Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (8 page)

Chapter 8

Dead for days
. That had been my biggest fear this entire time, the one I didn’t want to face.

The air rushed out of my lungs and I sat back, deflated. Poor Sofia. And baby Olivia. I’d never met Rob Huggins, but I’d met the people who cared about him. An overwhelming sadness gripped me. “Tell me what happened. How did he die? How did you find out?”

“This morning, Sofia Morales called. She couldn’t find your card, so she called the office to leave a message. I happened to be here. She informed me that the only thing missing from the condo was Rob Huggins’ vehicle. Since I had no idea what she was talking about, I asked her to explain. Imagine my surprise when Miss Morales told me my
partner
was searching for her ex-fiancé.”

He waited for me to say something, but I remained silent. Anger churned inside me, like acid. He’d known Rob was dead all this time, but he made me tell him every detail, had demanded clarifications. All the while, he’d been holding back the most important piece of information in order to punish me.

Once he realized I wasn’t going to comment, he continued. “After speaking with her, I immediately put in a call to an old friend on the force. He called back an hour later. Early this morning, two fishermen found a body. Rob Huggins’ vehicle was parked on a secluded service road outside Oka Lake. He was sitting behind the wheel. Due to the level of decomposition, they determined that he’d been dead for several days.” I shuddered at Andre’s factual, detached description. “There was an empty container of pain pills on the passenger seat—no label, so they’re not sure exactly what he took—and an open bottle of whiskey in his lap. If the tox screen reveals alcohol and opiates in his system, the coroner will rule it a suicide.”

“He didn’t commit suicide,” I ground out. “Rob didn’t take drugs or booze.”

“You only have Miss Morales’ word for that. There is, however, one glitch. The detective didn’t find the deceased’s phone.”

There’d been no sign of Rob’s phone in the condo either. He surely wouldn’t have left the house without it. So where was it? My best guess—the killer had taken it.

Andre snapped his fingers to regain my attention. “The pills you found, where are they now?”

“In my oven.”

“I shouldn’t ask and yet I can’t stop myself. Why the oven, Miss Strickland?”

“I use it for storage. Listen, I’m telling you, Rob didn’t kill himself. When I told Kai about the pills, he was shocked.”

“Look at the facts: the deceased had a history of substance abuse, he had in his possession hundreds of pills, and he was depressed over the breakup of his relationship.” He lifted his chin and his eyes were cool, appraising. “You’re not analyzing the evidence properly. Hopeless people often resort to desperate acts.”

“Stop calling him the deceased. He had a name, and you’re the one who’s always telling me not to jump to conclusions.” I leapt to my feet, slapped my hands on the edge of his desk. “Rob had a big argument with his trainer, Buster Madison, a few weeks ago, and Buster has been freezing Rob out ever since. Why? Sofia’s brother, Franco, came into the gym right before Rob died and started an altercation. Over what? Also, Rob owned a gun. If he were that depressed, he would have eaten a bullet. Or taken a handful of pills in the comfort of his own home. Why haul himself all the way out to Oka Lake and do the deed? No way is this a suicide. Rob had a lot of secrets and I want to find out what they were.”

Andre shook his head. “None of that proves foul play.”

“What about the fact that he had only ten fights to win before Carlucci would cancel out his debt and award him enough money to turn pro? That was Rob’s dream and he was so close, why would he suddenly give it up? He died without his phone. That doesn’t seem suspicious to you? Did he leave a note, at least?” Andre’s lips thinned into a flat line. “None of it adds up. I’m going to continue this investigation no matter what. I have too many questions.”

Andre stood as well. “Even if you do have questions, you’re not qualified to continue on your own. You’re undisciplined, Miss Strickland, and too emotional.”

“I’d rather be too emotional than a cold-hearted, callous machine. You don’t give a damn about anyone. Rob Huggins had a daughter. She’s never going to know him, and yes, that makes me emotional.”

“Emotion is your weakness. Have you told me
everything
about this case? You’ve left nothing out?”

I still wasn’t going to tell him about the fight club, but I wasn’t going to lie anymore either. I had nothing left to lose. “No, I’ve kept stuff back—important information—and that’s the way it’s going to stay until it works in my favor.”

That livid fire flared in his eyes once more. “Do you think I’m playing with you? Do you think this is a game?”

“Since you’re going to send me packing when all this is over, I have no incentive to tell you anything else.”

He bristled and, placing his fists on the desk, leaned forward. “I could call the detective in charge right now and let him know you’re hampering his investigation, tampering with evidence.”

“If your conscience demands you turn me in, then do what you have to do.” I hoped to hell he was only bluffing. I was counting on it, really. “It was shady of me to take this case without telling you, I’ll admit that. I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but the fact is, I don’t trust you either. You held back Rob’s death and used it like a trump card, and that was a shitty move.”

We stared at each other for several moments. Then he walked from behind his desk to the outer office door. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Was he really going to turn me in? Seriously? Damn, I didn’t have time to sit in jail. And I was pretty sure orange wasn’t a summer color.

He glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll start with Buster Madison. You want to know why he argued with the deceas…Rob Huggins. We’ll go ask him.” At my surprised expression, he said, “You think Rob was killed? We’ll need evidence to back it up. I still think you’re off-base, but I’m willing to concede that I might be wrong.”

I wasn’t sure what to think. I wasn’t buying this new helpful attitude. What was in it for him?

When I didn’t move, he heaved a sigh. “I should have told you about his death right away. It was churlish of me. I’m sorry.”

Andre admitted he was wrong.
And
he apologized. What next, would Hell start its own ice hockey team? I grabbed my bag and walked toward him. “Shouldn’t we break the news to Sofia first?”

“No. Let the police handle it. But you can tell Buster, if you have to. Watch his face, his body language. Guilty people gaze to the left. He might point his feet or his torso away from you.”

“Got it.”

Hardass insisted on driving. Since I’d been to the gym the day before, I navigated our way downtown. We parked along the street. Before I could grab the door handle, Andre placed a hand on my arm.

“Tell me what you see.”

All the information we needed was
inside
the gym. But since I screwed up the Benson case, I sucked it up and told Andre what he wanted to hear. “There’s a city bus stop halfway up the block. Two men, one woman waiting to catch a ride. Next to the gym is a tattoo parlor. Across the road is a liquor store. At the gym itself, there are four barred windows facing this side of the street.”

“Good.” He climbed from behind the wheel and strode across the street, leaving me to scramble after him.

Walking into the building, I scrunched my nose as a wave of sweaty, stale odor hit me. Andre stopped in the hallway to glance at the framed photos and I pointed at one. “There’s Buster with Carlucci.”

“You said Mr. Carlucci no longer works at the car lot, and his home is inaccessible. How do you propose we speak with him?”

“I’m going to see if my boyfriend knows him. If that fails, I’ll ask my mom for an introduction. Tomorrow, I want to go see Wyatt Sanders. I have a feeling he’s in this fight club up to his eyeballs.”

“Feelings don’t hold up in court.”

“Good thing I’m not a lawyer.”

“I’m willing to bet Mr. Sanders is every bit as insulated as Will Carlucci.”

“You? Bet? Penny slots, I take it? Don’t want to risk losing your life savings on a game of chance.”

He gazed down at me, his face locked in a severe expression. “That’s why I play blackjack. I like the mathematical advantage of the game.”

“
You
play blackjack?”

“There are a few other games I like to play.”

I was willing to bet the house naked Twister wasn’t one of them. Chess, golf, crossword puzzles—those were more Andre’s speed. “Do tell.”

“I used to do a little boxing myself, back when I was in the service.”

I’d always pegged him as a military man; the boxing part threw me for a loop though. “Marines?”

“Army.”

“Were you any good? At the boxing, I mean.”

“Not very. I didn’t stick it out. Wasn’t for me.”

“Too worried about damaging that pretty face?”

He flicked one brow. “Exactly.”

To hear Andre crack a joke, even a lame one, was a little jarring. He was just chock full of surprises today.

I whizzed past him to the double doors. When I stepped into the gym, all eyes turned in our direction, but this time there was no Sugar or Roxy to gawp at, so the men quickly resumed their workout. Except for Buster Madison. He gave me a hairy eyeball that rivaled my mother’s.

“Looks like someone’s not happy to see you.” Andre held up one finger to stop me from walking any further. “Where are the exits?”

I didn’t see any. Other than the entrance, there were only two doors—one leading to the locker room and the closed door of Buster’s office near the back wall. “Probably through the locker room. And before you ask, I see six men, nearly naked and very sweaty. The two in the ring are most likely heavyweights. Two smaller guys are jumping rope, one medium-sized dude is using the speed bag. The older man standing near the ring scowling at me is Buster, which you know because he was in every freaking picture in the hallway.”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Come on, let’s go light a fire under Madison. I’ll even allow you to do the talking.”

Allow
me? I let it slide. Gotta know when to pick your battles.

Andre walked toward the ring where two men circled each other, but I slowed to watch. They moved with grace and aggressive energy which should be incompatible, but somehow melded together in a violent dance.

Buster stepped away from the ring, his movements a little rusty today. All those years of boxing had probably taken their toll on his joints. He planted himself in front of us, crossing his arms over his barrel chest. “Looks like you brought a friend this time, doll.”

“This is my colleague, Andre Thomas. We’d like to speak with you.”

“Forget it. Get out of my gym. I don’t want to tell you again.” He leaned down and his coffee breath washed over me. “This time, I will throw you out. And I won’t be gentle.”

He turned to walk away, but I raced ahead and jumped in front of him, until we stood toe to toe. In a low voice I said, “Rob Huggins is dead.”

As Andre instructed, I looked for signs of guilt, but it was obvious the news blindsided him. Buster turned ashen and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down repeatedly.

“What? How do you know?”

“Let’s talk about this in private.”

He nodded and led the way to his office, where he paced to the file cabinet. Andre followed us and shut the door with a soft click.

“I’m really sorry to drop it on you like that,” I said.

“I didn’t see anything on the news. Are you sure about this?”

I shot a glance at Andre. He nodded for me to continue. “Yeah, we’re sure. Rob’s body was found near Oka Lake early this morning. He’s been dead for several days.”

Buster ran a trembling hand over his cheek. “Shit, they killed him. They really did it.”

My blood turned cold at his words. “Who killed him? Tell me, Buster. Please. Was it Carlucci? Wyatt Sanders?”

Jerking his head back, his eyes darted around the room. “You need to go. I can’t be seen talking to you. You have to leave. Right now.”

“No, listen. Rob has a daughter. She deserves to know what happened to her dad. You owe her that. If you know who killed him, you have to tell the police.”

Buster’s shoulders sagged and he stared out the office window, refusing to look me in the eye. I waited, hoping he’d give me something, anything, but he remained mute.

Andre gently grasped my elbow. “Come along, Miss Strickland. He’s not going to tell us anything.”

I jerked away. “Why did you argue with Rob after his last fight? Why were you so angry with him?”

Tears welled in Buster’s eyes. His grief shocked me. “Robbie—he was a good kid. A great fighter. You? You can still let this go. Forget everything you’ve heard. These assholes are playing for keeps, and if they find out you’ve been snooping around, they won’t like it.”

This time I didn’t pull away when Andre propelled me out of the office and through the gym. Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on my bare arms. For once the heat felt good. I was chilled to the bone, not only from Buster’s assertion that Rob had been killed, but from his warning. Still, dropping out wasn’t an option. I had an obligation to Sofia, to Olivia, to Kai. I’d made a promise, and I planned on honoring it.

As soon as we crossed the street, Andre dropped my elbow. “Are you all right, Miss Strickland?”

“Buster doesn’t think Rob committed suicide either.”

“He doesn’t have any more evidence than you do.” He opened the passenger door for me. “What’s your next move?” he asked, after sliding behind the wheel.

“I’d like to go back to the car dealership and talk to Al Bosworth. I told him I was friends with Rob, but maybe I should ask him about the fight club.”