The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  Robby chuckled and I could see the tension leave his face. “Been there, done that. And let me tell you, ain’t nothing relaxing about getting it on with Giselle.”

  Art chortled. “There you go. See, alls you gots to do is think about getting a little and you get more relaxed. I’m telling you man, you ought to forget about that nasty old broad you’re with and get you a hot young thing. That’s what I’d do iffen I was you.”

  I listened for a few more minutes, but evidently they were done talking about the important stuff. I steadied myself so I could climb off the trash can. Just then, I heard Tim’s voice coming from outside.

  “Hey, you guys seen Marty?” he asked Art and Robby.

  “Marty? Sheffield?” Robby said. “Ain’t seen her. Probably in jail where she belongs.”

  I peeked back out the window. Tim’s face had that stone cold, ‘don’t mess with me, I’m a cop’ look. He stuck it inches from Robby’s face. “What was that?” His voice was cold too. It was a perfect match for his facial expression. I gotta get him to teach me how to do that.

  Robby transcribed the message. “Sorry, Tim. Didn’t mean nothing by that. I was just kidding around, bud. I see Marty, I’ll tell her you’re looking for her. Okay?”

  Tim kept the look on his face but he backed up a couple of steps. “You do that.”

  I waited for him to leave, hoping that Art and Robby would talk about their secret, the murder, or me, again, but instead they hopped into their trucks and left.

  I was thinking about what I’d heard as I attempted to climb off the trashcan. It wobbled and slipped out from under me and I twisted my ankle as I landed on the floor. I fought back tears and went to wash my hands. My face was crosshatched with an impression of the window screen. I rubbed at it, but it didn’t go away. Hopefully nobody would notice it. Or my ankle.

  I hobbled out of the bathroom, trying to imagine what on earth Art, Robby, Sam, and Frank had been up to. Wondering which one had killed Frank. And, trying to figure out how I was going to solve the mystery so I could clear my name.

  Tim met me in the little hallway that links the bathrooms to the poolroom. “There you are. Where the heck have you been? Your soup is getting cold.” He peered down at me. “What’s that on your face? And why are you limping?”

  I widened my eyes in a ‘who me?’ look. (Although it might have said ‘hiding something’ instead of ‘who me’. It’s been known to happen.) “Nothing. I’m not limping, nothing’s wrong with my face. You’re seeing things again. Maybe you should get your eyes checked. Where’s the soup?”

  “In here.” He pushed me into the now empty poolroom and we parked ourselves at one of the red-vinyl booths, the one that has a poster from Ricky Ray’s last tour hanging over it. I immediately began slurping up my soup. It was exactly what I needed. I practically wept from the perfection of it.

  Tim ate his soup in about three gulps. “Guess who I saw out in the parking lot?” he said.

  “Art and Robby.”

  He gave me an odd look. I really need to overcome this need I have for showing off. I’d planned to keep my spying a secret.

  “That’s right,” he said. “How’d you know?”

  “I overheard them talking when I was in the bathroom.”

  Tim tsk-tsked me. “Marty, you really shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s not nice.”

  “Geez, Tim! You sound just like my mother. It wasn’t like I was trying to listen in. Somebody left the window open.” Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  “I do not sound like your mother!” He glared at me and sipped his iced tea. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me?”

  I gave him my wide-eyed, Little Miss Innocent look. “Tell you what?”

  His jaw tightened. I love it when he gets all wound up. It makes him look really macho and cute. “Don’t give me that garbage. You know exactly what I mean. What were Robby and Art discussing when you were listening in on their conversation?”

  I sized him up, wondering how much of the exchange between Art and Robby he’d heard himself. Tim isn’t dumb. He’s a good cop, too. But I can read him like a book and it was obvious that he was on a fishing expedition, trying to see what I knew, which meant he’d heard something he considered suspicious. “What do you care?”

  “I don’t.” His eyes gave him away. He cared, desperately. “Just curious that’s all. Don’t you think it’s strange that they were together? They don’t seem to have much in common.”

  I quickly mulled over all my options. I figured that if Tim had heard everything I had, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. He’d heard just enough to provoke his curiosity. But there was no way I was going to tell him what they’d said. If he knew about the plan to meet at the shop he’d try and forbid me from showing up there. Which, of course, I fully intended to do. It was the only way I could think of to find out what was going on.

  “Nothing, just the usual guy talk,” I said. “You know, sex, sports, stuff like that. I glanced at my nearly empty soup bowl and thought of a way to get Tim’s mind off of Art and Robby. “How about another bowl of soup?”

  Mission accomplished. Tim jumped up and practically raced to the front room.

  I finished my soup and contemplated the poster. It showed Ricky Ray in a rare hatless, mid hip-swivel pose, his fabulous body displayed to perfection, sandy blonde hair swirling out just right, and his smile in full wattage. I usually make light of getting dumped, try not to let on that it bothers me, but there are some days that, much as I hate Ricky and what he did to me, I can’t help but miss him. Maybe not him so much as what we were together. I miss having someone to hold me. Someone to love me. Potato soup is good, but not that good.

  If Tim was still concerned about Art and Robby, he didn’t let on. When he returned with the soup he launched into a long-winded story about some show that he’d seen Saturday night. Saturday night. It was almost impossible for me to believe that he was talking about something that happened less than twenty-four hours ago.

  I pretended to listen, but my mind was elsewhere. Thinking about Ricky Ray, about boyfriends, and about Kyle Zagle. Wondering about Robby and Art and their secret. And trying as hard as I could to keep my mind off of Frank Billingham’s murder.

  11

  Tim dropped me at my apartment and went home to get ready for work. It was the start of his evening shift rotation, and he had to go in at three. Delbert wasn’t speaking to me, and in fact, wouldn’t come out from under my bed where he was holed up, so it wasn’t nearly as much fun being at home as I’d thought it was going to be.

  I spent the afternoon putzing around, walking from room to room, trying to get interested in the newspaper or a movie or a book. Nothing worked. I finally turned on some music and plopped down on my ratty sofa. I must have dozed off, because about two hours slipped by without me noticing them. I went to my kitchen and sucked down a couple of glasses of water, dumped a can of the Kitty Glop into Delbert’s bowl, and studied my nearly empty refrigerator, trying to figure out what I was going to have for supper.

  Charli called just as I’d resigned myself to a peanut butter and olive sandwich. “Wanna come over and eat supper with me? The kids left for the beach and I’m lonely.”

  I stuck the olive jar back in the fridge. “Sure. Oh, crap. I just remembered. My car is at your house.”

  “I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to Albertino’s and eat. My treat.”

  Yum. Albertino’s is the best restaurant in town. Even without the potato soup. “Ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Since Albertino’s is so upscale I wore a denim skirt, a t-shirt without a logo, and my black Aerosoles instead of my usual tennis shoes. Charli, as always, was dressed to the teeth in a gorgeous purple linen dress. I felt like her poor country relation, which, in a way, I guess I am.

  While we were driving to the restaurant I told Charli about overhearing Art and Robby. “I think one of them or Sam killed Frank,” I told her. “And
I think it has to do with whatever the four of them were up to. If we can find out maybe it will give the police a new place to focus their investigation and I’ll be in the clear.”

  Charli was excited, as I knew she would be. She’s really into mysteries, reads them all the time, and fancies herself quite the sleuth. “We need to change clothes,” she said. “Wear dark stuff so we blend in. Let’s see, we’ll need rope, a little hammer, and a couple of flashlights.”

  “What do we need a hammer and rope for?”

  Charli rolled her eyes at me. “The hammer’s in case we need to break something. You know, like a window. Oh! And we’ll need tape. That’s how you keep it from making noise, you know. You put tape over the glass and then when you tap it to break the window it all sticks together and doesn’t make noise.”

  “What kind of tape?” I don’t read many mystery novels, so I hoped that Charli knew what she was talking about.

  She glanced over at me. “Duct tape. Get my notebook out of my purse and write all this down. I don’t want to forget anything.”

  The restaurant parking lot was full so Charli had to park around back. I recognized the black BMW next to the spot she selected and a thrill went over me. So, I’d get to see Kyle again. He was sitting at a table in the bar area with, surprise of surprises, Herb, and another man who looked vaguely familiar. His back was to me and the three of them were deep in conversation so, even though I waved and carried on, he didn’t see me come in.

  Albertino’s is way, way up the food chain from Pilazzo’s. It’s one of those white-linen-tablecloth-and-water-goblets-at-every-place-setting sort of restaurants. It practically screams expensive with its understated elegance, atmospheric lighting, and classy décor. The tuxedoed maitre’d led us down a short hallway to the dining room and directed us to a table in the back right next to Dicey and Robby.

  “Well hey, y’all,” Dicey said, rather loudly, “why don’t y’all come on and join us?”

  One look at Robby told me that he wasn’t in the mood for company, so I declined for us. We chatted with them briefly, just enough to be sociable. Well, with Dicey, anyway – Robby just scowled at us, didn’t say so much as ‘boo’ - and then we seated ourselves at the table we’d been assigned.

  While we checked out the menu, I couldn’t help but overhear Dicey and Robby’s dinner conversation. I really wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but they were talking so loud that John probably heard them all the way over in Japan.

  At first, they were just talking about normal everyday stuff, (if murder of your neighbor is ‘everyday stuff’, that is) but within minutes, things grew ugly. Their argument started out about money and then, to the embarrassment of anyone in hearing distance, which was pretty much everyone in the restaurant, turned into a down and dirty fight about sex.

  Something else seemed to be going on too, something they’d evidently argued about before, but whatever the problem was, neither one of them ever came right out and named it. Their waiter rushed over and spoke to them. They both stopped yelling and looked around rather sheepishly. At least Robby did. Dicey slumped down in her seat and chug-a-lugged a glass of red wine.

  After the waiter shushed them, he turned to our table, apologized for the disturbance, and asked if we were ready to order. Charli stammered out that, really, we hadn’t been bothered at all and then gave him her order, a broiled salmon filet with rice pilaf and fresh green beans. I followed her lead, told the waiter not to worry about it, that we hadn’t even noticed anything out of the ordinary, then, since Charli was paying, ordered two shrimp cocktails, their biggest filet mignon, and a Heineken.

  As I ate my shrimp, I watched Robby and Dicey. He kept glancing at his watch and fidgeting like a child. Dicey had evidently consumed the majority of the bottle of Merlot they had on their table because she was a little glassy-eyed and didn’t seem to notice his behavior. Something he said set her off again, but this time they kept their voices too low for anyone (me) to hear what they were arguing about.

  About halfway through my Tiramisu and coffee, the two of them stood to leave. Robby wound his arm tightly around Dicey’s waist and she leaned heavily against him. I think he was going to just leave, but she insisted on stopping by our table and saying good night.

  “Bye, gals,” she slurred. “See you tomorrow, Marty. We’ve got to be down to the police station at two. I’ll pick you up one-firty, ‘kay?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be ready. I’m so looking forward to it.” Sarcasm is good for the soul.

  Dicey slapped Robby on the rear end and gave us an exaggerated wink. “Okay, then, see you tomorrow. Right now, we’ve got to run. Robby here wants to go on home and play doctor. Don’t you, sugah?”

  Robby clenched his teeth. “Dicey,” he warned.

  She let out a loud cackle and stumbled off. As they left I heard him say that he’d already told her he had to meet somebody at ten and that he was sorry, but she’d just have to wait up for him if she wanted to fool around. She stumbled again, almost falling on a woman at another table.

  Something inside me screamed out a warning, but I tried to shake it off. It wouldn’t leave, though, just kept tickling around in my head. Was my lawyer an alcoholic? I stewed about it, rolling it over and over in my mind.

  “Does she drink much?” I finally broke down and asked Charli.

  “Not that I’ve noticed. But then again, now that I think about it, she had three drinks the other day at lunch. She’s never done that before.” Charli picked up her tea glass and gestured with it. “Usually when we get together she drinks iced tea too.”

  “I hope she’s sober when I go in for my interview tomorrow.” I gulped down the rest of my dessert.

  “I hope so too,” Charli said. She sipped her coffee — she wasn’t having dessert, too many calories, she’d said — and watched me eat.

  When I’d consumed every last crumb of the delicious treat I excused myself to the ladies room. As I made my way back to our table I literally bumped into Kyle. I was preoccupied, fretting over Dicey’s drinking and our upcoming spying mission, and practically flattened him.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Sorry about that, ma’am. My mind was elsewhere.” He gently pushed me away from him and a look of surprise crossed his face. “Marty! It’s great to see you.”

  He looked so handsome in his expensive suit that I wished for a second or two that I had on a pretty dress like Charli’s. I tugged at my skirt and fought the urge to scratch myself.

  “Hi, Kyle. Sorry about the collision. It was all my fault. As usual, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I didn’t hurt you did I?”

  He noticed that he still had hold of my arm and let go. “I’m fine, no harm done. But how about you? Are you okay? I mean, you know, about the murder?”

  “I’m good. Considering the circumstances.”

  “Glad to hear that. I’ve been meaning to call all day to see how you were. I really can’t believe all this nonsense with the police.”

  “Me either. It’s all such a crock. I mean, why on earth would anyone think I was capable of murder? I’m a really nice person. I’ve never hurt a fly. Well, except that time I hit Ricky Ray over the head with his guitar and he had to get eight stitches, but that wasn’t my fault. He made me do it.” I realized that I was clenching my fists and my jaw and told myself to relax.

  Kyle backed up a couple of steps, regarding me like I was one doughnut short of a dozen. I quickly changed the subject, mentally kicking myself for being such a doofus.

  “Anyway, I’m fine. Dicey’s representing me and I hear that she’s as good as they come. Thanks again for a nice time Saturday night. Even with the way things turned out, I had lots of fun with you. Especially after the, um, the,” I borrowed a word from Mom’s list of euphemisms, “tiff Giselle and I had.”

  He smiled politely and took another step or two away from me. “I did too. It was nice of you to go with me on such short notice. I’ll call you soon about getting together for dinner or something.�
� I recognized the ‘get me away from this chick NOW’ tone in his voice. Chalk another one up to Marty’s big mouth.

  “Okay, great. I’ll look forward to it.” I tried to keep the whiny whines out of my voice, but I don’t think I was successful.

  “It was great seeing you,” he said, all the while backing away from me, “I’d best be getting back to my meeting.”

  I think he was back to his table and in his seat before I had time to even say ‘bye’. I must have really scared him off.

  Charli had paid the bill and was ready to leave when I returned to the table. “So, when are you and Kyle going out?” she asked.

  “I don’t think we are,” I told her. “I think he’s afraid of me or something. Probably thinks I killed Frank.”

  “Oh, Marty, he does not. I saw the way he looked at you. He’s smitten. Trust me, he’ll ask you out again. I’ve got great intuition, you know.”

  I chuckled. My sister and her infamous intuition. Charli is always going on about what good instincts she has. Personally, I think she reads too much. She constantly keeps her nose stuck in one of those self-improvement books and this intuition thing is her latest phase. If you ask me, my sofa has better intuition than Charli does.

  I almost escaped from the restaurant without an encounter with Herb, but I must be slipping in my unemployment. Either that, or the Bimbos of Bane were playing yet another one of their hysterically unfunny practical jokes.

  12

  Herb caught up to me just as I reached to open the exit door. Three more seconds, and I’d have been home free. When he grabbed my arm and spun me around, I reminded myself to attempt to be civil. After all, whether I liked it or not, since Herb was the person who gave out job references to any potential employers I might have, in a sick way my entire future lay in his pudgy, sweaty hands.

  I sent my sister a ‘help, get me out of this’ look. She smirked at me and trotted off to speak to one of her friends from high school, leaving me to squirm. I was definitely going to have to pay her back. First, though, I had to make nice with my former boss.