Too Sweet to Die

by T. Doyle

  “Or, she spends more time on Tinder.”

  “Yeah, but Tinder doesn’t let you stalk.”

  Ray grunted, like a verbal eye-roll. “Charlie, when was the last time Drew posted on Facebook.”

  “Summer, but look, that’s not the point. We’ve got a picture of Christine. Can’t you do some Google-y detective thing and find out more about her?”

  “Yeah, I got Google-y skills.” His tone said he was teasing.

  I let it pass. “Looks like she graduated a year ahead of Ann, she’s probably twenty-three. I wonder why she didn’t tell anyone Oscar was too young?”

  “’Cuz snitches get stitches.” Ray cocked an eyebrow at me. “The question is, where did he get it? You should ask Drew.”

  “I will. Moving on. Who are we meeting at Del Lago?”

  “Mike Bullock.”

  The name sounded familiar. I looked through the Facebook pictures of Christine. “Okay, so Mike Bullock and Christine Scottman have met each other. This picture was taken July Fourth.”

  Ray glanced at my phone, taking in the formal pose of two people dressed professionally. “A formal event on July Fourth?”

  “Caption says Mike Bullock, July Fourth, at the Del Lago Casino.”

  Ray put the directional on, and turned down a two-lane paved road. “What if she plays professional poker. Check her out on Linked-In.”

  “No way. You have to sign up for that and then you get bombarded by emails.” I put my phone in my purse. “Let’s just ask him.”

  “Fine.” He heaved the word out on a sigh. “We’ll do it your way.”

  “Oh! Do I get to be the good cop?” I bounced in my seat to see if it annoyed him. I got poked by a spring.

  “Nah, you get to be a middle-aged Nancy Drew.”

  Ouch.

  I wanted to punch Ray’s shoulder for the middle-age comment, but we were on a narrow two-lane highway, and medically speaking, he was correct.

  Still, I didn’t need to be reminded.

  “I always liked Nancy Drew.” I sounded like a petulant toddler.

  “Never read those. Had a few Hardy Boys, but I switched to Ian Fleming by third grade.”

  “Sheesh. That’s a little racy for a kid.”

  “Ma was just happy I was reading. I bet you read Nancy Drew to your kids.” He gave me a side-long glance.

  “A few. They preferred Harry Potter. But they liked the Nancy Drew computer games.”

  “What?” Ray looked at me, eyebrows up, and confusion written on his face.

  “The game requires you to solve the mystery, find clues, interview people. They enjoyed them. Drew not so much, but the girls loved the Nancy Drew games. Haven’t your nieces and nephews bugged you for a game for Christmas or their birthday?”

  Ray grunted. “No. I give them cash. It’s one size fits all.”

  “So, you’re one of those kinds of uncles.”

  “That sounds bad. Look, at twelve, all you want is a twenty, not some faded copy of Captains Courageous.”

  “I meant you don’t talk to your nieces and nephews to find out what they like. Get to know them.” I looked out the window. “Since you’re living closer, now, they might really enjoy hanging out with you. Take them bowling or mini-golf. And you might actually enjoy getting to know them.”

  “Sounds like work.”

  I gave him a harrumph-growl to which he responded with a pfft.

  He pulled into the parking lot of the Del Lago Casino and parked near the entrance. The casino looked like a large log cabin, with wood statues of bears eating fish flanking the main entrance.

  “Better Homes and Hunters.” I eyed the antlers displayed above the double doors.

  “Now, that’s a rack.” Ray’s adolescent grin and eyebrow waggle at the antlers made me smile.

  Inside, I felt like I was being sucked into the black hole of casinos. The noise and flickering lights overwhelmed my senses.

  Ray pointed out a frog statue, in a top hat, holding a directory for the casino. “The offices are upstairs. The elevators are in back.”

  We walked through the main floor, past the usual video games, seizure-inducing lights, and carpet that made a sober person dizzy.

  Ray pointed to rooms separated on the right side. “Poker, and that’s the sports lounge.”

  Huge suspended televisions aired multiple games on the far wall and couches with coffee tables set in front of them. It was the ultimate in man-caves, if the man had serious ADD.

  A security guard stood to the side of the elevator, looking bored. He could have been retired ex-military with the haircut.

  Ray waved to him. “Hi, we’ve got a meeting with Mr. Bollock.” Ray handed him a business card.

  The guard slid a plastic card in front of the elevator call button and the doors opened. “Last door on the left.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. When the elevator doors closed I smiled at Ray. “Seems like a better gig than Walmart Greeter.”

  Ray shook his head. “I bet you get a discount at Walmart.”

  I eyed him. “And a blue vest.”

  He winced. “I forgot about that. I’m not sure I can handle polyester.”

  I nodded with understanding. “There is that. You’ve got some hard choices.” I leveled my hands like they were a scale. “Private detective.” I lowered my hand. “Walmart greeter.” I lowered the other side slightly.

  “Beard grower.” He reached over and pushed my hands down. “And do me a favor, don’t mention Oscar’s actual age.”

  I mimed zipping my lips and pretended to throw away the key.

  The elevator doors opened to a beige hallway. Cream carpet, beige walls, tan doors with nickel hardware.

  “It’s like all the color got sucked downstairs,” I whispered.

  “We’ve been swallowed by a sand monster.” Ray scooted past me and strode toward Bollock’s office. “Weird. No windows, no signs.” He knocked on the office door, the sound solid. “All fire doors.”

  The door buzzed and Ray tried the knob. He opened the door wide and his spine curled in on itself, and he stood, posed like a question mark. “Hello, Delilah.” He spoke like he was trying to persuade a grizzly bear to release a salmon. His hands went up in that I’m-not-going-to-hurt-you position.

  I pushed him inside the doorway. A beautiful woman, Angie Harmon-like dimples, sat behind a desk, glowering at Ray.

  Ray shrunk more.

  “Hi. I’m Charlie Sanders. We’re here to speak with Mr. Bollock.” I stepped toward her desk and smiled politely.

  “Why?” Her head tilted to the side and the glower went from daggers to full-on flame thrower.

  Sweat broke out on Ray’s forehead in the sixty-five-degree office. “Delilah–” Ray croaked.

  “Did you know Oscar Robles?” I stood in front of Ray, hoping to deflect Delilah’s sulfuric stare.

  Delilah’s gaze flicked to me. “Who?”

  “He played poker here, I think in the tournaments?”

  Ray moved behind me, and a cruel woman would have teased him about cowering, but I had a motherly instinct toward Ray. Maybe not motherly, more like sisterly, because he had the ability to annoy me like a sibling.

  “Are you with the IRS?” Delilah asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Yes,” Ray said at the same time. He moved to stand beside me. “I’m doing an investigation into Oscar’s finances for the probate.” He fished into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and searched, pushing the cash aside. “Sorry, I ran out of business cards.” He lied. He leaned back on his heels. “We’re here to speak with Mr. Bollock on official business.”

  My eyebrows nearly singed off with Delilah’s latest glare. I’d have to practice that look in the mirror later.

  “I didn’t think you were here to see me.” Her acid tone could take paint off the wall. She punched a button on her phone. “Mr. Bollock, Ray McGuffin is here to speak with you about Oscar Robles.”

  “Send him in,”
the disembodied voice said.

  Ray gave me a give-me-fifteen-minutes look. I replied with a make-it-ten scowl.

  Ray closed Bollock’s door behind him, leaving me alone with one very ticked-off female.

  “How do you know Ray?” Delilah asked.

  “He’s a neighbor.” I shrugged.

  “Sanders?” She leaned back in her chair. “Any relation to Liz?”

  “Sister-in-law.”

  Delilah nodded, seemed to absorb the information, and then her eyes softened. “You married Joe, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She gave me a quick smile. “You work at Sunnyview.”

  My eyebrows rose and I nodded, but wondered how long this interrogation was going to go on. I knew she was assessing whether or not to like me based on my relationships in Forest Forks. Unlike Ray, I was more like food dye, diluted in the community pool of Forest Forks. I’d been changed by raising my children here, no longer the Charlie from California. Heck, I’d lived in Forest Forks more years than Ray, but still, I was considered an outsider.

  And Ray’s friend.

  But a Sanders.

  I waited to see if my being a Sanders outweighed her dislike of Ray, and maybe she’d answer some questions.

  “Do you think you have a list of the tournaments Oscar played in?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Why do you want it?”

  “Honestly, I’m just trying to find some of Oscar’s friends.” I took a breath and chose my words carefully. “He rented our lake cabin. His parents didn’t want anything of his, and it seems a waste to send it all to Goodwill, you know? I hoped to contact his friends, see if they wanted something.” I could feel the heat flush up my neck, because I was a lousy liar.

  But Delilah frowned. “You found him, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know the guy, but that’s just awful.”

  “Yeah.” I studied my shoes, covered in grey dust from the crushed rocks at The Salty Pickle’s parking lot.

  “Give me a sec, I think I can get that list for you.”

  I looked up and met her shy smile.

  “You were my aunt’s nurse at Sunnyview. She really loved you. Do you still play Trivial Pursuit out there?”

  “Yes, every other Friday. She can still come and join us, it’s open to anyone.”

  Delilah chuckled. “I’ll let her know.” She looked up and wrinkled her nose at me. “She’s been awfully lonely since Uncle Greg died.” Delilah licked her bottom lip and leaned closer. “Is it true about the coffee bar?” she whispered.

  “Oh yeah. Regular meat market.” Although, some of the seniors made it look more like a turkey-jerky market.

  Delilah grinned. “Expect us next Friday.” She typed into her computer and the printer behind her started to hum. She gathered the pages and stapled them together. “This is a list of all the tournaments and participants for the last year.”

  “Thank you.” I took the pages from her. “I’ll save you seats next Friday.”

  “That’s great.” She was stunning when she smiled. Mr. Bollock’s door opened and her face shut down. She turned away.

  Ray gave me a quick nod.

  “Bye, and thank you again,” I said to Delilah.

  Ray exhaled loudly in the hallway. He trotted toward the elevator. “Check your purse.”

  “Why.”

  The elevator doors opened and he ushered me inside. “Make sure Joe’s balls are still in there. She’s got quite the collection.”

  “Clearly. Do you want to swing by her house and pick up yours?” I punched the button for the first floor.

  “Nah, she fed-exed them to me when I was in boot-camp.”

  “What happened Ray?”

  “I deserve the animosity. I took her virginity and totaled her car in the same night. Then I left for boot camp and never called.” He shrugged. “I was an ass, but there isn’t a greeting card that covers that.” The elevator doors opened and he ushered me outside. “Besides, I kinda thought she’d get over it.”

  I blinked, unable to form a response.

  “I guess she didn’t.” He looked at me. “Look, if you’ve got sage words to make this better, lay ‘em on me, otherwise, let’s go. Bollock wasn’t happy I asked questions, and he refused to give me the list it looks like you’re holding in your hand.”

  I stuffed the list into my purse. “Delilah printed off the tournaments and participants for the last year.”

  “That’s perfect. Bollock says Christine Scottman is a professional poker player. She knew Oscar, but they weren’t friends.” Ray shrugged. “Not sure she has a reason to kill him. She was a better player. But these were high-stake games and she might know if Oscar had to borrow cash to buy-in. He might have borrowed money from the wrong guy.”

  “Okay.” We exited the casino and were in the car. “So, what’s next?

  “We find out if Oscar had to borrow money to play, and then find out who he got it from.” Ray started the car and headed toward home. He cleared his throat. “So, you got any idea how I can fix that with Delilah?”

  I thought about Marabel’s comment that Ray was a rite of passage, which meant Delilah probably knew what was going to happen if she let Ray in her car. And it was high school. Still. The not calling. And the car.

  “What happened to the car?” I asked.

  Ray sighed. “We were driving back from the lake and a deer ran across the road. I hit it.”

  “Well, that’s just bad luck, not really your fault.”

  “No.” He shifted in the seat, like maybe he could move away from the memory. “But she wasn’t allowed to take the car, and she didn’t tell her parents we were out together, and when the cops came out and called them, let’s just say, she might still be grounded.”

  I laughed. “Ray, that had to be terribly embarrassing for her, but it’s been, what, twenty years? That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

  He looked over at me. “You think there’s more?”

  “I think if you still feel bad, you should just tell her you feel bad and apologize for being an idiot.”

  “I have grown up.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I pinched my lips tight, locking down a smile or snarky reply.

  He did the side-glance thing and sighed. “Shut up, Charlie.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ray pulled up in front of my house. “You’ll talk to Sam at Curl Up and Dye?”

  “Sure, I’ll see if she can fit me in tomorrow morning.” I slid out of his ridiculously loud car in my quiet suburban neighborhood, waved to the flapping drapes across the street and grabbed the mail. Inside, I sorted through the circulars and bills, noting Tyler Rigby had a half page ad for his law office. My phone rang and Ann’s face blowing me a kiss appeared on the screen.

  “Mom, if you’re in the mood to send me a care package with bacon, I would be forever grateful.” I heard traffic behind Ann’s voice.

  I put my phone on speaker and set it next to the kitchen sink. “Where are you?”

  “Walking home and dreaming of a BLT, but all I have is the L.”

  “What about the cafeteria?” I washed my hands and hoped something edible and green lurked in our fridge.

  Ann made a weird noise, sort of a snort-whimper. “They have turkey bacon, and it sucks. I just didn’t notice it until I had the real stuff this weekend. How are you and Dad doing?”

  “Fine.” I pulled steak, zucchinis and salad stuff out of the fridge. “Ray McGuffin and I visited a couple of casinos today asking about Oscar. Did you know Oscar played poker?”

  “No, but he was always the friend of my annoying little brother, so…” Ann sounded breathless.

  I pictured her jaywalking across a busy street, phone in hand, oblivious to the oncoming traffic, because my mind seemed to go to the worst place first. I seasoned the steak and zucchinis. “He played in tournaments in the professional poker league.”

  “There’s a professional
poker league?” Ann’s voice rose an octave. “Don’t tell Drew. He’s still obsessing over League of Legends and thinks he can get paid to play.”

  I rinsed the lettuce. Drew knew about Oscar playing professional poker, and at least League of Legends didn’t make you pay to play.

  “He wants to start his own YouTube channel,” Ann said.

  My stomach gurgled, part hunger, part alarm that I really didn’t know my kids at all. “Why would he want to do that?”

  “He swears he can make money at it.” I could picture Ann’s eyeballs rolling back so only the whites showed. Great, now she was walking blind and could break her ankle tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. “I swear,” she said, with eyeballs hopefully back in place, “he just wants to get paid for playing a game. I don’t think he cares which one.”

  Joe came in from the garage. “Is that Ann?”

  “Hi, Dad!” Ann chirped.

  “Hi, sweetheart. How about we deep fry the turkey for Thanksgiving this year?” Joe asked.

  “Yaaaas,” came Ann’s enthusiastic reply.

  “You are not.” I handed him the plate of steak and zucchini. “We have no room for a fryer, and I certainly don’t want to be seen buying three gallons of peanut oil.”

  One mischievous eyebrow rose. “Too late. We’re using Mike’s and I’ve already bought the oil.” Joe winked. “Along with a kiddie pool. They were on sale.”

  I closed my eyes. “You get to explain the rumors to your mom.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Can’t wait.”

  “You guys are too cute. Does Dad like you going all Nancy Drew?”

  “She’s a little old for Nancy Drew,” Joe said dryly.

  “Do not say I’m Jessica Fletcher,” I warned him, and with the chef’s knife in my hand I’m sure I looked dangerous.

  “Nah, you’re more like Detective Beckett from Castle.” Joe’s eyebrows danced suggestively. He did a lot of emoting with his eyebrows. He put the plate of steak down and stalked across the kitchen toward me.

  I laughed and kissed him sweetly. “Nice save.”

  “Mmm, I’m glad you’re my bride.” He returned the kiss and his hands highlighted some of my favorite spots.