Three Dumb: Wheelin' & Dealin' (A Val & Pals Humorous Mystery Book 3)

by Margaret Lashley

  My gut dropped to my lap. “No. Just the opposite. I think it was intentional.”

  “Yet you stayed.”

  “Yes. But if I’m honest, my heart wasn’t in it anymore. I already had one foot out the door when he told me he never wanted to speak to me again.”

  “So, his abandoning you got your other foot out the door. Be grateful for it.”

  I shot Cold Cuts a suspicious, venomous look. “Grateful that Friedrich abandoned me? In a foreign country? Are you serious?”

  She deflected my poisonous stare with a soft smile. “Yes, I’m serious. Think about it. His leaving you to fend for yourself gave you the ‘information’ you needed to finally follow your heart.”

  I looked into Cold Cuts’ clear unflinching eyes and saw the reflection of my own confused expression.

  “But I didn’t know what I wanted. I…I only knew I couldn’t stay with him any longer. That I didn’t want to be with him any longer.”

  Cold Cuts’ eyes brightened welcomingly. “Exactly. That’s the information you needed. The clarity. The whack upside the head, if you want, that got your butt moving away from what you didn’t want and toward something you did want.”

  Something clicked inside my brain and my chest loosened slightly. “Oh. I get it. Sort of.”

  Cold Cuts smiled. “Tell me, do you still want to kiss this guy?”

  “Friedrich? No way.”

  “Do you want to kill him?”

  I eyed her dubiously. “Could I get away with it Scott free?”

  Cold Cuts laughed playfully. “So, you’re not over him yet.”

  I frowned in disappointment. “What do you mean? It’s been nearly two years.”

  “Time means nothing to the heart. If you still want to kiss him or kill him, you’re not done yet. Your feelings are still…in turmoil.”

  I wanted to deny it, but it seemed pointless to try to hide from this girl. She seemed capable of seeing right through me.

  Maybe this was the reason I couldn’t commit to Tom. To anyone, to be honest.

  “Shit. So, how do I get over Friedrich, then?”

  “The fastest way? By being grateful for him.”

  “Grateful? Now I know you’ve got to be kidding!”

  “No. I’m not. Look. You said that in your heart-of-hearts, you didn’t want to be with him. But you didn’t want to leave him, or hurt him. So he stepped up to the plate and kept swinging the bat until he hit the zinger you’d been waiting for. Your chance for a homerun. Or should I say, a run home. In other words, if he hadn’t been a total jackass, you’d still be there, living a half-life of misery you never even actually wanted.”

  Her words stunned me. I sat and stared at the woman who spoke like a sage and looked like a bimbo.

  “Damn. You’re right. I would’ve gone on forever trying to ‘make it work’ for us, but not for me.”

  Cold Cuts grinned. “Exactly.”

  “Wow. I never thought I’d say this, but here goes. ‘Thank you, Friedrich, for being such an ass.’”

  Cold Cuts’ blonde eyebrows flew halfway up her forehead. A second later, she burst out laughing.

  “Ha ha! That’s the best line of gratitude I’ve ever heard!”

  I smiled sarcastically. “Thanks.”

  Something buzzed and Cold Cuts glanced down at her phone. Her clear, open face switched to serious in a split second. “Listen…oops! I don’t even know your name!”

  “Val Fremden.”

  “Hey, listen Val. I’ve got to run. See you around?” Cold Cuts started to stand up.

  “Sure. I’ve still got to pick up a few groceries. I’m sure we’ll run into each other around here again sometime. Thanks for the free psychotherapy.”

  She stood and shook my hand. “My pleasure.”

  I watched from my hard, plastic Starbucks seat as Cold Cuts disappeared out the front door of Publix. I sighed, wiped the table with a napkin and threw our cups into the trash. I picked up the baguette and avocadoes, and, careful to avoid another pornographic display, wandered over to the snack isle and grabbed a bag of tortilla chips. I got in line to pay behind a frizzy-haired woman about my age. I noticed she was buying a lawn chair, a six-pack of bud, a cucumber and a douche.

  I forced myself not to think about her plans for the evening.

  I thought about Tom instead. The conversation with Cold Cuts had loosened me up. I felt a lot…lighter about Tom and me. Maybe there was a reason we were together. Maybe there was even a good reason for the fight we were having. I smiled to myself and dug a hand into my purse. My fingers wrapped around my cellphone. I pulled it out and punched #7. Tom answered on the third ring, just as my turn came up in line. I ended up having a double dialogue between him and the cashier.

  “Hi Tom. Huh? Oh, yes, that’s all.”

  “Val? What’s all?”

  “No, I don’t have any coupons. Tom, I just wanted to say….”

  “Coupons? Val, have you been drinking?”

  “No. That’s on sale.”

  I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear and handed the cashier a twenty.

  “What’s going on, Val?”

  Tom sounded annoyed. I grabbed the grocery bag and my change.

  “I’m sorry, I just wanted to tell you….”

  I dumped the change in my wallet, then looked up.

  “Tell me what?”

  My mouth fell open, but no words came out. Through the glass storefront, in the parking lot outside, an old Minnie Winnie passed by. The RV’s backend was plastered in dragonfly stickers. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Tom, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

  I clicked off the phone and ran out the door. Fifty feet to the left, the RV had come to a stop. It idled roughly as two sunburned tourists in flip-flops lazily crossed in front of it. Through the side-view mirror, I made out the image of a blonde woman in heart-shaped sunglasses.

  Cold Cuts!

  I took a lunging step toward the old Minnie Winnie, but tripped on the curb. I lost my balance and let go of the grocery bag. The avocadoes hit the pavement and rolled into my path like little green land mines. My right heel found one. My leg flew out from under me like an ice skater on an oil slick. A second later, my ass met the asphalt with a dull thud.

  I blinked hard at the stars dancing around my head like little meteors. As they cleared, I found myself sprawled in the middle of the road. My legs stuck straight-out in front of me like a cheap Barbie doll. I pulled my knees in toward me and watched a rat-tailed guy on a Harley run over my tortilla chips. The bag burst like a New Year’s popper and spewed shards of toasted-corn confetti all over me like salty, greasy rain. I rubbed the chip dust from my eyes and looked up. The RV skittered off, leaving behind a thin cloud of grey smoke.

  Shit! I lifted my left butt cheek and pulled out the flattened baguette. I hauled myself up on one knee and my phone rang. I wheezed into the speaker. “What?”

  “What my ass, Val,” Milly said. “Where are you? You had an interview today!”

  Aww, shit! “I’m sorry, Milly. I forgot.”

  A horn honked and a man with a bloated face as red as his rented convertible yelled at me. “Lady, you gonna get your fat ass out of my way or what?”

  I gestured obscenely at him with my mangled baguette and hobbled off toward my car.

  “What’s going on, Val?”

  “Milly, I’m sorry. But I promise, I’ve got a good excuse.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Milly said, her voice a disappointed deadpan. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  “No. I’m serious, Milly. I ran into that woman you told me about. Cold Cuts.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “And I think she’s the one who bought my RV.”

  Chapter Six

  My mention of running into Cold Cuts warmed Milly up a bit. That, along with some Academy-award-worthy groveling and the promise of a free lunch. My best friend forgave me and rescheduled another interview for the follow
ing morning at 9:30 a.m. After the interview, I was to meet her for lunch and fill her in on all the juicy details of my chance meeting with the odd, young lady who’d made a habit of rescuing women like me and Milly from ourselves.

  When I got home from Publix, I wrote a reminder note about the interview and went to tape it on the bathroom mirror. That’s when I noticed the picture of Glad I kept on the mirror was missing. I looked around on the floor and in the drawers, but couldn’t find it. My heart registered a twinge of panic. Had I lost that, too?

  I limped into the kitchen, ripped off a hunk of road-killed baguette and crammed it into my ravenous maw. I was doing an impression of Alvin the gluttonous chipmunk when the phone rang. It was Tom. I’d forgotten to call him back. Geeze.

  “Hi, Tom.” My words were garbled by a gummy wad of bread.

  Tom’s voice conveyed the tension of our unresolved stalemate. “Val, what’s going on with you? Are you drinking? It’s only 11 a.m., for crying out loud.”

  “No!” I exclaimed. The vacuum-like suction of my in-breath captured the slimy dough ball and jettisoned it halfway down my throat. I choked and hacked like a tuberculosis-ridden wino.

  Tom’s voice softened. “You sound terrible. Have you got the flu?”

  “No,” I wheezed. “Just…choked. Need water.”

  I grabbed my throat, turned on the kitchen tap and filled a glass as Tom spoke.

  “What’s going on with you, Val? You hung up on me.”

  “I was trying to – cough – catch the RV.”

  “Catch it? Was Lefty throwing it?”

  Tom snickered at his own joke. I knew he was trying to break the ice, but his lame attempt at humor left me cold. I took a sip of water and slammed the glass down on the counter.

  “No, Tom. I went – hack – by the scrapyard yesterday. They’d already – wheeze – re-sold the RV. And this guy…Lefty…couldn’t even tell me who to.”

  Tom’s tone went soft and serious. “Oh. Crap, Val. I’m really sorry.”

  Finally, an apology. The words I’d longed to hear from Tom warmed my cold shoulder like a woolen shawl. So why was it so hard for me to return the favor?

  “To be honest, Tom, I’ve been so pissed at you. I was mortified when I found out you sold mom’s RV.”

  “I know. I feel like a heel. I had no idea the old piece of…the RV meant that much to you. I wanted to apologize earlier. But, to be honest with you, coming near you when you’re on the warpath isn’t safe for my cajones, if you know what I mean.”

  I did.

  “But I had a right to be mad, Tom. Didn’t I?”

  “Yes. You did. But I didn’t mean –”

  “I know. But it still hurt. I thought I’d never find the RV…that I’d never see my mom again. Then, this morning at Publix – when I was talking to you on the phone – it went rolling by the window. I’m sure it was Glad’s RV. I tried to run after it…that’s why I hung up on you. But I couldn’t catch it.”

  “Well, that’s kind of good news, isn’t it? At least you know now it’s still in the neighborhood. Did you get the tag number?”

  Dammit! “No. I didn’t think to look.”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I could get a buddy at the DMV to search the database for all the new tags being issued for RVs. It would be worth a shot.”

  Tom’s idea perked me up a bit. “Yes! That would be great. Thanks, Tom. Maybe she…uh…I mean, whoever bought the RV would go in for one of those special ‘classic’ license plates.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll mention it. So, she?”

  I never could hide much from Tom. But at that moment, I didn’t feel like getting into the whole story about Cold Cuts. “I think the person I saw driving it was a woman.”

  “Oh.”

  The line grew silent. Finally, Tom spoke.

  “You doing okay…otherwise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does that mean you might be up for Taco Tuesday tonight?”

  I rubbed the bruise spreading over my right butt cheek and allowed myself to smile begrudgingly. “Sure.”

  Given that my dinner options were between tacos and a mustard-and-pickle sandwich, it wasn’t a hard choice.

  ***

  I shoved the rest of the baguette in the freezer. The poor tortilla chips and avocados had never made it home alive. As I closed the fridge door, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something flash by the window in the backyard. I hobbled over to the sliding glass door and peeked outside. Weird. It hadn’t rained, but the freshly laid grass was soaking wet. I glanced over at the faucet. The old hose had been patched, and the nozzle was replaced. The psycho-killer sprinkler had also been reattached to the hose. It glistened at me in the sunlight like Jack Nicholson’s eyes in The Shining. A shiver ran down my back.

  Maybe Laverne did this. She’s always trying to fix things around here….

  But maybe she didn’t. I snuck outside and glanced around the tiki hut. Nothing. I poked around the hammock. All clear. I tiptoed along the back wall of the house and stuck my head around the corner to take a peek. I found myself nose-to-nose with a raggedy, sweaty, half-naked man. A scream flew out of my mouth.

  “Aaaahh!”

  “Whoa! Gaul dang it, Val, you nearly scared the bejeesus freak out a me!”

  “I scared you? What are you doing here, Winky?”

  I stared into the pink, freckled face of my ginger-haired, redneck friend. He was sweating worse than a politician at the Pearly Gates. He wiped his brow with an old t-shirt and spit a chunk of chewing tobacco into the cypress mulch surrounding the lantana bushes. He pulled the sweaty t-shirt on over his head and adjusted it with tugs and pulls to ensconce his impressive beer belly.

  “Well, Winnie’s got herself a job at Davie’s Donuts just down the street from you. I rode with her this morning. Figured I’d walk down and see you, but you wasn’t home. These poor plants was just about to kick the bucket, so I got to waterin’ ‘em. Hate to see ‘em bite the dust. Plantin’ ‘em was hard work.”

  “Oh. Well…thanks.”

  “Didn’t mean to get your haunches up, Miss Scaredy Cat.”

  Winky grinned at me in a way that made me feel foolish.

  “I…I just wasn’t expecting to find anybody out here.”

  “Yeah. I wasn’t ‘specting Water Loo’s to burn up, neither. Life’s full of surprises, Val. Winnie done lost her job and we couldn’t pay the rent. I got to find me somethin’ to do. That van’s worse’n sleepin’ on good ol’ Mother Earth.”

  “You two are living in the van?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh. Sorry to hear that. What about your job…fixing engines and stuff?”

  Winky shrugged. “It’s kinda sporatical.”

  Part of me wanted to help Winky. Part of me regretted I’d ever met him. In other words, he was just like every other man I’d ever known. I bit my lip and forced kind words out of my mouth like bitter pills.

  “Oh. Is there anything I can do?”

  Winky shot me a sideways look.

  “I never took nothin’ from nobody, Val. Not about to start now. But if you don’t mind it, could we park the Dodge in your driveway tonight? Ever’body but Walmarts has been running us off.”

  “Uh. Sure. It’s just temporary, right?”

  I tried to look hopeful instead of panicked. My charade must have worked. Winky beamed with gratitude.

  “Yep! I promise. ‘Preciate it, Val Pal.”

  Winky patted me on the back and walked toward the backyard. I smiled. I was a sucker for gratitude. Besides, I’d already gone and said, ‘yes.’ There was no turning back now.

  “You know, Winky, I think I might know of some work for you.”

  Winky whipped around and studied me with a face as carefree and open as a three-year-old boy’s. “Oh yeah? What ’cha got?”

  “I don’t want to say just yet. I have to run it by someone first.”

  Winky spit brown goo in the grass, winked and shot me a mock salute. />
  “Sure thing, Val Pal. You’re the boss.”

  ***

  Winky was in the backyard, drinking a beer and straddling one of the barstools at the tiki hut. I walked out and handed him a mustard sandwich. (He’d informed me he didn’t care for pickles.)

  “What happened to this here bread? It’s flatter’n a sunken chest.”

  “It’s a Panini,” I lied. “A fancy Italian baguette.”

  “Oo la la.” Winky raised his eyebrows – and his pinkies – then took a bite big enough to choke a Billy goat.

  I heard Tom’s 4-Runner pull into the driveway.

  “I gotta go. Enjoy yourself.”

  “You, too, Val Pal.” Winky raised his voice three octaves. “Give Tommy boy my love!”

  I jeered playfully back at him, then walked around the side yard and waved at Tom. I trotted over and climbed onto the passenger seat of his silver Toyota before he had time to turn off the engine.

  “Hi. What…I’m not allowed inside anymore?” he asked, only half joking.

  “Huh? Oh.”

  I reached over and touched his arm. “It’s not that, Tom. I have…a houseguest. Or maybe I should say, a hut guest. Winky and Winnie are homeless again. Living in the van. Winky’s in the backyard right now. I told him they could park the Dodge in the driveway for a few days, but between you and me, I’m worried about them staying here. Is that wrong?”

  Tom shrugged. “Not wrong, per se. But I thought you cared about them.”

  His reply did nothing to bolster my opinion of myself. “I do care, Tom. I care about a lot of things. That doesn’t necessarily mean I want to make a lifetime commitment to them.”

  Tom’s eyes darkened.

  Crap! He must have thought I was talking about him! I backpedaled.

  “It’s just that…I guess…well, I just don’t want my backyard to become the new hangout for all the Water Loo’s orphans of the world.”

  Tom’s eyes lightened again. He nodded.

  “I understand. I mean, I get it. The guys can be a handful, even for me. But I think you’ll be able to survive for a couple of days. You’re a pretty tough cookie…emphasis on the pretty.”

  Tom took my hand and squeezed it. I smiled and blushed at his cornball compliment. A woman my age – can you imagine?