami Vice pink. They stood side by side in front of a row of used cars and one minivan. I handed it back. “You’ve come a long way.”

“You’re not kidding. Eight dealerships, including three luxury lines.”

I stood and moved to a grouping of photos on his file cabinet. I picked up a framed snapshot. Carlucci, Al, and a pretty woman with curly brown hair. “Did you ever think about doing this on your own? Without Will?”

“I did, as a matter of fact.” His tone turned wistful. “Bought Will out of that first lot and tried to make a go of it myself. But the damn highway got rerouted, which cut off direct traffic to the lot, and that was that.” He rose to join me. “This is Will’s first wife, Deb. Prettiest girl in our class. They were a great couple.” He took the frame from my hands and placed it on his desk. “Will and I make a better team anyway. Close as brothers. So, Rose, would you like to take a spin? Maybe a Mercedes convertible? An Infiniti sedan?”

“I’m not sure. Do you have color chips?”

“You bet.” He handed me a booklet along with the brochures. “Here you go. Pick your favorite color and we’ll go from there.”

After tucking them into my bag, I tilted my head in an attempt to appear helpless. “Thanks for your time. Sorry I’m scattered. There’re so many to choose from.”

He placed his hand on the middle of my back and guided me out of his office, toward the door of the showroom. “No problem. It’s a big commitment.”

He held the door open for me, but before stepping through, I turned back. “By the way, a friend of mine works here. Maybe he’s on the lot today.”

His smile was indulgent, humoring even. “Who’s your friend?”

“Rob Huggins.”

The smile gave way to a quizzical expression. “How do you know Rob?”

“We take classes at the same dojo,” I said, proud that my lie sounded so plausible. “Is he in today?”

“No, but now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. He works sporadically, though.”

“Well, I thought I’d ask. Thanks for all your help.”

“Of course. Nice to meet you, Rose.”

So far, I hadn’t learned much from either Q&A session. So there was only one thing left to do.

Chapter 4

The sun was sinking faster now, and the streetlights glowed in the dusk. Soon it would be dark. And you know what they say: nighttime is the right time for a break-in. And by
they
, I meant me.

I climbed behind the wheel with my phone in hand and dialed Roxy. I knew she and Sugar had plans, but she might be free by now. And since Roxy was an expert at B&E—a long story that involved a difficult childhood—she was the perfect choice for this little excursion. But after five rings, the call rolled over to voicemail, and I hung up without leaving a message.

As I started the car, my phone vibrated. It wasn’t my partner in crime calling me back, though. Instead, Axton Graystone’s mug lit up the screen. I’d taken his picture on St. Patrick’s Day, which explained the plastic shamrock hat. The crossed eyes and goofy grin were the result of too many green beers.

“Hey, Axman.”

“I need your help. Fashion-wise. Like, pronto.”

“Okay, but if I scratch your back, you have to help me break into a guy’s condo.”

“For fun or profit?” he asked.

“A little of both.”

“Excellent. Did Hardass finally come to his senses and give you a case?”

“No. Not exactly. I’ve broken ranks, and I’m out on my own.”

“Good for you. Sometimes, Rosie, you got to buck the system.” This from a man who’d been toking up since he was fifteen and could navigate the Deep Web like a professional hacker. He’d been bucking the system for years.

“See you in a few.” I hung up and drove a few miles to Axton’s tiny two-bedroom house. Ax and I had both started life with a silver spoon, but traded down for plastic. Although we hadn’t been childhood friends, we’d been classmates from the jump. When I ran into Ax after leaving my parents’ nest, we sort of found each other and have been friends ever since.

Ax shared his house with Joe Fletcher. We referred to him as Stoner Joe for reasons that should be obvious to even the most casual observer: consistently glassy eyes, a wheezy laugh, and the purple tuque he never took off.

I parked in the driveway, jogged up to the front door, and knocked. Joe answered. For a guy with a constant case of the munchies, he remained a stick figure. Today, he’d tried his hand at a new hairstyle—braids. Two greasy plaits hanging on either side of his face mirrored the braids forking his beard. It was a look. Not a good one, but A for effort.

“Rosalita Margarita. You keeping it cubed, man?” I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but when he held up his hand for a high five, I slapped his palm.

“Totally. You?”

“Ah, you know me.” He stood there, nodding.

I stood there, staring at him.

“Can I come in, Joe?”

His eyes widened. “Yeah. Sorry.” Then he turned and walked toward the living room.

I stepped inside and shut the door with my back. The house smelled like it always did—skunk weed and boy funk—which was why I avoided coming over. Well, that and the unfortunate bathroom situation. Hygiene was not always a big priority for these two.

I walked down the short hallway to Axton’s bedroom and knocked on the door. Not waiting for an answer, I turned the knob and stuck my head inside. “Hey.”

Ax stood next to the bed, digging through a mound of clothes. At five foot seven, he was only a few inches taller than me. Holding up a fistful of t-shirts, his blue eyes edged toward panicky. “I’m having a crisis of major proportions. I don’t want to wear khakis, because God, khakis. Who am I, Bill Gates? A corporate drone, a total poser? But I don’t want to wear my old tattered jeans either, and look like that homeless dude who sits outside 7-Eleven.” Ax worked for the IT department at Huntingford City College. In all the time I’d known him, Ax had never given a damn about his wardrobe. Color me intrigued by this new fixation with his appearance.

I walked into the room, eyed the sloppy bed, and opted to sit in the desk chair. “Tell me again why you suddenly care about pants.”

“I just want to sharpen my image.” He avoided looking me in the eye. Someone was lying. And for a change, it wasn’t me.

“Your image?”

“Yep.” Keeping his head down, he buried his nose in a wrinkled shirt and took a deep whiff. “There’s a huge meeting this week and attendance is mandatory. Want to make a good impression.”

Sure he did. “Ax, could this have anything to do with a
girl
?”

“Don’t be ridic.” His cheeks and neck flooded with color.

I jumped up. “What girl? What’s her name? Have you asked her out? What’s she look like?”

He spun around and held up a pair of red and green plaid boxers to ward me off. It worked and I recoiled, like a vampire at the first sign of a cross.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” he said. “You’re going to make it into a thing. It’s totally not a thing.” He sounded freaked, so I immediately sat down and tried to contain my curiosity.

“Sorry.” I folded my hands in my lap and literally bit the inside of my cheek to keep from asking him a million questions. “Are you going for a semi-professional vibe?”

“Yeah.” He sat on top of the pile of clothes, but kept hold of the boxer shorts. I didn’t know if they were clean or dirty. Either way, I wanted to keep my distance. “She’s a secretary for the media department. Her name’s Trina. I haven’t asked her out because I’m scared shitless, okay? Girls make me nervous. Except you and Roxy, but you guys don’t count.”

I didn’t take offense. “Have you talked to her?”

“Not really. I don’t want to geek out on her and start ranting about the next Star Wars movie or why in God’s name Ben Affleck is the new Batman. I mean, come on. Ben freaking Affleck. Did we learn nothing from
Daredevil
?
And what if she’s not into geeks?” He sounded so unsure of himself my heart melted. Ax was suffering from a serious lack of confidence, and I hated to see it.

I knew he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I focused on clothing choices. Not that I was an expert in that arena, but I was a genius on all things Axton. “New jeans, fake distressed. You have time to get them tomorrow. Go to a decent department store and ask the salesperson for help. Wear them with a clean, pressed button-down and a Star Wars t-shirt. You’re still the Axman, after all. Just be yourself and if she doesn’t like you, her loss.”

Some of the terror seeped out of his expression. “Thanks. Artificially distressed jeans. Are you sure I won’t look like a tool?”

“Would I steer you wrong?” I stood and walked to the door. “And remember, nerds are the new hot. Now let’s go. That condo lock won’t pick itself.”

As Ax and I left the house, I said goodbye to Joe, but he was too busy watching a blender infomercial on TV to acknowledge me. On the drive to Huntingford Square, where Rob Huggins lived in a condo he couldn’t afford, I filled Ax in on my missing person case. “An impoverished underground fighter. I’m still thinking he left on his own.”

“And you’re not going to tell Andre you took the case?”

I slowly drove down Rob’s street and studied the neighborhood—no sign of lurkers and everyone was in for the evening. The crickets had made an appearance though, and their music filled the air with a loud chirping. “He told me yesterday I couldn’t sneeze without his supervision. So I’m going to prove that I’m totally capable of solving a case on my own.”

The Square was a mishmash of old and new architecture. Rob’s brand-spanking-new building stood next to a Depression-era cottage.

I circled the block, parking at the end of the street, then turned to Ax. “You want to wait in the car? You don’t really have to go in with me, just keep a lookout.”

“Pshh. I’m going in. But why isn’t Roxy with you tonight? Don’t you guys usually do this crap together?”

I shrugged and slipped out of the car, glancing around as I hotfooted it to the alleyway behind Rob’s place. The long, narrow path—just wide enough for a garbage truck—smelled of rotting trash.

Finding Rob’s back door, I removed four latex gloves from my bag and handed Ax a pair before digging out my lock-picking tools. I could have used my penlight, but I didn’t want to draw unwanted attention from the houses behind me. I bent down and wiggled the paperclip and Allen wrench into the lock. Then wiggled it some more. The humidity and the stench were overpowering, but I tried to stay focused. Still, I started to sweat after a few minutes. Roxy made this look easy. Finally, one by one, the tumblers clicked open.

I straightened, glancing toward either entrance to the alleyway, then up at the windows surrounding me. All clear. I scampered into the house with Ax right behind me. As quietly as possible, I shut the door. “Okay, we’re searching for anything obvious that might be missing.”

“Like what?” Ax whispered.

“Not sure.” I was a know-it-when-I-see-it kind of girl. Instinctive. Which would have driven Andre insane.

I made sure the kitchen blinds were closed, then panned my flashlight across the room.
What do you see, Miss Strickland?
Jugs of protein powder and supplements lined one counter. No dishes in the sink, and a towel had been folded neatly next to the drying rack. Rob was tidy, even without Sofia here to pick up after him.

“Do you have a light, Ax?”

He shoved his hand into his pocket and extracted his keys. He jingled them around for a second before shining his lighted keyring in my face. “Yep. I’m good to go.”

“You take this side of the kitchen, and I’ll start over there. If anything seems out of place, let me know.” I moved to the opposite side of the room and did a quick inventory of all the cabinets. Not much food, just huge containers of post-workout recovery powder. I crossed to the fridge. After nearly passing out from the farty stench of old broccoli, I quickly slammed the door shut.

I also took a brief glimpse into the tiny laundry room. A stack of folded t-shirts sat in a basket, waiting to be put away.

“Nothing here,” Ax said.

We advanced to the small eating area that flowed into the living room. I made sure the blinds were closed in here too, then Ax and I flashed our lights on the walls.

An eighteen-inch framed collage hung over the sofa. Black and white photos of Rob, Sofia, and a newborn Olivia. Rob’s dark shirt exposed his thick neck and accentuated his bulky shoulders.

We rifled through the living room but didn’t find anything unusual. Next, Ax took the master bedroom, while I scoured the bath. And that’s when I hit the motherlode. A black toiletry bag shoved behind a stack of towels contained a slew of syringes and vials. Steroids. Rob was drugging his way to a better bod. Sofia said he’d been prone to bouts of anger lately. No wonder.

I shoved the flashlight in my mouth and pulled out my notebook, noting the names on each bottle. Deca-Durabolin. Equipoise. Sustanon. To name a few. Once I finished, I put it all back where I’d found it.

“Ax,” I whispered.

He stepped into the bathroom. “You find anything?”

“Steroids.” I searched the rest of the closet and was about to close the door when Ax stopped me.

“Rob’s a boxer, right?”

I turned toward him, lowering my light. “MMA fighter, actually. According to Sofia, a really good one.”

“I’ll bet you my signed
Call of Duty
poster that he’s using more than steroids. We need to look for painkillers.”

I hadn’t thought of that, but it would make sense. If someone beat the crap out of me every few weeks, I’d want a little pharmaceutical help to block out the pain.

“I’ll recheck the living room,” Ax said. “You take the bedroom and search in here. Shake everything. Addicts like to hide shit.”

After he left, I methodically shook every bottle and peered under every towel. I came up empty. Nor did I find anything sinister hidden in the shower, under the counter, or in the toilet tank.

Next I entered the bedroom and examined everything—clothing, drawers, the furniture. Still nothing. But when I slipped my hand beneath the mattress and box springs, my fingers brushed hard metal. A gun. I gingerly pulled it out and held my flashlight over it. A semi-automatic pistol. I shoved it back where I’d found it.

While I was on my knees, upending Rob’s many pairs of tennis shoes, I saw Ax’s flashlight bobbing down the hallway. “Nothing on my end,” he said.

I tossed the shoe in the closet. “Rob’s got a gun, but he kept it hidden. Let’s search the rest of the house and get out of here.”

Ax led the way to the second bedroom. Awash in pale pink, from the curtains to the walls to the rug in the middle of the floor, the only furniture that remained in this room was a white changing table. Sofia’s parents probably didn’t have room for it. Ax opened the closet and rifled through it.

“Look at these super cute threads.” He held up a tiny pink dress that Olivia had outgrown.

Poor baby. Rob put his kid on the backburner to pursue his career. What a damned shame.

I couldn’t stay in here for a second longer. I found it depressing. “Let’s go.” I took the lead as we retraced our steps back to the kitchen.

Ax traipsed behind me. “Do you ever think about having kids, Rose?”

“I don’t know.” I was still traumatized by my experience with that Little League team this morning. Besides, I tried very hard not to think that far into the future. I could barely handle the present. “Maybe. One day. Maybe not.”

“Haven’t you and Sullivan talked about it?”

My neck muscles grew tight at the question. “No.” Since Sullivan and I had defined our relationship—exclusive, by the way—not much had changed. He still worked nights, lording over his illegal empire. I worked days. And we hooked up whenever we had the chance.