Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (14 page)

Alice continued to talk, using her hands to help tell the story. “So every Friday, we have our weekly ‘truth-outs.’ That’s what he calls them instead of shout-outs.”

That was possibly the lamest thing I’d ever heard, and I’d suffered through a semester of Psychology of Feelings. “Sounds like torture.”

“You’re not kidding. We’re supposed to be able to tell our truth and share visions about the company—not a good idea. Mr. Sanders doesn’t want to hear any ideas other than his own. I figured out pretty quick that the walls have eyes and ears.”

“That is super creepy, Alice.” I rubbed my arms. “What’s going on with the white outfits?”

“Do not get me started. Do you know how hard it is to keep white clean in the middle of a muddy parking lot? It’s
impossible
.” She hissed the last word. “I need to get out of here, but I have student loans.” We fell quiet for a moment, then she glanced into the mirror, ran her fingers through her straight, shiny hair. “Okay, we’d better get back.” Reaching for the door, she inhaled deeply and pasted a smile on her face.

I grabbed the bottle of birch sap water and trod back up the stairs. Andre waited from me near the automatic front doors.

“Thank you, Alice. It’s a lovely building, truly stunning.” Andre and I walked out into the heat. He tried to speak to me, but I held up one finger. “Shhhh. This whole place is bugged,” I whispered. “Wait until we get in the car.”

Pete stood next to the SUV’s bumper with his beefy arms crossed. The suit sleeves bunched along his biceps. Perspiration dampened his short, dark hair. “How’d it go?”

“Very interesting. Now we’re heading to see a friend. White Oak Towers.”

He blinked once, which I took for agreement.

Back in Andre’s car, he started the engine and glanced over at me. “The whole place is bugged, huh? Between that and the glass walls, I suspect Wyatt Sanders is a control freak. He knew exactly who
you
were.”

I was stunned. I’d have sworn he didn’t recognize me. “How do you know?”

“He asked about you and Sullivan. He saw you last night, wanted to know if Sullivan had sent us. I told him I’ve never met anyone named Sullivan and your personal relationships have nothing to do with me. All true. So what did you find out?”

I shared my meager discoveries. “My takeaway is that Wyatt Sanders is an asshole. Possibly a sociopath.”

“Yes, that was my conclusion too. He looks straight through you and tries to mentally dissect your personality. It was rather off-putting.”

“Looks like we wasted our time. Want to try some fermented birch sap water?” I held out the bottle.

“Absolutely not.” Then, “How is it?”

“I’d rather drink my own urine.”

“More information than I needed to know, Miss Strickland.”

White Oak Towers was a large building on the edge of a gated community. Its mirrored windows and sleek architecture didn’t exactly fit in with the posh, traditional houses that surrounded it, but it was beautiful.

In the lobby, black onyx floors and sleek steel fixtures were modern, but cold. The doorman checked our IDs. I was more than a little disturbed that we also had to submit our fingerprint for a biometric scan.

I glanced up at Hardass as we rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. “Think they’re going to jack our fingerprint? Keep it on file? Use it for nefarious purposes?”

Andre stared straight ahead. “Doubtful, but always possible. Villains are constantly on the lookout for nefarious opportunities.”

Was he making fun of me? It was so hard to tell with him.

We stopped in front of unit 1106, where the TV was audible through the door. When I knocked, the sound cut out before Tyler Godfrey answered.

Other than the shaggy blond hair, he didn’t remotely resemble his driver’s license photo. Mainly because his face was bruised. Both eyes were purple, the left one swollen shut. A painful-looking cut bisected his chin, and his nose appeared to be broken. Again. “Yeah?”

I smiled. “Hi, I’m Rose Strickland, this is Andre Thomas. We have some questions about Rob Huggins. Can we come in?”

He began inching the door closed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Sorry.”

“Tyler. Please. It’s important.” I shoved at the door, squeezed through the crack. He automatically moved back, and Andre slipped in behind me.

Tyler peered at us through his one good eye. Though he didn’t offer an invitation, he turned and limped to the living room.

“Can we sit and talk for a little bit?” I asked, lagging behind.

Tyler started to rub his bruised cheek, but gasped in pain and withdrew his hand. “Yeah, have a seat.”

A picture window took up an entire wall. In the distance, I could see the green grass of a nearby golf course. Tyler’s furniture was straight out of an IKEA showroom. A weight bag hung in one corner.

“Sullivan got you this place, yeah?” I sat on a bright coral sofa. Andre stiffly sat next to me, his hands resting between his knees, keeping as silent as a mime.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sullivan’s my boyfriend, Tyler. I know all about the fight club. And I know his company owns this place and leases it to you.”

Tyler picked up a Navajo-print throw pillow before folding himself carefully into the chair. Dirty mugs and empty protein shake bottles littered the laminated coffee table. “It’s nice to have my own space.”

“What do you mean?”

He eased back, groaning in pain. “I used to live in a two bedroom with four other guys. Sucked, not having any privacy. But once I started winning consistently, Sullivan moved me in here. It came furnished and everything.”

“What else does Sullivan take care of, financially?”

He cocked his head slightly. “You’re dating him. Shouldn’t you know?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything.” I nearly scoffed at the irony. “I just wondered if Rob Huggins’ agreement with Carlucci was typical. Paying your fees, room and board, transportation.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I was at the fight club last night but had to leave early. Did you win?”

A lopsided grin turned his face from battered to gruesome. “Yeah. Both fights.”

“I’m surprised you don’t run out of gas after the first bout,” Andre said.

“I do a lot of cardio training.” Tyler pointed at his face. “This will take a while to heal up, though. I probably won’t fight again until September.”

“What kind of financial cut do you guys get,” I said, “if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The cover charge is divided equally among all the fighters, but if you win the first fight, you get an extra three thousand. Two fights, and it jumps to five. Not bad for a night’s work. Of course it disappears as fast as I can make it.”

“Steroids?”

“Not me. Rob does that shit. I can’t afford it. Doping gets very expensive.”

My gaze roamed over his face, his raw knuckles. “Despite making all that money, you’re in debt to Sullivan. Right?” I sort of hoped he’d deny it. Always looking for that stupid silver lining.

“We’re all in debt. The stable owners pull the strings. That’s why I started fighting in the first place, because I owed Sullivan so much money. He recruited me, told me I needed to work off my nasty poker habit. He pays for food, training, and medical, but there’s a cap. Anything extra comes out of my earnings. Eventually, I’ll have to pay him back for everything. Now I’m deeper in debt than ever. It’s like the mafia: once you’re in, you never get out.”

Andre rubbed his hands along his thighs. “That’s not quite true, is it? If you win a certain number of fights, they let you go.”

Tyler laughed and immediately clutched his side. “Damn, that hurt. No one’s ever won that many fights. No one ever will. Rob’s living in a fantasy world, thinking he can beat the system. He’ll end up working for Carlucci ’til the day he dies. Just like I will for Sullivan.”

Chapter 14

Macabre words, considering…

I hated how the club worked. The next time I saw Sullivan, I planned on letting him know exactly how much, but I didn’t kid myself—ultimately, my view on the subject wouldn’t matter. Sullivan made it clear he didn’t want me butting into his business. That didn’t mean I was going to keep quiet about it. Holding these fighters financially hostage was wrong on every level.

When Tyler began speaking again, I refocused on the matter at hand.

“You’re not here to talk about me, though. You have questions about Rob?”

I’d come to the conclusion there was no easy way to break the news gently, so I came right out with it. “I’m sorry, Tyler. Rob’s dead.”

He became utterly still. “Dead? Rob’s dead? How? When?” He talked so fast the words ran together. “Ah, man, did he commit suicide or something?”

My eyes widened in shock, and I felt Andre’s arm stiffen beside me. Tyler was the first person who didn’t jump on the murder bandwagon. “Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Heard he had old lady problems. He wanted out of the club. Talked about it constantly, even though Carlucci treated him well. When you said Rob was dead, I guess I figured he finally gave up. So was it a car accident? A heart attack? What the hell happened?”

I decided to hedge. “The results aren’t conclusive. Now that Rob’s out of the way, you’ll be the number one seed, right?”

Tyler sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. Bad way to get it. I’d rather earn it.”

“What does being the number one seed get you?” Andre asked. “Extra benefits? A newer car?”

“Probably. Most of all, I’ll get respect. Rob dying, man, that’s bad news. He’s got a kid, you know.”

Baby Olivia. “What’s going to happen to Rob’s fiancée, Sofia? Will she be kicked out of the condo? Is Carlucci going to help with expenses?”

“Doubt it. Once you’re knocked out of the fight club, the gravy train ends. You go back to living in a dump with four other guys.”

“Anything you want to tell us about Carlucci and Sanders?” Andre asked.

“I don’t really know anything about them. Their stables train at Buster’s gym—we all do—but each team has its own training schedule.” He leaned back and closed his one good eye. “I am sorry Rob’s gone. He was a hell of a fighter.”

“Did Rob do anything that could be considered cheating?” I asked.

“No. Why, what have you heard?”

“Nothing, I was just fishing. We’ll get out of here so you can get some rest. Need anything before I leave? Water, tea?”

With tentative movements, Tyler rose from the chair and moved to the sofa. “Yeah, I have another shake in the fridge. If you could get it for me, that’d be great.”

As Andre walked to the foyer, I scooped up all the empty glasses and took them with me to the kitchen. Sitting on the counter were four plastic amber bottles of pills. Like the snoop I am, I scanned the labels. Nubain. Oxycodone. Xanax. Ambien. Just like the stash Rob had hidden away, except his hadn’t been packaged in nice, legal bottles. A doctor’s name was printed on the side of the label. Cadewell. That was the doctor Sofia had mentioned.

“Rob,” I called, “do you need a pain pill or anything?”

When he didn’t answer, I stuck my head out of the kitchen. He was already lying on the couch, snoozing away. Since I was here, I quickly washed his used cups, set them in the rack to dry, then opened his fridge. On the second shelf sat six unopened bottles of SanderSprings Birch Sap Water. Did Wyatt provide it to all the fighters? I grabbed one along with the protein shake and took them to the living room, placing them within reach on the coffee table. I also left one of my business cards, before tiptoeing out the door.

Andre waited for me in the hallway, ready to crow. “Tyler immediately suspected suicide. At least one person doesn’t buy into your murder theory.”

I didn’t bother to restate my case. It didn’t matter what Andre thought, I wasn’t giving up, not until I’d exhausted every investigative avenue. “Tyler had pain pills in his kitchen. Dr. Cadewell prescribed them. He’s the doc for the fight club. Also, he had birch sap water in his fridge. Why do I find that so suspicious?”

“Because it is. When I met with Wyatt this afternoon, he didn’t seem like a man who’d go out of his way to offer freebies. Especially to the competition. I’ll run a check on this Dr. Cadewell when we get back to the office.”

We headed to the elevator and I jabbed the down button. “So how’d I do with Tyler? Did I miss any important questions?”

“We probably could have interrogated him about Buster Madison. That man definitely knows more than he’s telling. Did you think Tyler was genuinely surprised by the news of Rob’s death?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you?”

We climbed onto the car and began our descent to the lobby. “You like to believe everyone’s telling the truth, Miss Strickland. You should know better by now.”

“Not true.” Maybe it was a little true.

We stopped by the front desk to sign out, using only our fingerprints. The guard nodded as Andre and I headed outside into the late afternoon steam bath.

Pete stood near the SUV, waiting. “Everything all right?”

“Yep. Just give me a minute.”

With a nod, he hopped into the car and started the engine.

I glanced up at Andre. “I have the cocktail party thing tonight. Hopefully, I’ll talk to some of our players. Since you’ve stubbornly refused to go shopping with me, why don’t I catch a ride with Pete?” I liked teasing Hardass. One of these days, I was going to drag him kicking and screaming to the mall. Preferably on a Saturday.

“All right,” he said, “but be careful. If Rob was killed, asking too many questions could trigger the wrong person. And Carlucci has seen you with Sullivan, which makes you even more conspicuous. Perhaps I should accompany you tonight, Miss Strickland. I don’t like the thought of you going in there alone.”

“I’m not trolling a seedy bar in Glendale. It’s an opera house fundraiser. The worst that can happen is I’ll fall asleep during one of the speeches.” Besides, I’d have enough performance anxiety with my mother hovering over my shoulder all evening. I didn’t need Hardass adding to the pressure. “Anyway, I do better flying solo at these things. If I discover any earthshattering revelations, I’ll call you. Promise.”

“See that you do.” Then he dug out his wallet and handed me an AmEx card. “Since you’ll technically be at the party for business purposes, use this. Try not to exceed five hundred dollars.”

I stared at the card—at
my
name stamped into the plastic—and couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Am I, like, your partner now?”

“Absolutely not. You are an employee. Most likely a temporary one.” Before climbing into his car, he gave me one last look, indecipherable of course, because of the dark glasses. “Call me after you get home. I want a thorough status report.”

“Yes, sir.” I was beginning to see right through him. He didn’t just want an update, he wanted to make sure I got home safe and sound. Which was unexpected. And kind. Maybe Andre was human after all.

Just because Hardass had given me a five hundred-dollar limit didn’t mean I needed to spend that much. I was a girl who lived within my means. I planned on keeping it that way.

I sorted through a rack of fancy dresses with Pete by my side. I held up a blue one. “What do you think?” This was possibly the sixth or seventh dress I’d shown him.

He stared down at me, resignation dulling his dark eyes. “I think you should grab the gun from my ankle holster and shoot me with it.”

I hung the dress back. “That’s a no, then?” Next, I pulled out a red one-strap. “I don’t think this is a summer color, is it? Sugar said I was a summer all the way.”

He dropped his head in his hands and groaned.

Torturing Pete was good, clean fun, and I enjoyed myself for forty-five minutes, until I finally circled back to the red dress that was a bit too big in the boobs. I didn’t care, because it was in my price range and would look fine with my dressy black heels.

After making my purchase, we swung by Andre’s office to pick up my car. Pete planned on trailing me tonight, and I had to cross my heart that I wouldn’t give him the slip. I didn’t want Sullivan to fire him. Pete was a nice guy. You know, for a henchman.

I rolled down the window and cranked up the air. It was so damn hot I burned my hands on the steering wheel. I let the car cool down for a few, then drove to Jacks’ house.

Scotty opened the door and greeted me with a hug. “Hi, Aunt Rose.”

“Hey, Sport. Did you have a better day at school?”

“Oui. Ma matière préférée est les mathématiques.”

“What’s that mean?”

“My favorite subject is math. It’s not really, but that’s what we learned today.”

“Très bien. My favorite subject was recess.”

My sister trotted down the stairs with her hair in rollers. “Scotty, I think Maria has dinner ready. Go eat, sweetie.”

“Why can’t I go with you and Aunt Rose?”

“Because you’re not old enough for cocktail parties.”

I gave him a gentle shove. “They’re boring, Sport. You aren’t missing a thing.”

“That’s what grownups always say.” With a pouty lip, he stomped off.

Once he was out of earshot, Jacks smiled. “He reminds me of you. Always questioning the status quo. Come on, I have some dresses for you to try on.”

I held up the shopping bag. “I have my own dress. I don’t
always
need to borrow something out of my big sister’s wardrobe.”

“That stubborn look”—she wagged a finger at my face—“that’s the same one Scotty uses when I tell him to brush his teeth. He’s just like his aunt.”

“Lucky you.” I trekked up the steps and into her grand master suite. The deep orange and cinnamon tones added warmth to the spacious room. A silver tray filled with different kinds of fancy cheese, stoned wheat crackers, and two glasses of champs sat on a side table in the sitting room.

“Grab a glass and you can help me decide what to wear.”

I skipped the bubbles, but snagged some cheese and crackers. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I was starving. Shoving food in my face, I crossed to stand next to Jacks.

She threw open the doors to her massive closet and somewhere in the distance, a choir of angels sang in awe. Calling Jacks’ dressing room a closet was akin to calling the Taj Mahal a crypt.

I stood in the doorway, half-afraid to touch anything. Hanging off to the side were two dresses—both black, both expensive. “Sure you don’t want to wear one of these? I rifled through my closet and these spoke to me.”

“When clothes start yapping, you’ve had too much champagne.”

She glanced at me, a little uncertain. “You know how Mom is when everything isn’t perfect. I just want you to look your best.”

“Ouch. Out for blood today?”

Her shoulders sagged. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

I didn’t know how else to take it. “It’s fine. Can I use the bathroom down the hall?”

“Sure. I really didn’t mean it in a bitchy way, Rose,” she said as I walked out the door.

I schlepped down the hall with my duffle bag and new dress. In the guest powder room, the soft lights from the mini chandelier bounced off the mirror and created a glow on the ivory granite countertops.

I changed into the new dress, suddenly self-conscious that I’d chosen the wrong color. Or maybe I should have gone with something a little more form-fitting. “Too late to worry about that now,” I said to my reflection. And I was far too proud to borrow a dress at this point. I’d just have to roll with it.

After applying a little makeup and my expensive heels, I checked myself in the full-length mirror. Not horrifying.

After shoving my work clothes into the bag, I called Axton. I wanted to find out the latest on his sexy secretary. “How did it go, Axman? Did you ask your girl for a date?”

“Nah, I wussed out. Then I made a fool of myself. I noticed she was wearing one of those fitness bracelets and asked how she liked it. We spent ten minutes talking about how many steps a person needs to walk in a day. I suck at chitchat.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. But what if she only likes sporty dudes? Or super rich guys?”

“Then she’s not for you. Ax, you’re a catch for any girl. She’d be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks, Rosie.”

When I hung up, I decided I’d been wussing out as well. When I’d told Sullivan I wanted more of a public relationship, he flipped the script, accused me of keeping things a secret. He was right, and it was time I told my sister the truth.

I found Jacks in her en suite, fussing with a stubborn strand of hair. She was gorgeous in a navy dress with a fitted bodice. “Well?” she asked.

“Stunning.”

She eyed me up and down. “You look nice too.”

It was less than “stunning,” but I’d take it. “Hey, before we leave, I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, what is it?” Walking back to the closet, she grabbed a silver clutch and transferred the contents of a larger purse into the smaller one.

I stroked my forefingers against my thumbs. I shouldn’t be nervous, but I was. Sullivan was the real deal to me. He mattered. And I knew Jacks wouldn’t approve. I guessed that’s what I’d been afraid of all this time—her judgment, her disappointment.
Grow a pair, Rose.
“I haven’t exactly been truthful with you.”

She dropped her gloss in the small bag and lifted her head. “About what?”

“First, I need you to swear on that Chanel purse you won’t breathe a word of this to Mom. Do not break the sister code. I’ll tell her in my own time, my own way.”

“You’re scaring me.” She walked toward me, reaching out to grab my hand. “Oh God, are you pregnant?”

“No! FYI, I know how to prevent that. But I can’t go on a blind date with that doctor because I’ve been seeing someone.”

Her brow lifted. “Jeez, Rose.” She flung my hand away. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. So who is he? How long have you been going out? He doesn’t work at the diner too, does he?” Her lips puckered into a horrified “O,” and she immediately began backpedaling. “That didn’t come out right. I mean, as long as he has a job, that’s what’s important.”

And there it was, that disappointment lurking in her eyes every time she saw me. “
I
work at the diner. What does that make me, Jacks, a piece of crap or something?”

She shook her head and waved me off. “Don’t do this. Not tonight. You know that’s not what I meant.”

I didn’t want to fight either, but we needed to clear the air. Bring out all the shit that we’d been sweeping under the rug for so long. “I think that’s exactly what you meant. What about the doctor you wanted me to meet? Did you tell him the truth, that I’m a waitress?”

Her gaze fell from mine. “I told him you work in an office. Which you do. You’re not going to be a waitress forever. You’re better than that. Smarter. Eventually you’ll get over your adolescent snit and move on.”

That’s what she thought? The last six years of my life had been a fit of rebellion? She still didn’t understand. I was beginning to think she never would. Jacks had always gone along with my parents’ wishes. She was the good girl. I was the
enfant difficile
. “If that’s what you really think, you don’t know me at all. And Ma Ferguson is one of the smartest women I know. She’s run a successful business for decades.”

“She runs a diner.” Exasperation colored her words. “You could run your own company, Rose. But you’re so stubborn, you won’t put aside your pride and admit you’re wrong.”

I
was
stubborn. And prideful. I could add those to my other lack of virtues. But I never regretted going my own way, getting out from under my mother’s thumb. It was the most empowering thing I’d ever done. “I am never coming back to this world, Jacks. Not because I’m punishing Mom. I like my independence, even though it means I’m poor and I struggle. This
is
my life.”

“Rose—”

I held up my hand. “I just wanted to come clean about my boyfriend. I’ve been dating him for the last six months. It’s serious.”

Her red lips parted and hurt filled her blue-green eyes, so similar to my own. “You’ve been dating him for that long and didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to see where we were headed before I told anyone.”

“I’m just
anyone
?” She twisted the twin tennis bracelets circling her wrist. “Has Roxy met him?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“You told her, but not me. I see. And Axton? Has he met your mystery man?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Got it.” She evaded my gaze. “Let’s go. Mom will have a stroke if we’re late.”

“I’m in love with him, Jacks.”

“Good for you.” She turned her back on me and walked out of the room.

I’d insisted on driving in case I needed to make a hasty exit. For sanity purposes. Every time I glanced in my rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Pete’s SUV. Following me around must be the most boring job ever.

The ride to the party was a cold one, and not because of my car’s spotty air conditioner. My sister stared out the window, doing that thing my mom did—freezing me out. I was used to it from Barbara, but it stung coming from Jacks.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless trip, we arrived at Mitzi Rutherford’s house—and by house, I meant an elaborate stone monstrosity that would be a perfect setting for minor European royals.

Mitzi wasn’t rich. She wasn’t wealthy. No, the Rutherfords had
Money
with a capital M
.
The vast grounds leading up to the estate were impeccably maintained. An occasional aged oak tree broke up the wide, rolling green hills.

After the valet took my car, Jacks waited for me at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the house. She gave me her profile, not lowering herself to look at me.

Before she walked away, I placed a hand on her elbow. “You’re acting just like Mom right now. I get that you’re angry with me. While I’m sorry you’re hurt, you’re making me regret telling you at all.”

A well-heeled couple passed us. Jacks offered them a fake polite grin, then turned on me. “Of course I’m hurt. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me you’re in love. In
love
. And I didn’t even see it. Are you that good at hiding your emotions or am I blind? And while we’re at it, I hate it when you push me into an argument. Some things are better left unsaid.”

She was right. Maybe we shouldn’t be honest with each other. Growing up, Jacks had been my best friend. I looked up to her, emulated her. But things changed, people drifted. I’d known for a long time that she didn’t approve of my life, but to find out she was
ashamed
of me—that ripped my heart apart. Was this how Sullivan felt? If so, I owed him an apology.

I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the pain. Family drama needed to take a backseat right now. I had to find Will Carlucci. If Rob won enough fights, would Carlucci have let him go, free and clear? And what did he know about these cheating allegations? So many questions. I sure as hell hoped I’d find some answers tonight.