Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (19 page)

Chapter 23

I promised my mother I’d meet her at the club that afternoon for tea. I could finally quiz Charlotte Ashby and subtly ask her if she knew her husband had been doing the nasty with Delia Cummings. If so, she would get bumped up on my suspect list. But I wasn’t sure I could do subtle. Maybe I needed my mother’s help on this one. Or maybe I’d rather chew dirt.

Since I’d already worn everything I owned that was even remotely appropriate for a club event, I decided to borrow something from Jacks. Even if it gave my mother serious palpitations to see me wearing hand-me-downs.

First I needed to stop for lunch. I was starving and didn’t imagine I’d get anything more than a cucumber finger sandwich at tea. As I waited in the drive thru line, my phone rang. Officer Hard Ass calling me during daylight hours? It must be dire.

“Miss Strickland, I’ve spoken to Captain Bentley. I will accompany you to his home where we will stay no longer than thirty minutes.”

I handed my money to the fast food lady with a hummingbird tattooed on her beefy bicep.

“What time?”

“Six o’clock,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if the Captain could shed any light on Delia Cummings’ death, but any info I could get on the Mills/Ashby/Keeler triad might be helpful.

On the drive to Jacks’ house, the rain finally let up. The sky was still gray, heavy with clouds, but at least it wasn’t pouring.

My sister lived on the north side of the city. Her home, while beautiful, was clone of every other house in the subdivision. Brick fronts. Varying shades of taupe.

I pulled into her driveway, and as soon as I hopped out of the car, my five-year-old nephew Scotty was out the front door, zooming toward me. He hit my legs, wrapping his little arms around them so tightly, I almost fell over.

“Hey, Sport. How are you?”

“I am excellent, Aunt Rose.” Since he was missing his two front upper teeth, it sounded more like
ecthelent
. Which was adorable. Tow-headed, bright blue eyes, and the cutest little smile ever. He’d be a heartbreaker one day, that was for sure.

When I picked him up, he clung to my neck. But honestly, the kid was getting so big, I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to carry him around. “Is excellent a new word?” I asked, staggering toward the house.

“Yep. Mom bought me a book and we learn a new word every day. It means really cool.”

“How’s soccer going?”

“You haven’t been to one of my games. And I am excellent at kicking.”

I kissed his cheek. “Yeah, you are. But I work every Saturday, Sport.”

“Your job is dead though.” He crinkled up his face and looked at me with somber eyes.

I stopped. “What do you mean my job is dead?”

“That’s what Grandma calls it. A dead job. She says you’ll never get nowhere in a dead job.”

“I like my job. I can eat all the pancakes I want. Every day.”

He gasped, showing me the missing space where his teeth used to be. “With
thyrup
?”

I looked him in the eye. “I eat pancakes that are swimming in syrup.”

“That’s excellent, Aunt Rose. Don’t sound dead to me.”

“Me neither.”

I made it up to the bricked front porch and set him down. Jacks held the door open and the biting wind lifted her bouncy, blonde hair away from her face. She wore a sweater and a pair of jeans that were made to look distressed. My jeans were frayed at the hem, not by design, but by being washed ten million times.

“Scotty, you know you’re not supposed to go outside without an adult, and you’re not even wearing a coat. It’s cold out there. Go sit on the sofa for ten minutes. No TV.” Jacks stepped aside and let us in.

“Ah, man.” He stomped his little foot and trudged to the living room.

“The joys of motherhood,” she said. “Ready to raid my closet? You haven’t done this since you were thirteen.”

“And you punished me by telling everyone I’d French kissed Bradley Stombach, the dumbest jock in school.”

Her jaw dropped. “You did kiss him.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t need to blab about it.”

“Well, that’s what you get for wearing my clothes without express permission.” She marched up the stairs.

“Should I have brought a notary public with me today?” I asked, following behind her.

“I think I’m safe. Your style has changed in the last eleven years.”

Now that was the truth. We walked into her master bedroom. It was gorgeous—spacious, warm, and filled with dark, carved furniture. The enormous bed, with its persimmon-colored duvet, didn’t even make a dent in the space. I wanted to flop myself down in the middle of the fluffy softness and fall asleep for a couple of days.

But Jacks had other ideas. She walked to her closet and threw open the double doors. The center island was a dresser with drawers encompassing it. Her clothes were organized by type. For instance, long-sleeved blouses took up the top half of a wall. They were categorized by color—starting with white, working their way through the rainbow to the end.

And so it went.

Dresses—long, short, day—and separated by seasonal material. Suits, coats, jackets, sweaters. A lot of the garments still had price tags swinging from them. I had no idea where Allen kept his golf shirts and sweater vests. He probably felt lucky that she let him sleep in this oasis with her.

Jacks pressed a finger to her lips and studied her clothes canvas. “I think pink.” She withdrew two suits. One with a fuchsia skirt, the other, a long-sleeved rose jacket with matching slacks.

“Slacks please,” I said.

“Try both on, then we’ll see.”

I took the hangers from her hand. “Jacks, I don’t have to look like a fashion plate, I just have to look presentable enough so Mom won’t bitch.”

She shooed me. “Into the bathroom. Oh,” she snatched a blouse from the rack, “take this, too.”

I trudged into the bathroom much like Scotty had for his time out. I’d just whisked off my hoodie when the door opened and Jacks popped in.

“Hey,” I said, covering myself with the sweatshirt. “A little privacy, please.”

She sat on the marbled edge of the tub. “I know what you look like, Rose. It’s not that exciting.”

I sighed and gave her my back. “Tell me about Charlotte Ashby. What does she do all day?”

“Oh my God,” Jacks yelled, sounding so freaked out, I spun back around, expecting to find her cowering from a spider the size of a basketball. Instead she stared at me, her mouth wide open, her eyebrows knitted in horror.

“What? What happened?”

“That bra you’re wearing. It’s disgusting. It’s dingy, the elastic is shredded in the back, and one of the hooks is missing. How long have you had that thing? Was that your original training bra?”

I contorted so that I could look at my back in her mammoth mirror. Yep, one of the hooks was missing. God, what must Sullivan think? I needed to step up my underwear game, big time.

“Stay right here. I have something for you.” She left the room.

“Jacks,” I called, “I’m not wearing your used lingerie.”

She returned a moment later with a lovely pink lace bra, the price tag still attached. “Haven’t even worn it.” She flung it at me like a slingshot and it landed on my ponytail.

“Thanks.” I pulled it off my head and glanced at the tag. Holy bolder holders. All my tips for a week wouldn’t cover the cost. I thought about giving it back to her, but she probably had enough to start her own Victoria Secret store, so instead, I whipped my old one off and the new one on. And I added to my endless mental to do list: buy sexier undies.

“You wanted to know about Charlotte?” she asked, perching on the tub once again and elegantly crossing her legs.

“Yeah. Does she have any kids?”

“No. She’s been trying forever. Went through in vitro and everything. She spends a lot of her day volunteering. And she watches David in the courtroom. Personally, I think it’s a little weird. It’s like she’s his groupie or something.”

I pulled the pale pink silk shell over my head. “And what’s with the little girl voice?”

“It gets annoying,” Jacks said. “But I don’t think she can help it.”

“Maybe she should try.” I stepped into the slacks. The satiny lining felt like heaven next to my skin. Then I shrugged into the jacket before facing Jacks. “Well?”

Her eyes got misty. “You look so gorgeous when you’re dressed up. Like the sister I remember.”

That stung a little. “Hey.” I waited until she looked at me. “I’m the same person. Just because I don’t wear expensive clothes anymore, I’m still me.”

She nodded. “Of course you are. Now, let’s do something with the hair. Sit.” She pointed to the low stool in front of the vanity.

Gently, she took my hair from its ponytail and ran her fingers through the strands. I met her gaze in the mirror.

“How have I changed, Jacks?” I asked softly.

Her eyes bounced away as she picked up a brush, gliding it through my hair.

“You move in a whole different circle now. I don’t get to see you as much as I’d like, we don’t have the same things in common anymore. I’d always sort of hoped you’d marry someone like Dane.”

The familiar guilt settled in the middle of my chest. I loved Jacks, would give her a kidney, but I didn’t always share my life with her. She played the fence too much, took my mom’s side in every disagreement. She would never understand about Sullivan. “Just because I don’t do country club things or shop at Saks, doesn’t mean we can’t hang out.”

She nibbled at her lower lip as she brushed my hair. “It seems like your friends are closer to you than I am. I know you love me. You adore Scotty. But your life is so different than what I wanted for you.”

“You’re disappointed in me.” When I dropped out of college and went my own way, I never thought about how Jacks would feel. I was too busy struggling to survive, making my rent each month, wondering if I could hold off paying the light bill for one more week.

“I just don’t think you’re living up to your potential.”

Before I could say anything else, she placed the brush back on the counter. “All done. I’m going to go change.” She hurried out of the bathroom. Her closet doors were shut tight when I stepped into the bedroom. A pair of dove gray heels stood in front of the bed along with a matching purse. I assumed they were for me, so I grabbed them along with my bundle of clothes and headed down the stairs.

Jacks may have thought I was slacking, but I wasn’t. I could have finished my degree by now, if that’s what I really wanted. I could have a life like hers, a home just like this one. And be absolutely miserable.

That painful wound from my parents cutting me off, and Jacks siding with them, still bled sometimes. I wasn’t sure if it would ever heal completely.

In spite of their disapproval, I’d succeeded in my hard-won battle for independence. I was living my own life, paying my own bills, figuring shit out as I went along. My family thought if they stuck me in an expensive ensemble and dragged me off to the country club that everything would revert back to the way it had been. I wouldn’t be the embarrassing, dropout daughter they never talked about.

But I wasn’t dropout. I was just finding my way, in my own time. And I was proud of what I’d become. So maybe I wasn’t the same Rose that Jacks remembered. But I liked the new and improved Rose. She was kind of kickass.

I found Scotty in the kitchen with the babysitter/housekeeper, Maria. When she saw me, she whistled. “You’re looking very nice.”

Scotty eyed me as he shoved a peanut butter cracker into his mouth. “Why you so dressed up, Aunt Rose? You look weird.” Cracker crumbs sputtered from his mouth.

“Thanks, Sport. Maria, do you have a plastic bag for my clothes?”

She pulled one from the counter beneath the sink and I shoved my clothes into it. Then I placed all the essentials from my hobo bag into the dove gray clutch.

I met my sister in the entryway. She looked stunning in a red dress and low black heels.

“Rose, I’m sorry—”

I held her off. “We’re fine.”

“Really?” Her worried eyes searched my face.

“Yeah. I’m okay with who I am. I like me.” This me needed new bras and panties before my next go round with Sullivan, but other than that, I was good.

“I like you, too,” she said, walking to the coat closet. “You never care what anyone thinks. I wish I had a little more of that inside of me.”

I grabbed my coat from the banister and flung it on. When I said goodbye to Scotty, I planted a big, fat kiss on his cheek. He probably wouldn’t allow me to do that much longer. Maybe we all wanted things to stay the same with the people we loved. Life was more comfortable that way.

I offered to drive to my mom’s house and on the way, noticed Jacks kept moving around in her seat, looking at the console.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“No seat heaters?” She angled the vents toward her. The day had gotten colder, the rain was back, but had calmed into a drizzle.

“This is how we ride in the hood.”

She lightly slapped my arm. “Very funny.”

We arrived at my parents’ house ten minutes early and I turned to Jacks. “So help me, if Mom bitches about us being late, I’m going to speak Klingon for the rest of the afternoon.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh, you do
not
want to know.”

Jacks of course popped open her mini umbrella, while I tried to run between the raindrops to the front step.

Janine, my mother’s maid, answered the door and took our coats.

Sweeping down the staircase, like a movie star from the nineteen fifties, Barbara wore a chic beige suit and taupe pumps. She kissed Jacks’ cheeks.

“Thank you for getting her here on time, Jacqueline.”

My mother’s eyes darted over me like a TSA agent searching for troublemakers in line at the airport.

“You look presentable.” Then she deigned to kiss the air space near my cheeks.

“Oh, stop,” I said. “You’re embarrassing me.”

She pursed her lips. “We have eight minutes before we have to leave. Come, tell me what you’ve learned.” She swished into the formal living room and we scuttled after her.

We sat on the tan and ivory striped sofa while Barbara took the chair near the fireplace. Like a queen on her throne. “Have you discovered evidence to prove Martin’s innocence?”

“No, not yet,” I said. “I have several questions I’m hoping you can help me with.” I pulled out my trusty notebook. “How does Annabelle really feel about selling the house?”

“Awful, as you can imagine. That property has been in her family for years. And now, because of her children’s problems and Martin’s out of control spending, she has to sell. Poor Annabelle is beside herself.”

“I found out David Ashby was having an affair with Delia Cummings. That baby could have been his. I want to know if Charlotte was aware, but I’m not sure how to tactfully ask that.”

Barbara sucked in her cheeks. “You can’t, of course. If she doesn’t know, you could destroy her marriage.”

“If she did know, she may have killed Delia. You can’t have it both ways, Mom.”

She sighed. “Ask Julia. She and Charlotte are close friends. But please, Rosalyn, no sledgehammer.” She stood and strode from the room.

Jacks took my hand, pulled me off the couch. “Why does Annabelle stay with Martin? He’s kind of a jerk.”

“No, he’s a serious asshole, Jacks. And she stays with him because it’s expected.” I’d rather sling hash any day than walk a mile in Annabelle Mathers’ shoes.

Barbara waited impatiently for us in the foyer. She insisted on driving and when we arrived at the club, she allowed the valet to help her from the car. “Put the seat and mirrors back where you found them, young man.” Once again, she ignored the doorman, sweeping past him, with her nose tilted toward the crystal chandelier.

After we handed off our coats, my mother fingered a button on her jacket and spoke to Jacks. “Get us a table, dear. Not close to the window, though, it’s chilly.” I started to follow, but Barbara slapped her hand on my arm.

“You will not humiliate me today. People are still talking about your little tête-à-tête with Martin Mathers.” Keeping her voice low, she smiled at two women walking past us.

“Mom, you asked me to do this. You’re going to have to give me a little leeway here. I’m not out to embarrass you.”

“Just think what you could do if you were trying, dear.”

I mentally counted to ten. Then twenty. I congratulated myself on my restraint and walked into the dining room. The round tables were set with pale pink linens and pink rose centerpieces. Teapots and cups covered every table. Little sandwiches, scones, and cookies filled silver tiered trays. So glad I stopped for nuggets.

Jacks had managed to land a table with my two victims—Charlotte Ashby and Julia Baxter. Perfect.

We made with the pleasantries and I copped a chair so that Julia sat to my right and Charlotte was directly across from me. Let the games begin.

I placed the napkin on my lap and zeroed in on Charlotte. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Rosalyn,” she said in her toddler voice.

I cut a glance at Jacks, who rolled her lips inward and pretended to be fascinated by a bowl of clotted cream.

“Is David in the courtroom this week?” I nodded a thanks at my mother, who’d poured me a cup of tea.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, “he’s prosecuting a robbery case.”

“How interesting,” I said. “Can someone explain how robbery differs from say, grand larceny?” I felt Julia tense up next to me. Apparently, mentioning Shawna Platte’s old crimes struck a chord.

“I’m not sure,” Jacks said.

“What about you, Julia?” I asked.

She shook her head, refusing to look at me. “I have no idea. But my home has a top of the line security system and I live in a very safe neighborhood.”

“Oh?” Barbara asked. “Is your name on the deed as well?” Her words were biting, but her tone was as sweet as the sugar dusted over the scones.

Julia laughed, but it had a wild edge to it. “Of course, Barbara.” She paused to place a sandwich on her plate and take a sip of tea. “When will you be ready to look at more condos, Rosalyn?” She’d used the time to compose herself.

If my mother made Julia this nervous, would she have had the stones to kill Delia? It didn’t seem to me that Julia could calmly walk into Delia’s home and stab her, then calmly remove the knife and leave no trace. Although, she probably would have had access to Delia’s condo. She had that e-key after all. Did it keep some kind of electronic list? I should ask Andre to check it out, see which realtors had been in and out of the condo in the weeks leading up to Delia’s death.

“Anytime you have something to show me, Julia,” I said, “I’d love to see it. You know, I’m fascinated by the real estate world.”

No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t think of anything more boring than the real estate world. Geology 101 came close, though.

With her cup midway to her lips, she paused and raised a brow. “And what do you find so utterly fascinating?”