2 Last Diner Standing

by Terri L. Austin

  “Okay, who’s Professor Plum?”

  “Stuart Weiner. That, by the by, is the least pimp ass name ever,” he said.

  “I concur.” I flipped through his stats. “Mmm, Stuart’s done hard time. Manslaughter, assault with bodily harm.” I glanced up from Stuart’s mug shot. “Didn’t Marcus do a stint in prison?”

  Ax flipped through the green folder. “Mr. Green, aka Marcus Walker, served thirteen months of a two-year stint from June twenty-oh-one to July twenty-oh-two. Leavenworth.” He glanced up at me. “Good memory.”

  “Stuart was there at the same time. Coincidence?”

  Ax shrugged. “Possibly. Stuart spent a total of fourteen years in the hoosegow. Probably did time with a lot of people.

  “And the only thing I found on Brent Crandall was a charge of vandalism on Crystal’s car. Apparently, they got in a big fight and he busted the headlights on her Camaro.”

  I finished gobbling my roast and slathered honey butter on a still warm biscuit.

  Ax rubbed his hands together. “Guess what Henry made for dessert? Chocolate pie. From scratch. I’m going to be sad when that dude leaves.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Wish I’d left room. I’m stuffed. Tell Sullivan I couldn’t stay. I’m heading to Fit and Flex before they close. See if I can find Crystal’s boyfriend, Kyle. Diane said they were hot and heavy during workouts.”

  “Will do. I’d go with, but I promised Joe I’d make some more brownies tonight,” Ax said.

  I washed my dishes and left them drying in the rack by the sink. In the living room, Henry sat next to Stoner Joe on the sofa, watching a Law and Order repeat. The blinking Yoda Christmas lights edged around the window caught my eye. When Ax said he loved Christmas, he wasn’t kidding.

  “Thanks for dinner, Henry, it was great.”

  He twisted around. “Did you get a piece of pie?”

  “Next time,” I said.

  I glanced at Stoner Joe who was practically catatonic. I poked him in the arm and he didn’t respond.

  “Ax,” I called.

  He stepped into the room as he unwrapped a stick of butter. “Yeah?”

  “Take it easy with the brownies. I’m not sure Joe’s brain can handle much more.”

  “Will do, Rosie.”

  Chapter 24

  Fit and Flex had its own freestanding building next to the library. The large, foggy plate glass window was trimmed in silver garland and as I peered inside, I didn’t see any flabby people working out. Truth in advertising.

  Nautilus equipment filled the middle of the room. Treadmills and ellipticals lined the walls. The mingling smells of sweat and pine-scented air freshener weren’t pleasant.

  I walked to the desk situated between the locker rooms, where a tanned guy with overdeveloped muscles smiled at me. “Hey there. I’m Zeke, how can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Kyle.”

  He peered around the room. “Did you have an appointment?”

  “No, I just wanted to chat with him for a sec.”

  “Well, we’ve got a special holiday discount. We’ll get you into shape for the New Year. New Year, new you.”

  “Maybe next year, next me.”

  He shrugged, running his glance over me with a look of disappointment. Thanks to my mother, I was immune to that look.

  “Kyle’s probably working out. Walk around, you’ll find him.” Since I didn’t know what Kyle looked like, that might be a problem.

  I weaved my way through the equipment, caught admiring glances from two guys on the treadmills. Suck on that, Zeke.

  I finally spied a man in his late twenties with spiked blond hair performing butterfly presses. Thick muscles layered his arms and legs and fat veins trailed across his skin like highway lines on a road map. The guy from Crystal’s framed picture.

  “Kyle?” I asked. He looked like he was in the zone—eyes closed, jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line. When he opened his eyes, bright blue irises stood out in contrast to his tanned face.

  “Yeah,” he said, continuing to bring his arms together, blocking his face from view every other second.

  “I need to talk to you about Crystal Waters.”

  He stopped. “Who are you?”

  I offered my hand. “I’m Jane.”

  He grasped it for a brief shake. “What’s this about?”

  I swiveled my head and took in the men and women watching us. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

  He grabbed a white hand towel and rubbed his face with it. “Sure.” He led the way through the machines, toward the back of the building to a small office. He gestured at the sofa while he grabbed a Gatorade from the small fridge in the corner, twisted off the cap, and took a long pull on the neon blue liquid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How do you know Crys?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me the same thing. I know the two of you were a couple.”

  Laughing, he shifted his eyes to the floor, his shoulders shaking. “Crys and I aren’t together. I’m gay. She and I…we’re complicated. But what does this have to do with you?”

  It dawned on me that this guy was talking about Crystal in the present tense. He didn’t know she was dead. Had the police not gotten around to questioning him yet? And how the hell was I supposed to break the news?

  I took a deep breath and looked at his Adam’s apple, unable to meet his gaze. “Kyle, I don’t know how to tell you this.” I swallowed and forced my eyes to his. “Crystal’s dead.”

  He laughed again. “What?” His gaze darted over my face. “What?” he asked, soberly this time.

  “The police found her body. She was murdered.”

  He slammed the bottle on the desk. “What are you talking about? Crys isn’t dead. I talked to her two days ago.”

  I stood. Guilt and sympathy flooded me. “I’m so sorry.” I turned to go, but he caught me by the arm and drew me back. I winced at his tight grip.

  “No, you’re going to tell me what happened. Crystal’s dead? How? Why? Why didn’t the police call me?”

  I pulled away and he let me go.

  “The police came by to question my friend, Janelle Johnson, about Crystal. Apparently, they found Crystal’s body, but I’m not sure about any of the particulars.” Liar. I could have reported her death Friday, but I didn’t. Now that I saw the pain in this man’s eyes, I felt terrible.

  “Can you tell me about the men she was dating?”

  “Janelle Johnson?” he asked, shaking his head. “Sheik’s ex-wife?” He seemed in shock. I wasn’t sure what to do for him.

  I took his arm. “Why don’t you sit down?” He let me lead him to the sofa.

  “I can’t believe it. Dead? Are you sure? Did that Janelle have something to do with it? Did she kill Crys?” He looked up at me, anger coloring his features, turning his tanned cheeks deep red.

  “No, I swear to you she didn’t. I want to find out why Crystal was killed. I want to know who she was dating and why she was asking Freddy Libra about money the other night.”

  He blinked up at me. “You know about the money?”

  I nodded. “I know Sheik had a bunch of cash he was tossing around and after he was bashed on the head, the money went missing.”

  He swallowed. “I know where it is.”

  Now it was my turn for shock. “What?”

  He nodded. “Crystal gave me a bag full of it, found it in the trunk of one of those cars Sheik has on his lawn. She told me to hide it. She said Sheik had stolen it.” The cars, of course. They were so broken down, it never occurred to me Asshat might have hidden the money in one of them.

  It hit me then—if Roxy and I had found the money, would we have ended up dead in the trunk of a car? I shivered at the thought.


  “Kyle, you have to turn that money over to the police. First Sheik was bashed in the head and now Crystal’s dead. Whoever wants that money isn’t afraid to kill for it.”

  “I promised I wouldn’t give it to anyone but her. I’m not sure what she would want me to do.”

  “Who did Sheik steal the money from?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.”

  I parked myself in front of him, crossing my legs. “All right, let’s start at the beginning. How did you know Crystal?” I reached into my purse and pulled out my notebook.

  “Her name wasn’t really Crystal Waters. She was my sister, well, half-sister. We shared a dad. He was a bastard. I didn’t know about Crys until two years ago, when she showed up and said we were related.”

  “What was her real name?”

  “Tammy Amsted. She changed it to something she thought was peaceful.” Tears filled his blue eyes. “Now she’s dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” He wiped at his eyes. “Okay, what else do you want to know?”

  “Who was she dating?”

  “Crys needed men’s attention, you know? I didn’t blame her for that. It was how she was raised. Her mother was a drug addict and our dad, well, like I said, he was a bastard. He beat the crap out of me and my mom until he left. But Crys…he did more than that to her.”

  “She was seeing Martin Mathers?”

  I didn’t want to throw his name out there. Like saying Voldemort or something, but I needed to know everything Kyle knew.

  “Yeah. I warned her about that. Police chief, married. But she claimed he loved her. He paid her bills, gave her presents, took her on vacation to California last year. But she was also dating Sheik. She actually loved that asshole.”

  “What about Brent Crandall?”

  “That guy’s crazy. He was so jealous of her, pressured her to stop dancing. He even followed me around for a while. Threatened me. Told me to stay away from Crystal or he’d cut my dick off. She broke up with him over that.”

  That put a different spin on things. I’d almost felt sorry for Brent. “Was he abusive to her?” I was just thinking out loud, trying to reason this out.

  Kyle thrust his fingers through his short, blond spikes. “Not physically. Like I said, the guy’s crazy. He would check her phone, follow her around, constantly question her about the other guys she was dating, dancing for. He was possessive and it scared her. Bashed in her car lights one night when she was over at my place. She didn’t want to call the police, but I insisted. Do you think he killed her?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think anything right now. Do you know Clay Davidson? Crystal wasn’t sleeping with him, was she?”

  He shook his head. “Not exactly. She thought he was a creep, but he owns the club, so she always kept him happy, if you know what I mean.”

  “Extras?”

  “Yeah. He expects the girls to have these stupid quotas. That’s how Crys justified what she did. Said she made her quotas that way. But our dad fucked her up. I didn’t judge.”

  “What about Freddy Libra?”

  “She thought Freddy was a joke. He’s not the real owner, you know. Well, he is on paper, but Clay is the man behind the curtain.”

  “What else do you know about Clay?”

  Kyle leaned back and blew out a breath. “Nothing.”

  “And Stuart Weiner?” I asked.

  “Crys mentioned him a couple times. He works for Clay or something?”

  “What about Marcus Walker?” I asked.

  “I met him with Sheik once.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “I told her to get help, you know. Like see a shrink, go to school. She was smart, but she didn’t always act like it.”

  I scribbled off my phone number. “If you think of anything else, call me. And I’m so sorry about your sister, Kyle.”

  “She wasn’t a bad person. She was just messed up. Who isn’t?”

  I stood and slung my purse over my shoulder. “Where are you hiding the money? You don’t have to tell me, in fact, I’m not sure I want to know, but it’s safe, right?”

  “It’s locked away, that’s all I’ll tell you.”

  I left him with his grief.

  Fat snowflakes fluttered in the cold night air and stuck to the ground. I let Axton’s hatchback heat up as I shivered in the front seat. My one cheap glove offered little protection against the freezing steering wheel.

  I ran over the pertinent events in my head, leaving out Vi, the hairdresser, Bank Teller Brenda, and her angry husband, Dave. Sheik stole the money, possibly the hit money to kill Sullivan.

  He was indiscreet, tossed it around at the strip club that Clay owned. Crystal knew he stole it and she wanted her share.

  The next day, Janelle confronts Sheik, and after she leaves, he gets slammed over the head. Sheik’s brother, LD, gets roughed up. Probably because of the missing cash.

  Crystal comes to the club and asks Freddy about the money and leaves with Marcus. Next, she winds up dead, and the only one still around to tell me anything was Marcus. Why was he with Crystal that night?

  And what about Clay? If he was behind the plan to kill Sullivan, how could we get him to leave Sullivan alone?

  The snow started coming faster and I flipped up the speed on the wipers. They pushed at the accumulating snow, carving out a space on the windshields, both front and back. It was piling up quickly and I wanted to get home and get warm. Make a cup of instant cocoa—the kind with the tiny, hardened marshmallows—maybe call Sullivan, bounce some of these ideas off him.

  Carefully and slowly, I pulled out of the parking lot and took the outer road toward home. It was hard not to stare at the snow as it swirled toward me, like some real life snow globe. The street was a narrow two-lane affair that curved down a steep hill next to a tree-filled embankment where the branches turned white with snow.

  The road was deserted except for the bright lights that filled my rearview mirror. Must have been a truck or an SUV because the lights sat up high. I flipped the mirror down to give my eyes some relief, but this jerk didn’t let up.

  What the hell was he doing? The weather conditions were getting worse and instead of easing off, he was right on top of me. I had nowhere to go and needed to brake going into the curve. But he stayed with me, didn’t slow down.

  When he bumped into me, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat. My stomach took a nose dive and my hands shook as I gripped the wheel and pumped the brake.

  He bumped me again, harder this time, causing me to slide toward the embankment. Scared out of my wits and desperate to stay on the road, I spun the wheel, overcorrecting myself and slid sideways into the other lane. Fortunately, it was clear.

  But the truck behind me was playing bumper cars for real. It rammed into me again, from the side this time. Hard. My whole body jerked to the right, straining against the tightened seat belt. My neck wobbled back and forth as I held fast to the steering wheel.

  It pushed at me again, as if I were a hockey puck on the ice. Still in the oncoming lane, I panicked as a car headed up the curve, coming straight for me. I accelerated, tried to get out of the way, wound up sliding toward the car.

  I pumped the brakes again and fishtailed. The oncoming car ran into the driver’s side back panel, forcing the car to spin out at an angle and with enough impact that I slammed the left side of my forehead into the window. Hard.

  After I finally stopped, I touched my head with a shaking hand and gasped in pain.

  Axton’s car was still running, both headlights shone through the night, highlighting the snow. Maybe Axton’s car wasn’t completely totaled.

  I jumped when a man knocked on the car window.

  “Are you okay?” Tall and balding with hipster glasses, he pointed to my head. �
�You’ve got a goose egg forming. You probably need to go to the hospital, just in case.”

  Cold air filled the interior of the car. “I’m fine. I just hope I didn’t bust the car. It’s my friend’s. Mine was stolen.” I realized I was babbling, so I closed my mouth. “Did you see a truck? That truck tried to run me off the road?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the now empty street. “Yeah, kind of. I wasn’t paying much attention as it drove off. I was more worried about you.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “Dark. Sorry, I didn’t think to get a license plate or anything. Sure I can’t take you to the hospital?”

  “No, thanks. Hopefully the car’s in good enough shape to get me home.”

  “Do you want me to call you an ambulance? You might have a concussion.”

  I couldn’t afford an ambulance. “I’ll be fine.”

  We quickly exchanged insurance info. I assumed I was at fault for being in his lane, but right then, I didn’t care.

  I rolled up the window and got back on the road. I said a prayer of thanks that Axton’s car still worked. It took me forty-five minutes and I drove about ten miles an hour, but I managed to make it home.

  By the time I got to my apartment, my head was killing me. I called Ax and gave him the bad car news.

  “Jeez, I don’t care about the car. Let me take you to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine, it’s just a bruise. I’m so sorry, Ax.”

  After I hung up, I went to the bathroom to assess the damage. Damn, I looked like a mutant. A large, purple, misshapen lump protruded over my left eyebrow. Perfect.

  I stripped and threw on sweats, popped two generic Tylenol, and curled up on the futon. Leaving the lights on, I drifted off. An hour later, a knock at my door woke me up.

  Chapter 25

  Feeling disoriented, my head still pounding, I checked the peephole before I opened the door to Sullivan.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.