The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  I snuggled against him. "Are you sure you can't stay for just a few more minutes?"

  He groaned and kissed me. "I wish. But in a few minutes, I don't think we're gonna be stopping. Later, tonight, you can remind me where we left off."

  "I guess that'll be okay." Who was I kidding?

  It took us several minutes, but we managed to get up off the bed. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

  "See you at the funeral," I said.

  "I probably won't be there. I've got a ton of work to do. A cute little Mustang to work on. But, hey, if you want, I can take off tomorrow. Maybe we can go to my folk’s cabin up at the lake. Take the boat out. Ski. Whatever."

  The whatever especially interested me.

  He squeezed me and pulled back slightly so he could see my eyes. "You game?"

  "Absolutely. It sounds great. We can talk about it tonight. I'll fix you supper," I said. "About eight?"

  "Eight it is." He kissed me again, pulled on his shirt, and left.

  I leaned against the door and watched him walk away. The sixty-something year old widow from across the hall cracked her door open and peeked out.

  "Psst, Marty," she whispered, "nice butt!" She winked at me and cut her eyes back around so she could watch Zach walk away.

  "Hey, Rowena," I whispered back, "you ain't kidding. Don’t tell my Mom, though, okay?" She nodded and we admired the view until Zach was out of sight. I grinned at Rowena and waved before going back into my apartment.

  After my shower, I washed down two sinus pills with another cup of coffee, put on my yellow dress, and pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail. I was almost out the door when I remembered my car.

  “Well, poop. I forgot all about it! What am I gonna do?" I asked Delbert.

  He rubbed against my leg and meowed. "Good idea, buddy. We'll call John and Charli and see if I can borrow one of their cars. They have an extra one."

  John and Charli have a van, an SUV, and John's pride and joy, an old beat up clunker of a truck. Hopefully, they'd let me borrow the SUV until my car was fixed.

  I called Charli's number. John answered. I told him about the wreck (begged him not to mention it to Mom) and asked just as nice as you please if I could borrow the SUV for a couple of days.

  "Sorry, squirt. I have to go out of town this afternoon. I'll have to take it and Charli needs the van to haul the kids around. I'll be glad to let you use the truck, though."

  "I guess that'd be okay. It's a straight, right?" I tried to remember what the truck looked like. I didn't think it was too bad; certainly it wasn’t worse than my Mustang. Otherwise, ONAG would have banned it.

  "Right. Three-on-the-tree," he said. "Have you ever driven one before?"

  "Of course," I said, figuring it couldn't be any different from driving a four speed.

  "Good, it's kinda hard to shift. Charli has to stand up to do it. Hang on a sec." I could hear Charli talking in the background.

  John talked to her then came back on the line. "Hey, squirt, Charli said she'll drive you to the funeral and you can pick up the truck after that. Okay?"

  "That'll work. Tell her I'm ready."

  She picked me up about twenty-minutes later. The rain started just as she pulled out of the parking lot. I slouched down in the gray leather seat, listening to the windshield wipers screek-scrawk and the rain pound on the sunroof while I waited for Charli to ask me about the wreck.

  "Well, aren't you going to tell me what happened to your car?" she said. Charli is so predictable.

  I filled her in on my run-in with Ricky Ray and the wreck, leaving out the part about Zach falling asleep on my sofa and staying the night. I didn't need to hear a lecture from Mom about 'what will the neighbors think'. I had a pretty good idea what one of them thought, anyway.

  When we pulled into the funeral home parking lot I saw Nancy Winslow getting out of the green Focus. Her outfit was just like the one she'd worn the night before, only in red. She even had a red floppy hat. She held a huge orange and maroon Virginia Tech golf umbrella over her head. I wished I had one.

  I told Charli about how I had spied on Steve and Nancy. She was impressed.

  "Thirty-five hundred apiece?" Charli said. "I wonder what those two are up to. It sounds like drugs or something. Maybe blackmail. But who?" She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

  "Who would have that kind of money?" she said. "Fred! That's who! Maybe he did kill Warren and they know about it and, and,...oh shoot! You don't think they're going to get my reward do you? Maybe that's it. Maybe they're planning to turn in Fred and split my reward money between them."

  "Your reward money? It isn't your money. Anyway, I thought the reward was for five thousand. That would only be twenty-five hundred apiece. I know they said thirty-five hundred. Maybe what they were talking about doesn't have anything to do with the murder."

  Charli shook her head excitedly, bouncing up and down in her seat. "No! I know! Collusion! That's what it is. Remember, I said that maybe Beth hired somebody to kill Warren? I'll just bet that Steve and Nancy were in on it. I'll bet they are getting a payoff! That's gotta be it!"

  She rubbed her hands together and clapped them several times. "Okay. Okay, we need to get some evidence. You have your phone with you, right?“

  “Of course.”

  "You hang close to Nancy. If she says anything incriminating, record it this time. I’ll stick close to Steve and do the same.”

  The rain had settled down to a slow drizzle. Charli handed me a black umbrella. One of the ribs was bent, but it didn't have any holes in it. At least I wouldn't have to get totally soaked. She opened up her door and stuck a gray umbrella out and popped it open. It was brand new and a lot bigger than the one she gave me.

  We dodged puddles and went inside the chapel, leaving our umbrellas dripping in the vestibule. It was steamy and warm inside the building. My hair was one big frizz. Charli spotted Mom, Dad, and John, and grabbed my arm, pulling me over to their pew. They scooted over and we squeezed in next to them. The tiny chapel was almost packed. I waved to Tim, who was about three rows in front of us, and sat back, glancing at the program.

  I'd never been to a Church of God of the Living Truth's Holiness Fellowship of Man service before. I'd heard they were one of those way-out sects. Poison drinkers, snake handlers. That sort.

  "Do you think we'll have to touch snakes?" I whispered to Charli.

  She rolled her eyes. "For goodness sake, Marty. This is a funeral. I think they only do that at weddings."

  Mom leaned over and whispered something to Charli. They both looked at me, Mom frowning, Charli smirking. The music stopped and everyone stood up while the Turners entered and sat on the front pew. I stood on my tip-toes and stretched my neck, but I couldn't see a thing. I wondered if Beth had managed to pull herself together or if she’d worn another party outfit to the funeral.

  The service was short and sad. Warren's Mom sobbed through the whole thing, drowning out most of the preacher's words. None of Warren's friends or relatives spoke. A brief eulogy, a couple of hymns, three prayers, and we were adjourned to the grave side. Not a snake in sight, darn it. I'd sort of been looking forward to watching Charli faint.

  22

  I've never quite figured out why you have to go sit at the grave site and listen to another couple of prayers after the funeral, but who am I to question the rules? Charli and I picked up our umbrellas out of the vestibule and went out to her van. We joined in the procession to the cemetery.

  "So, what was Mom's problem?" I asked Charli.

  "The usual. She thinks you're trying to antagonize her. She said she called you this morning and you agreed not to wear that dress." She sighed heavily. "I really wish you'd stop doing stuff like that. I'll have to hear about it for days."

  "Well, she should stop treating me like I'm six years old. She's always criticizing my clothes and hair. It makes me nuts!"

  Charli let out another long, heavy sigh. "Marty, why don't you just
do what I do: ignore her. It works, you know."

  "Easy for you to say! She doesn't pick on you. You're little Miss Perfect. I'm the one that always manages to disappoint her."

  Charli shook her head. "Little Miss Perfect? That's a laugh. I've never, never in my whole life, felt like I lived up to her expectations. Do you have any idea how it feels to always hear, 'your mother is so wonderful, so beautiful, so talented. And your sister! Why she's just got to be the prettiest girl in town. And she's so popular too! Homecoming queen, prom queen, yada, yada, yada,...'!"

  "That's nothing! How do you think I feel, always having to hear about how smart you are. 'That sister of yours is just brilliant. And such a good mother. And so ....'"

  Charli was laughing so hard that tears rolled down her cheeks.

  "What's so funny?"

  "We are. Just listen to us. Complimenting the heck out of each other."

  "I guess we were, weren't we? You don't think anybody heard, do you?"

  She laughed harder. "God, I hope not!"

  Charli pulled a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. Her mascara smeared just a little. I was going to tell her about it, I swear I was, but we reached the grave site. Nancy Winslow and Steve LeFever were standing right next to where we parked, talking.

  "Let's roll!" Charli said. "Remember, don't let Nancy out of your sight!"

  By the time we jumped out of the van, Steve had moved away. I stopped right behind Nancy and waited, hoping someone would come up and talk to her. No one did.

  Charli maneuvered her way around to the back of the tent and tried to get close to Steve. Steve stood next to Beth Turner, his hand holding her elbow. He hovered around her during the whole short service. Charli darted first one way, then the other, but there were too many people crowded under the tent.

  It was raining harder now. The clouds hung low, shrouding the mountains. The wind picked up, blowing the rain sideways into my face. The little black umbrella was nearly worthless. By the time we sang 'Amazing Grace', my dress was plastered to me. I almost went to the van, but I knew if I left my post, Charli would kill me.

  Nancy didn't hang around after the service. She climbed in the green Focus and took off. I glopped through the mud over to where Mom was standing. She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

  "How are you?" She had on a gorgeous black London Fog raincoat and a chic rain hat. She also had on some classy looking rain boots and held a great big black umbrella. I felt like a total bumpkin next to her.

  "I'm okay. My head still hurts and I feel a little wheezy. I hope it isn't serious." I tried to look really pitiful, not giving up on the grape juice and soup delivery just yet. She ignored me.

  We watched Steve help Beth into the limousine. Beth looked slightly better than she had at the visitation, but not much. Steve whispered something to her. She winked at him and smiled, licking her lips seductively.

  I nudged Mom with my elbow. "Did you see that? They sure look awful chummy. And not particularly mournful, I might add. I wonder what's going on?"

  Mom glanced around to see if anyone was listening. She leaned close to me and said in a low voice, "Rumor has it that they've been having an affair for the last year and a half."

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  She shrugged. “I’m a reporter. People tell me things. What I heard is that Warren and Beth separated for awhile last summer and Steve practically moved in. When Warren and Beth got back together, I guess they didn't stop seeing each other."

  Steve closed the limo door and watched as it drove off. Charli stood about ten yards behind him, looking frustrated. Steve rubbed his hands together and blew on them before getting in his own car and driving off.

  Charli crossed over to Mom and me. I raised my eyebrows and nodded slightly toward her purse. She shook her head.

  "What are y'all gabbing about?" she asked.

  "Mom said she heard that Steve and Beth are having an affair," I said.

  "I just knew there was something going on! Did you see the way Beth looked at him when he helped her into the car. My goodness! You'd think they'd show some respect. At one point, they even looked like they were going to start making out right then and there. It's disgraceful!"

  Mom shook her head. "Imagine how Mr. and Mrs. Turner must feel." She looked at her watch. "Yikes! I've got to get out of here! I'm interviewing some teachers from the high school about the pay freeze. Oh, and we're going to run a biographical article on Warren next week. You two come over to the car and I'll give you copies of this week's paper."

  We took the papers and tucked them under our arms. Mom kissed us and left. John and Dad hadn't attended the grave side service. Charli and I watched as the cemetery workers lowered the casket down into the vault.

  Charli shivered. "Let's get out of here."

  "Good idea. How about some coffee or lunch?"

  When we were settled in the van I opened the paper to read Mom's article. My face took up a good chunk of the front page. I almost choked.

  "Why'd she go and do that for?" I said with a groan.

  Charli glanced over at it and laughed. "At least she used a good picture of you."

  "That's a relief." I said sarcastically.

  I read some of the article. Mom made sure that my name was in almost every other sentence. Nothing like a little home cooking.

  "Herb's gonna be so thrilled, he'll probably lay down and die. This whole thing is like a dream come true for him." I told Charli about him wanting me to do the promo in the trash tote.

  "That's disgusting," Charli said. "Surely he was joking."

  "I sort of doubt it," I said, "but that's Herbie for ya."

  We went back to Charli's house and ate a sandwich. I played with the kids for a little while, tickling Jaelyn and rough-housing with the boys. At two, I picked up the keys to John's truck. Charli and I went out to the garage.

  The truck was worse than I remembered. The thing was huge. It had a dull black and paint primer finish, big rust patches, no tail gate, ripped vinyl seats.

  "Doesn't ONAG give you grief about this thing?" I said.

  "That's why we keep it in the garage. John would die without this old thing. He's had it since he was sixteen. He'll never get rid of it."

  I climbed up in the seat. "How do I shift this thing?"

  Charli gave me a brief lesson in shifting the gears and I stuck the key in the ignition. It only took five tries before it turned over. Finally, the engine caught with a low, throaty growl.

  The truck trembled and shook, making me feel like I was in the middle of an earthquake. I ground around a little and finally landed in first. I had a little trouble shifting, but after a couple of miles, I got the hang of it.

  There was a message on my voice mail from Herb. The evening DJ was out sick and they needed me to fill in on the air from seven until eleven. Raging hormones or not, one look at my checking account balance convinced me that I didn't have much choice when it came down to the work or date with Zach decision.

  I called him to cancel our plans and find out what time he'd pick me up the next day. That taken care of, I changed into a denim skirt and a vintage Mary Chapin Carpenter t-shirt, gave Delbert some 'Kitty Grill', and headed off to work.

  I got a couple of funny looks and a lot of waves on my way to the station. I grinned cheerfully and waved back, feeling like a real country gal in that big ol’ black pick-up truck, George Teoria’s “Country Gals Do It Best”, blasting out of the radio.

  23

  About ten Thursday night, while I was on the air, Tim showed up with a couple of subs from Pilazzo's. I did a riff about good food, good friends, and good company, and thanked God for the station’s “six pack of songs”, which left me a good fourteen minutes before I had to talk again. I unwrapped my steak and cheese sub and chowed down.

  When I finished wolfing down the sandwich, I did another short riff and then asked Tim about the investigation.

  "No new leads. Well, one little one, I guess. We
found out where that jersey came from. Seems like your boyfriend," he said “boyfriend” with a sneer, "had a bag of extra ones in the back seat of his car. They got to looking and, lo and behold, one of 'em was missing."

  I ignored his tone. “Wow! Do you think it was Wart or the killer that stole it?"

  Tim took a bite of his sub and chewed thoughtfully. "Personally, I think it was the killer. I'm still leaning toward the idea that somebody's trying to set up Fred. Make it look like he's the murderer."

  I mulled that over. "Well, maybe. Or maybe Fred is the killer and he put all those things out there so y'all would be misled into thinking it was a set up."

  "I don't mean to burst your bubble," he said, "but that kind of thing only happens on TV. Most of the murders in real life are pretty cut and dried and happen on the spur of the moment. Usually don't see a whole lot of planning and fancy stuff involved."

  "If you ask me," I said, "this one seems to have more than its share of fancy stuff."

  The song ended. I did a couple more minutes of patter, and introduced the next song on the playlist.

  "Anything new about my wreck?" I asked Tim once George Teoria's “Lonely Lover's Lullaby” started playing.

  "No. And, unless somebody walks in and confesses, I doubt we'll find out who did it. It isn't exactly top priority. Would you recognize the car if you saw it again?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It was pretty dark. I noticed it when I left the grocery store. But you know how I am about cars. They get you from one place to another."

  "Well, I'm just glad you weren't hurt. And that whoever it was didn't stop and come after you."

  "Me too. Thank God Zach heard all the racket and came down to investigate. I was pretty hysterical by then."

  Tim gritted his teeth when I mentioned Zach. "How convenient that your boyfriend was there to look out for you," he said, sneering once again when he said boyfriend. His neck was mottled red.