Too Sweet to Die

by T. Doyle

  “What happened?” Ray faced me.

  “He came out to his parents. They kicked him out. He still had three months of high school left. Luckily, he’d been working part-time and bought a car on his own. We offered him the cottage, rent-free, and helped him move in.”

  Ray frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were close to Oscar. I just thought he was your tenant.”

  “He went to school with Ann and Drew. He was Drew’s teammate and in his Boy Scout troop for years. When we heard about his situation, we helped.”

  Ray scrubbed his beard. “Let me see the note with the initials again.”

  The abrupt change of subject stopped me from getting morose. I handed the note to Ray.

  “Did Oscar work part-time at Tyler’s?”

  “Yes, during the school year, full-time over the breaks. Tyler gave him a part-time job in high school. I really thought Oscar wanted to be a lawyer, but he studied marketing instead.”

  “Do you think he has student loans?” Ray handed the paper back to me.

  “Yes. He refused to let us pay tuition.” I pointed to the first line of the note. “The first line could be $12,000 in student loans.”

  “Does that sound right? How much is tuition these days?”

  “In-state with scholarships is about that. And if this is a ledger and these are payments, then he still owes $6800.” I pointed to the numbers with initials. “But where is he getting the payments from? And why pay it off now? Student loans aren’t due until after you graduate.”

  Ray handed me a folder. “Check through his tax returns. See if you can find how much he was paid by Tyler.”

  I took the folder and flipped through the paperwork. It was a paper-version of a junk drawer with manuals, receipts, and his tax returns.

  “Do you recognize this place?” Ray waved a photo of a mailbox with clematis tangled around the post.

  “No.”

  “Was Oscar taking a photography class? The rest of the pictures are around town, too.” Ray squinted at one and flipped to the next.

  “He never mentioned a photography class, and I never saw him with a camera either.”

  I found Oscar’s W2 from last year in the folder. I scanned the numbers. “He made $10,000 from Tyler last year.”

  Ray studied the ceiling. “That’s close to $700 a month, for the .7 net line.”

  “Maybe.” I closed the folder and put it on top of the textbooks and tablet.

  “Bring those back to your place, too.”

  I opened the closet and found an empty wardrobe box, nestled behind four folded boxes. I pulled out the smallest box. “Did you find packing tape?”

  “Yeah.” He pulled a business card stuck to the roll of packing tape off and then handed it to me.

  I taped the bottom of the box and packed the books, cards, tablet, and tax folder.

  Ray spread out the business cards on the desk. “Did Oscar like sports?”

  “He watched them on TV. He played soccer with Drew, but he wasn’t exactly an athletic type.”

  “Uh-huh. This is the third card from a casino. Most people don’t get the manager’s card. Did he like to gamble?”

  “Oscar? No.”

  “Yeah? You sure?” Ray asked, his one eye narrowed and the other managed a dull stare. The look was part scowl, part disbelief.

  Was I sure? “Well, he never mentioned it.” I’d ask Drew later.

  “Would he?”

  “Probably not.” My heart seemed to shrink in my chest.

  He grunted. “I never told Ma when I was doing stupid stuff.”

  I stood. “But gambling? He’s not even twenty-one.” He wasn’t ever going to be twenty-one. My heart squeezed tight. “No. No way. Not Oscar.”

  Ray stood, patted my shoulder in an awkward, halting manner. “He probably had a fake ID. We don’t have to do this.” His voice was soft. “Knowing what happened doesn’t change the outcome.”

  A horrible feeling, like the one I got when the school principal called to schedule a meeting because Drew had been cutting Spanish class for two weeks, curled around my throat and squeezed. Hard.

  Ray kept patting my shoulder. “Look, it’s okay to drop it.”

  “I’m not giving up because Oscar may have done something stupid.” I stepped away. “It doesn’t change that he was good person or that he deserves to have his death investigated. And what if Oscar and Hilda Collins’s deaths are related? A murderer is still out there.”

  Ray’s hands fisted at his sides and he nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s see if we can find his phone.”

  “Joe forgets his in his jacket pocket. I’ll grab the wardrobe box and we can clean out his closet.”

  “I’ll put it together.” Ray’s kindness felt clumsier than the shoulder taps.

  I walked off Ray’s gawky compassion and opened Oscar’s bedroom closet. “There’s not much in here.” I patted down Oscar’s winter coat pockets.

  Ray made the gimme motion with his fingers.

  “You want to stick your hands in without checking first, be my guest.” I offered the coat to Ray. “But after Drew’s insect-fascination phase, I prefer to pat down first.”

  Ray held up his hands. “You have a point.”

  “Besides, he could have insulin needles in here, although with the pump I doubt that.” I squished the pockets and then fished my hands through them, finding nothing.

  Ray hung the coat in the wardrobe box.

  “He could have left his phone in his car or at the office,” Ray said. “You could ask his mom if they found his phone.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, Margarita won’t answer my questions.” I passed the next coat to Ray. “Do you think the phone company would tell us where the phone was last?”

  “No. Not unless the police asked.”

  We found nothing in Oscar’s clothes pockets.

  Ray taped up the box with Oscar’s two coats, three pairs of slacks, and six shirts.

  I opened his drawers and recognized all eight t-shirts. He didn’t have much in the chifforobe. “This will all fit in a large garbage bag. I think they’re under the kitchen sink.”

  Ray went to the kitchen and returned. “You get the rest of his clothes; I’ll get the bathroom.”

  I put three sweaters, two pairs of jeans, a hoodie, some sweats, and then his underwear in the bag. I added his sneakers and flip flops. A cramp squeezed my heart at the familiar grey band t-shirt nestled on top, a stupid smiley face taunting me. He’d been wearing that when Joe and I bumped into him a couple of weeks ago. I tied the ends of the garbage bag and sealed the memory away. I put his bedding and towels in another bag and dragged the bags to the hall.

  I stuck my head in the bathroom. “I’m going to put these in my car.”

  “Do you want me to save any of his toiletries?” The opened bag had toothpaste and Oscar’s shampoo inside. Ray held an opened bottle of Tylenol in his hand.

  “No, just the toilet paper.” I slung Oscar’s clothes bag over my shoulder, and held the other in front of me, and stepped outside. The clean pine-scented air filled my lungs and cleared my head. The bags fit into the back of my CRV, and I left the trunk door open.

  What happened, Oscar?

  Ray joined me in the kitchen. Both of us worked silently, sorting the food to give away into one pile, perishable in another, and tossed the rest. I didn’t want to return to a refrigerator undergoing biological warfare.

  “The pots and pans, and most everything else is ours, except the coffee maker. That’s new. Do you think his mother would want it?”

  “Yeah, I do. She’s a hoarder, remember? Doesn’t mean you have to give it to her. Just leave the coffee pot here for now.”

  “I hate that she’s probably not going to do anything with Oscar’s things.” I tugged on the bag full of rice and ramen, and his other non-perishable foods.

  “Bring Margarita the bag of perishable stuff and take the rest to the shelter.” Ray closed the now empty refrigerator
door.

  We carried the bags out to my car, putting the garbage in the back seat so I didn’t accidentally give it to Mrs. Robles. Ray brought the box from Oscar’s desk and put it in the passenger’s seat.

  “Will you come with me to Mrs. Robles?” I closed the trunk door.

  His nose wrinkled. “Are you chicken?”

  I nodded. “Margarita hates me. Besides, you can ask her about Oscar’s phone.”

  A teasing smile spread across his face. He stroked his beard. “It’s gonna cost you.”

  “What do you want?” I tightened my grip on the bag.

  “Tell my mom we’re friends.”

  “Deal.” I stuck my hand out and he shook it. “This feels very grade school.”

  “She’s worried that I’ve moved back to town and I haven’t made any friends.”

  “She must not have heard about your dates.” Before he could scowl, I pointed at him. “Sorry, slipped out. No more momming. And yes, we’re friends.”

  “Let me get the death chair before we drive out to Mrs. Robles. You lock up. Leave all the lights off. Tonight, I’ll set up a motion camera to catch anyone snooping in his cabin.”

  “Okay.” I checked the light switches, the back door, and found Ray in the living room, La-Z-Boy over his shoulder.

  He slid out the front door with minor repositioning.

  “Your moving skills are impressive,” I said.

  “Thanks.” He bounded off the porch and jogged over to his house. The chair bobbed up and down, one meaty arm secured it to his shoulder.

  I locked the cabin’s front door and waited by my car. He needed some refining. Maybe I’d work on his mom’s request to set him up on a date.

  But that could be tricky. The woman would have to want to take on a project, or like slovenly, occasionally ill-mannered, juvenile men.

  Marabel from work mentioned she was thinking of getting a puppy. Maybe she’d house-train Ray instead?

  Chapter Six

  We drove to Margarita’s in my car. She wanted nothing. The woman who hoarded Hummels didn’t want a memento of her son. She also insisted she didn’t have Oscar’s phone.

  “She feels bad.” Ray had said, although his somber voice held a hint of a question.

  “I guess that’s better than relieved. But she discarded her son. She decided because Oscar preferred men that he was useless, or worse, undeserving of her love.”

  “Charlie, it’s a small town. You grew up in California where people are more accepting.”

  “I call BS. Mabel McClure’s been passing bad checks for the last twenty years, and people still take them. Don Jenkins is the worst drunk I’ve ever met, yet people still hire him to paint their houses. People here are plenty accepting. Maybe Forest Forks won’t hold a Gay Pride Parade, but Oscar isn’t the only gay man living here.”

  Ray waved his hand like a flag of surrender. “You’re right. Okay?”

  “I know I’m right.” My harpy had returned.

  “Some people shouldn’t be parents,” Ray said.

  I snorted, an inelegant no-duh, gust of air.

  “That’s what this is about for you, isn’t it?” Ray’s narrowed eyes seemed to scan my brain.

  “Maybe. A little.” I definitely understood what it felt to be raised by parents who loved conditionally, but I wasn’t going to go into that with Ray. I turned in my seat, looked at Oscar’s few possessions. “Margarita collects crap, but doesn’t want one thing of her son’s. That’s—"

  “Pathologic.” Ray’s lips tightened in a forced smile. “It’s not about Oscar.”

  “But Oscar never understood that. And she hurt him.”

  Momma Sanders, Joe’s mom, insisted Oscar be buried next to Joe’s grandfather. She’d purchased family plots for all of her children and grandchildren. A morbid gift, but one that made our funeral planning blessedly uncomplicated. I needed to buy a suit for Oscar to be buried in. Planning Oscar’s funeral made me worry about my own children, and when I began to drown in concerns, I called Momma Sanders. She took over and organized the viewing, and the reception. I aspired to be her. To have the strength to function when I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend everything was fine.

  At home, I searched for pictures of Oscar. I wanted something nice for the funeral announcement in the paper. The pictures in my phone weren’t great. I’d captured moments, but not Oscar’s engaging smile. I knew Drew had one when the soccer team had a reunion over the summer on his desk.

  I pulled the picture from his wall and put the thumbtack in Drew’s desk drawer. That’s when I saw the casino chips. The same that had been in Oscar’s desk. And both boys were twenty. I called Drew.

  He answered immediately. “Hey Mom, how’s your day?”

  “It could be better,” I admitted. “The medical examiner said Oscar overdosed on his insulin, but they’ll release his body now. Momma Sanders and I are making arrangements for his funeral this weekend.”

  “I’ll drive down with Ann. We’ll leave after her last class on Friday,” he promised. “Did you tell the police about the car?”

  “I did, but Tom said since it’s been ruled an accidental overdose they won’t investigate. Drew, why do both you and Oscar have chips from the Del Lago Casino?”

  Drew made one of those weird noises, a hybrid between um and ah, and his tell he was going to lie.

  I shot a pre-emptive strike. “Don’t even try lying to me.” I fingered the photo of the team, and Oscar’s beaming smile outshone them all. A weird niggling sensation pulled at the base of my neck.

  “Oscar took me and a few guys from the team there. Just once. I swear.”

  “Why?”

  “He was trying to teach us poker. He thought we’d like it. Mostly, I think it was to show off. He was really good.” Drew paused. “Do you think that could have anything to do with his death?”

  “I don’t know. Could it?” The niggling turned into a nagging sensation. Was his death related to his poker playing?

  “I just remembered, when we left the casino there was a note on his car. He read it and ripped it up. He wouldn’t tell me what it said.” Drew’s voice grew hushed. “Mom, what if someone was threatening Oscar?”

  “And followed him home.” My skin prickled. “Drew, were you boys doing anything that could get you in trouble?”

  “Besides the illegal gambling? No. We didn’t even drink.” He rushed the last words.

  Lie! But I kept that to myself. “Do you know Oscar’s school friends?”

  “No. We really didn’t talk much, just a few comments on Insta. Even at the casino we didn’t talk about school or anything personal.”

  “Okay, well, what about his posts? Can you tell if he had any friends he spent time with, not just virtually?”

  “Mom.” He drew out my name in exasperation because he knew I didn’t understand how someone could have a thousand friends, but no one to go to the movies with. He sighed. “Honestly, I think he spent a lot of time at the casinos. He really liked poker. Like, remember when he got all into League of Legends?”

  I smiled at the memory of the boys and their friends taking over our family room for LAN parties on the weekends. “Yeah. So many pizza rolls were consumed…” The house smelled like goat and Doritos. I didn’t miss that part.

  Drew sighed, the sound of happiness. “Thousands. Man, that was the best. But Oscar got obsessed with the game, that was all he talked about.”

  He had. “You think poker might have been his new obsession?”

  “Yeah.” Drew waited a moment. “Mom?”

  “What is it, honey?”

  “I don’t think Oscar accidentally overdosed.”

  His serious tone made my knees weak. “Me, neither.”

  “Why would someone murder Oscar?” Drew whispered.

  “I have no idea. Can you think of any reason someone would want to harm him?”

  “I don’t know who, but the note on his car, the person who followed him home… I don’t even k
now who Oscar would tell about what was going on and I feel awful about that.” Drew sounded sad.

  “Me neither. I know you boys grew apart, but it happens. It doesn’t make you a bad person. I’m sure Oscar had friends here, we just don’t know them.” I softened my tone. “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you, too. See you soon.” Drew ended the call.

  I stared at my phone in one hand, the photo in the other and remembered the graduation photo that had been taped to Oscar’s TV. He’d saved our family photo from two years ago because it had meant something to him. I decided I’d use that photo at the funeral and grabbed my purse and headed to the cabin.

  Ray’s car was gone when I drove up. I opened the front door and stilled. I was certain I’d locked it when we left before.

  The room looked different, but not just because the chair was missing. So was the Argyle Sweater calendar and the picture.

  Someone had been in the cabin.

  I called Tom immediately.

  “Garner,” Tom’s curt voice spiked the adrenaline running through my veins.

  “Tom, it’s Charlie. Have the police been back out to the cabin and taken anything?”

  “What?” Tom’s voice softened.

  “I’m at the cabin right now. A few days ago Ray and I cleaned out some of Oscar’s things to bring them to his mother. I locked up, I know I did. When I got here, the cabin was unlocked and a photo is missing, and his calendar.” I rushed to the desk. “And someone has been searching through his desk. Look, Ray set up motion cameras. Maybe he caught the killer!” I hurried outside to check for Ray’s car again.

  “Charlie, calm down. Give me a minute to look up the file.”

  The phone switched over to messages reminding drivers of Forest Forks to click it or ticket and where to call if you had a gambling addiction or drug addiction or needed a shelter or the anonymous tip line if suspected something. Our town was falling apart! I was in the middle of learning what to look for in a meth house when Tom came back on the line.