“Unless the house ends up belonging to the perpetrator.”
“Point taken.”
Chapter Thirty-One
On Wednesday morning I woke up with time on my hands. With all the harried happenings lately, it seemed like a month had passed since I was free to do what I pleased. In actuality, it had been less than a week.
I thought about going to Caddy’s, but the weather was overcast. I got dressed. Before I knew it, I found myself riding along with Maggie as she tooled down First Avenue North in the direction of St. Pete Beach. Believe it or not, my audacious little auto pulled right into Water Loo’s parking lot like she owned the place. I really am getting to be pathetic.
I sighed and put Maggie in park. What the hell. I’ve got nothing better to do. I climbed out of the Sprint and into a greasy corner booth to shoot the breeze with the stooges. None of them looked surprised to see me. I guess I was now officially part of the scenery. Goober scooted over for me as I walked up. He was still sporting that nasty knot on his head.
“Morning, schnoz,” he said after moving his spoon to the side of his mouth.
“Morning, cyclops,” I said. I scooched into the booth beside him.
Winky chuckled at our exchange, and spilled coffee down the front of a faded green Donald Duck t-shirt, the latest from the Water Loo’s donations for half-naked humans. He cursed under his breath. I shot a glance over at Jorge. Poor guy was face down, snoring. Luxuriating in hair-of-the-Mad-Dog-20/20, no doubt. As for me, I’d just gotten a text from Jamie informing me that Double Booty was barely passable, and that I shouldn’t hold my breath on winning the publishing contract. Yep. The race to the bottom was really heating up.
“So what’s on the old agenda today?” Goober asked me, temporarily halting the clicking of his spoon.
“Good question.”
Goober’s lips widened into a familiar, knowing smile. I had mixed feelings over the thought that I was probably going to see a lot more of that grin in the future.
Winnie, the once surly waitress, dropped off my cup of coffee with a cheery, “Good morning.” Shocked, I looked over at Winky. He winked and licked his lips. Jorge snorted awake and wiped a puddle of drool from the table with his bare hand. My chest tightened. My life has been reduced to a scene from ‘Days of Whiners and Roses.’
Diametrically opposed waves of comfortable ease and horrified unease crashed over my head and threatened to drown me in my own irony. Part of me was desperate to leap up and run the hell out of there. Part of me was as planted as a willow by a lake. I closed my eyes and took a deep yoga breath. When I opened them again all three stooges were staring at me. Their stubble-lined faces registered amused curiosity. I squirmed, not wanting to be the focus of attention. I was just about to prompt the guys for Glad’s memorial toast when my phone buzzed. I wanted to kiss whoever was calling.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Fremden?” The deep, raspy voice on the other end of the line sent my memory racing.
“Yes….”
“Some lady’s here asking about your aunt.”
The clerk at the morgue! “What’s she look like?”
The rasp turned into a whisper. “A French bulldog.”
Curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask. “Why French?”
“She’s got a long French braid down her back,” he whispered.
“Oh. So why are you calling me?”
“Something seems fishy. The lady’s got your aunt’s date of death right, but the name wrong. She showed me a picture of your aunt with some guy on a beach. It was her, alright. For some reason, that old leatherback stuck in my mind. Probably because of you. You know how to take a joke.”
“Uh…thanks. What does she want?”
“Your aunt’s effects. More specifically, her two-carat diamond ring. She asked about it specifically.”
My jaw tightened so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. In the silent seconds before I could unclench my mouth, the clerk spoke again.
“Should I release her effects?”
I tried to calm the fury inside me. “Under no circumstances give that woman anything, please. I’ll come by for my aunt’s things tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll hold up a day for you. But you’ve got to bring the old lady’s official ID with you. For the records.”
“Sure thing.”
I hung up and punched Tom’s number. Goober tried to say something, but I shushed him with a wave of my hand.
“Tom, we have a problem.”
“Not another one!” Tom whined.
“What do you mean, not another one?”
“I just found out Tony’s ex is seeking a petition from his lawyer to gain access to the inside of his house.”
“You’re kidding! That’s a bit after-the-fact, isn’t it?”
“Sure. But I guess they didn’t find what they were looking for the first time.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bulldog Woman showed up at the morgue today with Glad’s picture, trying to get her rings. Apparently there’s a two-carat diamond at stake. Jacob must have known about it.”
“Incredible. But she’s going to need more than an old picture to get Glad’s effects released. She’s going to need official documentation.”
“Yeah, that’s what the clerk told me. I’m sure that’s why she and Jacob need to get back in the house. To find Glad’s ID. Bulldog Bitch-Woman was too fat to fit down the hallway. She must have sent Jacob in to do her dirty work. But it looks like he didn’t get the job done to her liking. That’s probably why they were arguing, like Goober said.”
“That makes sense.”
“Tom, what can we do about the search petition?”
“Nothing. We have absolutely no grounds to be messing around with this, remember?”
“Crap. You’re right. How long will it take for her to get the petition?”
“A day or two.”
“Good. That means we’ve got a chance to sneak in the house one more time.”
“What for, Val?”
“For the ID! I need to find it before they do. For the morgue. I’ve got to make Glad legit.”
“Make her legit?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why is Glad not legit, Val?”
“I kind of told them she was my aunt. Gladys Fremden.”
“Your mom’s right. You do keep getting stranger and stranger.”
“Very funny. It’s a long story. Will you help me?”
“Under one condition. You give the rings to Tony’s estate attorney.”
“That was my plan all along.”
“Good. Meet you there after work. Six.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
***
Winky was becoming a serious cock-blocker. When I told the guys I was going back to Tony’s house with Tom, Winky threw a fit until I promised he could go along. Winky said he got cheated by having to stay in the car the first time around. I figured it was better to appease the savage redneck now than forever listen to his whining about it later. I picked him up in the Water Loo’s parking lot at 5:45. He was still wearing that coffee-stained Donald Duck rag of a t-shirt. I wondered if he’d spent all day there or not. I didn’t ask. He didn’t tell.
When I drove up, he was half sitting, half lying under the shade of a palm tree on the side of the parking lot, like that was a normal, acceptable thing to do. At the sight of me and Maggie, he sprang to life like a Mexican jumping bean.
“Val Pal!” Winky hollered.
“Hey Winky. Hop in.”
Winky’s eyes lit up like a child at a pony ride. “I always wanted to ride in your car. Sweeeet!”
As he climbed in, I realized that for a man who had next to nothing, Winky possessed something of which I was downright envious. He had the ability to enjoy the simple things in life. Like food, shelter, and coffee refills. Things my jaded eyes and heart had long ago learned to take for granted. The thought made me want to reward
Winky’s childlike enthusiasm. So I did a 360 with Shabby Maggie and pealed out of the parking lot, sending her twin glass-packs roaring to the heavens.
“Woooheeee!” Winky hollered, his face awash with bliss.
A few minutes later, so was mine. Tom was standing in the driveway of Tony’s house in his full police uniform. I wanted to be arrested. Right then. Right there.
“Look at that shiny copper!” Winky said, his words clipping my cellmate fantasy’s wings. They fell to the wayside like a fly sprayed with Raid.
“Hey guys. Let’s make this quick.” Like his uniform, Tom himself was in official cop mode. I guess he had to be.
I turned to Winky. He was wiggling in the seat like a puppy. “Okay Winky, behave yourself. Like you promised.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied. But I could tell his squirrely dog brain was already feasting on some soon-to-be savored milk bone.
***
Despite the chaos inside the house, I managed to find Glad’s ID by using my secret weapon: I knew how to think like a woman. Glad didn’t have a driver’s license. But thanks to a recent law, she’d been required to have a picture ID. I found her Florida identification card in a small, green, wallet-sized purse hanging on the doorknob behind the bedroom door.
“Got it!” I called out in victory.
“Good. Let’s get out of here!” I heard Tom call from down the cluttered hallway.
I met him in the kitchen. The squirming banana blob on the counter had dried up to a thick, black stain. I guess all the maggots had turned to flies and found a way to escape. It seemed like Vermin always did. Tom opened the back door and we stepped out into the humid air. The sky was just beginning to pink-up in preparation for sunset.
“Val, remind me again. Why are we doing all of this?” Tom asked.
I was beginning to wonder myself. But something compelled me to keep going, like a compulsive shopper with a boatload of coupons about to expire. “Just in case, Tom. In case there’s a chance Glad’s things belong to someone else. I just can’t let that horrible bulldog of a woman get her paws on Glad’s stuff. Not if Glad’s got a daughter out there. I feel like I owe it to her. Can you understand that?”
Tom blew out a breath. “Yeah. I get it. But promise me. This is it. Okay? You pick up Glad’s stuff at the morgue tomorrow and we’ll let the lawyer sort it out from here. No more playing amateur detective. Let the chips fall where they may.”
I sulked, but I knew he was right. “Okay.”
Tom smiled and reached a hand to touch my face.
“This ain’t nothin’ but a gaul-dang garbage dump!” Winky bellowed. Like Dr. Livingston from an urban jungle, Winky crawled out from the mangled maze of junked windows and rusty stoves and dishwashers heaped high in the back yard.
Tom’s hand dropped to his side. “Let’s get out of here.”
We walked back to the front yard and Winky and I climbed back into my Sprint. We waved goodbye to Tom in the dimming light. I’d just committed my second B&E with a homeless redneck. I wondered if Tom thought I was a criminal. Or insane. Or both. I pulled onto Gulf Boulevard and headed north to drop Winky at his place, wherever that might be.
“Pull over here,” Winky instructed when we reached a familiar destination. We were back at Water Loo’s.
“Do you actually live here now?” I asked.
Winky smiled. “Workin’ on it. Thanky for the ride, Val Pal. Maggie’s a sweetheart.” He patted Maggie’s dashboard and climbed out of the car. As he did, I noticed a bulge in his right pants pocket.
“Winky!”
He whirled around. “Yes ma’am?”
“What’s in your pants pocket?”
“I didn’t think you thought a me that way,” Winky joked, wagging his eyebrows.
“Ha ha. Very funny. What have you got there?”
“A souvenir.”
Anger shot through me. “Did you steal something?”
Winky shrank back in horror. “No ma’am. I just took me a mo-mento.”
“Let me see it.”
Winky hung his head like a kid caught red-handed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow and green ball of yarn.
“What is that?”
Winky tugged on the ball until it took on a familiar shape. It was a crocheted poodle wrapped around a spare toilet roll.
“Did you steal that from my mom’s house?” I asked, incredulous.
“No! I wouldn’t disrespect your mother’s hospitality!” Winky sounded genuinely wounded. “I found it in Glad’s Minnie Winnie.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it,” I said harshly.
“Oh. I see. It’s okay for you to take something, but not me?”
I was caught in a trap I’d set for myself. My nose grew hot and painful and my eyes got blurry. Guilty. Busted. What could I say? Only one thing. “I’m sorry, Winky.”
“She was my friend, too, you know.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right, Winky. I’m sure she would want you to have it.”
Winky’s face softened and his eyes brightened again. “An’ it always pays to have a spare roll!” He held the yarn poodle over his head like a trophy and waved it in the air in some crazy victory dance. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness, his woodpecker laugh trailing behind him.
I put Maggie in reverse and glanced over at Water Loo’s. The plate glass windows gave off a dingy, yellowish glow against the slate-blue night. The place looked empty. Then I caught the silhouette of someone standing at the side of a window, peering out through the glass. Winnie the waitress. She smiled at me and waved. I waved back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I woke up craving Caddy’s biscuits and gravy and a walk on the beach. But both would have to wait until tomorrow. Today I had things to do and people to annoy. First on my list was a trip to the morgue to claim Glad’s things. Then I needed to stop by Tony’s lawyer’s office to drop them off. I jumped in the shower. I was feeling good, belting out my rendition of Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive, when a horrible thought occurred to me. I might be aiding and abetting the enemy. By delivering Glad’s rings to the attorney I might be putting them right into the dirty, grasping paws of that bulldog bitch!
I pondered the irony of the situation while I toweled off and fumbled around to make a pot of coffee. If I didn’t go straighten out Glad’s name on public records, it could gunk up the works for Bulldog Woman. Maybe for a long time. But it would also make it pretty near impossible for any of Glad’s next-of-kin to ever find out what happened to her. Ditto for not picking up her rings. I could only make it possible for Glad’s true heirs to get them if I also made it possible for Tony’s ex. The conundrum soured my mood. I felt sad and confused and alone. I wanted some advice on what to do from other people who had known Glad. For better or worse, that meant I only had one choice. Water Loo’s, here I come.
When I walked in, the stooges were passing around an old, wrinkled-up piece of paper like it was the original Gettysburg Address.
“Val Pal!” Winky hollered. “You’re not gonna believe this!”
I scooted into the booth next to Goober. He slid the ragged, yellowed paper across the sticky table so I could reach it. I read it in disbelief. It was the birth certificate for Thelma G. Goldrich, dated December 22, 1965. I nearly fell out of the booth.
“Where did you guys find this?” I asked, incredulous.
“Ready to eat some crow, Ms. Plum? You have Winky to thank for it,” said Goober. He pointed his spoon at our freckled redneck sleuth.
I looked over at Winky, incredulous. He beamed like he’d just won a Nascar trophy.
“Yep,” Winky said. “That there toilet-roll poodle had a big surprise inside. Nature called this mornin’ and I answered. I was about to wipe my butt with this here piece a paper when I noticed it had writing on it.”
“Good ting you can read,” shot Jorge.
“I might be ignorant but I ain’t illigiterate,” Winky shot back.
/> “I tink you mean illiterate, Pincho.”
“I’m gonna pinch yore…”
“Guys, enough!” I yelled out of frustration. To my surprise everyone shut up and stared at me. Once I had their attention, I stated the obvious. “Don’t you realize? This is absolute proof that Glad and Tony had a baby together. Glad names him as the father right here!”
“Yes, we know Val,” Goober said dryly. “As has been pointed out by someone just recently, we all can read.”
My face reddened. Goober laughed and poked me in the ribs with his elbow. “But that’s good news, eh?”
I smiled. “The best!”
“That’s good,” Goober said. He smiled at me kindly and knowingly, knitted his bushy eyebrows together and asked, “Val, why in the world would Glad put something as important as her baby’s birth certificate in a spare toilet roll holder?”
“It makes perfect sense to me,” I explained. “Okay. We know how much Glad liked to hide things, right?”
The stooges nodded.
“Well, it’s simple women’s logic. Men never change the empty toilet roll. It’s the last place a man would ever think of looking.”
The men exchanged glances, then shrugs and more nods amongst themselves.
“When you’re right, you’re right,” said Goober. “Let’s raise a toast to our clever girl Glad!”
“Jes! A toast!” echoed Jorge.
I raised my mug with them, put my left hand over my heart, and waited on Jorge’s double-click.
***
After that extra-special toast to Glad I drove to the county morgue. I felt close to Glad again, as if she was in the seat right next to me, beaming that crooked, smeary-red-lipstick, clown-denture smile of hers. Tucked away safely in my purse, I carried Glad’s ID, her daughter’s birth certificate and that little gem-encrusted oval piece of jewelry I found in one of her shoeboxes. So, in a way, Glad really was along for the ride – what was left of her, at least. After the stop at the morgue to claim Glad’s personal effects, I planned to keep my promise to Tom and hand all of these things over and “let the chips fall where they may.”
I pulled into a parking space at the morgue and rehearsed a scenario in my mind. I could lie and say Glad’s name wasn’t Fremden because she got married and I didn’t know it. Yes. That could work. I climbed out of Shabby Maggie and a thought hit me. Duh! You don’t have to lie, Val. That part was actually true!
Glad One: Starting Over is a %$#@&! (Val & Pals Book 2) Page 21