Last Diner Standing Read online

  About Last Diner Standing

  Rose Strickland is having a blue Christmas. Her friend is arrested for attempted murder, her sexy bad guy crush is marked by a hit man, and her boss is locked in an epic smackdown with a rival diner. Determined to save those she loves, Rose embarks on an investigation more tangled than a box of last year’s tree lights. With her eclectic gang at the ready, Rose stumbles across dead bodies, ex-cons, chop shops, jealous girlfriends, jilted lovers, and a gaggle of strippers in a battle for freedom she might not survive.

  Last Diner Standing

  A Rose Strickland Mystery

  By Terri L. Austin

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Terri L. Austin’s Diners, Dives & Dead Ends

  Books by Terri L. Austin

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Thank you

  Praise for Terri L. Austin’s Diners, Dives & Dead Ends

  “Austin’s debut kicks off her planned series by introducing a quirky, feisty heroine and a great supporting cast of characters and putting them through quite a number of interesting twists.” – Kirkus Reviews

  “This traditional mystery captured my attention from the opening pages to the exhilarating finale...this was an enjoyable read in this debut series and I look forward to more adventures with Rose and the gange for years to come.” – Dru Ann Love, The Cozy Chicks Blog

  “I predict this will be a long and successful series...I strongly recommend picking a copy up to read this summer. I know I am looking forward to reading more books by this author. FIVE STARS OUT OF FIVE.” – Lynn Farris, National Mystery Review Examiner at Examiner.com

  “What a blast! Diners, Dives & Dead Ends is a fast-paced mystery loaded with wonderful wit and humor that had me laughing and loving every page. Terri Austin will hook you right away and keep you riveted until The End. I want more!” – Ann Charles, Award-Winning Author of the Bestselling Deadwood Mystery Series

  Books by Terri L. Austin

  The Rose Strickland Mystery Series

  Diners, Dives & Dead Ends

  Last Diner Standing

  Diner Impossible

  Diners Keepers, Losers Weepers

  Diner Knock Out

  A Null For Hire Paranormal Mystery/Romance Series

  Dispelled

  Disheartened

  The Beauty and the Brit Romance Series

  His Every Need

  To Be His

  His Kind of Trouble

  His to Keep

  Copyright

  Last Diner Standing

  Copyright © 2021 Terri L. Austin

  Originally published in 2012 by Henery Press

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-946066-06-0

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-946066-07-7

  Chapter 1

  There are some absolutes in this life that are irrefutable. If you leave the house looking like crap, you’ll see someone you know, usually an ex-boyfriend. If you’re running late for an appointment, you’ll hit every red light on the way. And a three a.m. phone call is never good news. Either someone’s dead, in the hospital, or you’re a drunken booty call. But that Saturday morning, I discovered another reason to avoid the ringing harbinger of bad news.

  “’ello,” I answered, my eyes still closed.

  “Rose, I’m in jail, girl.”

  I sniffed and sat up on my futon. “Janelle?”

  “Of course it’s Janelle. Get your shit together. They think I tried to kill Asshat.”

  Scrubbing a hand over my eyes, I glanced at the clock. “Asshat?”

  Janelle lowered her voice. “Rose, wake up and listen. I’m in jail, Asshat’s in a coma, and they’re saying I tried to kill him. I need help.”

  Her dilemma finally penetrated my sleep-fogged brain. “Oh my God. Where are the kids?” Janelle had two, Damon, nine, and Sherise, seven. Both so cute you wanted to pinch their little cheeks. But I wouldn’t recommend it—that Sherise was a biter.

  “They’re staying with my cousin, Sondra. But I got to get out of here. If they think I’m spending Christmas in jail then I’m Halle Damn Berry.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Call that fancy lawyer you know. He’ll figure it out.”

  Dane Harker. “I’ll call him and come see you in the morning. Will they let me bring you anything?”

  “Cigarettes and toiletries. These bitches trade everything for cigarettes. And Rose? Thanks.”

  Oh my God, my study buddy, Janelle Johnson, was in jail, accused of trying to kill her ex-husband, Asshat. I’d never found out his real name, but his moniker seemed apt. When Janelle found him in her bed one afternoon, diddling another woman while eating a drumstick, the marriage was over and the name Asshat was born.

  I flipped on the lamp and stood, stretching my legs. I didn’t want to call Dane, especially in the middle of the night. For one thing, we kind of dated until a few weeks ago. But he quickly figured out I was too complicated, and I decided he couldn’t handle my kind of awesome. And by awesome, I meant crazy dysfunctional drama.

  And then there was the fact that I killed a man. Six weeks and one day ago. That sort of thing tended to wither romantic connections pretty fast.

  To be fair, the guy I killed was a psycho stalker who would have killed me first. And I didn’t feel guilty about. Really.

  I was determined to move past it and return to my regularly scheduled life. I had just aced my finals and signed up for two classes next semester. I showed up for work every morning and hung out with friends on the weekends. And I put that night out of my mind.

  Mostly. Okay, sleep was sometimes elusive. Two nights ago, I took a toothbrush to the grout on my bathroom tile. Almost passed out from the bleach fumes, but my bathroom sparkled.

  What happened, happened. I was alive and I wasn’t going to apologize for it.

  I dialed Dane’s number. Due to recent events, I’d updated from limited minutes to unlimited with all the texts my fingers could stand. My budget winced in pain, but it was worth it.

  He answered on the fifth ring. “Yeah?”

  “Dane?”

  I heard rustling sounds—sheets shifting around. “W
ho is this?”

  “It’s Rose Strickland.”

  “Rose, what’s wrong? Are you in trouble?” He’d gone from sleepy to worried in three seconds flat.

  “No, I’m fine. But my friend, Janelle, was arrested for attempted murder.”

  “There’s no such thing as attempted murder in Missouri. Assault with deadly injuries perhaps, the law’s differ—”

  “She’s in jail and we need to get her out.”

  “When’s the bail hearing?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you know the extent of her charges?”

  “Nope.”

  He sighed. “Does she know I charge four-fifty an hour?”

  “I was kind of hoping you could give her a discount. Like a freebie.”

  I heard some teeth grinding.

  “Fine. I’ll meet you outside the courthouse at nine. We’ll go see your friend together and I’ll be able to tell you more then.”

  “Thanks, Dane.”

  “Hey. I’m glad you called.”

  *

  I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I went to work a little early—around four-ish. Ma’s Diner was an institution in Huntingford. We served breakfast from six to one. That’s it. No burgers, fries, or chicken sandwiches. Just breakfast.

  Ray, my boss, was already in the kitchen preparing cinnamon rolls and biscuit dough. I loved the warm yeasty smell of the kitchen early in the morning.

  He glanced up as I walked in. “No sleep?”

  Ray was a man of few words. More of a grunter than a talker. In his early fifties, he was a gentle giant with a protruding brow and blond-turning-gray hair he kept in a hairnet.

  “Nope. You need help in here?”

  He mumbled and shook his head. In Rayspeak that meant, “No thank you, Rose. I’m fine.”

  I patted his arm on the way to the dining room where I flipped on the lights and started the coffee. The aroma was sharp and rich and comforting as it filled the small room. Saturdays were always busy, so I hoped Ma didn’t mind if I left for a few hours to see Janelle.

  I’d finished rolling silverware into paper napkins when Roxy Block, a blue-haired fashion plate and my bestie, walked in from the kitchen, chomping gum. She’d quit smoking almost two months ago and now she and her nicotine gum were inseparable. Her short, black skirt was patterned with kittens and playing cards and yarn balls.

  “Couldn’t sleep again, huh?” She tied an apron around her waist and headed for the coffeepot.

  “Not this time. Janelle’s in jail.”

  Roxy’s mouth hung open for so long her gum fell on the floor. “For what?” She bent down and scooped it up, stared at it for a second, as if she might pop it back in her mouth. But with a sigh, she walked to the trash can in the corner and threw it away.

  “Asshat’s in a coma, the police think Janelle tried to kill him. Dane and I are going over to see her this morning. Cool?”

  “Yeah, of course.” She poured a cup of coffee and glanced up. “Do we think she’s guilty?”

  Janelle was capable of many things. Putting sugar in Asshat’s gas tank? Naturally. Super gluing his dork to his stomach? Of course. But murder? That just wasn’t her style. “No, I can’t see her killing anybody. Not even Asshat.”

  “Me neither,” Roxy said. “But I can totally picture her beating the shit out of someone.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Our conversation was brought to an end when Ma Ferguson barreled through the connecting door and paused in the doorway, looking like a vengeful goddess in sweatpants. Her short white hair stood on end, her eyes narrowed behind large-framed trifocals.

  “That man will regret this, I tell ya.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  She stormed the rest of the way into the dining room. I’d only seen her this worked up when she lost the iPod raffle on casino night at St. Mary’s. “Two words, girls. Rudy. Jorgenson.”

  “Rudy of Rudy’s Roundup Restaurant?” Roxy asked.

  Ma nodded, her lips pressed together. “That’s him. He’s decided to serve breakfast. He’s had that place for twenty years and now all of the sudden he’s opening early? He must think I’ve grown soft, but I’ll show him. Breakfast my rump.” She marched around the diner, taking mismatched chairs off the pink Formica tables and setting them down with a thump.

  Rudy’s, a slightly bigger place up the street, served bland spaghetti with Texas toast and chicken fried steak smothered in lumpy gravy at dirt cheap prices. “Ma, so what?” I asked. “He’ll never touch Ray’s pancakes.”

  Roxy bobbed her head. “And we have eggnog French toast on the menu. You know that’s a favorite.”

  Ma flipped the open sign. “It’s not enough. Maybe we need to start making hoity-toity coffee, like that Starbacks.”

  “Starbucks,” Roxy and I corrected in unison.

  “Ma, calm down,” I said. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Oh, yes it will.” She grinned, her thin lips exposing her dentures. A vicious smile. “Rudy Jorgenson is going down, girls. And I’m the one who’s sending him there.”

  I really hoped she wasn’t being literal. I didn’t want to have to visit Ma in jail, too.

  *

  I met Dane outside the police station at nine on the dot. He looked handsome and professional in a dark suit and pale blue tie. Usually when Dane smiled, cute little dimples popped out on either side of his cheeks. He wasn’t dimpling today.

  His baby blues swept over me. “How are you, Rose?”

  “Great. Things are really great.”

  He stared at me in uncomfortable silence. “If you ever need to talk—”

  “Really, Dane, I’m fine. And just so you know, Janelle’s innocent.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but nodded instead. “Okay, let’s see if we can help your friend.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and led me into the building.

  A uniformed officer escorted us into a small room with a table and chairs. Janelle shuffled in wearing white socks and ugly indoor/outdoor slippers. She had smooth cocoa-colored skin and long braids that brushed her apple bottom ass, but her most spectacular feature, her boobs, were now encased in a bright orange jumpsuit and stood out like two gigantic traffic cones.

  An officer stood by the door in case she made a run for it. I handed her the bag filled with toiletries and cigs, which had been thoroughly searched, as had my purse and person.

  “Thanks, Rose. This that lawyer?”

  “Dane, Janelle Johnson. Janelle, Dane Harker.”

  “Can you get me out of here?” she asked Dane. Janelle didn’t look like herself. Free of makeup, her skin was blotchy and her bloodshot eyes were swollen.

  “I’ll do my best,” Dane said. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Asshat hasn’t paid child support for the last year. Not a dime. Word gets back to me that he’s going to the strip clubs, flashing bling, making it rain. He can afford an Omega, but he can’t pay me?”

  Dane leaned toward me. “I’m sorry, but I only got part of that.”

  Janelle pressed her lips together. “He’s been throwing money around, gold rope chains, expensive watches, showering cash on strippers. I dropped the kids at my cousin’s, and I went to confront him.” She crossed her arms. “Things might have gotten a little heated. I went inside and started throwing some shit out on his front lawn.”

  “Then what happened?” Dane asked.

  “We argued some more. I broke some more shit. Does that fool think he’s going to watch a sixty-inch plasma while I can barely afford to get new shoes for my babies? Oh, hells no. It had to go. Then I got in my car and drove home.

  “An hour later, there’s two cops at my door, arresting me. Asshat’s in a coma—someone hit him upside the head. That’s all they’ll tell me. But I didn’t do it.” She glanced from me to Dane. “I didn’t.”

  “I believe you, Janelle,” I said.

  She uncrossed her arms. “You got to get me out of here,
Mr. Fancypants Lawyer. I’ve got two kids to take care of and Christmas is less than three weeks away. I can’t be stuck in here.” She waved her hand around the room, little rhinestones flashing on her yellow acrylic fingernails.

  Dane pulled a paper from his briefcase. “I need you to sign this so I can officially represent you. I’m giving you a discount, since you’re Rose’s friend.” He slid me a look. “But I’ll still have to charge one hundred an hour.”

  Janelle’s eyes popped. “Do I look like I have one hundred dollars an hour?”

  “Janelle, it’s a huge discount,” I said. “Maybe she could pay in installments?” I raised my brows at Dane.

  He closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. “All right. And you don’t have to hire me, Ms. Johnson, but I warn you, court appointed attorneys? You get what you pay for.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Give me the damn pen.” She slashed her signature on the dotted line. “Now what about getting me out of here?”

  “You have a bail hearing set for Monday morning. Can you get some money together? You’ll need to come up with ten percent, which might be anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand. Depends on the judge.”

  She threw up her hands. “You got to be kidding me. Is my last name Trump or something?”

  “What about Sondra or Tariq?” I asked. Tariq was Janelle’s other cousin, the one who danced on the wrong side of legal.

  “Yeah, Tariq might have it. Can you call him for me?” She rattled off his number which I put into my phone.

  “By the way,” I asked, “who told you about Asshat’s recent windfall?”

  “His sister, Roshanda. We still keep in touch.”

  We stood to leave, but I glanced back at my friend. “Two questions. Who else wanted Asshat dead and where did he get all that money?”

  Janelle stood while the officer placed a hand on her arm. “Anyone who’s ever met him and I don’t have a clue. Maybe you could check it out for me? When Axton went missing, you found him. Will you find out who put Asshat in a coma?”

  I hesitated. I’d had my fill of danger when I went looking for Axton. I was a boring girl now and that’s the way I liked it.