Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (9 page)

Dane worked for a prestigious law firm as a criminal defense attorney. Right now, he was stuck dealing with rich kids who committed minor offenses, but he aimed higher. And he knew a lot of people in law enforcement. In fact, Dane had introduced me to Officer Andre ‘Hard Ass’ Thomas.

His smile disappeared along with his good mood. “Shit,” he muttered, “not again.” His baby blues scanned my face and he pulled me closer. “Please tell me you are not getting involved in this?”

I met his gaze. “I’m not getting involved in this.”

He heaved a sigh. “Of course you are. Why do I even bother to ask?”

“Did you know her?”

The tune ended and the band played a slower song, a ballad. Dane adjusted his steps to the change in rhythm. “I saw her in passing. I’m not sure I ever said one word to her.”

He danced us to the side of the room where French doors opened onto the patio. With a flick of the handle, he gracefully maneuvered me outside and shut the door behind us. “This is some serious shit, Rose.”

He grabbed my hand and flew down the steps. I matched his pace, but my tired feet resented me for it. Embedded lights lit the path to the pool house. He pulled to a stop at the edge of the brick. I looked back, could see just inside the ballroom. The music and noise were muted and the night seemed unnaturally quiet out here.

“There are rumors,” he said. “I’m not saying they’re true—”

“About Martin Mathers?” I asked.

He ran a hand over his short, dark hair. “You know how to pick them, don’t you? Why? Just tell me that much.”

I thought about bringing Andre’s name into it, but he’d asked for discretion. I didn’t want to get Hard Ass into trouble and I didn’t want to piss him off, thus drying up my well of inside information.

“I’m doing it as a favor for my mom.” I actually said it with a straight face. And it was semi-true. “She’s friends with Annabelle.”

Dane shoved his hands into his pockets. “Your
mother
,” when he realized he’d raised his voice, he closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths. “Your mother
wants you to look into a murder investigation?” he asked, somewhat calmer this time.

“Even crazier, ” I agreed.

He shook his head. “No, that’s not crazy. That’s typical.”

I poked one of the studs on his dinner shirt. “Good one. Now what have you heard? Give me all the dirt.”

He checked his watch. “I have to get back.”

“Oh? Hot date?” I peeked around his shoulder.

“The one with the leopard print dress. She hasn’t stopped texting all night.”

I spied her on the fringe of the crowd, an ash blonde standing at a high table, tapping away on her screen. She was also in her mid-fifties. I eyed him. “Dating someone with a little more life experience, are we?”

“No,” he said. “It’s my boss’s sister-in-law. She’s newly divorced and visiting for two weeks. They didn’t want to leave her at home, although I’m not sure why, she’s been working all night. Even through dinner.”

“You must really want to make junior partner. Since she’s occupado with the cell, you have time to tell me all the rumors about Delia Cummings.” I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off the chill. When Dane started removing his jacket, I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

He glanced at his date. “My boss will be looking for me. I’ll call you tomorrow. Let’s have dinner and I’ll tell you everything I know. I still think this is a big mistake, but I know you don’t give a damn about my opinion.”

Without waiting for my reply, he grasped my elbow and tried to propel me back inside. But just as I started to let him tug me along, David Ashby stepped out onto the porch, an unlit cigar in his hand.

“You go on,” I said, keeping my eyes on Ashby. “Call me.”

His lips tightened. He hesitated, then with a brusque nod, strode into the club.

Ashby watched Dane walk inside before his eyes strayed to me. “Lover’s tiff?”

I shook my head. Damn, it was cold out here. “No.”

With long legs, he strolled down the stairs and stood next to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. David Ashby.” He held out his cigar-free hand.

I shook. “Rose Strickland.”

His brows, a darker shade of blond than his hair, lifted. “That name sounds familiar.”

“I’m John and Barbara’s daughter.”

“No, I don’t believe I’ve heard them mention you. Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.” He nodded at the cigar. “Do you mind if I light this?”

Freezing, I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. “Go ahead.”

He flashed a brilliant smile. I was surprised his teeth didn’t give off a cartoon sparkle. He really had the All American look down. And he seemed to have an innate confidence that women were drawn to. It’s probably what attracted Delia. How had Martin felt about that? Maybe he clued in on the fact that his mistress was two-timing him with his friend, David, and killed her for it.

Ashby pulled a gold lighter from his pocket and with narrowed eyes, lit the smelly cigar. “My wife hates these things. Won’t even let me smoke them at home.” He gave me a conspiratorial wink.

I wanted to ask him if Delia Cummings let him smoke cigars. After a round of hot, extramarital sex. But I refrained. Even though my mother would never appreciate the sacrifice.

“You’re that prosecutor,” I said. “The one I read about in the papers?”

He tried for a humble grin. And failed. “I am. For some reason the papers like to follow my cases.”

I used the simpering, bullshit technique that had entranced Judge Mills Keeler. “Probably because you’re so handsome.” Then I dropped my eyes, but peered up at him.

He laughed around the stogie. “Thank you for the compliment. But I doubt that’s the reason.”

My arms were starting to go numb from the cold, but where Dane would have given me the coat off his back, this peacock never even noticed my shivers. “Maybe they like you because you’re so good at winning cases.” I tilted my head and added a smile.

He took two steps closer, until he stood directly in front of me. “I should keep you around. You’re good for my ego, Rose Strickland.”

His ego was already a massive, steroid-induced monster. If it got any bigger, satellites could track it from space. I needed to shower off the ick I felt for flirting with this guy.

“I heard about that dead girl, the one everybody’s talking about. I’m not sure I feel safe in my own home.”

Reaching out, he rubbed his hand along my shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about. That was an isolated event.”

“I hope so. Have they caught the killer yet?”

His hand strayed from my shoulder to my upper back, his fingers lightly stroking my frozen skin. If he made one more move, I’d have to rip off that hand and leave him with a bloody stump. I took a step sideways until we were no longer touching.

His confident smile was briefly interrupted by a frown of confusion at my move. “No. We haven’t caught the killer yet, but when we do, I’ll lock him away for a very long time.” He stuck the cigar in his mouth and puffed, causing the tip to glow orange-red.

“I also heard you knew the dead girl.” I watched closely for any signs of guilt. “That you were close to her.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I knitted my brow. “But aren’t you friends with Martin Mathers? I thought she worked for him.”

His gaze tangled with mine for a moment, then he looked toward the pool house. “Yes, that’s true. So tragic.”

“But a minute ago, you acted like you didn’t even know her. I overheard talk that the police chief is the man who killed her. Would you let your friendship get in the way of a murder investigation?”

An arctic chill crept into his dark blue eyes. “People like to talk. I suggest you don’t listen.” Shoving one hand in his pants pocket, he tilted his chin down. “It’s getting cold out here. You’d better run along before you catch your death.”

Was that a threat? It sure as hell sounded like one to me and teamed with his stabbing, glare, I took it as such. “Goodnight.” With a nod, I tripped across the patio as quickly as I could manage, my pinched feet throbbing like crazy in these heels.

As I reached the door, he called out. “I remember where I heard your name, Rose.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh?”

“You belong to Thomas Sullivan.”

My neck became rigid at his phrasing. I said nothing and continued into the warmth of the ballroom.

Walking toward the edge of the crowd, as I rubbed feeling back into my arms, I felt someone staring at me. I tried to be all covert as my gaze skipped over groups of people.

Then I saw him.

Standing by himself with a drink in his hand, Martin Mathers’ gaze made the chilly temps outside feel like Florida in July.

My eyes roamed over the crowd, but I couldn’t find Annabelle anywhere. Maybe she was sick again.

I forced my feet to remain still as he approached me. With unhurried steps, his eyes never wavering, he made his way to my side. Then he turned and stared out over the dance floor, standing so close the sleeve of his jacket brushed my forearm. I stayed glued to the spot, but I didn’t like any part of this man touching me.

“Miss Rosalyn Strickland.” He took a sip from his glass. “I’ve heard so much about you. Still, you’re not what I expected.”

“And what were you expecting?” Keeping my eyes on the band, I didn’t so much as glance at him.

“I always imagined Sullivan to be a man who likes more than a handful.”  His gaze flowed over my bare shoulders and down to my chest. “But I’ll bet you’re a little firecracker in the sack. Am I right?”

Heat burned my cheeks. My first encounter with Mathers and already I hated him. Although technically, I hated him before we ever met.

He chuckled. “You think I don’t know you’re fucking him? I know everything, sweetheart.”

“Did you know your wife’s aware of your wandering dick?” Whoops. Probably shouldn’t have said that. When people piss me off, I have a tendency to shoot first and regret immediately.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his knuckles whiten on the crystal tumbler. “What did you say to me?”

Time to climb out of the hole I’d just dug for myself. “That’s what everyone’s saying, anyway.” I tried to make my voice breezy and carefree. “I heard it in the ladies’. Rumor has it, Mrs. Police Chief knew about your little affair.”

His grip on the glass lessened. “Rumors. Let me tell you something. Rumors are just repackaged bullshit to keep the idiots occupied.”

I nodded. “You’re quite the sage. You should have that printed on a coffee mug.” I faced him, looked him dead in the eyes. “I’ve heard about you, too, Mr. Mathers. The gambling debts. The women. The kickbacks. You have some very interesting hobbies, Chief.”

His almost colorless eyes grazed over me. “You don’t want to get into it with me, honey. Now run along and tell your boyfriend that he’ll get his money. And tell him not to send his bitch to do his dirty work again. He can come at me like a man.” He slammed back the rest of his liquor, then stomped away, cutting a path through the middle of the dance floor.

Chapter 12

A minute later, Jacks hurried over. “What was that about?” She linked her elbow with mine and hustled me to the nearest restroom.

I was so shaken from my encounter with Mathers, I barely noticed we were moving. The police chief was one scary bastard. No wonder Annabelle was a ghost of a woman. He’d probably killed her spirit a long time ago. But had he killed Delia Cummings? That’s the question I kept asking myself.

Jacks thrust my wrists beneath the sink and ran cold water over them. “You’re pale, Rose. And shaking.”

I stared down at my fingers. She was right. My hands shook harder than the sales lady from Nordstrom earlier in the day. She’d taken one look at my mom across the store and visibly trembled in her stilettos before tearing off in the opposite direction.

“I’m fine.” I shut the water off and grabbed a hand towel.

Women in fancy dresses came and went, stopping to check their appearance in the mirror. Jacks’ voice dropped to a hush. “What happened? Did he hit on you or something?”

“Yeah,” I lied. “He was a super creeper.”

“Whatever you said left him really angry,” she whispered.

“I may have told him to fuck off.”

Jacks’ eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Rose, that’s so rude.”

“What, and making a pass at me when he’s married isn’t?” Why was I arguing this fictional situation? I shook my head.

“Can you take me back to Mom and Dad’s house so I can get my car?” I didn’t want to be late for my date with the sexting couple and Andre. And being a nervous wreck after a round with the police chief was a good excuse to get out of here.

We exited the restroom, found Allen, and almost made a clean break of it when, out of nowhere my mother intercepted us near the front entrance. Like she had a sick sixth sense.

“I’d like to speak with Rosalyn before you girls leave.”

Barbara paced to a small reading room across from the entryway. So close. So damn close to freedom, I could almost taste it.

“Help me,” I mouthed to Jacks, knowing full well she wouldn’t offer any.

When it came to my mom and me, Jacks tried to be Switzerland. And when she did take sides, it was never in my favor.

I walked into the room and Barbara shut the door behind us. “I saw Martin Mathers speaking with you. You obviously upset him. What happened?”

I decided to go with my prefab lie. “He wanted to meet me in one of the rooms upstairs. I was all, ‘don’t think so, perv.’”

She nodded. “Yes, I suspected as much.”

“We done?” I asked with my hand on the doorknob.

She pulled her lips downward in displeasure. “Do you know how much we spent on your education? Yet you can’t even string together a full sentence.”

“Add it to that long list you’ve got going. Just one more thing Rose managed to mess up.”

“There’s a Huntingford Historical Society meeting tomorrow afternoon. Be at my house by noon. We’ll need to go shopping again and find something appropriate for you to wear.”

Like hell. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to work and then I’m going to Delia Cummings’ visitation. Besides, there’s nothing of interest to me at the Historical Society. Unless Delia was a member?”

“Of course she wasn’t, but Charlotte Ashby, David’s wife, will be attending. I’ll meet you there at four. Do not, under any circumstances, be late.”

I saluted her and hobbled my sore feet back to Jacks and Allen. “Let’s go.”

My second time at Bob’s Fine Italian wasn’t any better than my first. Same smell, different day. I walked through the door and let my eyes get used to the murky interior as Italian music played loudly over the speakers.

When I felt a hand grip my elbow, I almost coldcocked Andre, until I heard his voice.

“This way, Miss Strickland.”

“Why this place?” I asked. “We couldn’t meet at Denny’s and have a cup of coffee?”

“I’ve told you, I can’t be seen with you. I’m not a part of this investigation.”

I groaned a sound of disgust as he led me to the back of the room. “I think you’re being paranoid. Just tell everyone I’m the love of your life. They’ll think we’re dating.”

He stopped and leaned toward me. “No one would believe it.” Then he took off again until we stood next to a four person table.

I was starting to take his disinterest a little personally. I was looking damn sassy tonight. Not that he could actually see it.

Andre held out my chair and made the intros. “Rose Strickland, this is Gabe and Sally.”

I got a vague impression that Sally had darkish hair falling almost to her shoulders. And Gabe was tall and beefy. Andre sat next to me, his posture so straight I wondered if he’d suffered through four years of dance class, too.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I said. In the dark, with nothing but one candle to illuminate our space, I felt like I was at a séance rather than a restaurant. A séance that required a garlic fish sacrifice.

Sally leaned forward, and as the candlelight flickered over her features, I caught glimpses of a pretty young woman. “Andre said you wanted to know about our situation.”

Gabe crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, leaving his face in the shadows. “Not much to tell,” he said.

“I understand you guys were fired for inappropriate texts?” I asked as diplomatically as I could.

Sally lowered her head. “Yeah, we’d started dating and we never filled out a form with HR. You’re supposed to in order to avoid sexual harassment cases. Anyway, we were fooling around with our phones one night, sending sexy pics and stuff.”

For a moment, I fantasized about Sullivan sending me a sexy pic. It would take a whole lot of pixels, that’s all I’m saying. My brain stalled for a brief instant before I snapped out of it. “So how did Delia Cummings find out about it? And are you sure she’s the one who got you fired?”

Gabe uncrossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table. “Sally told her great friend, Randa Atherton, what we’d done.” His sarcasm was as thick as the inkiness surrounding us.

“Randa and I were close friends,” Sally said. “I thought so, anyway. We were talking about sex one day, you know, like girlfriends do.”

I nodded, even though I’d never shared details of my sexy time with Sullivan. Not even with Roxy. Although she was my BFF, some things were too private.

“I casually mentioned that Gabe and I were dating and we liked to send sexy photos to each other. Nothing lude, just, you know…” She glanced up at Andre.

I couldn’t see her blush, but I could feel it.

“Randa went and blabbed it to Delia,” Gabe said.

Sally shrugged. “We can’t prove it, but we’re pretty sure that’s what happened. Delia was threatening Randa because she’s dating a married cop. So to keep herself out of trouble, Randa threw us under the bus.”

Old Randa was doing a whole lot more than
dating
a married man. I tried to banish the thought of her and Sam bumping nasties on top of her desk, but it was a challenge.

I glanced up at Gabe. “Why did Delia target the two of you?”

“She hated my guts,” he said. “She overheard me badmouthing her and Mathers one day. I was spouting off about their affair. Not very bright of me. There were rumors that he wasn’t the only man she was taking care of. I wondered out loud if the kid was even his, and when I turned around, she was standing right behind me. Next thing I know, I’m getting fired for breaking my morality clause. Rich, huh, coming from a woman who was sleeping with her married boss.”

I kept circling back to reasons for Martin being the murderer, but the same problems tripped me up every time. Everyone knew about their affair, so if Delia threatened to tell the world, it was a pretty empty threat. Yes, there was the baby, but she lost it. She could only hide that for so long.

Mathers had motive and he probably had access to her house. But why would he kill her in bed? Since there were no defensive wounds and only one killing blow, she was taken by surprise. I suspected if Mathers was going to commit such a ballsy murder, he’d have wanted Delia to see it coming.

All this time, Andre had remained silent. I turned to him. “Delia was double dipping. Do we know who she was cheating on Martin with?” According to Sullivan, the mystery man was David Ashby. But I wanted confirmation.

“I already told you, there was talk that she was seeing someone, but I don’t know who. Don’t even know if it’s true.”

I focused on Sally. “Did Delia have any girlfriends, besides Randa I mean?”

“No, Delia was a man’s woman. She didn’t have girlfriends. Gave off a real bitch vibe.”

“Was there anyone else she didn’t like, anyone who found themselves on her bad side?”

Gabe nodded. “Yeah. Captain Charles Bentley. I’ve never known such a good cop. And he was framed on bogus charges—taking bribes? Like hell he was.”

Andre had already told me this story. But according to Hard Ass, Bentley was a victim of Martin Mathers, not Delia.

“Why do you think she had anything to do with it?”

“Bentley wouldn’t give her the respect she thought she deserved for blowing her boss.”

Sally punched Gabe’s arm. “Nice talk.”

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. “Sorry, babe, but it’s true.” He eyed me once again. “The Captain called her the ‘concubine at the gate’. He didn’t hide his disgust for her. Word was, when the Captain went to see Mathers, he didn’t even stop to talk to her. He’d just walk right into Mathers’ office and pretend she didn’t exist.”

Sally leaned forward. “I heard that Bentley found them in the middle of doing it. That’s why they had to get rid of him. Because he knew too much.”

Gabe scoffed. “We all knew it. Delia found out people’s secrets and used them. You either did what she wanted, or you got the shaft.”

“That’s true.” Sally nodded and slipped her hand under Gabe’s arm. “People would flock to her table in the cafeteria. They’d sit for three or four minutes and then leave. Like they were paying homage to her or something. I knew after the first week of working there, she was the queen bee.”

I only had one more question. “Did Delia seem interested in David Ashby?”

“Not that I know of,” Gabe said.

I hadn’t learned anything new from this little interview. Delia used her position as Martin’s lover and secretary to gain control over people. She blackmailed them into doing what she wanted, and if they didn’t comply, she eliminated them. Nice girl.

“So, what are you two doing now?” I asked.

“I’m working as a security guard,” Gabe said. “Trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. Sally’s in nursing school.”

“We’re getting married next year,” she said.

“Congratulations. And thanks again for talking to me.”

I stood and Andre did the same. He shook hands with the couple, then led the way out of the restaurant. I walked slowly because my feet hurt. The yellow parking lot lights bounced off the puddles of rainwater and I watched where I stepped.

“Why are you so dressed up?” Andre asked, gesturing with one finger to my dress.

“Country club dance.” I refrained from telling him about my run-ins with Mathers and Ashby. It would only give him a reason to lecture me and I’d had enough of that from Dane.

“Did you learn anything new? And how did your meeting with Annabelle go?” he asked.

“Annabelle’s a mess. The kids are even worse. And tonight I didn’t discover anything new.” I stopped and glanced up at him. “I really want to meet Captain Charles Bentley.”

“No. Out of the question.”

“But—”

“I said no, Miss Strickland. I have my reasons. And please don’t go behind my back on this.”

“I have to know everything, Andre. Hearing his version of events might lead me to a clue.”

“He can’t add to this, I promise you.”

I decided to let it go. I was too tired to argue, my pinched toes ached, and my night still wasn’t over. “Okay. If you hear anything new, call me.” I waved before climbing behind the wheel and took time to adjust the long folds of the dress.

While I let my car warm up, I pulled out my phone and called Sullivan. “We need to talk.”

The usual pause. “I’m at home. Do you want me to come over?”

“I’ll come to you.”

Sullivan owned a large, isolated property. Fortunately, since I was already in the county instead of Huntingford proper, it wouldn’t take long to get there.

I’d been a visitor to Sullivan’s home on two occasions, but never by invitation. More of a drop-by-and-break-in-through-the-back-door type of situation. But tonight, I needed to give him the lowdown on Mathers and Ashby. Plus I was hoping he’d have some info to fork over in return.

I wove through dark county roads to arrive fifteen minutes later. As soon as I headed up the gravel driveway, bright lights flooded the night. My feet had been given a reprieve, but now, climbing out of the car, they ached all over again as I hobbled toward the front door.

Although it was an older, traditional house, it had character. The outside was comprised of large, smooth, natural stones and wood shingles. Inside had been remodeled and rigged with a high tech alarm system.

The front door opened and Henry loomed in the entryway. Sullivan’s number one henchman greeted me with a wide grin. Believe it or not, his smile was scarier than his frown. With a crooked nose that encountered a few too many fists and a long scar cradling his left eye, Henry was a badass and a half. But he could bake a mean cookie.

“How are you, Rose?” His meaty hand slapped my back, which almost sent me toppling forward. I managed to regain my balance before I faceplanted onto the granite-tiled floor.

“Good. How are things with you?” I hadn’t seen much of him in recent months. I assumed he was busy collecting money and busting knee caps. In between baking the most mouthwatering homemade bread you’ve ever tasted.

“Can’t complain. Boss is waiting in his office.”

I shot a brow upward. “Which one?” I’d found Sullivan’s secret bedroom office by a stroke of dumb luck.

“His official office. Need me to show you the way?”

I waved him off and walked down the hall, passing the kitchen where two guys I’d never met sat at the island sipping coffee. Beefy and broad-shouldered, with necks thicker than my thigh, they were hired muscle. Here to protect Sullivan and his interests.

I kept moving, gave a cursory knock on one of the double doors, then slipped inside. It was more of a library than an office. Row after row of colorful, leather-bound books covered three walls. A natural stone fireplace stood along the fourth wall, with tall windows framing either side of it.

An enormous wood desk dominated one end of the room. Behind it, Sullivan eyed me as he strummed his lower lip.

I ignored the pain in my toes as I slinked toward him, giving my ass a little extra wiggle for good measure. Taking my time, I slipped the new cashmere coat down my shoulders and dropped it on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

His eyes darkened as they raked over me. “Very beautiful. I don’t think this dress is for my benefit, so what’s the occasion?”

“Country club dance.”

He nodded. “Ah. Martin Mathers.”

I fell onto the vacant tufted leather chair and eased back. “Annabelle Mathers, if you want to get technical.”

He raised a brow and remained quiet. But I was tired and the chair was comfortable. I could wait out his silence this time. I kicked off my shoes and sighed.

My eyes must have closed, because the next thing I knew, he was balanced on the edge of the desk. He’d pushed the hem of my dress up to grasp one of my feet and when he gently kneaded his thumbs into my arch, I moaned. “God, don’t stop.”

He smirked. “That’s what you said the other night.”

“Jackass.”

That turned the smirk into a full blown grin. “All right, I’ll bite.” He slid his long, talented fingers up to my toes. “Why are you interested in Annabelle Mathers?”

“She’s friends with my mother, who asked me to clear Martin’s name. I ran into him tonight for the first time—and hopefully the last. He said you’ll get your money and not to send your bitch to do the dirty work.”

Sullivan stilled.

I shook my foot at him. “Don’t. Stop.”

He resumed rubbing. “He referred to you as a bitch?” His emotionless voice betrayed how angry he was.

I settled my other foot on his lap. “I handled it. I saw Ashby, too. He’s a total player. And creepy. I think you were right. Delia was having her Martin Mathers cake and eating David Ashby, too. According to Randa Atherton, Delia talked about her favorite prosecutor nonstop.”

He stared at my newly pedicured toes and said nada. Finally, “Who is Randa Atherton?”

“Delia’s frenemy, who, by the way, I caught buck ass naked and going at it with a married cop.”

His fingers briefly paused their kneading. “You have such interesting days.”

“So does Ashby gamble a lot?”

“Define a lot.”

I cast him an exasperated glance. “You don’t always have to be a pain in the ass, you know.”

“Look who’s talking.” He gave my little piggy a tug. “David Ashby comes by a floating game every couple of weeks. Doesn’t bet much, doesn’t allow himself to lose too much either. He’s controlled. Prides himself on his restraint.”

“The guy’s an Assistant PA. Why does he attend your games? Why not play a friendly round of cards at the country club?”

“One, he likes the thrill of an illicit game. Makes him feel naughty.” Sullivan’s tone was drier than the air on the barren planet of Ceti Alpha V. Damn Ax and his love of
Star Trek II.

“And the second reason?” I asked.

“Ashby likes to keep tabs on what everyone else in his set is doing. For instance, Judge Keeler is a big stakes gambler. Likes blackjack. Wins big. Loses even more. But he has the money to lose, unlike your police chief. Most of Mathers’ cash comes from his wife. But her money is tied up in a trust for the kids.”

I let that roll around in my brain. “If Annabelle is footing the bill, why is Mathers in debt to you?”

“Annabelle gives him an allowance. He runs through it. But she’s not as solvent as she used to be. That kid of hers, Mason, has been to rehab three times. A nice one. By the ocean.”

I nodded. “I met him. He’s very messed up. But I like the daughter, Molly.”

Sullivan crossed his arms and regarded me. “Don’t get emotionally involved. Molly Mathers is screwed up, too. In and out of clinics for the past few years. Between all the treatment for her children, Martin’s expensive habits, and taxes, Annabelle is on the brink of becoming part of the five percent instead of the one percent. Quite a letdown.”