The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  "Nice party," Nancy Winslow said.

  "I guess. To be perfectly honest, I've never much cared for those Sheffields," Beth Turner said.

  I very quietly sat on the toilet seat and stuck my feet up on the stall door. It's not every day you get a chance to be a fly on the wall.

  "I know what you mean. They're just so fake, or something. That Marty, especially."

  "I know. She's the worst," Beth said.

  I almost went out and showed her just how fake I could be, but they each went into a stall. I waited to see if they were going to keep trashing me.

  "So," Beth said, "the thing with you and Fred is really over?"

  "Yep. He lied. I should have known he wasn't going to leave her. I just couldn't take it anymore. I got tired of being the other woman."

  "Nancy, I've been wanting to ask you this for awhile now, but I didn't want to offend you. Please don't take it the wrong way. Were you sleeping with Warren?"

  Nancy didn't answer right away. Finally she said, "Yes. It started at the regional tournament. Fred and I had a huge fight and Warren comforted me. Are you mad?"

  "No, of course not. Warren and I were finished a long time ago. I'm just glad to know he'd found someone."

  Nancy and Wart? I didn't even want to think about that combination. I accidentally dropped Charli's purse. Beth and Nancy were real quiet. I scooped up the bag and took off out of there. As I opened the door to go back to the party, I heard Beth say, "Nancy, who was that?"

  "Beats me."

  “I didn't know anybody was in here."

  I popped my head around the corner. "It's just me," I said. "You know. The real Marty Sheffield. Don't worry. As far as I know, the 'fake' one never has to pee."

  Neither one of them answered me. I let the door swing shut before I started laughing.

  Charli met me outside the ballroom door. "What are you laughing about?"

  I told her.

  "What a couple of dummies. You'd think they'd have the sense to look under the doors before they started gossiping."

  "You'd think. Listen, here's something even better." I told her about Nancy and Wart being together.

  "Yes!" she said. "It's really coming together now. Give me back my purse."

  I handed her purse over. She peeked inside. "You took the betting slip! Give it back. Right now!"

  "No." I hugged my purse to me. "I'm not going to let you do anything stupid."

  "Girls!" Mom put a hand on each of our shoulders. "What has gotten into you?"

  She gave us each a task. I discussed the loudness of the music with the disc jockey and looked around for Zach. He sat at a table all by himself, chin resting on his left hand. I sucked up my embarrassment at having eavesdropped on his parents and went to talk to him.

  "You okay?"

  He shook his head. "Not really. He's going to leave her. He told her right before we left the house." His eyes glistened.

  "I'm so sorry. I wish I knew what to say."

  "Not much to say." He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "That argument you overheard, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to anybody."

  "What argument?"

  He smiled. The twinkle was back. "Thanks. Did I ever tell you I think you're swell?"

  "Swell? That's not exactly what I was shooting for here."

  "Cool? Neat? Groovy? Hot?"

  "All of the above."

  We grinned at each other like a couple of idiots.

  "So, wanna dance, you swell man, you?" I said.

  We danced almost non-stop for the next two hours. My legs felt like rubber and I was sure the makeup the girl at the salon had so carefully applied was running down my face. I leaned on Zach's arm and rubbed my leg. Thank God, I'd worn sensible shoes. Not like Charli, who'd worn two inch heels.

  "Drink. I gotta have a drink." I said.

  "Me too. I'll go grab us a couple of beers and a plate of munchies and meet you outside in that little sitting area. Okay?"

  "Sounds great."

  I retrieved my purse from the DJ and went to the restroom to see how bad I looked. The makeup was okay until I rubbed my hand across my lips, making a red streak across my cheek. I tried to repair it without smearing it worse. No luck.

  A woman with a blonde bob hairdo came out of one of the stalls and turned on the water at the sink next to me. After she washed her hands, she took out a compact and touched up her face. I watched her in the mirror, hoping to figure out how to go about fixing my own face.

  Her eyes met mine. "Hi," she said.

  "Hello."

  I washed my hands and grabbed at a towel.

  "I like your dress," she said.

  "Thanks. You look nice too."

  "Thanks. Um, er, um, I was wondering, um, I mean, if it isn't too much to ask, um, er, well, um, could I ask you a favor?"

  My autograph. She was embarrassed to ask, they all are, but it's really no big deal. I put on my best publicity shot smile and rummaged in my purse for a pen. "Sure. Do you have some paper?"

  She looked confused. "Paper? I think so. Anyway, this favor, it's not for me, it's for my daughter. See, she's a huge fan of Ricky Ray Riley's and well, I know you used to date him and well, I was wondering, actually, if you could maybe get him to come and sing at her birthday party next week? She's going to be sixteen."

  A light bulb went off. "Well, I may not be able to get him to sing at the party, but here's something even better. Let me see that paper."

  I took the cap off my ink pen and wrote Ricky Ray's private phone number on the paper. His grandma loves me to death and gives it to me every time I see her. "Here. This is Ricky Ray's personal line. Give this to your daughter and have her call him. In fact, tell her to have all her friends call him, too. I'm sure he'd be just thrilled to hear from them."

  She smiled happily. "I don't know how to thank you."

  "No problem. No problem at all. I get my thanks just from knowing I've made folks happy."

  I stuck the pen back in my purse and started out the door. Another light bulb. "Hey, you can help me. Would you show me how to get rid of this red streak without totally screwing up my makeup?"

  After she touched up my makeup, I went down to meet Zach at the conversation area. He wasn't there yet. I sat down on one of the chairs to wait for him. Warren's Grandma Turner came out of the ballroom and sat down in the other chair. She had on a black chiffon dress with black over-the-elbow gloves, black hose, and black shoes. She'd had her hair dyed black. And I mean black. It also had been teased and, as usual, stuck out in every direction.

  "Hi, Miz Turner. You look lovely tonight."

  She squinted at me. "It's you. The one that stuck my poor Warren in that nasty trash can. You still going around spying on people?"

  "No ma’am. I wasn't spying. I was just looking for a soda."

  "Looked like spying to me. I told Stevie about it too. When he finished talking to Mr. Thompson, I went right in there and told him you was spying on him."

  My mouth sort of dropped open. "He was talking to Fred Thompson? But..."

  I didn't finish. What was it that Steve had said? Something about not caring if he got arrested. What would Steve and Fred have been arguing about? And Zach had told me that Fred wasn't at the visitation. Said he'd been afraid he wouldn't be welcome. Was I missing something? I had to find Charli, see what she thought.

  "Well, It's been nice talking to you, Miss Turner, but I've got to go talk to my sister for a minute. Bye now."

  "Wait," Gramma Turner said, "I know a secret. Do you want to know what it is?"

  I sighed. "Sure, Miz Turner. What's your secret?"

  "Guess."

  "I can't. I'm sorry, but I really have to go. Talk to you later."

  She stuck out her bottom lip. "Well, be that way, then. It's a good secret."

  "Okay, is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?" I felt stupid.

  "It's a letter."

  "A letter? You mean like A, B, C?"

  "No. Like this."r />
  She handed me a folded up piece of paper. I opened it and looked it over.

  "Miz Turner, where did you get this?" It looked similar to the letter that Mom had gotten on the day of the murder: typed on a piece of lined paper.

  "I found it."

  "Where Miz Turner? Where did you find it?"

  A sly look crossed her face. "I can't remember."

  "When did you find it?"

  "I can't remember."

  "Tonight? Was it tonight?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Please, Miz Turner. It's very important."

  "Give me twenty dollars and I'll tell you."

  "I don't have twenty dollars on me. I'll give it to you later."

  She thought about it. "Okay. You can owe it to me. It was when they were playing that song I like. You know, the one that good-looking boy wrote about you."

  "Bye-Bye, Baby…?"

  "Yes," she said. "That one. I love that song."

  About thirty minutes.

  "Good! Try to remember if you saw anyone drop the letter. I'm going to go talk to my sister for a minute. You wait right here."

  "Give me my letter."

  "No, ma’am. I need to keep this. I have to give it to the police. It's important."

  "No. It's mine. You give it to me right now." She snatched the letter from me and stuffed it down her dress.

  "Miz Turner. Please give me the letter. Now."

  Charli came out of the ballroom. "Whew, it's hot in there."

  "Miz Turner, give me that letter, right now!"

  "Marty, don't yell at Miz Turner," Charli said. "That's not nice."

  "Have you seen Tim?" I asked her.

  "Not for a couple of hours. Why?" Charli said.

  I grabbed her hand. "Do you have your car keys?"

  "Yes."

  "Come on. We've got to go. Somebody's in trouble. We've got to hurry."

  I looked back at Gramma Turner as I pulled Charli out the door. She was reaching down into her dress to retrieve the note.

  "Marty, are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Charli asked.

  "When we get to the car. Here, give me your keys. I'll drive."

  Charli thought about arguing with me, but one look at my face must have changed her mind.

  I slipped behind the wheel of the SUV and started the engine. It was dark out. I pulled on the headlights and backed out of the parking space.

  "Okay, Marty. What's going on?"

  "We've got to go to Morley park. Someone is in great danger."

  "Who?"

  "I don't know. I just hope we aren't too late."

  36

  As soon as I got out of the hotel parking lot I smashed down on the accelerator. "Gramma Turner found a note that was typed on the same kind of paper like the one Mom found on her car the day of the murder," I told Charli. "It said, 'Fred. Morley park. Monday night. Ten P.M.'"

  I looked at my watch. "It's nine fifty-five now."

  "Maybe it was a joke. Maybe whoever wrote it lost it before they could give it to the person they intended it for. Maybe we should go back to the party. We should call the police. Where’s your phone?" Charli tried to argue.

  "Nessa took it, remember. Where’s yours?”

  “In my purse, which is back at the party.”

  “Okay. So, we need to go to the park and check it out. I have a bad feeling about this." I looked over at Charli.

  "I have a bad feeling, too. That's why we should stop somewhere and call the police," Charli kept arguing.

  "We will. We'll just go to the park, see if anyone is there, and then we'll go call the police."

  It took six minutes to get to the parking lot of the sewing factory that sits on the other side of the railroad tracks from the park. I stopped the car. We climbed out and crossed over to the other side of the tracks. There were two cars in the park's lot. Fred Thompson's and a dark colored pick-up truck. Vanessa?

  "Is that John's truck?" I asked.

  "I don't know. I can't tell from here. You don't think it's Vanessa, do you?"

  "I don't know. I just don't know."

  We snuck up the road to get a closer look. It was too dark. The park didn't have much in the way of night lighting yet. Like the restrooms, they were scheduled to be put in later. The only light came from a small pole next to the basketball court.

  "Look. Two people are back by the picnic table way in the back,” Charli said. "I'm pretty sure one of them is Fred."

  "Who's the other one? Is it Vanessa?"

  "I can't tell. Could be. Or Nancy Winslow. Maybe even Steve or Beth. Whoever it is, they're pretty tall. I just can’t tell. It's too dark."

  "Should we go see?"

  "What if they've got a gun? I thought you said we were going to call the police."

  "There's no time," I said. "Fred might kill again."

  "Fred? Fred killed Warren?" Charli looked scared.

  "I think so. Do you have a tire iron or a jack or anything in the back”

  "Just John's golf clubs. Why?"

  "Let's each get one. If we need a weapon, we can use the clubs."

  "We're going up against a murderer --someone with a gun -- armed with golf clubs. Good thinking, Marty."

  "Do you have a better idea?"

  We went back and grabbed the golf clubs.

  "Now what?" Charli said.

  "Let's go down the side of the fence and around to the rear through the woods. I think there's a gate back there. Maybe we can sneak up on them that way," I said.

  "Should we split up?" Charli asked. She was whispering.

  "You don't have to whisper yet. I think we should stick together. Safety in numbers."

  "Okay. But we should try not to make too much noise."

  We gently closed the trunk and crept back over the tracks and down to the woods next to the fence. It was a fairly clear night. Crickets and cicadas hummed and buzzed. I slapped at an overly determined mosquito.

  Charli gripped my arm as we went into the little thicket. "Do you think there are any snakes in here?"

  "Probably."

  She shuddered. "You better hope I don't step on one."

  We went a few steps and Charli pulled on my arm again. "My heel's stuck."

  "That's what you get for wearing high heels. Take your shoes off."

  "No way." She leaned heavily into me and yanked on her foot. "There. Crap! I broke the heel. Those shoes cost ninety-five dollars."

  "Charli, forget about your stupid shoe. Let's go."

  We made our way through the woods to the rear of the park. There wasn't a gate, but there was a place where the fence didn't meet the ground. It looked like the ground had washed away. I motioned to Charli to get down and crawl under. She motioned for me to go first. I plopped down on my stomach and slithered underneath while she held the fence wire up.

  Once I was on the other side, Charli slipped the golf clubs under. I held the fence wire up so she could crawl through. Her hair caught in the fence wire and I had to sort of yank it loose. I hated to think about how her ivory suit was going to look in the light. We crept up toward the picnic table and the big oak tree I’d cracked my head on.

  I heard Fred's voice. "It was you? All along? Did you kill Warren? Well, did you?"

  I couldn't hear the other person's response.

  "Did you hear that?" Charli whispered directly into my ear.

  I nodded and motioned for her to move closer to the toilets. We moved up until we were right behind them.

  "For Christ sake, put the gun down," Fred said. "Let's try to work this out."

  "I knew there would be a gun," Charli whispered. "We should get the gun."

  I missed the other person's answer because of Charli. I put my finger to my lips.

  "Please," Fred said, "Just give me the gun. I'll do whatever you want. Anything."

  I inched around behind the portable toilets to try and get a look. The moon came out from behind a cloud and I could see pretty clearly. There was a gun
pointed at Fred's middle.

  "Mom," Zach yelled out, "Drop the gun."

  He ran through the entrance gate and across the grass toward where Roberta and Fred were standing.

  I heard a gasp behind me. I looked around at Charli. Her eyes were like saucers. "Mom? Roberta?" she whispered.

  I nodded.

  "No. Zach, you get on back. This is between me and your dad. He's ruined my life and I won't let him get away with it anymore. I'm going to make him pay for everything he's put me through."

  "Please, Roberta. Let's try and talk this out. If it's about me leaving you, I won't. We'll go get counseling."

  "It's not that and you know it. It's everything. It's what you've turned me into. I hate you for what I've become."

  "Mom," Zach yelled, "Please! Listen to me. This isn't going to help anything. It's only going to make it all worse."

  "Worse? How can it be any worse? I've already killed one person. I'm a murderer, son. Do you hear that? A murderer. You think it's going to be any worse if I kill him?"

  "No!" Zach's cry was agonizing. "Stop saying that Mom. You're just confused. You had a bad dream, that's all. Come on, Mom. Give me the gun. I know you didn't kill anybody."

  "Yes, Zach, I did. I killed Warren. When your dad didn't come home the other night I thought he was with that woman again. After he'd promised me he would stay away from her. I took a baseball bat and I broke into her house. He was in the bed, sleeping. I hit him as hard as I could with it." Roberta dropped her voice so low I could barely hear her. "Only it wasn't Fred. It was Warren. Oh God, it was Warren."

  "No, no, Mom, don't say that," Zach said. "Please stop saying that."

  "But it's true, Zachie. I'm so sorry, but it's true. When I realized what I'd done, I panicked. That's when that woman got involved. Imagine, the one person I hate more than anything in the world, and I have to turn to her for help."

  "Nancy helped you?" Fred said.

  Roberta let out a little snort of laughter. "Yes. Isn't that rich. It was her idea to put Warren in the trash can. Although, I came up with the idea of putting that precious softball jersey of yours on him. But it cost me. It cost me plenty. I had to give her ten thousand dollars. But that wasn't enough for her. No. She wanted everything. She wanted to take away everything."

  Zach let out a low, horrible sounding moan.