Glad One: Starting Over is a %$#@&! (Val & Pals Book 2)

by Margaret Lashley

  I tried to picture Glad back then. I couldn’t imagine how desperate she must have been. I didn’t want to imagine it. “Poor Glad! Do you think she did? Get rid of her baby herself, I mean?”

  “Who knows? She could have. But my money’s on Bobby. After all, he was paid five grand to make the baby disappear. And after Thelma vanished, Glad said Bobby took great delight in torturing her by saying he saw the devil himself come and steal the bastard child away. One time he even told her he saw the devil tear Thelma to shreds and eat her. He gave Glad a lock of blonde hair as proof. Glad hid the hair away, like she did the butterfly pin. She showed the hair to my sister Ang, but it turned out to be plastic threads like from a Barbie doll head.”

  My heart sank. “So Thelma’s probably dead.”

  “Probably. But I’ll tell you something I haven’t told anybody, Val. I wanted proof, and the only person I figured knew for sure was Bobby Munch, the devil himself.”

  “What are you saying, Jacob?”

  “Bobby did twelve years at Appalach’. Part for what he did to Glad, the other for embezzling church funds. When I found out Bobby was getting out, me and a friend of mine made a plan. Bobby didn’t know either one of us. When he came marching out, wasn’t nobody waiting for him. I told that buck-toothed asshole that my friend had just got out of the slammer, too. We invited Bobby along for some whiskeys and beers to celebrate. Believe me, he didn’t need much convincing. After we got him good and drunk we threw him in the back of the truck. You know, there’s lots of woods up there near Chattahoochee. Lots of places no one can hear a man scream.”

  Another shiver went down my spine. I scooted a few inches down the bench away from Jacob. I watched his face grow cold and bitter as he spoke.

  “When morning came around, we were about as far from earshot as a man can get. Bobby woke up on the ground hog-tied and hungover. Now Val, I’m a Southern gentleman. I asked Bobby politely what he did with baby Thelma, but he wasn’t talking. Well, I’m a man who believes in Old Testament justice. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. I figured Bobby owed Glad about ten teeth. So I got out a set of pliers and got to work. I was fair about it. I gave him a chance to talk between each tooth. He hollered plenty. But he never confessed. I guess prison taught him how to tolerate pain. Or maybe he figured losing his choppers was better than another stint in the hoosegow. Or death row for murdering the baby.”

  Jacob laughed bitterly and looked out toward the harbor again. He turned back to face me with a sadistic grin that made my spine squirm.

  “Just for fun, I left Bobby’s two front teeth alone,” he said coolly. “When we untied him and drove off, he looked like a bloody, bucktoothed rat. He tried to cuss us, but he couldn’t say squat with that mangled mouth. We might not a got any information out of Bobby Munch, but we sure as hell got our revenge.”

  “What happened to Bobby after that?” I asked, trying not to sound horrified.

  Jacob’s smile evaporated. “What do I care? At that point, he was worthless to me. I didn’t have any more reason to see his sorry ass again.”

  “Did you tell Glad what you did?”

  Jacob shook his head almost violently. “No! I figured there was no use opening up old wounds. Glad was in pretty good shape by then. A little skittish, but well enough. For years she had begged me not to tell Tony that I’d found her. She’d needed all that time to recover. But a week or two before Bobby got out, she’d asked to see Tony for the first time. I didn’t want to set her back and mess that up.”

  “I get it. But tell me Jacob, if things were so bad with Bobby, why didn’t Glad just leave him?”

  “If you’d seen her, you wouldn’t be asking. I’m sure she figured no one would have her. Bobby made damn sure she was no looker no more.”

  I gazed across the street at a small sailboat as it bobbed in the harbor. Its long, thin mast pointed up to a pale blue sky already fading to pink at the edges. Jacob’s story had drained me of something vital. It was getting late and I still had to pack for the trip tomorrow. In the hot, humid twilight, the white lights strung in the oak canopies glistened eerily, like Christmas Eve in hell.

  “I’ve got to go, Jacob.”

  “Sure. Just one more thing. You said you found papers. Was one Glad’s birth certificate? Or her daughter’s?”

  “Uh…no. Just a marriage certificate.”

  Jacob’s shoulders straightened. “So you still don’t have any proof her daughter existed. Except for what I told you and that letter from Tony to Glad.”

  “Right.”

  Something in Jacob’s eyes changed that made me even more uncomfortable. I got up to go. “I’ll touch base again next week,” I said and took a step toward home.

  Jacob reached out and grabbed my arm. My skin crawled to the top of my head. I wanted to scream, but held my breath. Jacob stared intently in my eyes and said, “Just wanted to shake your hand goodbye.”

  I blew out a breath of relief. You’ve watched too many scary movies, Val! I tried to convince myself nothing creepy was going on. Still, I couldn’t deny that contact with Jacob’s hand had sent an ice cube up my spine.

  I let go of Jacob’s hand and walked quickly through the park, relief growing along with the distance between us. Jumpy, I fought the urge to look back as I waited for the light to change at the corner of Beach Drive and Fifth Avenue. Like a kid who just heard a story about a hook-handed murderer, I hurriedly jerked and skipped my way north on Beach.

  I passed a row of cars parked across the road just a block from my apartment. In the fading light of dusk I could make out the form of a person sitting in the driver’s seat of one of the cars. The plump figure turned its face away from me as I walked by, and I thought I saw a row of white, sausage-like links trailing down its back.

  ***

  I told my body to keep walking like nothing happened. It probably wasn’t her. But my body wasn’t listening. My right knee buckled and I nearly fell face-first on the sidewalk. I recovered in time to save my healing nose from certain annihilation, but it cost me a turned ankle. My heart thumped like a drum in my ears. I limped as fast as I could the rest of the way to my apartment. My thoughts whooshed by blankly like a speeding car down a pitch black stretch of country road. What is going on here?

  My aching ankle made climbing the stairs a bitch. Getting the key in the lock was worse. My hands shook so badly I dropped the rattling bundle of keys three times. Finally, I took a deep breath to steady myself. With the focused idiocy of a well-hammered drunk I managed to get the right key in the hold. I hobbled inside. I slammed the door and jerked the deadbolt in place – the first time I’d done so since moving in. All I could think of was to call Tom. He answered on the second ring.

  “I saw her! I think I saw her!”

  “Val? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me! I think I saw her!”

  “Okay. Slow down. Who did you see?”

  “Thelma Goldrich!”

  “The daughter? That’s great!”

  “No! The other one. The one who punched me in the nose!”

  The line was silent for a few seconds. “Where?” Tom asked. His tone had turned dead sober.

  “On the street near my apartment. In a car.”

  “How do you know it was her?”

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I saw her ponytail. I mean, I think it was her ponytail.” I fought rising hysteria. “How many people have a ponytail like that?”

  “Okay, Val. Calm down. I got you. I’ll check it out. Where did you see her exactly?”

  Tom’s calm demeanor caused something inside me to relax. The whooshing inside my head stopped and I took a breath. It felt like I hadn’t breathed in a long time.

  “She was parked on Beach Drive between Seventh and Eighth.”

  “I’m on it. Now get some rest. You’re going to need it for the trip. See you around eight tomorrow morning. Good night, Val.”

  “Good night, Tom. And thanks.”

  �
�You’re welcome. One more thing, Val. Make sure your doors and windows are locked.”

  Tom clicked off the phone and the whooshing sound came roaring back inside my head. I ran around the apartment, checking each window lock. Then, for good measure, I pushed on the deadbolt slide with all my might. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, then I plopped onto my hideous couch, hugged a lumpy brown pillow and tried not to think.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I had to hand it to him, Tom was a man with a plan. Overnight he had set quite a few gears into motion, including a scheme to keep an eye on the whereabouts of “Bulldog Bitch” Thelma Goldrich so we could drive up to meet “loony-bin” Thelma Goldrich. I never knew irony could get so weird.

  “More coffee?” I asked.

  Tom leaned back comfortably on my wrinkled old lump of a couch. The contrast between the ugly brown sofa and his clean, shiny good looks was almost blinding. Tom’s white sport shirt and crisp ironed jeans made him look like Mr. Clean – with a really good blonde toupee. In fact, compared to Tom, everything in my apartment looked dull and dingy and faded. Including me.

  “Sure. That’s good coffee, Val.”

  I reached for Tom’s cup and he took my hand in his, tugging me gently toward him. My apartment shrank to the size of a closet and my heart pounded in my ears. I pulled my hand away.

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s my special blend.”

  “I like your special blend,” Tom teased.

  I cringed out a smile and padded over to the coffee machine in my tiny kitchen. My neck was as hot as the coffee carafe. I forced myself to practice deep, yoga breath while I filled his cup. I bit my lip and resolved not to make a fool of myself. When I handed Tom his coffee, he patted the sofa next to him, but I didn’t dare sit down. A shitty voice inside my head said it was too good to be true. Unfortunately, I listened. I remained standing and asked Tom for details on his plan.

  “So what are we going to do, specifically?”

  Tom’s face shifted to neutral and my mood switched to disappointed self-loathing. He explained that Goober was to drive his dodgy Dodge over to Bimini Circle and stake out Tony’s old house. Jorge was to park his Buick on my street and surveil my apartment. Anyone sighting Bulldog Woman was to report back to him, then follow her discreetly back to her hideout.

  “We need to find out where she’s staying so we can keep track of her,” Tom explained.

  “Do you think she was stalking me?”

  “I don’t know, Val. But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  I nodded my head. “Thanks. How did you get the guys to do it on such short notice?”

  Tom laughed. “Let’s just say their schedules were free at the moment. And the incentive was right.”

  “Incentive? Did you pay them? I’ll pay you back….”

  “Val, the incentive was you. They’re doing it for you.”

  Hot tears filled my eyes despite my fierce objections. Tom stood up and hugged me. I couldn’t breathe. My legs began to wobble like a drunk in an earthquake. I suddenly felt weak and vulnerable and awkward. Freefalling was not my forte. I needed to find a branch to grab onto. I pushed away from Tom’s embrace and reached for an old standby – I tried to crack a joke.

  “Your plan makes sense. Goober and Jorge both have cars, and they’re both used to living in them.” I plastered on the worst fake smile ever and carefully wiped my runny nose with a tissue. I’d kept tissue in my hand perpetually since receiving Bulldog Woman’s face-rearranging right hook. “So, what did you come up with for Winky to do?”

  “Oh. He’s coming with us.”

  “What?” Dashed expectations caused my stomach to drop three inches.

  “Jorge should be here with him any minute.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Jorge is coming here anyway to stake out your apartment. Remember?”

  “Yes I remember! Tom, I didn’t mean, ‘Why is Jorge the one bringing Winky.’ I meant, ‘Why is Winky going with us?’”

  Tom grinned at me. His green eyes sparkled with mischief. He’d played me like a cat with a string. I’d been had, and part of me kind of liked it. I snorted out a laugh. Tom took my hand in his again. He rubbed the back of my hand gently with his thumb as he spoke.

  “Winky’s from up there, Val. He knows the area. He might come in handy.”

  “I’m from up there, too. Remember, Mr. Detective?”

  “I do remember. But Winky has a certain, how can I say it, redneck flair.”

  “You mean he’s a good-old boy?”

  Tom smiled and kissed the back of my hand.

  “Precisely. And we might need that kind of manpower.”

  “But….”

  “No buts, Val. Somebody’s got to babysit Winky. Would you rather we take Jorge and leave Winky to guard your place?”

  Dammit. He had a point. I was trying to come up with a snappy response when Tom’s cellphone jingled.

  “Buena dias, amigo,” Tom answered, then hung up. “They’re here.”

  “They’re coming up?” I asked, slightly horrified.

  “Don’t you want them to?”

  I felt too guilty to say no. After all, they were doing me a huge favor. But still. Two homeless guys in my apartment? I suddenly became aware that Tom was studying me.

  “You don’t have to let them stay, Val. But it would be nice if Jorge could come up and use the restroom once in a while. Maybe make a sandwich?”

  I felt like a shit. “Of course!” I said, beating back every instinct in my body and brain. I reluctantly handed Tom a key. At least I knew Jorge was potty trained. He’d been married.

  Tom smiled and took the key. Someone knocked. Tom let go of my hand and opened the door. Jorge and Winky came tumbling in like…I hate to say it…two stooges.

  “Nice digs, Val Pal! Use your crapper?” Winky didn’t wait for an answer. He barreled across my tiny living room straight into the bathroom. He shut the door, but the close proximity lent no other privacy. As Winky grunted and farted on the throne, I took the time to show Jorge the ropes. Or in the case of my miniscule apartment, maybe it was just the strings.

  “Here’s the coffee machine,” I said. I reached into the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the coffee and filters. “I’ll leave these on the counter for you. Help yourself to coffee and anything else in the fridge.”

  “Tank you, Val,” Jorge said, looking at the floor. “Berry nice of you.”

  “No, Jorge. It’s very nice of you. Thanks for doing this for me. You can sleep on the couch, if you want.”

  “Tanks, but I like my car. The Buick’s backseat is really comfy. You should try it sometime.”

  I was pondering how to respond to that when Winky emerged in a cloud of stink reminiscent of my beer and bratwurst days in Germany.

  “Woo hoo! I wouldn’t go in there for at least an hour,” Winky said proudly.

  “I’d say better make it at least two days,” quipped Tom. “Let’s get out of here before the mustard gas kills us.”

  “Road trip! I call shotgun!” hollered Winky.

  “Dang it!” I said.

  “That’s right. Dang it, Winky,” Tom said. “Val’s already beat you to it.”

  Winky wilted like lettuce in a microwave. “I’ll dang it, alright,” he sulked. “Dang it, dang it, dang it. But them’s the rules.”

  I smiled at Tom and he winked back at me. He took my overnight bag in one hand and shook Jorge’s hand with the other. “Take good care of the place, mi amigo.”

  “I will,” replied Jorge. “Via con Dios.”

  “Will do, padre,” shot back Winky. “I got your via-cle deo right here.” Winky held up a small green piece of cardboard shaped like a Christmas tree. “Took it right off your rearview mirror, Jorge. Figured we’d need it more than you.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” said Jorge.

  None of us could.

  ***

  Winky climbed in the backseat and I hopped in the passenger’s side next t
o Tom. As I buckled my seatbelt, my foot tapped a grey case that looked like a fancy tackle box.

  “What’s this?” I asked Tom.

  “Nothing mysterious. Just where I keep envelopes and bags for collecting samples from crime scenes and suspects. I am a cop, you know.”

  “I know. Why did you bring it along?”

  “I always have it with me. Besides, it might come in handy. Nothing says ‘daughter’ like a matching DNA sample.”

  “What! You’re going to get a DNA sample from Thelma?”

  “If I can. You got a problem with that?”

  “Well, uh…,” I started, but was cut off.

  “Tom, you gonna cut a chunk off’n her or stick a Q-Tip down her throat?” hollered Winky from the backseat.

  “Not sure, yet, Winky.”

  “I’ll hold her down if you need me to, buddy. You can count on my co-operation.”

  “Thanks for the offer, bud. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I thought we were just going to visit her,” I said.

  “We are,” said Tom. “But we might as well try for DNA. Chances are, she won’t even notice.”

  I felt something inside me contract. This shit is starting to get real.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Traveling with Winky was like transporting a wild orangutan without a cage. He whooped and hollered and bounced around in the backseat of Tom’s Toyota 4Runner until I was afraid we might be pulled over for reckless endangerment. Something had to give. We were driving on I-275 just north of Tampa when I made an executive decision.

  “Tom, why don’t we stop at Westley Chapel and get some refreshments?”

  Tom looked over at me and followed the downward movement of my shifting eyes to my lap. Inside my open purse, I held a bottle of Dramamine for him to see. He looked at me again and I shifted my eyes to the left and gave a quick nod toward the backseat.

  “Roger that, Val,” Tom whispered.

  Tom hit the gas and the exit for SR54 came into view a few minutes later. Tom made a right and pulled in to a Lil’ Champ convenience store. As he parked the car, visions of a fat, freckled chimp going wild in the snack aisle made my stomach flop. I started to speak, but Winky beat me to it.