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

“Summer, but look, that’s not the point. We’ve got a picture of Christine. Can’t you do some Google-y detective thing and find out more about her?”

“Yeah, I got Google-y skills.” His tone said he was teasing.

I let it pass. “Looks like she graduated a year ahead of Ann, she’s probably twenty-three. I wonder why she didn’t tell anyone Oscar was too young?”

“’Cuz snitches get stitches.” Ray cocked an eyebrow at me. “The question is, where did he get it? You should ask Drew.”

“I will. Moving on. Who are we meeting at Del Lago?”

“Mike Bullock.”

The name sounded familiar. I looked through the Facebook pictures of Christine. “Okay, so Mike Bullock and Christine Scottman have met each other. This picture was taken July Fourth.”

Ray glanced at my phone, taking in the formal pose of two people dressed professionally. “A formal event on July Fourth?”

“Caption says Mike Bullock, July Fourth, at the Del Lago Casino.”

Ray put the directional on, and turned down a two-lane paved road. “What if she plays professional poker. Check her out on Linked-In.”

“No way. You have to sign up for that and then you get bombarded by emails.” I put my phone in my purse. “Let’s just ask him.”

“Fine.” He heaved the word out on a sigh. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Oh! Do I get to be the good cop?” I bounced in my seat to see if it annoyed him. I got poked by a spring.

“Nah, you get to be a middle-aged Nancy Drew.”

Ouch.

I wanted to punch Ray’s shoulder for the middle-age comment, but we were on a narrow two-lane highway, and medically speaking, he was correct.

Still, I didn’t need to be reminded.

“I always liked Nancy Drew.” I sounded like a petulant toddler.

“Never read those. Had a few Hardy Boys, but I switched to Ian Fleming by third grade.”

“Sheesh. That’s a little racy for a kid.”

“Ma was just happy I was reading. I bet you read Nancy Drew to your kids.” He gave me a side-long glance.

“A few. They preferred Harry Potter. But they liked the Nancy Drew computer games.”

“What?” Ray looked at me, eyebrows up, and confusion written on his face.

“The game requires you to solve the mystery, find clues, interview people. They enjoyed them. Drew not so much, but the girls loved the Nancy Drew games. Haven’t your nieces and nephews bugged you for a game for Christmas or their birthday?”

Ray grunted. “No. I give them cash. It’s one size fits all.”

“So, you’re one of those kinds of uncles.”

“That sounds bad. Look, at twelve, all you want is a twenty, not some faded copy of Captains Courageous.”

“I meant you don’t talk to your nieces and nephews to find out what they like. Get to know them.” I looked out the window. “Since you’re living closer, now, they might really enjoy hanging out with you. Take them bowling or mini-golf. And you might actually enjoy getting to know them.”

“Sounds like work.”

I gave him a harrumph-growl to which he responded with a pfft.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Del Lago Casino and parked near the entrance. The casino looked like a large log cabin, with wood statues of bears eating fish flanking the main entrance.

“Better Homes and Hunters.” I eyed the antlers displayed above the double doors.

“Now, that’s a rack.” Ray’s adolescent grin and eyebrow waggle at the antlers made me smile.

Inside, I felt like I was being sucked into the black hole of casinos. The noise and flickering lights overwhelmed my senses.

Ray pointed out a frog statue, in a top hat, holding a directory for the casino. “The offices are upstairs. The elevators are in back.”

We walked through the main floor, past the usual video games, seizure-inducing lights, and carpet that made a sober person dizzy.

Ray pointed to rooms separated on the right side. “Poker, and that’s the sports lounge.”

Huge suspended televisions aired multiple games on the far wall and couches with coffee tables set in front of them. It was the ultimate in man-caves, if the man had serious ADD.

A security guard stood to the side of the elevator, looking bored. He could have been retired ex-military with the haircut.

Ray waved to him. “Hi, we’ve got a meeting with Mr. Bollock.” Ray handed him a business card.

The guard slid a plastic card in front of the elevator call button and the doors opened. “Last door on the left.”

“Thank you.” I smiled. When the elevator doors closed I smiled at Ray. “Seems like a better gig than Walmart Greeter.”

Ray shook his head. “I bet you get a discount at Walmart.”

I eyed him. “And a blue vest.”

He winced. “I forgot about that. I’m not sure I can handle polyester.”

I nodded with understanding. “There is that. You’ve got some hard choices.” I leveled my hands like they were a scale. “Private detective.” I lowered my hand. “Walmart greeter.” I lowered the other side slightly.

“Beard grower.” He reached over and pushed my hands down. “And do me a favor, don’t mention Oscar’s actual age.”

I mimed zipping my lips and pretended to throw away the key.

The elevator doors opened to a beige hallway. Cream carpet, beige walls, tan doors with nickel hardware.

“It’s like all the color got sucked downstairs,” I whispered.

“We’ve been swallowed by a sand monster.” Ray scooted past me and strode toward Bollock’s office. “Weird. No windows, no signs.” He knocked on the office door, the sound solid. “All fire doors.”

The door buzzed and Ray tried the knob. He opened the door wide and his spine curled in on itself, and he stood, posed like a question mark. “Hello, Delilah.” He spoke like he was trying to persuade a grizzly bear to release a salmon. His hands went up in that I’m-not-going-to-hurt-you position.

I pushed him inside the doorway. A beautiful woman, Angie Harmon-like dimples, sat behind a desk, glowering at Ray.

Ray shrunk more.

“Hi. I’m Charlie Sanders. We’re here to speak with Mr. Bollock.” I stepped toward her desk and smiled politely.

“Why?” Her head tilted to the side and the glower went from daggers to