The Doom Diva Mysteries Books 1

by Sherry M. Siska

  “Who’s Stephan?” Otey asked.

  “Stephan Johannson,” I said. “That actor with the bad haircut and the great body. Don’t look at me like that. I only know because Giselle made me do a whole segment on it. He starred with Beauline in all those teen alien movies.”

  Charli broke back in. Her voice grew louder and louder as she became more excited. “It was a huge scandal. She and Stephan supposedly were madly in love and were practically engaged, but after the rumors started about her and Ricky Ray, Stephan dumped her.”

  “So, you think this Stephan guy is behind it?” Otey said, his brow furrowed.

  “No. But, well, there’s more. Rumor has it there are photos of Ricky and her...” Charli looked around and then dropped her voice to a whisper “...doing it.”

  “Holy crap! Where did you hear that?” I asked.

  Charli ignored my question. “Stephan and Beauline’s fans are even more bat-poop crazy than those nutso Rays. It’s bizarre, actually. Some of them evidently have confused the actors with the characters they play. There are whole websites devoted to proving that the two of them are some sort of perfect couple with a perfect love that can’t be broken, just like in the movie when, even though the guy is an alien from a planet that’s at war with the earthlings, the two characters they play find a way to stay together. Some of them even have this theory that the two actors are secretly married and a few of them have been arrested for sending death threats to anyone that says otherwise. So, you can imagine what would happen if those pictures actually exist.”

  I thought about how deranged Sugar and Rose were and how much more nuts a person would have to be to invest so much emotional energy into the relationship of a couple of twenty-something year old actors that they’d threaten people who were more grounded in reality.

  “So, you think one of those crazy fans of theirs is responsible for Ricky’s car being at the bottom of that ravine?” I said.

  “Absolutely,” Charli said. “Based on the gossip and that graffiti, I’m one hundred percent sure.” She leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed, looking like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary.

  “Well, aren’t you little Miss Smug” I said.

  Dave, Pilazzo’s owner, brought Charli’s order and my onion rings over. “Hey, no vaping in here,” he told the kid at the bar before asking us if we needed anything else.

  Charli thanked him and shrugged on her jacket. “Smug has nothing to do with it, Marty. I’m confident. There’s a difference, you know. And just remember this conversation when I’m proven right.”

  “Marty, you think Charli’s right?” Otey asked once my sister was out the door.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know, Otey. It would explain the graffiti and Ricky’s bugging out, I guess.”

  I was actually glad to finally have a few minutes alone with him. I’d been dying to see if he’d noticed Izzy’s reaction when he said he was bringing that coconut water to Vivi. Call me nosy, but I also wanted to find out if he and May Lynda were serious.

  “So, Otey, I was really surprised when you said Vivi texted you. I didn’t know you two kept in touch.” I tried to act nonchalant when I asked.

  A whole line of sweat beads suddenly covered his forehead, so I knew I’d hit a nerve. “Yeah, well, not that much. I mean, uh, sometimes. See, it’s uh, well, she started texting me occasionally back in the summer. Just a couple of old friends, sharing memories and laughs. Nothing to it.” He picked up a napkin and dabbed his face. “Is it extra hot in here tonight?”

  “Not really. Feels a little cool to me.” I took a sip of my root beer and waited a few seconds before continuing my interrogation. “If you don’t mind my asking, what does May Lynda think of you texting her sister? She okay with it?”

  Otey dabbed harder at the pool of sweat on his head. “Uhm, well, uhm, she don’t actually know,” he mumbled, refusing to meet my eyes.

  I started to tell him he was asking for trouble, but decided to keep my mouth shut for once. I stuffed an onion ring in it to keep from going back on that thought.

  Otey took a deep breath, as if he’d made a decision. “So, here’s the thing, Marty. I like May Lynda. A lot. It’s just that, well, she’s so danged jealous.” He chuckled nervously. “Heck, she’s even jealous of you. Thinks I’ve got a thing for you. I told her time and time again we’re just buddies. Like the way it is with me and Timbo, but she gets all in a tizzy about it and says I’m just telling her that. If she’s jealous of you, imagine how she’d get if she thought I had a thing for her sister.”

  “Do you?” I asked. “Do you still have a thing for Vivi?”

  He furiously wagged his head back and forth, but I’ve played enough poker with Otey to know when he’s lying. His left eye twitched ever so slightly. “Course not. You know she’s all the way off in L.A. hanging out with big shot actors and stuff. She wouldn’t ever be interested in a Podunk guy like me noways. Way outta my league.”

  He must have realized how that sounded. “Not that I’m interested noways. I’m with May Lynda. She’s a good girl. Little bit overly dramatic sometimes, but still and all...”

  Since he was starting to stammer again and dripping more and more sweat, I decided to let it go. Sort of. “What about Izzy? I mean Bella. She sure looked like she was interested in you tonight. Well, until she found out you were bringing that coconut water to Vivi.”

  He slapped his hand hard on the table, setting his beer to wobbling. “Hell to the no. That one, she is cuh-raaa-zee. Everybody thinks we broke up in high school ‘cause of Vivi, but that wasn’t it at all. Izzy, she’s got some serious mental crap going on in that there head of hers. You have no idea the BS I put up with when we were together.”

  Just then Dave delivered Tim’s food, so I chugged the last of my root beer and gathered my things. I went around the table and hugged Otey, then looked around cautiously to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Dave had gone back into the kitchen and the kid at the bar was still twirling his vape pen around his fingers while studying something he’d written in one of those black and white covered notebooks. “We still on for tomorrow?” I whispered.

  Otey mimicked me by glancing around before whispering back. “Yeah. Skillet Road or the Playground?”

  “Skillet Road. Three o’clock.”

  Okay, so here’s the thing: Otey and I actually were sneaking around, but not in a bad way. The truth is, he was, well, he was training me. I’d suddenly noticed a few weeks after Tim and I got together that my clothes were getting a little bit snug. I resisted at first, but, when I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans one morning and realized I could no longer zip or button them, I freaked out a little. When I stepped on the scale and saw I’d gained ten pounds, I knew, then and there, that something had to give.

  That’s when I asked Otey if he’d work out with me, even though the thought of exercise bored me to tears. I talked him into keeping it a secret because I wanted to surprise Tim. Otey had agreed and, for the past six or so weeks, we’d been surreptitiously meeting up to work out. Somedays we’d run at an old road that was closed to traffic because the bridge on it was unsafe. Other days, we did a boot camp style workout in or behind Otey’s shop at what he called the playground. It wasn’t an actual playground of course. It consisted of a bunch of old tires and ropes and some obstacles that he used in his personal training business. It was super challenging, but a sort of fun way to work out. By fun, I mean, of course, not wanting to stab myself in the eye with a fork.

  I gave him another quick hug and headed off to deliver dinner to my sweetheart. I couldn’t help but feel a little smug myself on the drive over to the police station. I remember thinking at the time how Tim and I actually did have a perfect relationship. How we were both totally on the same page. Heck, I even thought, they should make a movie about us and our love, not some lame-o story about alien lovers.

  When I got to the station, Tim and I sat in my car while he ate his sandwich. I told him about Charli’s gossi
p and her theory and asked what he thought.

  “I doubt it,” he said. “It’s probably just bad luck. I mean, Ricky’s an idiot and all, but I don’t see him letting anybody take sex pictures. It would kill his momma. On the other hand, maybe it is true. What’s that you and Charli call it people get what’s coming to them? Karma? Maybe Ricky’s finally getting his karma for being a turd ball all those years.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe the Doom Divas finally had enough of torturing me and decided it was time to move on. Maybe they’ve finally figured out they were after the wrong person. Maybe, just maybe.” I chuckled, which in hindsight was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back and caused the tricky trio to stop in their tracks, turn around, and fling that big old stinkin’ pile of bad karma right back in my face. Some people just never learn, do they?

  5

  Considering that Ricky Ray was still missing, the rest of the night and the next morning were relatively uneventful. I was just about to go on the air when Giselle called in with a lame excuse about not feeling well. I ended up doing the whole four-hour show without her, which is pretty exhausting considering that a good chunk of the morning drive on-air time is spent on talk instead of music. Usually, even though it’s mostly her butting in or cutting me off to talk about herself, or the two of us arguing with each other over stupid stuff, at least Giselle is there for me to interact with.

  Being alone meant I had to figure out ways to keep things interesting. The couple of times I’d previously been stuck doing it, I just called up people and got them to chat with me about random stuff. Otey usually could be counted on for a couple of segments on tattoos and motorcycles or improving fitness, but I couldn’t get hold of him, and every other person I tried either didn’t answer or didn’t feel up to going on air. By the time I handed over the booth to the mid-day jock at ten, I was sick of my own voice. I slipped out of the station as quickly as possible in an attempt to avoid my boss, Herb, knowing that if I ran into him I’d have to listen to a long lecture about all the things I’d done wrong during the show.

  A piece of paper stuck out from under the driver’s side windshield wiper blade of my Mustang. I pulled it out and crumpled it, figuring it was an advertisement for one of the stores in the shopping center next door or for the new gym opening across the street. I was about to toss it into the floor board but my curiosity got the best of me. If it was an ad for that gym, I wanted to know how much it cost to join so I could gloat to myself about the fact that Otey wasn’t charging me anything.

  It wasn’t an ad. Well, it was, but the ad was crossed out and someone with fairly neat handwriting had written,“Dear Marty. Eye got my Eye on U. Luv, UR Secret Admirer.” In place of the words I and eye, they had put cartoon drawings of eyes. I chuckled. That Tim. He must have had one of his co-workers write it to disguise his handwriting. I glanced around to see if he was hiding somewhere, waiting for me to read it, but the only other person around was a kid wearing a flannel shirt, hoodie, and vest sitting on the bus stop bench out in front of the station.

  I tucked the note down into my tote bag and headed back over to the Riley’s to see what I could do to help, stopping first to meet up with Tim for lunch at Pilazzo’s. I was so dazzled by my boyfriend and my food that I completely forgot to ask him about the note.

  My belly -- and my heart -- full, I parked once again on the street in front of Mom and Dad’s, and trotted around to the Riley’s. The weather had cleared off and it was a beautiful Virginia fall day: slightly crisp, dry air, with bright sunshine and temps in the mid-50s. The crowd had thinned out just a wee bit, but, then, it was Monday and presumably some of the people who’d been hanging around on Sunday had actual jobs to go to. The majority of the Rays, however, still hung in there.

  They seemed to be arranged in distinct layers of striation. Occupying the outer layer, closest to the street were the mostly young girls, who had apparently ditched school and were there to see if they could get on television, get noticed by some bigwig producer type, and become famous. I knew that was their motive because, when Ricky and I were still together, I had a chat with a couple of girls just like them one night before a concert where he was the opening act, and that’s what they told me they were hoping for. That or to be Ricky’s girlfriend. Or, just to sleep with him so they could hopefully get pregnant, be his baby-momma, and be set for life.

  They were mostly teenagers and young twenty-somethings, and almost all were dressed in glittery, skimpy, micro-minis and teetering on five-inch heels. They postured and argued in shrill voices with each other and with several middle-aged women who were, embarrassingly for them, dressed just like the teens. Those women looked like harder, older versions of Giselle, what with their slutty clothes, boob jobs, bleached blonde hair, and caked on make-up.

  There were also a few androgynously dressed kids hanging out back there, too. They mostly stood off to one side, trying to act like they weren’t part of the crowd, while clearly being part of the crowd. I noticed that one of them was the kid I’d seen earlier at the bus stop out by the station. I stared at him (or was it her?), wondering if he was following me. That’s when I remembered I’d seen him at Pilazzo’s the night before. I probably wouldn’t really have noticed, but he was still wearing the same outfit, only with an army green messenger bag slung across his body. The kid looked away quickly when I caught his eye, but took a hit off of his vape pen before sauntering off and blending into the crowd.

  I thought about going after him and asking if he was stalking me, but a slight ruckus started in the next layer, which consisted of the few men in the crowd. Two of them had been in the process of planning a hookup, which apparently was upsetting a third member of the group. No one else in that layer seemed to notice there was an issue because the others, about a half-dozen strong, clustered together listening intently as a well-dressed older gentleman suggested they coordinate their efforts in order to try and get invited inside the Riley’s house, where they would offer to help. Failing that, he suggested, they should go down to the police station and offer to join the search and rescue operation. A couple of the younger guys seemed quite horrified at this suggestion and butted in, arguing that they really loved Ricky, but there was just no way they were going to mess up their $700 Coletta jeans and designer shirts tromping around in the woods.

  The final strata, closest to the house, held the “true” fans, the most hard-core -- and craziest -- of the Rays. It was, of course, where Sugar and Rose held court. Ten to fifteen other women, all dressed in full Ricky Ray regalia, surrounded the two of them. One of the other women, who appeared to be forty-something, wore a backless dress so everyone could see her elaborate tattoo of Ricky Ray dressed as a vampire, sweeping up his lady love and carrying her off. The lady love, of course, bore a striking resemblance to the woman herself. If I hadn’t known that it would just go right in one of her ears and out the other, I would have stopped and given her a serious talking to, telling her that she might want to consider indulging in a little bit of mental health counseling.

  Thankfully, that crew either didn’t see me or chose to ignore me. I scooted past them, happy to have dodged another confrontation. The three Conrad sisters huddled on the far end of the porch, engaged in a very heated discussion. Well, at any rate, the twins were having a heated discussion, mostly in loud whispers and with clenched teeth in an attempt to keep the yard folks from overhearing. May Lynda, ever the peacemaker, tried in vain to get Vivi and Izzy to calm down and stop arguing.

  Unfortunately, the only words the twins said that I could make out were “you lied”, “you promised”, “I told her not to” and “for once in your stupid little life”. Izzy’s face was beet red and her fists were as clenched as her teeth. Vivi alternated between puffing on her vape pen and using it as a pointer, jabbing it toward her sister to punctuate her argument.

  May Lynda was sobbing yet again. Of course, like I mentioned previously, May Lynda in tears wasn’t all that unusual of a si
ght. I’m pretty sure she spent half of her life during high school in her favorite teacher’s room, bawling about one thing or another, and the other half in the bathroom fixing her makeup.

  When she noticed me, May Lynda grabbed each twin by a shoulder, sort of gave them a shake, and pointed in my direction.

  Suddenly, a change went over Vivi. She plastered a big, beauty-pageant smile on her face and put her free hand gently against Izzy’s face. “Dear, dear, Izz. We really do know how to hit each other’s buttons, don’t we,” she murmured before turning her fake smile and her attention to me.

  “Why, hello, Marty. Good to see you today.” Her voice sounded anything but friendly and, combined with her fake smile, let me know right away that she actually wasn’t particularly happy with my presence. If Vivi was unhappy to see me, her sisters were even less so. Izzy practically shot darts at me and May Lynda managed to give me a dirty look despite her tears. Again, I couldn’t help but wonder what on earth I’d done to conjure up such strong dislike from the younger members of the Conrad family.

  Well, except for May Lynda. After all, according to Otey, she seemed to think he was in love with me. If I thought Tim was in love with some other girl, I’d probably not like that girl much either. She dabbed at her eyes with a wadded-up tissue, took a swig from her bottle of that nasty coconut water, then just turned and walked away without saying another word. Izzy and Vivi, though, as far as I knew, had not one iota of a reason to dislike me.

  I decided to take a page from Mom’s book of how to act in such circumstances and react as if the girls were my long-lost best friends. “Well, hey, gals! Hope all is well with everyone. Any word or news from Ricky Ray?” I sounded like I’d taken a hit of happy juice.