Last Diner Standing (20 page)

Scotty threw his arms around my legs. He had red circles painted on his cheeks and black eyelashes penciled around his eyelids.

“Hey Sport, you were the best elf ever.” I knelt down and held up my hand for a high five.

He grinned and slapped my palm. He had a fruit punch stain around his lips. Sweat matted his blond hair beneath his pointed red and white elf hat. “Did you see my dance, Aunt Rose?”

“Yeah I did. You rocked it.”

“Why were you late?” Jacks asked. She looked very beautiful in a red sheath dress.

“Long story.”

“Have a cookie, Rose.” Allen handed me a gingerbread man wrapped in a green napkin.

“Thanks.” I ate his foot and broke off a piece for Scotty. “You want a leg?”

He giggled and stuffed it in his mouth. Then a kid with a beret and a black and white striped shirt ran up and tagged him and Scotty was off and running.

“Good to see you, Rosalyn.” My dad bent down and kissed my cheek. “How are things at the diner?”

I threw my mom a look. “You mean the small family firm where I work in public relations?”

Jacks poked me in the back. “Don’t provoke,” she whispered in my ear.

“Things at the diner are great, Dad. We’re open for lunch now.”

“How thrilling.” My mother stood straight, her spine rigid, her coat draped over her crossed arms. “I assume you’re taking more classes next semester?”

“Yes, Mom.” I didn’t want to talk about my education with her. It was a sore subject. That and every other topic I could think of.

The men started talking golf and shut us out.

“What classes are you taking?” Jacks asked. My sister, so well-meaning and yet so clueless.

“Um, criminal justice—”

“Planning on an exciting career as a prison guard?” my mom asked.

“Well, there is that anal cavity search everyone keeps raving about,” I said.

Jacks pinched my arm. Hard. “Mom thought we should have Christmas Eve luncheon at the club this year, Rose. Doesn’t that sound fun?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Darn, I’m working. You know, since we’re serving lunch and all.” For the first time, I was actually glad Ma had the crazy lunch idea.

“Surely that woman doesn’t expect you to work on Christmas Eve. That’s Dickensian.” Only Barbara Strickland could use the word Dickensian and not sound ridiculous.

“Well, she lets us have an extra piece of coal, so it all balances out. Look, I’ve got to run, but I’ll call you later,” I said to Jacks.

“But we haven’t seen you all night. And I promised Scotty we’d all go out for ice cream.”

“Her family is never a priority, Jacqueline. You should know that by now.”

“That’s not true, Mom. I’ll explain later, I promise.” I touched Jack’s shoulder as I passed and went looking for Ax. God, my mother exhausted me.

I found Axton near the window in a deep discussion with a kid who looked about ten-years-old, dressed in green sweats.

“You have to be one with the tree, you know?” Ax said. “You have to feel it in here.” He pounded his chest. “What’s Christmas without a tree, man? You
are
the holiday, little dude.”

The boy nodded. “I feel you.”

“Ax, you ready to go?”

We wove our way through the crowd and stepped out into the cold. The half-moon hung low in the starry sky. The businesses along the street had painted their windows with Christmas themes—Santa, trees, holly. Hanging holiday banners flapped in the breeze. Ax was right, I was a scrooge, but I couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm for Christmas. I hadn’t bought one present. Hadn’t eaten one candy cane. All this drama with Janelle and Sullivan dwarfed the holiday. What was the point if Janelle spent the rest of her life in jail or Sullivan was hiding from a hit man? 

Chapter 21

“You ready to talk to Brent?” I asked.

“You bet.”

We climbed into Joe’s truck and my phone vibrated. “Yeah?”

“Are you coming over tonight?” Sullivan asked.

The words sent goose bumps up my spine and heated my cheeks. I knew he didn’t mean it that way, like we were spending the night together, but his smooth voice asking me to come over made me wish otherwise.

“Yeah. Right now Ax and I are going to talk to a suspect.”

Annoyingly long pause. “Be safe.”

Ax took his eyes off the road for a second to watch me. “Sullivan? You know, for a bad guy, he’s pretty okay. In fact, I’m cool with having him around. You know, in case you guys start hooking up or whatever.”

I didn’t want to talk about hooking up with Sullivan. It was too complicated. I flipped on the radio.
Jingle Bells
filled the car and Axton forced me to sing along until we pulled up to Brent’s house—a nice, brick, middle-sized ranch with a three car garage.

“Being a liquor sales rep must pay pretty well.”

“Nah, he inherited this place from his grandma.”

“You got that from your phone before the pageant?”

He shrugged. “I’m just that good, man.”

A light burned in the window and a big ass truck with an extended cab sat in the driveway. Nine forty-five was late to be dropping in unannounced, but tough.

I knocked on the door and felt someone stare out at me. Then the carved door opened, but the screen door stood between Brent and us.

“Who are you?” he asked.

He was very handsome. Tall, muscular, blond hair with all-American good looks, but he wasn’t the man from the photo on Crystal’s bedside table. Who was that guy? 

“Brent Crandall? I’m Jane Smith and this is…” I glanced at Ax.

“Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you.”

Really, Ax? Batman? I refrained from a serious eye roll.

“I was wondering if we could talk to you about Crystal Waters?” I asked.

His eyes flickered between the two of us. “What is this about?”

Okay, hard part time. “I assume you heard about Crystal?”

He audibly swallowed. “Yeah.”

“We’re looking into her death,” I said.

“Why?”

“We work freelance for an insurance company,” Axton said. “Just want to make sure Crystal didn’t take her own life. And, there’s a double indemnity clause on her policy if she was murdered.”

Wow, call me impressed. I couldn’t believe he pulled that out of his ass. And he sounded so sincere.

“Crystal would never kill herself,” Brent said. “She loved life. Loved dancing. Well, the attention, really. She was kind of an exhibitionist. Besides, she was found in the trunk of her car. The police said she was…” He paused and shook his head. “They said she had been hit. Shouldn’t it be obvious she didn’t commit suicide?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense, but the insurance company has to be very thorough,” I said. 

He held open the screen door. “Come in.”

He led us to a living room that hadn’t seen an update since Grandma passed. Gold-leafed mirrors and floral wallpaper. He nodded at a seafoam green sofa. “Have a seat.”

“I’m sorry about Crystal,” I said.

“Yeah, the police called me this afternoon. A shock. We didn’t date anymore, but I still loved her, you know?”

What was it about Crystal that had men falling for her? Besides her obvious physical attributes, of course. By all accounts, Crystal had been a mean girl. Maybe men didn’t care about pretty on the inside.

“What can you tell me about Sheik Johnson?” I asked.

Brent’s face changed from grief to hard-edged anger. “She broke up with me for that fucking loser a year and seven months ago.”

He was still counting the months. Bad sign. I pulled out my little notebook and pen. “Tell me about her. Did Crystal have any girlfriends?”

He looked a little dazed by the change in topic. “She was straight. She might have danced with other girls, but she preferred men.”

“No, I mean friends who were girls. Pals?”

“Um, not really. Other girls were jealous of her.”

“She was very beautiful,” I agreed.

“I know.” He rubbed his cheek with a palm and rose. “Wait here, I want to show you something.” He left the room and headed to the back of the house.

I turned to sneer at Ax. “Bruce Wayne?” I whispered.

He shrugged. “It’s the only thing that came to mind. Jane Smith isn’t exactly original.”

Brent came back and handed me two photos. In one, he stood with his arm around a stunning Crystal. They were at the beach. Her body was toned, tanned, and stacked like a brick outhouse in a tiny silver bikini. She wore expensive oversized shades and diamond hoop earrings. Brent was obviously very proud of her.

Ax leaned closer to get a peek. “The two of you look very much in love,” he said.

Brent sniffed. “We were until she dumped me for that asshole. I gave her everything she wanted. I told her to give up the dancing, that I’d take care of her, but she wouldn’t do it. I could live with that. But when she left…” He widened his eyes to prevent the tears from falling and he sank back down in a chair.

“We heard Crystal was pretty brutal to you after you guys broke up. That you became a regular.”

His cheeks infused with color. “Who’d you hear that from? Look, it’s the only way Crystal would talk to me. She wouldn’t take my calls, wouldn’t see me. What was I supposed to do?”

“What about family?” I asked. “Did she have any relatives she was close to?”

Brent shook his head. “She wouldn’t talk about her family. She left home when she was seventeen.”

I flipped a page in my notebook. “What about your relationship with your former fiancé, Diane Myer? I know she was upset when Crystal taunted her at the club.”

“What does my relationship with Diane have to do with Crystal’s death?”

“Just background information, sir,” I said. “Now, about Diane?” I looked him in the eye and tried to keep my expression neutral. I fully expected him to realize we were lying through our teeth and call the police. But he just continued.

“Diane and I were never engaged,” he said. “We dated for six months and she wound up pregnant. Diane wanted a relationship, but I wanted to keep it casual. I take care of Josh, see him twice a month, but I never loved Diane.”

Somebody give this guy a father of the year award. Still, he was a better dad than Asshat had been.

“And you met Crystal at the club?” I asked.

“Yeah, The Bottom Dollar is in my territory. I’m a liquor sales rep. Vodka. All flavors.” That explained Crystal’s bizarre vodka collection.

“I go into the club two or three times a week. Crystal and I started talking one day. She said I was a good listener.”

“And you didn’t think it would bother Diane that you were dating one of her fellow dancers?” I asked.

“I didn’t really think about it.” This guy’s lack of sensitivity was astonishing to me. The mother of his child had to see him come into her workplace and flirt with his new girlfriend. That sounded very painful. And another good reason to keep Diane as a suspect. But what was her motive for bashing Asshat?  

“After you and Crystal broke up, how often did you see her at the club? When you worked, I mean.”

He blew out a breath. “Two, three times a week. And she ignored me. Like I was nothing.” His eyes lost focus as he gazed at the green carpet. “I had to watch her with other men. Grinding on them. Shaking her tits in their face.” His voice took on an angry edge. “And she just fucking ignored me. That’s why I became her regular.”

Not only wasn’t he over Crystal, he was still bitter about their break up. But was he angry enough to kill her?

“Well, thank you for your time.” I stood and held out the photos.

He took a deep breath and came back from the dark place in his head. “You can keep those, if you want. I have duplicates. Do you have a card or something?”

I patted my jacket and made a show of looking in my purse. “Damn, I must be out of them.” On my trusty pad of paper, I wrote down my number and handed it over. “Call me if you think of anything else.”

“When will I know about the insurance money? I’m the beneficiary, right?”

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Axton said and gave Brent a broad wink. “But you’ll be the first to know our findings.”

Back in the truck, I angled myself to face him. “We look nothing like insurance inspectors. I can’t believe he bought that.”

“People always want to think they’ve fallen into money. It’s just like, human nature.”

“So what about Brent? He could have hit Asshat and killed Crystal. He had motive.” I buckled my seat belt and faced forward. “Jealousy.”

“Yeah, that had to kill him, seeing her naked with other dudes. I think I might dig a little deeper into Crystal’s past. Why wouldn’t she talk about her family? And why did she leave home as a teenager?”

“Maybe her parents kicked her out. It happens.” I was living proof of that.

“Maybe, but something smells off,” he said.

“Before we get your Better Than Sex fix, one more stop?”

He dropped his head to the steering wheel and groaned. “Where?”

“Huntingford Motor Lodge, room six.”

“What are we expecting to find?”

I slid my fingers over the old school metal key. “Probably nothing. I just wanted to have a look around. This is where Crystal and Martin Mathers spent at least an hour together every week.” I slid the key into the door and flipped on the light.