by T. Doyle
Who would kill Oscar?
“Um, maybe one of your clients?” I slid out the comment, with just a touch of honey in my voice. I might not be from the South, but I could channel Southern hospitality when necessary.
An unnatural pause was followed by a clicking. A pen against a table, fingernails tapping? “Charlie, none of my clients would hurt Oscar.” Tyler’s clipped tone snipped at my ears. “I know you were close, but I do family law. I doubt someone arguing over a will would take it out on the secretary. They’d kill their family member first.”
“Oh. That’s just awful.” Wait—was that a crack against Oscar’s family or my own, or families in general? I’d angered Tyler and couldn’t let that fester. “I’m sorry, I’m just so stunned. He was so young and sweet. If you remember anything strange, please call the police.”
“I will.” He disconnected the call.
I set my phone down and stared at it. Tyler wasn’t a normal guy, but then in a small town, you tended to know everyone’s quirks. Tyler’s weren’t any quirkier than most.
Still, I felt unsettled.
I closed my eyes and tried to think if anyone had been near Oscar outside of the bookstore. Honestly, since Drew went away to college the boys had drifted apart and I wasn’t certain I really knew him anymore. Who would he tell his secrets to?
Not his parents. Not me. Not his workmates. I didn’t know who his friends at school were.
How well did I really know Oscar?
Chapter Three
The girls were shocked and sad when I told them about Oscar, but Drew’s reaction was different.
“That’s weird. Last week Oscar posted an Instagram story about someone following him home from the gym. It was dark and all he could tell was it was a big truck or SUV with one light brighter than the other. It tailed him all the way out to the cabin, but didn’t turn down the road. He joked if he turned up dead…”
“Is the story still up? Can I show it to the police?”
“No, Mom. It disappears after 24 hours,” Drew explained patiently.
“But you saw it and could tell the police about it.” Excitement bubbled in my gut.
“I guess. Why? Do you think he was murdered?” Drew sounded skeptical.
“I don’t know. He’s having an autopsy now.” That sounded strange, like Oscar was a having an outpatient surgery and everything would be fine. “Do you know if Oscar involved with someone? Could it have been an old boyfriend stalking him?”
“No, I don’t think so. He hasn’t dated anyone since Charlie Hunnam. Man, I should probably text him.”
“You should. What’s his real name?”
“Kevin Thomas.” Drew grunted softly. “Nobody would want to murder Oscar.” Drew’s voice grew thin.
“I know.” A wave of grief washed over me. “Tom promised he’d call me when the medical examiner is done.” Would his mother would make funeral arrangements?
Tom never called. Or maybe I had trouble with patience. Regardless, I drove over to the Sheriff’s office with a batch of snickerdoodles on Wednesday. Tom’s weakness for cinnamon and sugar was well known among the soccer moms.
He ushered me into his office before the staff caught the scent of fresh baked goodies. “Charlie, it’s only been two days.”
“I was hoping you’d heard something?” I placed the plate of cookies on top of the newspaper. My phone call to Darla earlier revealed she hadn’t seen or heard anything.
“Let me get you a cup of coffee and I’ll look up the ME’s, I mean the medical examiner’s report.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
He returned a moment later with a paper cup of brown liquid, the scent of burnt plastic preceded the bitter taste and scalding. I made a mental note to drop off some real coffee to the Sheriff’s Department for Christmas.
He sat at his desk, stuffed a cookie in his mouth and hummed his delight. He finger-pecked his computer, read the screen, swallowed, and his jaw hardened. Steel-blue eyes hit me with compassion. “Charlie, the ME pronounced Oscar’s death as accidental.”
Tom’s words fell into my hollow gut. It didn’t make sense. I slumped in the chair. My heart thumped, the beats slowing as the words sank in. My skin felt tight across my hands, and I wrapped my frozen fingertips around my third coffee cup of the morning. The heat refused to leech out and warm my hands.
“Accidental? How could he accidentally die, while sitting in a chair?” I didn’t hide the scorn or skepticism from my voice. “Ray mentioned he’d seen the TV lights flickering but the TV was off when I arrived. Who turned off the TV? Or if he put a sleep timer on and fell asleep why were his eyes open?”
Tom’s eyebrows rose to the you’re-annoying-me height. “It was an insulin overdose. Who knows? Maybe he put too much in that day, or the pump malfunctioned.” His voice was calm, steady, and definitely pushing to end the conversation.
I wasn’t having it. “Wait, could his pump have malfunctioned? Are they at least checking into that?”
A vein popped out on Tom’s forehead. I’d pushed him too far. He took a breath, gave me his cop-stare. “The ME is examining his pump, but the cause of death was related to his insulin levels.”
I leaned back in the chair and scrubbed my eyes. I probably looked like I was going to lose it. I wasn’t sure if my emotional response was menopausal or depression or grief, but since I’d found Oscar, I cried more than should be humanly possible. My tear ducts were probably swollen from overuse.
“Tom, Drew mentioned that Oscar thought a car followed him home last week. He’d posted a story on Instagram about it.” The boys still followed each other on social media, which I realized was how I knew most details about Oscar’s life this last year.
Tom leaned forward. “Drew did? What kind of car? Any idea who’d follow him?”
I shook my head. “A dark truck or SUV, one headlight brighter than the other. We don’t know who or why. But I did get his ex-boyfriend’s name, Kevin Thomas.”
“I already interviewed him. He’s a good kid, no motive and a rock-solid alibi.” Tom stood. “I know it’s hard, Charlie. Just so you know, his mom,” he looked like he swallowed a kiwi covered in toe fungus, “said the county can take care of Oscar’s burial.” He frowned. “Unless you’d like to…”
“I’ll call Chandler Mortuary,” I said. “It’ll be in the newspaper.”
“Thank you. I liked Oscar.” The finality of his tone triggered my standing. He’d fulfilled his promise and didn’t want to chat.
I walked with him to the door. “If the ME finds out anything about the pump, will you let me know?” I sounded desperate.
Tom shook his head. “No, Charlie, accidental deaths don’t get investigated. If it’s a pump malfunction, that’ll be up to his legal next of kin to pursue.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I know you and Joe helped him, but legally his parents are entitled to his estate. They’ve already come by to get his car. You might want to pack up his things and bring them to their house before his dad helps himself. I’m sure his mom would appreciate it.”
“Of course,” I lied. Oscar’s mom hated me. She hadn’t taken kindly to my interference when Oscar announced his sexual preference. After she’d kicked him out, she assumed he’d change his ways and agree to “go straight” so he could live under the family roof. Instead, we’d given him a place to live. Margarita Robles was not happy when he moved into our cabin and continued on his “path to hell,” as she referred to it.
Tom pushed the door open. “Bye, Charlie.”
I walked to my car. Since Marabel rearranged my schedule, I had time to check out the cabin and figure out how many boxes I’d need to pack up Oscar’s things.
Look for clues.
I didn’t believe he’d accidentally overdosed.
But I didn’t want to sound paranoid, either. It wasn’t like Forest Forks was the kind of town where hate crimes happened. Although, maybe they did and were also classified as accidental deaths.
If it was murder, and I w
as touching things, would that ruin the investigation?
I mean I could plant evidence. Which meant I needed a corroborating witness. Which meant I needed to bring someone with me.
Somehow, my list of useful friends was narrowed by the task. I wasn’t even sure how I would ask someone to accompany me to clean out Oscar’s place while looking for evidence of his murder. I could only imagine the gossip that would start. But…
Ray McGuffin was a retired military police detective and neighbor. I could ask him to help me go through the cabin. Maybe suggest I was distraught at going back into the cabin by myself this first time. Most neighbors would be willing to help. But, this was Ray. A man who proved to be more adolescent than adult.
Which meant I needed a bribe.
I stopped off at There’s Nothing Batter Bakery, and picked up their Brunch Special, an assortment of Danishes, donuts, and cheese biscuits.
I parked in our cabin’s now empty driveway. I guess the Robles had taken Oscar’s car already. A green SUV was parked behind Ray’s car in his driveway. I considered asking my daughter, Ann, how normal was it to have a sleep over after casual sex? Although, she’d probably freak out and I could Google it. I opened the browser on my phone and paused. Ray’s door opened and a blonde stepped out. She was young, cute, and nothing like the previous gal. She blew him a kiss and climbed into her SUV.
Ray waved to the blonde driving away. He stood in the doorway in a pair of sweats, no shirt or shoes. He caught my eye, and quickly closed the door.
Well, heck.
I waited until the dust on the road settled then crossed the grassy strip between the two cabins and knocked on Ray’s back door.
“I come in peace, and I brought Danishes.” I held up the bag in the window, my other hand clutched around my travel mug of coffee. My last coffee, I promised myself, because my heart was tripping in my chest and my hands trembled.
The door opened and a very suspicious Ray eyed the white paper bag in my hand. “You should’ve started with the Danishes.” He held his hand out, fingers wriggling, begging for the bag.
I handed it to him. He still reminded me of a pirate, it could be the dark sweats and no shirt. Seriously. The man should dress more. It was almost winter for crying-out-loud. I followed him through his living room into the kitchen. “I’ll take the lemon-filled if you don’t mind.”
He looked at me, one eye squinting the other wide-eyed. “Why would you ruin a perfectly good piece of fried dough and sugar with fruit?”
“I like to pretend it’s a fruit salad, inside a crouton,” I snarked. Okay, I needed to slow down on the coffee.
He looked at my hips, which admittedly had begun a middle age spread and nothing like the freshman fifteen that he was used to dating. I waited for his snappy retort.
He shrugged. “Whatever works to get you through the day, sweetheart.”
“Weak. I can’t believe girls find you charming.”
“Yeah? Me neither,” he said affably. He pulled out two plates and set the bag down on the counter.
Two cups were on the counter, one with a red shade of lipstick, very different than Darla’s.
“Aren’t you worried about running out of girls? You’re going through them very quickly. It’s a small town, after all,” I said.
“I’ll commute to Lexington.” His tone ended that topic.
The commute would be about three hours, but maybe crossing state lines would be best.
“Now, why have you brought me Danishes, because it isn’t to discuss my love life.”
“First of all, you have a sex life, not a love life.” I pulled the lemon filled pastry out and bit, ignoring his scowl. “Second, I was going to ask you for a favor.”
“Lady, you really aren’t good with people, are you? You should wait until after I’ve done the favor to insult me.”
Lady? “It’s Charlie. And I’m wonderful with people. Everybody likes me. Besides, I believe in being honest with people.”
“Spare me the honesty, unless I ask for it. You’re worse than my sister.” He rifled through the bag and pulled out an old-fashioned cake. “What’s the favor?”
“They ruled Oscar’s death as accidental.”
“So?” His lack of interest spurred me on.
“I’m supposed to clean out the place and pack up his things, but I’m worried I might…”
He eyed me, waited a beat, and said, “Ruin the evidence?”
“Yes.” The word came out on a gust, and I leaned forward. “I’d love it if you came over with me and looked around. Maybe take pictures.”
“I don’t think my rifling through Oscar’s stuff is going to help you. Or even taking pictures. If this is a murder, which I don’t believe, your pictures won’t be admitted into court because any lawyer will claim you’ve set up the scene.”
“So maybe if I had a police officer go through with me?” I gave him that look you give a puppy when you want it to follow you.
“Sure. Call Tom.”
Tom wasn’t going to help. I tried a different route. “Surely you must be bored in your retirement. Aren’t you the least bit curious to see where Oscar died, or even get some decorating tips?” Okay, the last part was mean, but Ray’s cabin was incredibly bare and he’d been living in it for more than a month. Or so I heard.
“Don’t call me Shirley,” he deadpanned the line from Airplane. “And no, I’m not decorating anything. Keep your Pinterest to yourself.”
He was easily the most frustrating man I’d ever met. “Please. I would appreciate your vast and superior knowledge in all things murderous.”
He grinned. “Now that was good.”
“So, you’ll come over and look around?” I took a bite of the donut and yummed.
He looked in the bag and pulled out a chocolate covered donut. “Yeah. Let me put some shoes on.”
“And a shirt,” I suggested.
“Jesus, you’re worse than Amanda and my mom, combined.”
“It’s a mom thing, and my name isn’t Jesus, it’s Charlie.”
“You nag your husband like this?” He plodded down the hallway into his bedroom.
“No,” I called out. “He’s an adult and has been dressing himself since he was three. He can even tie his own shoes.” I stuffed the rest of the donut in my mouth and enjoyed the tart lemon and sweet sugar. I’d do thirty minutes on the elliptical later…
“Clever,” Ray said, now dressed in a long sleeve t-shirt and boat shoes on his un-socked feet.
I still didn’t understand why women found him appealing, but I supposed there’s someone for everyone. He was tall, probably over six feet, broad shoulders, and kind of hairy, with the long hair and beard giving him a bad-boy biker vibe. He wasn’t trying to go Duck Commander with the beard, but it wasn’t groomed like a topiary either. It was just sort of there, neglected, but not too untidy. Like the rest of him. A beer gut listed over his waistband, but with the t-shirt on, and his shoulders rolled back, you couldn’t see it.
Kind of like me wearing an underwire bra, using my boobs to keep the attention away from my maternal-spread.
“Done checking me out?” he asked, a bored look on his face.
“I’m wondering why my gender finds you attractive.”
He blinked and cocked his head to the side. “You Asperger’s?”
I grinned. “Nah, just mean.”
He laughed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
The crisp air felt good against my cheeks, like it could scrub away the ugliness that permeated the cabin. I wondered if our family could use our cabin again without thinking of Oscar. Or maybe we should do something to always remember Oscar, like plant a tree.
There were only three cabins off the private road, each sat on two grassy acres, with forest in the back and the lake in front. A quarter of a mile down we had three more neighbors. Only thirty cabins were on the north shore of the lake, the south side was a National Forest that had campsites.
I unlocked the
front door and pulled my phone out of my pocket to take pictures of the living room.
“Was he always this neat?” Ray asked.
“Yeah. Kind of freaked me out, to be honest.” My hushed voice still sounded loud in the quiet cabin.
“Eh, makes sense. His mom’s a hoarder.”
“What?” I turned around and faced him, astonished. Oscar had never mentioned that fact and it wasn’t like Mrs. Robles ever invited me over.
“You didn’t know? Yeah. She’s got a hell of a collection of Hummels, but that’s nothing compared to her toaster ovens. Not sure exactly what the story is there, but she’s been known to hit up every garage sale on a Sunday and return home with several toaster ovens.”
I reached out, stunned, and touched his arm. “I did not know that. Wait, how do you know so much about her?”
“Mom keeps me in the loop. She might not remember to eat, but the woman has a memory for gossip.”
I retracted my hand and eyed the room. “It explains Oscar’s aversion to clutter.”
Ray looked around, his face offered no clues about his thoughts. “There’s no sign of forced entry. The place looks perfect. Is the furniture yours?”
“Yes. He moved in here when he turned eighteen and Drew left for University of Kentucky. Joe and I wanted him to have the independence and privacy. We left it furnished with the full kitchen.”
“Huh. You gonna keep the death chair?”
I winced. “I don’t know.” I looked away from the recliner, to the television which still had the high school graduation picture taped to it. I snapped a picture with my phone.
“I’ll give you twenty for it.” Ray checked out the chair and gave me a quick glance.
“You want to buy the chair that Oscar died in. Are you kidding?”
He shrugged, completely unfazed by my harpy tone. “Well, yeah. I mean, it’s nice. A real La-Z-Boy, those things last for decades. It’s not like he got sick in it. He just died.” He looked over at me. “Unless you want me to take it because you feel guilty about accepting money for the death chair.”