Last Diner Standing (25 page)

As we followed, Roxy popped her gum. “Any other brilliant ideas?”

Chapter 26

“Yeah, I want to confront Marcus,” I said. “I want to know why Clay broke into his house and trashed his place and what happened the last time he saw Crystal.”

“Next time you decide to investigate, can we go with something like the mall or a shoe store instead of muffler shops and strip clubs?” Roxy asked.

“Yeah, I’ll work on that.”

We dropped a pissed off Ma at the diner. She wouldn’t speak to us and she slammed the door with both hands after she stomped out of the car.

I wondered if I could tick off everyone in my life before Christmas. Fingers crossed.

I climbed in the front seat and Roxy and I made our way to the muffler shop. I toyed with the idea of calling Janelle to join us, but she had her kids and I didn’t want to disrupt her life any more. Besides, in the frame of mind she was in lately, she might get more forceful with Marcus than she needed to.

Most of the snow had melted, but dirty mounds piled up on street corners. The temps were in the forties and the sun hung low in the sky.

Roxy pulled into the muffler shop and found a parking space. John, the man I’d spoken to on my previous visits to see Marcus, pushed through the door.

“Hey, you’re that girl who was here the other day.”

I smiled my most winsome. “Yeah, is Marcus around?”

“I fired his ass yesterday. If you see him, tell him to pick up his stuff or I’m going to get rid of it.”

Hear that pounding? That was opportunity knocking. “I’m going to see him later, I can just take it to him.”

“Yeah, sure.” He led the way through the garage to a row of four silver metal lockers. He pointed to number two. “Here you go. I’ll grab you a box.”

Roxy stayed behind in the office. She’d taken one look at John and his oily coveralls and scrunched her nose. Didn’t want to get her candy pink and white polka dot dress dirty.

I opened the door to Marcus’ locker and sorted through the car mags, crumpled receipts, a jacket—I’d check the pockets later—and a pawn ticket for earrings. And it was dated four days ago. This had been what Web Head from the pawn shop wouldn’t show me. Earrings.

John walked back with a small cardboard box in his hands. “Here you go. I’ll mail his last check to him, minus what he owes me for repairs. And the gas he stole.”

“Wait, what repairs?”

“He didn’t tell you why he was fired?”

I shrugged. “He said the two of you had creative differences. You know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know exactly how he is. And if I were you, sister, I’d run a mile in the other direction. He didn’t show up for work twice last week, no phone call, no nothin’. Then Sunday night he takes my tow truck without asking and smashed the front fender. He claims he didn’t do it, but who else had a key? This is what I get for hiring an ex-con.” He waved his hand and strode off.

Did Marcus run me off the road? Could have been a black tow truck. What had he been doing those days he called in sick? Killing Crystal?

I tossed everything except the claim ticket—which I tucked in my pocket—into the box. I poked my head around the side of the building to get a look at the tow truck, but it was gone. Damn.

Once in the car with Roxy, I checked Marcus’ jacket pockets. Gum wrappers and a used Kleenex. Ugh.

Roxy dropped me back at the diner. She said she’d go with me to the pawn shop, but I knew she had a hot date with Tariq. Usually, she kept me abreast of her love life, but she was keeping mum about Tariq. Either she was getting serious about him or they were on a shoplifting spree I didn’t want to know about.

It took me twenty minutes to make it downtown to the pawn shop. Web Head worked the counter.

He frowned at the horn on my forehead. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Car accident.”

“Are you all right?”

I nodded. “I found the claim ticket.” I waved it at him.

He snatched it and skimmed it. “Be right back.” He walked to a locked door, took a key from the chain hooked to his belt, and disappeared inside.

He stepped out a moment later. “Here they are.” He held up a clear plastic jewelry bag. Inside was a pair of oval diamond hoops, about an inch and a half long.

“How much?” I asked.

“Two hundred and twenty five. But have a drink with me and I’ll cut it to one-fifty.”

I tried to look sad. “I still don’t have enough. I’ll just have to come back next week. Thanks, though.”

I left and hurried along the darkened street to Axton’s car, my head swiveling back and forth to make sure I wasn’t being watched.

As fast as the congested Christmas traffic would allow, I sped back to Axton’s house, ready to burst.

I tried the door handle, but it was locked, so I pounded on the door and rang the bell repeatedly until Ax finally answered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you okay?” He took in the bruise on my head. “Get in here. Are you going to pass out?”

Sullivan moved Ax aside and took my hand, pulling me to him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Stoner Joe stared at the TV without blinking.

Henry poked his head out of the kitchen. “Everything okay, boss?”

I moved in his direction and passed him, tossing my purse on the kitchen table. “I stopped by the pawn shop with Marcus’ ticket. I couldn’t afford to buy them back.” I dug in my purse and pulled out the photo of Brent Crandall and Crystal. “But see these earrings? Marcus pawned these four days ago. Crystal was already dead.”

Sullivan took the photo from me. It finally hit me, what had been niggling my brain since yesterday. “Shit, I can’t believe I forgot. The money. Crystal found it. She gave it to Kyle to hide.”

Henry stepped away to stir something on the stove. Something that smelled delicious.

“Where’s the money?” Sullivan asked. He handed the photo off to Ax.

“He said it was locked away.” I rubbed my temples. Maybe I did have a concussion that night. Why else would something so important slip my brain?

“Let’s go talk to Kyle,” Sullivan said.

“I can’t. I have to go to my sister’s cookie exchange.”

“They’re all ready and they’re delicious,” Henry said.

“He wouldn’t let me try any. By the way, I found out a little info on Tammy Amsted.” Ax handed the photo back to me and walked out of the kitchen.

Sullivan brushed his thumb across the goose egg on my forehead. “Still hurt?”

“Only when you touch it.”

“Smart ass. You can’t get out of the cookie thing?”

“I would if I could. But my sister will be very hurt, I’ve already pissed off my mom, and Christmas—”

He held up his hand to stop my flow. “I get it. How about I pick you up at your apartment afterward? We’ll go question Kyle then. Axton found his address. He’s very good, your IT buddy. I’m thinking about recruiting him.”

I slapped my palm on his chest. “Don’t you even think about it. Axton controls the force for good. He’d never go over to the dark side.”

Ax returned and carried a red folder. “Miss Scarlet?” I asked.

He grinned. “You got it. Everything about Tammy Amsted.”

“That was Crystal’s real name?” Sullivan asked.

He leaned over my shoulder and read the info. Crystal grew up in St. Louis with her addicted, neglectful mother and a slap happy father who had been to jail three times for domestic assault. They eventually lost custody when Crystal was twelve and she went to live with her grandmother. She’d had a very short, sad life.

Ax also found the trip to California that Martin Mathers had taken. An all-expense, taxpayer-funded trip to some kind of cop conference in L.A.

“I know who owns the Huntingford Motor Lodge,” Sullivan said. He leaned against the kitchen wall and watched me.

“Well?” I asked.

“Her name’s Annabelle Weiner. She’s Stuart’s great aunt. Eighty-three years old. She bought it two years ago.”

“I take it Clay is the real owner?” I asked.

“I would think so, yes.”

“He must have been filming Martin Mathers’ and Crystal’s little Wednesday afternooners.” I pointed a finger at him. “You’re not the only one who has dirt on the police chief. He’s in Clay’s pocket, too.”

Sullivan shrugged. “That’s the risk you take when you make a deal with a dirty cop. Call me after the cookie thing.” He squeezed my shoulder and then headed down to the basement.

“You want some Beer Cheese soup?” Henry asked.

I glanced at my watch. “I have just enough time for a bowl.”

He placed a bowls of hot yellow-orange soup in front of Ax and me. The surface was decorated with a sprig of some kind of herb and it smelled so good. Then he plated up thick slices of homemade bread. If Henry wasn’t the scariest mofo I knew, I’d get him a job at Ma’s.

Twenty minutes later I was on my way to Jacks’ house with two huge plastic containers on the passenger seat next to me. At a red light, I pried open the lid and liberated a cookie. It was chocolate mixed with coffee and equaled heaven.

At my sister’s house, cars filled the drive and spilled out onto the street. With my hands full, I walked up to the front door and pushed the bell with my nose.

These little get-togethers weren’t my fave. My sister’s friends all had kids or were pregnant. Sometimes both. And that’s all they wanted to talk about. Either that or their doctor husbands worked too hard and played too much golf. But, if it made Jacks happy, I’d make an effort.

She answered the door sporting a Santa hat. She took one look at me and froze. “Oh my God, what happened?” She took the containers and handed them off to one of her friends then pulled me into the house and examined me under the foyer chandelier. “What did you do?”

“I had a little fender bender. No biggie.”

She grabbed my chin and tilted my head toward the light. “Did you go to the hospital?”

I pulled my chin from her hand. “I’m fine.”

One of her friends, Marcy something, approached. “You should let my husband take a look at it. Just to make sure there’s no scarring. Let me get you his card.” She examined my forehead.

“Thanks, but really, it’s okay.”

Another woman in a pair of leather black boots stepped out of the living room. “Wow, what happened to you?”

It was going to be a long night.

Jacks hooked her arm through mine and led me to the living room where eleven women stood and gabbled. “Rose is here,” she announced.

One by one, they stopped yakking as they gazed at me in horror. Silence reigned. It was just an ugly knot on my forehead. I didn’t lose an arm, for God’s sake.

“She had a car accident,” Jacks said.

They started talking all at once. ‘How are you? What happened? Is the car totaled? That curve’s always been dangerous.’

I smiled and tried to answer all their questions.

I always felt out of place at these things. My usual strategy was to stay in the corner or ask someone about a recipe. That usually led to a long, boring discussion about how Grandma Mimi always made this cookie, but it was laden with fat …blah, blah.

But this year, here I stood, front and center, banged up and bruised, wearing a faded forest green Hanes For Her t-shirt with a coffee stain over one boob.

Eventually talk settled to the familiar. Kids. Husbands. Christmas vacations.

I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a tray for my cookies. Jacks followed. “That was probably a little overwhelming, huh?”

I smiled. “It was okay. Your friends mean well.”

She grabbed the containers of cookies and we wandered to the dining room. “You couldn’t afford the hospital, could you? I didn’t even think about it until Marcy told you to call her husband. I thought, ‘Rose can’t afford a plastic surgeon.’ You didn’t even go to the emergency room.” She gazed at me with sadness and a hint of disappointment.

I placed Henry’s chocolate cookies on the tray. “I would have gone if I’d been really hurt, Jacks.”

She grabbed my hand. “I want you to do something for me.”

Wary, I pulled my hand from hers and continued stacking cookies. “What?”

“Allen and I want to buy you a car for Christmas. Nothing fancy, just something reliable. I worry about you.”

I knew my sister’s intention wasn’t to make me feel like shit, but it happened all the same. I didn’t need her to take care of me. I wasn’t poor little Rose. I’d chosen my life. It wasn’t perfect. Sometimes it was a crap storm. I had setbacks like everyone else, but I hadn’t taken handouts in the last five years, and I wasn’t about to start now.

“Thanks, but no. I’ll make it on my own.”

“If you change your mind…” She looked down at the platter of cookies. “Did you bake these?”

“No, a friend did. And they’re delicious.”

I snagged a plate and spent the next forty-five minutes chatting and eating finger foods. I wondered when I could break loose without hurting my sis’s feelings. As I listened to two women discuss the merits of a drug-free birth, my butt vibrated.

I sighed with relief. I set down my cup of nog and made my excuses as I moved into the formal living room.

“Hey Dane, what’s up?” I hadn’t heard from him in days. I hoped he was progressing with the case.

“Janelle’s been arrested for the murder of Crystal Waters.”