Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) (11 page)

Chapter 14

If Apple Tree Boulevard represented the socio-economic line of demarcation in Huntingford, then Huntingford Square was middle ground. Historic churches, houses, and government buildings, designed with grace and character, stood like tall shadows of a distant past amidst rectangular upstarts sprayed with stucco and covered in brick facade.

I snagged a parking place on the street in front of the old Opera House and called Sullivan.

“Hello, Rose.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. Was he remembering last night? Because I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

“Hey. I’m going to have to cancel tonight.”

Predictable thirty-second pause. I timed him.

“Why?”

“I have to go to Club Saturn. Delia worked there before hooking up with Martin. Although it probably won’t lead anywhere, I need to check it out. You don’t happen to own it, do you?”

“No. But give me a couple of hours and I will.” Then he hung up. He was serious, too. That club would be his by the end of the night.

I jumped out of the car, stuck a few coins in a meter, and scrambled as fast as I could without actually running, to what used to be the mayor’s house in days of yore. The nineteenth century, brick building was now home to the Historical Society.

I strode through the door and shoved my phone into my hobo bag. At three-fifty, I was a full ten minutes early.

Women dressed in suits and day dresses filled every inch of the roomy foyer along with the dining room and parlor flanking it. High-pitched chatter, punctuated by the occasional tinkling laughter, rose and fell. I’d never actually been here before, although Barbara would have loved me to join, I’d dropped out of real college and left home long before I could be coerced into participating.

A black rope had been tied to a hand-carved banister, blocking access to the second and third floors. A red, hand-loomed, wool carpet covered the original hardwood planks. The whole house smelled of mingling perfumes, piney air freshener, and musty old building.

I angled my head to search the room for Jacks. And check for exits, just in case I needed to make a quick escape. When I faced forward, my mother had suddenly appeared before me.

“
Wah!”
I leaped a foot in the air. “Stop doing that. You’re like a Navy Seal popping up out of the water. It’s eerie.”

She pretended I hadn’t spoken. “You’re almost late.”

“But I’m not.”

“Take off your coat. I’ll have Amber hang it up.” She raised her arm above her head and snapped her fingers which magically summoned a college-aged woman with shiny, straight brown hair. “Amber, this is my daughter, Rosalyn. She needs a new membership packet. And do something with her coat.”

“Right away, Mrs. Strickland.”

Oh my God, this girl was a lackey. I could so use a good lackey.

I shrugged out of my coat and handed it to Amber.

“I’ll be right back, Miss Strickland.”

As she teetered off, my mother’s gaze moved over me, taking in my gray dress and the boring flats.

“Rosalyn, are you trying to give me an aneurism with that outfit?”

“No. If I were going the aneurism route, I’d show you my back tattoo and saucy body piercings.”

She placed her fingertips against her forehead. “Contrary to what you believe, you are not in any way amusing.”

Probably not. And I shouldn’t give her such a hard time, but she made it so damn easy.

Amber was back, shoving packets and books in my arms. “So glad to have you here. Welcome. If you have any questions, my number’s on page three, under interns.” She bopped off, her hair swinging like a pendulum across her back.

“What am I supposed to do with all this?” I asked.

Barbara glanced around to make sure we weren’t being spied on. “It’s your cover. You can’t very well show up here and not be a part of the Society.”

“You make it sound like I’m a superhero, infiltrating a league of villains.”

She simply stared.

“Fine.” I glanced down at the books—one was a history of Huntingford and the other extolled the virtues of volunteerism.

“Read those. Know them from cover to cover. People will ask you questions and you need to have answers.”

Now my turn to stare. “What people? You know I’m not doing that, right? I’m here to find out the truth about Martin Mathers and Delia Cummings. I need to talk to your pal, Charlotte Ashby, and that’s it. I’m not coming back.”

She gazed at me with a shrewd gleam in her eye. “We’ll see. You may find you like it. Follow me. I’ll introduce you around.”

Had that been her plan all along? To try and lure me back into my old life? Because if so, she needed different bait. Bait involving a chocolate fountain or perhaps compromising pictures, because that’s the only way she’d ever get me back here. Barbara introduced me to several different ladies whose names I’d never remember. She insisted I have a cup of tea and an almond cookie. When I aimed the tong at a second cookie, she literally slapped my wrist.

“No one takes two
except for Velma Shoal and she’s a size twelve as surely as I’m a double zero,” she said. “Don’t be a glutton.”

I held up the wafer thin cookie and glared at her as I popped it in my mouth.

Jacks rescued me a few moments later and drew me toward some of her friends. They were all married to doctors and had young children. Bored after two seconds, I edged toward my sister. “Where’s Charlotte Ashby?”

She did a subtle room check. “In the corner, talking to the woman with bright red hair.”

Bending backward at the waist, I caught a glimpse of a tiny woman with dark blonde hair and pixyish features.

“I’m going to go talk to her,” I muttered in Jacks’ ear.

“Just don’t tell anyone to fuck off this time,” she whispered back.

“We’ll see.” I wasn’t making empty promises.

With my welcome packet and books tucked under my arm and tea cup in hand, I maneuvered through the room, zeroing in on my target.

“Hello,” I said, throwing out my most disarming smile. “I’m Rose Strickland. This is my first time here.”

“So nice to meet you.” The older woman had to be in her seventies. Bright blue eye shadow enhanced the creases in her eyelids and she peered at me over clunky, black reading glasses. “I’m Addy. Are you related to Barbara and Jacqueline?”

“Yes, Barbara’s my mother.”

Charlotte Ashby’s brown eyes widened. “I didn’t know she had another daughter. She’s never mentioned you.”

“Never?” I asked.

“No,” Addy said, “and I’ve known your mother for a very long time.” She rubbed her bright crimson lips together. “What did you say your name was again?”

This was getting ridiculous. And a little hurtful. I knew my mother didn’t advertise the fact that she had a waitress for a daughter, but she
never
mentioned me? At all?

“I’m sure she’s brought you up and we just forgot,” Charlotte said. She had one of those breathy, little girl voices. “Right, Addy?”

As Addy’s hooded eyes scrutinized me, I fought a squirm. “Perhaps,” she said.

Charlotte Ashby was so slight, I could easily mistake her for a twelve-year-old if it hadn’t been for the fan of lines around her eyes and nose. Because of that, I placed her somewhere in her mid-thirties.

I squinted at her. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

She tilted her head and scanned my face. “Do you work at the courthouse?”

“No, but I was there recently,” I lied. “What is it you do?”

Red waved at someone she knew and excused herself. “So nice to meet you…”

“Rose,” I supplied. “Likewise.”

I glanced back at Charlotte. “You were about to tell me what you do for a living.”

“I don’t actually work outside the home. But sometimes I go hear my husband in court. David Ashby? He’s an assistant prosecutor. Someday, he’ll be Attorney General. He was featured in
Huntingford Today
and voted one of the city’s top fifty up-and-comers.”

“Who actually votes on something like that?” I asked, without realizing how snarky it would sound.

She fluttered her lashes. “I…I don’t know. Whoever decides these things. Anyway, it was an honor,” she said with a dash of defensiveness.

I snapped my fingers, like I’d just remembered something. “Your husband is friends with Judge Mills Keeler.”

“Of course. Judge Keeler’s a great big sweetie pie. His girlfriend, Julia, is one of my best friends.” She pointed somewhere past my shoulder. “There she is. Julia,” she called.

Julia Baxter slinked closer, looking every bit as beautiful in the bright daylight as she did in a low, flattering glow of the country club chandeliers. But today, she didn’t invite us all to partake of her cleavage. Instead, she wore an expensive red power suit and equally pricey black pumps.

She performed the requisite kiss-kiss hello with Charlotte and bestowed one air kiss near my left cheek. “Rosalyn, so good to see you again. I was going to call you this week. What’s a good time to set up an appointment to look at condos?”

“Tomorrow?” I had some free time after work and before my evening class. “How about two-thirty?”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at Huntingford Towers. They have a few empty units. We’ll start there.”

Julia placed her hand on Charlotte’s arm. “We met at the dance last night. You should have been there. Rosalyn had some kind of disagreement with our Chief of Police.” Her lips held a smirk, but her light blue eyes were serious and steady on mine. “What was that all about?”

“My feet hurt. I didn’t want to dance. He did.”

Those eyes sharpened and the corners of her mouth slid into a frown. “Really?”

“Strange that Martin would get angry over that type of thing,” Charlotte said.

I turned to her. “What type of thing would Martin get angry over?”

“I don’t know. Although he often seems impatient with poor Annabelle. And she’s the sweetest lady you’d ever want to meet. I feel sorry for her.”

“Yes,” Julia said. “All this gossip going around. It’s terrible for her.”

Before I could ask any more pertinent questions, a woman with steel gray hair grabbed our attention by banging a gavel.

“Find your seats, ladies. We have a lot of business to get through.”

Well, crap.

Two hours. Two long, painful hours later and we were still discussing the holiday house tour—prices, times, dates, and deadlines. If I’d had anything sharper than a pen, I would have committed hari-kari right there in the Historical Society meeting room. I knew this was all about community service and civic pride, but boink me sideways, why did it have to be so mind-numbingly boring?

I dug out my phone, which earned me a snarl from my mother. Finally, at six, I gathered up my welcome kit and whispered, “I have to go.”

“
Sit down,”
she hissed, like a ventriloquist, her lips never moving.

“I have an appointment.” I stood, excused myself, scooting in front of four other women. “Sorry,” I said as they moved their legs to the side and scooped up their handbags, clearing my pathway to freedom.

“You, the one causing a commotion.” The gavel woman’s eyes were as steely as her gray hair.

My feet froze and skin prickled as all heads turned in my direction.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Um.”

“You’re not leaving before the end of the meeting, are you?” Her tone dared me to disagree.

“Well—”

“She’s ill.” My mother stood and placed her hand on my shoulder—and by placed, I meant clamped down so hard, I knew she’d leave a bruise.

“She’s been fighting the flu for the last several days. I’ll walk her out and be back in time for my committee’s report. Terribly sorry for the disturbance, Justine.”

I made tracks through the row and out into the foyer, my mother’s icy displeasure dogging me every step of the way.

At the front door, Intern Amber tiptoed into the foyer with my coat slung over her arm. “Here you are,” she said in a hushed voice. “Hope you’re feeling better soon.”

My mother waited until Amber disappeared. “Why do you do this? You always make a spectacle of yourself and shame me in the process.”

I set down the welcome packet on an antique side table and angrily shoved my arms into the coat sleeves. “It’s obvious you’re ashamed of me, Mom,” I whispered. “That’s why you never mention me. None of these women even know you have a second daughter. Please remember that I am doing you a favor by looking into Delia Cummings’ death. I spoke to Charlotte and I’m meeting with Julia Baxter tomorrow afternoon. I can’t stick around here all night, I have an appointment.”

She took a deep breath. “What could possibly be so important that you have to embarrass me in front of my friends?”

“If you must know, I have a meeting with the KAWs.”

“What cause? Oh my God, you’re not turning into a revolutionary, are you? Because let me tell you something,” she shoved her finger in my face, “that would be the last straw. I will not tolerate a communist for a daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’re not communists, Mother, they’re aliens.”

She dropped her hand and sighed. “At least tell me they’re documented.”