Seven Daze

by Margaret Lashley

  “Okay.” Goober hesitated. “How about a hug?”

  “Uh...sure.”

  I hugged Goober tight, then watched as he climbed into the old Minnie Winnie and rattled off out of the parking lot. As he disappeared down SR 60, I clicked on my phone and saw a voicemail from Tom. I played it.

  “Val? Are you all right? I can’t find you. I’m worried sick!”

  My heart flinched. Why is Tom so worried? I told him I was with Goober.

  “Val,” Tom’s voice continued, “I have to tell you something about Goober. Call me back, please!”

  My gut sank to my knees. I clicked speed dial for Tom. He answered on the first ring.

  “Val! Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ve been cleared of all charges.”

  I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. I looked at my phone. It had blacked out. The battery was dead.

  Crap!

  I slipped the phone into my purse and climbed into Maggie’s driver’s seat. I shifted into reverse and began to back out of the slot. Suddenly, a pinched face shrouded in toilet-paper tubes was standing beside the car.

  “Mornin’ Val,” Charlene said. She looked guiltier than a Weight Watchers member at an all-you-can-eat barbeque.

  “I’m sorry about accusing you of killin’ Woggles,” Charlene confessed. “Turns out it was my own sister givin’ Woggles them apples. All the while he thought they was healthy, she was poisonin’ him! Shame on Elmira! Woggles was the best man there ever was! And she killed him! What am I supposed to do now?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But take my advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t eat or drink anything she might offer you.”

  Charlene nodded, and I pulled out of the lot. As I turned onto SR 60, she climbed back onto her shopper chopper and waved.

  I waved back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  On the drive back to St. Petersburg, I kept thinking about Goober and hoping I’d catch sight of the old RV rumbling west down I-275. I never did. What did Tom want to tell me about him? He wasn’t dying, was he? I thought about the hug he’d planted on me as we parted, and shivered in the ninety-four degree heat.

  As I crossed the Howard Frankland Bridge back into Pinellas County, my thoughts turned to Elmira. I wondered if they’d apprehended her already, and if she was sitting on the cot in my old holding cell this very moment.

  Before I knew it, I pulled up to my little, flat-roofed nothing of a house. It shone like a palace in my eyes. When Tom came bursting out the front door, it felt like the sweetest home there ever was.

  “Val!” Tom yelled as I shifted into park. “You’re okay!”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, unfastening my seat belt. “I told you so over the phone. I’ve been cleared of all charges.”

  Tom opened my car door and pulled me out. He squeezed me tightly to his chest. “That wasn’t what I was worried about. When we were talking, your phone cut out...I thought...Goober....”

  I pushed back from Tom. “What’s happened to Goober? Is he all right?”

  The fading worry in Tom’s eyes resurged. “Is he all right? Val, when I couldn’t reach you or Goober, I tried to do a background search on him. He didn’t come up on any database we searched. Val, there’s no such person as Gerald Jonohhovitz!”

  “That can’t be right, Tom. Maybe you just spelled his name wrong. It’s a mouthful, you know.”

  Tom’s face registered a hint of relief. “You’re probably right. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. You’re home. You’re safe. I missed you, you know.”

  I grinned. “I can tell. I missed you, too.”

  “Welcome home,” Tom whispered, and planted a kiss on my lips. “Here, let me grab your luggage.”

  He leaned over Maggie’s frame, reached in the backseat and pulled out my suitcase. “What’s this?” he asked. Tom was holding Goober’s redneck dreamcatcher up in the air for the whole neighborhood to see.

  Goober! I snatched it out of Tom’s hands. “A bad joke.”

  I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and hid the dreamcatcher behind it as best I could as I made for the front door. A sudden thought, however, made me stop and turn around.

  “Hey, Tom, can a raccoon die from eating apples?”

  Tom looked up from examining the side of Maggie. “I dunno. Geeze, Val, that’s a nasty scrape.”

  “I know. Tom, the whole ride home, I kept thinking about how Woggles died. Something doesn’t seem right. I hate to say it...” I looked over toward Laverne’s house, then walked back to the car and lowered my voice. “But I’m not convinced Elmira did it. I don’t want to see an innocent woman take the fall for killing Woggles if it was...Laverne’s cookies that –”

  “Val!” Tom interjected. “Bad cooking never actually killed anyone...no one that I know of, anyway. Let’s wait for the coroner’s report before we jump to any conclusions, okay?”

  “But that’s just it, Tom. The report’s already come in.”

  Tom stepped around to the back of Maggie. “What did it say?”

  “That whatever killed that raccoon in the dumpster killed Woggles, too.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I dunno. I just...hey, what are you doing?”

  “Opening the trunk.”

  “There’s nothing in there.”

  The trunk popped open. Tom grimaced. “That’s not entirely true.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Come see for yourself.”

  I walked over and stared inside the trunk. A dead raccoon stared back.

  “THANKS FOR GETTING that thing out of my trunk, Tom,” I said as I hauled my suitcase into the garage.

  “No problem. That’s what men are for,” he quipped and wrapped a twist-tie around a garbage bag containing the dead raccoon.

  “How in the world do you think it got in there?” I dumped my clothes directly from the suitcase into the washing machine.

  “Most likely through that rust hole in the undercarriage I told you to get it fixed. It probably died of asphyxiation from the fumes.”

  I turned on the washer. Tom followed me back inside and into the kitchen. “But why wouldn’t it have just crawled back out?”

  “Well, that’s hard to do when some maniac is driving eighty miles an hour.”

  “I never go past seventy-nine.”

  “Right. And the raccoon probably suffered from motion sickness.”

  “Huh. That’s another reason.” I cracked open the fridge.

  “Reason for what?” Tom plunked down on a stool.

  “For why the raccoon didn’t leave. Maybe it was too sick to get out, so it died in there.”

  “Were Laverne’s cookies in the trunk?”

  I shot him some side eye and reached for a bottle of beer. “No. But seriously, Tom. That first night I was at the Hell’ammo –”

  “The what?”

  “Uh...beer?”

  “Sure.”

  I handed him a bottle. “Shell Hammock is the.... Long story. Tell you later. The point is, what I’m trying to say is that raccoons got in my car and ate Laverne’s cookies. The next morning, I saw a sick raccoon stumbling around outside the RV. Do you think her cookies could have, you know, killed them?”

  I popped the top on my beer and handed Tom the opener.

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  I smiled. “So, you’ll get your guys at work to test the raccoon?”

  Tom raised his bottle of beer in a mock toast. “Anything for you, Val.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” I took a slug of beer, then set the bottle on the counter and wrapped my arms around him. “You know how much I love it when you use your cop powers for good.”

  “Yeah, right,” he laughed. “You just can’t resist a man in uniform.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But actually, I like you better out of uniform.”

  Tom set his beer on the counter ne
xt to mine.

  “Well, Ms. Fremden, that can be arranged.”

  “DID YOU GET ANY WRITING done?” Tom asked as he leaned on the doorframe to the bedroom.

  For once, the question didn’t cause my upper lip to twitch with annoyance. I stretched my legs, shuffled my torso to sitting, and fluffed the pillows behind me. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Well, in that case, my girl deserves a cappuccino in bed.”

  “Mmmm,” I hummed as I took the frothy-topped cup from his hand.

  “Well, it might be crude, but it works,” Tom said as he slid into bed beside me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tom shot me one of his boyish grinns and pointed a finger toward the ceiling. I looked up. Hanging from the curtain rod above the headboard was a pair of pink panties and three tin cans.

  I laughed until I’d sloshed every drop of cappuccino from my warm, ceramic cup.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Two days had passed since my return. I was in my new home office Monday morning, pecking away at my computer when the doorbell rang. The Vegas showgirl had detected my return.

  “Hey, honey!” Laverne said when I opened the front door. “You’re back early! How was your trip?”

  “Okay. I managed to escape with my life. And I wrote my first short story.”

  Laverne grinned. “Can’t ask for more than that now, can you? What’s it called?”

  “The Snicker...” Oh crap! I can’t tell Laverne that I’m using her cookies to murder someone! “Uh...The Snicker Bar Murders.”

  “That sounds great! Are you writing now, sugar?”

  “Uh...yes.”

  “Well don’t let me stop the budding author! I just happened to see that horrible scrape on poor Maggie, and wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine, thanks. But I’m afraid Maggie’s a little worse for wear.”

  “If you don’t mind, let me have a crack at covering that scratch.”

  “What? Really?”

  “I was a nail technician in another life.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “Well that sounds like a story in and of itself.”

  Laverne showed me her dentures. “You better believe it, honey!”

  “Well, okay, then. Sure. Give it a go. Oh. Are you still going to cooking class on Thursday night?”

  “Of course!”

  “Okay then. Just pop over when you’re ready to roll.”

  “Thanks. Will do. And Val?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s good to have you back.” Laverne reached her flabby spider arms out for a hug. I gave her one.

  “It’s good to be back.”

  THE BAD NEWS WAS, I hadn’t lasted a week at the Hell’ammo. The good news was, it had proven to be just the inspiration I’d been searching for. Over the past three days, I’d typed my fingers to the bone. I’d missed last week’s class on Mystery Writing for Fun and Profit, but I’d more than made up for it. I had my assignments up to date, including a short story...actually, a couple of stories...to share with Mrs. Langsbury and the others at class tonight.

  I was flying high. But when I walked into the class, old lady Langsbury wasn’t happy to see me. Her pursed lips were white. The rest of her face, usually translucent, had taken on the shade of a ripe pomegranate.

  I slunk into a seat next to Victoria the librarian impersonator. She glared at me through her thick, Woody Allen glasses while red-headed Clarice crinkled her long, pinched nose and sniffed like I might have just farted.

  “Well, I suppose we should get started,” Langsbury said sourly.

  “But Ms. Langsbury, shouldn’t we wait for Judy and...that young guy?” I asked. For some reason, I’d felt the need to raise my hand.

  “Jeff. They won’t be returning to class.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Clarice and Victoria sniggered until Langsbury’s Medusa impression turned them to stone.

  “Apparently, Ms. Bloomers has an apt name. She seems to be in the habit of losing hers.”

  “What?”

  “Judy took the ‘fun and profit’ part of this class a little too literally.”

  “I’m sorry. I still don’t get it,” I said apologetically.

  Langsbury blew out a breath and slumped to a seat on the front edge of her desk. “After hitting us all up for our potential as real-estate clients, Judy hit gold with Jeff. According to him, Judy showed him and his father a couple of condos, then ran off with his dear old dad. Jeff called me this afternoon to let me know he’d just gotten word his father and Judy were shacking up together in the Bahamas.”

  Holy mackerel!

  “So, did any of the three of you remaining manage to complete last week’s assignment?” Langsbury asked. “I could use a good laugh.”

  LAVERNE APPROACHED Maggie with her latest deadly weapon in tow. A fresh batch of lemon bars.

  “Is that your latest class project?” I asked as she climbed into the passenger’s seat.

  “Yeah. You want one?”

  “Uh...no thanks. I’m on this new diet. No food after 6:00 p.m.”

  “All right.” Laverne put the plate on the floorboard and buckled herself in. “I’m planning on taking these over to Winky’s tomorrow, anyway. It’ll be nice to see the whole gang together again, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, it will. I hope it’s more fun than my writer’s group was tonight.”

  Laverne shot me a sideways glance with those pug eyes of hers. “What happened?”

  I shifted into reverse and pulled out of the parking space. “You remember that young man who was part of our hen party?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Seems Judy Bloomers ran off with his dad after showing him some condos.”

  Laverne shook her horsey head. “Wonders never cease.”

  I turned onto First Avenue North and headed toward the beach. “Yeah. The other ladies were pretty pissed about it. Judy flew the coop, and ruffled everybody else’s feathers in the process.”

  “Those old biddies. They were probably mad because they didn’t think of it first.”

  I laughed. “Could be. Speaking of men, how are things with you and J.D.?”

  “I asked him to move out while you were gone.”

  I hit the brakes a little hard at a yellow light. “Oh. I’m sorry, Laverne!”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  “What happened...if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Laverne smiled softly. “I got no secrets from you, Val. It was nothing terrible. J.D. just reminded me of the ins and outs of having a man around. I like my life the way it is.”

  “So, you two are through?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Like I’ve told you before. J.D. is just too...I dunno. Stiff. He’s always doing everything so prim and proper. It’s kind of dull, you know? I told him I like to have fun. Be spontaneous. Life’s too short to live by others’ rules and expectations, don’t you think?”

  “Sure.”

  “Besides, I’m okay without a man. I think J.D. and I work best as friends...with the occasional ‘benefits’ thrown in.”

  I looked over at the old lady who had to be pushing eighty. “Good for you.”

  Laverne smiled. “Yeah. It is.” She motioned toward the platter of lemon bars. “You sure I can’t tempt you with one?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  It had been a great morning so far. I hadn’t spilled my cappuccino or snapped the thick, red rubber band hanging around my wrist. Instead, I’d written nine-hundred and ninety-eight words in a new short story called Golden Years. I typed in “jellybean time,” to round out my thousand-word count, and reached into the jar to collect my reward.

  The phone rang. My roommate was on the line.

  “Hey, Tom.”

  “You got those lemon bars made yet?”

  “I’m working on it. I just wanted to get my word count in first. Just finished.”
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  “Good. I’m proud of you. But don’t forget about the lemon bars. I just got the toxicology report. That raccoon in your trunk was loaded with rat poison.”

  “Geeze! Rat poison!”

  “Val, you don’t think Laverne could have mistaken it for baking powder, or something?”

  “I have no idea, Tom. But...I’ll do my best to find out.”

  “Meantime, I’ll call Chief Collins.”

  “No. Let me, Tom. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do it myself.”

  “Be my guest, Valliant Stranger, P.I.”

  “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “I’m not kidding. You earned it. You’re saving an innocent woman.”

  “And possibly convicting a friend.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Life can be full of tough choices.”

  I glanced over at the new daybed in my office. I hoped I’d never feel the need to use it.

  “Right. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “WELL, HOWDY THERE, Ms. Fremden.”

  “Hi, Chief Collins.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m calling because I think I know what happened to Woggles.”

  “He was poisoned.”

  “Right. But I don’t think Elmira did it.”

  The line was silent for a moment. “You don’t say.”

  “Chief, you see, I had this feeling...that is, something kept bugging me about the raccoons.”

  “Let me put your mind at ease, Ms. Fremden. The varmints didn’t drown Woggles. His lungs had no trace of water in them.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. You see, I saw a sick raccoon the day before Woggles was found dead. And when I got home, I found a dead raccoon in my trunk.”

  “My condolences to your family.”

  I sighed. “I’m serious, Chief. I had the police here test it. It was poisoned, too.”

  “I think we established that already.”

  “Yes. But it wasn’t poisoned by apple seeds. When you ingest them, it turns into cyanide, or something like that.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”