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

someone money and Charlie’s trying to settle Oscar’s accounts.” Ray’s professional tone seemed to calm some of Sawyer’s anger.

Sawyer shook his head. “We play table stakes only. If the dealers allowed side bets, they’d be out of a job.”

“Who did Oscar play poker with, usually?” I asked.

Ray pulled a small notebook and pen out of his back pocket. The fluid motion looked as familiar to him as breathing. I wondered if he missed investigating.

Sawyer shifted his weight. “Everybody and anybody that wanted to play.” Sawyer crossed his arms, and his shirt sleeves slid up his forearms revealing complicated tribal tattoos.

“What about the other regulars? Any of them here today?” Ray asked.

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not letting you harass my customers.”

I leaned forward on my chair. “We won’t. I promise. It’s just, I was hoping to understand this part of Oscar’s life.” I faced Gwen. “He was like a son to me, and I can’t believe he would accidentally overdose on insulin. He was so careful.” It was a lie. I cared about Oscar and I hated the relationship he had with his parents, and I wanted him to have justice, but if it had been Drew…I’m not sure I’d survive.

Gwen nodded. “I remember that about him, he told me he was diabetic and had to be careful about what he ate and drank.” That sweet smile slid on to her face, again. “Sawyer, who was the girl who played with him the last time? The one with the horrible laugh?”

Sawyer sighed. “Christine Scottman. I think they knew each other from school.” He looked at me. “And she’s not here today.”

“Okay, that’s really helpful.” Ray stuffed the notepad back in his pocket and reached for my elbow, helping me out of my chair.

I still had a question, though. “Did Oscar have to show proof of his age to play? Like a driver’s license?”

Sawyer grunted. “Yeah. Why?”

“He wasn’t twenty-one and I thought–” The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

Sawyer’s glare was way better than anything I’d ever accomplished in my life. It’s like he was sucking the marrow from my bones and reducing me to a lump.

Ray rocked on his heels. “We suspected he had a fake ID. I guess you’ve confirmed that.”

“Of course!” Gwen placed her hand over her heart. “We check and the dealer checks. Oscar never ordered alcohol, either. I thought it was because of his diabetes. We could lose our license!” She faced Sawyer. “Do we have to report this or something?”

Sawyer lifted a shoulder.

Ray spoke up, “Nah. I’m sure it was a good fake. We won’t mention it.”

“Thank you, Gwen.” I turned to face Sawyer, who remained hulking in the doorway. “I appreciate your time, Sawyer.”

Sawyer relaxed his shoulders. “Look, Oscar was a nice guy. I’m sorry he’s dead. I just don’t think anyone here knew him well enough to go to the trouble of killing him.”

I shot Ray a look, because that was a strange sentiment.

Ray hustled me out the office door. “It was good seeing you, Gwen. You look great.”

“Thanks, Ray. Welcome home.”

Sawyer rumbled, and I caught two words, ‘never’ and ‘here’.

I followed a waitress through the kitchen and out a different set of doors. Ray pointed to the bar. We passed a room I hadn’t seen when we’d first entered. The flash of bright green felt on a round table caught my eye. A group of people surrounded the entrance to the room, and Ray slid through the crowd, people shifting, but not seeing him.

Unnoticed.

Unphased.

Untouched.

Like oil through water.

Chapter Eleven

Ray remained silent as we trudged through The Salty Pickle’s parking lot. He unlocked my door and swung the car door open. “It’s almost four, you good to hit up Del Lago Casino before heading home?”

“Sure. That’s a bigger casino, right? Because the Pickle had five slot machines and some poker tables. I’d hardly call it a casino.” I wondered if maybe West Virginia only had pseudo-casinos.

Ray’s eyebrows slid up. “Charlie, the guy at the podium was taking bets on a horse race. The back room is all television sets and bookies.”

“Oh. I didn’t notice. But Del Lago is bigger, right?” Ray closed my door, shaking his head and muttering to himself, and I wondered how his sister dealt with this side of Ray.

He settled into his seat and started the car. “Del Lago is bigger. Joe never took you gambling?” Ray drove onto the state highway.

“Yes, but we gambled in Tahoe and Vegas. I’m not much of a gambler, and betting on sports probably requires you to watch the game, so…” I wrinkled my nose. “Not my thing.”

“What is your thing?” Ray asked.

“Well, as a brand-new empty nester… I got nothing. Honestly, I find myself sucked into Pinterest more than before, but I’m too lazy to actually make anything I’ve pinned. Other than that, I’d say stalking my kids on social media.”

“Well, that beats beard growing.” He gave me an amused side-eye.

“Hey now, menopause is right around the corner, I could have facial hair to look forward to.” I stroked my chin which was thankfully, hair-free.

He sucked air between his teeth. “I’m not sure if I appreciate your optimism or I’m freaked out by your TMI.”

Snickering to myself, I used my phone and searched Ann’s Facebook page which she never used. “I wonder if I can find Christine Scottman on Facebook?”

“I thought only old ladies use Facebook.”

I punched his arm.

“Ow.” He rubbed his arm.

“Moms use Facebook, but kids do, too.” I searched through Ann’s friends and then Drew’s friends for Christine’s name. “Ha.” I turned my phone toward Ray. “There she is, and she has no restrictions on her page.” I scrolled through her photos. “Jeez, she’s either the most boring kid ever or she’s using her Facebook page to promote a dry cleaner. She’s posed, well-dressed, in every photo, standing next to someone in a suit.”

“Or, she spends more time on Tinder.”

“Yeah, but Tinder doesn’t let you stalk.”

Ray grunted, like a verbal eye-roll. “Charlie, when was the last time