Diner Impossible (A Rose Strickland Mystery) by Terri L. Austin Read Free Book Online Page A

of the family gossip. I’m meeting her after work tomorrow. The bad news—my mom insists on coming with.”
    The fresh, rich smell of brewed java filled my tiny room. I wished I had some cookies to go with it. Too bad I missed out on that chocolate soufflé earlier.
    Roxy propped her hip against the counter. “You’re going to have to ask her about his affair with Delia. Awkward?”
    “Totally. And my mom will be side-eying me the whole time.” I filled two mugs with steamy coffee, then plugged in the USB drive Andre had thrown at me. From my purse, I grabbed my pen and notebook, then we settled in at the table.
    On the screen, one file popped up: Delia Cummings. I clicked it open. There were crime scene shots, including several of her dead body, an autopsy report, and the homicide detective’s notes.
    “Holy shit,” Roxy said, pulling her chair closer.
    “This is the official file.”
    I clicked through all of it without taking the time to read it. Just to know exactly what I had. Then I went back to the beginning and started from page one, reading every word and studying every photo. The roast I’d eaten earlier turned in my stomach. The medical examiner filled in an intricate, detailed checklist that noted everything from Delia’s earrings, to the contents of her bedside drawer (pad of paper, pen, a vibrator, and a bottle of hand lotion), to the cause of death. Laceration of the thoracic aorta.
    At a close up of her chest wound, I shuddered.
    “Get off this picture. Go to the next one,” Roxy said.
    I clicked on a zillion more photos of the body from every angle imaginable, the crime scene, more pictures of the knife wound, and up close and personal autopsy shots. I forced myself to examine them, but Roxy stood and paced the apartment, unable to look. Once I made it past the photos, she resumed her seat.
    In the detective’s notes, we learned that the police questioned her neighbors. I made a note of their names: Brad and Eileen Whitehead were home that night, Tanya Delinksky, had been out of town. The Whiteheads hadn’t heard anything unusual. In fact, it wasn’t until Delia failed to show up for work the next day that her body was discovered. When she didn’t answer her phone, Martin Mathers sent a squad car to check on her. The door to her condo was unlocked and Officer Michael Cribbs found her in bed. Dead for at least eight hours.
    Uniformed officers canvased the area, questioning all the residences along the street and the ones butting up to Delia’s small back yard. No one heard anything. No one saw anything out of the ordinary.
    The rumors that she’d been pregnant were true. Sort of. Until very recently she had been pregnant. So recent, that her HCG levels were still elevated, but no fetus. Did she have an abortion? Delia told Randa Atherton she’d had a miscarriage, but was that true?
    “I wonder how long the pregnancy hormone stays in your system?” I glanced at Roxy.
    She looked a little pale.
    “I don’t know. This is all so gross. She was a person, but they talk about her like she’s a lamp.”
    I patted her hand. “They have to. Otherwise, they couldn’t do their job.”
    We finished reading through the file, but it didn’t give any clue as to who killed her. The murderer brought his own weapon, which suggested the crime was premeditated.
    Unless she and Martin had argued, Delia fell asleep, and Martin whipped out a long, serrated knife he just happened to be carrying? No, that didn’t work. It felt like I was trying to force a square peg into a round hole.
    I turned my attention back to the screen. According to the report, the police had taken Delia’s computer and sent fibers in for analysis. They’d collected all of her personal information and put a rush on everything, but there were no leads.
    Her parents, Stan and Marie Cummings, were her next of kin. I made a note of that, too.
    The facts didn’t tell me anything. All I had were rumors. Rumors that Martin Mathers had