Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (17 page)

Chapter 21

I dropped Ma off first, carrying her heavy bag to the front door and waited until she slid the lock home before heading back to the car. As I did, big, fat drops of rain splatted to the ground.

Roxy had climbed in the front seat and stared forlornly out the window. I hated seeing her depressed like this. And it wasn’t because of that ass, Brian. “You were a great girlfriend, Rox. Tariq’s going to be sorry he let you go.”

She sniffed. “I know.”

“Want to go with me to Bar None? I’ll make Dane buy you lots of cocktails?”

She shook her head. “No. You go investigate. I’m tired.”

I dropped her off and watched her and her drooping shoulders disappear through the front door.

Sitting in the car, I texted Dane and told him I’d be a few late. Roxy’s apartment wasn’t that far from Jason Hall’s complex. I could swing by, grill him like a weenie about his relationship with Delia, then head to the bar to meet Dane.

I took the highway and drove south until I reached Cedar Ridge Apartments. Built in the late seventies, I imagined it was the type of place that housed newly divorced dads before they hooked up with wife number two. Or three.

The gray concrete structures must have been designed by a defector from the Soviet Union, because bleak didn’t begin to cover it. I found Jason Hall’s building and strode inside.

The smell of cabbage and onions was strong. Almost stronger than the undertone of musky cologne and moldy, stained orange carpet.

I booked up the stairs to apartment 3A and rapped on the door. When he didn’t answer, I knocked louder. No sounds came from the apartment, but the TV boomed from the unit across the hall, so I tapped on that door, too.

A man with a sparse mustache and even sparser hair—five greasy strands made their way from one ear to the other by way of his bald head—answered the door.

“Hello,” he hollered over the TV. Placing one hand on the doorjamb, he leaned toward me. “What can I do for you, lovely lady?”

“Have you seen Jason around?” I hiked a thumb at the apartment behind me.

He smiled and let’s just say oral hygiene didn’t seem like a top priority. “Not today. Why don’t you come in and wait for him?”

“When does he usually show up?”

He shrugged. “He’s gone for days sometimes.”

I turned and made for the stairs.

“Wait,” he called. “Come back. I have a waterbed. And light beer.”

Hard to resist an offer like that, but I managed. Hopping back behind the wheel, I drove to my meetup with Dane.

Bar None sat back from the road. A brick building with an overflowing parking lot, the bar had become a popular, sophisticated place just a block into the poor side of town. Which made it a draw for the Richie Riches in Huntingford. Just lowbrow and jazzy enough for them to feel safe, yet hip, at the same time.

The room was dark—not Bob’s Fine Italian dark though. This place had ambiance and the subdued lighting added to it. I walked further inside. Voices, laughter, and a bluesy-voiced African American woman stood near a baby grand singing
The Girl from Ipanema
. Her silver, beaded dress was a striking contrast against her dark, toned legs.

I spotted Dane immediately. He’d been on the lookout and waved me over to a two person table close to the stage.

He placed both hands on my shoulders and kissed my cheek. He waited until I sat, then skirted his chair around the small table until he was right next to me, rubbing his knee against mine. I pulled away and moved my legs a few inches to the left.

Handsome, tall, and muscular in all the tasty places, Dane’s good looks were enhanced by his baby blue eyes, which twinkled at me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Even though you only call when you need something.”

The chiding words made me feel the slightest bit guilty. While I liked Dane, I didn’t want to lead him on. “Sorry about that,” I said. He’d ordered me a drink—white wine, which he knew was my go-to cocktail. I took a sip. Cool, dry, and very refreshing. Much better than the box o’ wine I usually guzzled. I reached into my purse and dug out my trusty little notebook.

“So, what’s the scoop on Delia?”

He tugged the notebook from my hands. “Let’s drink and enjoy the music. Just half an hour. Is that too much to ask?”

I shrugged and sipped at my wine, listening to the lady’s sultry version of a Frank Sinatra tune. I felt myself relaxing a bit. Maybe it was the wine or the soothing music, but when Dane’s arm slid along the back of my chair, I didn’t move away.

When she finished singing, we all clapped and I snagged my notebook back. “Okay, solicitor, it’s time to give me the scoop. Delia Cummings and Martin Mathers. Go.”

Dane sighed. He leaned toward me, speaking low into my ear as he gave me the rundown. “Rumor had it that Delia and Martin were an item. Had been from the moment she started working for him. I believed it. She watched him constantly and acted as if every word out of his mouth was a nugget of gold.”

I leaned my head away to glance at him. “I know all that. But didn’t she care that people were talking about her? It didn’t bother her at all?”

“I think she liked it. She made it her business to hear all the courthouse gossip and ran right back to Mathers with it.”

I blew out a frustrated breath. I knew all that, too. “What about David Ashby? What’s he like?”

“What’s he got to do with this?”

I just stared at him until he sighed. “Fine. Ashby is ambitious. Word is out that the Prosecuting Attorney is going to make a bid for Lieutenant Governor. Ashby wants the head PA spot so badly, he’s practically drooling.”

“Do you like him?”

“No. He’s an arrogant jerk. Very guarded, very phony. Even when he’s talking sports or the weather, you see the wheels turning in his brain. I don’t trust him.”

Sullivan thought Delia had been screwing Ashby on Martin’s orders. What if she threatened to disclose their affair? Sullivan thought David Ashby could ride out a scandal and land on his feet, but what if all he wanted was to climb the political ladder? Delia Cummings might have gotten in his way.

“What about his wife, Charlotte?” I asked.

Dane raised his brows. “I’ve met her a few times. She’s okay. Doesn’t seem very bright. She’s quite a fangirl, though. Comes to court and watches Ashby.”

I made a note of everything he said. “How well do you know Annabelle Mathers?”

“Not well at all. Met her a couple times at the club. She’s one of those women who sort of blend into the background. But from what I understand, their kids are a mess. The youngest one’s been to rehab several times and the oldest has mental issues.”

“Molly? I know she has an eating disorder.”

He shrugged. “Heard she’s been to psychiatric facilities for something.”

“What about Julia Baxter and Judge Keeler?”

“He hooked up with Julia just months after his wife’s funeral. Some say they were actually an item long before his wife died. Julia’s smart and cunning, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“If she’s so smart, why hasn’t she married him? Wouldn’t a gold digger lock the judge down with a ring?

“Maybe she wants to try and convince everyone she’s not on the make?” Dane asked.

That could be it.

Or maybe she was terrified that her true identity would be uncovered. What would her country club friends think if they knew she had a criminal background and an ex who was in prison? Probably wouldn’t be good for her business prospects, let alone her social life. She could kiss Junior League and the Historical Society goodbye.

“I hear Keeler, Ashby, and Mathers are very good friends,” I said. “Like the three amigos.”

Dane pulled away. His gaze ran over my features. “Who are you getting all this info from?”

“I can’t reveal my sources. And when Martin doesn’t want a criminal to go to trial, Ashby complies.”

Dane’s brow furrowed. “Have you been talking to Andre Thomas?” he asked.

“Hard Ass? Hardly.” I tried to make it sound like the lamest idea he’d had all day. “I’ve been poking around, asking questions. People like to talk, Dane.”

His narrowed eyes led me to believe he wasn’t completely convinced.

“I know about Captain Charles Bentley,” I said. “Everyone’s talking about it.” And by everyone, I meant Officer Andre, of course. “Was Delia involved in getting him fired?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but Mathers was. Bentley was dropped from the force after twenty-something years. Supposedly, he’d been taking bribes. At least that’s the way I heard it. He was gone before I returned to Huntingford. I just picked up tidbits. Surely you don’t suspect him of murdering Delia?”

“Not really.” Not with stage four lung cancer, anyway.

“Mathers retained my boss as his attorney. Just talking to you like this could get me fired.”

I patted his knee. “You’re a pal.”

“Yeah, I’m a pal.” Dane leaned close enough that his breath ruffled the hair near my ear. “Now it’s your turn to answer a few of my questions. Why are you still dating Sullivan? You know what he is.”

I chewed my bottom lip and thought about how I should answer. Although I wasn’t thrilled with Sullivan’s illegal endeavors, they didn’t bother me as much as they used to. I was becoming hardened to the realities of his life and business. And I’d learned that sometimes, playing the wrong side of legal was damn convenient.

But I didn’t feel like talking about my very personal feelings for Sullivan. “We’re just hanging out. I like him.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“Not to me. Just how corrupt is Martin Mathers anyway?”

With a sigh, Dane gestured to the waiter and ordered himself another drink. I shook my head and waved off more wine.

Dane couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, so eventually we sat back and enjoyed a few more songs. Before I made tracks home, I decided to stop by the restroom. Dane waited at the entrance while I walked past the bar and hooked a right, darting down a narrow hallway. I reached for the bathroom door at the same moment a hand clamped on my arm. Gazing up in surprise, I looked into David Ashby’s blue eyes.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Come with me.”

He began yanking me toward the emergency exit at the end of the hall, but I jerked away. “Are you following me?”

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure we were still alone. “Please. I need to speak with you.”

I had questions for him, too. And if he tried anything, there was a club full of people just a few feet away.

With a nod, I motioned for him to lead the way. I darted outside after him into the cold night air. Rain sputtered from the sky, making me damp, but not dripping. We stood directly beneath a spotlight attached to the roof’s soffit. The yellow glow made a halo around Ashby’s golden head.

“Why are you following me?” I asked.

“Why were you at the pub with Martin the other night?” he countered.

“None of your business.”

“Does Sullivan know? Are you sleeping with Martin?” My fingers twitched to wipe the smirk off his face. “He’s going to kick your little butt to the curb for cheating on him.”

I crossed my arms. “Really? You know Sullivan that well, huh? Let me ask you the same thing. What will Charlotte say when she finds out you were boning Delia?”

He lost the smirk. “She’s never going to find out. Is that clear? So you and Mathers, were you two talking about me?”

Someone was paranoid. “Your name might have come up.” I watched to see if he squirmed, but he held steady. “Why were
you
meeting Mathers that night?”

His facial muscles tightened slightly before he paced away. Sullivan said that was Ashby’s tell.

“We just met for a drink.”

He was totally bluffing.

“Not buying it. Try again, David. And this time, give me something plausible. Or I will tell Charlotte about your affair.”

He faced me. “My wife is very…she couldn’t handle finding out about an affair. It would devastate her.”

“Then maybe you should keep your dick in your pants. Because your wife’s devastation is really not my problem.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine,” he spat out. “Martin is desperate. He demanded my cooperation and at first, I told him I couldn’t help him. Of course he threatened to make my relationship with Delia public.”

“And?”

“I told him I’d give him a heads up before the police brought him in for questioning. That I’d work with his attorney to plead down to manslaughter. I can’t do much more than that.”

With a shiver, I pulled the collar of my coat tight around my neck. “Is Judge Keeler a part of this deal?”

He studied me with a narrowed gaze, causing wrinkles to appear beneath his eyes. “You seem to know everything.”

“I know the three of you are complicit in a lot of shit. Did Martin put Delia up to screwing you or was that all her idea?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking clearly the first night. Charlotte and I, we have our problems. We’d been arguing for days. Finally, I left the house and stopped by one of Sullivan’s poker games. That night, Delia wouldn’t take her eyes off me. Martin didn’t seem to notice and afterward, we agreed to meet up at her place.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Four months ago. It was exciting, you know? Fooling around behind Martin’s back.”

What a great friend.

“How long did it go on?”

He hesitated. “Until she told me she was pregnant. Three weeks before she died.”

“Did she want money or something?”

“No.” He thrust his hands in his trouser pockets. “But she was thinking about keeping it. That brought everything to a halt.”

“Did you see her the night she died?”

He shook his head. “No. And I didn’t kill her either.”

“You don’t seem sorry that she’s dead.” In fact, with the exception of her parents and Andre Thomas, nobody seemed to care that Delia Cummings had been murdered.

He was quiet a moment before taking a deep breath.

“I’m not. The baby could have been mine just as easily as it could have been Mathers’. That would have completely fucked my life.” He stared at the wet blacktop, where oily slime rose to the surface, creating an iridescent sheen.

David Ashby had very good reasons to kill Delia Cummings. But why share them with me? He was confessing a hell of a lot. But was he telling the truth about not killing her?

“Why are you being so forthcoming, David?”

He dialed the wattage on his All American smile up to dazzle. But I wasn’t fooled by the apple pie, flag-waving package. “You can’t prove anything I’m telling you. It’s my word against yours. And who do you think people will believe?” he asked. “Me? One of Huntingford’s top fifty up-and-comers? Or you?”

Not bothering to answer, I flung open the door and strode back inside, into the crowd and the dim lighting. The singer’s husky voice dipped on the chorus of a Sade song.

I worked my way through the crowd at the bar to find Dane.

His gaze ran over me, took in my damp hair and my probably blue lips. “What happened?”

I walked out the front door and onto the sidewalk, peering up at him. “I just got waylaid by David Ashby. He admitted to the affair, said Delia’s baby could have been his.” I stalked toward my car, but Dane’s hand on my shoulder brought me up short.

“Why do you put yourself in these dangerous positions? I know your mother wouldn’t want you risking your neck for this shit.” He stroked my upper arm. “Someone killed Delia Cummings. And you’re not equipped to deal with these people. Do you want to wind up hurt? Again?”

He was referring to my previous investigations. Things had gotten a little messy, true, but I was fine.

I knew he worried about me. And while it was sweet that he cared so much, I wasn’t going to stop. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Mathers said if he went down, he’d take Sullivan with him. That was not going to happen.

“Dane,” I said, patting his hand. “I can’t do a lecture right now, okay?”

His lifted his hand from my arm to stroke my hair. “Okay. But call me if you’re in trouble. Promise me.”

I nodded. “Deal.”

He followed me to my car, kissed my cheek, and made sure my seatbelt was buckled before shutting the door. With his hands in his pockets, he stood on the sidewalk and watched me drive away.

I made it home in less than ten minutes. As I opened the front door, I damn near had a heart attack. Sullivan lounged on my futon. Dressed in a dark suit with a crimson tie, he was devilishly sexy.

His gold eyes, however, were predatory. “How was your date?”

I shut the door behind me and paused, willing my racing pulse to slow down. “How did you know?”

He became a statue. I swear, he didn’t even blink for a full minute. “You’re not even going to deny it?”

I slipped out of the cashmere coat and hung it next to the door. I hated to take it off. Sullivan’s anger made my small apartment seem glacial. “Are you having me followed?”

His pause stretched out to an uncomfortable length. “You’re asking questions about the police chief and his dead mistress. Of course I’m having you followed.”

“You might have told me.”

David Ashby had been following me, too and I never even noticed. So much for my skills of perception.

“Look, I only met with Dane so I could get the dish on Martin Mathers and Delia Cummings. He knows all the courthouse buzz. And I had a little chat with David Ashby outside the club. He’s an asshole, by the by.”

He said nothing, but the silence was deafening. “Why was he touching you? Why did you touch him back?”

“I didn’t touch David Ashby.”

Sullivan pulled a breath and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Harker, Rose. Dane Harker put his hands on you.” His words were measured and although his voice had gotten softer, he was seven shades of pissed. “And you touched him back. I want to know why.”

With my feet planted to the floor, I cast my mind back. Dane had touched me, he’d kissed my cheek hello, he’d stroked my arm, my hair. There’d been nothing romantic in any of it. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember touching him. And frankly, I don’t like your spies telling on me. It’s creepy.”

He stared me down, not blinking, not moving. His anger was palpable.