“You’re friends?” I asked.
“Since T-Ball.”
That made Ray forty-two years old. I thought his Dad looked young, but assumed he’d taken advantage of Sunnyview’s promotion giving new residents a free lifetime membership at the local golf course. A lot of empty-nesters moved into the condos and townhomes. His mom’s dementia put her on the assisted-living side, giving her freedom to enjoy the amenities with the safety of supervision.
“Ray joined the Air Force right after graduation?” I asked.
“Yeah. He wanted to see the world. We lost touch after high school. Ray’s not one to write Christmas cards.”
“Just like Drew and Oscar,” I mused.
Tom leaned over and opened my car door. “I didn’t think Ray would come back, but I’m pretty sure his sister threatened to move his mother closer to him.”
“She moved in last month.” I’d met Jenny McGuffin. She could be cantankerous at times.
“Yeah.” Tom rubbed the back of his neck and winced. “His mom didn’t want to go. It took three officers, Ray, and the priest before she finally got out of the car. She’s not, uh, doing well,” Tom said, using small-town lingo for dementia.
I slid into the car, knowing the conversation was over. People didn’t talk about dementia. Dating, babies, even constipation were acceptable subjects, but not losing your still-living family member.
“I’ll call you later,” Tom said with his hand on my door, eyeing my seat buckle.
“Thank you.” I buckled my seatbelt.
He closed the door, stood back, and watched me drive away. I knew he was going back into Oscar’s but waited until I was out of sight. He was a good man.
I drove home on autopilot. Once there, I resisted the urge to call Darla, proving to myself that I was not a meddler, just concerned. I’d wait until I heard back from Tom. I wanted to settle onto my couch, pull a fuzzy blanket over my head and disappear for a few days.
Instead, I texted Joe, and my kids, Drew, Ann, and Jessica: Call me when you can.
I called Tyler Rigby’s office next and left a message on the voice mail. “It’s Charlie. Oscar is not going to make it to work. Call me when you get a chance.” It didn’t feel right to tell them he was dead in a voice mail.
My phone rang immediately, but it was Marabel from work, proving small-town gossip was faster than broadband internet. “Charlie, I’m so sorry. I heard about Oscar.”
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat was immovable. “Thanks.”
“Look, I’m going to have a float cover your shifts this week. Let me know if you need more time, okay?”
I didn’t want to relive the moment of finding Oscar dead over and over again, and I knew I’d be asked a thousand times. The lump broke free, an awkward hiccup stumbled forth. “Thanks.”
“Call me if you want to talk or need anything.” Marabel’s soothing tone reminded me why she made such an excellent supervisor and amazing friend.
“I will.” I hung up, not wanting to stay on the phone, not wanting to think about Oscar, not wanting to believe.
I dusted and vacuumed the entire house waiting for Polly to call me back.
But instead, Tyler Rigby himself called after lunch. “Hey, Charlie, I heard about Oscar. What happened?” His normally harried voice was hushed and somber.
“I don’t know. I’d like to find out. Did Oscar seem different lately?”
“No.” Tyler sounded surprised.
“Do you know if he was seeing anyone new?” I asked.
“We didn’t get personal, Charlie. It’s professional and confidential here. We talked about the clients and that’s all.” And we were back to the harried, annoying voice of Tyler.
“Oh, okay.” I was pretty sure there was a dig at me in his comment. I was surprised Oscar hadn’t been able to get Tyler to warm up. Everyone loved Oscar. “If you think of anything, will you call the police?”
“Of course. They’re not thinking he was murdered, are they?” His tone went from annoyed to curious.
No, but I am.
“Well, he’s a young, healthy guy,” I said. Was…not is.
“He had diabetes.” Tyler’s voice was flat, giving nothing away.
“But he was managing it.” At least he had when the boys were on the soccer team together. Why would he change that habit?
“Still, he wasn’t what I’d call healthy. Besides, who would kill him?” Now he sounded like Joe, when I got curious about the strange cars in Stephanie Wilson’s driveway and Joe wished I’d stop asking questions.
Who would kill Oscar?
“Um, maybe one of your clients?” I slid out the comment, with just a touch of honey in my voice. I might not be from the South, but I could channel Southern hospitality when necessary.
An unnatural pause was followed by a clicking. A pen against a table, fingernails tapping? “Charlie, none of my clients would hurt Oscar.” Tyler’s clipped tone snipped at my ears. “I know you were close, but I do family law. I doubt someone arguing over a will would take it out on the secretary. They’d kill their family member first.”
“Oh. That’s just awful.” Wait—was that a crack against Oscar’s family or my own, or families in general? I’d angered Tyler and couldn’t let that fester. “I’m sorry, I’m just so stunned. He was so young and sweet. If you remember anything strange, please call the police.”
“I will.” He disconnected the call.
I set my phone down and stared at it. Tyler wasn’t a normal guy, but then in a small town, you tended to know everyone’s quirks. Tyler’s weren’t any quirkier than most.
Still, I felt unsettled.
I closed my eyes and tried to think if anyone had been near Oscar outside of the bookstore. Honestly, since Drew went away to college the boys had drifted apart and I wasn’t certain I really knew him anymore. Who would he tell his secrets to?
Not his parents. Not me. Not his workmates. I didn’t know who his friends at school were.
How well did I really know Oscar?
Chapter Three
The girls were shocked and sad when I told them about Oscar, but Drew’s
