Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (14 page)

Chapter 18

The next morning was harried. Grouchy Monday people wandered in, demanded coffee, and didn’t bother leaving much in the way of tips.

Roxy barely let the door shut behind the last customer before she attacked the closed sign.

“What is wrong with people today? Is there a full moon or something?”

Ma rubbed her ribs. “I woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning myself. And I think I pulled something when I was dancing last night.”

“Are you okay, Ma? Why don’t you sit down? Roxy and I will do clean up.” As she shuffled over to a stool, I poured her a cup of coffee.

“I’ll take you up on that, toots. I hate to say it, but I ain’t as young as I think I am. That skinny white kid spun me around so many times last night, the Romulan Ale did the jitterbug in my tummy.”

I pulled an Advil out of my bag and handed it to Ma. She swallowed it and sipped her Joe while Roxy and I cleared away dishes.

I’d just finished bussing the last table when Ax ambled into the diner, holding his backpack in one hand. “How you doing, Rose? You’re okay after last night?” He popped a squat next to Ma.

“I’m fine.” I had a tiny bruise underneath my chin where Mathers had grabbed me, but I’d covered it with concealer.

There were five remaining donuts today and I placed them all before Ax, then poured him a cup of coffee. As he scarfed, he pulled a folder from his bag.

“Got some info on that Julia Baxter chick,” he said, squirreling a mouthful to one side of his cheek. “Changed her name eight years ago from Shawna Platte, resident of Illinois.”

Roxy stood beside me, slapping a towel into her palm. “I’d change my name, too. Shawna Platte?” She shuddered.

“Turns out, she has a record. Charged with accessory to receiving stolen property along with her ex-boyfriend who’s now doing a dime in the federal pen. She testified, bargained down, and got parole.”

“Look at you, using fancy crime lingo,” Ma said. “Doing a dime. I like that.”

“Can you get a realtor’s license with a conviction like that?” I asked.

“You can. But you’re supposed to disclose all that crap, and she didn’t. I traced her through her old SSN. She now has a new one, claiming harassment from her ex forced her to assume a new identity. Julia Baxter’s living a lie.”

“Julia attends poker games with Judge Keeler,” I said. “Delia attended with Martin Mathers. Maybe the two women talked and Delia found out about Julia’s secret life. That was Delia’s specialty after all, finding secrets and using them for evil.”

Roxy nodded. “If Delia spilled the beans, Julia would lose her license.”

“And maybe her meal ticket,” I said. “If Keeler didn’t know the truth about Julia, he might be very pissed off at learning he’d been duped. He’s crazy about her now, but that could all end if he discovers her criminal past. Julia could have killed Delia in order to keep her quiet.”

“But how did she get into the house without breaking in?” Roxy asked.

“Speaking of Keeler,” Ax said. “His wife died of cancer two years ago.”

“That’s sad,” Ma said. “But just like a man. His wife dies, so he takes up with a younger floosy. I’ve seen it happen a million times.”

“And this floosy has a rap sheet,” I said. “We’re meeting up with Julia this afternoon. Maybe I can ask her a thing or two about Delia.”

“She’s going to show Rose some fancy condos,” Roxy said. “We should totally corner her and quiz her about her new identity, too.”

“My thought exactly. It’s like we share a brain,” I said, tugging on her blue curl.

“Hey, I found out about Jason Hall too. He lives in one of those cheap apartment complexes off Cedar Ridge. And according to his tax returns, dude’s got a very spotty work record. Mostly, he bartends, but he’ll go for months without working at all.” He licked sugary glaze from his pinky. “By the by, I didn’t find any trace of our missing Captain Kirk uniform. And Brian fixed it so we could talk to the SPuRTs tonight.”

Looked like I’d be missing my Criminology class. At least I was getting real world experience. That counted for something, right?

“You should go with, Roxy,” Ax said.

She shrugged as though she didn’t care one way or the other, but I saw the way she’d flirted with Brian at Club Saturn. She was interested. I wasn’t impressed by him, but if he could help her get over her Tariq, I was all for it.

“Don’t worry about dinner and stuff. I’ll order pizza. Be at my place by six,” Ax said. Then he opened his mouth as wide as he possibly could and crammed the last two donuts in. With a wave, he scooped up his backpack and left.

“Boys are gross,” Roxy said.

“Sometimes,” I agreed.

“Frank had some of the most disgusting habits I’ve ever seen,” Ma said. “And he could clear a room with one fart. But you learn to overlook these things.”

I wondered if Sullivan had any bad habits. Our time together was usually measured in hourly increments. We’d never even spent a full night together, so I didn’t know if he snored or hogged the blankets. Couldn’t picture it though. All in all, he seemed pretty perfect. Except for his less than legal behavior.

Roxy slapped the sugar caddies on the counter in front of me. “Earth to Rose. Move your ass.”

I got my mind off Sullivan and we finished scrubbing, sweeping and refilling salt shakers. I wished we had time to stop by Jason Hall’s apartment before meeting Julia, but it was clear across town. Fortunately, since both Roxy and I were starving, we did have time to drive thru Paco’s Tacos for the Monday special—chicken burrito with green chili sauce. I ate while I drove and wound up with dribbles of chili down the front of my pale pink t-shirt.

I tooled over to the ritzy side of town and pulled into the semi-circle drive of Huntingford Towers.
Looked like at least thirty stories and covered in smoky glass.

“Fancy digs. Wish you could live here for reals?” Roxy asked, shoving two pieces of gum in her mouth.

“It’d be nice to have a real bedroom, I suppose.” We climbed out of the car and at the same time, Julia exited her black Mercedes.

“Good to see you, Rosalyn.” Julia wasn’t looking at me when she said it. She only had eyes for Roxy.

Dressed in a red velvet jacket with bright gold buttons, a matching short skirt, and a heart-shaped eye patch covering her right peeper, at least Roxy was free of green chili stains.

Julia shook hands with her, unable to look away from the awesomeness that was the Victorian-majorette-lady-pirate ensemble. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Roxy said.

“So, we ready to look at condos?” I asked. Julia’s gaze finally meandered my way. Her eyes widened slightly at the faded jeans and the burrito leftovers staining my shirt.

“Yes, let’s go.” Flashing a smile that was as artificial as her persona, she led us to the building. “I used to live here, before I moved in with Mills.”

“How did you two meet?” I asked.

She stopped and pinned me with her stare. “You’re wondering about the age difference?”

“No.” I shrugged. “I—”

“His wife had died and he was downsizing. He hired me as a realtor. I care for him. Deeply.” Defensiveness crept into her tone the same way two patches of pink slowly filled her cheeks.

“Got it. I don’t judge, Julia. What people do is their own business. As long as it’s, you know,
legal
.” I locked onto her gaze and held it with my own.

“Yes, I can see that by your choice of friends.” She marched into the building.

Roxy swiveled her head in my direction. “You’re going to drop hints about her real identity and hope she comes clean? Draw out the torture? I can respect that. But why is she so bitchy about screwing an old dude for money? It’s not like we don’t know the score.”

“If you bang it, own it,” I said.

“Totally.”

We proceeded into the building and Roxy let out a whistle. I agreed. The lobby was impressive. Shiny glass everything, a cherry wood front desk, black quartz flooring. And dear, sweet Lord, no.

My mother.

She’d taken one look at Roxy and sucked in her cheeks so hard, she resembled a goldfish. She stepped forward to kiss me hello. “Rosalyn.”

“Hello, Mother. I didn’t realize you’d be joining us today.”

Julia’s gaze shifted between my mother and me. “Barbara called to confirm the time of our appointment.”

I smacked my forehead with one palm. “How could I have forgotten? And Mom, you remember Roxy, don’t you?”

Of course she did. The last, and only, time she’d seen Rox, Barbara had called her a blue-haired freak. Ah, good memories.

“Yes. Roxy.”

“How are you Mrs. Strickland? Things cool on your side of the world?”

My mom audibly pulled air through her nose—her huffing correlated directly with her anger. Like a bull. And she was steaming right now. “Yes, things are fine. Please, Julia, why don’t we continue?”

“As you can see, this is a full service building.” Julia nodded at the doorman. “Round the clock security. There’s a spa, a gym, a lounge.”

My eyes travelled over the expansive lobby. “It’s lovely. And having a doorman would certainly alleviate some fear. When I heard about that dead girl, Delia,” I snapped my fingers, “what’s her last name?”

“Cummings,” Roxy supplied.

“Right. That really freaked me out.”

Julia’s lip curled back. “The elevator is private. You’ll be issued your own key.” She used one to unlock the elevator and press the button.

“I heard she was very close to Martin Mathers,” I said.

The shiny silver doors reflected my mother standing behind me. “Yes, as his assistant, she would be. Poor Annabelle was distraught at the news.”

Julia said nothing, but she started tapping her toe as we waited.

“Did Mills know her, Julia?” I asked. “I hate to sound like a gore whore, but surely he would have met her, since he’s a judge and the dead girl worked for the police chief.”

Her shoulders stiffened and she began fidgeting with her hair. “If so, he’s never mentioned it to me.”

Julia was a hideous liar.

When the doors slid open, her brittle smile was just a little too wide. “We’re going to the third floor.”

We climbed onto the elevator and I turned and looked directly at her. “Delia was stabbed in her bed. At least that’s what I heard. Is that what you heard,
Julia
?” I stressed her fake name to see if it rattled her. And it worked. As the blood drained from her face, the bright lipstick she wore looked garish against her chalky, pale skin. Clearing her throat, she glanced away and watched the numbers ascend at the top of the car. When the doors opened once more, she briskly walked down the hall. “Come this way.” She removed her phone from her Calvin Klein leather bag, along with a little device she stuck into the USB port.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“An e-key. Technology never stops.” She punched in a code, then pointed the e-key at a bulky blue lock covering the door handle. When the infrared light hit the lock, a drawer slid out from beneath it, dropping onto the carpeted floor. She bent down, picked it up, and dug the condo key from inside.

“This unit is a one bedroom.” She opened the door and walked inside.

I started moving forward, when my mother’s hand latched onto my sleeve and tugged me back. “Go ahead, Roxanne, we’ll be right with you,” she said.

Roxy raised both brows. “Whatevs.”

“What were you thinking, bringing that girl here? Are you trying to ruin everything?”

I jerked my sleeve from her grasp. “What are
you
doing here? That’s the question.”

“And what in God’s name is she wearing? Does she have a black eye or something?” My mom pointed to her own.

“It’s a fashion statement.”

“What’s the statement? ‘Hello world, I have a lazy eye and dress like a screwball?’”

I took a really deep breath. So deep, the oxygen almost made me pass out. I shook my head to clear it. “So, why are you here? I’m supposed to be gathering information from Julia.”

Her lips disappeared. “You’re going about it all wrong. I told you, you can’t bludgeon these people with questions. Use a lighter touch.”

These people.
A part of me longed to tell my mother all about her country club peeps. They were cheaters and thieves and liars. And one of them could very well be a murderer. I’d take Roxy and her unique fashion sense any day. And sure, Sullivan might be a criminal, but at least he was upfront about it. He didn’t hide behind a respectable façade, pretending to be something he wasn’t.

“Fine,” I said. “You’re the expert. Why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

She brushed a non-existent piece of lint from her collar. “Why don’t I?” Then she sauntered into the unit leaving me to trail behind.

Julia waited for us in the foyer. “There you are. This condo is one thousand square feet.” She pulled open a closet door in the entryway. “Room for a washer and dryer.” Her eyes brushed on my green chili stains once again.

“As you can see, it’s laundry day for Rosalyn.” My mother chuckled at her own joke, but her cold eyes weren’t laughing.

Roxy appeared. “Rose, you got to see this bathtub. It’s beyond. You could do the backstroke in this thing.”

“I’ll be there in a sec.”

She disappeared back down the hall.

“She’s very colorful. How did the two of you become friends?” Julia asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Barbara beat me to it. “Rosalyn does charity work.”

I couldn’t believe she just said that. Roxy hadn’t been born with a lot of advantages, but she was an amazing woman. I glanced at Julia. “Roxy’s my best friend. Has been for years.”

Barbara carried on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Rosalyn, what do you think about the kitchen?”

I crossed my arms. “You know I don’t cook, Mother.”

We had a battle right there, over the granite countertop. A battle with our eyes. Mine said, ‘lay off the crap about my friends.’ Hers said ‘I’ll do what I like.’

“Look at the view,” Julia said. “You can see the golf course and lake from here.” Oblivious to the nonverbal argument, she stood near a picture window in the smallish living room. I tore my gaze away from my mom and walked toward her.

“I’m looking for hardwood. White carpet gets dirty too easily.”

“Yes, Rosalyn has a habit of ruining nice things,” Barbara said.

“And these walls. They’re very beige,” I said. “I don’t care for beige.”

“You can always have them painted.” Julia led the way down the short hall to the bedroom.

“There’s nothing wrong with beige,” my mother hissed.

“There’s nothing right with it, either.” I traipsed ahead of her to the bedroom. With a gorgeous, floral brass light fixture and three huge windows, it was about the size of my whole apartment. And much brighter.

“You’ve got your walk-in closet,” Julia said, holding open the door.

No, I took it back. The closet was bigger than my whole apartment.

In the bathroom, Roxy lounged in the tub, her laced up Victorian boots propped against the tiled wall. “Is this awesome?”

I extended my hand to help her up. “Pretty fantastic.”

“How is the Mathers’ house coming along, Julia?” Barbara asked as she peeked into the shower. “Annabelle says you’ve had several people take a look, but no nibbles yet.”

I swung my head in Julia’s direction. “The Mathers are selling their house?”

I hadn’t seen any realtor’s sign, but it was probably viewed by appointment only. And it made sense. Annabelle had run through her money like I did free peanuts at The Carp. Sullivan said with all the drug rehabs, disorder clinics, and property taxes, Annabelle Mathers was hurting financially.

“You’re not interested in a four acre, ten bedroom home, are you, Rosalyn?” Julia’s smug tone grated along my Barbara-frayed nerves.

“Maybe. You never know. Where are you from originally, Julia? Do I detect an accent? Wisconsin? Or northern Illinois?” I cocked my head to one side and watched her reaction.

Her smile grew tighter than my mother’s shapewear.

“I don’t believe I have an accent.”

Barbara clasped her manicured hands in front of her. “Things have been so hard on the Mathers lately.” She wasn’t about to let us get derailed by regional dialects. “Poor Annabelle needs a smaller house, something without so much land. So, Julia, no nibbles on their home?” She repeated the question with a perfectly pleasant expression, but underneath, she was all steel.

“No, Barbara, not yet. But I have shown the place numerous times. I’m just looking for the right buyer.” She spun and left the bathroom.

“And that’s how you do it,” Barbara whispered as she swept past me.

Roxy smacked her gum. “You have to give her props. She’s got finesse.” We followed the other two women to the entryway.

“How much does a place like this go for?” Roxy asked.

“Why, are you looking to upgrade?” Julia asked. Condescension dripped from her like venom.

“What do you think, Rosalyn?” Barbara asked. “Do you like it?”

I gave the place a dismissive glance. “No. I don’t like the flow.”

One of Julia’s eyebrows lifted so high, I thought it might dive into her hairline. “What is it you do, Rosalyn? I know you said something about going back to school. Do you have a job or will your parents be co-signing for you?”

I opened my mouth to tell her to blow it out her perfect ass, when my mother moved between us. “We’ve got Rosalyn covered. And by the way, we should all have dinner one night next week. John and I used to dine with Mills and his lovely wife, Hannah, quite often. Such a shame he lost her. You’ve never seen a more handsome couple. So, what day are you free, dear?”

One thing about Barbara Strickland, she’s so snooty, she makes everyone else insecure. And when she’d deflected Julia’s barbs away from me, it was…nice. Probably for show, but I appreciated the effort.

Julia’s face lost the mean girl expression.

“I’ll have to check our schedule.”

“Yes. Do.” My mother glided out the door.

I exchanged a glance with Roxy. She snorted as we followed them.

We looked at three more units—all beautiful and so out of my price range, I couldn’t even afford to rent a coat closet in any of them, let alone buy one.

“None of these are right, are they, Rosalyn?” Barbara asked, sniffing at the last condo as if it reeked of cat piss instead of fresh paint.

Julia’s mouth was tight. Her shoulders even tighter. With each passing minute, they’d risen closer and closer to her ears. Guessed I wasn’t the only one who found spending time with my mother stressful.

We parted ways with Miss Julia Baxter AKA Shawna Platte outside the building. She scurried off to her car like she couldn’t get away from us fast enough.

“She’s full of herself, that girl,” Barbara said. “And I, for one, do not care for it.”

“Maybe, but she’s got herself a killer Mercedes,” Roxy said, shoving another piece of gum into her crowded mouth. “She must be doing something right.”

“Don’t be too impressed, Roxanne. It’s only a C-Class.”