The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  The way I figured it, the woman deputy was going to be the good cop, the jerk from before, the bad cop. Well, I'd just show them. They could lock me up, but they weren’t gonna break me.

  About a week later, or so it seemed, the woman poked her head in and told me to come with her. When we went out in the hallway, I checked the big clock over the reception desk. I'd only been sitting in the room for an hour and a half? No way. They'd probably changed the time on the clock. Try and fool Marty Sheffield? Not a chance.

  She led me down the small corridor and knocked on a door. A man's voice boomed out for us to come on in. She pushed the door open and stood aside so that I could enter. Mom sat in a vinyl chair on one side of a metal desk. She looked like Michelle when she was in that movie with Clooney, only better; her pink silk dress probably cost more than everything in the room put together.

  Across the desk from her sat a grandfatherly looking man wearing a sheriff's uniform. His hair was gray and neatly combed. Silver wire-frame glasses fronted kindly brown eyes. Gray stubbles poked through on his chin, giving his tanned face a silvery sheen.

  The office was small and orderly. Besides the metal desk, there were two green metal file cabinets and a small table with a computer on it. A window with a green shade was directly behind the desk. Two pictures of an ample-figured, gray haired, grandmotherly looking woman sat on the window sill. A large standard-issue family portrait of the man and the woman, about twenty years younger, and a couple of generic looking kids hung on the wall right beside the door.

  He stood up when I came in and motioned for me to sit in the chair next to Mom's. The deputy nodded to him and closed the door. Once I slid into the chair, the sheriff sat back down. Mom glanced over at me and looked absolutely horrified. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  "Oh, Martina!” she mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

  "Miss Sheffield," the sheriff said, the brown eyes not quite so kindly looking anymore.

  I gulped and sat up as straight as I could. He reminded me of the principal from elementary school. "Yes, sir?" I stuttered out. That idiotic sounding high pitch was back in my voice. I definitely needed to do something about it. Imagine if I did that over the air.

  "Miss Sheffield, I've decided to release you into the custody of your lovely mother. I've spoken with Detective Luray of the Glenvar police department and based on the information she provided, we've decided not to charge you with anything." His voice was rich and resonant, like a preacher at a revival meeting.

  I leaned back my head and sent a small prayer heavenward. "Thank you," I said to the sheriff.

  I looked over at Mom. She raised her eyebrow. "Sir." I quickly added.

  He looked at me sternly. "I hope I don't see you back in here. For any reason. Next time, I might not feel quite so generous and forgiving."

  "Yes, sir. No, sir. I mean, well, I won't be back, sir. I promise. Thank you. Sir."

  The sheriff stood up. Mom stood up and reached across the desk to take his hand. He smiled warmly at her.

  "Mrs. Sheffield, I must say that it has been simply delightful to meet you," he said to her, his voice changing to a softer pitch.

  Mom flashed her most dazzling smile and placed her other hand so that his hand was clasped gently between both of hers. His face flushed bright red.

  "Well, Sheriff, I just can't thank you enough for all that you've done for my daughter. I hope that we didn't cause you good folks too much trouble." Her drawl was a little thicker than normal, her voice smooth as honey.

  I almost gagged.

  She let go of his hands and turned to me. "Martina, dear, let's get out of this nice man's way now. We've been enough of a problem already."

  We turned to go just as some sort of commotion started up out in the hallway.

  The woman deputy shouted, "Sir! Stop! You cannot go in there. Sir, I said stop!"

  Fred Thompson's voice, roared through the door. "I most certainly am going in there. I’m gonna go get my kid outta this place."

  I stepped backwards and bumped into Mom as the door to the office burst open. Fred stalked into the room. His face was beet red and his breathing heavy and labored.

  He pointed at the sheriff. "What do you mean, locking my son up like some sort of common criminal? Are you outta your freakin' mind? So help me God, I'm gonna sue the pants off of everybody in this God-forsaken hell-hole!"

  The deputy rushed through the doorway. "I'm sorry, Roland. He took me by surprise," she said.

  The sheriff's voice went steely and hard. "Mr. Thompson, if you don't want to be joining your son in his cell, I recommend that you get a hold of yourself right now. We don't take too kindly to threats around here."

  Mom grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door. "Let's go." she whispered. "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind and tosses you in jail, too."

  I jerked my arm away. "No! I can't leave now. I want to make sure Zach is okay."

  She grabbed my arm again and dug her nails in, almost breaking the skin. "Martina Gayle, I said, let's go! Now!" I hadn't heard that tone of voice since I'd told her I was going to quit college and become a DJ.

  I learn from my mistakes. I went.

  Fred and the sheriff were still arguing loudly when we left. Well, Fred was, at any rate.

  The sheriff was simply repeating over and over again, "Mr. Thompson, your son is under arrest for assaulting an officer of the law. I intend to throw the book at him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

  I glanced back toward the little office right before we walked out of the building. Two deputies had hold of Fred's arms and were forcibly removing him from the office. He was still hollering, threatening to sue everybody.

  Poor Zach.

  I was sort of surprised that Giselle wasn't in the lobby waiting for me. I shouldn't have worried. She was outside, standing by Mom's car.

  "Condoms, condoms, condoms. Giselle stole some condoms. Red ones, blue ones, purple-speckled ribbed ones," I sang.

  It distracted her long enough for us to get in Mom's car and lock the doors.

  "What on earth was that all about?" Mom asked.

  "Just a little diversion tactic. See, Giselle stole some condoms from one of those convenience stores when we were in high school. It occurred to me the other day that she wouldn't want to use anything like that on the air. Too embarrassing for her. Now, every time I see her, I bring up some embarrassing incident from high school. Believe me, there’s a bunch of them, too. Pretty smart thinking, wasn't it?"

  Mom didn't say anything. I guess she was overcome with awe at my brilliance. The two deputies, with Fred in tow, came out of the station. Giselle's cameraman filmed them.

  "Let's go," I told Mom. "Quick, while they're busy filming Fred."

  We were out of the parking lot and headed toward home faster than you could say red ribbed condom.

  The sun was blinding. I reached for my tote bag to get my sunglasses. Well, shoot. My stuff was still up at the Thompson's lake house. I started to ask Mom to go over there so I could get it, but I thought better of it. She looked very unhappy, sort of like she'd looked when I was a high school sophomore and got caught trying to wrap toilet paper around Salem High School, Glenvar High's big football rival. It would be way easier just to figure out how to manage without my phone and wallet than to give her something else to be angry about.

  I waited for her to let loose on me, but she never said a word. That concerned me. Two bright red spots inflamed her cheeks and her hair actually looked slightly rumpled. Every few seconds she took a deep breath and let out a sigh that pretty much said it all. And what it said wasn't good.

  I sat quietly, reflecting on the whole stinking day, wondering how many more tricks Destiny had in store for me. Thinking about Zach. Wondering if I'd ever see him again. We zipped down the road, passing cars and boats headed for the lake.

  My mouth was dry as cotton. I gathered up my courage and meekly asked Mom to stop at one of t
he little grocery stores so I could get a soda. She did, never saying anything. When I asked her for some money, she silently reached in her purse and handed me a five. I went into the store and bought a couple of sodas. When I went back out to the car I got a big surprise. Mom was crying.

  I put my arm around her. "Mom. Please. Don't cry. I'm really, really sorry."

  She grabbed me and pulled me to her. "Martina, baby, it's okay. I'm just so relieved that you weren't hurt," she said when her sobbing was under control. "The sheriff told me about the fire. You could have been killed. I can't believe how close I came to losing you."

  Talk about being shocked.

  "You aren't mad at me?"

  She kissed me on the cheek and pushed me away from her. "Well, of course I'm mad at you. You behaved very irresponsibly. Attacking police officers. Whatever were you thinking? It's so embarrassing."

  "Mom," I said, my voice just a little whiny. Okay, a lot whiny. "I'm sorry. I never meant to embarrass you. But, you weren't there. You didn't hear what that deputy said about me. He accused me of killing Warren. And of setting the shed on fire. He was really, really mean." I told her about the rogue deputy.

  She was livid by the time I got to the end. "How dare he? After all you'd been through. I should go back down there and give him a piece of my mind. Talk to my kid that way? Who the hell does he think he is?"

  "I guess it's a good thing you didn't know all that stuff when you talked to the sheriff. Otherwise, we'd both be locked up in the cell next to Zach."

  She smiled a little. "I suppose you're right. Come on. Let's go home." She started the engine and pulled out onto the highway.

  I sipped on my drink and watched her drive. "Hey, Mom?"

  "What, honey?"

  "Thanks for bailing me out. You were great. You had that sheriff wrapped around your little finger."

  She smiled, back to her old self. "I guess I did, didn't I?" she drawled.

  Michelle Pheiffer might be the one with three Oscar nominations, but she ain’t got a thing on my mom when it comes to acting chops!

  28

  Home, sweet home. I've never been so glad in all my life to see the “Glenvar City Limits” sign. In fact, I got a lump in my throat when we passed it. Gasoline Alley and the Thompson's place. Winslow Automotive. Pilazzo's. The library courtyard and the police station. Even Kroger's looked beyond beautiful.

  I planned to climb in the bed, pull the covers over my head, and stay there until time to go to work Saturday night. You’d have thought I would have known by then that Destiny and the gals had other plans for me, now wouldn’t you?

  When we turned down the street toward my apartment complex Mom said, "I want you to go inside and pack some clothes. I'm taking you to Charlene’s house to spend the night. John is still out of town and she's there all alone with the children."

  "Thanks anyway, but I'll just stay at my place. I'll be fine."

  "Martina, please. Someone tried to kill you today. I don't want you girls to be alone. Daddy and I have to go to his boss's house for dinner tonight and I'll worry myself sick if you two are by yourselves. In fact, I'll feel a lot better if we get Timothy to come over and stay there, too. I want you to call him as soon as we get inside. He’s left three messages on my phone, wanting to know if you’re okay.“

  I knew better than to argue. "Yes Ma’am," I said.

  She parked in front of my building. I was surprised when she got out of the car and started up the steps.

  "You don't need to come in," I told her, "I'm okay. I'll just be a few minutes."

  "Nonsense," she said. "I'm not letting you out of my sight. If someone wants to hurt you, they'll have to go through me first."

  "Oh." I got my spare key out from under Rowena's doormat and unlocked my apartment door. Delbert was sitting just inside the door, meowing loudly when I went in.

  He immediately zeroed in on Mom's ankle.

  I picked him up and took him in my bedroom. "Delbert! You know better than that. She's scared to death of you. You'll have to stay in here until she leaves."

  He squirmed and wriggled, trying to jump out of my arms. He was determined to get back to Mom. It's like the more she tries to avoid him, the more he loves her. He's so male sometimes. It really makes me nuts.

  When I went back in the living room, Mom was standing rooted in her spot, her nose wrinkled in distaste at my furniture.

  "Mom, if you're going to stay, fix yourself a soda or a glass of tea and sit down, for goodness sakes. You aren't going to catch anything. Since we're here, I'm going to take a shower."

  “I thought you were going to call Timothy.”

  "Good grief! I said I'd call him. Geez! All I want to do is get out of these stinky clothes. He can wait that long. It's just Tim, it's no big deal. Geez!"

  "I don't know why he lets you treat him like that. Well, I guess I do. But, for the life of me, I can't understand it."

  "What's to understand? I treat him nice. He's my best friend. I'm real nice to him." Okay, so I sounded just a tiny bit defensive.

  She shook her head. "Nice? You walk all over him. You treat him like a lap dog. You treat that cat better than you treat him. And he just keeps running back for more. I used to think he'd get over it, but I guess he's too far gone."

  "What do you mean, too far gone?"

  "I mean the poor boy is hopelessly, totally, head-over-hills in love with you. And you encourage it. You shouldn't do that. One of these days, he's going to wake up, and then you won't have a friend anymore."

  My mouth dropped open. I stared at her and started to laugh. Tim in love with me? That was without a doubt the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. So why on earth did everyone keep saying it?

  I left Mom standing in the living room and went to take my shower, still laughing my head off. One look at myself in the mirror sobered me up. I'd actually been running around in public looking like that, too. I stood in the shower until the water ran cold. My hair still smelt a little smoky, but there didn't seem to be any permanent damage.

  Well, maybe the bathing suit and RUN! t-shirt. I wound them in a ball and dropped them into a plastic garbage bag. I didn't think they were salvageable, but I hated to toss them without sending them through a couple of laundry cycles.

  I was feeling a little light headed. I realized that I hadn't eaten since the bagel and coffee from early in the morning. I wrapped a towel around my hair, put on my robe, and went out to the kitchen to get something to eat. Mom had finally decided to sit. She was at my dining table, leather purse in her lap, making notes in her leather-bound steno pad.

  "I called Charlene. She's expecting us." She closed the notebook and stuck it and her expensive gold pen back in her purse. "Go get your stuff together. She said you could bring the cat."

  After eating a sandwich, I dressed, found the copy of my driver’s license I’d made after I’d lost, then found, my wallet a few months back, packed my stuff, put Delbert in his kitty carrier, and we headed over to Charli's. It took a lot of fast talking, but I finally convinced Mom that I needed to drive myself to Charli's house.

  "Mom, I'm supposed to play in that celebrity softball tournament tomorrow. You know, the one to benefit the Special Olympics. Anyway, I've made plans to meet some people at the Civic Center ball fields at eight tomorrow morning. We're gonna practice a little so we won't be humiliated in front of everybody. If I don't take the truck to Charli's, I'll have to get her to drag the kids out and take me over there."

  "We-ell. I suppose it'll be all right. But you make sure you stay right behind me. I don't want you out of my sight for one minute."

  "Okay." I held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

  I climbed up into John's big old truck and started it. It growled and rumbled, doing its mini-earthquake bit. I cranked the radio volume way up and threw it into reverse. I waited for Mom to pull out of the complex parking lot, ground around until I found first, and followed her.

  For some reason -- I suppose she wanted to mak
e sure I really followed her -- she only drove about five miles an hour. I beeped the horn at her after a few maddening minutes of it. She didn't take the hint. Instead, she putt-putted her way down to Main Street.

  We were briefly separated at a traffic light, but she pulled over to the curb and waited for me to catch up. When we passed Pilazzo's I took a quick peek to see if I recognized any of the cars. I didn't. A couple of blocks later we reached Willow Wisp Street, the main road into The Oaks at Stableford Manor. Mom flipped on her turn signal and waited for the light to change.

  I hummed along to the radio and watched the traffic go by while we waited. A guy in a Denali had a life-size cutout of John Wayne riding shotgun. It almost caused me to miss the big maroon car with a mottled vinyl top and a bashed in front bumper that was making a turn onto Main from Willow Wisp. It looked really familiar. For some odd reason, Nancy Winslow's floppy hats popped into my head.

  Of course! There was only one hat. A red one. The lights at Pilazzo's had made the hat look rust colored. I'd thought the car that hit me was brown. Maybe it was like the hat. Maybe the lights had only made it look brown. Maybe, just maybe, it was another color. Maybe maroon?

  The light turned green and Mom made her turn. I jammed the truck into gear and stepped down hard on the accelerator, continuing down Main Street. It was the only thing I could do. I had to follow the maroon car and find out if it had been the one that had smashed into me. Mom would certainly understand that.

  I managed to stay about two cars behind it all the way through town. Just past the high school the maroon car made a left down a winding slightly rural road called Lewistown Lane. The road Beth Turner and Nancy Winslow live on. Right across from each other. My heart was pounding a mile-a-minute. Could it be one of them?

  The car pulled into Nancy's driveway and stopped. I should have guessed. She must have found out somehow that I'd spied on her and Steve. I went about a quarter mile past Nancy's house and turned around in the parking lot of a little white clapboard church. I needed to look at that car close up, make sure I was right about it being the one that had hit me before I called the police.