The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  "He had me a little worried at first, but once his son calmed him down, he was a perfect gentleman. Very cooperative and helpful."

  "Hey, that reminds me," Tim said, "what really happened at that remote? We only heard the official version."

  I told them all about it. The laughter started as soon as I mentioned Giselle St. James.

  "Marty's best buddy," someone said.

  "Ain't that the truth," Tim said. "I think she follows her around, waiting for stuff to happen. How else could you explain how she just happened to be around for the fight Marty and Ricky Ray had? With Rockin’ Robbie, cameraman to the stars, of course."

  "Tim, don't," I said. Very calmly, I might add.

  Theresa Luray smiled sweetly. "What happened?"

  Encouragement. Great. That was all Tim needed.

  "Tim." I gave him my best steely-eyed glare. "Don't start on that. You know how I feel about it."

  "You see, it's like this," Tim said. "The day that Ricky Ray and Marty were supposed to be getting married, three days after he express mailed her a copy of “Bye- Bye, Baby” with a note telling her that the wedding was off, they had a huge fight in the parking lot of Pilazzo's."

  "Tim, that's enough!"

  He ignored me. As usual. "A bunch of us brought her here to try and keep her mind off the canceled wedding. Well, dad gum if Ricky Ray didn't show up, looking for her. Seems he wanted to get some stuff he'd left over at her apartment. He wanted her to give him Delbert -- that's her cat -- too. Well, Marty lost it. Funniest thing you ever saw.”

  I slumped down in the chair and started thinking up ways to get even with him.

  "She busted the window out of his Porsche with a rock. Then she saw his guitar. He had the thing buckled in the passenger seat. She grabbed it out, threw it on the ground, jumped in the Porsche -- that idiot had left the keys in the car -- and ran over the guitar. Back and forth she went. About eighteen times. All that was left were little bitty splinters.”

  Theresa put her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to hold the laughter in.

  "This wasn't just any guitar, either. It was his special guitar." Tim made little quote marks in the air with his hands when he said 'special'. "Belonged to George Teoria. Ricky's daddy bought it at an auction for him. Paid a small fortune, too. It was signed by Chet, George, Waylon, Willie, and a whole bunch of other Nashville superstars. Ole' Ricky Ray just sat down on the curb and cried. And right smack dab in the middle of the whole thing? Giselle and Robbie, getting the whole thing on tape. Probably her biggest scoop. They aired it over and over again for about a month."

  Everybody at the table was just about rolling on the floor they were laughing so hard. Personally, I didn't find it a bit funny. As soon as the cops left to go back to the station, I let Tim have it.

  "Tim, you know how much I hate it when you do that to me. I told you not to tell that stupid story anymore. I begged you to stop. Why won't you listen to me?"

  "Aww, Marty, come on, don't be mad at me. Please?"

  I pretended like he was a rock. Mature, Marty. Act mature. I bit my lip and stared at the stone fountain that sits in the middle of the patio.

  "Well, fine. Be that way then." He stood up and made like he was leaving.

  "Me! You know, sometimes I really hate you. You always turn it around so it looks like I'm being unreasonable. You're so mean!"

  "Good grief! I said I'm sorry. Listen, I promise not to tell that story ever again. Okay?" He gave me that look of his. The one that reminds me of a poor little puppy dog.

  I could have punched him. "You have to pinkie swear."

  He sat back down and stuck his hand out. We hooked pinkies. "I promise," he said, "no more stories, no more fights. Friends forever."

  "Friends forever." Just like when we were eight.

  10

  Tim flashed me his cutest grin. "So, now that you don't hate me anymore, you wanna go play pool?"

  I slapped at a mosquito. "Not really. But, let's go inside. These dang mosquitoes are eating me alive."

  Tim led the way into the poolroom. It's where the service bays used to be. Cheap red carpet and two red vinyl and Formica booths, along with all those tacky Ricky Ray posters, pass for decor. The air in there was almost as smoky as it had been in the front room. The music was not quite as loud and, fortunately, someone with good taste had chosen the song.

  Two guys were shooting pool and two others sat at one of the booths watching them. They said 'hey' to us and turned their attention back to the game. I plopped down in the other booth. Tim slid in across from me.

  "Listen," I said, "do you know any reason Nancy Winslow would want to take a swing at Fred like she did tonight? And why on earth he wouldn't press charges?"

  He gave me a sober look. "Marty, this is confidential info, you can't say anything."

  "I won't say a word." I grinned. "Pinkie swear."

  "You know Theresa questioned Fred. Well, we had a lot of things to ask him about. See, the cause of death was most likely a blow to the head with a blunt object. Probably from an aluminum softball bat we found down in the trash can with Wart," he said, almost in a whisper.

  He looked around to make sure no one was listening. The guys at the other booth were straining to hear. He dropped his voice even lower. "Fred's name was engraved on it. He confirmed that it belongs to him."

  My mouth flopped open. "Fred's baseball bat? Wow!"

  "Softball. Anyway, that's the main reason we wanted to talk to Fred. Well, that and the fact that all Warren had on when we pulled him out was that TPE softball jersey."

  "All? You mean he didn't have on anything else?"

  “Just underwear. Fred said he couldn't figure out how Wart got the jersey. The two of them didn't get along too well, so it wasn't like he'd ever give him one."

  "That reminds me. Zach seemed to think y'all were talking to Fred because of some fight that he had with Wart yesterday. What was that all about?"

  Tim was surprised. "Heck if I know!" He pulled out a little notebook and jotted something down. "I'll tell Theresa. She might want to have another talk with Fred."

  "Why did she go over to Nancy Winslow's after she questioned Fred?"

  "Fred told her that Nancy and Wart were business partners and that they'd had a falling out. He thinks Nancy might have killed Wart and is trying to frame him."

  "Frame Fred? But why would she do that?"

  "Fred said she hated him. Something about a dispute over the property line. Said she'd do anything to drive him out of business."

  "Over the property line? That doesn't make sense."

  Tim sighed. "Nope, it doesn't."

  "Did Nancy tell Theresa anything?"

  "Just that she figured Fred was guilty. Theresa said she was evasive, but we don't really have any reason to push her on anything. Nothing points to her, except Fred's innuendo. We couldn't find any record of a partnership between Nancy and Wart. At least not yet."

  "Well, if you ask me, Wart being killed with a baseball bat and then Nancy taking a bat to Fred's head sure seems like a heck of a coincidence."

  "Doesn't it though?"

  "And I tell you another thing, if you'd seen her swing that bat, you'd probably put her at the top of your suspect list for killing Wart," I said.

  "She can definitely swing a bat. Do you know that the longest home run I ever saw hit at the Civic Center fields was hit by her? She's better than any guy in town. She’s built like a freakin’ Amazon, too.“

  Nancy's into body building. Once, I did a remote at a body building contest that she won. She's an awesome sight: close to six foot tall, maybe one hundred seventy pounds. All perfectly sculpted muscle. She's beautifully proportioned, too. Unless you consider her hands. They're tiny, like they belong on someone else's body.

  "She'd actually be sort of pretty if she ever smiled," I said. "She's always making that evil looking grin, though. It gives me the creeps when she does that."

  "I think that's why she does it. She knows it
intimidates people."

  "She intimidates me even without that look. Do you remember that time she had me do a remote over at her car lot? I went inside to use the bathroom and she nearly took my head off. Accused me of spying on her. I let Slammin' Sam do the next one she had. I'm poor, but I don't need the money that bad, you know?"

  Tim put his finger to his lips to shush me. The guys at the other booth were talking about Warren. We eavesdropped:

  "You remember the senior prom?"

  "When Ole' Wart got drunk as a dog and threw up all over Beth's dress? They spent the rest of the night sitting in the car, waiting for Steve and his chick-of-the-week to take 'em home."

  I remembered that night. Ricky Ray and I'd asked Beth if she wanted us to give her a ride someplace, but she'd turned us down.

  "I forgot to ask you how Beth's doing," I said.

  Tim scratched his head and yawned.“Not too good. She took it real hard. I'm glad Steve went with me. He called Vanessa and she was supposed to come over, too."

  Vanessa. That reminded me that I still needed to talk to her. Maybe I could run by her house before I went to Mom and Dad's.

  "I'm glad," I said. "I betcha Vanessa is the only woman friend Beth has."

  Tim rolled his empty bottle between his palms. "You want a beer?"

  "No, I already ordered one." I'd forgotten all about Zach. Wonder what was taking him so long to get the beer? .

  "Hey, speaking of Vanessa, are you going to Mom and Dad's anniversary party with her?" I asked.

  When Mom and Dad had celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary the year before, Charli and I had forgotten it. So had Dad. To make up for it, we'd talked Dad into pulling out all the stops. Being a man who enjoys living, he'd readily agreed. We were having a big party for their thirty-first the following Monday night.

  Initially, we'd tried to keep the party a secret, but Mom's nosy reporter instincts had won out pretty quickly. She basically ended up taking over the planning. Not that Dad had minded too much. Charli and I had unfortunately inherited most of the not-so-much-fun tasks.

  "I don't think so. She's six years older than me, and besides, she has two little kids. She even used to baby-sit for me when I was eight years old, for Christ sakes! I can't help it, but I've got too many hang-ups about it, you know?"

  "Geez, Tim, nobody said you had to marry her. She just doesn't want to go to the party alone. I think you should go. She's a nice girl and she's had a hard time since O'Del died. Why don't you do it as a favor to me?"

  He squirmed in his seat. "I'll think about it. You better be right, though. I don't want her to get the wrong idea and start thinking this is the start of some big romance. I want to keep my options open. An instant family isn't one I have in mind."

  I winked at him. "You could do a lot worse, you know? Vanessa is pretty, smart, and really sweet. Plus, she's almost as tall as you are."

  "But I've got my eye on somebody else."

  "Who? Wait! I'll bet I know!” I started to tease him about Detective Luray, but Zach slipped into the booth next to me and handed me a beer. "Here you go, Marty. Sorry it took so long. I was talking to some people."

  He held out his hand to Tim. "Hey there, Timbo, how ya’ doin’?"

  Tim shot me a dirty look. "I didn't know you were bringing him," he said. "I'll talk to you later, Marty."

  He jumped up and stormed off toward the patio.

  "What the heck was that all about?" I asked Zach.

  He looked astonished. "I don’t have a clue. Unless, maybe he's jealous."

  I snorted. "Tim? Jealous? That's nuts."

  Zach shook his head. "Marty, you must be the only person in the entire state, no, the entire world, who doesn't know that Tim has a thing for you."

  "That's ridiculous. We're just friends. Practically brother and sister." I took a big slug of beer. "Absolutely ridiculous."

  Zach put his hand on my arm and squeezed ever so slightly. A tingle ran down my neck. "I don't think it's so ridiculous. You're the prettiest girl in town."

  I rolled my eyes. "This is getting deep."

  Tim came back in, a beer bottle in one hand and a cue stick in the other. He put four quarters on the edge of the pool table signaling that he wanted to play the winner of the current game.

  "How's the DJ business?" Zach asked.

  Tim kept his eyes glued on a spot about a foot above my head. Right around Ricky Ray's kneecaps. What was with him?

  "Not too bad. How's the car repair business?"

  The two guys finished their game and Tim stuck his quarters into the coin slot on the pool table. The balls released and he pulled them out of their slot and slammed them into the rack.

  Zach was looking at Tim. "What? I'm sorry. Your pal seems to be more than a little mad."

  "His problem, not mine." I took a sip of beer.

  Tim kept shooting me dark looks between turns. Zach and I talked about our jobs and some mutual friends and tried to ignore him. Another guy, one I recognized vaguely, walked in and watched the game for a few minutes. Tim made a good shot and I said 'way to go'. Just trying to be nice. The new guy turned around and noticed us.

  "Yo, Thompson!" He staggered over to our table. "What's this I hear about your old man getting busted for Wart's murder?" The guy Tim was playing against snickered.

  Zach slammed his beer mug down on the table. "He did not get arrested! Why don't you climb back in that bottle you came out of?"

  "Zach, just ignore him. He's drunk."

  The guy stuck his face in Zach's. "Hey, Pretty Boy, tell your girlfriend to mind her own business."

  "Get out of my face!” Zach said.

  The other man sneered at him. “What you gonna do about it?"

  Zach jumped up and grabbed the guy on each side of his collar. "I'm telling you this once, and only once, get on out of here and if I ever, ever hear you talking about my family, I'll bust that cue stick over your head!" He gave the guy a shove.

  Please, God. Not another fight.

  The guy fell back against the pool table. Zach grabbed his shirt and jerked him to an upright position. "I said get out of here! And I mean it."

  Several people stood in the doorway, watching the action. My face felt like it was on fire.

  Tim hooked his arms around Zach's and wrenched them back. "All right, that's enough. He's leaving now, aren't you?" He gave a hard look to the other man.

  The guy bobbed his head yes, but his eyes bored into Zach's. "You ain't worth the trouble, you know that?" He spit on the ground, right beside Zach's foot, and left.

  Tim let go of Zach, giving him a little shove. "You. Get control of yourself. Or take a hike."

  Zach shot him a venomous look. "Hey, I'm cool. And I'll leave when I'm good and ready to. Officer Unser."

  He looked over at me and raised both hands, palms up. "Marty, I'm sorry. I'll be right back," he said. He went in the men's room.

  My hands were shaking. I gulped down some beer.

  Tim loomed over me. "Marty, I just got one question for you. What are you doing hanging out with a creep like Zach Thompson?"

  "Zach is not a creep," I said. "What has gotten into you, Tim? You are totally out of line! Who I hang around with really isn't any of your business, is it?"

  “Since when? I’m only trying to protect you, Marty. You saw what just happened here."

  "Geez, Tim, what I saw here was not totally unjustified. That guy was being a jerk. I probably would have reacted the same way. And let's be honest, so would you."

  He smacked his hand down on the table. “No I wouldn’t! Besides, that, I care about you. I don't want to see you get mixed up with another loser."

  "Zach is not a loser. What is with you? I thought you guys were friends."

  "Friends? Not with that guy. I don't like how he treats people. You just wait and see. He'll treat you like a dog. Or worse."

  "Not that it's any of your business, but he's been a perfect gentleman. I like him, and I'll get mixed up with him if
I danged well want to."

  "And I guess we know what kind of judgment you have. Not to mention your taste in men," he said.

  I lurched to my feet. "That's it! I don't have to put up with this garbage. I thought you were my best friend! How can you sit there and talk to me like this." My eyes were hot with tears. "What happened to friends forever?"

  "Marty, if you can't see how it is I feel about you, well, I guess you're in worse shape than I thought." He hurried out the door.

  I blinked back the tears and tried to ignore all the people who were staring at me.

  Zach elbowed his way through the little crowd. "Everything okay?"

  "I gotta go home." I reached into the booth and grabbed my tote bag. "I'm sorry, I just gotta go."

  "Look Marty, if it's about my getting into a fight, I'm real sorry. Please don't run off. I swear to you, I'll control myself."

  I shook my head. "It's not about you. It's Tim. We had another argument while you were out of the room."

  I glared at the people still staring at me. They got the message and turned away. "Anyway, I've had a really long day, and to be honest, I just want to go to bed."

  He gently wiped a tear off my cheek. "Sure, I understand. Truly, it’s not a bad idea. I probably need to get going, too. I want to call and check on my folks." He put his arm across my shoulder. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

  The air outside felt stale and stagnant. "God, I wish it would rain. It's so freaking humid," I said.

  "We sure could use a good soaker." Zach gave me a questioning look. "Marty, why are we talking about the weather?"

  "I don't know. I guess it was about the only sane thing I could think of, you know? What do you want to talk about?"

  "When are you going to go out with me?"

  He caught me by surprise with that one. “Uhm, why don’t you call me sometime," I said. Stammered.

  He put his hand under my chin and lifted my face up so that I was looking at him. "I'll do that, real soon." He slid his finger up to my lips. "Real soon," he said, so softly that I could barely hear it.