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

the right, and wood tables, polyurethaned to a high shine, were clustered in odd groups around the center.

And most of the tables were occupied.

“This place is hopping for being so far from town,” I said.

“It’s a rite of passage, everyone goes to the Pickle. You should see it on race days. Gotta know someone to get in.”

“Ew.” Marabel’s comment about Ray flashed in my mind. “Don’t ever mention rites of passage again.”

“What?” He cocked his head and studied me.

I probably looked like I swallowed Drew’s dirty sweat sock. “Someone described you as a rite of passage.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah? Huh.” He rolled his shoulders back.

“Ray.” I patted his puffed-up shoulders. “That’s not a good thing.”

“For you, maybe, but for me, I mean, it’s…” He noticed my expression. “Hey, look the thing about Vi–I didn’t know Jana was her niece. They don’t have the same last name.”

“She’s like twenty years younger than you.” The mama-bear in me awoke and wanted to do battle.

His eyes widened. “She’s an adult. She may have crappy taste in guys, but… Look, Vi’s panties are in a twist because she and her niece have me in common. That’s Vi’s issue, not mine and not Jana’s. You can ask Jana.”

I shuddered. “There’s a discussion I’m never going to have.” Mama-bear or not, it wasn’t like Ray had forced himself onto the female population.

“Fine.” He gave me a half-hearted eye-roll and looked around.

Hozier’s Someone New blasted from the speakers. Televisions placed around the space with the sports announcer’s words rolled across the screen added to the overwhelming sense that I was experiencing a modern-day Tower of Babel.

“Isn’t this your song?” a melodic voice said behind Ray. I caught the refrain about loving a stranger.

Ray turned toward the voice.

A small brunette peered up at him with an easy smile. Behind her stood a large glaring lumberjack-man, his hands possessively wrapped around her shoulders.

“Gwen?” Ray put his hand out to shake hers. “When did y’all buy the Pickle?”

“About five years ago. This is my husband, Sawyer.” She gave a quick shake and dropped Ray’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Ray held his hand out.

Sawyer stared at it and then narrowed his eyes at Ray.

Ray dropped his hand.

“This is Dr. Joe Sanders’ wife, Charlie.” Ray shifted and pushed me forward.

Sawyer’s head nodded slow, like the act of greeting someone was a foreign motion.

Gwen thrust her hand forward. “Sure. Dr. Sanders fixed Sawyer’s knee after his ATV accident.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” I tried to speak with the same amount of Gwen’s enthusiasm. Sawyer and Gwen were yin and yang in personalities and size.

“I called earlier.” Ray shifted his weight, leaning back. “I think I talked to Sawyer.”

Sawyer blinked. And I guessed since Sawyer hadn’t spoken, Ray was guessing either Sawyer was mute, unfriendly, or incapable of answering a phone. Sawyer had that Alpha-Dog thing going on, and he didn’t seem to like Ray in his territory.

I stepped closer. “We’re here about Oscar Robles.” I tried to dazzle him with my friendly smile and thrust my hand toward Sawyer.

Sawyer’s big hand dwarfed mine. His grip wasn’t too firm, and he returned my hand, so I figured things were going pretty well.

Gwen leaned closer. “It’s really loud in here. How about we talk in the office?”

“Sure.” I looked at Ray, who actively avoided Sawyer’s glower. Although, after Vi and Marabel earlier today, Ray should’ve grown immune to ocular censure.

I followed Gwen through the kitchen, past a freezer door, and into a small office. Ray’s footsteps thudded behind me.

File cabinets lined one wall of Gwen’s office. She sat in the rolling chair behind a desk with a laptop and three stacks of papers. “Phew, it’s really busy out there.”

“Yeah. Seems like the whole town is here.” I stepped further into the office with Ray shadowing me, and Sawyer hulking in the doorway.

Gwen tilted her head toward Sawyer. “Sawyer’s really good at packing them in.” She slid Sawyer a sweet smile, filled with love and pride. The smile fell off her face when she turned to Ray. “How can I help you?” She pointed to a chair.

I sat down.

Ray remained shoulder to shoulder with Sawyer, by the door, and if Gwen had a type it was tall, dark, and burly.

Ray’s face morphed into a mask of seriousness. “We found the Salty Pickle’s business card in Oscar Roble’s desk. Do you remember him?” He spoke clearly, and I realized this was Ray-the-Cop.

Gwen’s eyes flicked to Sawyer.

“Yes.” Sawyer’s voice was low, serious, and rumbled like thunder.

I startled. Sawyer could do voice-overs for Lurch on the Addams Family. But then he didn’t say anything else. It was like asking the kids ‘how was school?’ and they answered ‘fine’.

I turned my chair, squeaking against the linoleum and faced Sawyer. “Oh, good. How did you know him?”

Sawyer shrugged.

Gwen huffed. “Sawyer Finn Cassidy, answer the question.”

His lips firmed, but his eyes warmed. He ignored Ray and spoke directly to me. “He played poker here, probably four times a month. He was good. Very good.”

Ray’s eyes did that weird thing he’d tried earlier when he’d first seen Vi. The thing was, I couldn’t understand his facial tics. He seemed to give up, rolling his eyes and then staring me down with his cop glare.

“Good enough to play in tournaments and win?” I asked Gwen, hoping she was polite enough to ignore Ray’s facial gymnastics and the awkward silence.

Gwen’s eyes flicked to Sawyer. The married couple had no trouble with unspoken communication.

Sawyer nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good enough to make someone angry?” My question hung in the air, in between the smell of fried onions and beef.

“No.” Sawyer frowned, his eyes darkened, and his fists clenched. “Wait, you think someone here would hurt Oscar?”

Angry Sawyer was a bit scary. I wilted, and gave a pained smile. “I’m not sure.” My voice trailed off, making it sound more like a question than an answer.

Ray looked like he wanted to smack sense into me. “No, but we found a note cleaning out his place, and he could owe