“You remember what kind of car they were driving?” Tom asked.
“A white Toyota. One of those hybrids.”
“A Prius,” I said. “That’s the same car Jacob drives.”
“Jacob?” Goober growled. “You on a first-name basis with these jerks, Val?”
“Just one,” I answered defensively. “The guy. He started talking to me in the Water Loo’s parking lot the other day. He wanted to tell me what he knew about Tony and Glad.”
A sudden streak of anger overwhelmed me. “Crap! Now that I think about it, Jacob set me up! Holy crap!” I turned to Tom. “I probably told him too much. About the letter, and the marriage license, I mean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said, and squeezed my knee again. Ironically, his protective gesture felt both reassuring and scary at the same time. He shot me a sympathetic smile. “You don’t need to contact him again, Val.”
“Bulldog Woman, either,” Goober said. “Unless, that is, you’d like your nose to contact her fist again.” He moved his right arm, miming a boxing uppercut.
I instinctively touched my nose, then recycled Goober’s line.
“I’ve lived through worse.”
The waitress delivered our fish sandwiches and fries, and we ate and drank and swapped war stories like old pals. I noticed Tom only had one beer, then switched to water. Afterward, he drove Goober back to his car and me to my apartment. I lingered in the cab just long enough to give Tom a hug and a nice, but not-too-naughty kiss. I couldn’t encourage him. I hadn’t shaved my legs in two days.
“We’re both tired and grimy,” I said. “I just want to jump in the shower and go to bed.”
Tom looked relieved. His reaction caused a tinge of insecurity to shoot through me.
“Yeah. It’s been a long day,” he said.
“Thank you for everything.”
“Sure thing.” Tom touched my face and smiled tenderly. “We’re on our way, Val.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
Tom withdrew, embarrassed.
“I mean, the case is on its way. We’ve got the evidence at the lab. Just a few more odds and ends to do while we wait for the DNA results.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure!” I said too brightly. Embarrassed, I scrambled for a new topic. “Um, is the air freshener can from the RV part of the odds and ends?”
Tom looked relieved. “Maybe. It never hurts to gather ammunition, even if you never need it. If nothing else, we could use it to charge Jacob and Thelma with breaking and entering. It’s still a crime in Florida, as far as I know.”
My lips twisted to one side. “Unless the house ends up belonging to the perpetrator.”
Tom sighed. “Point taken.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
WEDNESDAY MORNING I awoke with time on my hands. Given all the harried happenings lately, it seemed as if a month had passed since I was free to be a shiftless vagabond. In actuality, it had been less than a week.
I thought about going to Caddy’s, but a peek out the window showed cloudy skies. Still, I got myself dressed, and 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. I watched in dismay as my audacious little automobile pulled right into Water Loo’s parking lot as if she owned the place.
Geeze! I really am getting to be pathetic.
I sighed and put Maggie in park.
What the hell. I really don’t have anything better to do.
IT KIND OF GRATED ON my nerves that none of them looked surprised to see me. I guess I was becoming an official member of the pack. A fourth stooge.
How apropos.
Goober scooted over for me as I walked up to the greasy booth. He was still sporting that nasty knot on his forehead.
“Morning, schnoz,” he said after moving his spoon to the side of his mouth.
“Morning, cyclops,” I said, and scooted into the booth beside him.
Winky chuckled at our exchange, and spilled coffee down the front of a faded Donald Duck t-shirt, the latest from Water Loo’s donations for half-naked humans. He cursed under his breath. I shot a glance over at Jorge. The poor guy was face down, snoring, marinated in hair-of-the-Mad-Dog-20/20, no doubt.
Awesome.
I was in the company of a lumpy bum, a dumpy bum and a skunky bum. 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 four stooges’ race to the bottom was really heating up.
“So what’s on the old agenda for today?” Goober asked me, temporarily halting the clicking of his spoon in his mouth.
“Good question,” I sneered. I glanced over at Goober’s now-familiar grin, and had mixed feelings over the realization that I was probably going to see a lot more of it 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 snorted and licked his lips. Jorge lifted his noggin from the table and wiped away a puddle of drool with his bare hand. My chest tightened.
Was this my new “normal?”
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 planted firmly as a pig in mud. I closed my eyes and took a deep yoga breath. When I opened them again, all three stooges were staring at me. Their stubbly faces registered amused curiosity, as if they’d placed a bet on when I would abandon all hope.
I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable at being the focus of their attention. I was just about to prompt them 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, all right. 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. Before I could unclench my mouth, the clerk spoke again.
“Should I release your aunt’s effects to her?”
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. The stooges were all staring at me, slack-jawed. Goober tried to say something, but I shushed him with a curt wave of my hand and punched Tom’s number on my cellphone.
“Tom, we have a problem.”
“Not another one,” Tom said sourly.
“What do you mean, not another one?”
“I just found out Tony’s ex is seeking a petition from her 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.”
“W
hat do you mean?”
“Bulldog Thelma 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. That bulldog witch-woman is 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 Jorge said he heard when he was on the phone with Goober.”
“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?! What for, Val?”
“For Glad’s 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...uh...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 o’clock.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
WINKY WAS BECOMING a serious threat to my budding romance. 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. He complained he’d gotten cheated by having to stay in the car the first time around. I didn’t know how to stop him. Besides, 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 Water Loo’s parking lot at 5:45 p.m. When I drove up, he was half sitting, half lying under the shade of a palm tree in a median in the parking lot, as if that was a normal, acceptable thing to do. He was still wearing that coffee-stained Donald Duck rag of a t-shirt. I wondered if he’d spent all day at the coffee shop. Then I wondered why I was wondering about it.
At the sight of me pulling up in Maggie, Winky 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 free coffee refills. The things my jaded eyes and heart had long ago learned to take for granted were still treasures to him. His childlike enthusiasm was contagious, and I rewarded it by punching the accelerator on Shabby Maggie, doing a three-sixty, and pealing out of the parking lot with her twin glass-packs roaring up to high heaven.
“Woooheeee!” Winky hollered, his face awash with bliss.
Not long later, I had my own blissful moment. Lieutenant Tom Foreman 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 the wings on my fantasy. They fell to the wayside like a fly sprayed with Raid.
“Hey guys. Let’s make this quick.” Tom was in official cop mode. I guess he had to be.
I turned to Winky. He was wriggling in the seat like an antsy two-year-old.
“Okay, Winky, behave yourself. Like you promised.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied.
But I could tell his squirrely dog brain was already drooling in anticipation of unearthing some maniacal 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 some primal urge compelled me to keep going, like a compulsive shopper with a fistful of coupons that were about to expire.
“I dunno. Just in case, I guess.”
“In case of what?”
“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 up to touch my face.
“This ain’t nothin’ but a gaul-dang garbage dump!” Winky bellowed.
Like Dr. Livingston emerging from an urban jungle, Winky crawled out from amongst the mangled maze of junked windows and rusty stoves and dishwashers that littered the back yard.
Tom’s hand dropped to his side. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Best i-dear I heard in years,” Winky said.
The three of us walked back to the front yard. Winky and I climbed back into Maggie and waved goodbye to Tom in the dimming light. With the help of a hot cop, I’d just committed my second B&E with a homeless redneck. As we drove away, I wondered if Tom thought I was a criminal. Or insane. Or both. I bit my lip and pulled onto Gulf Boulevard. At Winky’s command, I headed north, in the direction of 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 in 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.
“It’s like the one
at your mom’s place,” he said. “I found it in Glad’s Minnie Winnie.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it,” I said harshly.
Winky appeared genuinely wounded. “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. My vision blurred.
I was guilty. Busted.
“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’ as they say, 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 as he danced a funny victory jig. I shot him a smile, and 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 sight of a faint silhouette in the front window. Peering out through the glass was Winnie the waitress. She smiled at me and waved.
I waved back.
Chapter Thirty-Four
MY STOMACH GRUMBLED. I wanted 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 Tony’s attorney, I might be putting them right into the dirty, grasping paws of Bulldog Thelma!
I pondered the irony of the situation while I toweled off and fumbled around with Mr. Coffee.
If I didn’t go straighten out Glad’s name on public records, it could gunk up the works for Bulldog Thelma. 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 if I didn’t pick up Glad’s rings.
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