Too Sweet to Die by T. Doyle (the false prince .TXT) 📗

I appreciated the subject change, but if God was involved, he could’ve sent Parker Collins over before his mother died. Although, Mrs. Collins did have a lot of cats... “How did she die?” I pushed the picture of Hilda Collins being consumed by calicos out of my head.

“I don’t know.” Mrs. McGuffin’s haughty reply came with that same what-kind-of-idiot-are-you look Ray hurled my way when we first met. Mrs. McGuffin was a bit prickly and I promised to be nicer to Ray in the future.

“I never did like Hilda’s son, Parker, and neither did Ray.” She waved her hand. “Parker’s always flashing his money around. There’s something fishy there, if you ask me.”

Ingrid looked perplexed. Jack looked uncomfortable. Rosemary looked at her fingernails.

“Isn’t Parker older than Ray? How does he know him?” I ignored the spending barb, Parker drove a Camry and worked as a pharmacist.

Mrs. McGuffin leaned forward in her chair. “I can see you there, you idiot.” The venom in her voice caused Mr. McGuffin to retreat past the cozy nook and hide behind the potted plants with Evie Feeney.

I wished Nora would return, but she was waiting at the front of the line for the bathroom.

Switching subjects, I asked, “Mrs. McGuffin, did you know Oscar Robles?”

“Margarita’s boy?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a hoarder, you know. Hummels, toaster ovens, and vacuum cleaners.”

“I think someone told me that,” I said.

“Yes. Poor boy. That’s probably why he’s a gay.” Mrs. McGuffin’s logic escaped me.

“Hoo boy.” Jack pushed his chair back, and his wide eyes seemed to search for an escape. “Want more tea, Rosemary? Charlie? Ingrid? Jenny?”

“No, thank you,” we answered like a Greek chorus.

“Good, good.” He waved and made his way to the coffee counter.

Ingrid clucked. “I’m pretty sure being surrounded by toaster ovens wouldn’t change who you found attractive.”

Mrs. McGuffin’s head cocked, her eyebrows rose, like she was ready to explain her theory on what makes one homosexual.

“Oscar was working with Tyler Rigby,” I said, hoping the new subject would distract her. “Could Tyler have enemies?”

“Now how would I know that?” Mrs. McGuffin asked.

“Ray mentioned you knew everyone in town so well.” I attempted an innocent smile.

She pinched her lips and pulled on the white acrylic bead necklace that hung down the front of her dress. “People like me. They find me easy to talk to.”

“I can see that.” I scooched my chair closer.

“Poor man. Did you know Tyler’s wife left him?” Mrs. McGuffin frowned, like the details were getting fuzzy.

“That was a while ago, wasn’t it? Four or five years?” I remembered Drew and Ann had been living at home at the time. Or were all three kids at home? Dear God, why couldn’t I remember? Was this place rubbing off on me?

“Really?” A flash of confusion or maybe a hint of panic crossed Mrs. McGuffin’s face.

I patted her hand. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you, dear.”

A flash of orange caught my eye. Sweet baby Jesus in the manger. Ray’s father was behind the ficus with Evie. Toothless Evie was eating his face, and his hand was moving—. Eye bleach. I needed eye bleach.

I hurried to distract Mrs. McGuffin. “Why did Tyler Rigby get a divorce?” Squelching wet sounds and slurps emanated from the ficus tree area. I prayed it was the espresso machine.

Mrs. McGuffin waved her hand. “That’s old news. She hated his friend, you know. They had a big fight at Dewie’s Dogs. She was yelling at him that Peter wasn’t a real friend. It was the only time I ever saw Tyler get flustered. They got a divorce just a month after that. Makes me wonder what kind of relationship he had with Peter.” Mrs. McGuffin raised her eyebrows and I chose not to go there. “Then, his wife got pregnant and delivered seven months after she remarried. Poor Tyler. He wanted a family so much. He specializes in adoption now. His wife, well, I shouldn’t tell you this, but I think she was having an affair.”

“I heard that recently.” Rosemary dead-panned.

“That’s a shame,” I said.

“Yes.” Mrs. McGuffin leaned forward and whispered, “She delivered the baby seven months after her second wedding. Poor Tyler.”

I scrounged for a new subject to get her off the baby-in-seven-months loop. “I met your son, Raylin, the other day. You must be glad he’s back in town.”

“Yes. I’m happy he’s home. He’s retired now. He’s on disability after being shot.”

He’d never mentioned being shot, but then again, I hadn’t talked to him about anything other than Oscar. I seriously needed to apologize and start-over with Ray.

Jack returned with tea for everyone. I wasn’t sure where the messages got crossed. Maybe he needed a hearing test, too. He plunked down packets of sugar beside each cup.

“Thank you.” I added a packet of sugar to the steamy cup.

“You bet, kiddo.” Jack sat.

Rosemary pushed her cup away. “Nobody wanted tea, Jack.”

“They didn’t know they wanted tea, love.” He winked at me.

“Everyone liked Oscar.” Mrs. McGuffin stirred the sugar in her cup. “Some people are like that. Everybody is their friend. Ray’s like that.”

I choked on my tea wondering if she meant the female population between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. “I really appreciate all the help he’s given me with cleaning out Oscar’s cabin.”

“Can you find him a good woman, Charlie? He needs someone like you. And a haircut.”

“I’ll try. You said Tyler did adoptions? That seems like satisfying work.” I wanted to see if a new approach would get us back to people who might not like Tyler.

Ingrid perked up. “He was my son, Isaac’s lawyer. I have two beautiful grandchildren from Guatemala because of Tyler’s hard work.”

“That’s wonderful.” I grinned.

Ingrid passed me her keys, the fob was a small frame with a Christmas photo of her son and family.

“They’re beautiful.” Ingrid’s son was blond and blue-eyed, his wife a red head, and they each held a brown-eyed happy toddler in their lap.

“Those kids are American.” Mrs. McGuffin sniffed.

Ingrid’s lips pursed.