Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (24 page)

Chapter 29

Three hours and forty-seven minutes later, I was free to go.

I was free, but Molly Mathers was in custody for murder.

I’d texted Sullivan, letting him know what happened. He called a few seconds later.

“Talk to me. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That guy you’ve got following me, can he give me a ride home? It’s been raining so hard, I don’t think my car will make it over the creek.”

Predictable pause. “He saw Mathers had been arrested and stopped following you. He’s been terminated.”

I stood in a corner of the foyer and watched the police move in and out of the house. “Please tell me you don’t mean that literally.”

“I don’t.” When he hung up, I didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed. I should have called my mom, but didn’t.

Seeing the black body bag that contained what was left of Annabelle Mathers, watching Molly get arrested—it made me feel like everything was happening in slow motion. As the police brought Molly down the stairs, arms cuffed behind her back, her eyes never strayed from mine.

The dining room became command central and that’s where I gave my statement. Several times. When the detective in charge asked me to go over it all again, Andre Thomas walked through the door like my hero.

“She’s had enough for one night.”

The cop looked up into Andre’s hard face. “That’s not your decision to make,
Officer
.”

Andre motioned for me to follow him. “Come on, Rose.”

The detective looked ready to protest, so I hopped out of the chair and scuttled behind Hard Ass. I followed him out to the courtyard. The rain had stopped, but the night was cold and the air felt damp against my skin. I shivered and thrust my hands into my coat pockets.

“What a mess,” he said.

I remained quiet. I was out of words.

Andre pointed toward the portico. “Your ride’s here.”

Sullivan.

He’d come for me.

In the middle of a murder investigation teeming with cops, he’d come for me.

“Give me your keys,” Andre said. “I’ll make sure your car gets back to your apartment.”

I dug them out of the purse and with shaky hands, removed them from my ring before practically throwing them at Andre. Then I ran to Sullivan.

He caught me in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head against his shoulder. “No. And you shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re here. Where else would I be?”

He walked me to the SUV parked along the edge of the drive. Red and blue lights swirled around us, police scanners squawked, cops loitered everywhere.

Sullivan drove us back to his house and I spent the night in his arms.

It was almost noon by the time I awoke. As I lay in Sullivan’s wide bed, I stared at the ceiling. He’d left me a note telling me he’d called Roxy and Ma to let them know I was safe.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself and my brain was clogged with memories of last night and the look in Molly’s eyes when she walked out of the house. Like I’d betrayed her.

I finally crawled out of bed and wandered into his colossal bathroom. The marble bathtub looked like it needed to be taken for a spin, so I ran the water, shed my clothes, and grabbed Sullivan’s shower gel to make bubbles.

I opened my eyes when he walked in fifteen minutes later. He carried a tray of sandwiches, which he set on the marble countertop. He was also minus a suit. Seeing him wear tight, faded jeans and a navy t-shirt threw my paradigm on its head.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

I sat up. “I don’t know.”

Lowering himself to his knees, he propped elbows on the side of the tub. “Martin was released from jail this morning and read from a prepared statement. He’s leaving the job. Voluntarily. He stressed that word three times.”

“You’re going to have to find a new chief to blackmail,” I said.

“There’s always somebody ready to make a deal.”

“Your philosophy should disturb me.”

“But it doesn’t?” He snuck a glance at the girls bobbing along the surface of the water.

I shook my head. “No. And my eyes are up here, Thomas Sullivan.”

“You sound like one of the nuns,” he said.

Well, that was intriguing. Had he gone to Catholic school? If so, none of their rules stuck. While I wanted to ask him for more info, I knew if I did, he’d clam up. So I didn’t bother.

“At the beginning of all this,” I said, “you told me the truth is relative, that it’s all a matter of perspective.”

He caught hold of the wet end of my ponytail and gave it a tug. “You told me I was full of shit. You weren’t wrong.” A smile graced his lips.

“That’s not exactly what I said. I just feel sorry for Molly. Her whole life has been destroyed. The truth is, she’s a murderer. But it’s also true that she was a very messed up, troubled girl.” I watched the bubbles pop and dissolve. “Did I do the right thing, telling the police she’d killed her mother?”

He stuck his hand in the water and laced his fingers with mine. “Do you really want to have a discussion with me about right and wrong? You probably won’t like my opinions on moral dilemmas.”

“I care more about justice than morals.” I looked into his eyes, felt my own tear up again. “Where’s the justice for Molly? Or Mason? She’s a kid. And I was just like her, Sullivan, wanting to break out of that life, to be away from my mother and all of the pressure to be perfect. Molly’s going to pay for the rest of her life while Martin walks off, scot-free.”

“There’s a fundamental difference between you and Molly.”

“I didn’t find a barn full of poison?”

“You had the courage to go it alone.” He leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose. “And you’re a good human being.”

“I didn’t have a drug addicted little brother to look after, either.” I sank back down in the cooling water.

Later that evening, Sullivan dropped me off at my apartment. I picked up my car and stopped by my mom’s house before heading over to the Ten Forward Lounge for a final showdown with the Fleeties.

I was feeling better about my decision to tell the truth. A little better, anyway. Spending the whole day with Sullivan, talking it out with him, eased some of my guilt. Molly couldn’t have cured Mason, and no matter how much love or money she had, she was as messed up as her brother. Hopefully, she’d get the help she needed.

My mom answered the door looking pale and her eyes were a bit bloodshot.

“Come in, Rosalyn.”

She led me to the informal living room where she settled on the edge of an armless chair. “I am still in shock. Your father is as well.”

“Yeah, shock’s a good word for it.”

“I can’t believe Annabelle killed Delia Cummings. And poor Molly killed Annabelle.” She shook her head. “She obviously wasn’t in her right mind. Neither one of them were. They must have been mentally unstable. How could we all have missed it?”

“Molly wanted to get away from her life. And she wanted to take Mason with her.”

The corners of Barbara’s mouth pulled down. “Why? What was so awful about her li…” She broke off and flitted her eyelids rapidly as she fought back tears. “Poor Annabelle tried her hardest with those kids. She did everything for them. Some children are never happy. You do your best, but it’s not good enough.”

She saw herself in this scenario. The harried, put-upon mother who did what was right for me, even though I never appreciated her sacrifice.

“Mom.” I wanted to tell her I was grateful. Grateful for her parental concern, misguided though it was. She’d tried to be a good mother, in her own warped way. And I was grateful that I’d gotten out unscathed, especially compared to the Mathers children. But I couldn’t actually say any of it. I was feeling too emotional. All I could manage was, “I’m so sorry about your friend.”

I patted her shoulder as I left to pick up Roxy.

When I parked in front of her place, she hopped into the car and not so lightly smacked my face a couple of times. “I was worried about you. You should have taken me with you last night. You holding up okay?”

I rubbed my cheek. “Yeah, Slugger. I’m doing all right.”

“That’s some harsh shit, that chick killing her mom. Who herself was a killer. It’s like a freaking soap opera.”

I nodded, but didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Yeah. Ready to face the Trekkers? Brian will be there.”

She rolled her gum with her tongue. “Please. He’s a bug on my windshield. I’m so over it. And if that Bee Hive chick starts with me again, I’m going to stick my boot so far up her ass, she’ll shit leather for a week.”

“Just make her swing at you first. You don’t want to be arrested. I can’t go through any more crap this week.”

She winked. “You got it.”

Next, we stopped to pick up Ma. As soon as she opened her front door, she gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “Oh, toots. I’m so sorry.”

I hugged her back. “It’s awful. And sad. But thanks for letting me have the day off.”

She pulled back and peered at me through the bottom half of her glasses. “Don’t be an idiot. And I like the sound of that Sullivan. His voice is sexy.” Then she purred. Talk about your cougars.

She climbed in the front seat. “So, do you know who took the uniform?”

I shrugged and backed out of her drive. “Yeah. I think so. But I’m going to put the screws to some of those SPuRTs first.”

“Just like a detective movie,” Ma said. “The big reveal.”

By the time we arrived at Dale’s house, all the Trekkers were there. The SPuRTs were in their uniforms, including Bee Hive who was sporting her sixties flip wig this evening. I was not calling her Flipper. She’d always be Bee Hive to me. She pursed her lips and her purple-shadowed eyes shot attitude at Roxy, who completely snubbed her.

Working a side pony with blue corkscrew curls, and rocking a shepherdess dress, Rox acted like the room was her own private club. She paraded over to where Melissa Sue had saved her a seat. Ma sat next to her.

The SPuRTs congregated on one side of the room and the KAWs on the other.

Ax and Dale were the only Klingons out of battle gear and wearing street clothes this evening.

“How are you?” Ax asked.

I smiled. “I’m okay. Been better. Been worse.”

“Sure you still want to do this?”

“Yep.” I’d called him earlier in the afternoon to set up the meeting. I wasn’t backing out now.

Chapter 30

I wandered toward the Fleet side of the street, stopping in front of the Mark Smith. “Now, I know it’s been a bone of contention over who took the uniform. But I have an eye witness who saw the perpetrator.”

Ooos and ahhhs chorused through the room.

“Captain Smith. It was your theater that hosted the laser tag game. According to your employee, he saw someone in the parking lot take the uniform out of Divak Khard’s car and place it in his own. It wasn’t you, since the kid said the perp was skinny.”

He stared down at his belly and gave it a pat.

“But you, Captain,” I waved a finger in Smith’s face, “knew that your parking lot cameras had stopped working.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I told you that myself.”

“You could have had one of your Fleeties steal it, knowing they wouldn’t be caught on camera, and thus secure the uniform for your own.”

He slammed his beer bottle on the table. “That is ridiculous. We won the game. The uniform was already ours.”

“Is it any more ridiculous than not allowing Ensign Ray Jones to advance within your little conclave because of petty jealousy?”

The SPuRTs looked uncomfortable while the Klingons nodded and threw out an occasional grunt.

Smith stood. “Would you get on with it? If you know who stole the uniform, tell us.”

I strolled over to Sid. “And you. You were upset that Dale broke up your relationship with Melissa Sue.”

Sid’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course I was.”

“You knew Melissa Sue sewed that uniform herself,” I said. “With exacting care and precision, she paid attention to every detail.”

“Actually, I just kind of winged it,” she said from her side of the room. “I didn’t even use a pattern.”

“It turned out really well for no pattern,” Ax said.

There were nods of agreement.

“Show me the swatch you carry in your pocket, Sid.”

His brows wrinkled into a puzzled frown. Withdrawing the square piece of fabric, he handed it over. “This?”

“Yes.” I examined the soft purple cloth. “Explain why you carry it.”

“It was the color of the flowers Melissa Sue and I picked out. Now I use it to clean my glasses. I’m sorry, what is your point?”

“Just stating the facts, Sid.” I tossed the fabric at him.

Then I meandered over to the KAWs and stood before Klek/Brian.

“You, Klek. You’re new to the group. Yet you seem to straddle the fence. You could have easily taken the uniform for your own sleazy purposes.”

“
bInep!”

“He says you lie,” Ax translated.

I nodded. “Yes, I do. But not today.” I clasped my hands behind my back and walked over to Ensign Jones. “Who in Starfleet knew about the broken cameras?”

Most of them shrugged, but Ray Jones’ eyes widened and he swallowed convulsively.

“How about you, Ray? Did you know that the cameras were broken?”

He turned bright red and when he frowned, his features scrunched up even further, reminding me of a ferret. “I don’t remember.”

Earlier in the afternoon, I’d had a burst of brain power after eating a grilled cheese sandwich a la Henry—fancy cheese on homemade French bread. I called Katherine Donner’s father, also Captain Smith’s landlord, and asked a few pertinent questions. If only I’d asked the right questions earlier, I’d have solved this thing days ago.

I walked behind Ray’s chair and leaned over his shoulder. “Of course you remember. You knew because your maintenance company is contracted to the building that Captain Smith rents. You were in charge of replacing the broken parking lot lights, were you not?” I asked, raising my voice.

“Well, yeah, but how could I know about the broken cameras?”

I placed my hands on his shoulders. “Because you’re the one who broke them. You knew that the laser tag game was coming up and you knew what a cheap bastard Smith is.”

“See here,” Smith said. “There’s no need for name calling.”

I arched a brow at him. “Isn’t there? Ensign Ray Jones,” I continued, “you knew Captain Smith would never fix the cameras. Look how long it took him to fix the parking lot lights. Only when the city fined him did he finally get his ass in gear.

“You stole the uniform because you wanted to be the one to find it later. You wanted to prove yourself worthy, so that Smith would finally recommend you for a rise in the Starfleet ranks. But you didn’t think it through,” I continued. “Because once you took the uniform, you couldn’t return it. Or you’d look guilty yourself. Hand me your phone, please.”

“I don’t have to give you shit.” He looked around at the Starfleet crew. “I didn’t do it. It’s all a lie.”

“Give her your phone,” Smith said.

With shaking hands, Ray pulled it from his front pocket and tossed it at me. I caught it and turned it on. It wasn’t password protected, so I slid the screen, and thumbed through the pictures. “That night at the bowling alley, you showed me a portrait of Spock you’d painted. In the background is a distinctive blanket Melissa Sue made for Dale.”

I walked over to the Klingon side of the room and showed Melissa Sue.

She nodded. “Yep, that’s it.”

Captain Smith stood once again.

“You are hereby banned from Starfleet,” he said, pointing his beer bottle at Ray.

“Now wait just a minute,” I said. “Ray wouldn’t have been desperate if you hadn’t been such a poor leader. If he’s banned, you should be, too,” I said.

The other Starfleet members nodded. “She’s right,” Sid said. “You should both be sanctioned.”

“We should ask National what to do about all this,” Bee Hive said. “I’ll send a communique tomorrow morning.”

“Nonsense. I’m the Captain and I run this ship.” His face turned a violent shade of red and a wide vein in his neck bulged. Yikes.

“Shut up,” one of the Klingons yelled.

With an angry tilt of his head, Mark Smith stomped up the stairs and a few seconds later, we heard the front door slam.

Then the Klingons stood up, one by one, and began clapping.

We partied down until the wee hours and I finally got a sip of Romulan ale. Tasted like crap.