Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (15 page)

Chapter 19

Since I had to meet Dane at nineish, I dropped Roxy off at her apartment so she could change and I ran home to do the same. I donned black slacks and a fuzzy black sweater, straightened my hair, and called Ma to see if she wanted to meet up with the SPuRTs. She’d already spent some time with them, so she might be able to use her connections to uncover information about the uniform.

Not only was she interested, she was enthusiastic. “Sounds like fun. I may wear my Klingon forehead.”

“Do you want to come to Axton’s for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ve already eaten and I want to squeeze in a
Wheel of Fortune
episode.”

I promised I’d drive by on my way to the meeting with Starfleet, then I headed to Roxy’s place. When she climbed into the car, I got a good look at her. Her neon pink dress nearly blinded me. Enameled Japanese doll hairpins popped out of her Princess Leia buns.

“On a scale of hot to sizzling, how do I look?” she asked.

“Off the charts sizzle.” I sped over to Axton’s house while Roxy checked her appearance in the visor mirror.

Axton owned a small, white clapboard house with a one car garage. He lived in a neighborhood that had Rottweilers instead of alarm systems. It was a far cry from the multi-level, expansive property he grew up in, but he was happy here. With Stoner Joe. I wasn’t sure what Joe did, other than spark up and watch TV all day, but since Ax tolerated him, I did, too.

Roxy and I walked into the house and the smell of pizza made my stomach rumble. Ax popped out of the kitchen and waved.

“Hey girls, come on in. Help yourselves to some eats.”

On the round kitchen table, Ax had laid out pizza, cheese sticks, plates and napkins. Stoner Joe, his eyes closed, leaned back in his chair with his hands laced on top of his head. Long and lanky, with a purple tuque covering his greasy locks, he seemed to have fallen asleep.

Then his eyes popped open.

“Rosario. What’s the haps? And who’s your lovely amoeba?” He wiggled his brows at Roxy.

“You’ve met Roxy before, Joe.”

Roxy grabbed a paper napkin. “Like a million times.” She spit her wad of gum into it and tossed it on the table.

“Pizza’s hot, beer’s cold in the fridge,” Ax said.

I snagged three cheese sticks and ate one slice. Axton snarfed down the rest. And Joe just closed his eyes and stroked the braided string on his crocheted tuque.

After we finished eating, Roxy and I helped Axton clean up. As we clanked the dishes into the washer, Joe never moved. We turned off the kitchen light, leaving him in the dark, then we slung on our coats, ready to snag Ma on our way to the meet up.

Before we could hit the front door, Joe stumbled into the living room and stared at us in confusion. Since that was his normal expression, I didn’t pay much attention.

“Like, where’s the fire, dudes?” he asked.

“We’re meeting up with Starfleet, Joe. Remember I told you?” Ax said.

Joe sniffed. “Nope.” He pointed to his ear. “And I’ve got a memory like a steel cage
match. I’d like to meet these so-called Starfleet Federales.”

Ax shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Roxy and I may have grumbled. A lot.

While Joe meandered into his room to grab a jacket, Ax gave me a look of such disappointment, he rivaled my mother. “Really? You’re going to begrudge him an evening out? He never leaves the house.”

“Ax, he could get out of the house every day if he went to work,” I said.

“For sure,” Roxy said. “And he smells all skunky.”

Axton sighed. “Okay. But you guys have to tell him he can’t come.”

Joe trudged toward us, wearing a faded denim jacket frayed at the collar and cuffs. “This is much more exciting than what I had planned tonight. I was going to watch a
Cheers
marathon and spank off.”

The visual. The horrible, horrible visual. “Ugh. Let’s just go,” I said.

“I am not sitting next to him.” Roxy stomped out ahead of me.

“Roxy gets shotgun,” I called over my shoulder.

I stopped at Ma’s blue and white Victorian on the way. I bounced up the porch stairs and knocked on the screen door. She emerged with a bag in one hand and her silicone crinkles affixed to her forehead.

“Hey toots, I have a plan.” She turned and locked the door, pulling it shut. “I’m going to infiltrate Starfleet and I’ll keep my ears open to pick up any clues. We’re going to find that missing uniform.”

“That’s what I was counting on, Ma.”

I took the bag from her hand, booted Roxy to the back, and made sure Ma was comfortable before shutting the passenger door.

With my faithful crew, I engaged in warp speed—forty miles an hour—straight into Federation territory.

Which also turned out to be the The Gutter Ball bowling alley.

As we walked toward the entrance, I noticed a group of kids near the front corner of the building. Looked like they were up to no good.

“Hang on, guys. I’ll be right back.”

I traipsed over to the group of teens and broke through the huddle just in time to see a drug handoff.

Mason Mathers pocketed a wad of cash. The three boys and one girl who’d gathered around him glanced over at me.

“Wait your turn, lady.” The loudmouth was pimply and looked a few years older than Mason.

I had to stand on my toes to get in his face. “My boyfriend, the vice cop, is inside this building.” I snatched a baggie out of his hands. “Get out of here before I tell him to get the handcuffs.”

Pushing past me, he and his friends ran to a late model sedan. The tires squealed as he peeled out of the lot.

Mason advanced on me. “What the hell are you trying to do, ruin my business?”

“Um, yes? What are these?” I asked, holding the baggie up to the light. He tried to snatch them away, but I was too quick and shoved them in my pants pocket. “What if your dad finds you selling again?” After witnessing Martin’s temper the night before, there was no telling what he would do to Mason. “And what about your mom? She has enough on her plate without having to worry about you and your habit.”

He clamped his frowning lips together.

“Listen, you’ve got to get your shit together. Your mom is selling your house. No money equals no more fancy rehabs. No macramé classes by the ocean while you sober up. And with your dad being suspected of killing his secretary, he might not have a job that will protect your entrepreneurial activities. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

His brows sank lower. “What the hell are you talking about? My mom’s not selling our house. It’s been in our family for generations. Why would she do that?”

Yes, he was an angry, disrespectful brat. But this kid broke my heart. His family was being shredded. His mom was stressed and sick and probably, even at the best of times, wasn’t all that stable. And his asshole dad was being shunned and accused of murder.

“Mason…”

Something like realization crossed his features. “Oh God, my dad’s a killer, isn’t he?”

“No, I don’t think he is.”

He searched my eyes, looking for the truth. “So who did it then? If it wasn’t him…”

“Mason—”

He punched my shoulder, sending me staggering backward. “It had to be him. That’s the only explanation,” he shouted. Then he took off around the corner and ran to the back of the building. By the time I followed, he had hopped in a car and sped off into the night. Shit. I had a sinking feeling I’d just made things worse.

I didn’t know what to do about him. I sure as hell wasn’t informing his dad that he was selling and Annabelle seemed physically and emotionally unequipped to care for her addicted son.

I hated to put this all on Molly, but she was the only person I could think of. Rolling my sore shoulder, I jerked the phone from my purse and called her.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Molly, it’s Rose Stric—”

“I can read the screen. What do you want?”

I thought we’d left each other on civil terms. Apparently not. “I’m at the The Gutter Ball. I just saw Mason and he was selling pills. He ran off when I confronted him.”

“Where is he now? Is he all right? Was he using?” Her words flowed together in one long sentence.

“I don’t know. He just drove off. Thought I’d give you a heads up.”

“Why did you confront him?” she practically screamed. “He hates that. You should have just called me.”

After she hung up, I stared at my phone. I couldn’t do anything right tonight. I’d made a mistake calling her. Maybe I should have called Andre instead, although I didn’t know what he could do, either.

Mason was sixteen and out alone selling drugs. No wonder Molly didn’t want to go away to college, she felt responsible for him. But she couldn’t protect him from himself. I was no expert, but that kid needed long term care.

I slogged back to the front of the building. “Sorry about that. Martin Mathers’ kid. Selling pills.” I pulled the baggie from my pocket.

Ax fingered the plastic. “Probably Oxy. How old is he?”

“Sixteen.” I scrubbed my hand along the back of my neck. “One crisis at a time. Let’s go meet the SPuRTs.” I dropped the baggie in the trashcan near the entrance.

As soon as I opened the glass door, the thunder of balls crashing, pins falling, and an old Journey tune blaring from the bar greeted us.

My downstairs neighbor, Wanda, manned the shoe counter, a cigarette dangling from her hot pink lips. “Hey, Blondie.” As she talked, the inch-long ash at the end of her smoke threatened to fall and I watched it, spellbound.
“I ain’t never seen you here. What size do you wear?” Wanda was a drinker—red wine, the cheaper the better. Ghostly skin, dark eye circles, and fried, bleached hair gave her that just-stuck-a-fork-in-the-toaster look. She cast her glance over Roxy, then moved on to Stoner Joe, who’d lifted his shirt to scratch his scrawny belly.

“Hey, Wanda,” I said. “I’m actually here to find the Trekkers.”

“Oh, you’re one of them?” Leaning her palm on the red-carpeted counter, she nodded with her chin. “Lanes one through four. And tell them to untie their shoes before returning them. Untying all those laces is a pain in my ass.”

“Will do.”

“I got my own shoes,” Ma said, pointing to the bag Axton held.

Wanda winked at her. “Good thinking. You wouldn’t believe some of the smells that come out of those kickers, not to mention the fungus.”

Roxy and I simultaneously curled our lips and backed away slowly. Then I turned and led our little party to the far side of the building. Sure enough, there they were, fourteen Fleeties, decked out in Trekker uniforms, mostly from
The Next Generation
era. A couple members were dressed as throwbacks from the original series—one, a hot blonde wearing a bee hive wig, a minidress that flashed more fishnet-covered ass cheek than I needed to see, and black go-go boots.

Klingon Brian was already there, talking to Bee Hive, which made Roxy chomp her gum a little louder than usual. “Look at her. She’s practically rubbing her tits all over him.”

Brian threw back his head and laughed at something Bee Hive said. She wasn’t exactly rubbing up against him, but her body language said she’d sure as hell like to.

“Stay cool. We’re here to find the missing uniform.”

When Brian saw us, he walked away from the SPuRTs to meet us. “Hey, Rox. Glad you came.”

Joe gravitated to an orange bowling ball. He reached out and rubbed his hand over it, as if it were made of crystal and ready to show him his future. I didn’t need to read his palm to know what life had in store for Stoner Joe—untold bongloads and endless bags of Funyuns.

“Are the Starfleet peeps open to talking to me?” I asked Brian.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve told them who you are and that you’re trying to find the uniform.” He led us over to the group who stood at attention with their eyes forward. One man stood in front of all the rest. On the hefty side, his red uniform was snug. So snug I could see the imprint of his bellybutton. I put him somewhere in his fifties, judging by his salt and pepper goatee.

“I am Captain Mark Smith of the reconnaissance ship, USS Tomahawk. It’s a pleasure to have you with us. Welcome.”

“Thanks. I’m Rose. This is my friend Roxy. You all know Axton and Ma.” There were several head bobs. “And,” I glanced over my shoulder to introduce Joe, but couldn’t find him. I faced the group. “It’s great to be here.”

Mark inclined his head.

“How would you like to handle this, Rose? If I may call you by your given name?” There was no hint of a smile. Only serious business afoot. These Fleeties weren’t screwing around.

“Well, why don’t you guys continue to bowl and Roxy and I will sit over here.” I pointed to the row of chairs. “Maybe you could speak to us one on one?” That way, one of them might let something slip. Find the weakest of the Starfleet pack and divide them from the herd. King of the jungle style. “And do you mind if Ma bowls with you?”

A young woman with glasses stepped forward. “We’d be happy to have you on our team, Ma.”

“Terrific,” she said, turning to give me a broad wink that involved opening her mouth so wide I could see her uvula.

Captain Mark gestured for Roxy and me to sit in the plastic, orange molded chairs behind the lanes.

Roxy plopped in the seat, but she was scoping out Brian and Bee Hive and getting more pissed off by the minute. If her jaws worked any faster, I was afraid she’d wind up with TMJ.

I extracted my trusty notebook. “May I call you Mark?”

He parked in the row in front of us and swiveled around, leaning his forearms across the top of his chair. “I’d prefer Captain Smith, if you don’t mind.”

Oh brother. I should’ve made him call me Pocahontas, just to mess with him.

“All right, Captain Smith. Tell me about the laser tag incident.”

His bushy caterpillar eyebrows fell so low, I could barely see his eyes. “We played a close game. It was neck and neck, but eventually, the Starfleet Planetary Reconnaissance Team won.”

“Who is that slut?” Roxy muttered.

I placed my hand on her knee. “Settle.”

“After dinner and drinks,” he continued, “we adjourned to Divak Khard’s home to commence with the awards. As you know, the prize was discovered missing.”

“Did anyone leave the table at the restaurant? Anyone gone for more than a couple of minutes at the bar?”

He cast his eyes downward. “It’s hard to say.” Was he hiding something? Those shifty eyeballs made me suspicious.

“What can you tell me about your fellow Starfleet members?”   “Surely, you don’t suspect one of my crew is the thief?”

“Not at all, Captain Smith. I just want to get a feel for what happened that day,” I said.

“I won’t color your experience. Talk to them yourself and make up your own mind.”

“Fair enough. But let me ask you this, what do you think happened to the missing uniform?”

He looked me square in the eye. “One of the KAWs took it. Starfleet is above reproach.” He stood, tugged on the hem of his shirt, and stomped his red-and-pea-green bowling shoes off to the lane.

Roxy slapped my arm. “Look at her. She keeps touching him. How would he like it if I rubbed up against some random dude?”

“Probably not so much.”

She fluffed her sleeves and flattened her Princess Leia buns with the palms of her hands. “Let’s just find out.”