“I believe you, Janelle,” I said.
She uncrossed her arms. “You got to get me out of here, Mr. Fancypants Lawyer. I’ve got two kids to take care of and Christmas is less than three weeks away. I can’t be stuck in here.” She waved her hand around the room, little rhinestones flashed on her yellow acrylic fingernails.
Dane pulled a paper from his briefcase. “I need you to sign this so I can officially represent you. I’m giving you a discount, since you’re Rose’s friend.” He slid me a look. “But I’ll still have to charge one hundred an hour.”
Janelle’s eyes popped. “Do I look like I have one hundred dollars an hour?”
“Janelle, it’s a huge discount,” I said. “Maybe she could pay in installments?” I raised my brows at Dane.
He closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. “All right. And you don’t have to hire me, Ms. Johnson, but I warn you, court appointed attorneys? You get what you pay for.”
She sighed. “Fine. Give me the damn pen.” She slashed her signature on the dotted line. “Now what about getting me out of here?”
“You have a bail hearing set for Monday morning. Can you get some money together? You’ll need to come up with ten percent, which might be anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand. Depends on the judge.”
She threw up her hands. “You got to be fucking kidding me. Is my last name Trump or something?”
“What about Sondra or Tariq?” I asked. Tariq was Janelle’s other cousin, the one who danced on the wrong side of legal.
“Yeah, Tariq might have it. Can you call him for me?” She rattled off his number which I put into my phone.
“By the way,” I asked, “who told you about Asshat’s recent windfall?”
“His sister, Roshanda. We still keep in touch.”
We stood to leave, but I glanced back at my friend. “Two questions. Who else wanted Asshat dead and where did he get all that money?”
Janelle stood while the officer placed a hand on her arm. “Anyone who’s ever met him and I don’t have a clue. Maybe you could check it out for me? When Axton went missing, you found him. Will you find out who put Asshat in a coma?”
I hesitated. I’d had my fill of danger when I went looking for Axton. I was a boring girl now and that’s the way I liked it.
“Please, Rose. I got to take care of my kids and I can’t do that behind bars.”
I looked into her worried eyes. “Okay.” How could I say no?
The officer led her away and I felt the weight of Dane’s gaze. I knew he had an opinion about my getting involved, but for now he was keeping it to himself and I appreciated his restraint.
“Can you find out exactly what happened last night?” I asked him.
He sighed and squeezed my shoulder. “Sure. After I’ve examined the police report, I’ll call you with the details.”
We made our way out of the building and I waved as I walked to my car—an old piece of crap Toyota that was made when ’N Synch ruled the world. One problem. It wasn’t there. I looked up and down the street, but my car was gone.
Well, shit.
Chapter 2
I called Ma to let her know my car had vanished, then trudged back into the police station to make a report. After the debacle with Axton two months ago, and Janelle’s recent troubles, I had zero confidence in the police. But what else was I going to do?
A very handsome, dark-haired man in a uniform stood at the front desk. The name tag above his right breast pocket read Officer Mike Goedecker. He smiled, his eyes drifting over my face. “May I help you?”
“I hope so. My car was stolen.”
His face was a mask of sympathy and he leaned closer to the glass partition that divided us. “That really sucks. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
I opened my mouth to give him my info when Officer Andre Thomas, or Officer Hard Ass as I not-so-affectionately referred to him, stepped around the corner. When he spotted me, I froze like an ice sculpture with my mouth wide open, and watched, helpless, as he strode toward me like the former military man he probably was.
“Miss Strickland. I can’t say I’m surprised to see you here again. What kind of trouble are you in now?”
Officer Goedecker jumped in. “Her car was stolen, sir.”
Andre peered at me through frameless glasses, his hazel eyes cold and appraising.
“I know,” I held up a hand, “somehow, some way, I brought this on myself.”
Ignoring my snark, he pivoted on his heel and strode down the hall. “Follow me,” he barked.
I gave one last look of longing at the nice cop and grudgingly straggled behind Officer Hard Ass through a cubicle maze to his depressingly gray corner. I glanced at his padded walls. They were bare except for one framed diploma and a newspaper clipping with a photo of himself and Police Chief Martin Mathers, a handsome, trim man in his fifties, standing side by side at a gala.
Mathers may have sworn to uphold the law in this town, but he was far from squeaky. I’d recently learned he liked illegal gambling. A lot. And owed thousands to the number one criminal in Huntingford.
“When did you last see your car?” He punched at his keyboard.
“An hour ago. Outside the police station.”
I pointed at the clipping. “The two of you seem very chummy. Must be nice to have friends in high places.”
Officer Thomas glanced up at me. “Make and model?”
“Ninety-seven Toyota Camry.”
“Miss a payment?”
I scoffed. “I don’t have payments.”
“License number?”
I rattled it off.
He tapped away and his printer spit out a form. “Here you go.” He handed me a copy of the report.
“You’re not even going to look for it, are you?”
“We’ll be on the lookout, but most likely you’ll never see it again. Older Toyotas are a prime target for choppers. As I’m sure you know, parts for older cars are hard to find.”
So I’d never see my crapmobile again. Or the gray hoodie I’d tossed in the backseat. Or the ten dollar bill I’d stuck in the ashtray. “Thanks a bunch, Officer Thomas.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Miss Strickland.”
As I made my way outside, I called my bud, Axton.
“Hello, Rose. How are you this fine a.m.?”
“Carless. It was stolen right outside the police station.”
“Bummer. Want me to pick you up?”
“Will I get you into trouble?”
“Trouble’s my middle name,” he said. “On my way.”
Trouble was not his middle name. Not even close. Axton Fuller Graystone. I kid you not.
The December morning was bright and cold. I shivered in my thrift store wool coat and headed over to the coffee stand on the corner. Lights had been strung up on the lamp poles since Thanksgiving and huge banners that read Happy Huntingford Holidays were draped between buildings.
I wasn’t feeling very Christmasy this year. Could have been the fact I had very little money to shop with. Maybe I was just in a funk. Or a wacky combination of both, but either way, I was missing the joy of the season. Bah humbug and all that. And my parents’ annual Christmas party was tonight. That certainly didn’t put me in a yuletide mood.
I ordered a small hot chocolate and paid with my tip money. As I waited for the chocolate to cool, I called Janelle’s cousin, Tariq. He told me to meet him at his office on the corner of Oak Tree and Alder after work.
While I waited for Axton, I strolled the streets, glancing in store windows. Pretty party dresses and accessories filled the window of one store. An elaborate train track with bridges and a miniature town filled another. My nephew Scotty would love that.
A blue Honda pulled up bes
ide me. In a nod to the season, Ax had tied a live wreath with a red bow on the front of his car. I hopped in and smiled. “Thanks for the ride.”
I handed him my hot chocolate and he took a sip. A black knit cap covered his dishwater blond waves and he’d jauntily tied a neon green scarf around his neck. When he saw me shiver, he turned up the heat.
“No prob, Bob. Not much going on today anyway. Just checking for porn violators.” Axton worked in the IT department at Huntingford City College. “Professors are the worst offenders. And you should see the crap they’re into. Some of it’s creepy and a little weird. So, your car got lifted, huh?”
“Yep.”
“What are you gonna do?” He handed the hot chocolate back to me and pulled away from the curb.
Right now, I couldn’t afford to replace it. “I’ll probably bus pass it for now.”
“Waiting for the bus blows. Just take my car.”
“Ax—”
“I’ll use Stoner Joe’s truck. Dude rarely leaves the house. And I can get a ride home from work tonight. No worries.”
“Are you sure?” I glanced over and smiled. “Thanks.”
“So why were you at the police station in the first place?”
As we drove to the college, I told him about Janelle’s situation and Asshat’s coma.
“Bummer for Janelle. Hope they catch the real dude soon.”
“Me, too.” But I wasn’t hopeful. Why would the police look for another suspect when they had such a tidy one in Janelle?
At the college, Ax hopped out of the car and I jumped in the driver’s seat. “Thanks again, Ax,” I called and drove off to the diner.
Inside, every table was full and Roxy ran around, refilling coffee cups, taking orders. When she saw me, she pulled me aside and stuck her pad in her apron pocket. “Your car got stolen outside the police station? The criminals in this town must be trembling.”
“I know.” I tilted my chin at Ma. “What’s up?” Ma sat at the counter with her back to the customers as she scribbled away on a legal pad.
“She’s all pissy because Rudy’s serving breakfast. She’s planning revenge.”
Oh dear. I shrugged out of my jacket and tucked it and my purse behind the counter and got to work. When one o’clock rolled around, Roxy flipped the closed sign.
Once our last customer left, Ma lifted her head and peered at us through the bottom half of her glasses. “Listen to this, girls, I’ve got what they call a marketing plan. We’re going to throw some new things on the menu. Hamburgers, chicken fingers, pot roast. And we’re going to stay open until three. We’ll see how Mr. Rudy likes them apples.”
I propped myself against the counter. “Ma, I don’t think Rudy’s really going to keep up with the breakfast business. And even if he does, I’m sure he won’t steal away our loyal customers.”
“We’re not going to get a chance to find out. This is a dog eat dog business, toots, and I’ll be damned if he’s going pee on my territory.”
“So when do we start?” Roxy asked, moving the wad of gum from one side of her mouth to the other.
“Tomorrow. Rudy’s already got a jump on us, girls. We need to catch up.”
“What does Ray have to say about all this?” I asked. Ma’s son owned half the business and did all the cooking. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the changes.
“Doesn’t matter. Whose name’s on the front this place?” She pointed to the door.
Actually, no one’s name was on the door. Or the building. No signage at all, in fact.
“Rose, where’d you go this morning? I’m going to need all hands on deck for this new menu plan.”
“Janelle’s in jail and my car was stolen.”
“Right, I forgot. Let me know if she needs anything.” She grabbed her legal pad and her purse. “Okay, I’m off to the warehouse store. That Rudy’s going to be sorry he decided to tangle with me.”
She power-walked out of the diner and Roxy and I commenced with clean up. I scrubbed down and she swept.
“What are you going to do for a car?”
“Axton’s letting me borrow his.” I swiped a rag over a table and glanced up. “Janelle asked me to look into this situation with Asshat, so I’m meeting Tariq after work. Want to come?” Roxy and Tariq had met once before. It was lust at first sight.
She dropped the broom handle and it clattered against the floor. “Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me before now? I’m a mess.”
Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his too big jeans, Tariq leaned against the back bumper of his car and watched us drive up. Tariq was a purveyor of used goods. Basically, he sold stolen crap out of his trunk. Today his office was an abandoned gas station in a shabby neighborhood on the south side of town. Huntingford was pretty evenly divided between the have-a-lots and the have-nots. We were in not territory today.
When I pulled to a stop, Tariq walked to Roxy’s door and held it open. “My blue-haired princess.”
As she climbed out, he grabbed her hand and bending over, kissed the back of it.
“Hey, Tariq,” she said. She’d spent thirty minutes in the bathroom, reapplying her makeup and fixing her pigtails. Now her lips were glossy and her eyelids shimmered with metallic shadow.
I walked to his car and peered in the trunk to see what he was selling today. Designer jeans with embroidered back pockets and colorful blouses with recognizable labels.
When I turned back, I found them flirting. Tariq smiled. Roxy coiled her blue hair around one finger and batted her lashes.
“Tariq.” I huddled in my jacket. Earlier the sun was out, but now the sky was overcast and I prayed we wouldn’t have snow. When he ignored me, I said his name again and strode toward him, jerking one of his many tiny braids.
He frowned and rubbed his head. “What are you doing, Rose? A man’s hair is his pride, girl.”
“What about Janelle? Can you post bail?”
“How much does she need?”
“Could be up to fifteen thousand.”
“Sorry, man. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“What about your cousin, Sondra? Can she put up her house or something?”
He scoffed. “Sondra doesn’t own her house. She rents.”
Damn. “So what are we going to do about Janelle?”
“I don’t know, man. But if she whacked Asshat, he deserved it.”
“Nobody’s been whacked. He’s just comatose.” For now anyway.
My phone vibrated. I looked at the number and my heart stuttered.
Sullivan.
Chapter 3
Thomas Malcolm Sullivan. Criminal numero uno in Huntingford. The man who held markers on the most powerful people in town, including the police chief, Martin Mathers.
Despite the cold, my hands felt clammy as I grasped the phone in one hand. I hadn’t seen Sullivan in five weeks, even though he’d called seven times and sent flowers twice. At first, our conversations were short and to the point, but the last two times, we’d spoken for almost half an hour. We never discussed anything too personal, at least he didn’t. Now every time I saw his name on my screen, my pulse sped up.
“Hello.”
“I hear you’re missing a car,” he said.
I stepped away from Roxy and Tariq. “Good news travels fast.”
“Do you need a ride?” His voice was smooth and rich, like that first cup of coffee early in the morning. My brain went to a whole different kind of ride and got stuck there for a moment.
“Well, I do have band practice after school and an appointment with my orthodontist.”
“I’ll take that as a no. How’ve you been holding up?”
“I’m fine and frankly getting pretty tired of people asking me that question every five minutes. I’m
not made of glass. I won’t break.”
Nothing from his end. He liked to pull that crap, long pauses and dramatic silences to make the other person talk first. I waited him out. But I did glance at my phone twice to make sure he hadn’t hung up.
“If you need anything,” he finally said.
“Thanks.” I shoved the phone in my pocket and turned to Tariq and Roxy. He fingered her lacy headband while she giggled.
“Tariq, do you know anyone who’s selling a car?” I asked.
He dropped his hand like he’d burned it and his demeanor changed. Gone was the flirtatious, smooth ladies’ man and in its place was a businessman who sized me up as a potential customer. “Maybe. What type of car you looking for?”
“One that won’t get me pulled over for grand theft auto.”
He stroked his jaw. “How much you want to pay?”
“A couple hundred.”
He started laughing hysterically. “Shit, Rose. You’re funny.” Tears filled his eyes. “A couple hundred.”
I waited until he sobered a bit. “What can you tell me about Asshat? And what’s his real name anyway?”
He wiped his eyes. “Sheik.”
I blinked. “Sheik? Sheik Johnson? Really? Who else would want to bash him on the head besides Janelle?”
“How about all his women? All his friends? All his family? Pretty much anyone who’s ever met the dude.”
Asshat sounded like a real charmer. “What do you mean ‘all his women?’ I thought he only dated Chicken Licker.” She of the infamous eating-a-drumstick-while-getting-it-on-in-Janelle’s-bed incident.
Roxy popped her gum. “I thought he was dating someone named Flat Ass for a while.”
Janelle was going to have to start using real names instead of physical descriptions.
“Yeah, he fu…dates a lot. He was living with Chicken Licker for a while. But she kicked his ass to the curb.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Hell if I know,” Tariq said.
I dug a pen and small note pad from my purse. “Okay, Tariq, names please. Let’s start with Chicken Licker.”
2 Last Diner Standing Page 2
