“Henry says he used blackstrap molasses. I don’t know what the hell that means.”
He handed me the mug and offered me the plate of cookies. When I bit into the soft, gingery bit of yum, I slouched back in the chair with a groan.
“These are amazing.”
Sullivan watched me with an amused gleam in his eyes. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”
I devoured the cookie and sipped at my tea. “Back to Ashby. He’s controlled you said. How so?”
“He’s very disciplined with his bets. And he has a tell. He stiffens ever so slightly when the cards aren’t in his favor. He never goes crazy with the betting, never goes all in, or plays with more than he’s comfortable losing. No matter how good the hand.”
“But if he gets caught or you’re raided, he could lose his job, his law license, everything. Why risk it?”
“Being at an illegal poker game isn’t that big of a deal in the larger scheme of things. He could always say he was tipped off and just checking it out for himself, trying to gather information. If that didn’t work, he knows enough people in the capital. He wouldn’t lose his license. He’d lose his job, but he’d land on his feet.”
“If he’s so controlled, why screw around with Delia? I know he has an enormous ego, but still, what if Mathers found out?”
Long ass pause. “What makes you think Mathers didn’t know?”
I dropped the cookie back on the plate. “You think Mathers put Delia up to seducing David Ashby?”
“I don’t know for sure. But it wouldn’t surprise me in the least. It would keep him under Martin’s thumb.”
If Martin wasn’t the jealous lover, that took away a very powerful motive. Damn.
I couldn’t think about it anymore tonight. I needed a few hours of sleep. I handed Sullivan my empty cup which he set back on the tray. “I should get home. It’s been a very long day. Too much mother-daughter time.”
He leaned forward, placing his hands on the chair’s armrests. He smelled delicious—sandalwood and citrus. Breathing him in, I caressed his warm cheek with one hand. His whiskers scratched my palm. Tipping his head forward another three inches, he brushed his firm lips against mine, but pulled away too soon.
“Spend the night.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
He glided those sensual lips along my cheek. “I’ll make sure you get there in time.”
It was tempting. But Henry. The two new bodyguards. The morning-after-walk-of-shame.
“I can’t.”
With a sigh, he removed his lips from my skin.
I stood and shoved my feet back into the shoes. I reached for the coat, but Sullivan beat me to it and held it out for me to slide into.
“Sure you won’t change your mind about staying?” With my back to his chest, he grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. I felt the long, hard prodding against my lower back. “Why don’t I stop by tomorrow night?”
I rested my head against his shoulder. “I’m not sure when I’ll be home. But you know how to let yourself in.”
His hand drifted softly across my neck, down the rather modest décolletage, then dipped a little lower. “By the way,” he whispered in my ear, “I like the dress.”
Chapter 13
Last night, I made it home from Sullivan’s about an hour later than I’d planned. Expensive Persian carpets? A little less comfortable than you’d imagine. And this morning, I had the rug burns to prove it. But it was so worth it.
Outside, the sun decided to make an appearance, the temperature had warmed up to a balmy fifty-one degrees, and business was booming. Ma worked the counter while Roxy and I took care of the tables. Things stayed hopping until closing time and by one, my achy feet were bitching at me.
Ma flipped the closed sign once our last customer left the diner. Then tugging on the hem of her leprechaun sweatshirt, she walked over to the counter and slid onto a stool. “So, the KAWs are meeting at Divak Khard’s house tonight. Can you pick me up, toots?”
“Sure. You know where he lives?”
She tapped her temple. “Yep. Got the directions right up here.”
Roxy grabbed her purse from beneath the counter—the one shaped like a giant pink rabbit head—and pulled out a blister pack of gum.
“Are you pals with the Klingons now, Ma?” She popped two fresh pieces in her mouth.
“The KAWs are fun. I’m thinking about joining the group. Get myself a fancy costume. Anyway, K’nera said the SPuRTs are out for bortaS.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Revenge,” she drew out the word. “I’m learning the language. You’ve got to if you want to have honor.”
Roxy blinked at me. “Oh jeez, they’ve gotten to her. Do we need to perform an exorcism?”
“Maybe we can just deprogram her,” I said.
“Whatevs.” She grabbed an empty bus tub and started clearing off the tables near the window.
“Very funny, girls,” Ma said. “But this is serious business. If that uniform doesn’t turn up, the reputation of all Klingons will be tarnished.”
Leaning my elbows on the counter, I raised both brows. “Just out of curiosity, who is K’nera?”
“Melissa Sue Johnson. Real sweet gal. She makes all her own costumes. In fact, she made the uniform that’s missing. She’s very talented.”
“Got it. I’ll pick you up tonight after the Huntingford Historical Society meeting, Ma.”
Roxy, slogging a full tub to the kitchen, stopped and gawked at me. “What the hell? First the country club, now the freaking Historical Society. Rose, are you flipping to the dark side?”
I breathed out a laugh and snagged a bottle of cleaner and a rag. “Hardly. Last night was painful. And I never did get a medallion of mystery meat.”
The bell tinkled over the door and Axton walked in, his bulging backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Hey, dudes.” He hopped up on a stool next to Ma and hefted his bag onto the counter.
“We were just talking about KAW business,” Ma said.
I automatically grabbed a plate and snatched the three remaining donuts from the cake stand, setting them in front of Ax. “Bad times for the Klingons?”
“Yeah.” He stuffed an entire glazed donut in his mouth.
Roxy made a disgusted noise, grabbed the rag and bottle of cleaner, and headed for the tables.
“Found out about Judge Keeler,” Ax said after he’d swallowed. “Well, not him so much as his galpal. He’s love shacking with one Julia Baxter. She’s got her realtor’s license and her last address was in St. Charles, a town outside St. Louis. But before that, nothing.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“No ID, no driver’s license, no taxes. Zilch. Which makes me want to dig deeper.” He grabbed the chocolate donut and spun it around his finger. “I will uncover all of her secrets. She can’t hide from the Axman.”
“I pity the fool who tries,” I said.
“You know it. I don’t have anything on Keeler or Ashby yet. But I’ll keep at it,” he said.
“Thanks, Ax. I’m meeting you at Divak Khard’s tonight?”
“HIja’.” He spun on his stool. “Hey, Rox. Brian thought you were cute.”
She continued wiping down a table.
“Of course he did. I mean, duh, look at me. And who the hell is Brian?”
“Klek.”
She glanced up at him. “Klek the Perv? Lucky me. Tell him to go pull.” She made a rather obscene hand gesture.
Ax glanced back at me. “Why shoot the messenger?”
I poured him a to-go cup of black coffee and waved as he strode out of the diner, shoving the last donut in his face.
Ma adjusted her glasses and headed for the kitchen. “Rox
y, are you in on this KAW situation tonight?”
She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes so far back in her head, I wondered if she got a peek at her brain. “I guess.”
Ma raised her fist in the air. “Good. Jol ylchu’. Which means, ‘Activate the transport beam!’” Then she shoved open the swinging door and disappeared.
“You know, I worry about her,” Roxy said.
“Yep.”
We had just enough time to swing by my apartment so I could change for the funeral home. I owned one gray dress and one black dress. But the black dress was short-sleeved and while the temps had warmed up, I thought it was a little light for the season, so the gray dress won out. I changed in the bathroom and then grabbed a pair of black flats from the closet.
Roxy sat on the futon, watching me. “What are those shoes?” She pointed to the offending heels I’d worn the night before. I’d kicked them off next to the table and forgot all about them.
“They’re pretty,” she said. “And they look expensive. You should totally wear them.”
“I wore them last night and my feet are still killing me.” I’d taken my hair out of its usual ponytail and brushed it out. Now I stood in front of her, in the secondhand dress and boring flats. “Well?”
“Meh.”
Not exactly a glowing review, but I’d take it. Roxy was already dressed for mourning. She’d shown up at the diner in a black Victorian ensemble with delicate jet lace fluttering down the bodice. Of course the skirt was so short, I hoped she didn’t have to bend over for any reason or we’d all be in trouble.
I drove to the funeral home, where a soft-spoken man greeted us at the front entrance and directed us to the left. Roxy and I walked the long hallway and the closer we got to the viewing room, the stronger the floral scent became.
Several people stood in line for the guest book, most of them in police uniform. Murmurs and quiet whispers mixed with the piped-in organ music. As we waited our turn, I peeked through the doors. The white casket was closed and surrounded by a dozen large bouquets.
Finally, it was our turn at the guest book. Propped next to it was a framed photograph of Delia. She’d been a pretty young woman, late twenties, light brown hair, deep set green eyes.
A couple in their late fifties stood off to one side and greeted people. The woman looked like an older version of Delia. Her eyes and nose were red and every once in a while, she sniffed into a wad of Kleenex. The man at her side was stoic, determined not to show emotion, but his quivering chin told a different story. I was about to walk up to them and offer my condolences, when Martin Mathers strode forward with a clearly embarrassed Annabelle in his wake. He’d clamped his hand around her wrist and dragged her behind him.
An unnatural silence descended and suddenly the organ music seemed overly loud. Everyone in the vestibule stared first at the Mathers, then at Delia’s parents. A tension hung in the air, thick and oppressive, as we all waited for what would happen next.
Annabelle’s eyes fluttered like a hummingbird, never landing on anyone in particular. But once again, Martin made eye contact with his detractors.
Mr. Cummings’ face became a mask of rage when he spotted the police chief. Two bright pops of color filled his rounded cheeks. He pointed his finger at Mathers. “How dare you? How dare you be here today?”
Mrs. Cummings covered her face with both hands and cried quietly.
“I’m here to pay my respects,” Martin said.
“You disrespected my daughter when you slept with her. You should be ashamed, and yet you walk in, as bold as brass, and dare to talk about respect? Get out!” He yelled so loud, I jumped.
Poor Annabelle. She looked mortified. A sheen of perspiration broke out on her pale forehead. She didn’t have her extensions clipped in today and her hair was a teased nest resting on top of her head.
Martin’s features hardened. He jerked his head in a nod and keeping hold of Annabelle’s wrist, turned abruptly. His head held high, he stormed away, with his wife almost jogging to keep pace with him.
“That was Annabelle Mathers,” I whispered to Rox.
“I figured. That took some balls for the police chief, showing up here when he knows what everyone’s saying.”
I agreed. I didn’t know if Martin Mathers was brave for facing the rumors head on, or if he was an egomaniac who didn’t give a shit what anyone said about him. Knowing what I did, I was going with the latter.
Now wasn’t a good time to talk to Delia’s parents. Mr. Cummings had thrown both arms around his wife’s shoulders and absorbed her sobs of grief.
So Roxy and I went inside and snagged a spot in one of the middle pews. As I slipped off my new coat, I openly watched the people sitting around me and carefully studied everyone who walked inside. A few civilians stood out amongst the officers, but not many. One cute guy sat in the back row. His eyes never strayed from the casket and he’d propped both arms along the back of the pew—an obvious signal that he didn’t want anyone to sit beside him. He wore a gray t-shirt and a navy pea coat.
My gaze drifted from the Lone Ranger to wander over the crowd and ran straight into Andre Thomas. He held my gaze for a brief moment, then he faced forward without acknowledging me.
Soon Mr. Cummings helped his wife down the aisle and they took their place in the front pew. That was the preacher’s cue to stand and give a comforting, if impersonal, eulogy. Then we all bowed our heads in prayer and it was over.
As we filed out, Roxy headed for the room with cookies and coffee, while I made a quick stop at the ladies’. A short, older woman with orange hair and features that reminded me of a wide-mouthed bullfrog stood at the sink. As she applied coral lipstick, her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Hi,” I said. “What a sad day, huh?”
She nodded. “Can you believe the police chief had the gall to show up here? And actually try to speak to the girl’s father?”
My full bladder was giving me a hard time, but I ignored it and moved to the sink. If this lady wanted to gossip about Delia, I wanted to listen. “Unbelievable, right?”
“How did you know Delia?” She smacked her lips together.
“I used to work with her. How about you? My name’s Rose by the way.”
“I’m Eileen. I live in the condo next to hers.”
Now she really had my attention. “That must have been horrible for you.”
She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and blotted her lips. “Oh sweetie, it was awful. The police swarming all over the place, asking all kinds of questions. And that maniac killer’s still on the loose.”
“Did you hear anything, see anything? You could be a very important witness.”
“No,” she said, disappointment coloring her voice. “I did overhear the police talking, though.” She moved a little closer and thrust her face next to mine. Her overpowering rose-scented perfume filled my nose and stung my sinuses. “They said she was killed in her sleep.”
I gasped and tilted my head back slightly. “That’s horrible.”
“We’ve gotten extra locks on all the doors, I can tell you that much.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Did she have many visitors?”
Another woman walked into the restroom, distracting Eileen’s attention, so I placed my hand on her elbow and gently tugged her to the far side of the room. “Visitors?” I repeated.
“Not really. But she only moved in a month ago.”
My eyes widened. This was a new piece of info. “Really? And she never had anyone stop by?”
Eileen cast a glance over her shoulder. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me, but about a week before she was killed, I heard shouting. When Delia’s door slammed, I looked out the window and saw a man get into a car and speed off.”
“Was it Martin Mathers?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but it was too dark to know for certain.” She patted my arm. “Listen honey, you take care.”
“Wait. Did you tell the police about this?”
Her orange eyebrows furrowed. “Do you think I should?”
“Definitely, Eileen. This could be very important information.”
She straightened her spine. “I’ll go home and call them immediately.”
I waved at her, then fled to one of the stalls.
When I left the restroom, I found Roxy gazing up at the cute loner from the back row. I joined them and she made the introductions.
“Rose, this is Jason. He used to work with Delia.” She widened her eyes and jerked her head in his direction.
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Jason. So sad about Delia.”
“Yeah.”
I waited a moment for him to say something else, but he didn’t.
“So, where did you and Delia work together?” I asked.
“Place called Club Saturn.”
“And Delia was a waitress?” Roxy asked.
Jason nodded. “Yeah.”
What a chatterbox.
“How long did you wor—”
“I’ve got to go,” he said. Without another word, he turned and strode out the door.
I glanced at Roxy. “That was pretty rude.”
“He doesn’t have much personality, but I could stare at him for a few hours. We going to that club tonight, or what?”
I shrugged. “I’m supposed to meet up with Sullivan. I’ll call him and reschedule. You ready? I need to get to the Historical Society on time.”
She grabbed one last cookie for the road. “Let’s bounce.”
Chapter 14
If Apple Tree Boulevard represented the socio-economic line of demarcation in Huntingford, then Huntingford Square was middle ground. Historic churches, houses, and government buildings, designed with grace and character, stood like tall shadows of a distant past amidst rectangular upstarts sprayed with stucco and covered in brick facade.
Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) Page 11
