Last Diner Standing by Terri L. Austin Read Free Book Online Page B

Allen wrench and a bent paperclip out of her purse. The fact that she had these items didn’t even faze me. A few weeks ago I’d been wary of Roxy’s mad breaking and entering skills. But I’d gotten used to it, just like I had the blue hair and her wacky fashion sense.
    “Let’s do it,” she said with a grin. She loved this shit, lived for it. After jimmying the lock for a few seconds, the door swung open. “How long did that take?”
    “I don’t know. I wasn’t timing you.”
    “You’d never make it as a criminal, Rose. Timing is everything.”
    I walked into the house. “Oh, God.” I held a hand over my face. The kitchen reeked like old garbage. Dirty dishes piled up in the sink and dried, hardened food was cooked onto the avocado green stovetop.
    Roxy wrinkled her nose. “I call dibs on the living room.”
    As she tromped off, I searched the filthy kitchen. The fridge contained moldy crap and beer. Nothing but a sack of ice in the freezer. The rusty metal cabinets yielded a box of crackers and a jar of peanut butter.
    “Nothing in the kitchen.” I walked into the living room and took in the broken plasma screen and the leopard print curtains—half torn, half hanging. Janelle must have been beyond pissed to do all this damage.
    “Nothing in here, either,” Roxy said.
    My gaze drifted down to the blood-soaked tan rug where Asshat bled out. Looking at it made me queasy, so I quickly averted my eyes. “I’ll hit the bathroom.”
    Roxy followed me down the hall. “Yep, I’ll take the bedroom.”
    I flipped on the light and almost turned it back off. The bathroom was even more disgusting than the kitchen. Tiny and covered with once-white tile, it held a chipped pedestal sink, a tub full of mildew, and even dirtier toilet.
    “Asshat has a real thing for leopard print,” Roxy yelled. “Eww, even his underwear.”
    “Don’t want to know,” I called back. I popped open the medicine cabinet. Body spray, toiletries, and aspirin. I glanced at the toilet and with one finger, dropped the lid.
    I took a deep breath and lifted the lid off the toilet tank. “Rox, I found something.”
    She stood in the bathroom doorway. “Me, too. Lots of receipts for jewelry—a watch, a gold chain, a man’s diamond ring.”
    I shrugged out of my coat and handed it to her, then shoved up the sleeve of my baby blue t-shirt, and reached into the water, pulling out a Ziploc bag from the bottom of the tank. I tossed it in the sink and stripped the glove from my hand.
    Roxy stepped further into the room. “What’s in it?”
    “Let’s find out.” I pried the wet bag apart and removed two sheets of paper with precise handwriting and several four by six photos. As I flipped through the pics, my heart thumped in my chest. “Shit.”
    She peeked over my shoulder. “Who is that?”
    “Sullivan.”
    “Oh, my God. I figured he was hot, but he’s haught .” She grabbed a picture out of my hand.
    The photos—there were ten—were taken at different locales. I scanned the handwritten pages. “Look at this, it lists his home address. Monday at home—four a.m. to one p.m. Lunch at Pantorelli’s—one-twelve p.m. to two-eighteen p.m. Met with two unidentified men. Left by the back door.” On and on it went, giving detailed information of Sullivan’s movements for the last two weeks.
    I glanced up at Roxy. “Was Asshat following Sullivan? Why?”
    “Maybe somebody hired him. Maybe that’s where the money came from.”
    I took another glance around the filthy bathroom. “Let’s get out of here.”

    I dropped Roxy off at Ma’s so she could pick up her car, then I went home and changed. I stuck some ramen noodles in the microwave and stood at the counter of my kitchenette, looking over the photos once more. What kind of trouble was Sullivan in? Who would be watching him, recording his every move? My first inclination was to call him and demand some answers, but I knew he’d never give me any. Same old, same old. I needed