Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4)

by Terri L. Austin

  “We already got Jesus, lady. Go away.” A TV and a crying baby blared in the background.

  “My name is Rose Strickland. I’m here to see Sofia,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the din.

  As he looked me up and down, his surly expression didn’t change. “Just a minute.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Sof, somebody’s asking for you.”

  A moment later, Sofia Morales popped into view. She was even more beautiful than her license picture. Long, dark waves fell over her shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes smoldered with just the right amount of smoky shadow. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I’m looking into the disappearance of Rob Huggins.” That sounded more dramatic and official than I’d intended, but it got her attention. “Kai Adams contacted me. I work for the Thomas Detective Agency.”

  Sofia’s brows swooped downward. “So Rob’s really missing?” Inside the house, the baby’s shrill scream rose in pitch. Sofia nudged the young guy out of the way. I took them for brother and sister—they shared the same straight nose, the same almond-shaped eyes. “Go put a shirt on, Franco. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  With a sneer, he walked away.

  Sofia motioned me inside. I followed her around a wall which partitioned the rest of the house from the entryway. The living room was crammed with furniture and a small playpen had been shoved into one corner.

  She switched off the TV before scooping the baby from its cot. It stopped crying the minute she picked it up. Tears and snot and drool mixed together, and the whole disgusting combination dripped off the kid’s chin. Kind of gross, but I guessed once you gave birth to it, you became immune.

  “This is my daughter, Olivia.” Sofia perched on the edge of a blue rocker, holding the baby on her lap.

  “She’s gorgeous.” This kid was no Scotty, but her brown eyes and long, wet lashes were pretty cute. I sat on the sofa and tried to ignore the spicy aroma wafting from the next room. An older woman moved in and out of view, placing bowls of food in the center of the kitchen table. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I need to ask you about Rob.”

  As Sofia bounced Olivia on her knee, she frowned. “I didn’t take Kai seriously when he said Rob was missing. But I was running late for work this morning, so I didn’t have much time to chat. Are you sure about this? Maybe…” She stopped talking and smoothed one hand over the baby’s head. “Maybe he finally had enough and left us.” Whatever their differences, it was obvious she still cared.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “Tuesday night.” She still didn’t glance up, but stroked a tuft of Olivia’s thin hair. “We had a big argument a few weeks ago, and I moved out. When I didn’t hear from him, I figured he was giving me time to cool off.” She shook her head and lifted her chin. When her eyes met mine, they were filled with tears. “Rob loves me. Us. But we’re not a priority.”

  “And what is Rob’s priority?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if Kai told you, but Rob is into mixed martial arts. Fighting is the only thing he really cares about. I’m tired of being second place.”

  “Has he ever done this before? Taken off without telling anyone?”

  “No. But he’s always talking about moving to a bigger city, where he could train at a better gym. Maybe St. Louis or Chicago.”

  “So you think it’s possible he up and left? Without saying a word?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, and lowered her shoulders. “Not really.”

  “What about his family?”

  “He wouldn’t go there. He’s not close to his parents.”

  “Kai said no one from the gym has heard from him either.”

  Sofia worked her knee up and down, bouncing the baby faster. “You’re starting to worry me. What should I do? I can’t go to the police.”

  “Because of the fight club.”

  Her eyes widened. “Kai told you about that?” She sat in silence for a minute, while the baby chewed on her own fingers and cooed. Finally, Sofia roused herself. “You can’t say anything about the club. Not to anyone. The men in charge are serious about keeping it a secret. By even discussing it, we could all be in danger.”

  Danger? My stomach clenched at the word. Maybe you should tell Andre about the case. I immediately discarded the idea. If he found out that I’d taken this case behind his back, he’d fire my ass on the spot. “I’ll be very discreet, I promise. Who’s in charge of the fight club?” I removed the notebook from my purse.

  Sofia pulled a breath and held it. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

  “You can’t go to the police. With a baby and a full-time job, it’ll be hard to search on your own. Talk to me. Please.”

  After a long moment, she sighed. “Rob claims he does odd jobs for Mr. Carlucci, but other than working a few hours a week at the dojo, the only thing Rob does is train for his fights. He never has any cash, but he drives around in a brand-new car. When I suggested he sell the car to pay some bills, he blew up. His temper and mood swings have been off the chain lately. He hates it when I nag him about money, but a new car doesn’t pay the light bill, does it? Or feed my kid. Do you know how much diapers cost or what the doctor charges when Olivia gets an ear infection?” Her voice became louder with each word, until she was yelling. “Having a kid is expensive. It’s time for Rob to grow up.” The baby started to fuss, and Sofia’s mother popped her head out of the kitchen.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  Sofia briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Mom.” Her mother shot me a questioning glance, before disappearing from view.

  I turned my attention back to Sofia.

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just so stressful. I never get enough sleep, and I need to start looking for a second job. My parents help out, but they’re struggling as much as I am.”

  I felt for her. I barely had enough money to scrape by, and I was only taking care of myself. Although I pitied Sofia, I needed to stay on point. “So, have you been to any of Rob’s fights?”

  She shook her head and blinked rapidly in an effort to keep the tears at bay. “That damn fight club. I warned him so many times—if he wins his first bout, he can fight again that night. Lately, he always wins. But I don’t know how much more he can physically take. Rob thinks if he earns enough money from the fights, he can sign on with a decent training team and get a chance at going pro. He’s obsessed. And he’s stupid, because it’s never going to happen. If he’s not with a decent training team by now, he never will be. He’s thirty-two and his body is shot.”

  Before I could ask another question, Franco sauntered into the living room and flopped down on the sofa next to me. He’d found a t-shirt, but he hadn’t lost the bad mood. “Are you talking about that prick who knocked you up?”

  “Watch your mouth,” Sofia said.

  “He’s an asshole. You haven’t heard from him in days. Move on, Sof.”

  I twisted my head to study him. He wore a diamond stud—fake—in his right lobe. A few acne scars dotted his cheek and chin. I wondered where all this hostility was coming from. “I take it you and Rob don’t get along?”

  Without turning his head, he slid a glare in my direction. “He’s not good enough for Sofia. She lived with him, took care of him when he got injured. Yet my parents are the ones paying for his kid. He’s a wannabe. She’s better off without him.”

  Sofia jumped to her feet, jarring Olivia, which caused the baby to start howling again. “Shut up! I’m tired of you shit-talking Rob. He’s not a saint, but he’s the father of my child.” She hoisted the baby on her hip and pinned Franco with a glare. “Not another word, do you understand me?”

  Sofia’s mother thrust her head into the living room once more. She said something in rapid Spanish, and Sof
ia snapped back, shouting over the baby’s screams.

  Then she gestured for me to get up. “You need to go.” She rubbed her free hand along Olivia’s back in a soothing motion.

  I pulled a card from my pocket and laid it on the coffee table as she stomped out of the room. A moment later, a door slammed and shook the entire house.

  I gazed over at Franco. “That’s a nice Mustang you’ve got. Is it new?”

  He threw out a sneer, the kind that only snotty adolescents could pull off. “What business is it of yours?”

  Absolutely none, but that had never stopped me before. “Anything you can tell me about Rob? His habits, his friends?”

  “Nope.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?”

  “Why the hell would I talk to him? He’s a douchebag.” Then he stretched out his long legs, blocking off my exit and forcing me to walk around the coffee table on my way to the front door.

  Well, I’d learned a few things from this little side trip. Franco was a dick, and while Rob may have loved his kid, he hadn’t exactly been a hands-on dad. I wasn’t sure how that helped me, but I stored it away in my mental folder.

  Outside, I climbed into my car, rolled down my window, and cranked the air. While I waited for it to kick in, I did a quick search on my phone. Carlucci Motors was open until nine p.m. Since it was only seven fifteen, yippee for me.

  I drove east, taking an exit that would lead me to car heaven. Most of the dealerships in town were clustered together on what used to be sixty or seventy acres of farmland. Carlucci had the prime spot, right in the middle of the long stretch of road. The vehicles faced outward, watching the flow of traffic—red, black, and silver inanimate puppies, waiting for adoption.

  I parked on one side of the lot, then strolled past the pretty new cars, wishing I could afford to drive something from this century. It was good to have dreams.

  Colorful pennant banners overhead swayed with the gentle breeze. The sun eased toward the horizon now, flashing brightly off the hoods of all those cars. Hundreds of them. Squinting, I stopped to peek at the price on a sedan and nearly swooned from sticker shock. Looked like I’d be driving the crapmobile for a few more years.

  With a sigh, I forced myself to stop petting the pretty blue Honda and walked into the vast showroom. The one-story glass building was so large it reminded me of an airport. With separate sections for each car brand, I wasn’t sure where to look first. Pausing, my glance bounced over all the new models.

  A very smiley man in his thirties walked toward me. “Hey there. How are you today?”

  “Doing well, thanks. You?”

  “Can’t complain.” He chuckled, as if he’d told a joke. “So, you’re looking for a car.”

  I couldn’t fault his deductive skills. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Mr. Carlucci.”

  His fuzzy blond brows lowered slightly. “Mr. Carlucci doesn’t sell cars. But I’ll be happy to help you find what you’re looking for. I’m John, by the way.”

  I’d decided on my approach during the drive over. Since the fight club wasn’t public knowledge and Sofia said the men in charge could be dangerous, I thought my best avenue would be pulling out the mom card. I didn’t like to use Barbara Strickland’s name in vain, but sometimes my family connections came in handy. “I’m Rosalyn Strickland. I’ll only speak with Mr. Carlucci directly.” I tried my darndest to channel my mother’s superior tone.

  John the Car Salesman lost his smile real quick. He wasn’t going to get a sale, so why waste another minute on me? “I’ll get the manager for you.” Without waiting for my reply, he whipped out his phone and tapped out a text. “He’ll be here shortly. Have a look around. There are sodas and coffee down the hall.” Then he strolled off, in search of more lucrative prey.

  I shifted from one foot to another, waiting a good five minutes before a middle-aged man in an expensive light gray suit appeared. He was neither attractive nor unattractive. With more salt than pepper in his lacquered hair, he had the polished veneer of a televangelist. A gold pinkie ring flashed as he held out his hand.

  “Al Bosworth.”

  “Rose Strickland.”

  Acknowledgment flared in his nondescript brown-gray eyes. “You’re John and Barbara Strickland’s daughter?”

  “I am. My mother said that Mr. Carlucci could help me find a car.”

  “Will doesn’t do that anymore. He leaves the day-to-day operations of the business to me. But I’ll be happy to show you anything you want to see, Rose.”

  Damn. Getting access to Will Carlucci was proving to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. Asking my mom for help might be in the cards after all.

  Since I’d thrown her name around, I now had to extract myself from this situation gracefully. And graceful wasn’t really my strong suit. “Actually, I’m just starting my search. I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

  As though that was a problem he heard often, Al Bosworth nodded vigorously. Not one hair on his head moved. Amazing. “I’ll get you some information about the different models, and you can start comparing. Do you have any idea of what kind of vehicle you’re looking for?”

  I batted my eyes. “Blue?”

  He laughed, as though my simple-minded answer was charming. Oh, silly women and their lack of automotive knowledge. “Come with me.” He sailed down the hall, and I followed to his office. The pale blue walls were covered with awards.

  “These are impressive,” I said.

  He smiled—all teeth—and sat behind his desk. “We’re proud of our success.”

  “Have you known Will long?” If I could gather a few facts on Carlucci, maybe this trip wouldn’t be a complete failure.

  “Years and years,” he said, rummaging through the bottom drawer of his desk. “We grew up together.”

  I moved across the room and sat in one of the guest chairs. “Really? Now you’re working together.”

  “We’ve always worked together.” He dropped a handful of colorful brochures on his desk and picked up a framed photograph. “This is the two of us on our first lot.” He handed it to me. “B&C Auto. Right off Junction Road. It was a great experience.”

  I glanced at the photo and smiled. Both men wore their mullets loud and proud. Carlucci even sported a thick mustache. His suit was Miami Vice pink. They stood side by side in front of a row of used cars and one minivan. I handed it back. “You’ve come a long way.”

  “You’re not kidding. Eight dealerships, including three luxury lines.”

  I stood and moved to a grouping of photos on his file cabinet. I picked up a framed snapshot. Carlucci, Al, and a pretty woman with curly brown hair. “Did you ever think about doing this on your own? Without Will?”

  “I did, as a matter of fact.” His tone turned wistful. “Bought Will out of that first lot and tried to make a go of it myself. But the damn highway got rerouted, which cut off direct traffic to the lot, and that was that.” He rose to join me. “This is Will’s first wife, Deb. Prettiest girl in our class. They were a great couple.” He took the frame from my hands and placed it on his desk. “Will and I make a better team anyway. Close as brothers. So, Rose, would you like to take a spin? Maybe a Mercedes convertible? An Infiniti sedan?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you have color chips?”

  “You bet.” He handed me a booklet along with the brochures. “Here you go. Pick your favorite color and we’ll go from there.”

  After tucking them into my bag, I tilted my head in an attempt to appear helpless. “Thanks for your time. Sorry I’m scattered. There’re so many to choose from.”

  He placed his hand on the middle of my back and guided me out of his office, toward the door of the showroom. “No problem. It’s a big commitment.”

  He held the door open
for me, but before stepping through, I turned back. “By the way, a friend of mine works here. Maybe he’s on the lot today.”

  His smile was indulgent, humoring even. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Rob Huggins.”

  The smile gave way to a quizzical expression. “How do you know Rob?”

  “We take classes at the same dojo,” I said, proud that my lie sounded so plausible. “Is he in today?”

  “No, but now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. He works sporadically, though.”

  “Well, I thought I’d ask. Thanks for all your help.”

  “Of course. Nice to meet you, Rose.”

  So far, I hadn’t learned much from either Q&A session. So there was only one thing left to do.

  Chapter 4

  The sun was sinking faster now, and the streetlights glowed in the dusk. Soon it would be dark. And you know what they say: nighttime is the right time for a break-in. And by they, I meant me.

  I climbed behind the wheel with my phone in hand and dialed Roxy. I knew she and Sugar had plans, but she might be free by now. And since Roxy was an expert at B&E—a long story that involved a difficult childhood—she was the perfect choice for this little excursion. But after five rings, the call rolled over to voicemail, and I hung up without leaving a message.

  As I started the car, my phone vibrated. It wasn’t my partner in crime calling me back, though. Instead, Axton Graystone’s mug lit up the screen. I’d taken his picture on St. Patrick’s Day, which explained the plastic shamrock hat. The crossed eyes and goofy grin were the result of too many green beers.

  “Hey, Axman.”

  “I need your help. Fashion-wise. Like, pronto.”

  “Okay, but if I scratch your back, you have to help me break into a guy’s condo.”

  “For fun or profit?” he asked.

  “A little of both.”