Roxy, dressed in a short, blue sailor dress, stood with her hands on her hips and stared out the front window. “That’s the new busboy and dishwasher. Since we’re serving lunch now, Jorge got bumped up to assistant cook.”
The new kid didn’t acknowledge me. In fact, he hadn’t lifted his head or stopped moving his thumbs since I first spotted him.
“Who texts this early in the morning? And what are you watching?” I asked Roxy.
“Ma.”
I advanced toward the window. Although it was still dark outside, the restaurant lights illuminated Ma as she wrote on one of those A-frame chalkboards you see outside cafes. LUNCH SPECIAL in hot pink.
Roxy glanced over at me. “What do you think?”
I sighed. “This reminds me of the time she decided we should have cartoon character pancakes. Remember how backed up we got?”
“This will be much worse.”
Ma tucked her chalk into a bucket and dusted off her hands. Taking a few steps backward, she stared at the board and nodded. When she opened the front door, all of the cold December wind blew in with her.
“What do you think about my new sign, toots? Snazzy, huh?” She walked over to the counter. “And I got lunch menus printed up. They’re not laminated or anything yet, but we can start handing them out.”
I took a blue sheet and read it over. “We’re serving Pulled Puck?”
“What?” She grabbed the paper from me. “Those damn printers.” She wadded it up into a ball. “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind. We’ll just have to tell the customers what we’re serving.” She gathered up her stack of menus and stomped into the kitchen.
“Yeah, this is way worse than cartoon pancakes,” I said.
By the time the early crowd started rolling in, I forgot all about the new menu. Ma fluttered from table to table, telling everyone to come back for lunch. The regulars got into lengthy discussions about the change.
New Kid was nowhere to be found, so Roxy and I bussed the tables ourselves. Finally at ten, things slowed down a bit. They’d pick up again once the church crowd descended, but in the meantime, Jorge placed an omelet on the counter and set a cinnamon roll in front of Roxy.
“Ma’s going nuts in there.” He waved his tattoo-covered arm toward the kitchen. “She made enough pork to serve two hundred people. We only seat forty-five. I don’t mind the extra hours though.”
“Me, too,” I said. I could always use the extra money. And now that I didn’t have a freaking car, I needed it more than ever. It still pissed me off someone stole it right across from the police station. That had a certain brass balls quality to it I didn’t appreciate. “By the way, congrats on the promotion.”
Jorge lifted a shoulder. “It’s not much different. That kid hid in the pantry and texted all morning.”
Ma hit the swinging door and the tangy smell of barbeque poured out of the kitchen. “Ma’s Diner is about to serve lunch for the first time ever, people. Get ready.”
My stomach growled and I gobbled up my omelet.
By eleven, people were still ordering breakfast, just like always, but Ma kept pushing the pork. She handed out free samples and even had a few takers. But by one, our usual closing time, we only had two customers left, and they were stragglers who decided to linger over coffee.
“Damn,” Ma said. “We’ve got to get the word out about lunch. I’m going to have to come up with another marketing plan.” She stalked back to the kitchen.
I texted Ax and told him to come by the diner. He showed up fifteen minutes later, his ubiquitous backpack balanced on one shoulder.
“You ready for the best pulled puck you’ve ever had?” I asked.
“Sounds good.”
I put in his order brought him a soda. “Any info on Asshat?” Since the diner was empty, I pulled out a chair and sat across from him.
Ax unwrapped his straw and stuck it in his glass. “Divorced from Janelle. No visible means of income. No unemployment checks. And no money trail. Sorry. But I do have his address.” He handed me a Post-it note. “And Freddy Libra owns The Bottom Dollar. Pays his taxes on time, owns a three-bedroom home on the decent side of town and a vintage Mustang. Which is pretty awesome. Dude owns a strip club and a Mustang? He must live in poon city, man.”
I shuddered. “I’m getting a visual I don’t want. Did you find anything on Crystal?”
“She’s on my to do list. I’m going to have a hard time calling her Crystal, though. I’m used to Chicken Licker.”
“Thanks for helping out, Ax. Let me check on your order.” At the pass thru window, I scooped up a plate full of pork, beans, and a thick slice of cornbread covered in melting butter and slid it in front of him.
Ax took a bite and nodded. “This pulled puck rocks.”
I grinned. “I’ll be sure to tell Ma.”
I took care of the stragglers and bussed the tables once they left. Roxy cleaned the restrooms. So far, New Kid had been useless.
When Ax finished eating, I waved the check and handed him a sack of leftover donuts for the road.
“I’ll call you when I get more info,” he said and left.
By three, the diner was empty and had been for over an hour. Ma was in a snit.
“It’s those damn menus. If only I could have passed them out, we’d have had takers, I just know it.” She peered at Roxy through her trifocals. “While Rose and I finish clean up, you drive down the street. Go into Rudy’s and look at a menu.”
I rubbed her shoulder. “Ma, this is ridiculous. Rudy’s sucks. We’re Ma’s Diner. Nobody’s going to give Rudy the time of day.”
She glared at me. “You don’t know the first thing about being a businesswoman, toots. You’ve got to know your competition. Roxy, get me that menu.”
Roxy rolled her eyes and grabbed her coat. “I’m on it.”
Chapter 6
After work, Roxy and I decided to check out Asshat’s house. Maybe we could find some info about that money he’d been flashing around.
We drove south to a low-rent neighborhood on a dead end street. Asshat’s tiny house sat toward the back edge of the property and was surrounded by a chain link fence and overgrown hedges. Brown, patchy bald spots and six cars in various states of disrepair covered the large yard. Some were missing doors and hoods. Three old Pontiacs, two Hondas, and one Toyota sat like my nephew, Scotty’s, little toy cars. Except his had wheels.
“What’s with the cars?” I asked.
Roxy popped her gum. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
We approached the house and I sidestepped a broken lamp. Roxy jumped over a large wall clock with a silhouette of a naked girl—like the kind you see on mud flaps. And we came to a stop in front of an upside-down coffee table that sat cockeyed near the front porch.
“I think this was Janelle’s handiwork,” I said.
“She’s got some serious upper body strength to flip that coffee table,” Roxy said.
As we made our way to the back of the house, I withdrew four latex gloves from my pocket. I’d lifted them from the diner and figured Ma wouldn’t mind.
Roxy looked at me with respect. “You came prepared for mischief. I’m impressed.”
She pulled an Allen wrench and a bent paperclip out of her purse. The fact that she had these items didn’t even faze me. A few weeks ago I’d been wary of Roxy’s mad breaking and entering skills. But I’d gotten used to it, just like I had the blue hair and her wacky fashion sense.
“Let’s do it,” she said with a grin. She loved this shit, lived for it. After jimmying the lock for a few seconds, the door swung open. “How long did that take?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t timing you.”
“You’d never make it as a criminal, Rose. Timing is everything.”
I walke
d into the house. “Oh, God.” I held a hand over my face. The kitchen reeked like old garbage. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink and dried, hardened food was cooked onto the avocado green stovetop.
Roxy wrinkled her nose. “I call dibs on the living room.”
As she tromped off, I searched the filthy kitchen. The fridge contained moldy crap and beer. Nothing but a sack of ice in the freezer. The rusty metal cabinets yielded a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter.
“Nothing in the kitchen.” I walked into the living room and took in the broken plasma screen and the leopard print curtains—half torn, half hanging. Janelle must have been beyond pissed to do all this damage.
“Nothing in here, either,” Roxy said.
My gaze drifted down to the blood-soaked tan rug where Asshat bled out. Looking at it made me queasy, so I quickly averted my eyes. “I’ll hit the bathroom.”
Roxy followed me down the hall. “Yep, I’ll take the bedroom.”
I flipped on the light and almost turned it back off. The bathroom was even more disgusting than the kitchen. Tiny and covered with once-white tile, it held a chipped pedestal sink, a tub full of mildew, and even dirtier toilet.
“Asshat has a real thing for leopard print,” Roxy yelled. “Eww, even his underwear.”
“Don’t want to know,” I called back. I popped open the medicine cabinet. Body spray, toiletries, and aspirin. I glanced at the toilet and with one finger, dropped the lid.
I took a deep breath and lifted the lid off the toilet tank. “Rox, I found something.”
She stood in the bathroom doorway. “Me, too. Lots of receipts for jewelry—a watch, a gold chain, a man’s diamond ring.”
I shrugged out of my coat and handed it to her, then shoved up the sleeve of my baby blue t-shirt, and reached into the water, pulling out a Ziploc bag from the bottom of the tank. I tossed it in the sink and stripped the glove from my hand.
Roxy stepped further into the room. “What’s in it?”
“Let’s find out.” I pried the wet bag apart and removed two sheets of paper with precise handwriting and several four by six photos. As I flipped through the pics, my heart thumped in my chest. “Shit.”
She peeked over my shoulder. “Who is that?”
“Sullivan.”
“Oh, my God. I figured he was hot, but he’s haught.” She grabbed a picture out of my hand.
The photos—there were ten—were taken at different locales. I scanned the handwritten pages. “Look at this, it lists his home address. Monday at home—four a.m. to one p.m. Lunch at Pantorelli’s—one-twelve p.m. to two-eighteen p.m. Met with two unidentified men. Left by the back door.” On and on it went, giving detailed information of Sullivan’s movements for the last two weeks.
I glanced up at Roxy. “Was Asshat following Sullivan? Why?”
“Maybe somebody hired him. Maybe that’s where the money came from.”
I took another glance around the filthy bathroom. “Let’s get out of here.”
I dropped Roxy off at Ma’s so she could pick up her car, then I went home and changed. I stuck some ramen noodles in the microwave and stood at the counter of my kitchenette, looking over the photos once more. What kind of trouble was Sullivan in? Who would be watching him, recording his every move? My first inclination was to call him and demand some answers, but I knew he’d never give me any. Same old, same old. I needed more info before I talked to him.
My phone rang and I tucked the pictures in my purse before I answered.
“Hey, Jacks. What’s up?”
“Just wanted you to know, Mom’s on a bit of a tear. She was kind of upset that you sneaked out of the party last night.” My sister, mistress of the understatement.
“What else is new?”
“Listen, she’s going to call and be all ‘grrr,’ but I don’t want the two of you getting into another kerfuffle.”
“Jacks, are you eighty?”
“What?”
“You just used the phrase on a tear and the word kerfuffle. No one under Ma’s age uses that word. Ever.” I grabbed a spoon from the drawer.
“Just don’t get into it with her. Please? It’s almost Christmas and I want everyone to be on their best behavior. Think of Scotty.”
Right, Christmas. And I did adore Scotty. The little man stole my heart the second he was born. I sighed. “Fine.”
“So what’s going on with you?” she asked. “We didn’t get a chance to talk.”
“Well, Janelle’s in jail and my car was stolen.”
“Is Janelle your friend from school? What’s she doing in jail? And why didn’t you tell me about your car? You know the same thing happened to my maid, Maria. She came out of the grocery store and her car was gone.”
“Yes, I know Janelle from school, but she’s innocent. And what kind of car did Maria drive?”
“I don’t know. An old, silver car.”
“That’s not a lot of help, Jacks. I’ve got to go. I’m cooking.” I opened the microwave before it could ding and gave my noodles a stir.
“Call me later? And be nice to Mom. It’s Christmas.”
The next morning at the diner, Ma was in fine form. Giddy, almost.
“Look at these new menus,” Ma said and handed me a laminated bright orange sheet of paper. The color made my eyes water.
“Spaghetti, chicken fried steak, grilled cheese? Did you steal this menu directly from Rudy?” I asked.
“All’s fair in love and business. He doesn’t have a copyright on Texas toast.”
Roxy walked out of the kitchen and tied an apron around her waist. “Who doesn’t have a copyright?”
I handed one of the sheets to Roxy. “She stole Rudy’s menu and is using it as her own.”
“Ma, why the bright orange?” she asked.
“I wanted everybody to see it. It’s part of my two-pronged marketing plan.”
Again with the marketing plan? “Ma, what about your book club and bunko and casino nights? Isn’t all this cooking and marketing going to cut into that?”
“I’ve been in this business a long time, toots. And nobody is going to horn in on my territory. First it’ll be Rudy. He thinks I’m easy pickings because I’m old. Then some fly-by-night place will try the same thing. It’s best to end this now. I serve the breakfast in this town.” She shoved a finger at her bony chest. “Me and the chain restaurants. Nobody else.” She marched back to the kitchen.
Roxy and I exchanged a glance, then got busy prepping the diner. New Kid shuffled around with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey, so like, when do we get a break?” he asked.
“We don’t,” I said. “If it’s busy, we work.”
“And if there’s a lull, we work,” Roxy said.
“Isn’t that against my rights or something?”
Roxy stepped into his personal zone. “Don’t piss me off, New Kid. Go find something to do.”
He sighed and shuffled away.
“Where the hell did Ma dig him up?” I asked.
“No idea.”
We flipped the open sign at six, unlocked the door, and let the customers in.
I really needed to see Janelle today, but jail visiting hours were from eight to one. I almost hated to ask Ma for time off, since she was in war mode, but it was important.
“Ma?” I asked tentatively after I filled an order for the table in back. “I was wondering if I could run out and see Janelle this morning?”
“Yeah, but hurry back. I’ve got a special job for you.”
That sounded ominous. “What kind of special job?”
She had a wily smile on her face. “Oh, you’ll see, toots. You’ll see.”
I left at nine and drove to the police station. The weather was cold, but clea
r. White clouds streaked across a bright blue sky and the brisk wind tossed brown leaves across the street.
I was frisked and walked through a metal detector before being led to the same small room as before. When Janelle shuffled in, she looked worse than ever. She nibbled at her dry, chapped lips, two of her fingernails had popped off, and that orange jumpsuit made her appear washed out. When the officer unlocked her cuffs, she rotated her wrists and sat across from me.
“Have you seen the kids?”
“I saw Sherise Friday night. She misses you, but Sondra’s taking good care of them.”
“What about bail?” she asked. “Did you talk to Tariq?”
“He doesn’t have it. Neither does Sondra.”
Janelle dropped her head into her hands. When she looked up, her eyes were red. “I need to get out of here.” She flattened her hands on the table. “I need Dane to get me out of here. He says the prosecution has a watertight case. I keep telling him I didn’t do it. Rose, I thought he was supposed to help me.”
“I’m going to help you.” I whipped out my notebook and pen. “Now tell me everything you can about Asshat, who his friends are. I’ll question everyone I can. By the way, what do you know about Chicken Licker? Do you know where she lives?”
Janelle raised a brow. “I may have driven by a time or two. And there’s your suspect. He was cheating on her, too.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s what he does. He cheats. He couldn’t keep his dick in his pants if somebody paid him.”
“Do you know who he was cheating with?”
“No, but ask his brother, Little Donnell. He may know. And his friend, Marcus Walker. But watch out for Marcus. He’s shady.” She gave me addresses for everyone, but without her phone, which the police had in custody, she couldn’t remember phone numbers.
“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out,” I said. “What about his sister, Roshanda?”
Janelle told me her address. “But you may have an easier time catching her at work. She’s a vet tech for Huntingford Animal Clinic. Works from six to six.”
2 Last Diner Standing Page 5
