Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1

by Margaret Lashley

  “A Mr. Greene emergency,” I added.

  The woman whipped around and hit a button on the intercom.

  “Mr. Fellows? There’s a woman here about Mr. Greene. Oh. Her name?”

  She looked up at me for the answer.

  “Why don’t we just let it be a surprise.”

  “She says it’s a surprise.”

  A moment later Mr. Fellows appeared wearing a grey Armani suit and a black scowl. When he recognized me, his face brightened to a smile, then shifted to alarm.

  “Val! What are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk to you about Mr. Greene.”

  Mr. Fellows tried to maintain a poker face, but was betrayed by his left eyebrow.

  “Come this way.”

  I followed Mr. Fellows to his office and took a seat as he hoisted his small frame into his specially made chair. He settled himself in, sighed, and looked me in the eye.

  “What’s your involvement with Mr. Greene?”

  “As if you don’t know.”

  Mr. Fellows looked confused. “I...I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Mr. Fellows, I trusted you. I came to you when I needed help – when I found that finger in my couch. You let me sit here like a moron and tell you the whole story, pretending that you didn’t already know the whole spiel. How could you do that to me?”

  “Val, I...I’m at a loss here.”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t plant that finger in my couch?”

  “What? Why on earth would I do that?”

  “That’s what I need to find out – from you!”

  “Val, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then why did you just now drop everything when your receptionist said it was about Mr. Greene?”

  “I...I always...my door is always open to you. You know that.”

  “But you didn’t know it was me.”

  Fellows hung his professional head for a moment, then looked up again as a friend.

  “All right. Look, Val. Mr. Greene is my idiot nephew. He’s always in some kind of shi...uh...situation.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was the guy who broke in my house looking for the finger?”

  “Because I didn’t know...until after you left. That was him on the phone when you were here last. I’m sorry for my behavior that day. He really knows how to push my buttons. I was angry.”

  “You’re angry? What about me? Why didn’t you tell me once you knew?”

  “What was the point? The police had the finger, Albert promised not to bother you again. It seemed the easiest thing to do. He hasn’t...been back to see you again, has he?”

  “No. But why did you put the finger in my couch for him to come get?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “But...if you didn’t, how in the world did the finger get in my couch? And how did your nephew know it was there?”

  Fellows lined his fingertips together and knitted his brow.

  “Yes. I can see your line of reasoning now. How you might come to the conclusion of my involvement. But I promise on your mother’s name, Val. I didn’t do it.”

  “Then who the hell did? And why would Albert be trying to find the finger in the first place?”

  “Like I said, Val. He’s an idiot. He’s always getting messed up with the wrong kind of folks.”

  “Like ‘mother of macaroons’ kind of folks?”

  Fellows looked me in the eye and blew out a breath.

  “Precisely.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  WHERE DO I GO FROM here? I was driving back home, out of ideas and almost out of hope. Please, somebody tell me, how did that frickin’ finger end up in my couch?

  I was racking my brain at a red light when a bright-yellow garage sale sign caught my eye. Of their own accord, my hands turned the steering wheel to the right, and against my will I followed the signs all the way to that purple cottage I’d stopped at a week or so ago. I pulled up in front. The plump, redheaded woman was waiting in her lawn chair in the driveway. Her money belt was around her waist, that clear-green plastic visor wrapped around her brow. She held a bag of Fritos in one hand and waved at me with the other. I waved back.

  “Hey there!” she yelled. “I was hoping I’d see you again. I’ve got something I think you’ll like.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come see!”

  I hauled my butt out of Maggie and hoofed it up the drive. The lady wiped her right hand off on the seat of her shorts. I shook her greasy hand.

  “Right over here.”

  I followed her into her second-hand lair. The garage was stuffed to the gills with tables and bookshelves, junk heaped upon junk.

  “What do you think of these?”

  She reached into a box and held up three cheap figurines.

  “I’ll take a dollar each for ‘em. Except this one. It’s got a chip off the face, so it’s half price.”

  “Sold. I’ll take all three.”

  She eyed me curiously.

  “You’re an easy sale today.”

  “Yeah. Not much in the mood to put up a fight.”

  “Something knock the wind out of your sails?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, I hope these little guys will cheer you up.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the collection of junk surrounding me.

  “I gotta go. Here’s three bucks. Keep the change.”

  I grabbed the bag of figurines and headed for Maggie. I exchanged waves with the woman as I drove away, but a deep-blue melancholy threatened to tag along for the ride. I’d lived my whole life amid someone else’s leftovers. Hell, I was even a hand-me-down baby. That old couch had been someone’s cast-off, and it had cost me plenty. I was living in my parents’ house – another dream that had belonged to them, not me. I was a second-hand patsy for Finkerman. Tom had traded me in for Milly. Was I just a used-up woman ready to be throw in the bargain bin?

  I hit the gas, hoping to leave my sad thoughts in the dust. I headed toward Bimini Circle. My parent’s home. I needed to pound out a few frustrations before Tom got there. Chocolate couldn’t fix this. It was time for someone to die.

  I LINED UP THE THREE figurines, executioner style, along the concrete block. One was a clown. Easy kill. A clown had been the inspiration for my macabre habit. I remembered my first smack-down like it was yesterday. I’d been fourteen at the time. A snotty rich girl at school had gotten my name as secret Santa. She’d known I hated clowns. Yet when it had come my turn to open my gift, inside was a clown figurine with the insipid inscription, “Waddle I do without you?” I’d loathed every molecule of its existence. After school, I’d taken it home, snuck off to the nearby vacant lot and beaten it to death with a hammer. That day, a serial ceramic killer was born.

  I stared into the eyes of “Sammy the Silly Clown.” Yes. He would be the first to face Val’s Hammer of Injustice today. I raised my weapon above my head and let it crash down hard. The first strike was perfect. It hit at a top-down angle that cracked Sammy’s hideous, smiling head in half. A few more strategic whacks and Silly Sammy had rejoined the great circus in the sky.

  Next up was an angel holding a bell. Her face was already badly chipped. Her entire nose and half a cheek were missing. I figured I would be forgiven. It was a mercy killing, right? The first whack cracked her cute little haloed skull and broke off her wings. Five more blows and she was off to join the choir in heaven.

  I turned my attention to the last figure. It was a blond boy with blue eyes, dressed in a cop uniform. “Petie the Police Boy” was about to be handed a death sentence. I lifted the hammer over my head. Tom? Jergen? Nope. It was BOGO day....

  “Hey, Val!”

  I glanced to my left. Laverne was at the picket fence, waving.

  “Watcha doing?” she called out.

  “A little housecleaning.”

  “Want to come over for coffee?”

  I lowered my a
rm and placed the hammer on ground amidst the rubble of my ceramics cemetery. I picked my way through the weeds over to Laverne.

  “Sorry. I don’t have time. I’ve got to get ready for Tom’s visit.”

  “Whew. Are you ready for the showdown?”

  “I don’t know. My stomach’s doing belly flops. He told me the baby wasn’t his, Laverne. I want to believe him, but then I saw him driving around with Milly again today. Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”

  Laverne reached in her pocket and pulled out a small tin. She opened it up. Inside were some square, blue tablets.

  “Here. Have one of these. It’ll steady your nerves.”

  “Thanks Laverne, but I don’t take drugs.”

  “It’s herbal. Give one a try.”

  I picked one out of the tin and popped it in my mouth. It tasted like peppermint. Laverne closed the tin. It was a pack of breath mints.

  “Laverne, that’s nothing but mints.”

  “I know.”

  “How’s that going to calm my nerves?”

  Laverne laughed and put the tin back in her pocket.

  “I give these to my dates all the time,” she said. “I tell them it’s Viagra.”

  “Does it work?”

  “Let’s just say this; a person believes what they want to believe.”

  “I believe if this keeps up much longer, my heart’s going to shrivel up and die.”

  Laverne looked me up and down and winked.

  “Well, at least your nails look fabulous.”

  I PACED THE FLOOR LIKE a tiger in a cage. Tom had just texted. He was on his way over. Part of me ached for him. Part of me wanted to take my hammer and finish him off, too. I’d showered, shaved and dolled myself up. I was also stone-cold sober. If this was the last time I was going to see Tom, I wanted to make it memorable.

  I jumped a foot in the air when the doorbell rang. I smoothed my hair and skirt and opened the door. Tom wore jeans, a white button-down shirt and an open, serious face. He held a spring bouquet in his hand.

  “These are for you, Val. Thanks for seeing me.”

  I took the flowers and invited him in. He followed me to the kitchen. I looked for a vase, but my mind was scrambled. I put the tea pitcher in the sink, filled it with tap water and stuck the flowers in. The awkwardness was palpable. Screw it. I need a drink.

  “You want a drink?” I asked as I set the pitcher of daisies and lilies and bluebells on the counter.

  “Yes, sure.”

  “Me, too. Beer or TNT?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Beer. It’s easier.”

  I pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge and opened them. I handed one to Tom. He looked at it, surprised.

  “Glass bottles? Fancy. What’s the occasion?”

  I smiled weakly at his joke, but I wasn’t in the mood to laugh. I wasn’t keen on getting this tragic conversation going, either. We both took a slug of beer and stared at the floor.

  “Well?” I said, finally.

  I looked up at Tom. His handsome face had gone serious again.

  “It’s a long story,” he began. “Should we sit somewhere?”

  “No couch.”

  “How about outside? Lawn chairs?”

  “Okay.”

  I opened the sliding door to the backyard and cringed. Crap! Standing on the concrete block, next to the hammer, the little police boy figurine stared up at me pleadingly amidst the shattered body parts of his less-fortunate fellow captives. I walked by him to a pair of lawn chairs near the water. I hoped Tom wouldn’t notice Petie in the evening twilight. We took our seats and stared out at the boats bobbing in the waterway.

  “I see it’s not looking too good for us cops,” Tom said. “Did you grant me a stay of execution?”

  I cringed again. “Yes. But it’s only temporary.”

  “What can I say to convince you I’m a good guy?”

  “I don’t know. Just tell me the truth. I can live with anything but lies.”

  Tom took a deep breath.

  “Okay. It all started around six years ago. I dated Jergen’s sister Rita for a few months. She was nice, but no real sparks – not like you and me.”

  Tom shot me a look that made me squirm inside.

  “So, one evening, Rita and I did a double date with my best friend John. By the end of the night, his date Judy and I were on our own. To be honest, I didn’t mind. It was kind of magical, the way John and Rita just hit it off like that. Like those sappy movies you girls like so much. I think it was like love at first sight for those two.”

  “What’s that got to do with you and the baby, Tom?”

  “I’m getting there. Hans – Jergen – hated John. Let’s just say, when it came to who was good enough to date his sister, Hans was a racist snob. A month or so after their first date, Rita found out she was pregnant. They wanted to get married, but knew Hans would never give them a minute’s peace if they did. They came to me with this scheme. They wanted me to tell Hans that I got Rita pregnant but I wouldn’t marry her. That way, John could step up, be the hero and make a so-called ‘honest woman’ out of Rita. I would take the fall. John was my best friend, so I did it. Hans fell for it. He turned his hate on me, and Rita’s family accepted John.”

  “Geeze. Are you still friends? With John?”

  “No. Giving that up was part of the plan.”

  “What happened to the baby?”

  “Miscarriage a month after they were married.”

  “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry. But Tom, I have to ask. How do I know you’re telling the truth – that the baby wasn’t yours?”

  “Because I wasn’t sleeping with Rita. But I was afraid you wouldn’t take my word for it. I had a vasectomy ten years ago. I have the records in my truck, if you want to see them.”

  “No. I believe you.”

  Tom turned and shot me a hopeful smile. “Are we good, then?”

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes.”

  Tom leaned over to kiss me. I pushed him away and stood up.

  “Really, Tom? What about going through my phone? What about snooping through my papers? And what about my best friend Milly? I’ve seen you two together all over town!”

  Tom shrunk back and bit his lower lip. “Crap.”

  “What?”

  “Val, I swear. Nothing is going on between Milly and me. I know it doesn’t look good, but trust me on this.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Look, she’s helping me with something. I can’t explain it. It’s official business. An...investigation. It should all be over in a couple of weeks. I promise I’ll tell you everything then. I swear.”

  Tears filled my eyes. Relief and frustration. So close, but still so far.

  “I’m not good at waiting, Tom.”

  “I know. Believe me.”

  Tom smiled. He stood up and hugged me. His arms felt so strong. So safe. I pulled away again.

  “You know what hurts the most, Tom? You weren’t there when I needed you.”

  “I know. I wasn’t there to help you, and I’m sorry. Val, I know firsthand what a nasty piece of work Jergen can be. I backed off so he would back off of you. I hope it worked.”

  “I guess you were right about that. I think it did help. The last message he left me...he actually sounded kind of nice.”

  “Good. Val, life isn’t a fairytale. I can’t be there for you all the time. I’m no superhero. I’m not like you, Valliant Stranger.”

  Tom took my chin in his hand. We locked eyes and smiled.

  “I’ve got my weaknesses, too,” I said.

  “I know. Chocolate...roaches...yard sales...”

  I snickered.

  Tom laughed and continued, “...can’t take a compliment....”

  “Don’t forget the worst one,” I added. “Inability to smell bullcrap until it hits me in the face.”

  “Ah. My personal favorite.”

  Tom pulled me to his chest and kissed me hard on
the mouth. My knees buckled. He whispered in my ear.

  “I’m hoping I can add sexy cop to your list of weaknesses.”

  My thigh bumped against the crotch of Tom’s jeans.

  “Maybe I should add jealous, untrusting brunettes to yours.”

  Tom kissed me hard again.

  “I said I was sterile, Val, not impotent. Big difference.”

  Big difference, indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  FOREVER WAS A LONG time to swear off something. I’d lasted about twelve minutes with booze, twelve days with men. I looked over at Tom in bed beside me. Maybe fate hadn’t given us the finger after all.

  A week had passed since I’d smashed any figurines. Petie the Police Boy had gotten his last-minute stay of execution. The tension between Tom and I had slacked off, but wasn’t totally erased. He still had a week before he had to spill his guts about Milly.

  Milly and I were talking again, too. It was a tenuous time for me. I tried my best to find a way back to our old routine, but it was a struggle, given my lingering feelings of mistrust. On top of all that, I had to dodge Finkerman’s calls while I waited for the DNA results to come in on the finger. I was cleaning up breakfast dishes the morning after a very nice Taco Tuesday when the phone rang. My attorney, Bernard Charles, was on the other end of the line.

  “Ms. Fremden?”

  “Yes. Hello, Mr. Charles.”

  “We’ve analyzed the tape. Good and bad news. Good news, you got Loo and Meyers on tape plotting the arson.”

  “Meyers?”

  “Bingo Bob.”

  “Oh. Right. That’s good for your case, right?”

  “Yes and no. The fire investigation report came back. They can’t prove arson. Looks like either they covered their tracks well or faulty wiring beat them to it. The place burned down due to a grease fire. Can you believe that?”

  “Yes. I was in the back kitchen once. I’m scarred for life.”

  “Bad luck all around.”

  “Where do you go from here?”

  “We’ve got other angles to pursue.”

  “What about Loo’s confession? Cutting off Mickie’s finger?”

  “Well, your tactics were dubious at best, Ms. Fremden. But I promise I’ll do all I can to get you off. You won’t be facing direct charges. The only charge that has a chance of sticking at this point is conspiracy. Unless, that is, you’ve figured out the connection. How the finger ended up with you.”