The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  It sounded like a winner to me. “Okay, but whatever you do, make sure he doesn’t come in the back for any reason. Once I’m inside, give me about twenty minutes. Maybe you can get him to sit outside on the porch and talk about stuff. I’ll sneak out the back door and meet you down at Danny’s Mini-mart.”

  Charli handed me the last fork to dry. “At two o’clock tomorrow the Charli and Marty Detective Agency will be officially back in business,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

  “Marty and Charli. After all, it’s my freedom that’s at stake. Not to mention, you always get to go first,” I said with a wink.

  “Charli and Marty,” my sister smiled and winked back, clearly enjoying our private joke. “Charli and Marty Detective Agency. I’m the oldest.”

  18

  I was so psyched and primed for action that I hardly slept at all. It made for a very long night. The next morning, Charli headed off to her meeting before I crept out of bed, but she left me a breakfast of fake bacon, organic egg whites, and soy milk. This health food kick of hers was really starting to get out of hand.

  I scrounged around her kitchen, trying to find something that wasn’t ‘healthy’, finally resorting to eating the eggs and bacon on toasted whole wheat bread doused with a generous helping of catsup. The soy milk, I dumped down the drain. Some things just can’t be saved no matter how much you try and doctor them up. To make up for the lack of milk I helped myself to a handful of Charli’s chocolate calcium chews.

  After my shower I phoned the vet’s office. Dr. Parnell’s assistant said that I could pick up Delbert any time, so I threw on a pair of cut-offs and a GHS Highlanders t-shirt and cruised over to spring my buddy around ten-fifteen.

  “Marty, I know with all this police business and with losing your job you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” Dr. Parnell said, “and I’m afraid that Delbert has picked up on it. A lot of his problem is anxiety and all the changes in his routine. I’m going to prescribe some medication for him; they’re tranquilizers, and I think they’ll help calm him down and get him back to normal. Also, I want you to feed him small meals of this special cat food until he’s feeling better. Then you can go back to the Gourmet Deluxe if you want. I don’t recommend the other brand that you were feeding him. It has too many fillers and I’m not convinced of its safety and quality. I wouldn’t feed it to my own animals.”

  God, could I have felt any guiltier? I promised him that I’d feed Delbert exactly according to his instructions, paid out all but about $32 of the savings bond money I had left for the tests, overnight stays, and special cat food, then loaded poor Delbert into his kitty carrier. On the bright side, he seemed almost glad to see me although he still wouldn’t let me scratch his ears.

  Delbert’s pills cost me $28.50, leaving me with a grand total of $3.82 for gas money and chocolate attacks. I really hoped that my first unemployment check was in the mail, or I was going to resort to begging on the street or fishing coins out of the fountain down at the mall.

  I took Delbert back to Charli’s and rummaged through my bag for something suitable to wear to Albertino’s for my lunch date with Kyle. Nothing I had was even remotely appropriate, which meant I had to dash over to my apartment and hope like heck that my closet had somehow magically whipped up a few new outfits in my absence.

  Tim waltzed in just as I was shrugging on the third dress. It was a short black, rather tight, jersey dress that Mom had bought me for Christmas. I’d never worn it before, in fact, I’d never even tried it on. Usually the clothes that Mom buys for me are really expensive and nothing that I’d be caught dead in so I just stick them in the back of my closet. The wolf whistle Tim shrilled out led me to believe that in this instance I’d been wrong about Mom’s gift.

  “Wow. Nice dress. What’s the big occasion?” Tim popped open a can of root beer and handed it to me.

  I slugged down about half the can. Picking out clothes is hot work. “Lunch date at Albertino’s. Do you think this is okay or is it too much?”

  “Depends on how much you like the guy. If you like like him, it’s cool. If you just like him, you might not want to wear it. It, uh, it’s definitely sending out some signals.”

  I popped my feet into my black Aerosoles. “Good. Signals are definitely good. What have you been up to?”

  “Not much. I’m off tomorrow. Want to catch a movie, do something normal for a change?”

  I checked myself in the mirror. Tim was right, I was definitely sending off signals. I hoped Kyle knew how to decode them.

  “I’ll get back to you on that.” I gulped down the rest of the root beer and checked myself out one last time. This dress was one step away from dangerous. “I gotta scoot. Call you later.”

  I reached Albertino’s around five ‘til twelve. Kyle wasn’t there yet, but the hostess seated me at the table he’d reserved and brought me a glass of iced tea. I sipped it and watched the door, anxious to see Kyle and jump-start our relationship. A tray of glasses crashed to the floor near the swinging kitchen door and I turned to gawk. When I turned back, Kyle and the Jack Black look-alike were making their way toward the table.

  I stood up so that Kyle could get the full effect of my dress and smiled at the two men coming my way. I assumed that Kyle had bumped into the other man as he arrived and that he simply wanted to introduce the two of us. It wasn’t the first time that I’ve been wrong.

  “Marty, you know Tom Ellingsworth, I assume. I thought this might go a little smoother with Tom sitting in to answer any questions you might have.”

  What might go smoother with Ellingsworth sitting in? Who the hell was this Ellingsworth guy and why was he sitting in on our date? The name sort of rang a bell but I couldn’t quite place it. Was he Kyle’s attorney or something? Good Lord, did he really think he needed a lawyer just to have lunch with me?

  Before the paranoia became full blown it suddenly occurred to me why I recognized Mr. Ellingsworth’s name: He was the president of the big company that had bought WRRR, and was the one who’d fired me. Well, not personally fired me, but his name was on the memo.

  To say that I was baffled at this turn of events would have been one of Mom’s famous understatements. I felt like crawling under the table. Here I’d thought that I was on my way to a big romance with Kyle and he was thinking something else entirely. But what was he thinking and why had he invited Ellingsworth?

  Before I could ask what was going on, Kyle proceeded to explain to me that he was there in his capacity as vice president of Barfield Media Incorporated, Ellingsworth’s company. He hadn’t told me that before because he was involved in top secret negotiations to buy some additional properties and the folks he was negotiating with didn’t want the possible sale leaked to the papers and TV stations until everything was wrapped up.

  “You aren’t a CIA agent?” I finally managed to say through my astonishment.

  Kyle looked puzzled. “CIA agent? Where in the world would you get an idea like that?”

  “I, I, oh, never mind. So anyway, what does all this have to do with me?”

  Ellingsworth took over. “Miss Sheffield, Barfield Media has holdings throughout the United States, mostly television stations and a few newspapers. When we made the acquisition in this area we found ourselves owning a radio station, something fairly new to us. Unfortunately, we’ve made a couple of missteps and are in the process of readjusting.”

  He handed the ball off to Kyle. “Things haven’t been going like we expected them to, Marty. Since we went with the new format at WRRR, the numbers have hit rock bottom. We’ve sunk from third in the market to tenth in the last week and a half. Advertising revenues have plummeted too. A series of surveys conducted by our marketing department has led us to believe that the only way to salvage our investment is to junk the new format and go back to the old one. Well, with certain key modifications, that is.

  “You were mentioned by more than eighty-five percent of the people surveyed as being one of the best things about WRRR. We�
��re hoping that you’ll agree to sign back on with us to host what we expect to be our flagship show during morning drive. What do you say?”

  Unfortunately, I didn’t say anything, because at that very moment, just as I took a big swig of tea, I saw the entourage enter the restaurant and the tea spurted out of my mouth and doused Mr. Ellingsworth’s Armani suit. For some reason, I started laughing, probably to keep from crying, and some of the tea ran out of my nose, which, I imagine, was not a pretty sight.

  Kyle grabbed up a linen napkin and began to dab at Ellingsworth’s expensive suit while the other man sputtered and shouted that the offer was rescinded, that I was a loose cannon and he never, ever wanted to see me again. He stalked off to the restroom leaving Kyle and me alone at the table, Kyle staring at me in amazement because, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop laughing.

  My uncontrollable laughter and all of the other histrionics at our table did the very thing I’d hoped to avoid: it caught the attention of Glenvar’s number one claim to fame and the man who had so callously turned my life upside down.

  Yes, I’m talking about Ricky Ray Riley, country music’s latest heartthrob, himself.

  “Marty, darlin’! How the heck are you,” Ricky said. Every eye in the place was immediately locked in on us. There probably wasn’t anyone in a three county radius that didn’t know the history between the two of us. I imagine vast sums of money were being wagered to see how long before our little chat turned into a knockdown, drag-out fight.

  Seeing Ricky Ray so up close and personal sobered me and I finally managed to regain some semblance of self-control. Kyle recovered quite nicely himself as if having a potential employee spit tea all over his boss was an every day occurrence. He stood and offered Ricky his hand. While they introduced themselves to each other, I studied the former love of my life. Ricky looked good. Too freaking good.

  Dressed in tight black jeans, an even tighter black t-shirt, he’d obviously been working out. And without his trademark black cowboy hat with the red leather band pulled down over his sandy blonde hair, he looked even better in person than he does in his publicity shots. You know, there really ought to be a law requiring old boy friends to balloon up, go bald, and develop a serious case of acne immediately after a breakup.

  Ricky squeezed into the booth next to me and draped his arm around my shoulder, his hand almost resting on my breast. “Betcha you’re surprised to see me, aren’t you, darlin’?” He bussed me on the mouth, hard and firm and hungry and so incredibly familiar and, oh my God, I almost lost it right then and there.

  I jerked my head back and managed to get enough air to my lungs to put together words and make actual sentences. “What in the name of everything that’s good are you doing here?”

  He displayed his world-famous grin, the one that’s been know to cause women of all ages to have some seriously spicy fantasies. “Well, I’m fixin’ to head on over to Europe for a big ol’ tour and since I’ll be gone for Momma’s birthday I decided I’d better come on into town and have her a big ol’ party. It’s fixin’ to be a surprise so don’t go tellin’ her you saw me here or anything. It’s gonna be tomorrow night. You want to come?”

  Just as he finished saying that a statuesque brunette in a tight, tight mini-skirt and a barely-there wisp of fabric strategically covering her over-abundant breasts shimmied up to Ricky and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck.

  “Ricky,” she pouted, “how much longer do we have to stay in this wretched place? You promised to take me to the jewelry store.”

  Ricky untangled himself from her and gave her a little swat on the rump. “Chloe, I promise it won’t be but a few more minutes. You run on over there with Lew and the boys and wait for me. This here’s an old friend of mine, Marty Sheffield, and I’m just saying hello.”

  Chloe barely glanced my way, obviously knowing that someone like me couldn’t possibly be a threat to her. “Well, hurry up. I’m bored.”

  “I thought you were dating that blonde actress, what’s her name, oh yeah, Morgan,” I said.

  Ricky chuckled. “Past history. Chloe’s my gal now, ain’t you darlin’?”

  Chloe tossed her head. “Not if you keep me waiting too long,” she snarled.

  “Nice,” I said as Chloe stomped off. “Ricky your taste in women just gets worse and worse. I’ll bet your Momma’s gonna love that one.”

  Ricky laughed and threw his arm around me again, hanging on me like we were still a couple. “I don’t think Momma’s gonna be meetin’ Miss Chloe, to be honest with you. She don’t know it yet, but that trip to the jewelry store is for her goodbye present.” He nuzzled my neck. “God, Marty, you smell so dad gum good, I could eat you up.”

  Kyle stared at Ricky, then me, then back at Ricky.

  “We, uh, we used to be engaged,” I told him by way of explanation as I disengaged myself from Ricky and scooched away from him.

  “I see,” Kyle said. He gave me a look that left me feeling confused. It almost made me think that he was jealous.

  Kyle reminded Ricky that they’d met before, at some bigwig music magazine editor’s wedding back in March. Ricky was polite to him, saying that yes, he remembered the meeting, but he kept his eyes pinned to mine. It sent massive shivers racing over my entire body.

  I’d forgotten how penetrating and knowing those eyes were. Not to mention, sexy. I felt like if I didn’t get control of myself, I was going to find myself wishing I had. I blinked hard and looked away. But there was no escape. Kyle’s equally sexy eyes stared back at me. What was I going to do?

  I felt Ricky’s hand caressing my thigh, slipping higher and higher. It didn’t make it easy to think. I shoved him out of the booth and jumped up. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “Right now.” And I tore off out of the restaurant.

  “Marty, wait,” Ricky called. “Darlin’ I really need to talk to you.”

  I yanked open the door of the Mustang and jumped in. Ricky followed me, getting in on the other side.

  “Leave me alone,” I yelled at him. “Please, Ricky. Just leave me alone.”

  A tear slipped down my cheek. Ricky tenderly brushed it away and ran his fingers along the side of my face. “I’m sorry, honey. Please don’t cry. I just wanted to talk to you. Please.”

  I rested my face against his hand. It felt so warm and comfortable and safe. “Okay, so talk.”

  “I really want you to come to Momma’s party. She thinks the world of you and, well, Marty,” he said, dropping his ridiculous stage persona, “I’ve made some mistakes in my life, you know. Breaking up with you was probably the biggest one. I know that now and I want to, I want us to get back together. Give it another try. What do you say?”

  I didn’t say anything. It was the last thing I’d expected from him. He leaned over and kissed me again, this time long and lingering and I melted into it, wanting it to go on forever, but at the same time repulsed by it. “No, Ricky,” I said when I finally pulled away from him. “I can’t.”

  He gave me the grin again. “Don’t bet on it, darlin’. I’m going to do whatever it takes to make sure you change your mind.”

  He left me then. As he went up the steps to go back into Albertino’s I saw Kyle Zagle standing on the porch, staring at me. He sort of shook his head and then turned and went back inside. I thumped my head on the steering wheel, trying to bang some sense into myself, but all I got from it was a headache. I gave up on the self-flagellation and turned the key. Well, tried to anyway. The car, of course, refused to start.

  19

  No way was I going back inside that restaurant. I left the Mustang in the parking lot and moped down the street toward town, one minute wanting to rush back to Albertino’s and talk to Kyle, the next wanting to find Ricky and jump his bones, and then the next, (admittedly less often) thinking that maybe the best thing for me to do was to sign up for the Army. Either that or become a nun.

  Just as I’d hoped, I spotted Tim’s SUV in Pilazzo’s parking lot. He was the one ma
n I knew I could talk to. The one man who would give it to me straight. He was sitting outside on the patio at one of the wrought iron tables nursing a root beer and chomping on pretzels while he worked a crossword puzzle.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He glanced up from his crossword puzzle, then did a double take. “What’s wrong? What happened? I thought you had a big lunch date.”

  “So did I.”

  He used his foot to kick the chair across from him away from the seat. “Sit and spill it.”

  The wrought iron felt hot against my skin. “It wasn’t a date. At least I don’t think it was. He had Ellingsworth, the president of Barfield with him. They offered me a job. Well, they were in the process of offering me a job but then Ricky showed up.”

  Tim’s jaw dropped. “Ricky. Our Ricky?”

  “One and the same. He’s in town to celebrate his Mom’s birthday.”

  “Did you two get into it? You didn’t hit him or knife him or anything like that did you?”

  I didn’t want to tell Tim what happened, didn’t want to let him in on my confusion, but I did anyway. He nearly went through the roof.

  “Damn it, Marty, you can’t let him do this to you. Not again. I swear to God, if you go back to him, I’ll never speak to you again. I’m not picking the pieces of your heart up off the floor again, you understand?”

  It was exactly what I knew he’d say to me, but I didn’t like the way the words stung. “Nobody said you had to. Give me some credit, Tim. I’m not one of Ricky’s little Nashville-wannabe groupies. I know him. I know how he operates.”

  “No you don’t. You just think you do, Marty.” Tim slammed the paper down on the table and stalked off. “Don’t let him get to you. I meant what I said. I won’t watch you go through it again. I can’t,” he said on his way out.