Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1
Page 46
“Tom, you don’t understand. My mother was in there!”
DEAR READER,
Thanks so much for continuing on with Two Crazy! I hope you enjoyed the story. Val is the universe’s favorite victim of circumstance. The idea of the fickle finger of fate seemed like a natural foil. Val has landed on her feet, but things never go totally smoothly for her.
In Two Crazy, I wanted Val to have to rely on others for a change, even when things seem totally out of control. Letting go is a big issue for many of us. Here, Val sees what it’s like to have her character come under suspect – and even her sanity! Lol! It helps her begin to forge relationships and bonds beyond her old comfort zone.
If you’d like to know when my future novels come out, please subscribe to my newsletter. I won’t sell your name or send too many notices to your inbox.
Newletter Link: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/fuw7rbfx21
Thanks again for reading my book! Sometimes life really can be a bit Two Crazy. ;)
Sincerely,
Margaret Lashley
P.S. I live for reviews! The link to leave yours is right here:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071KYVB8X#customerReviews
Ready for more Val?
Where does Val go from here? Will she find the RV and rescue Glad before the old Minnie Winnie ends up crushed and thrown on the scrap heap?
The craziness is just getting started! Get set for another zany adventure in:
Three Dumb: Wheelin’ & Dealin’!
Three Dumb
Wheelin’ & Dealin’
Book Three in the Val Fremden Mystery Series
Margaret Lashley
Copyright 2017 Margaret Lashley
MargaretLashley.com
Cover Design by Melinda de Ross
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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For more information, write to: Zazzy Ideas, Inc. P.O. Box 1113, St. Petersburg, FL 33731
This book is a work of fiction. While actual places throughout Florida have been used in this book, any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, the names of places have been altered.
More Praise for the Val Fremden Series
“If you’re a fan of Janet Evanovich, you’ll love Margaret Lashley. The characters and plots will leave you in stitches!”
“The action, and the emotion, in this story start on the first page, and it just builds and builds.”
“This is my favorite book in the series, and that just makes me more excited to see what happens next.”
“This book kept me in stitches throughout but had a good enough plot to keep me engaged in the read. Margaret is a magician with this genre and worthy of your time to read. I highly recommend this book and the entire series!”
“I don’t know how every book in this series can be better than the one before! Well written, hilarious situations, with delightfully wacky characters.”
“I love the humor and sudden twist of events! You think it's going to go one way, and then BAM! It goes somewhere completely left field. Margaret Lashley is an amazing author with so much talent, I hope this series keeps going and going into the 20s like Stephanie Plum!”
“Love it! Margaret Lashley can write no wrong words. This series is fabulous.”
More Hilarious Val Fremden Mysteries
by Margaret Lashley
Absolute Zero
Glad One
Two Crazy
Three Dumb
What Four
Five Oh
Six Tricks
Seven Daze
Figure Eight
Cloud Nine
“They say three’s the charm. But charming isn’t my style.”
Val Fremden
CONTENTS
Welcome to Val’s World!
Glad One
Praise for the Val Fremden Series
More Hilarious Val Fremden Mysteries
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Two Crazy
More Praise for the Val Fremden Series
More Hilarious Val Fremden Mysteries
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Three Dumb
Copyright 2017 Margaret Lashley
More Praise for the Val Fremden Series
More Hilarious Val Fremden Mysteries
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapte
r Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
What’s Next for Val?
What Four Excerpt
Chapter One
“HOW COULD YOU DO IT, Tom?”
I stared into the sea-green eyes of Lieutenant Thomas Foreman, my cop boyfriend. He was in the kitchen drying dishes, as happy as a clam on Prozac. He’d just pulled off a surprise 49th birthday party for me right under my nose, and was swaggering in self-pride about it.
The festivities had ended just a moment ago, when Laverne, my next-door neighbor and former Vegas showgirl, finally took the hint and wobbled back over to her place on those stork legs of hers. It hadn’t been easy to convince her it was time to go. I’d changed into my pajamas, tidied the couch cushions around her, took the wineglass from her hand, and, when all that failed, resorted to yawning in her face. Laverne never was one for subtlety.
Tom raised a blond eyebrow on his smug, unforgivably handsome face. “Val, with you on my case, keeping the party under wraps was no piece of cake.”
He winked and grabbed a glass from the kitchen drain board. His lip curled into a satisfied smile as he wiped the glass dry with a dishcloth, oblivious to my growing rage. I crossed my arms and planted my feet. My mind was made up. I had a right to be pissed, and no one was going to take that away from me.
“I would hope not, Tom,” I hissed, “as it probably involved forgery on your part.”
Tom blanched and looked up, surprised at my anger. “Wait a second. You’re not talking about the party?”
“No! I’m talking about selling my mother’s RV – without even asking me!”
“Oh...that.”
Tom grinned at his own cleverness. He obviously didn’t realize how close he was to being strangled to death with that darn dishtowel.
“Well, that was the tricky part, Val. And you almost caught me. I had to rifle through your silly shoebox filing system to find the title to it. It was still registered in Glad’s name, but I signed it over. Seeing as she’s dead, I didn’t think she’d mind.”
“Arrgh! Tom, I didn’t mean, ‘How did you do it logistically.’ I meant, ‘How could you do it at all?’ The Minnie Winnie was mine. My mother’s. It was....”
Tom dropped the cloth on the counter and folded his arms over his chest, mirroring mine.
“It was a piece of junk, Val. I traded it for the tiki hut. I don’t know why you’re so angry. If you ask me, you got the better half of the deal.”
I raised my hands in frustration. “You still don’t get it. It was all I had left of Glad – besides the piggybank with her ashes. And Tom, the piggybank was inside the RV.”
Tom’s face drooped. His arms fell limp to his sides. “Oh. I...I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do. Why couldn’t you have just asked me first?”
Tom bit his lower lip and scrunched his nose. “I don’t know. It sounds lame now, Val. But it would have spoiled the surprise.”
“And avoided this one.”
Hot, angry tears rimmed my eyes. Tom winced sympathetically and put his arms around me.
“I’m sorry, Val. But how in the world did Glad’s piggybank end up in the RV anyhow?”
I thought back to the drunken night a week and a half ago, when my imagination and half a bottle of gin had convinced me that Tom and my best friend Milly were having an affair. I’d spent a lost night in the old RV, commiserating with my mother’s spirit as she’d stared back at me, wise and all-knowing, through a plastic, holographic monocle....
My face flushed. I jerked away from Tom’s arms.
“Look. I don’t have to explain myself to you, Tom. What I need now is to know where I can find the RV and get Glad back.”
Tom took a step backward and showed me his open palms. “Okay! Take it easy! A buddy at work gave me the name of a junk dealer out in Pinellas Park. I’ve got his card around here somewhere.”
Tom’s eyes scanned the kitchen counter for the card, then his face registered a thought. He reached toward his right butt cheek and pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans.
“Tom, I know you meant well. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I mean, what you did with the backyard...the makeover...it’s beautiful. But I’m so mad at you right now I have half a mind to charge you with grand theft.”
Tom’s tan, clean-shaven face lost the remainder of its usually good-natured, boyish charm.
“So that’s the thanks I get. Nice one, Val. You know, I put up with a lot from you, but tonight takes the cake. I tell you ‘I love you,’ and you return the favor by telling me you’re going to have me arrested. Not an even swap.”
A pang of remorse hurtled toward my heart. I knocked it away with a baseball bat.
“Well, neither was you’re swapping my mother’s RV for a blasted tiki hut!”
Tom pulled a business card from his wallet and tossed it on the kitchen counter. “I guess it’s true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished.”
Tom glared at me and pursed his lips. He shook his head and marched out the front door, slamming it behind him. I waited until I heard the engine start and his SUV drive away before I picked up the card. Maybe I should have felt guilty. After all, Tom truly had meant well. But not a single speck of slithering guilt dared crawl near enough to be scalded by my boiling anger. Not this time. I was tired of always paying the tab for others good-intentioned misdeeds.
Why did everything nice have to come with a crap-smeared string attached?
I looked down at the business card. It read, “Lefty’s Hauling: We make your troubles disappear!” The bitter irony forced a puff of jaded air through my pinched lips. It was 11 p.m. on a Saturday night. I took a chance and called the number. No one answered. The card stated the business was closed on Sundays. It seemed I was going to have to wait – something I was definitely no good at.
Chapter Two
I IDLED AWAY SUNDAY morning swinging in my new hammock, going back and forth as to whether I should call Tom and apologize or call Tom and rip him a new one. I should have been ecstatic. Tom had just told me he loved me for the very first time. I’d been contemplating whether to say it back to him when I’d been blindsided by the news he’d gone and traded away my mother for a thatched-roof shack. How could the man have been so insensitive?
I scowled and looked across the freshly landscaped backyard. It was so gorgeous I nearly forgave Tom again. The comfy, macramé hammock I was swaying in was tied between two palm trees and offered a beautiful view of the sparkling Intracoastal Waterway. A set of six floral-cushioned lawn chairs formed a ring around a circular fire pit made of terracotta-hued pavers. Even the traitorous tiki hut was charming, with its shaggy, conical roof of woven palm fronds. It was all so beautiful – and in need of a lifetime of constant maintenance.
By 9 a.m., the newly installed plants had already begun to wither in the tropical heat of the sixth day of May. I got out my old garden hose and spent the second half of the morning watering the freshly planted lantana bushes, canna lilies, pygmy date palms and St. Augustine grass. To save work, I took a quick trip to the little Ace Hardware store on Boca Ciega and bought a sprinkler to irrigate the neat swath of newly lain lawn.
When I got back home, an itchy irritability crawled across my brain. Sweat dripped off my chin as I stood in the glaring sun and fiddled with the new sprinkler. I adjusted the angle to 45 degrees and turned on the tap. Before I could say, “Oh crap!” the hose swelled up like a pregnant snake and blew the sprinkler off the end like a bottle rocket. It slammed into
my shin, prompting me to scream all the remaining curse words in my repertoire and dance the one-legged hip-hop. While I was performing my one-woman show, the garden hose, like a heckler in the audience, curled itself upward and, with deadly accuracy, shot a stream of cold water into my obscenity-hurling face. Given the horrid heat, it should have cooled me off. But the cold blast only managed to refresh was my seething anger at Tom.
This dang landscaping is the gift that keeps on giving. Giving me more chores and responsibilities and ways to sweat my freaking butt off! Thanks a lot, Tom!
Soaked to the skin, I gave up and lay back down in the hammock. I was drying my clothes and cooling my temper when that freaking jerk Guilty Conscience showed up and tried to convince me that maybe I had been the insensitive one.
Had I been wrong to grouse about Tom’s beautiful and probably darn-expensive birthday gift? I gave my unwanted visitor an angry glare and a couple of Tanqueray and tonics. The second TNT, along with a Southern dollop of self-righteousness, had just begun to loosen guilt’s whiny stranglehold on me when I heard a familiar voice call my name.
“Val?”
So much for enjoying the tranquility of my new backyard.
Oh geeze! Maybe I really was being an ungrateful sourpuss....
I took a tentative peek out of the hammock at the nosey, long-legged, horse-faced old woman in a gold bikini.
“Hi, Laverne.”
Those two little words transformed Laverne’s hesitant stare into a big grin. She waved at me with ridiculous, child-like enthusiasm.
“Hiya, sugar! Wasn’t sure if that was you or a hobo. That was a nice party last night. Were you surprised?”
I sat up in the hammock and smiled despite my lousy mood. Laverne had been cutting roses in her backyard. She had a handful of blooms in one hand, a clipper in the other. Her strawberry blonde curls peeked out from under a floppy white hat tied with a gold ribbon. Her boobs hung halfway to her navel, supported by two small, triangular patches of gold fabric attached to a pair of dangerously thin strings that didn’t look up to the task.
This is the side of Florida no one warns you about.