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

“Whoa.” Joe took the knife from my hand. “What’s really wrong, babe?”

I turned and leaned against his chest. “I feel like we don’t really know our kids.”

He made soothing circles on my back. “Babe, first of all, we don’t want to know everything the kids are doing. And we don’t tell them everything we do. They keep us in the loop for the big stuff and if you were into watching YouTube channels, I’m sure Drew would talk your ear off about it.” He kissed my forehead. “Babe, they’re adults. We might not know how they spend every minute of their day, but we know who they are in here.” He tapped my heart and then wrapped his arms around me and swayed us side to side.

“I love you,” I whispered. The man made everything feel good, feel right.

“Love you, too.” He kissed me quick and sauntered to our bedroom. He returned wearing a t-shirt and his disreputable jeans. The ones with a torn back pocket so his underwear peeked through, but were so soft they felt like flannel. He may have had them longer than we’d been married.

“What are you and Ray going to do now?” Joe set the table.

I followed behind him with the salad. “I’m supposed to get my hair done at Curl Up and Dye.”

Joe grimaced. “Hold that thought.” He went outside, flipped the meat and came back. “Why do you need to get your hair done?”

“Well, apparently Sam was Hilda Collins’s hairstylist and she’d know if there was bad blood between Parker, Jackie, and Hilda.”

“I like your hair. You’re not going to…” He winced. “Color it?”

I laughed at his cringing. “No. I earned these grays, baby. They’re like little trophies reminding me that we raised three hellions and escaped to the other side.”

He held up his hands. “Amen.” He left to get the steak and zucchini. He returned and set them on the table. “Although, I’d clarify your statement and say we raised two hellions and one perfect child, and then just let the kids fight about who is who.”

“You’re evil, and I love it.” I sat and loaded my plate with salad.

“Thanks for feeding me,” Joe said around a mouthful of steak.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to be late tomorrow. I told Jeff I’d help him with a scoliosis case.” Joe pushed some zucchini on to his plate.

“I work from two to ten tomorrow night,” I reminded him.

He winked at me. “Send me a selfie of the new ‘do.”

“You bet.” The man was good for my ego. “Hey, fun fact, Stephanie Wilson babysat Ray.”

Joe smirked. “Today?”

I chuckled. “No, today she looked like she wanted to do something entirely different with Ray. She really looks great, too.” I gauged Joe’s reaction. “Very. Perky.”

Joe shuddered. “She scares me. I park in the garage because I’m afraid she’s going to come over and talk to me.” He waved his fork at me. “She caught me once at the mailbox, asked me to come over and check out her plantar fasciitis.” He frowned. “Something’s not right about that woman.”

“Ray thinks she’s sweet.”

Joe grunted. “Yeah, well, Ray is welcome to release her fascia.” He shook his head. “I really miss Bev and Ed. I wish they’d never moved.”

My husband didn’t hate change, it was more of an adverse reaction to changes in his daily routine. He missed his evening chats at the mailbox with Ed. Now they played WordsWithFriends, but it wasn’t the same.

“Does Ray have any suspects?” Joe asked.

“Not really. Ray said there were no fingerprints on the TV, which means the killer wiped it down. Also, Oscar had to raise cash to enter professional poker tournaments. He could have owed someone money, or maybe another player didn’t want him to play in a tournament. It could be Parker Collins covering up his mother’s death. Plus, we still don’t know who broke into the cabin and took the picture.”

“Promise me one thing, Charlie.” He reached across the table and held my hand. “Don’t meet with someone you think is responsible for murdering Oscar. Leave that to Ray.”

I crossed my heart. “I promise.” A cold chill skittered up my spine. Someone I knew could have killed Oscar.

Tuesday morning, I headed over to Curl Up and Dye with a box of doughnuts. My gaze swept the area before I opened my car door, taking note of which resident of Forest Forks would rush to tell Carole, my regular hairdresser, about my defection to Curl Up and Dye. I skulked to the shop. My palms were sweating with guilt because I was cheating on the most sacred bond after marriage. And I couldn’t warn Carole beforehand because she’d let it slip that I was going to get information. Ray was right about stylists knowing everything.

Sam greeted me at the reception desk. “Charlie, welcome.”

I handed over the donuts, feeling like Judas going in for a kiss. “Good morning.” I smiled at the ladies gathered, excited to see Mildred, one of Hilda’s friends, seated in a chair.

“I was surprised to see your name on my schedule.” Sam’s gaze assessed me reminding me of my old sponsor at Weight Watchers. I felt naked. And I was cheating.

“I know. I was hoping you could help me tame my curls.” I lied. My curls were freakishly frizzy and only crazy glue would keep them coiffed. Carole and I had been lamenting over them for a decade. And perimenopause had really cranked up the kink in my curls.

Sam got a funny excited gleam in her eyes and I suddenly pictured myself covered in toxic chemicals and blown to Brazil. She clapped her hands. “I have just the thing. I took this course in New York this summer.” She pointed to her chair. “Just have a seat.”

I sat and had that just-called-to-the-principal’s-office wave of nausea.

Sam stood behind me, frowning at my frizz, pushing and pulling curls and clucking her tongue. “Well, let’s start with a wash and