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

She nodded. “It doesn’t need to look like an accident. We’re all just waiting to die here.”

My skin chilled. Were there nursing homes for sociopaths with Alzheimer’s?

“Suffocation would be a bad idea, there’s always evidence.” Ray’s calm tone seemed to cajole her.

Her eyes sharpened, intelligent and coy. “Come now, Ray. You’re better than that. Burking.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Burking. It’s a real thing. Google it.” She fluffed the blanket on her legs, and it fell past her feet.

Ray pulled out his phone and poked the little screen with his big finger. “It’s a real thing.” He handed me his phone.

The article defined Burking: Suffocation while sitting on the person’s chest leaving no ligature marks behind named after a serial killer named Burke.

I wondered if Mrs. McGuffin would be able to maneuver faster than Evie.

“Clever, Ma. Where did you learn this at?”

Mrs. McGuffin shrugged. “We get three good channels. One of them is Investigation Discovery. It’s either that, Home Shopping Network, or Mother Angelica.”

“I see your point. I’ll see if we can’t add Hulu or Netflix to your TV.” Ray’s patience impressed me. I doubt I’d be as understanding if my mother decided to plot murder because she was bored.

“I’d never hurt her. Or your father.” Mrs. McGuffin patted her heart and seemed to make herself smaller. “It’s the only fun I have.” She pouted, and reminded me of Angela Lansbury, if Angela Lansbury could appear put upon for not being allowed to plot a murder.

Ray cleared his throat.

“Maybe stick with crosswords, or branch out to Sudoku. No more spreading rumors, and it’s actually illegal to make threats,” I said.

“What are they going to do to me? I’m already locked up.” She sounded exasperated.

“Mrs. McGuffin, if you continue to spread rumors about patients having sexually-transmitted diseases…” I hit her with my yeah-I-know-you-did-it glare and she shrunk further into her chair. “Or plot murders, we’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Ma, when they kick you out of here, you’ll be placed into the state facility with folks that really are sick and not quite right in the head.”

She huffed. “Carl would never let it get that far.”

“Dad won’t have a choice. Please, Mom? The drive alone is like three bucks in gas,” Ray said lightly.

“Fine.” She folded her hands on her lap. “What are you doing in your retirement?”

He stretched out in the small chair. “I helped Charlie pack up Oscar’s stuff.”

“What was his place like?” His mother perked up.

“Fastidiously neat,” I said.

She seemed to consider this. “He was a gay, and maybe after living with his mother he needed things neat. Poor boy.”

I ignored her homophobia and hoped it was due to her dementia.

“You can’t think of anyone that would want to kill Oscar or Mrs. Collins, can you?” Ray sat up straight and jiggled his knee.

“No. They just weren’t the kind of people to make anyone angry.” Mrs. McGuffin rolled her eyes. “Of course, it’s probably family. Nobody drives you as crazy as family.”

“You don’t say.” Ray’s lips twitched.

She smiled, and for a brief moment, Jenny McGuffin was there, fully present, and then she was gone. The smile stayed locked in place for seconds too long, frozen, waiting for a prompt. Ray must have recognized the look.

“I’m gonna go now, Ma. Don’t threaten anyone, okay?”

She fussed with the lap blanket. “As if I’d ever do that.” Her lips twisted into a lemon-sucking face that matched her tart tone. “While you’re gone, get a haircut and shave. You look like a Yeti.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll consider it. Love you, Ma.”

“Love you, too.” She patted his shoulder. “Charlie, see if you can’t get him to cut his hair.”

“I’ll try, Mrs. McGuffin.”

We stepped outside and Ray scrubbed the back of his neck. “We tried. And she remembered to eat lunch today.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Probably not. That’s why we send in the nurse’s assistants.”

“Oh.” A frown settled on his face. He took a step back and checked me out from head to toe.

“What the heck are you doing?” I crossed my arms.

“You wearing that to the casinos?” His eyes fell to my white sneakers poking out from under my navy blue scrub pants.

“No. I’m going home to change.”

He glanced past my shoulder, eyes narrowing, focused on the CNA. “You know,” he sounded careless, “in most movies, nurses wear something different.”

I smacked his shoulder. “Stop watching porn.” I walked toward my station.

He followed, chuckling. “Sorry. Well, not really. I’ll pick you up at three thirty.”

“Right.”

Violet sat at the nurses’ station with Marabel. Four eyes of pure fury focused on Ray.

Ray stopped. “See you later.” He turned and headed back toward his mother’s room, and I assumed an exit.

“Chicken,” I said.

“Yep.”

Chapter Ten

Ray pulled into my driveway exactly at three thirty. I grabbed my purse and waved to our next door neighbor, Stephanie Wilson. She stuffed the open-house signs in the back of her trunk and eyed Ray’s car.

Yep. I was pretty sure that by tomorrow morning everyone would know I’d gotten into Ray’s car unaccompanied by a chaperone.

Ray rolled down his window. “Hey, Steph, how’s it going?” His flirtatious tone surprised me.

Stephanie had to be sixty, but she giggled like a sixteen-year old. “I’m great, Ray. It’s good to see you.” She sidled over to him, dark brown dyed hair frozen on her head, but it matched the painted-on eyebrows.

Fascinated, I edged over to the passenger side of the car. It was like watching a vulture circle fresh meat. I got in Ray’s car.

“You still living all the way out at the lake, Ray?” She leaned against his window, and her size-C’s looked like flotation devices.

Rumors about her plastic surgery in Lexington may have been true.

Ray didn’t flinch, although I think Joe would have. “Yep. It’s how I met Charlie and Joe.”

She looked through the window, ducking down.

I could see she wore a lacy bra. Dang. She looked great. Maybe I needed to do an overhaul for Joe?

Ray turned, ignoring the Victoria Secret ear muffs. “Steph was