Diners, Dives & Dead Ends (27 page)

“A man who kidnapped your
brother?  Who could have kidnapped our son?”  Sheila’s voice rose to
practically a screech.  “All this for a man you don’t even effing know?”

Packard rolled his chair
back a few inches.  “Honey, I can make this right.  I know I can.  I just need
a little time.”

She lowered her voice. 
“You’ve had time.  You’ve had time to tell me we’re in debt up to here.”  She
put a hand over her head.  “You’ve had time to go to the police and tell them
about Axton.  You’ve had time to do the right thing.  You don’t get any more
time.  Just tell her what she wants to know.”  Breathing hard, she fell back
into her chair and glared at her husband.

Sliding a finger inside his
collar, he pulled it away from his throat.  “Okay, sweetheart.  Just calm down,
okay?”

Oh boy.  For a doctor,
Packard was really, really stupid.

Sheila uncrossed herself and
scooted to the edge of her seat.  “Do not tell me to calm down.  Do you hear
me?  You do not tell me to calm down.”  Her finger punched the air with each
word.

“Okay.”  He bobbed his head
up and down.  I’m guessing this was a side to Sheila he’d never seen.

“Now tell her about
Sullivan,” she said through clenched teeth.

Packard rotated his
shoulders, cleared his throat.  “Sullivan started running poker games out of
Penn’s, you know the cigar bar?”  I nodded.  “That was about three years ago. 
Before that, I’d never heard of him.  Bernard Penn owned it.  His grandfather
was a founding member of the Huntingford Golf and Country Club.”

I made a circular motion
with my finger.  “Move it along.  I don’t need a Huntingford history lesson
here.”

 “One day, three years ago,
Penn up and sells.  Never said why, but he moved to Florida soon after.  Then this
Sullivan comes in.  Starts holding these friendly little poker games.  Low
stakes, no big deal.  Not much different from playing at the club.

“But the new manager let it
be known to a few people, myself included, when a game with higher stakes was
being played.  Usually in these out-of-the-way bars.

“Except for that place you
followed me to the other night, the games always rotated.  One week it might be
in the city, the next week it might be a country bar, the next a sports bar in
a strip mall.  They would always advance you credit when you were down.”

“But do you know anything
about Sullivan himself?”

“Not really.”  His gaze
shifted quickly to Sheila before resting on me.  “He’s always around, but no
one ever really talks to him.  And he’d never called me directly for money
before.  This guy who works for him, Henry, he always acted as a go-between. 
Until Axton took the hard drive, that is.  Then Sullivan himself called me.”

Now I knew more about
Sullivan’s business, but I still didn’t know anything about him personally. 
“What about Sun Kissed Tanning?  What do they have to do with all this?”

“Manny takes bets on the
games, football, basketball,” he made a motion with his hand, “standard
stuff.” 

“I still say we should go to
the police,” Sheila said.

“It could ruin me.  What
about my city council seat?  What about running for mayor?”

I raised my brows at
Packard’s level of denial.  I wanted to tell him that ship had already sailed. 
But politicians were slippery little bastards, so who knew?  Maybe he would become
president after all this.

“I’m not worried about your
political career, Packard.  I’m worried about Axton and our family.”

“Right, of course,
sweetheart,” he said in a placating, condescending tone that made me want to pick
up the wooden mallard sitting on his desk and throw it at him.  “But think
about the practice.  If I’m involved in a scandal, how are patients going to
trust me?”

“Aren’t they going to know
about your money troubles anyway?” I asked.  “I mean, the car was just
repossessed.  What about the house?  Are you behind on that, too?”  I knew it
wasn’t my business, but since I’d been dragged into it, I wanted to know.

Packard shot me a look that
was pure venom.

“We’re not behind on the
house, are we Pack?” Sheila asked.  Her voice sounded thready.  She clutched
her throat.

“Of course not, honey.”  His
eyes shifted downward.

“Oh my goodness, we are,”
she whispered.  She looked ten years older now than when we first walked in the
room. She’d pulled into herself.  All the anger drained out of her and she now sat
huddled in the chair.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,”
he said. 

“Like I said, I can get the
hard drive to Sullivan,” I said.  “But what about the money?”

Sheila rubbed her arms like
she was cold.  “Don’t we have that in investments?  Can’t we sell our shares in
the market and pay this guy?”

Packard bowed his head. 
“The market’s been crazy this year.  I’m not really sure how much we have.”

“You already sold them,
didn’t you?” she whispered.

Packard didn’t look at her. 
“About six months ago.”

“We don’t have anything
left?  It’s all gone?” 

“I’m so sorry.”  He dropped
his head on his desk and began to weep.

Sheila went over to comfort
him. She cradled him in her arms, making soothing sounds like she would with a
child.

I quietly let myself out of
the office.

I checked my texts on the
way to my car.  The first was from Jacks.  She wanted me to call her
immediately.  I knew she’d want to talk about my mom’s little tantrum this morning. 
I was going to postpone that talk for as long as I could.

The second text was from
Kevin.  I ignored it.

The third text, from Eric,
said he was at home for a change, and my computer was ready.  As I drove to his
house, my mind went over all the information Packard told me.  Most of it I had
already guessed, but it was good to have confirmation. 

Axton stole Sullivan’s hard
drive to get the list of people who owed Sullivan money.    Now how could I use
that information to get Axton back? 

I arrived at Eric’s house
and knocked the door.

He opened it with a smile. 
“Hey, Rose.”

I stepped inside.  “Hi.  How
come you’re not in the office today?”

“I’ve been averaging sixty
hours a week, so I stayed home to fix your computer problem.”  He pointed to a
laptop that wasn’t mine.  “Ta da.”

“What is that?”

“You’re new—well, newly
refurbished—laptop.”  He opened the lid with a flourish.  “What do you think?”

“I can’t afford this.”

“Don’t worry kid, I had it
sitting around.  Consider it a loaner until you can buy a new one.”  He pressed
the power button.  “I downloaded your hard drive onto this.  Your old laptop
was beyond repair.  But I was able to salvage all your data.”

“Wow.”  I turned to him and
smiled.  “Thanks.”

“But you might want to
invest in more memory, though.”

“Eric, I can’t afford a new
TV right now, let alone money to update my computer.”

“Whatever you say.  Let me
get you something to drink.  You want a beer?”

“Got a Coke?”

He went to the kitchen and
came back with a cold can of no name soda.  “Will this do?”

“Yep.”  I popped the top and
took a sip.  “So, let me catch you up on the latest.”  I gave him the lowdown on
Sullivan from last night—minus the handholding—and filled in the blanks where
Packard was concerned.

Eric whistled.  “You cram
more into one day than I do in a week.  What’s your next move?”

I’d been thinking about that
on the way over.  “Can I use your phone?”

“Sure.  In the kitchen.”  He
pointed down the hall.  It was a small space with the original nineteen sixties
tile covering the wall, counter, and floor in a weird maroon-slash-dusty pink
combo. 

Scrolling through my phone,
I paused for a second to wonder if I was doing the right thing.  I didn’t have
much choice really.  I was out of ideas.  Before I could talk myself out of it,
I dialed the number on Eric’s phone.

Sullivan answered after two
rings.  “Who is this?”

“It’s Rose.”

Silence.  The kind where you
heard crickets chirp.  Finally he asked, “Why are you calling from Eric Smith’s
house?”

“For shits and giggles, of
course.”

More silence.

I sighed.  “Jeez, he was
fixing my busted computer, all right?”

“And you’re calling me,
why?”

I shifted from foot to foot,
looked out the kitchen window into Eric’s back yard.  “I thought we could talk
about the weather or football.  Halloween’s coming up, we could talk about
that.”

 “Rose.”  It sounded like a
warning.

I began opening Eric’s
cabinets—which were mostly bare—and his fridge—which was mostly filled with
beer.  Calling Sullivan made me antsy.  But at least this time I was speaking
to him on my own terms.  This felt better, safer, than seeing him face to face.

“I know Packard owes you
money.”

“I thought we decided you
were going to mind your own business.”

“Axton is my business.”

“I’m not going to discuss
this with you.”

“What do you want in
exchange for Ax?”

“You finally asked the right
question,” he said softly.

“So what’s the right
answer?”

“You can’t give me what I
need.”

“Who can?”

“Packard Graystone.”

“He doesn’t have the money,
Sullivan.  You can’t get blood from a stone, not even a Graystone.”

“Ah,” he said, “but Packard
isn’t a stone, is he?  He just needs the proper motivation.”  I heard a click. 
He’d hung up on me.

“Well,” I said to the
receiver, “that was helpful.”  I didn’t even have the chance to bargain for
Axton with the hard drive.

I told Eric about the call
and Sullivan’s response. 

Eric had a look on his face
that was part concern, part exasperation.  “Rose, this guy is a dangerous
criminal and yet you keep making contact with him.  Why is that?”

“I want to get Axton back
safe and sound.”

“And?” he asked, rubbing his
head.

“And what?  And nothing.  I
just want Axton back, that’s all.” 

He tilted his head and
raised his brows.  “You’re into him, aren’t you?”    

I choked out a laugh.  “Into
him, as in attracted to him?  He kidnapped my best friend,” I said, gawking at
him as if he had lost his marbles. 

“Uh huh.”  He shook his
head.  “Why do chicks always go for the bad boys?” he muttered to himself.

“Calm down, Dr. Phil.  I do
not want to date him or see him or anything else with him.” 

After a full minute of staring,
me looking at him defiantly, Eric looking unconvinced, I was the first to blink.

“Are you sure I can’t pay
you for the computer?”

“Forget it, kid.  Just enjoy
all fifty-four of those gigabytes.”

I took my new laptop and
went home. 

My super had put the new mattress
inside my apartment, but hadn’t moved it to the frame or taken off the heavy
plastic encasing it. 

It was thicker than my last
one and black instead of bright orange.  I ripped off the plastic and wrangled
it over to the frame.  I sat down to give it a test drive.  Very comfortable. 
So comfortable, I decided to kick off my shoes and take a nice long nap. 

But fifteen minutes later,
my phone rang.  It was Sheila and she was incoherent.

“Rose, coming
out…grocery…man…Packard…,” she sputtered. 

“Sheila, calm down.  Where
are you?”

“Homph,” she said.  She’d
begun to do that thing when you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, so you
gasp for breath every few seconds. 

“It’s okay.  I’ll be right
over.” 

I drove to Sheila’s house,
and when she opened the front door, she threw herself into my arms, sobbing. 

“Come on, let’s go inside.” 
I all but held her up as I guided her into the house.  I led her to the sofa
and tried to pull away, but she clung to me.  I gently disentangled myself from
her grasp.

“Where’s Jordan?”

“He’s…at….soc…”

“Soccer?”

She nodded. 

“Do you have to pick him
up?”

She shook her head and
dabbed at her eyes with a soggy tissue.

“Where do you keep the
booze?”

She tried to catch her
breath, but still couldn’t manage a sentence, so she just pointed to the
kitchen. 

I searched the cupboards until
I finally found the alcohol cabinet above the oven.  I pulled down a bottle of
whiskey, found a glass, pouring two fingers worth.