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

Tom pushed the door open. “Bye, Charlie.”

I walked to my car. Since Marabel rearranged my schedule, I had time to check out the cabin and figure out how many boxes I’d need to pack up Oscar’s things.

Look for clues.

I didn’t believe he’d accidentally overdosed.

But I didn’t want to sound paranoid, either. It wasn’t like Forest Forks was the kind of town where hate crimes happened. Although, maybe they did and were also classified as accidental deaths.

If it was murder, and I was touching things, would that ruin the investigation?

I mean I could plant evidence. Which meant I needed a corroborating witness. Which meant I needed to bring someone with me.

Somehow, my list of useful friends was narrowed by the task. I wasn’t even sure how I would ask someone to accompany me to clean out Oscar’s place while looking for evidence of his murder. I could only imagine the gossip that would start. But…

Ray McGuffin was a retired military police detective and neighbor. I could ask him to help me go through the cabin. Maybe suggest I was distraught at going back into the cabin by myself this first time. Most neighbors would be willing to help. But, this was Ray. A man who proved to be more adolescent than adult.

Which meant I needed a bribe.

I stopped off at There’s Nothing Batter Bakery, and picked up their Brunch Special, an assortment of Danishes, donuts, and cheese biscuits.

I parked in our cabin’s now empty driveway. I guess the Robles had taken Oscar’s car already. A green SUV was parked behind Ray’s car in his driveway. I considered asking my daughter, Ann, how normal was it to have a sleep over after casual sex? Although, she’d probably freak out and I could Google it. I opened the browser on my phone and paused. Ray’s door opened and a blonde stepped out. She was young, cute, and nothing like the previous gal. She blew him a kiss and climbed into her SUV.

Ray waved to the blonde driving away. He stood in the doorway in a pair of sweats, no shirt or shoes. He caught my eye, and quickly closed the door.

Well, heck.

I waited until the dust on the road settled then crossed the grassy strip between the two cabins and knocked on Ray’s back door.

“I come in peace, and I brought Danishes.” I held up the bag in the window, my other hand clutched around my travel mug of coffee. My last coffee, I promised myself, because my heart was tripping in my chest and my hands trembled.

The door opened and a very suspicious Ray eyed the white paper bag in my hand. “You should’ve started with the Danishes.” He held his hand out, fingers wriggling, begging for the bag.

I handed it to him. He still reminded me of a pirate, it could be the dark sweats and no shirt. Seriously. The man should dress more. It was almost winter for crying-out-loud. I followed him through his living room into the kitchen. “I’ll take the lemon-filled if you don’t mind.”

He looked at me, one eye squinting the other wide-eyed. “Why would you ruin a perfectly good piece of fried dough and sugar with fruit?”

“I like to pretend it’s a fruit salad, inside a crouton,” I snarked. Okay, I needed to slow down on the coffee.

He looked at my hips, which admittedly had begun a middle age spread and nothing like the freshman fifteen that he was used to dating. I waited for his snappy retort.

He shrugged. “Whatever works to get you through the day, sweetheart.”

“Weak. I can’t believe girls find you charming.”

“Yeah? Me neither,” he said affably. He pulled out two plates and set the bag down on the counter.

Two cups were on the counter, one with a red shade of lipstick, very different than Darla’s.

“Aren’t you worried about running out of girls? You’re going through them very quickly. It’s a small town, after all,” I said.

“I’ll commute to Lexington.” His tone ended that topic.

The commute would be about three hours, but maybe crossing state lines would be best.

“Now, why have you brought me Danishes, because it isn’t to discuss my love life.”

“First of all, you have a sex life, not a love life.” I pulled the lemon filled pastry out and bit, ignoring his scowl. “Second, I was going to ask you for a favor.”

“Lady, you really aren’t good with people, are you? You should wait until after I’ve done the favor to insult me.”

Lady? “It’s Charlie. And I’m wonderful with people. Everybody likes me. Besides, I believe in being honest with people.”

“Spare me the honesty, unless I ask for it. You’re worse than my sister.” He rifled through the bag and pulled out an old-fashioned cake. “What’s the favor?”

“They ruled Oscar’s death as accidental.”

“So?” His lack of interest spurred me on.

“I’m supposed to clean out the place and pack up his things, but I’m worried I might…”

He eyed me, waited a beat, and said, “Ruin the evidence?”

“Yes.” The word came out on a gust, and I leaned forward. “I’d love it if you came over with me and looked around. Maybe take pictures.”

“I don’t think my rifling through Oscar’s stuff is going to help you. Or even taking pictures. If this is a murder, which I don’t believe, your pictures won’t be admitted into court because any lawyer will claim you’ve set up the scene.”

“So maybe if I had a police officer go through with me?” I gave him that look you give a puppy when you want it to follow you.

“Sure. Call Tom.”

Tom wasn’t going to help. I tried a different route. “Surely you must be bored in your retirement. Aren’t you the least bit curious to see where Oscar died, or even get some decorating tips?” Okay, the last part was mean, but Ray’s cabin was incredibly bare and he’d been living in it for more than a month. Or so I heard.

“Don’t call me Shirley,” he deadpanned the line from Airplane. “And no, I’m not decorating anything.