The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  “Just calling it like I see it. You did it with Ricky Ray. With those two guys you dated when you and Ricky Ray broke up that first time, summer after graduation. Last year with Zach Thompson. Now with this Harry guy. What’s up with him anyway? I mean, who is he? When did y’all meet?” He sounded a bit annoyed when he said it.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s related to Kyle Zagle by marriage. Plays for the Bombers. He got sent down here to rehab a shoulder thing, so he’s staying over at Kyle’s house since it hasn’t sold yet. Charli introduced us. You know Charli. She’s bound and determined to get me hitched. She thought we’d hit it off.” I glared at Tim. “And, she was right. He might even be “the one”.”

  Tim bit his lower lip. His cheeks were starting to take on that little rosy glow he gets when he’s ticked and his hands trembled a tiny bit. “The One? Just like you thought our old buddy Ricky Ray was. You know what, Marty? I think the person who wants to get you married is yourself. Maybe you should think about slowing down a little when you meet somebody. Get to know them before you start making plans for white picket fences and happily ever after.”

  My blood pressure was spiking. “What are you talking about? Ricky Ray and I were a couple starting in eighth grade. We didn’t get engaged until we were twenty. I’d say that’s taking things plenty slow.”

  Okay, so I was getting more than a wee bit defensive. Tim and I have been best buds since kindergarten. He’s been with me through good times and bad. He’s a great guy. He’s also annoying as all get out.

  “Just stop it, Tim. You know I hate the way you’re always weighing in on my love life. You’ve never once liked a guy I’ve dated. Not that there’s been many of them. You act like you’re my brother or something and like it’s your job to protect me from guys you think aren’t worthy. It makes me crazy.”

  “I’m not your brother and I don’t act like that. But you gotta admit, you didn’t really know Ricky, even after all those years. The Ricky you planned to love ‘til death-did-you-part wasn’t the same guy he was back in eighth grade and you never even realized it. You were hanging onto a fictionalized teenage vision of him and your relationship. You thought y’all were some perfect, golden couple, and all the while he was playing you for a fool, messing with practically any girl that breathed.”

  I was close to tears. Tim was hitting way below the belt. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. So stuff it.”

  He was quiet for a couple of minutes, but evidently wasn’t going to actually stop until I started crying. Or socked the bejeebers out of him.

  “You never even told me you were going out with anyone and the next thing I know, people are telling me how you were laying a big old smooch on this Harry guy out in the middle of the radio station parking lot this afternoon. Word is you two were practically jumping each other’s bones right there in front of God and everybody. Weren’t you worried people would run and tell your mom?”

  “No, I was not worried about it. And no, we weren’t jumping each other’s bones, as you so crudely put it. It was just a friendly kiss. And, by the way, who the heck is spreading gossip and lies about me? I thought I was in the clear since Giselle got fired from her gossip show. Like I said, Tim, how in the world is this anyone’s business but mine? And Harry’s?”

  “It’s always my business, because you make it that way. All I’ve done these past few years is watch you flit from one idiot to another, putting on some act, knowing the whole time that as soon as things went wrong you’d be whining and crying about how heart-broken you were, and expecting me to somehow fix things for you. Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped falling in with losers?”

  That was it. I had been through enough for one day and the last thing I needed was yet another lecture on how screwed up I was. Especially not from my so-called best friend. I slammed the empty beer bottle down and stalked off, ignoring Tim’s “Well, don’t you?”

  Grabbing my back pack on the way out, I headed over to Rowena’s, fighting back tears the whole stinking way, desperate to put an end to what had been, without a doubt, the longest, most miserable day of my life.

  8

  I wish I could say the rest of the night and the next day went better, but that would be a big, fat lie. When I got back to Rowena’s after my blowup with Tim, I could barely move. And, of course, four A.M wasn’t any better, or easier, the second day. Not that I had expected it to be.

  The show didn’t go much better either. Herb was in a foul mood and complaining about all of the spots that had to be made up, and the fact that Ed had called in sick at the last minute, meaning that Herb had almost had to cover the shift himself. It didn’t help that Giselle arrived late, again, this time screeching into the parking lot about fifteen minutes before air-time, yipping and yapping and harping on poor Alejandro about something or another he’d neglected to do for her.

  She was dressed up once more like she was headlining a Las Vegas Hoochie-Mama convention. This time her outfit was a barely-there crocheted halter-top and a tiny, practically see-through pink silk skirt. The only positive thing was that her ensemble instantly cheered Herb up. He stared at her slack-jawed for so long that I thought that he was going to start drooling. He, by the way, was nattily attired in a maroon polyester suit with wild looking emerald green vines and massive pink flowers embroidered not only all over the jacket, but down the fronts of both pants legs. It was complemented by an emerald green shirt, a maroon cowboy hat, and maroon boots. Not that anyone would care, but I just had on my usual jeans, a freebie t-shirt advertising Pilazzo’s, and my ratty hoodie.

  Just like she had the first day, Giselle hogged the show and generally made us both appear to be incompetent fools. She also continued to say negative things about the artists and was quick to point out how “totally lame” she thought the station’s choice in music was. “I don’t know why we can’t play a little Lady Gaga or Adele,” she said once. Over the air, of course. I seriously think the only reason Herb didn’t fire her that time was because he was mesmerized by her outfit. About the only good things were that she didn’t cuss, didn’t mention any non-sponsors, and didn’t knock us off the air.

  After our four hours ended, I spent another hour or so cutting spots and prepping for the next day’s show, finally leaving a little after noon, desperate for some food and a nap.

  I was happily surprised to see Harry waiting out in the parking lot. I had sort of given up on the idea of hearing from him since he’d never responded the night before to the text I’d sent. I hadn’t thought much of it, figuring that by the time the game ended, he was mourning the loss of one of his friends at the hands of another.

  When he saw me, he climbed out of his blue Jeep and smiled wryly. “Hey, you,” he said. “You doing okay?”

  “I guess. What about you?”

  He didn’t answer. He immediately put his arms around me and drew me toward him. We stood like that, holding each other gently for several minutes, his chin resting on my head, my face tucked into that sweet spot of his neck. Finally, he backed up and kissed me gently, first on the forehead, then on the lips. There’s a little clearing next to the building where, several years previously, Georgina had made Herb put in a rose garden. In the center was a pretty park-style bench overlooking the flowers and a birdbath, so we sat there.

  Harry held my hand and I leaned against him. It was nice. The best I’d felt the last couple of days.

  “I’m really sorry about your friend,” I said. “She didn’t deserve that. No one does.”

  “No. She didn’t. I feel so bad about it. I’ve been thinking about her all day. I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but I don’t really even remember what she looked like. I didn’t pay much attention to her. I only met her after I got sent down. Mark introduced us one night after a game. I just figured she was another one of his summer flings, so I hardly even looked at her.” He pulled his arm away from me and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his hands locked
behind his head.

  “Well, she sure looked at you. I think she had a crush on you. The other night at Pilazzo’s she could hardly take her eyes off of you.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t even notice. Like I said, she was Mark’s girl; bros don’t scam on their bud’s chicks, so I make it a practice not to pay much attention to them. Man, I can’t believe this is happening, you know? There’s got to be some sort of mistake. Mark, I’ve known him for years. He’s my best friend. We played college ball together down at University of Raleigh. We even played summer league on the same team in high school down in the triangle.”

  “I didn’t know you were from North Carolina. I guess I thought you were from out west, like Kyle.”

  “Chapel Hill. Mark grew up in Durham. Everybody thought it was funny we both ended up at Raleigh. We were roommates for Mark’s first three years. I’m a year older.”

  “You never knew he was an abuser?”

  Harry gave me a sharp look. “No. He’s not that kind of guy. He’d never hurt a soul. Never. I don’t believe it.”

  “I do. I saw the bruises. When she showed up at my place the other night, she said he’d smacked her around and from the way she talked, it wasn’t the first time it happened. And now, now, she’s….” I began crying then and Harry immediately put both of his arms around me again, holding me, making gentle soothing noises until I finally stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I feel so guilty. If only I had done something, anything, she might be alive.”

  “I’ve been feeling guilty as hell, too. You gotta realize, though, it’s not your fault. Just like it’s not mine. There’s no way we could have known. Besides, Mark didn’t do it. She must have had an enemy or done something really bad to cause it. I doubt either one of us could have stopped it from happening. Only thing you can do is let it go. That’s what I’m going to do. Move on. Put it out of my mind. You should do the same.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I mean, she was killed in my kitchen. She was wearing clothes that belonged to me. In some weird way, it’s like, like, well, like she’s a part of me now. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s how I feel, like I owe her, you know? I need to do something for her, try and make it up to her.”

  I jumped to my feet and paced around the little rose garden, like a caged tiger. And I knew what I’d said was absolutely the truth. Suddenly I had a burning desire to know as much as I could about Sabrina Lewis’s life. Maybe, if I found out who she was, I could somehow make sure she hadn’t died in vain.

  Harry cleared his throat. I realized I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard what he’d asked me.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He gave a long, deep sigh. “Oh, nothing. I was only saying I was worried about the team. Last night’s game just plain sucked. Everybody played like crap. I even went in for part of an inning, but I couldn’t focus, so only managed two batters before I was yanked. Curry was shook up, so he didn’t even play. He’s our best hitter. The guy took his place made three errors. And of course, Mark, well, much as I like to ride his butt, he’s the best guy on the team. The one with the best shot of making it. He’s the heart and soul of that team. Nobody could concentrate. We got the crap kicked out of us. Tonight probably won’t be any better. I sort of wish it would rain or something, you know?”

  Again, when he talked baseball, it was like he was an entirely different guy. Instead of an articulate twenty-four year old, he sounded like a middle-school doofus. Not to mention, the whole thing felt so out of context and wrong to even be talking about, but I guess that was because I hadn’t been listening.

  “I’m really sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

  “You wouldn’t, uh, wouldn’t want to come to the game tonight, would you? It would mean so much to me. Even though I’m not scheduled to pitch until tomorrow night. You’d be like a good-luck charm.”

  I didn’t want to, not even a little bit, but I could see that it was important to him. “Of course, Harry. I’d like nothing better.”

  I bent down and sniffed one of the roses, a pretty yellow one with pink tinges around the outside petals. It reminded me of the funerals I’d been to recently, all of them for people who were murdered. Just like Sabrina. I let go of the flower, suddenly feeling like I needed to go somewhere and do something normal. I suggested we hit up Pilazzo’s for lunch since I was starving.

  Before we went into the restaurant, Harry handed me a plastic bag with the Bomber’s logo on the front. “I bought you a present. I hope you like it. I thought maybe you could wear it to the game tonight.”

  It was a cropped off shirt similar to the one the Debbies had worn the night I’d first met Harry. What on earth was I going to do? There was not a single circumstance I could conceive of that would cause me to willingly wear a shirt showing that much of my tummy in public. Maybe he’d be so into the game that he’d forget about the shirt. Or, maybe I could convince him that the shirt was sucked up and carried away by a sudden and very isolated tornado.

  “Wow, thanks. It’s really cute,” I lied, twirling a strand of my hair so hard I nearly twisted it right off.

  If I kept hanging out with Harry, there was a good chance that I was going to end up completely bald. I really needed to learn to control my hands when I told a fib.

  The lunch crowd had thinned out, but a couple of Tim’s cop buddies were on the patio, enjoying their day off, and both of them gave me nasty looks when they saw us walk in. Neither one spoke, but one pulled out his phone and zipped off a quick text, no doubt to Tim, giving me a pretty good idea of who had tattled about my kissing Harry the day before.

  Since he had to go to the ballpark early to get some sort of treatment, Harry left shortly after we finished eating bowls of Dave’s delicious potato soup and hamburgers. I settled in at the bar with a root beer float, talking to Dave.

  Truthfully, I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I knew I could go to Rowena’s and hang out, but it was a little too close to the crime scene. Mom and Dad were both working. So was Tim, who, of course, I wasn’t speaking to anyway. Charli hadn’t answered her cell phone or her home phone and hadn’t responded to my texts, either, so I figured she was either in one of her endless committee meetings or had been kidnapped by aliens.

  I’d finally decided to go back to the apartment complex and hang out by the pool, when Carole, the cute Debbie, walked in. She was dressed in a light gray business suit and carried a really nice looking leather portfolio. She squinted from the light change and glanced around, like people do when they’re looking for someone. When she saw me, she headed over and perched on the stool next to me.

  “Hi,” she said. “Marcy, right?”

  “Marty. We met the other night. Over there.” I pointed to the back table where their little group had been sitting, merrily playing cards. It felt like it had been a lifetime ago. “You were with, uh, those ball players and, uh, Sabrina.”

  Her eyes welled up. “Marty. Sorry. I’m usually good with names. I must have misheard. Marty, I want you to know how awful I feel about what happened. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been to find her like that, you know?” She brushed back a long strand of hair, and gathered it all up, as if she was making a pony tail.

  “It was. And I’m really sorry for you too. It must be really hard losing a friend. Especially in that way.”

  Carole dropped her hair back down and regarded me somberly. “Well, it is hard, but – please don’t judge me and take this the wrong way – we weren’t exactly friends. I mean, we hung out together with the guys and we sat together at the games, but we didn’t actually know each other very well. In fact, I guess pretty much the only thing we had in common was Mark and Doug. Well, and living across the hall from each other. But even that was pretty recent. Tessa and I moved in back in March and Sabrina moved in a few weeks later.”

  I don’t know why, but what she said made me feel even more determined to find out
about Sabrina. Maybe it was because, so far, the people around her hadn’t seemed to know her very well. And that made me sad.

  “Do you know if her family’s been contacted yet?” I asked.

  She did the pony-tail thing with her hair again. “No. Well, maybe. From what I understand, Sabrina didn’t really have a family. I never heard her talk about herself much. Mark told us once that she spent most of her childhood and teenage years bouncing from one foster home to another. I think there’s a distant cousin or a great aunt down in North Carolina, but that’s all. You want to know something odd? I got a call this morning from a lawyer who said that Sabrina had made out a will a couple of weeks ago and that she’d named me executor. Why on earth would she have done that? Like I said, we weren’t really close. I mean, she didn’t even ask me or tell me or anything! Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  It did seem a little peculiar but, then, I had a family who loved me and cared about me. From the sound of things, Sabrina was pretty much all alone in the world except for her abusive boyfriend. And, frankly, what I thought was strange about the whole thing was less about who she’d named as executor, and more about the fact that she’d made out a will in the first place. Sabrina was about the same age as me, give or take a year or two. The only person in their twenties I knew who even had a will was a friend of mine from high school who was married and had two kids already.

  “She must have really trusted you to have named you executor.”

  “I know, right? The only reason I can think of to explain why she picked me is because I’m a financial advisor. The thing is, it’s a huge pain in the butt to be an executor. I’ve got to inventory her stuff, make a record of all her financial info, file papers, plan the memorial, take care of selling and disposing of her possessions. I’m already stressing out about it. I’ve got my own business to take care of, too. It’s really going to be hard. I don’t have anyone to help me, either. Tessa, well, she’s a sweet girl, but she’s not the brightest bulb in the pack. I can’t believe this is happening.”