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

No kidding! If there was a kidnapping operation in Forest Forks and Oscar was killed because he found evidence, we definitely could be in danger.

Ray slid into my booth and the wooden bench creaked. He leaned his elbows on the scarred oak table. “What’s up?”

I pulled my notebook from my bag and handed it to him. “I made some notes this morning.”

Ray flipped the notebook open. “What did you find?” Ray scanned my notes, turning the pages.

I opened my laptop and pulled up the news article I’d read. “I’m pretty sure those are the Crane’s kids.”

Ray put my notebook down and shifted my laptop in front of him. He finished the news article about the migrant families’ kidnapped children, and then leaned back in his seat. “Did you find anymore articles?”

“Not yet.” I closed the laptop and pushed it against the wall.

“The article mentioned some families had age-progression photos. How many families?” Ray asked.

“Four families so far, but only the Crane’s matches Tyler’s group. I made a file of his adoption clients and their family photos posted on different social media sites. Most of them have cute pictures of their kids, but not too many of them as babies, and I have to say, a lot of these kids look similar.”

Ray curled his lips. “Yeah, squishy old man face and receding hairline.”

“I’m not going to argue with your horrible assessment because I really did have trouble finding distinguishing facial characteristics. Seven bald babies on Tyler’s wall look similar to the photos of the children in the article, we’d need DNA results to be sure.”

A flurry of activity spread through the crowd. People moved aside, parting for the gal from the counter. She placed our sandwiches on the table. “Y’all need anything else?” She gave Ray a long look punctuated by a wink. She was cute, in her early thirties and wore leggings and a long shirt.

I suppressed the eye roll, but not my grimace. “We’re good.”

Ray didn’t respond, too busy opening his bag of chips.

“You sure you don’t want anything special?” The waitress rested her hand on Ray’s shoulder.

He looked up and gave her a slow smile. “I’m good.”

“That’s the rumor.” Her voice dropped, and her eyebrow twitched, like she attempted a wink and changed her mind. Her seduction technique needed work.

“I’ll let you know if I need anything,” Ray said, his voice also dropped an octave.

She sashayed toward the counter.

Ray looked sheepish. He picked up his sandwich. “What?”

“Is it always like that?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. There are two kinds of women.”

“Do tell.” I gave him my mom face, the one that said keep it clean or you’ll be sucking on soap.

“One kind likes to know I find them attractive, but they’d never act on it. You know, if a guy has a reputation but doesn’t pick up on what’s offered, it can really damage their self-esteem.”

“Gross. You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah, I am. The others want to get laid.” He took a big bite of his sandwich.

“Not buying it.” I bit into my sandwich. Somehow, food always tasted better when I didn’t have to make it. Or Bite Me used the full-fat mayo.

“That’s because you’re not a woman, you’re a mom.” He spoke with his mouth full.

I choked. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. You don’t give up womanhood when you have kids.” This argument was devolving, and we sounded like my kids.

“If you say so,” he said with a smug grin. “What kind of woman are you, then?”

“The happily married kind.”

He tilted his head to the side as if considering that. “Okay, I’ll amend my original statement to there are three types of women. But you have to admit you want to feel attractive.”

I flinched. “Just to Joe.” I picked up my fork and stabbed at my salad. “You’re Raychology of women is icky.”

He laughed and took another huge bite of his sandwich. “Raychology, I like that.” He glanced over at the closed notebook and his face changed from charismatic friend to cop.

“What do we do with our information?” I asked.

“Send me the file you made, with the adoptive parents and the links to their family photos. I’ll ask Kristi for help because I bet the ME’s office has access to age progression software.” He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, wadded it, and tossed it onto his empty plate.

Half of my sandwich and pickle remained on my plate.

He opened the notebook and re-read. “What else did you bring?”

I pulled Oscar’s tablet out of my bag and handed it to Ray. “I noticed all my pictures updated to my Amazon photo gallery and I wondered if Oscar’s would too. Especially since he showed me how to do it.”

“Okay.” Ray opened the tablet and stared at the numeric keypad. “Any new ideas for the password?”

“Yes. We still don’t know why Oscar started playing poker, or how long he’s been playing, but maybe he used a poker term for his password.”

“Did you try any poker words yet?” Ray asked.

“I don’t know any,” I admitted.

Ray typed password combinations, writing down each one he tried on the back cover of my notebook. “About the poker playing, I went through the tournament lists and Oscar’s note with numbers.” He glanced at me. “Oscar won $2000 at Pickle Poker Tournament and $3000 at the Mardi Gras Tournament at the Del Lago Casino. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other positive numbers are from local poker games. If Oscar was making serious money he could’ve decided to put school on hold.” Ray typed another password into the tablet. “Charlie, if he dropped out of school, would you have charged him rent?”

I wiped my mouth with the napkin. “I guess we assumed he’d graduate and move. I mean, we intended to be able to use the cabin as a family get-away, not a rental.”

“Maybe he didn’t tell you he dropped out of school until he had enough saved for first and last month’s rent at a new place. When did he move in?”

“May 4th. I remember because he