Her eyes met mine in the mirror. “It’s been like that for the last month. The doctor thinks it’s from stress. I’m not keeping much food down and I don’t sleep well.”
I readjusted the extensions, fixing her hair as best I could. “I don’t understand why you’re putting yourself through all this. Your health is more important than showing up for these stupid club events. And you’re vomiting blood. That’s not normal.” Surely if her husband gave a crap about her, he’d insist she stay home, at least until she felt better.
Annabelle stood and faced me. “I just bit my tongue, hence the blood. Please don’t worry. Once the police find that girl’s real killer, things will calm down.”
I couldn’t keep the frown off my face. Every instinct I had wanted to protect this woman.
She patted my shoulder. “Dear Rosalyn, you’ve been so kind. I don’t expect you to understand. This has been my life for the last nineteen years. Martin is counting on me. My family is counting on me.” She turned toward the mirror and after one final glance at herself, grabbed the comb and walked out of the room.
I watched her leave, not knowing where this need to protect her was coming from. She wasn’t a victim in her life, she was an active participant. Nevertheless, she had my sympathy. Her life was a crapfest right now and she was so stressed out, she was losing her hair.
I stared at my fingers. Just thinking about touching that hair had me skeeved. As three women entered the lounge, settling themselves in front of the mirrors, I zipped through to the other room and washed my hands. Twice.
Then I checked my own reflection before strolling back to the dining room and navigated my way to our table. I smiled at Jacks and pulled out my chair to sit, but looking down there was nothing but empty space where my plate used to be. “Did my food run off?”
Barbara would have raised a brow at me, but her facial muscles had been botoxed into oblivion. “Since we didn’t know if or when you’d be coming back, we had the waiter remove your plate.” She pushed back from the table and stood. My father and Allen quickly followed suit. Aiming a glare in my direction, she tossed her napkin down and like a queen, strode to the doorway.
My dad grimaced. “Sorry, Rosalyn. You know how your mother feels...phone calls during dinner…” He shoved his hands in his pockets and loped off after her.
Jacks pressed her lips together. “This is how it always ends. Mom storming off with dad following behind.”
She’d just now figured that out? And she wondered why I stayed clear of these lovely family gatherings.
“We’d better join your parents.” Allen offered his arms to Jacks and me. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you two ladies to the ballroom?”
The only thing worse than a middle school mixer was a country club dance. Well, not worse. More boring. And less crying in the locker room. Still, not the way I wanted to spend a Saturday night.
When I felt a tap on my shoulder, I twisted around to find Dane Harker standing behind me. Dimpled and adorable, Dane, my grade school classmate, had reentered my life a few months ago. We’d shared a couple of dates and a handful of kisses. I suspected he wanted more, but while he was charming and handsome and everything my parents could wish for in a son-in-law, he was firmly stuck in my friend zone.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked.
“Love to.”
The band played a jazzy instrumental. He led me to the dance floor and with his hand on the small of my back, Dane guided me in a wide circle.
Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, “What in the world are you doing here?”
I jerked my head back, frowning up at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” It sounded a lot more defensive than I meant for it to. I was feeling a little discombobulated tonight, being here with my family, rubbing elbows with the city’s elite. Tonight, in this dress, with these people, I was Bizarro Rose, playing a part. A part I used to live.
“Sorry, Dane. Didn’t mean to snap at you.”
He grinned and twirled me away from him, before pulling me back. “Don’t be a goof, Rose. I just meant that you hate things like this. So, either your mother has threatened you with bodily harm or you came voluntarily. Which begs the question, why?”
I tucked my head down a notch and slid my eyes over the crowd. “What do you know about Delia Cummings?” I asked softly.
Dane worked for a prestigious law firm as a criminal defense attorney. Right now, he was stuck dealing with rich kids who committed minor offenses, but he aimed higher. And he knew a lot of people in law enforcement. In fact, Dane had introduced me to Officer Andre ‘Hard Ass’ Thomas.
His smile disappeared along with his good mood. “Shit,” he muttered, “not again.” His baby blues scanned my face and he pulled me closer. “Please tell me you are not getting involved in this?”
I met his gaze. “I’m not getting involved in this.”
He heaved a sigh. “Of course you are. Why do I even bother to ask?”
“Did you know her?”
The tune ended and the band played a slower song, a ballad. Dane adjusted his steps to the change in rhythm. “I saw her in passing. I’m not sure I ever said one word to her.”
He danced us to the side of the room where French doors opened onto the patio. With a flick of the handle, he gracefully maneuvered me outside and shut the door behind us. “This is some serious shit, Rose.”
He grabbed my hand and flew down the steps. I matched his pace, but my tired feet resented me for it. Embedded lights lit the path to the pool house. He pulled to a stop at the edge of the brick. I looked back, could see just inside the ballroom. The music and noise were muted and the night seemed unnaturally quiet out here.
“There are rumors,” he said. “I’m not saying they’re true—”
“About Martin Mathers?” I asked.
He ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “You know how to pick them, don’t you? Why? Just tell me that much.”
I thought about bringing Andre’s name into it, but he’d asked for discretion. I didn’t want to get Hard Ass into trouble and I didn’t want to piss him off, thus drying up my well of inside information.
“I’m doing it as a favor for my mom.” I actually said it with a straight face. And it was semi-true. “She’s friends with Annabelle.”
Dane shoved his hands into his pockets. “Your mother,” when he realized he’d raised his voice, he closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths. “Your mother wants you to look into a murder investigation?” he asked, somewhat calmer this time.
“Even crazier, ” I agreed.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not crazy. That’s typical.”
I poked one of the studs on his dinner shirt. “Good one. Now what have you heard? Give me all the dirt.”
He checked his watch. “I have to get back.”
“Oh? Hot date?” I peeked around his shoulder.
“The one with the leopard print dress. She hasn’t stopped texting all night.”
I spied her on the fringe of the crowd, an ash blonde standing at a high table, tapping away on her screen. She was also in her mid-fifties. I eyed him. “Dating someone with a little more life experience, are we?”
“No,” he said. “It’s my boss’s sister-in-law. She’s newly divorced and visiting for two weeks. They didn’t want to leave her at home, although I’m not sure why, she’s been working all night. Even through dinner.”
“You must really want to make junior partner. Since she’s occupado with the cell, you have time to tell me all the rumors about Delia Cummings.” I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. When Dane started removing his jacket, I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
He glanced at his date. “My boss will be looking for me. I’ll call you tomorrow. Let’s have dinner and I’ll tell you everyth
ing I know. I still think this is a big mistake, but I know you don’t give a damn about my opinion.”
Without waiting for my reply, he grasped my elbow and tried to propel me back inside. But just as I started to let him tug me along, David Ashby stepped out onto the porch, an unlit cigar in his hand.
“You go on,” I said, keeping my eyes on Ashby. “Call me.”
His lips tightened. He hesitated, then with a brusque nod, strode into the club.
Ashby watched Dane walk inside before his eyes strayed to me. “Lover’s tiff?”
I shook my head. Damn, it was cold out here. “No.”
With long legs, he strolled down the stairs and stood next to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. David Ashby.” He held out his cigar-free hand.
I shook. “Rose Strickland.”
His brows, a darker shade of blond than his hair, lifted. “That name sounds familiar.”
“I’m John and Barbara’s daughter.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ve heard them mention you. Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.” He nodded at the cigar. “Do you mind if I light this?”
Freezing, I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. “Go ahead.”
He flashed a brilliant smile. I was surprised his teeth didn’t give off a cartoon sparkle. He really had the All American look down. And he seemed to have an innate confidence that women were drawn to. It’s probably what attracted Delia. How had Martin felt about that? Maybe he clued in on the fact that his mistress was two-timing him with his friend, David, and killed her for it.
Ashby pulled a gold lighter from his pocket and with narrowed eyes, lit the smelly cigar. “My wife hates these things. Won’t even let me smoke them at home.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink.
I wanted to ask him if Delia Cummings let him smoke cigars. After a round of hot, extramarital sex. But I refrained. Even though my mother would never appreciate the sacrifice.
“You’re that prosecutor,” I said. “The one I read about in the papers?”
He tried for a humble grin. And failed. “I am. For some reason the papers like to follow my cases.”
I used the simpering, bullshit technique that had entranced Judge Mills Keeler. “Probably because you’re so handsome.” Then I dropped my eyes, but peered up at him.
He laughed around the stogie. “Thank you for the compliment. But I doubt that’s the reason.”
My arms were starting to go numb from the cold, but where Dane would have given me the coat off his back, this peacock never even noticed my shivers. “Maybe they like you because you’re so good at winning cases.” I tilted my head and added a smile.
He took two steps closer, until he stood directly in front of me. “I should keep you around. You’re good for my ego, Rose Strickland.”
His ego was already a massive, steroid-induced monster. If it got any bigger, satellites could track it from space. I needed to shower off the ick I felt for flirting with this guy.
“I heard about that dead girl, the one everybody’s talking about. I’m not sure I feel safe in my own home.”
Reaching out, he rubbed his hand along my shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. That was an isolated event.”
“I hope so. Have they caught the killer yet?”
His hand strayed from my shoulder to my upper back, his fingers lightly stroking my frozen skin. If he made one more move, I’d have to rip off that hand and leave him with a bloody stump. I took a step sideways until we were no longer touching.
His confident smile was briefly interrupted by a frown of confusion at my move. “No. We haven’t caught the killer yet, but when we do, I’ll lock him away for a very long time.” He stuck the cigar in his mouth and puffed, causing the tip to glow orange-red.
“I also heard you knew the dead girl.” I watched closely for any signs of guilt. “That you were close to her.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I knitted my brow. “But aren’t you friends with Martin Mathers? I thought she worked for him.”
His gaze tangled with mine for a moment, then he looked toward the pool house. “Yes, that’s true. So tragic.”
“But a minute ago, you acted like you didn’t even know her. I overheard talk that the police chief is the man who killed her. Would you let your friendship get in the way of a murder investigation?”
An arctic chill crept into his dark blue eyes. “People like to talk. I suggest you don’t listen.” Shoving one hand in his pants pocket, he tilted his chin down. “It’s getting cold out here. You’d better run along before you catch your death.”
Was that a threat? It sure as hell sounded like one to me and teamed with his stabbing, glare, I took it as such. “Goodnight.” With a nod, I tripped across the patio as quickly as I could manage, my pinched feet throbbing like crazy in these heels.
As I reached the door, he called out. “I remember where I heard your name, Rose.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh?”
“You belong to Thomas Sullivan.”
My neck became rigid at his phrasing. I said nothing and continued into the warmth of the ballroom.
Walking toward the edge of the crowd, as I rubbed feeling back into my arms, I felt someone staring at me. I tried to be all covert as my gaze skipped over groups of people.
Then I saw him.
Standing by himself with a drink in his hand, Martin Mathers’ gaze made the chilly temps outside feel like Florida in July.
My eyes roamed over the crowd, but I couldn’t find Annabelle anywhere. Maybe she was sick again.
I forced my feet to remain still as he approached me. With unhurried steps, his eyes never wavering, he made his way to my side. Then he turned and stared out over the dance floor, standing so close the sleeve of his jacket brushed my forearm. I stayed glued to the spot, but I didn’t like any part of this man touching me.
“Miss Rosalyn Strickland.” He took a sip from his glass. “I’ve heard so much about you. Still, you’re not what I expected.”
“And what were you expecting?” Keeping my eyes on the band, I didn’t so much as glance at him.
“I always imagined Sullivan to be a man who likes more than a handful.” His gaze flowed over my bare shoulders and down to my chest. “But I’ll bet you’re a little firecracker in the sack. Am I right?”
Heat burned my cheeks. My first encounter with Mathers and already I hated him. Although technically, I hated him before we ever met.
He chuckled. “You think I don’t know you’re fucking him? I know everything, sweetheart.”
“Did you know your wife’s aware of your wandering dick?” Whoops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. When people piss me off, I have a tendency to shoot first and regret immediately.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his knuckles whiten on the crystal tumbler. “What did you say to me?”
Time to climb out of the hole I’d just dug for myself. “That’s what everyone’s saying, anyway.” I tried to make my voice breezy and carefree. “I heard it in the ladies’. Rumor has it, Mrs. Police Chief knew about your little affair.”
His grip on the glass lessened. “Rumors. Let me tell you something. Rumors are just repackaged bullshit to keep the idiots occupied.”
I nodded. “You’re quite the sage. You should have that printed on a coffee mug.” I faced him, looked him dead in the eyes. “I’ve heard about you, too, Mr. Mathers. The gambling debts. The women. The kickbacks. You have some very interesting hobbies, Chief.”
His almost colorless eyes grazed over me. “You don’t want to get into it with me, honey. Now run along and tell your boyfriend that he’ll get his money. And tell him not to send his bitch to do his dirty work again. He can come at me like a man.” He slammed back the rest of his liquor, then stom
ped away, cutting a path through the middle of the dance floor.
Chapter 12
A minute later, Jacks hurried over. “What was that about?” She linked her elbow with mine and hustled me to the nearest restroom.
I was so shaken from my encounter with Mathers, I barely noticed we were moving. The police chief was one scary bastard. No wonder Annabelle was a ghost of a woman. He’d probably killed her spirit a long time ago. But had he killed Delia Cummings? That’s the question I kept asking myself.
Jacks thrust my wrists beneath the sink and ran cold water over them. “You’re pale, Rose. And shaking.”
I stared down at my fingers. She was right. My hands shook harder than the sales lady from Nordstrom earlier in the day. She’d taken one look at my mom across the store and visibly trembled in her stilettos before tearing off in the opposite direction.
“I’m fine.” I shut the water off and grabbed a hand towel.
Women in fancy dresses came and went, stopping to check their appearance in the mirror. Jacks’ voice dropped to a hush. “What happened? Did he hit on you or something?”
“Yeah,” I lied. “He was a super creeper.”
“Whatever you said left him really angry,” she whispered.
“I may have told him to fuck off.”
Jacks’ eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Rose, that’s so rude.”
“What, and making a pass at me when he’s married isn’t?” Why was I arguing this fictional situation? I shook my head.
“Can you take me back to Mom and Dad’s house so I can get my car?” I didn’t want to be late for my date with the sexting couple and Andre. And being a nervous wreck after a round with the police chief was a good excuse to get out of here.
We exited the restroom, found Allen, and almost made a clean break of it when, out of nowhere my mother intercepted us near the front entrance. Like she had a sick sixth sense.
“I’d like to speak with Rosalyn before you girls leave.”
Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) Page 9
