The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  I know Charli like a cow knows an electric fence. It was obvious to me that she was adding the five thousand dollars to the book sales she'd conjured up in her imagination.

  John chuckled. He's lived through enough of Charli’s hare-brained schemes to be able to read her mind, too.

  Tim gave me a quick hug. "Sorry, guys, but I gotta run. I'm covering a half-shift for a guy and I need to change into my uniform."

  He hopped into his Escape and backed out of his parking place. The window buzzed down and he stuck his head out. "Hey, Marty. Want to catch a movie or something tomorrow night?"

  "Can't," I said. My face instantly got hot. I didn't want to get into another fight with him, so I hoped he didn't ask why I couldn't.

  He didn't. "Okay, see you later." He waved, raised the window, and sped off through the parking lot.

  "Where do you suppose that truck is?" Charli asked. "I'll bet it's been stripped for parts or shipped out of the country or something like that."

  John chuckled. "I really doubt it. I imagine it's just hidden away somewhere. Probably someplace close by." He put his arm around Charli and gave her a little squeeze.

  It sounded like someone, or something, stepped on a dead branch on the cemetery side of the thicket.

  "What the heck is that noise?" I asked.

  John shrugged. "Probably a dog. I'll go look if you want me to."

  "No, it's okay. I'm just a little jumpy since I ran into Gramma Turner, I guess."

  I swatted at a hungry mosquito. Two men came out of the funeral home and walked through the parking lot. One of them told a bawdy story and they both laughed loudly. I could still hear them laughing until the engine of their Blue Impala turned over.

  Charli and John were talking about Grandma Turner again. It reminded me that I hadn't told them about the argument I'd heard.

  "Hey, I forgot to tell you something," I interrupted. "I was going to the lounge to get a soda when I overheard Steve LeFever having an argument with someone. He said that 'He didn't care who knew, what were they going to do, have him arrested?' or something along those lines."

  "Really?" Charli asked. Her face was neon with excitement. "Who was he arguing with?"

  "I don't know. I was getting ready to go in and find out, but that's when Miz Turner scared the daylights out of me."

  "Hmm," said Charli, "Steve thinks he might get arrested. Isn't that interesting? I'll just bet Warren found out Steve was doing something illegal and Steve killed him!" Her voice went up an octave.

  John laughed, "Charli, doll, I think you've been reading way too many detective novels."

  I laughed, too. The night before, Charli had been convinced that Beth was the guilty party. I'd called her as soon as I'd gotten home to ask about Vanessa and had told her all the things I'd found out from Tim.

  "Wait," she'd interrupted me when I had told her the story about Beth's saying that 'Warren wouldn't be caught dead in a Thompson's shirt'.

  "I don't understand. If they were separated, and Warren wasn't living with her, how would Beth have known what Warren was wearing Monday morning?" she asked.

  "I wondered about that too. So I asked Tim about it later. It seems as though Wart went over to the trailer Sunday night to talk to Beth about reconciling. I guess it must have gone pretty well, because Beth told Detective Luray that they ended up getting romantic and Wart stayed the night."

  "I'm sorry, but I just don't buy it," she said.

  "Why not? Why would Beth make up something like that?"

  "I don't know. But, I just don't trust her. Never have. She's, oh, I don't know, she's just shifty or something. I mean, it's not anything she's ever said or done, it's just my intuition. And, as you know, I have great intuition."

  I covered my mouth to keep her from hearing my chuckles. "You? Great intuition? Right. But Charli, why would she lie?" I asked. "If she tells the police stuff that isn't true, they might think she had something to do with the murder. And personally, I can't see Beth working up enough passion to kick a flat tire, much less kill somebody."

  "She could have hired somebody to take him out."

  "That's nuts! I mean where do you call if you want to hire a hit man in a place like Glenvar? “Hit Mans R Us? I don't think they're listed in the phone book. And, as soon as you mentioned the word murder, it would be all over town. Nobody in this city can keep a secret. Nobody!"

  "We didn't know about the separation. Somebody managed to keep that secret. Anyway, who said she'd have hired somebody from Glenvar. There are plenty of criminals over in Roanoke. She could have looked there."

  We'd argued for awhile before finally hanging up. Charli had managed to come up with a plausible answer for my every objection. It appeared that she was now tossing that theory out.

  I watched in amusement as she argued with her husband about her reading habits. John was still laughing, but Charli's ears were turning red, a sure sign that she is getting to the boiling point. I couldn't help myself.

  "You know, John," I broke in, "last night the great detective thought Beth was guilty, before that, she suspected Nancy Winslow. Tonight, it's Steve. If you aren't careful, you'll probably be next."

  Charli practically spit on me, she was so mad. "Shut up, Marty! You too, John. Ya’ll just wait! I'll show you both. I'm going to find out who did this and I'm going to get that reward money. And then, I’m going to go on a cruise and y’all can’t come with me! Then we'll see who's laughing ."

  John tried real hard to stop, but it didn't work. He reached over and patted Charli on the butt. "Aww, come on, babe. You wouldn’t have a bit of fun on a cruise without me. Besides, Char, this is real life, not a mystery novel. Things aren't all cut and dried in real life."

  "Give me a break! I'm just going to ask a few questions and work out a theory." She reached up and chucked him under the chin. "I can do this, I know I can."

  John let out a long sigh. "Charli, babe, geez, you're gonna make me crazy! Let's just go on home. We told the sitter we'd be home by nine."

  It was getting dark, the mosquitoes were making minced meat out of my legs and arms, John and Charli could go on with this stupid argument for hours, and I was in need of some food and a soda.

  "Bye, y'all. See ya." I headed for my car.

  "I'm leaving now. Going home." I slipped into the Mustang and pulled up next to them. Hands were waving and faces were turning red.

  "I'll see you in the morning." I revved the engine.

  They still didn't hear me.

  In fact, just before I left them, they were shaking hands on a convoluted bet involving cooking, cleaning bathrooms, mowing grass, and changing dirty diapers.

  18

  I'd been at home for about two minutes when the walls started closing in on me. When I'd driven past, Pilazzo's cheery neon sign had winked at me, promising food, drink, and good company, but I'd resisted. The thing was, much as I loved Delbert, after the stress of the last few days what I needed was a little human companionship. Besides, I didn't really feel up to eating any of the food I had at my place. Actually, the truth of the matter? The thought of one of those juicy burgers was driving me crazy.

  One of the nine million good things about Glenvar: it's only fifteen square miles, so it only takes about ten minutes to get to where you are going. I was so hungry I didn't even bother to change out of the gray dress. Within fifteen minutes I had flicked on my turn signal and whipped into the parking lot. There were only a few cars out front, but one of them was Zach's.

  "Yes!" I whispered.

  Then I looked in the mirror. My hair was almost beyond help. We're talking frizz city. Even worse, the purple ostrich egg on my forehead was turning a little green around the edges. I dug around in my tote bag and found a brush and an elastic band. Bending over as far as I could, I raked out the snarls and gathered my hair into a loose ponytail.

  I even thought about using my fingernail scissors to cut some bangs, but snapped out of it real quick. What was it about the prospect of see
ing Zach, someone I'd known, well, forever, that was suddenly making me turn so weird?

  When I popped my head back up, Steve LeFever, followed closely by Nancy Winslow, drove around to the side of the building and parked beside a big orange dumpster. Nancy scooted out of the green Focus she was driving and plodded over to Steve's car. She wore a wrinkled rust colored skirt that looked like it was made out of burlap, a tan blouse that had seen better days, and, for some strange reason, a floppy rust colored hat.

  Steve pushed his car door open and turned sideways, one leg hanging out the door. He lit a cigarette while Nancy talked to him. She moved into the space between the door and the car and blocked my view of Steve. All I could see of him was the glowing tip of his cigarette.

  I was parked on the front side of the building, too far away to hear what they were talking about. My curiosity got the better of me. I reached up and unscrewed the dome light, slid across the passenger seat, opened the door, and ducked out of the car.

  I glanced nervously over toward Steve's car. Nancy cackled loudly. I thanked God that they hadn't noticed me and eased the door so that it was almost closed. Another quick glance their way. Still safe.

  Staying low, I slipped along between the other cars and snuck up close to the building until I reached the dumpster. I knelt down between it and a car, and strained my ears.

  "Did you get the money?" Nancy asked.

  I couldn't hear Steve's reply. Shoot. I squeezed into the space between the dumpster and the building, inching forward until I came to the corner closest to Steve's car. The dumpster smelled sour and moldy. I pinched my nose closed and tried not to think about it. That just made it worse.

  I hugged the wall, trying to keep from brushing up against the crud encrusted trash box. I'll bet you could fit two or three dead bodies inside a trash can that big. I shivered and tried to get the image of Warren, covered with blood and flies, out of my head.

  I found a couple of broken down cardboard boxes between the dumpster and the wall. I eased one of them down so that it covered the asphalt and crouched down on my hands and knees in order to peek around the corner at Steve and Nancy. I sure hoped no one — especially Giselle and that cameraman of hers — came by and saw me scrunched down beside the dumpster, eavesdropping.

  Nancy let out a low whistle. "Thirty-five hundred apiece. Not too shabby!"

  The car door blocked my view, but at least I could hear Steve's reply. "And plenty more, if we play our cards right," he said, almost laughing.

  "Thanks, pal," Nancy said, "this is going to be a doozy of a partnership."

  The thumping from inside Pilazzo's suddenly became music as someone opened the front door.

  I lay down flat on the cardboard mat. Footsteps clomped across the parking lot coming closer and closer to my hiding spot. I pulled the other broken box over me as best I could. My foot hit the dumpster with a loud THUNK, setting off a momentary panic attack. How in the world was I going to explain myself if I got caught? Maybe I could tell them the aliens had landed, abducted me, and sucked out my brain....

  The clomping grew louder. Keys rattled so close to me I felt like I could reach out and grab them. I cut my eyes up to the edge of the dumpster. No one appeared. I blew out the breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding.

  The car next to the dumpster, the one I'd hidden beside, roared to life. It startled me and I whopped my head against the dumpster, making another loud noise. Steve and Nancy were quiet until the car was safely out of the parking lot.

  "Did you hear that noise?" Nancy asked. "It sounded like it was coming from over there by the dumpster."

  Steve laughed. "You got the willies or something? It's probably just the metal contracting. That guy in the car woulda seen something if there was anything to worry about."

  "You're probably right," said Nancy. "I'm just jumpy I guess." She sounded nervous.

  "I can take a look if you want me to," said Steve.

  Not a good plan. Especially for me.

  "No, it's okay. But next time, let's meet at the car lot," said Nancy. Whew. "I gotta run," she said. "Catch ya later."

  Her heels clopped across the asphalt. Gingerly, I pulled the cardboard off of me and sat up. I peeked around the side to where they were parked. Nancy sat in her front seat, looking down at something. Finally, she left. I waited for Steve to leave, too.

  He didn't. He finished his cigarette and flipped the butt out the window. It landed right in front of me, tip still glowing. His car door creaked open. I hit the ground, pulling the cardboard back over me again. What was with these people? Didn't they have anything better to do than torment sweet, innocent me?

  He took his time walking around to the front of the building. When the front door opened, the music swirled out again. I counted to ten and crawled out from behind the dumpster. The front of my dress was streaked with some sort of brown gunk. I brushed it off the best I could and used my fingers to smooth down my ponytail.

  I replayed what I'd overheard, but it didn't make sense. My stomach growled, reminding me of why I was there. I took another swipe at my dress, hitched my tote bag over my shoulder, and walked around to the front of the building.

  A car pulled into the lot just as I was about to open the door, but it wasn't anyone I knew. The neon sign buzzed and hummed, and I could make out the words coming from the jukebox; words that constantly echoed in my mind for the past eleven months:

  Bye-bye, baby, I've loved you for so long.

  Destiny is calling, baby, so you've got to be strong.

  Bye-bye, baby, I've gotta hit the road,

  Nashville is beckoning, it's my new abode.

  I'm off to make it big, have me some fun,

  My new life is waiting, So you see, I've gotta run.

  Bye-bye baby, baby, bye-bye,

  Bye-bye, woman, bye-bye, girl.

  I sat down on the brick planter that stretches across the front of the building and waited until the song ended, trying not to gag. When I heard the last strains, I hopped back up and made my entrance. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.

  19

  Shock would be putting it mildly. Sitting at the front table, placed for maximum visibility, sat the last person I'd expected to see. Next to Warren, that is. Long legs stretched out in front of him, custom-made boots crossed at the ankles, cowboy hat tilted back on his head: Ricky Ray was holding court.

  A gorgeous blonde wearing a skimpy black leather mini-skirt and bustier snuggled up next to him and whispered something. Ricky snaked his finger through her hair and whispered back. My tote bag slipped off my shoulder. I grabbed at it, turned it upside down, and watched all my clutter clatter to the floor.

  I dove after it, frantically scooping up all my junk. Wallet, gum, a can opener, my phone, an unorganized organizer, sixteen lottery tickets, three candy bars, four demo CDs, my birth control pills, a quarter roll of toilet paper. (Don't ask.)

  A tampon rolled under a barstool and I had to get down on my hands and knees to reach it. I hoped beyond hope hat no one was looking at me. I retrieved it and turned around to stuff it back into the bag.

  The boots stopped right in front of me. I took a deep breath and slowly looked up. Up the long blue-jeaned legs. Past the brilliant blue shirt. My eyes stopping on that face I know better than my own. Ricky Ray stared down at me, smiling and oozing out all that charm and sex appeal that has made him so freaking rich and famous.

  Damn him. It isn't fair, you know? I mean, I'm over him, I really am, but I just couldn't make my body behave. My heart was racing, my hands were sweating, my face felt like it was on fire, and I just knew that if I were to try and talk, my voice would sound like a Vienna choir boy's.

  He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick, sandy blonde hair. Slowly, he reached down and held out his hand. I hesitated, then gave in, letting him pull me to my feet.

  He looked at me, The Smile plastered in place, then looked down at the tampon that had somehow transferred from my
hand to his.

  "Uh, thanks, doll, but I don't reckon I'll be needin' this," he drawled in that rich, sexy, bedroom voice of his.

  I felt the flush all the way down to my toes. I grabbed the tampon and threw it in my bag. I still didn't speak, not trusting my voice.

  He smelled incredible. The turquoise shirt, one of those with a band collar, looked like it had been custom made. The color was an exact match to those bewitching eyes. He just stood there smiling that million dollar smile and gazing deep into my eyes.

  I sucked in my breath and blew it out slowly, I had to break his gaze, but it was hard. It felt like every eye in the place was on us. I glanced around. They were. The jukebox finished playing Ricky Ray’s latest hit, "Rollin' Down the Highway of Love". The room was so quiet that I could hear my heart beating.

  Steve LeFever and Zach stood over by the dart boards. Zach raised his eyebrows and lifted his hands, as if to say 'what gives'. His mouth was set in a grim line. I blinked and turned back to Ricky Ray.

  "Marty, baby, you sure are looking good. How the devil are ya’?” Ricky Ray grabbed my head on both sides and tilted it back, my face lifted.

  A hot chill ran down my spine. I knew this move all too well. He bent down and kissed me on the mouth, hard and possessive.

  I jerked my head back out of his grasp and smacked it on the wall behind me. "Dang you, Ricky Ray! How dare you do that to me. Who do you think you are?"

  I almost slapped him, but I didn't want to make a big scene. "What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be in Nashville acting like a big-shot star?"

  He laughed. Even his laugh is sexy. "Still got a smart mouth, I see. Actually, I'm just over here for a few days. I wanted to see Mama and Grandma before we start the second leg of our tour. We play down in Raleigh tomorrow night, then we have another eighty two dates. We're even going to Japan, can you believe it?"

  "Those poor Japanese!" I shook my head sadly. "Imagine, being subjected to those crappy noises you pass off as music. They'll sure have a low opinion of Americans after you get through."