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

I thought about Marabel’s comment that Ray was a rite of passage, which meant Delilah probably knew what was going to happen if she let Ray in her car. And it was high school. Still. The not calling. And the car.

“What happened to the car?” I asked.

Ray sighed. “We were driving back from the lake and a deer ran across the road. I hit it.”

“Well, that’s just bad luck, not really your fault.”

“No.” He shifted in the seat, like maybe he could move away from the memory. “But she wasn’t allowed to take the car, and she didn’t tell her parents we were out together, and when the cops came out and called them, let’s just say, she might still be grounded.”

I laughed. “Ray, that had to be terribly embarrassing for her, but it’s been, what, twenty years? That’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

He looked over at me. “You think there’s more?”

“I think if you still feel bad, you should just tell her you feel bad and apologize for being an idiot.”

“I have grown up.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

I pinched my lips tight, locking down a smile or snarky reply.

He did the side-glance thing and sighed. “Shut up, Charlie.”

Chapter Twelve

Ray pulled up in front of my house. “You’ll talk to Sam at Curl Up and Dye?”

“Sure, I’ll see if she can fit me in tomorrow morning.” I slid out of his ridiculously loud car in my quiet suburban neighborhood, waved to the flapping drapes across the street and grabbed the mail. Inside, I sorted through the circulars and bills, noting Tyler Rigby had a half page ad for his law office. My phone rang and Ann’s face blowing me a kiss appeared on the screen.

“Mom, if you’re in the mood to send me a care package with bacon, I would be forever grateful.” I heard traffic behind Ann’s voice.

I put my phone on speaker and set it next to the kitchen sink. “Where are you?”

“Walking home and dreaming of a BLT, but all I have is the L.”

“What about the cafeteria?” I washed my hands and hoped something edible and green lurked in our fridge.

Ann made a weird noise, sort of a snort-whimper. “They have turkey bacon, and it sucks. I just didn’t notice it until I had the real stuff this weekend. How are you and Dad doing?”

“Fine.” I pulled steak, zucchinis and salad stuff out of the fridge. “Ray McGuffin and I visited a couple of casinos today asking about Oscar. Did you know Oscar played poker?”

“No, but he was always the friend of my annoying little brother, so…” Ann sounded breathless.

I pictured her jaywalking across a busy street, phone in hand, oblivious to the oncoming traffic, because my mind seemed to go to the worst place first. I seasoned the steak and zucchinis. “He played in tournaments in the professional poker league.”

“There’s a professional poker league?” Ann’s voice rose an octave. “Don’t tell Drew. He’s still obsessing over League of Legends and thinks he can get paid to play.”

I rinsed the lettuce. Drew knew about Oscar playing professional poker, and at least League of Legends didn’t make you pay to play.

“He wants to start his own YouTube channel,” Ann said.

My stomach gurgled, part hunger, part alarm that I really didn’t know my kids at all. “Why would he want to do that?”

“He swears he can make money at it.” I could picture Ann’s eyeballs rolling back so only the whites showed. Great, now she was walking blind and could break her ankle tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. “I swear,” she said, with eyeballs hopefully back in place, “he just wants to get paid for playing a game. I don’t think he cares which one.”

Joe came in from the garage. “Is that Ann?”

“Hi, Dad!” Ann chirped.

“Hi, sweetheart. How about we deep fry the turkey for Thanksgiving this year?” Joe asked.

“Yaaaas,” came Ann’s enthusiastic reply.

“You are not.” I handed him the plate of steak and zucchini. “We have no room for a fryer, and I certainly don’t want to be seen buying three gallons of peanut oil.”

One mischievous eyebrow rose. “Too late. We’re using Mike’s and I’ve already bought the oil.” Joe winked. “Along with a kiddie pool. They were on sale.”

I closed my eyes. “You get to explain the rumors to your mom.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Can’t wait.”

“You guys are too cute. Does Dad like you going all Nancy Drew?”

“She’s a little old for Nancy Drew,” Joe said dryly.

“Do not say I’m Jessica Fletcher,” I warned him, and with the chef’s knife in my hand I’m sure I looked dangerous.

“Nah, you’re more like Detective Beckett from Castle.” Joe’s eyebrows danced suggestively. He did a lot of emoting with his eyebrows. He put the plate of steak down and stalked across the kitchen toward me.

I laughed and kissed him sweetly. “Nice save.”

“Mmm, I’m glad you’re my bride.” He returned the kiss and his hands highlighted some of my favorite spots.

“Ugh.” Ann’s voice doused our fun.

“Get over it,” Joe said to the phone. He picked up the plate and headed outside to the grill.

“On that note, I’m back at my dorm and hanging up now. Love you guys,” Ann said.

“Love you, too.” I hit the end call button with my pinky and then sliced mushrooms.

Joe returned with the empty plate. “How was your day?” He put the plate down and hugged my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder.

I added the mushrooms to the salad bowl. “Good. We found out Oscar played professional poker, the kind that required stakes.” I rinsed a red bell pepper.

Joe huh’ed and hugged me tighter. “I can’t picture that.”

“Me, neither. And apparently he had a really good fake ID, too. Which reminds me we need to frisk Drew the next time he comes home and find out where he got it.”

“So noted.”

“Ann says Drew wants to start a YouTube channel for that game