Too Sweet to Die by T. Doyle (namjoon book recommendations .TXT) 📕

gaze I recognized locked on me. “Charlie, you should sit down.” Tom walked over, grabbed my elbow and eased me back onto the bench. “You look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Eh.” My heart and brain refused to cooperate, and I hated sounding wimpy in front of my son’s old soccer coach and Boy Scout leader. “I’d say it’s good to see you, Tom, but…”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He patted my shoulder. “You stay here, I’ll be right back.” He narrowed his eyes. “You want me to call Joe?”

“No. I’ll call him.” But I wouldn’t call my husband, not yet, because he was operating and there was nothing he could do. As a surgeon’s wife I’d learned when it was reasonable to call and what could wait.

Tom gave me a chin-nod and headed inside the small cabin. I studied the surroundings, anything other than thinking about Oscar. The neighbors to the left, the O’Reilly’s, had left for Florida a few weeks ago. To the right stood the McGuffin’s cabin, currently inhabited by their recently retired son, Raylin, or so I’d heard. Raylin’s parents were residents at Sunnyview Villages Rehab and Retirement, where I worked. I hadn’t met him, just heard the stories about Forest Fork’s Don Juan who retired after putting in 20 years in the military and moved home. He’d be in his forties, and I wondered if he’d find a new career or stay retired. A faded car listed forlornly in his driveway, its tires settled into a muddy rut because they’d neglected to re-gravel. A bright blue coupe was parked in the grass next to the front door. McGuffin’s front door opened and a pixie-sized gal slid outside and tiptoed to the coupe. She slipped in, looked over, gave me a half-wave and drove off, the tires spitting gravel in her wake. She looked familiar.

“Who was that?” Tom stuck his head out the cabin doorway.

My brain tried to put a name to the face, a skill I lacked. “Dana, Darla, D-something. Arlene Carries’ daughter. She’s around my kids’ ages, older than Drew, younger than Ann.” What was she doing at the McGuffin’s?

Tom walked over and sat next to me on the bench. “I’m sorry, Charlie. The coroner is on his way, but my guess is Oscar died a day ago.”

The cold reality tingled over my skin. I welcomed the numbness. The EMTs left, heads bowed and avoiding eye-contact.

“If it’s okay, can I ask you a couple of questions?” Tom asked.

“Yeah.” The word creaked out my rusted-closed throat.

“Why did you come out here today?”

“I bumped into Polly Cassidy and she mentioned she couldn’t get in touch with Oscar. He wasn’t answering his phone and had missed three days at work. I tried calling and texting but didn’t get an answer, so I drove out here.”

Was I babbling? I bit my lips closed and watched Tom scrutinize me. We were having a staring contest and I was going to lose.

“You called Oscar?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Tom stood quickly. “Do me a favor, call him again.”

I pulled my phone out and called Oscar, following Tom to the kitchen door. We both listened.

“My kids always put their phones on silent,” I said.

“I’ll check out the rest of the house. Hang up when it goes to voicemail and call again.”

I waited in the kitchen, but not patiently. I redialed three times, checked out the refrigerator—no insulin, no leftovers, no takeout, and lots of green vegetables and juice.

Did he become a vegetarian? Had he always been a vegetarian? I cringed at the memory of bringing the soccer team pepperoni rolls and jerky for snacks.

Next to the fridge, I opened the pantry and found mac-n-cheese, DexTabs for his diabetes, ramen noodles with chicken or shrimp, and a large jar of peanut butter.

Tom came around the corner. “What are you doing?” His commanding cop-voice made my insides curl tight.

I closed the pantry door. Guilt and embarrassment heated my face. “I’m being curious.” Although some people thought my curiosity bordered on meddling and prying.

“Yeah. And what did you find out?” His tone softened.

“That either he eats better than I do, or he only likes to make three things. Did you find his phone?” I turned my back to the living room, away from Oscar’s corpse.

“No. But I’ll search his clothes when the coroner gets here, and then his car. Tell me what happened when you got here.”

“I knocked, nobody answered. I came around to the back door and used my key. He didn’t respond when I called out. I stepped into the kitchen and saw him, sitting in the chair. I knew something was off. I called 911.”

“Did you touch anything?” Tom raised an eyebrow making me want to confess.

“Just now. Sorry, I forgot. I looked in his fridge and pantry. I also tried to take his pulse, but he was so cold…” I shuddered. Inhaled slowly. Contained the crazy. “I know he’s a diabetic, but he’s so careful. He has an insulin pump, too. He’s had it for years.”

“Did he have any enemies?” Tom asked, his voice professional.

“Not that I knew of.”

Tom’s eyebrow twitched. “Girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend?”

My eyes snapped wide. I thought everyone knew about Oscar. “Tom, he’s gay. His parents kicked him out when he turned eighteen. We offered him the cabin and helped him move in. We promised he could stay rent-free through college.”

“I knew his parents kicked him out. I didn’t realize he was still living at the cabin.” Tom drawled. “I wasn’t sure you knew about him.” His lips firmed, the ends curling up, locking in anymore thoughts.

“I understand.” Small towns were good for guarding secrets. “He dated a very nice man last year, but they broke up amicably when the guy moved to Ohio for a job. As far as I know, he hasn’t dated anyone seriously since.” Although, he wasn’t likely to tell me if he was dating someone new.

“Ohio’s not that far. Do you remember his name?”

“No, I called him Charlie Hunnam.”

Tom’s brows knitted together. “Why?”

“He looked like the actor,