Worked to Death (Working Stiff Mysteries Book 2) (8 page)

She smirked at me and then the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. That was what counted for a smile in Penny's world.

"Yeah, and Hank O'Hannigan is here tonight. He's my dream man. I want to bend way over that buffet so he can get a good look at how short my skirt is." Sundae, oblivious to the tension between Penny and me, had already slipped out of the booth and was making her way, unsteadily, on high heels toward the buffet table.

"Lord help us," Penny mumbled.

"Lord help Hank O'Hannigan," I added as I followed.

"Good evening, ladies. How are you this fine evening?" Hank asked as he did a mock tipping of his non-existent hat. He still had a little bit of an Irish accent, and it always made me smile.

"We're just lovely, Hank," Sundae gushed as she bent over at the waist as if offering up her cleavage for a full inspection.

Penny elbowed me hard in the side.

"Ow," I said through gritted teeth.

"We're great. Thanks for offering the steak tonight. I can't wait to dig in," I said as I pushed past my friends in order to get first pick of the steaming hot meat.

"Oh, sure. Though I'm surprised to have attracted such beautiful ladies. Usually the steak night is full of men. I love a woman with a healthy appetite," Hank offered.

At the mention of appetites, Sundae added another prime rib to her plate. I stared in awe. I'd never seen her eat even half of one steak in my life. She was on a perpetual diet.

"I just looooove to eat. What will you have for dessert tonight?" Sundae asked in a provocative tone.

"You'll just have to wait and be surprised, love." He winked at her and then turned to leave. "Excuse me if you will, I have to tell the cook to put on some more meat. You've about cleaned out the bar."

I looked down at my own four steaks, two potatoes, and two rolls. Oh well, all-you-can-eat is all-you-can-eat. I shrugged.

I gave a cursory appraisal of the salad bar. A tall, blonde waitress stood over it adding bagged salad to the large metal bowl on ice. She moved in a sort of robot-like manner, as if she'd done this so many times that it came naturally to her. Well, it was either that or she was taking a lot of mood-calming medication. One or the other.

Nothing on that bar interested me anyway. So, I turned to make my way back to the table while Penny and Sundae argued over whether Light Ranch or Light Italian had less carbs. That was the least of my concerns. And, honestly, who cared about salad dressing? I only ate salad to keep up appearances. I'd live off meat, carbs, and sweets if I didn't have to make an effort to provide healthy meals for Paget.

Oh, who was I kidding? Ms. Lanier provided healthy meals for my sister. I just provided transportation to and from the café. I smiled at myself.

The sound of two men arguing in loud whispers drew my attention away from my napkin placement procedure.

I peered around the edge of the booth to the hallway that led to the bathrooms on one end and the kitchen on the other. There, I saw Hank O'Hannigan and Barefoot Redneck, the large doofus, from the post office. What was his name? Blue something?

They were standing face-to-face in a deep, serious, and somewhat hostile conversation. They were making an effort to whisper, but as their tempers rose, so did their volume.

"I'm telling you that you gave me a bad batch of the stuff. It's not my fault that he took so much of it," Hank was saying to big Blue.

"I don't get no bad batches. My stuff is pure gold. You're not pinnin' this on me, Irish boy." Some saliva flew out of Blue's mouth, and I cringed as I watched it sail across the air and toward Hank.

I looked down at my plate and started sawing through one of my steaks.
Mind your own business, Mandy. Stay focused on your delicious meal
. I peeked back at the bar and saw Penny and Sundae still hovering over the salad bar.

What was taking them so long? If they were here, they could distract me, and I wouldn't even be overhearing this. And, despite my self-admonishment, I wouldn't be refocusing my eyes on this seemingly shady conversation once again.

"If the cops nose around, you better keep them off my trail, or I'll have to notify Brown," Hank said, jabbing a finger into Blue's bulging pectoral.

"If the cops nose around, you're the one who better handle things. I ain't gonna let my bidness go down the drain cuz you don't know when to limit yer customer's rations." Blue pushed back with his chunky finger, and Hank leaned in a little closer saying something that I couldn't hear.

"Is that all you're eating tonight?" A somewhat familiar male voice sounded to my right, and I startled.

I looked up to see Officer Keith standing above me with a beer in one tanned hand.

I turned my eyes back to the secret hallway meeting, but both men had disappeared. Had they just happened to be done with their mysterious discussion, or had they decided to break it up when a cop stopped off nearby?

"Uh…protein is very valuable for a healthy body. It helps build muscle," I sputtered out, feeling the need to defend my food.

"I'm just teasin' you," Officer Hottie said as he motioned to the empty side of the booth. "You here with your friends?"

"Yes. They're still at the salad bar." I flicked my hand beside my head to point to them, but he didn't look away from my face.

"You decided not to stay home and make dinner, then?" I made mention of his grandmother's plan for him to make me dinner.

"Yeah, I got her going on the webcam and left her chatting with her friend. For some reason, they are dressed up in trench coats. Is this something I should be concerned about?" he asked, his eyes squinting slightly.

I couldn't help but smile. "Oh, more than you know."

He returned the smile. And it was the first smile I'd ever seen on his handsome face—directed at me. It was breathtaking. Perfect white teeth, two full dimples and…

Sigh.

I needed a social life in the worst possible way.

"Look…I know we got off on the wrong foot," he said.

"You could say that again," I said, not giving him the easy way out.

"I know we got off on the wrong foot," he repeated.

I smiled back and bit my lower lip. Damn him for being so cute.

"And I hope your sister is okay?" He lifted his eyebrows.

"Yes, she's fine." I nodded and then took a bite of meat. I eat when I'm nervous. I eat a lot when I'm nervous. So, I chased the bite of meat with a bite of roll.

"I wondered if I could buy you a cup of coffee tomorrow. I want to thank you for not busting me too hard with Captain. He said you could have filed a report against me, but you didn't. I appreciate that." His words came out fast, and he didn't so much as pause for a breath.

"Uh… I don't drink coffee that often. I'm trying to cut back." We both looked down at my plate and then at each other.

"Okay, well how about dessert then?"

This man had my number. Dammit.

"I can't say no to that." I smiled.

He grinned back. A look of something akin to yearning crossed his face.

"Great. Tomorrow? I'm off work at three."

I clicked through my schedule. "Well I work at the B Positive Clinic tomorrow afternoon, but I could take a short break around then. Meet you at the Tipsy Turtle? I hear they have this amazing Chocolate Lava Cake."

"It's a date," he said, and then we were interrupted by a loud giggle.

"I told you that he was over here asking her out," Sundae's voice announced my private conversation to at least the next three booths.

"Yeah. Interesting," Penny said. She didn't look happy.

Officer Keith used the interruption to escape, and I couldn't blame him.

"Ladies. If you'll excuse me," he said as he backed away, leaving me with a smile and a very warm face.

"Ooooh. You're going out with the hot cop. You're going out with the hot cop," Sundae sang the words before scooting inside the booth and grabbing her Cabana Boy for a long, refreshing gulp.

"What about the other hot cop in your life? Have you forgotten about him?" Penny's voice was solemn and yet still accusatory. She'd been hinting at Ty and me getting back together for months now. And for someone who had never liked the idea that we'd been together at all in the past, it was strange how much she pushed for it now.

"He's otherwise occupied, I believe." The words came out defensively, and we locked eyes in a stare-down.

"With who?" Penny asked.

"Let's just forget about it and eat. I can't wait to see what they bring out for dessert." I tried to get us back on track.

"With
who
?" Penny wasn't letting it go.

"Well… I…sort of saw Allyson texting Ty today is all. And I know they have a past." I stuttered out the words, unable to withstand her angry stare.

"Allyson 'The Hussy' Harlow? She's dating Ty?" Penny asked.

"Uh, not really dating. I think they call it hooking up?" Sundae offered, unhelpfully.

Penny glared at her, but Sundae continued munching on her carrot, oblivious to Penny's wrath.

"We'll just see about that. The day my brother ends up with that sleeze is the day I take over the city," Penny said, her voice shaky with irritation.

"Let's get back to our night," I pleaded with her.

"I'm suddenly not hungry," she said, "I think I'll just head on back to the paper and get my article done. Sorry ya'll." She exited the booth and left a twenty-dollar bill on the table.

"Penny, wait!" I said, standing up after her.

"No. I'm fine." She squeezed my shoulder, and then pushed away. "I'll call you tomorrow."

She left, and I stood there. A sort of sadness swept over me, but I wasn't sure why. Penny and Ty had always been so close. I couldn't stand the fact that she was letting my old relationship with Ty come between us. I was trying to find a new way to be around Ty—or to avoid being around him—and still be close to Penny. Obviously, I wasn't doing a very good job of either.

"Woo! We've got our first singer up on stage!" Sundae yelled.

It broke my train of thought, and I spun around to see who was brave enough to kick off karaoke night before they'd had more than a couple of drinks.

There on stage, looking way worse for the wear, was Matty Thibault.

"Hide your crazy, and act like a lady." —Things We Say in the South

The music in O'Hannigan's was a mix of modern country ballads and classic oldies pop. I'm not sure what that said about Hank O'Hannigan and his music preferences, but whenever someone came up on stage and turned on the microphone—the music stopped and the big karaoke screen lit up. It was waiting on the operator to scroll through and make a selection.

Only, the current occupant of the stage was wearing the tiny pink bikini top that I'd had offered to me earlier in the day, and she was wearing it with a pair of torn white jeans and a dirty, blue bathrobe that was untied at the waist. She also sported slippers that were leopard print but had seen better days. Her face was tear-stained and her mascara obviously not waterproof. Her hair was disheveled with no sign that she'd been at the beauty shop only hours ago. She'd obviously been hitting the alcohol pretty hard since she'd been notified of her husband's death and questioned by the police.

I couldn't imagine what she was going through. But as she began to talk in long, drawn-out phrases, it looked like no one would have to imagine it—she was going to tell us.

"Someoooooooooone. They killed my husbaaaaaand." She swayed a little.

I glanced at Sundae who was watching, open mouthed. I wondered if I should go up there and try to get Matty off the stage. Clearly, she wasn't in her right mind.

"I'm saaaaaaaaaad about that. But…he was a bastard." The "d" on the end of bastard wasn't really clearly pronounced coming out like the word "bassart."

A loud, male voice—also heavily under the influence—yelled out from the crowd, "I'll take you home, baby." Laughter followed.

Matty hung her head and began to sob into the microphone.

This would not end well. I looked around for Hank. He should be shutting this down and helping her off stage, but he was nowhere in sight. He must still be lurking in the shadows whispering to Barefoot Redneck.

I stood up. "I've got to get her down. Will you meet us outside?"

"I'll pay the check," Sundae said, and started gathering our belongings.

I headed toward the stage, only to be met there by my new friend, Officer Keith.

"I need to take her downtown for public drunkenness," he said as he cut me off just short of the stage.

"You have to be joking," I said—giving him what I hoped was my best look of incredulity.

He looked at the sad woman in front of us and then back at me.

"I'll take her home, Devon," I added. "I'll make sure she gets there safely. She just lost her husband, cut her a break."

He seemed to be considering his options. And finally, he nodded.

I breathed a sigh of relief. He was such a stickler, but maybe I was getting through to his softer side.

"Ma'am, you're going to have to step down and leave peaceably, or I'll have to place you under arrest," he said, his voice back to all business mode.

"Screw youuuuu," Matty breathed out in long syllables and then flipped him her middle finger.

"All right, that's it." Mr. Nice Guy was gone in an instant. He stepped onto stage and started to pull her hands behind her back.

"Get off me. I hate you. I hate all of you," Matty screamed and struggled against Officer Keith.

"Hey, Matty. I'll take you home. We'll have some hot chocolate," I said, my voice calm but loud enough for her to hear through her tantrum.

She turned to look at me and then hung her head and started to cry, more softly this time as if her energy had been drained out.

"Devon, I've got this." I made eye contact with him. He still held her arms behind her back even as she sank toward the ground.

We stood there, in front of the all-you-can-eat night crowd—in a sort of standoff between the law and the ladies.

I implored him with my eyes. "Please, let me take her home. She's wrecked. She doesn't know what she's saying."

He thought about it a moment more and then spun her around, lifting her up and carrying her out of the bar.

I followed after him. Sundae was waiting by the door, and all three of us made our way out to Stella.

"You make sure she gets home and stays home until she sobers up." It wasn't a request but an order. Officer Keith was back to his strict self.

"I promise. You have my word."

He gave one more nod and then headed back into the bar without another word.

Somehow I knew this was a big deal for him. He seemed like the type that never backed down when it came to the law. So, I considered this a huge victory on my part.

"Let's take her home," I said as I slid behind the steering wheel, and Sundae threw our bags inside before joining me in the front seat.

A loud snore sounded from the backseat as I slipped the key into the ignition.

"Boy, she's messed up. Do you think she could have actually killed Mick?" Sundae asked as she buckled her seat belt.

I put the car in drive and slowly pulled out of the gravel lot. "I just don't know. There are so many things that could have happened. I just don't know enough to even guess. But, I will tell you one thing—"

"What's that?" she asked as she pulled her sweater tighter around her small frame.

"I didn't get to finish one single steak, and I'm absolutely starving."

*  *  *

An hour later, Sundae and I were sitting on the living room sofa in Matty's house, snacking on burgers, fries, and slurping our milkshakes down with vigor.

"Well, it's no Cabana Boy, but it does fill the belly," Sundae said between bites.

"I'm sorry we had to leave. I know you were looking forward to chatting up Hank," I said, pressing my friend for details about the now mysterious owner of the bar.

"Yeah, he comes by the salon sometimes to get his hair trimmed. We chat," Sundae said.

"Really? What do you chat about?" I was curious about the man now that he was involved in something that somehow struck me as shady. Perhaps I was reading too much into the overheard conversation he'd had with the creepy Mr. Blue a/k/a Barefoot Redneck. But I just couldn't get it off my mind. I had this niggling feeling that it had something to do with Mick, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

"Oh, he grew up in Ireland, but he's been here for twenty years or so. You know, he's forty-five." When she said his age, her voice dropped to a melodramatic whisper.

I tilted my head back and forth. "That's not so old."

"Well, my momma wouldn't be impressed with it if I started dating him. She thinks I should go after that cute Officer Prentiss. He and I went to high school together, and he chased me a lot back then."

"Yeah, he's cute. I could see that." I thought of how nice he'd been to me on more than one occasion when Paget had decided to pull one of her "runaway"stunt
s
he'd helped me find her and bring her home.

"I don't know. There's no mystery about him. What you see is what you get." She munched down some more fries.

Apparently, her perpetual diet had fallen by the wayside tonight. I was glad I didn't have to pig out on my own. But I missed those steaks. They taunted my memory with every bite of this overcooked burger.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that. Mystery men aren't always what they're cracked up to be." I thought of my own Mystery Man. He'd appeared in my life just a few months earlier, solved the matter he was in town for, admitted that he was a covert operative of some sort, and then disappeared. I hadn't heard from him since, and I both missed him and was miffed at him at the same time.

"Never hear from Colin, huh?" she asked, as if reading my mind.

I gave her a half smile but didn't answer. Instead I said, "I'm moving on. You know Ty and I kissed over the holidays, but then he didn't pursue anything. I'm kind of glad, but he's such a pain. Why did he even kiss me if he was going to keep fooling around with that obnoxious hussy?"

Sundae shrugged. "Men are temper mental people."

"Do you mean temperamental?" I corrected her and then smiled.

"Whatever. They have tempers, and they act mental." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You've got that right," I agreed and then collected the refuse from our chow-down session and headed to Matty's kitchen to dispose of it.

In the kitchen, I found the trash bin under the sink, hidden away in the cabinet. As I tossed our papers and cartons in the can, something caught my eye. I pulled the can out and pushed aside the fast food wrappers to get a closer look.

There, was the Honey Do notepad page with the note from Mick on it—the one that Matty had told me about this morning. It had his apology and reason for leaving just as she'd described it. Then in a different handwriting was scribbled the words, "You must die."

"What are you doing?" Matty's voice startled me from the kitchen door, and I dropped the wrappers and shoved the garbage can back into its spot.

"Oh, just cleaning up. Did you want something to eat?" I motioned to the counter where we'd bought another one of everything we'd eaten for her in case she woke up with the munchies. My heart was beating so fast that my breath was hard to catch.

Her bloodshot eyes stared at me.

Had she written the note and then followed through with her threat. Was Mick dead and in that trunk because he'd cheated the wrong woman? Did she know that I'd seen the note?

"I'm not hungry. I feel sick." Her voice was shaky, and she looked over at the greasy burgers and fries on her granite counter and let out an uneven breath.

"Why don't you lie back down? Sundae and I will hang around until you feel better," I offered with a calm voice that I wasn't sure how I'd managed to emit.

I wanted to get that note and take it to Ty. I wasn't sure if it was just something a jilted wife had written or the real intention of a woman pushed to her breaking point. I suddenly felt the need to fill in my ex on all the things that were adding up in this case before something else bad could happen.

"No, I—"

"Oh hey, Matty. Want some of these onion rings? I ate the crust off, but the onions are just delicious, all naked and slimy like this." Sundae tilted her head back and let a cooked, clear-skinned onion slither down her throat.

I scrunched up my nose at the weird display—even I required that the crust remain on my onion rings. But Matty's face turned an awkward shade of greenish-yellow, and then she stumbled forward and shoved me backward.

I almost lost my balance and grabbed the handle of the fridge, swinging backward with it as it opened.

She fumbled under the sink, pulled out the trashcan I'd been snooping in moments earlier, and proceeded to throw up all over the potential evidence.