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

by Margaret Lashley

  “I just can’t picture you as a spinster, Milly. You’ve got way too much to offer.”

  Milly sighed again and smiled weakly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, sister. It’s your turn to pay for lunch.”

  ***

  Why hadn’t I given myself more time to prepare?

  Before I’d begun working, I’d had all day to get ready for a sexy rendezvous with Tom. Thanks to a clot of slow-moving tourists on Gulf Boulevard, I now I had less than ten minutes. I jumped in the shower and shaved my armpits and legs. I toweled off quickly, then slapped on skin lotion and tugged on a pair of sexy panties. I didn’t wear perfume. The light, rose scent of my moisturizer was enough. I hated colognes. All of them. They burned my eyes and throat, and made my mouth taste like soap. Sexy? Nope.

  I fastened my push-up bra and studied a scrape on my inner arm. I’d gotten it yesterday when Winky and I’d moved the old couch to the bonfire pit. I slipped on a silky sundress and combed back my damp hair. Thankfully, my makeup had survived the shower pretty much intact.

  I was officially ready to rumble. When Tom arrived a moment later, so was he. But not in the way I’d hoped.

  “I thought we’d talked about this before,” he barked as he marched through the door, his sea-green eyes stormy with anger.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re putting yourself at risk again. With another of your silly stakeouts. Dammit, Val. You could get injured – or worse. People are crazy out there. Don’t you know that?”

  Tom was dead serious. I joked to ease the tension.

  “Of course I do, Tom. I’m friends with Winky and Goober, aren’t I?”

  “I’m not joking, Val. What is this about? You having Winky on lookout at Garvey’s?”

  “How did you know that? Did Jorge tell you?”

  “What? No. Jerry Muller did. He said he overheard some hot brunette talking to a red-headed pile of freckles about a stakeout at Davie’s Donuts. I figured it was you and Winky.”

  I winked. “Oh. Hot brunette, huh?”

  Tom wasn’t amused. “So it’s true?”

  “Yes. But it’s not like last time. I’m not trying to catch a criminal, Tom. I’m just trying to find Cold Cuts.”

  Tom’s face contorted in confusion. “Lunch meat?”

  “No. The woman who bought the RV. Her nickname is Cold Cuts.”

  “Wait a minute. You know her nickname, but not her last name? Val, you truly are a lousy detective.”

  “Look, when she told me her nickname, I didn’t even know it was her.”

  “Her?”

  “Her her. The one in the RV. It’s no big deal, Tom.”

  “If it’s no big deal, why didn’t you just tell me what you’re up to? Why keep it a secret from me?”

  “I dunno. Things can get…unpredictable when the guys are involved. I didn’t want whatever happens to get traced back to you.”

  Tom grabbed me by the shoulders and stared into my eyes. I’d never seen him so intense. “Val, we’re not going to make it if you keep hiding things from me.”

  “What? But…I don’t mean to keep secrets from you, Tom. I just want to protect you from my stuff. You’re a cop. I know you have to tow a different line than me.”

  “I get it, but I don’t agree. Do you have any other secrets you want to tell me? I need to know I can trust you to come clean with me.”

  “I do have one.”

  “What?”

  “I ran into Hans Jergen yesterday.”

  Tom’s face registered anger and suspicion. “What did he want?”

  “Nothing. I ran out of gas. He gave me a lift. I saw his baton. No biggie.”

  “You saw his what?”

  I cringed. “Baton?”

  Tom looked dumbstruck. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “It was an accident. We were at the gas station and –”

  Tom’s face flushed with anger. He wasn’t listening. “How…I mean…geeze, Val. I know that you’re a magnet for the bizarre. But this? What have you got to say for yourself?”

  I tried again to lighten the situation with a joke. “Let’s just say, unlike you, Hans has his shortcomings.”

  Tom shook his head. “Val, this is just too much. I’ve got to go.”

  “But Tom!”

  He didn’t hear me. He was already halfway out the door.

  ***

  I was on my second Tanqueray and tonic when I heard a knock at the door. Tom! I raced to the door and flung it open. Laverne was standing there with another godawful lump of wasted ceramic in her hands. This one showed a bit more skill. But, I mean, the last one looked like it was rescued from a prison toilet bowl.

  “Hi, Laverne.”

  “Hi, sugar. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Well, I saw Tom’s car drive away in a hurry. And you look like you just lost your last dollar at the slots.”

  I shrugged. “Come on in.”

  Laverne smiled, but her face still registered concern.

  “I’m glad you got that couch moved, honey. Neighbors were starting to talk.”

  “What? Really?”

  “Aww, don’t worry about them. How do you like my latest sculpture?”

  “It’s…,” I said, then, quite unexpectedly, started bawling.

  Laverne looked at the lump of clay in her hand. “Oh, honey! Is it that awful?”

  Her misinterpretation of my crying made me laugh through my tears.

  “Oh, Laverne. No! I’m just…upset about Tom. We had a fight.”

  “Well, what about, sugar?”

  “He thinks I’m not being honest with him. Not telling the truth. I tried to convince him, but I just mucked it all up.”

  Laverne put her sculpture on the kitchen counter, grabbed a paper towel and led me to the couch. She sat beside me, and put her long spider arm around me.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Val. It’s just a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

  “Do you think I’m honest, Laverne? That I tell the truth?”

  She handed me the paper towel. “Only you know that for sure. But I tell you what. In Vegas, I learned to spot a faker a mile away. You’re no phony baloney, sugar.”

  I sniffed and dabbed my eyes with a paper towel. “No?”

  “Listen, Val. I know Mr. Happy Banana looks like a turd. But you were nice enough not to say so. That’s not being fake. That’s being kind. There’s a big difference.”

  I laughed again, shocked by Laverne’s insight and kindness. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Yes it is. And this one’s not much better. But hey, it’s been fun learning. That’s what counts.”

  “I guess you’re right, Laverne. But I don’t seem to ever learn. When it comes to guys, I mean. I don’t know why Tom would be so angry over our stakeout. It’s just –”

  “Honey, I guarandamntee you the stakeout’s got nothing to do with it. Tom’s probably sore over you not saying you loved him back.”

  I looked at Laverne, stunned. “But he didn’t even mention that.”

  Laverne winked at me and smiled. “I know it may sound funny, sugar. But we don’t always say what we really mean.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help myself. While Mrs. Barnes took a smoke break, I rifled through the battered metal file cabinet labeled “F-G.” I just had to see if Tom was a customer of Griffith & Maas. I’d almost convinced myself it was research – a simple salary comparison between Tom and Hans Jergen. But what I truly wanted was to know was if Tom was broke. More specifically, if he was fiscally irresponsible.

  I can’t afford to get swindled again.

  The thought surprised me, and kicked off a fierce internal debate.

  But Val, the only way you could get swindled by Tom was if you married him. Are you thinking of marrying him?

  No. Not really. But I don’t have to be married for him to go through my things…forge my signature.

&nb
sp; He wouldn’t do that!

  Shit! He’s already has! With the RV!

  My sticky fingers were on a file labeled D. Formack when a voice rang out behind me. I jumped like a cat waking up next to a cobra.

  “What are you doing?”

  I dropped the file and shoved the drawer closed. I whipped around to find old lady Barnes leaning on the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other. She tapped her finger on a pack of filter-less Camels.

  “Well?” Mrs. Barnes’ eyes danced with the pleasure of watching me squirm.

  “Uh….”

  “Our business was built on discretion, Ms. Fremden. You’d best come clean with it.”

  I cringed and spilled my guts. “I was looking to see if my boyfriend’s files were in here.”

  The skunk-haired woman’s face morphed from a scowl to a grin. “Oh. Why didn’t you say so?”

  She walked over to the cabinet. “Any luck?”

  Relief perked me to attention. “No. The closest I got to was Thomas Format.”

  “Too bad. It always pays to know your enemies. He might still be in that pile you’re working on. Want a donut?”

  I didn’t, but I took one anyway. I figured this was one woman I didn’t want to piss off.

  ***

  Milly was out of the office most of the day. I skipped lunch and begged off early so I could prepare for the stakeout. When I got home, I wasted the extra hour taking a nap. The doorbell woke me up. It was Milly.

  “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Were you sleeping?”

  “Yeah. Just a catnap. This job is kicking my ass.”

  Milly laughed and closed the door behind her. “Mrs. Barnes can be pretty demanding sometimes.”

  I flexed my tired shoulders. “Sometimes? You know, she caught me going through the filing cabinets today.”

  “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Yeah. But I was snooping. She nailed me.”

  “Oh my god! What happened?”

  “When I told her I was looking for my boyfriend’s file, she laughed. Then she offered me a donut.”

  Milly shook her head. “I told you! Step awaaay from the donuts.”

  “I know. I hid it in my purse and tossed it in the dumpster.”

  “Why were you looking for Tom’s file?”

  “I dunno. Why do you work for Mrs. Barnes? She kind of gives me the creeps.”

  Milly smirked. “Only kind of?”

  “So, I don’t get it, Milly. Why do you work for her?”

  “Why does anybody work for anybody? The money. Griffith & Maas pays better than a lot of other firms. Believe me, I’ve looked. And now that I’m getting older, it’s hard to get someone to take a chance on me.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “I said older, not old. And fatter. And look – I’m starting to get wrinkles on the bridge of my nose!”

  “What? Where?”

  “At the top. Between my eyes.” Milly pointed at her nose and drew her face close to mine.

  “They’re nothing.”

  “Nothing? I’ll probably look like a crypt keeper in another six months.”

  I shook my head. “Quit it. You’re scaring me.”

  Milly’s face registered mock shock. “See?”

  I punched her on the arm. “Oh, shut up! How about a drink?”

  “God. I thought you’d never ask.”

  “TNT?”

  “Works for me. So what are we gonna do for disguises, Val? I’m not wearing my good suit to this showdown at the not-okay corral.”

  “Very funny. Hmmm. Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.”

  I went to my bedroom and returned with the two bags of used clothes I’d bought at Laverne’s bidding. Milly rifled through them while I made the gin and tonics.

  “These are hideous, Val! Where did you get them?”

  “Laverne.”

  Milly tugged a yellow polka-dot dress on over her slim skirt and silk camisole. She held her blonde hair in a bun and struck a pose with her index finger to her cheek. “How do I look?”

  “Ravishing, darling Daisy. Donald is gonna eat you up.”

  The doorbell rang. Milly stopped smirking at me and stuck an eye in the peephole. “Speak of the devil.” Milly turned her nose up. “Should I let Laverne in?”

  “Yes, of course, Milly.”

  “All right.” Milly rolled her eyes, pouted and opened the door.

  “Well hi there, Milly! I just dropped by to see if I could help you girls out. Oh! Look at you! You look sweeter’n a set of triple sevens in that outfit.”

  I smirked. “It’s one of the dresses you picked out, Laverne,” I said in a syrupy tone, then dead-eyed Milly. “Milly’s going to wear it tonight.”

  Milly smiled sweetly at Laverne, then shot me a death stare. “I’m ready for that cocktail anytime now, Val.” Milly grabbed something out of the clothing bag. “Oh, and here’s what Val’s wearing.”

  “Why that’s the perfect choice,” Laverne said. She beamed, clasped her hands together and looked us both up and down. “Now all we need is hair and makeup.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  I was wishing for dusk…to hide my shame. My “outfit by Laverne” made my trashy interview outfit look like a bashful Southern belle.

  Milly glanced over at me from the passenger seat and giggled. I scowled and mashed Maggie’s gas pedal to the floorboard. The faster we got to Garvey’s, the fewer the people I could be accused of causing to die from laughter.

  “Oh, let’s stop here,” Milly said. She pointed toward an approaching convenience store. “I need some gum.”

  “No way. I’m not being seen anywhere in this getup.”

  “Aw, come on. You don’t look that bad.”

  I shot Milly a sideways glance, my eyelids heavy with mascara and iridescent purple eyeshadow. Laverne had really done a number on me this time. The old woman had explained her strategy as she’d applied false eyelashes to my upper lids. It was simple, actually. The plan was to offer two kinds of bait. One of us was to be a lady and the other a tramp. Well, Daisy Duck was no tramp.

  I tugged on the inseam of my red hot-pants in a futile attempt to release their camel toe grip. As I did, my right boob nearly fell out of my black tube top. Classy.

  “Oops a daisy!” Milly remarked at my close call, then laughed at her unintentional joke.

  “Ha ha.” I said sarcastically, then looked at my ridiculous face in the rearview mirror. “I think KISS wore less makeup than this.”

  “Which one?”

  “The whole band. Combined.”

  Milly studied me for a moment. “You know. You may be right.”

  Milly glanced down at my silver knee boots. They delivered the finishing touch for my call-girl cabaret outfit Laverne had fished from her own private stash.

  “I think their boot heels were lower, too,” Milly remarked. “How can you drive in those? They look like you took them off a disco tranny.”

  I sneered. “Well, while we’re hurling insults, if your pumps were white, you could get into Disneyworld for free. Quack quack.”

  Milly punched me on my arm. “Oh yeah? Well, there ought to be a law against pants that tight. I can see your religion!’

  I snarled and yanked at the inseam again. “At least we’ve got one thing going for us. In these getups, no one will ever recognize us.”

  “Thank god for that,” Milly agreed. “What about the guys? What are they wearing?”

  “I dunno. Goober promised not to wear overalls with no shirt again. Jorge’s usually dressed within normal human parameters.”

  We pulled into the lot at Garvey’s and waited for the guys to show. I blew out a breath and made a wish. “Here’s hoping the third time’s the charm.”

  Milly glanced over at me and shook her head. “Val, charming’s not your style.”

  ***

  My mascara was about to drip when the grey-blue Dodge finally rambled into the parking lot fifteen
minutes late. Winky waved through the open passenger window and yanked open the door from the outside.

  “Ain’t y’all a sight for sore eyes,” he laughed. “Where’s my salve?”

  Winnie stared at us, wide eyed. Her mouth slacked opened and formed a tiny “O” but she didn’t say a word.

  The side door slid open and Goober ambled out like a brown wolf spider. He was clad in a dark-tan tweed suit that would have looked quite presentable if the pant legs weren’t six inches too short. The floodwater hem left exposed a pair of dull, black-and-white spats – and orange ankle socks that perfectly matched the t-shirt under his jacket. A sickly-sweet, burning odor filled the air. I punched Milly on the arm.

  “You take Goober. Please!”

  Milly shot me a suspicious pout. “Why?”

  “His aftershave is already damaging my olfactory receptors.”

  Milly sighed. “Okay.”

  Jorge was the last to emerge from the van. Dressed completely in black, he nearly disappeared under the shadow cast by the oak tree above. Whether he looked fashionably cool or like a mafia drug dealer, I couldn’t decide.

  “Hola, amigas,” he said, and tipped his black fedora.

  Jorge’s dark eyes shone brightly, even in the shade. For some reason, they unsettled me. I was used to them being dull and glassy. Then a realization shook me. Jorge just might be…sober.

  I wobbled hastily in my space boots over to Jorge and grabbed him by the arm before Milly could change her mind about Goober. “You’re with me, Jorge.”

  Winky wolf-whistled in my direction. “Hoochie coochie mama!”

  His remark broke Winnie’s silence. She hollered out the van window.

  “Get back in here, Winky!” He flinched and ducked his head as if Winnie’s words were flying objects, then obeyed like a scolded pup.

  Goober watched Winky cower into the van. He sniffed and stuck his chin out. “And that, my dear ladies, is why I prefer bachelorhood.” He took Milly’s arm. “Shall we?”

  Milly shot me a look that said I owed her big time. She smiled up at Goober. “Yes, lets.” She daintily took his arm.

  “Okay, here we go,” I said. “And remember, we don’t know each other.”

  Behind me I heard Daisy quack, “I wish.”

  ***