Too Sweet to Die T. Doyle (tharntype novel english .TXT) 📖

She pulled her keys back. “Jenny, they’re from Guatemala. Their parents died in an earthquake. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Amazing they can speak English without an accent.” Mrs. McGuffin raised an eyebrow like she’d just Matlocked the logic.

Ingrid’s jowls waggled and she pushed back from the table. “That’s because they learned to talk here.” She harrumphed and waddled away.

“Ingrid—.” I gave Mrs. McGuffin the mom-glare, hoping she’d stop talking.

Ingrid turned the corner, headed out the door and down the hall to the residences. I doubted she’d return.

As if sensing I needed her, Nora glided toward me, a smile on her face. “What happened?” asked Nora.

“She’s overly sensitive about her grandchildren,” Mrs. McGuffin lied with grace.

Rosemary narrowed her eyes at Mrs. McGuffin. “Jenny, that’s not true. You have to stop teasing her.”

“I’m not,” she said. “The woman is crazy if she thinks those kids are from Guatemala. I’m not even sure they speak Spanish.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Are we going to continue to play?”

“Of course.” Nora pushed the die to Mrs. McGuffin. “Your turn.”

“Fine.” She rolled the die.

I heard a muttered curse behind me and recognized the growl. I turned in my seat and flashed a sparkly smile. “Hi, Ray. Want to join us?”

He wore real clothes, including shoes. He lifted an eyebrow, suspicious, wary, and maybe a little bit frightened, like I was going to tell his mom about his overnight guests.

“Ma.” He kissed her cheek.

“Sit down, Ray. I need a partner.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He sat in Ingrid’s seat, a question in his dark eyes.

His annoyed departure yesterday sat uncomfortable in my memory, like an ant crawling on my arm but I couldn’t knock it off.

“What?” I sounded guilty. And I couldn’t interpret his expression.

He ignored me and turned to Jack. He reached out his paw. “Ray McGuffin.”

“Nice to meet you, Ray. I’m Jack, and this is my wife, Rosemary.”

Nora nudged me and I introduced her. “This is Nora.”

“You’re Jenny’s youngest?” Nora asked.

“Middle.” Ray shook Nora’s hand.

Jack interrupted the riveting conversation with a game question. “Paul McCartney dated Jane Asher. What group did her brother perform in?”

Nora and I groaned.

“Peter and Gordon,” Ray answered.

“Dang it, Jenny brought a ringer,” Nora whispered.

“I listened to this stuff growing up.” Ray put the colored wedge into their piece.

“Never could stand that noise you listened to.” Mrs. McGuffin shook her head, as if she could still hear the melodies.

Ray gave her a quizzical look and frowned. I wondered if she was remembering a different child, and he didn’t want to argue. In fact, for the rest of the game he remained affable, good-natured about his mom’s harping about his hair and clothes, and he kept her engaged in the conversation.

The game continued, and Nora and I won because of a lucky roll. Nora grinned, a tad prideful and cleaned up the game, not gloating, but definitely pleased.

“Thanks for the game, kiddo,” Jack said.

I stood and shook his hand. “It was a close one. See you in two weeks?” I put the game into my tote bag.

“You bet.” Jack’s booming voice had me take a step back. He helped Rosemary stand, and the two walked toward the cafeteria.

Ray kissed his mom on the cheek. “I’m gonna go, Ma. See you tomorrow?”

“If I’m not dead,” she said.

I pulled the swatter out of my tote bag and handed it to Ray. “I confiscated this earlier.”

“Ma.” Ray sighed. “You gotta stop. It’s assault. And you’ll get kicked out of here.”

“Like I wanted to come here in the first place.” Her voice rose.

“It’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes night.” Nora’s eyebrows slid up, her expression said, run. “I want to get the first batch of potatoes. See you guys later.” I followed her thump-slide into the cafeteria and away from the fighting McGuffins.

“You have fun.” I hugged her.

She patted my back. “Remember what I said.” She gave me a half salute and thumped-slid after Jack and Rosemary.

Right. Invest in medical marijuana and die early.

Chapter Five

“Hey.” Ray called to me from across the parking lot.

I’d made it to my car, almost a clean getaway.

He approached with a swagger and a scowl. “Nice. You hand off her weapon of choice and bail? No backup?”

“It sounded like a personal conversation.” I put the tote bag in my car.

“Not at that volume.” He stood, hands on hips, and chagrined. “She accused Evie of tempting Dad with her ‘hooker’ shoes.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “They’re Skecher sandals.”

“Shamefully open-toed.” I couldn’t stop the smile spreading on my face.

He shook his head. “Evie Feeney.” His shoulders twitched. “I can’t even…”

“You missed them going at it behind the ficus.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Please tell me she had her teeth in.” Ray’s voice sounded tired.

“If you want me to lie.” I opened my eyes and laughed at Ray’s horrified expression.

His head shook again, like an etch-a-sketch trying to erase the image. “I think Ma started a rumor Evie has a STD.” He wore that pained expression family members had when talking about loved ones with dementia.

“It’s not her, Ray,” I said in earnest. “She’s not herself.”

Doubt and sadness seemed to weigh down his frown. “Nah, she was always mean.” His shoulders rolled, like he could shake off the pain. “Kind of like you. Ma likes you. She says everyone likes you.” His tone indicated that was not an enviable position to be in.

“She says that about you, too. Is that a bad thing?”

One eyebrow rose, questioning my sanity. “People have certain expectations of nice people.”

“Is that why you’re a grump?”

His lips tightened. “I’m not.” He ground out the words. “You know what? Never mind. I was going to offer to help you finish at Oscar’s.”

My stomach tightened, I’d screwed up, again. “I should have phrased that better.” I reached out for his arm. “You’re not a grump, Ray. I’m sorry. And you’re right. I’m mean.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if to gauge my sincerity. He chuffed, part chuckle, part snort, all forgiveness.

“I don’t know why I keep harping on you.” I