Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4)

by Terri L. Austin

  His eyes did a slow glide over her. “Why do you dress like that?”

  She nodded at his navy Dockers. “Why do you?”

  He sighed and turned back to me. “Miss Strickland. Now.” He strode down the hallway to the small office.

  Roxy’s brows shot up. “What’s up his butt this morning?”

  I had a sinking feeling that bypassed my stomach and slid all the way to the soles of my feet. Somehow, someway, Andre had found out about my missing person case. “Can you cover my tables?”

  “Yep. Don’t keep him waiting or he might bust a microchip.”

  “Good one.” I shuffled to the office, where Andre stood with his back to me. “What’s up?”

  Pivoting, he clenched his jaw so tightly, I was surprised his molars didn’t dissolve into dust. “There’s only one reason I’m not firing you this minute. One.” He held up a finger to prove his point.

  I waited him out, crossing my arms and barely tilting my eyebrow, the way Sullivan would.

  Andre dropped his hand and we stared at each other. Hell, I could stand there all day. The only person I could never outlast was my boyfriend. The one who didn’t give me a house key or take me out in public. Jeez, every time I broke it down, my relationship with Sullivan sounded pathetic.

  “Miss Strickland.”

  My eyes snapped back to Hardass. “Yes?”

  “I know what you did.”

  I kept my lip zipped.

  “You took a case behind my back.”

  Yep, he’d found out, all right.

  “Pro bono, I might add.”

  I simply nodded.

  “And you’ve been telling people we’re partners.” He said “partners” like it was the vilest word in his vocabulary.

  “Yes.” Taking a deep breath, I raised my chin and braced myself for the tongue-lashing I deserved. “So why aren’t you firing me?”

  He took two menacing steps forward. Behind his glasses, anger glowed in his hazel eyes. On the outside, he wore a mask of irritation, but inside I sensed he was an active volcano. All that hot, pent-up rage flowing beneath the surface, ready to erupt—I knew it was going to land on me.

  “I said I wasn’t firing you this minute. First, I want to know everywhere you’ve been, every person you’ve talked to. You better not have tarnished my name as you’ve bumbled your way through this so-called investigation.”

  His wording raised my hackles. I might not have been a full-fledged detective, but I wasn’t a newbie either.

  “I didn’t bumble anything. I’ve uncovered good, solid clues. If you’d quit breathing down my neck, you’d see how effective I can be.”

  He took another step forward, until he loomed over me. A white line of anger rimmed his lips and his eyes burned even hotter. “Do. Not. Test. Me.”

  For the first time since I’d met him, I was a little afraid of Andre. We’d never been friends; I’d always viewed him as more of an adversary than a boss. But this fierce, irate man was a stranger, an unpredictable one at that.

  “You will be at the office as soon as your shift ends. You will account for every move you’ve made. Am I clear?”

  My eyes lowered to the buttons on his golf shirt. “Clear.”

  After he left and I reentered the dining room, Roxy rushed over to me. “He found out about the case?”

  “Yeah. He sure did.”

  “How?”

  “Good question.”

  Roxy patted my shoulder and moved off to seat a family of four that had walked through the door.

  I worked the rest of my shift on autopilot, thinking about what I’d say to Andre. There was no doubt I owed him an explanation. And an apology.

  Our last customers didn’t leave until one thirty. Once they were out the door, Roxy began clearing the tables. “Rose, you’d better book yourself over to the office and get this thing with Hardass straightened out. I’ll take care of everything here.”

  “I appreciate it.” I removed my apron and gathered my bag from beneath the counter.

  “Are we still on for the fight club tonight?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. I have a family dinner first.”

  She winced. “Your day just keeps getting worse.”

  “I’ll pick you up around nine fifteen.”

  “Sounds good. Rose…” She clanked the dishes together. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. I think I need it.”

  During the ride over, my stomach knotted up like a pretzel. Despite what he’d said, I was certain Andre was going to shitcan me. While I deserved it, I’d never been fired before, and I wasn’t looking forward to the experience.

  I pulled into the lot and with shaking hands tried to call Sullivan. If I couldn’t reach him, I was going to have to resort to asking my mom about Will Carlucci. My day was shitty enough without adding that particular drama. Unfortunately, I got Sullivan’s voicemail again. This time I left a message. “Hey, I need to talk to you. Call me back when you get this, okay? Will Carlucci, the car guy. Do you know him?” I hung up and exited the car, taking a deep breath of hot, humid air. I wasn’t looking forward to this confrontation.

  When I walked into the office, Hardass was waiting for me, like a spider biding his time. His arms crossed, Andre watched me with suspicious eyes as I stepped through the door. Then without a word, he moved into his office and sat behind his desk. I followed and plopped down across from him, fidgeting with my keys.

  “Stop that,” he snapped. I tossed them in my purse, then folded my hands in my lap. “Give me the facts, Miss Strickland. In order.”

  I started at the beginning, when Kai walked into the office. I tried to explain my motives for taking the case, my willingness to prove that I could handle things on my own. I gave him a rundown of all my activities, everyone I’d talked to, and all the clues I’d found—leaving out the part about the fight club tonight. He’d either insist on coming with me or forbid me from attending. Neither of those choices appealed.

  Occasionally, Andre stopped and asked me pertinent questions—“Why on earth did you remove the pills from Rob Huggins’ home?”—challenged impressions that I’d formed—“You can’t automatically assume that Sofia is telling you the truth”—and demanded clarification on why I phrased things a certain way—“Perhaps Will Carlucci isn’t paranoid; maybe there’s a reason he has so much security.”

  When I finished telling my story and answering all of his questions—almost two grueling hours later—I was drained. I’d been so busy at the diner, I hadn’t had time to eat anything more than half a bagel all day. After unburdening myself, my stomach unknotted and now rumbled in hunger.

  I uncrossed my legs and rubbed at my eyes. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’m not sorry that I took the case. And I’m not giving up. I promised Sofia I’d find Rob.”

  “I’ve already found him, Miss Strickland.”

  My heart picked up speed. I scooted to the edge of my chair. “Are you serious? Why the hell didn’t you say something before now?”

  “You have your secrets, I have mine.”

  That was just…petty, and beneath him. I could wave the bullshit flag later. Right now, I was too excited that he’d found Rob. Sofia would be so relieved. “Don’t leave me hanging. Where is he?”

  “In the morgue.” He said it as casually as if he were telling me the time of day. Unemotional. Unaffected. “Rob Huggins has been dead for days.”

  Chapter 8

  Dead for days. That had been my biggest fear this entire time, the one I didn’t want to face.

  The air rushed out of my lungs and I sat back, deflated. Poor Sofia. And baby Olivia. I’d never met Rob Huggins, but I’d met the people who cared about him. An overwhelming sadness gripped me. “Tell me what happened. How did he die? H
ow did you find out?”

  “This morning, Sofia Morales called. She couldn’t find your card, so she called the office to leave a message. I happened to be here. She informed me that the only thing missing from the condo was Rob Huggins’ vehicle. Since I had no idea what she was talking about, I asked her to explain. Imagine my surprise when Miss Morales told me my partner was searching for her ex-fiancé.”

  He waited for me to say something, but I remained silent. Anger churned inside me, like acid. He’d known Rob was dead all this time, but he made me tell him every detail, had demanded clarifications. All the while, he’d been holding back the most important piece of information in order to punish me.

  Once he realized I wasn’t going to comment, he continued. “After speaking with her, I immediately put in a call to an old friend on the force. He called back an hour later. Early this morning, two fishermen found a body. Rob Huggins’ vehicle was parked on a secluded service road outside Oka Lake. He was sitting behind the wheel. Due to the level of decomposition, they determined that he’d been dead for several days.” I shuddered at Andre’s factual, detached description. “There was an empty container of pain pills on the passenger seat—no label, so they’re not sure exactly what he took—and an open bottle of whiskey in his lap. If the tox screen reveals alcohol and opiates in his system, the coroner will rule it a suicide.”

  “He didn’t commit suicide,” I ground out. “Rob didn’t take drugs or booze.”

  “You only have Miss Morales’ word for that. There is, however, one glitch. The detective didn’t find the deceased’s phone.”

  There’d been no sign of Rob’s phone in the condo either. He surely wouldn’t have left the house without it. So where was it? My best guess—the killer had taken it.

  Andre snapped his fingers to regain my attention. “The pills you found, where are they now?”

  “In my oven.”

  “I shouldn’t ask and yet I can’t stop myself. Why the oven, Miss Strickland?”

  “I use it for storage. Listen, I’m telling you, Rob didn’t kill himself. When I told Kai about the pills, he was shocked.”

  “Look at the facts: the deceased had a history of substance abuse, he had in his possession hundreds of pills, and he was depressed over the breakup of his relationship.” He lifted his chin and his eyes were cool, appraising. “You’re not analyzing the evidence properly. Hopeless people often resort to desperate acts.”

  “Stop calling him the deceased. He had a name, and you’re the one who’s always telling me not to jump to conclusions.” I leapt to my feet, slapped my hands on the edge of his desk. “Rob had a big argument with his trainer, Buster Madison, a few weeks ago, and Buster has been freezing Rob out ever since. Why? Sofia’s brother, Franco, came into the gym right before Rob died and started an altercation. Over what? Also, Rob owned a gun. If he were that depressed, he would have eaten a bullet. Or taken a handful of pills in the comfort of his own home. Why haul himself all the way out to Oka Lake and do the deed? No way is this a suicide. Rob had a lot of secrets and I want to find out what they were.”

  Andre shook his head. “None of that proves foul play.”

  “What about the fact that he had only ten fights to win before Carlucci would cancel out his debt and award him enough money to turn pro? That was Rob’s dream and he was so close, why would he suddenly give it up? He died without his phone. That doesn’t seem suspicious to you? Did he leave a note, at least?” Andre’s lips thinned into a flat line. “None of it adds up. I’m going to continue this investigation no matter what. I have too many questions.”

  Andre stood as well. “Even if you do have questions, you’re not qualified to continue on your own. You’re undisciplined, Miss Strickland, and too emotional.”

  “I’d rather be too emotional than a cold-hearted, callous machine. You don’t give a damn about anyone. Rob Huggins had a daughter. She’s never going to know him, and yes, that makes me emotional.”

  “Emotion is your weakness. Have you told me everything about this case? You’ve left nothing out?”

  I still wasn’t going to tell him about the fight club, but I wasn’t going to lie anymore either. I had nothing left to lose. “No, I’ve kept stuff back—important information—and that’s the way it’s going to stay until it works in my favor.”

  That livid fire flared in his eyes once more. “Do you think I’m playing with you? Do you think this is a game?”

  “Since you’re going to send me packing when all this is over, I have no incentive to tell you anything else.”

  He bristled and, placing his fists on the desk, leaned forward. “I could call the detective in charge right now and let him know you’re hampering his investigation, tampering with evidence.”

  “If your conscience demands you turn me in, then do what you have to do.” I hoped to hell he was only bluffing. I was counting on it, really. “It was shady of me to take this case without telling you, I’ll admit that. I’ve given you no reason to trust me, but the fact is, I don’t trust you either. You held back Rob’s death and used it like a trump card, and that was a shitty move.”

  We stared at each other for several moments. Then he walked from behind his desk to the outer office door. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?” Was he really going to turn me in? Seriously? Damn, I didn’t have time to sit in jail. And I was pretty sure orange wasn’t a summer color.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll start with Buster Madison. You want to know why he argued with the deceas…Rob Huggins. We’ll go ask him.” At my surprised expression, he said, “You think Rob was killed? We’ll need evidence to back it up. I still think you’re off-base, but I’m willing to concede that I might be wrong.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think. I wasn’t buying this new helpful attitude. What was in it for him?

  When I didn’t move, he heaved a sigh. “I should have told you about his death right away. It was churlish of me. I’m sorry.”

  Andre admitted he was wrong. And he apologized. What next, would Hell start its own ice hockey team? I grabbed my bag and walked toward him. “Shouldn’t we break the news to Sofia first?”

  “No. Let the police handle it. But you can tell Buster, if you have to. Watch his face, his body language. Guilty people gaze to the left. He might point his feet or his torso away from you.”

  “Got it.”

  Hardass insisted on driving. Since I’d been to the gym the day before, I navigated our way downtown. We parked along the street. Before I could grab the door handle, Andre placed a hand on my arm.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  All the information we needed was inside the gym. But since I screwed up the Benson case, I sucked it up and told Andre what he wanted to hear. “There’s a city bus stop halfway up the block. Two men, one woman waiting to catch a ride. Next to the gym is a tattoo parlor. Across the road is a liquor store. At the gym itself, there are four barred windows facing this side of the street.”

  “Good.” He climbed from behind the wheel and strode across the street, leaving me to scramble after him.

  Walking into the building, I scrunched my nose as a wave of sweaty, stale odor hit me. Andre stopped in the hallway to glance at the framed photos and I pointed at one. “There’s Buster with Carlucci.”

  “You said Mr. Carlucci no longer works at the car lot, and his home is inaccessible. How do you propose we speak with him?”

  “I’m going to see if my boyfriend knows him. If that fails, I’ll ask my mom for an introduction. Tomorrow, I want to go see Wyatt Sanders. I have a feeling he’s in this fight club up to his eyeballs.”

  “Feelings don’t hold up in court.”

  “Good thing I’m not a lawyer.”

  “I’m willing to bet Mr. Sanders is every bit as insulated as Will Carlucci.”

  “You?
Bet? Penny slots, I take it? Don’t want to risk losing your life savings on a game of chance.”

  He gazed down at me, his face locked in a severe expression. “That’s why I play blackjack. I like the mathematical advantage of the game.”

  “You play blackjack?”

  “There are a few other games I like to play.”

  I was willing to bet the house naked Twister wasn’t one of them. Chess, golf, crossword puzzles—those were more Andre’s speed. “Do tell.”

  “I used to do a little boxing myself, back when I was in the service.”

  I’d always pegged him as a military man; the boxing part threw me for a loop though. “Marines?”

  “Army.”

  “Were you any good? At the boxing, I mean.”

  “Not very. I didn’t stick it out. Wasn’t for me.”

  “Too worried about damaging that pretty face?”

  He flicked one brow. “Exactly.”

  To hear Andre crack a joke, even a lame one, was a little jarring. He was just chock full of surprises today.

  I whizzed past him to the double doors. When I stepped into the gym, all eyes turned in our direction, but this time there was no Sugar or Roxy to gawp at, so the men quickly resumed their workout. Except for Buster Madison. He gave me a hairy eyeball that rivaled my mother’s.

  “Looks like someone’s not happy to see you.” Andre held up one finger to stop me from walking any further. “Where are the exits?”

  I didn’t see any. Other than the entrance, there were only two doors—one leading to the locker room and the closed door of Buster’s office near the back wall. “Probably through the locker room. And before you ask, I see six men, nearly naked and very sweaty. The two in the ring are most likely heavyweights. Two smaller guys are jumping rope, one medium-sized dude is using the speed bag. The older man standing near the ring scowling at me is Buster, which you know because he was in every freaking picture in the hallway.”