Read The Madams of Mischief: Doom Divas Book # 1 Page 23

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  About ten Thursday night, while I was on the air, Tim showed up with a couple of subs from Pilazzo's. I did a riff about good food, good friends, and good company, and thanked God for the station’s “six pack of songs”, which left me a good fourteen minutes before I had to talk again. I unwrapped my steak and cheese sub and chowed down.

  When I finished wolfing down the sandwich, I did another short riff and then asked Tim about the investigation.

  "No new leads. Well, one little one, I guess. We found out where that jersey came from. Seems like your boyfriend," he said “boyfriend” with a sneer, "had a bag of extra ones in the back seat of his Escape. They got to looking and, lo and behold, one of 'em was missing."

  I ignored his tone. “Wow! Do you think it was Wart or the killer that stole it?"

  Tim took a bite of his sub and chewed thoughtfully. "Personally, I think it was the killer. I'm still leaning toward the idea that somebody's trying to set up Fred. Make it look like he's the murderer."

  I mulled that over. "Well, maybe. Or maybe Fred is the killer and he put all those things out there so y'all would be misled into thinking it was a set up."

  "I don't mean to burst your bubble," he said, "but that kind of thing only happens on TV. Most of the murders in real life are pretty cut and dried and happen on the spur of the moment. Usually don't see a whole lot of planning and fancy stuff involved."

  "If you ask me," I said, "this one seems to have more than its share of fancy stuff."

  The song ended. I did a couple more minutes of patter, and introduced the next song on the playlist.

  "Anything new about my wreck?" I asked Tim once George Teoria's “Lonely Lover's Lullaby” started playing.

  "No. And, unless somebody walks in and confesses, I doubt we'll find out who did it. It isn't exactly top priority. Would you recognize the car if you saw it again?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. It was pretty dark. I noticed it when I left the grocery store. But you know how I am about cars. They get you from one place to another."

  "Well, I'm just glad you weren't hurt. And that whoever it was didn't stop and come after you."

  "Me too. Thank God Zach heard all the racket and came down to investigate. I was pretty hysterical by then."

  Tim gritted his teeth when I mentioned Zach. "How convenient that your boyfriend was there to look out for you," he said, sneering once again when he said boyfriend. His neck was mottled red.

  "Look, Tim, I don't know what the problem is between you and Zach, but get over it. I like him. I'm going to go out with him. End of discussion."

  Tim opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, doing his guppy impression. "You are such a damn fool, Marty! That guy is gonna mess you up something awful."

  I put my hand up so he'd shut up before I punched the 'live' switch so I could talk on air. I managed to come up with some patter and introduced the Civil War’s latest hit. As soon as the song started, I gave him hell.

  "Damn it, Tim, I'm tired of this crap. Just what the hell is your problem with him?"

  "Did you ever stop to think that maybe he's the one that killed Wart? Did ya?"

  "That's ridiculous! What's his motive? His dad's the one that had the grudge against Wart. Not him. He didn't kill anybody. He wouldn't. He couldn't."

  "You don't know that."

  The phone rang. I ignored it.

  "Yes, Tim. I do know that."

  "No, you don't. And until we find out for sure, I don't want you to be alone with him."

  "You don't want me to be alone with him? Well, that's just tough! We've got plans to go up to the lake tomorrow. I'll be damned if I'm going to change it because of your stupid accusations."

  "I don't like it. Not one bit. At least stay around here, where I can keep an eye on you."

  "No! Dammit, Tim, you're not my mother! I don't need anybody to keep an eye on me. I can take care of myself!"

  "Sure you can. Finding dead bodies, sneaking around spying on people, getting your car bashed in. That's really taking care of yourself."

  I called him a jerk. He called me an idiot. The phone kept ringing. I couldn't stand it any longer. I jerked the receiver to my ear.

  "What?" I yelled to the caller.

  I listened quietly, my face getting redder by the second. I slammed the phone down, turned to my control panel, stammered out a little patter, and flipped the live switch to off. My face felt like it had been par-boiled.

  "That was Herb," I said to Tim.

  "What did he want?"

  "We were on the air. Just now. Fighting. I didn’t cuss or anything did I?"

  Tim dropped his head to the desk and groaned.

  "The good news is, I'm not going to get fired. Herb thought it was 'f-ing great'. He said we ought to do it more often. Said it made for 'good f-ing drama'."

  "Well," Tim said. "At least one of us still has a job."

  "You know," I said, "it's a good thing nobody ever listens to this station. I never thought I'd say it, but thank God for lousy ratings."