The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  But all that was neither here nor there. I had a cake to deliver and hugs to dispense, which I finally managed to do. Inside the house wasn’t much calmer than outside. The place was packed to the rafters with neighbors, friends, family members, and Gramma Riley’s three hyperactive Yorkies, who ran around yipping and yapping and getting under everyone’s feet. Once I’d hugged everybody, Mom assigned me to help one of Ricky’s cousins with phone duty. I spent the next two hours eating several pieces of cake and pretty much non-stop answering the same questions over and over and over again. By the time I was relieved by yet another Riley cousin, I had a raging headache and badly needed some peace and quiet.

  I slipped away from the din of people in the even-more-crowded house, went down to the semi-finished basement, and opened the door to the shrine: Ricky’s old bedroom, which, unlike my former room at my parent’s house, (now redecorated and serving as my mom’s home office) was still untouched from Ricky’s high school days. The tiny room was cool and dark; the perfect place to get away from the cacophony of noise. I used the dimmer switch and turned the bedside lamp low, plopped myself down on the comfy double bed, covered up with the tattered Bengal’s blanket I’d made Ricky junior year, and settled back on the pillows. I didn’t intend to fall asleep; I just planned to rest my eyes for a minute or two, in the hopes that my head would stop hurting. Two hours later, I jolted awake when someone flipped the overhead light on.

  Mrs. Riley appeared startled to see me, but recovered quickly. “Oh, Marty, dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. No, no, just you stay right where you’re at. We’ll just be a second, and then you can go on back to sleep. You must be just plumb worn out.” She looked back over her shoulder and told the person with her that I’d been “such a dear, helping out with answering all those pesky phone calls and whatnot.”

  The two of them came into the room and I immediately recognized Vivi Anne Conrad, who was even more stunningly beautiful than she’d been in high school. She wore a fabulous gray wool suit, so beautifully made and fitting her so well, that for a split second I wished I worked as a high-powered Hollywood publicist.

  “Hello, Marty,” Vivi Anne gave me a quick once-over. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Like her sister, she smiled at me with her mouth, but not her eyes. For some reason, it sent a shiver up my spine. “Mrs. Riley was just showing me where I could put my things. I just arrived from L.A.” She dropped her Coletta suitcase next to the bed and glanced around the room, her nose wrinkling in obvious distaste.

  Mrs. Riley flushed, clearly embarrassed. “I wish I could offer you a nicer room, but Gramma Riley just can’t manage the steps and my daughter and her husband have already set up the crib in her old room. This might even be better for you, though, dear. The bed is really comfortable and it’s extra quiet down here. No one will bother you.”

  Vivi Anne gave her host a dazzling smile. “Don’t you worry one little bit, Mrs. Riley. This will be just perfect. I hate to inconvenience you like this. I would stay at Gram’s or at the hotel, but it will be much easier for me to manage the situation from here at your house.”

  Mrs. Riley hung Vivi’s garment bag, which matched the fancy suitcase, in the closet and busied herself by straightening a couple of the football and baseball trophies that filled the top of the dresser.

  Vivi pulled a fancy engraved vape pen from her Coletta purse, one of those super expensive bags the designer only sells to people she approves of. (I only know this because I spent two hours of my life listening to Giselle go on and on about them during our show when they first came out.) “Mind?” she asked Mrs. Riley. She was puffing away on it before poor Mrs. Riley could even answer.

  Mrs. Riley clearly wasn’t happy about the vaping, but she wasn’t the sort of person to speak up. Me, on the other hand? “Yes, we do mind,” I said.

  Vivi blew a puff of the almond vapor in my face before stashing her pen back in her bag.

  I scowled at her and glanced at the robot clock I’d given Ricky for Christmas the year we turned fourteen. It was just past four. “Have you heard from Ricky yet?” I asked.

  Mrs. Riley’s eyes welled up. “No, dear. Not a word. And the scary thing is that Vivi Anne hasn’t heard from him either. Have you dear?” She blinked back a fresh barrage of tears as she turned to the other woman.

  Vivi stared intently at her phone. She began furiously typing a text message, pressed send, then finally looked up at us. “No. Not since Friday. Which is so totally unlike Ricky. I mean, I usually hear from him five-six times a day. Actually, sometimes even more than that these past few weeks since we were working so hard on publicity for the next few stops on the tour and upcoming album release. Last text I had from him was about noon on Friday, saying he was going to take a break for a couple of days to unwind. Said he was headed here, then to Hilton Head because he needed to do some soul-searching and figure out some stuff.”

  She fixed her eyes on mine when she said this, giving me a defiant look, almost as if she dared me to question her about it or something. It was odd, but, at the time, I didn’t really think much about it. With everything that happened afterward, I wish now that I had questioned her. Maybe, just maybe she would have given me a real answer and things would have turned out way different. After all, a girl can dream, can’t she?

  3

  Back upstairs, I noshed on two plates full of the various, delicious casseroles people had brought over to the Riley’s, then scarfed down two brownies, six cookies, and another piece of Mom’s apple cake. My payback for being a glutton was that as soon as I finished the last cookie, Mom set me to work washing the small mountain of dirty dishes.

  The phone still rang a lot, but not as frequently, and the flow of neighbors had slowed to a trickle. Mom and I were pretty much the only non-family members still hanging around. Finally, after I stuck the last coffee mug in the drainer to dry, and it became clear that nothing new was happening, I decided to court disaster and go home. It was nearly six by then and I figured Delbert was probably ravenous. Besides, I had to get up at five-thirty so I could be on air at 6 A.M. and I still needed to do a couple of loads of laundry. I really dreaded facing the gauntlet of demented Rays again, but I bravely bucked up, said my goodbyes, and headed out.

  The rain, which had been on and off all day, was off again, but a chilly dampness had set in. All of the paparazzi lights mixed with the heavy air, giving the Riley’s yard an eerie, ominous glow. I shivered and gathered my jacket tighter around me. The number of people milling around outside the Riley’s had multiplied by a factor of ten or so. I pulled my hood up and hunched over a little, foolishly hoping no one would recognize me. I’d taken a total of eight steps when, once again, Sugar and Rose accosted me. This time Sugar grabbed me.

  “Ouch! Stop it, that hurts! Let go of me!” I yanked my arm back, but she tightened her grip even more, her hot pink talons digging deep enough into my wrist to draw blood.

  Her eyes were wild and she practically hissed at me. “Not a chance, missy! I plan to hang onto you good and tight until the police get here. I already called them three times and told them I had a gut feeling you’re behind all of this. And that just proves it.” She gestured toward the street with her other hand.

  I winced slightly but was determined not to let the lunatic know how much it hurt. “You best let go of me this instant,” I yelled. “And, what on earth is it that you think proves I had anything to do with Ricky’s accident?”

  Rose, the other wackadoodle, gestured toward the street, too. “That man over there, that big fella in the leather jacket, the one owns that tricked-out motorcycle – Wait! Where’d he go? -- Oh, he’s over there talking to Bella’s sister. Anyway, him. He’s lookin’ for you. Told Sugar and me you was wanted down to the police station. My guess is they are fixin’ to lock you up tighter than a drum. You best be hopin’ so. If I hear tale that you hurt my sweet boy, I’m fixin’ to go all Nashville on your scrawny little...”

  “
Now Sugar, Rose, what did I tell you ladies about making a scene?” Izzy, I mean Bella, forced a smile but, judging from her exasperated tone of voice, managing the growing crowd of unhinged Rays was getting to her.

  Rose and Sugar evidently didn’t notice her irritation. They responded to her like moths to a flame. They both calmed down immediately and Sugar let go of me just before I lost complete circulation in my hand.

  Otey, the fella in the leather jacket with the tricked-out motorcycle, who had been chatting with May Lynda, lumbered up just then. The two women stared eagerly at Otey, who inexplicably carried a six-pack of that really expensive brand of coconut water, something I was darned sure neither he nor anyone else I knew willingly drank.

  “Well?” Rose made the very poor decision to poke Otey in the chest. “Ain’t you fixing to carry her scrawny butt off to the pokey?”

  Otey made his “don’t screw with me face”, which I’d only ever seen him use one other time when a couple of idiot kids knocked over his motorcycle on purpose. Rose gulped and took a couple of steps backward, knocking into Sugar.

  Otey, who’s about six-five and two hundred fifty pounds of sheer muscle, ignored them and gave me a great big one-armed bear hug. After he hugged me, he slung the same arm around Bella and gave her a half-hearted squeeze. “Good to see you, Izz.”

  “Bella,” she said, standing on tip-toes to peck him on the cheek, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

  Interesting. Especially since Bella had every reason to hate Otey. He’d dumped her three weeks before her senior prom when Vivi decided that she wanted Otey to take her instead. Those two then dated for a few drama-filled weeks before Vivi decided she needed her freedom. Otey managed to steer clear of the Conrad sisters until this past June when he and May Lynda started hanging out together. They hadn’t made it official as far as I knew, but the two of them spent most of their free time together and neither one went out with other people. Other than their last name and their love for Ricky Ray and Miss Guydie, dating Otey was probably the only thing the three sisters had in common.

  Otey kept his arm slung across Izzy’s shoulder but turned to me. “So, Marty, Timbo called and said he couldn’t get hold of you. Asked me to slide on over here and make sure you’re doin’ all right. He wants you to run by Pilazzo’s and pick him up a steak sandwich and a root beer, if you don’t mind. Said if so, you could bring it to him about eight-thirty.”

  So here’s the thing about Otey, despite his bad handling of the Vivi/Izzy thing, he’s one of the nicest, most loyal guys I’ve ever known; in fact, he’s loyal to a fault. He’s kind, generous, funny, and, despite the quickly receding hairline he’s dealing with, he’s handsome as all get out. Back in high school, he was one of the really hot guys, second only to Ricky Ray in the looks department.

  By the way, Otey owns a shop down in the bottom called Buzzard’s Roost Tattoo Parlor and Motorcycle Painting Shop (Motto: Custom tattooin’ for you and your bike). He’s an amazing artist and he also works on the side as a personal trainer.

  Oh, and Otey isn’t his real name; it’s just a nickname that some of us call him in lieu of his real name which is William Dickerson, III. Otey’s grandpa is Big Will, his dad is Junior, and, at birth, poor Otey got saddled with Little Willie. As you might imagine, this was cause for much merriment when we were all kids, especially once the boys decided to shorten his last name. When we were in sixth grade, Tim and I began calling him Otey because of his love for those oatmeal cookies with the cream filling. Eventually, Ricky Ray took pity and did too, and from then on, everybody except his mother and mine called him Otey.

  “Thanks, Oats. I’ll do that. So, what’s with that nasty coconut water? You surely didn’t bring it over to give to the Rileys did you?”

  He gestured with the six-pack toward the Riley’s house. “Naw. It’s for Viv. She texted a while ago and asked me if I’d pick her up a few bottles of this here crap. Said it’s the only thing she’s able to drink.”

  At the mention of her sister, Izzy, who had settled comfortably up under Otey’s arm, reacted as if she’d been slapped. She jerked away, mumbled something I couldn’t make out under her breath, and stomped off. Sugar had been taking all of this in. She glowered at Otey and me, whispered something to her friend, who’d been cowering behind her, and they both trotted off after Izzy.

  “Dang, Otey,” I said, “you got the magic touch. Those two women with Izzy are pure-D nuts, especially that skinny one. Look at my arm.” I showed him where Sugar’s nails had cut me. “Did Tim want me to bring him the sandwich to the station or to the search site?”

  “To the station, said he’d have his dinner break round about then. They done shut down the search for the night. Too dark and dangerous down there in that holler and ain’t no sign of anyone yet.”

  Otey stopped and sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “Say, uhm Marty, you don’t think Ricky Ray is, uh, you know, uh...” His voice trailed off and a couple of tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He quickly swiped at them with the back of his hand.

  I shook my head furiously. I knew what he was about to ask, even if he hadn’t finished his thought. It was the one that had been playing over and over in my mind since the first minute I saw the picture of that car on the news report.

  “No way, Otey. Don’t even think that. They’d have found him by now. He probably has a concussion and is down there in the woods, wandering around. Or even more likely, I’ll betcha Ricky doesn’t even know it’s been wrecked. According to his mom and Vivi, he was supposed to go down to Hilton Head.”

  “I sure do hope you’re right. Marty, I know he done you wrong and all, and I’d kick his scrawny behind up one side and down the other if he hurt you again, but, well, he’s still one of my best buds and I’d hate like the dickens for anything to happen to him. I got to move heaven and earth to help him, I’d sure do it, you know?”

  “I know, Otey. What happened between me and Ricky Ray is all in the past. I hope and pray he’s safe, too.”

  Otey ruffled my hair and punched me lightly on the arm to let me know he was finished with the mushy talk. “How about I deliver this water, catch up with Vivi for a few, then meet you over at Pilazzo’s. I’ll treat you to a beer and some onion rings while you wait for Tim’s sandwich,” he offered.

  My mouth watered at the mere mention of onion rings. “Make that a root beer and you’ve got a deal,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that Izzy and May Lynda were both glowering at me, and wondering how on earth I’d managed to get on the bad side of all three Conrad sisters.

  4

  Pilazzo’s, which is our local dive, but one with amazing food and great company, wasn’t very crowded. Otey sat at his favorite table, nursing a Parkway Blonde and, much to my surprise, chatting with Charli. A kid wearing a flannel shirt, hoodie, quilted vest, trucker hat, and Doc Martens perched on a stool at the end of the bar.

  “Hey, sis. What are you doing here?” I asked, joining Otey and Charli after placing my order.

  Charli is not known for being a Pilazzo’s fan. She thinks the place is “nasty”, but that’s because she’s a snob who doesn’t recognize that sometimes greatness comes wrapped in a wee slathering of grease.

  “Picking up a couple of steak sandwiches for John. He worked today and just got home a little bit ago. He was starving.” She wrinkled her nose and cringed. “I tried to talk him into something else, but he said he had a craving.”

  Not surprisingly, Otey and Charli, who like Mom knows pretty much every single person in the town of Glenvar, were up on all the latest gossip and most up-to-date news about the search for Ricky Ray.

  “I talked to Miss Guydie about a half hour ago,” Otey said. “She got to the Riley’s house just after you left, Marty. She come by to see Izzy and Vivi. They’ve both been so tied up they ain’t had time to get over to her house yet. Anyway, Miss Guydie said the police are pretty sure Ricky Ray wasn’t driving the car. They haven’t located him yet, but one of his peop
le filed a stolen car report with the Nashville cops sometime Saturday night. Apparently, Ricky’s alarm system at his new house went off. Turned out somebody’d done broke in, trashed the place, and took off in the car. Left a bunch of graffiti and threats spray painted on the walls, saying things like “Ricky Ray must die” and “keep your crooner paws off Stephan’s gal”. That one was weird. Wonder what they meant by it?”

  Charli’s eyes lit up. “I know!” she said. “At least I think I do. I’m pretty sure it’s referring to that incident Ricky was involved in about a month ago. Surely y’all remember. There were tons of news reports that Ricky slugged a member of the paparazzi.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Giselle mentioned it on our show every day for two weeks. She was obsessed with the story. Kept talking about how she wished she still had her old gossip show.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about that,” Otey said.

  “Really? I can’t believe May Lynda didn’t tell you about it. Ricky was attempting to sneak out of a room at one of the downtown hotels in the wee hours of the morning and the photographer “just happened” to be waiting at the exact spot and exact time he came out. Is that right? Charli?”

  “Yes,” Charli said. “Exactly. The room he was sneaking out belonged to that actress, Beauline Tileman. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I was at the beauty shop and there was a picture of Ricky Ray and her on the cover of one of those gossip magazines. The headline said, “Hot New Couple? Is the Sexy Country Crooner Pawing Stephan’s Gal?”. I’ll bet that’s what the graffiti meant.”