Val Fremden Mystery Box Set 1

by Margaret Lashley

  Capone took his chance and skittered off with one parting shot. “Crazy old bat!”

  Milly jerked her shoulder away of my hand and glared at me.

  Great. Now that she’s all buttered up, all I have left to do is convince Milly to meet me and Cold Cuts for coffee tomorrow morning.

  Easy-peasy.

  I FOUND A PLACE THAT served wine. The pizza guy suggested it. It was right next door. Old Northeast Tavern. Just like the pizza place, the interior of the tavern was spectacularly uninspiring. Kind of like a garage someone had hobbled into a restaurant with spare parts. However, it had one good feature. It was dark. That would make it harder for my face to end up on the wrong end of Milly’s right hook.

  I waited until she was almost through her second chardonnay. I couldn’t think of an easy way to lay it on Milly, so I just said it plain and simple.

  “Cold Cuts wants to meet with us tomorrow morning.”

  Milly nearly spewed her wine. “Are you kidding? No way! Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I have to work....” Milly caught herself. The tendons in her neck stood out. “Forget it.”

  “But she wants to help you find a new breakfast place. To make up for your old place, the Omulette.”

  Milly eyed me with suspicious malevolence. “And you told her yes?”

  I shrugged my shoulders together to make myself a smaller target. “Just one cup of coffee, Milly. What’s the harm?”

  “That’s true,” Milly quipped sarcastically. “What’s the harm? There’s nothing else she can steal from me except my car. And I owe more on it than it’s worth.” Milly drained her glass and shot me an angry, confused look. She shook her head. “What do you see in her, anyway Val?”

  It was a valid question. One to which I didn’t have a clear answer. “I dunno. She’s just got something...some kind of power of persuasion. What do you call it? Charisma?”

  “More like kryptonite. Val, that woman was able to destroy my life in a single week. She’s done a number on yours, too. She doesn’t have your mom’s ashes, Val. Capone does. You don’t need her anymore. Let’s cut her lose. Take our losses. I’m not wasting another minute with her. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be looking for a new job.”

  “But what about what Cold Cuts said, Milly. About being your own boss. Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

  Milly scowled. “Sure, I guess. I know I can’t count on Mr. Maas to live forever. But I figured I still had some time to figure things out, you know? Cold Cuts put an end to that, too. Thank goodness you were around when Mrs. Barnes came in my office today. If I’d taken that drug test and failed, Val, not only would I have been fired, but no one else would have ever hired me again.”

  “I’m sure you can get a similar job, Milly. And get your life back like it was in no time.”

  “But that’s just it, Val. Cold Cuts made me feel like the life I had wasn’t worth keeping. She thought I should be glad – grateful even – that she’d freed me from my pathetic little existence.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Isn’t it? I mean, I’m a freaking accounting clerk. Unmarried. And I’m rapidly approaching my expiration date in the boardroom and in the bedroom.”

  “Milly, the girl lives in an RV and dresses up like other people to escape her boring life. You call that a bright future?”

  Milly sighed. “No, I guess not.”

  “She told me she’s doing that mousy woman’s makeover today.”

  Milly sat up straighter. “Nora? The one that won the contest?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Unbelievable. I’ve been trying to get that woman to speak at the Ladies Leadership brunch for two years. She owns a law firm, you know.

  “So?”

  “It’s just not fair! Cold Cuts walks in with her zebra boots and stupid contest and the woman spills her guts like a cheap piñata!”

  “You’ve got to admit, when it comes to people, that girl’s got some kind of special charm.”

  Milly scowled and turned her nose up. “Most charlatans do.”

  “Oh, come on, Milly. Let Cold Cuts do something nice for you. Go to breakfast. At this point, what have you got to lose?”

  “Only my dignity. No thanks.”

  “Please?”

  “No, Val. You can’t make me.”

  “Sure I can. With just two words.”

  “Lucille Jolly? I don’t think so. Not this time.”

  “Merkin Jerk.”

  Milly’s eyes did that scary-movie doll impersonation again. “You wouldn’t!”

  I smiled slyly. “Wouldn’t I?”

  I DON’T KNOW IF IT was the wine or all the drama with Milly or a combination of both, but I was exhausted. By 7:30 p.m. I’d already had a bath and was ready to crash. There was just one more thing I needed to do before I could pull the shades, click on Netflunks and start sawing some logs. I picked up the phone and punched lucky #7.

  “Hi, Tom.”

  “Hey there. You sound beat.”

  “Yeah. It’s been a crazy day.”

  “That’s nothing new for you. How’s it going with that girl? Meat Loaf?”

  “Huh? Oh, you mean Cold Cuts. Okay, I guess. I’m meeting her for breakfast. I had to twist Milly’s arm, but she’s coming along, too.”

  “What...Milly doesn’t like her?”

  “Oh, they’ve just had a few minor disagreements.”

  “What about Glad? Any more news on finding her ashes?”

  “I should know more tomorrow.”

  “Okay. How was work today?”

  My heart skipped a beat. With everything else going on, I’d forgotten all about it.

  “I dunno. Same old, same old. How about you, Tom? Work going well?”

  “Yeah. Well, not really. That jerk Jergen’s always on my butt about something. I don’t know what the dirtbag’s up to now. Muller overheard him saying something about heads were going to start rolling soon.”

  “Geeze, Tom. That sounds bad.”

  “Not as bad as your tortilla dip, I hear.”

  My face flushed. “How’d you find out about that?”

  “A little birdie told me.”

  “Ha ha. A blabbermouth named Jorge, more like it.”

  “Can’t keep any secrets from you.”

  I felt a stab of guilt. “That’s right. Goodnight, Tom.”

  “Goodnight, Val.”

  I clicked off the phone, frustrated with myself for not trusting Tom enough to tell him the whole truth. I should have told him about Capone. About work. About the odd papers I’d found in Jergen’s tax file. But I knew Tom had held back information, too. In fact, I didn’t know who was spinning the truth more, me or Tom.

  His voice had been joking, but I could tell Tom was truly worried. Whatever was going on at work must’ve been vexing him sorely. Tom had told a joke that was actually funny.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “KELLY’S PUB?” MILLY said. “This is the same place Cold Cuts ‘Kamikaze Kerry-ed’ my date with Dexter.”

  Milly scowled at the name painted on the glass front of the small restaurant. I had my hand on the door. “Come on, Milly. Don’t start. And wasn’t it Scary Kerry?”

  Milly shot me an angry glare. “Who cares?”

  I opened the door. She raised her chin and huffed through it. At a table in the back I saw a girl in a Goth outfit. I steered Milly toward her.

  “Hi, Cold Cuts,” I said.

  “Darn. How did you know it was me?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of you in this one. You got my friend Winky in Garvey’s parking lot.”

  “Oh. For a minute there, I thought I was losing my touch. Hi, Milly.”

  Milly looked away. “Hi.”

  “Sit down, you two,” Cold Cuts offered. “I’m gonna run to the john for a second.”

  Our butts had just flopped onto the seats when a nice-looking, athletic man dressed in khaki slacks and a crisp white shirt came over with two empty cups and a pot of coffee.

  “
Hi ladies! Welcome to Kelly’s. Coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” we chimed in unison.

  The man glanced around and winked a blue eye. “What happened to the grave robber?”

  “She’s no grave robber,” Milly said sarcastically. “She steals lives from the living.”

  Cold Cuts appeared from behind me. “Oh, boohoo, you two. You can’t go back to your crummy jobs.”

  “Wow. No one will ever mistake you for Mother Teresa,” Milly said snidely.

  “Aren’t you the funny one,” said the guy with the coffee. He grinned, revealing nice teeth and a set of killer dimples. “I like a girl with sass,” he said to Milly and walked away.

  Milly perked up – until Cold Cuts opened her mouth again. “Don’t you see, girls? This is your golden opportunity. You have a blank slate. You can be anything you want to be now.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Reinvention. Think about it. Val and Milly, 2.0.”

  “Give me a break!” Milly said sourly.

  “Come on, Milly. Think about it. Is the brand new, Milly 2.0 still a blonde?”

  “I think she’s a redhead – with a red-hot temper to match,” I said.

  Milly scowled and shoved me hard on the shoulder.

  “What’s her motivation?” Cold Cuts asked.

  Milly piped up. “To seek her revenge – on you!”

  Cold Cuts cocked her head and sighed. “Still there, are we? Okay, what kind of car is Milly 2.0 gonna run my butt over with?”

  “A freakin’ red Ferrari, okay?” Milly said, then sat back and pouted.

  “Abso-freakin’-lutely!” Cold Cuts said encouragingly. “So, what’s her favorite food?”

  Milly looked at me, caught off guard. “Can I still like nachos?”

  I shook my head in amazement. Somehow, Cold Cuts had worked her magic again. She’d engaged Milly and was already winning her over. Incredible.

  “Sure you can,” Cold Cuts encouraged. “So, what’s the new Milly’s favorite color?”

  Milly’s eyes scanned to the left, then straight ahead. “Yellow!”

  “Huh,” Cold Cuts said, skipping a beat. “I would have guessed red. Oh well. And does the new Milly 2.0 go out with losers?”

  Milly’s scowl had been replaced by a look of determination. “No way!”

  “My point exactly,” Cold Cuts said. She folded her arms and sat back in her seat.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “What is the point of all this?”

  “I have an idea,” Cold Cuts confided. She opened her mouth to speak, just as the coffee guy returned.

  “Everything all right here?” he asked, and winked at Milly.

  “How would you like to be your own boss?” Cold Cuts asked us.

  The guy answered. “I’d highly recommend it. The hours suck, but the pay is crummy.”

  “Excuse me, do I know you?” Cold Cuts asked, a tinge perturbed.

  “No. I just own the place. Name is Vance. Nice to meet you all.”

  “Okay, Vance,” Cold Cuts said. “So, if being the boss is so bad, why do you do it?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “For the glamour, of course.” He grinned again, then he cocked his head and opened his mouth. He pointed a finger at Cold Cuts. “Hey, wait a minute. Aren’t you the same woman who was in here a few weeks ago? With this lady?” He pointed at Milly. She blushed.

  “Uh...I don’t think so.”

  “Yes. I remember now. Rainbow Mohawk chick, right?”

  “Good eye,” Cold Cuts conceded.

  “Good ear, more likely. The only thing I recognize about you is your voice. And your beautiful friend here, of course.” Vance held his hand out and shook my hand.

  “I’m Val.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Vance turned to Cold Cuts.

  She eyed him warily, then extended her hand and shook his. “I’m Cold Cuts.”

  Vance eyed her up and down. “Hmm. Let me guess. Ham?”

  Milly giggled. Cold Cuts didn’t.

  “Very original. You can leave now.”

  Vance mimed a look of devastation. Milly came to his rescue. “Don’t take it personally. She’s mean to everyone.”

  “And you are?”

  “Milly Halbert.”

  Vance smiled at Milly and nodded his head gallantly. As he left, I watched Cold Cuts size Milly up as she smiled shyly down at her coffee cup.

  “Guess your Cloak of Invisibility has a glitch in it,” Cold Cuts said.

  Milly looked up. “What? No. I’m sure he wouldn’t have recognized me if I wasn’t with you.”

  “From what I heard, it was the other way around,” I said.

  “So, would you go out with him if he asked?” Cold Cuts teased.

  Milly gave a wry smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not too good at the dating thing.”

  “It’s true,” I said. “Milly could be featured on Wide World of Dolts.”

  “I’m not talking about the old Milly,” Cold Cuts said. “What would the new Milly do? Would she go out with Vance?”

  “Oh.” Milly brightened. “The new me? Yes. Maybe. With the right costume...and the right back story.”

  “Exactly my point,” Cold Cuts said.

  I sighed. “You said that earlier. So what exactly is your point?”

  “A whole new life. A whole new career. For all of us.”

  “What do you mean?” Milly asked.

  “I’m talking about dressing ourselves up and shutting other people down.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “Girls, we could be like the Ghostbusters of bad dates! We could offer a service doing the same thing I did for you, Milly, with that Preston guy.”

  “Dexter.”

  “Dexter, Preston, Poindexter. The name doesn’t matter. A bad date is a bad date, right?”

  Milly and I shrugged. “True.”

  “So, how many times would you have paid good money to get out of a bad date?”

  Milly’s eyes grew as wide as boiled eggs. “Oh my gawd! Plenty of times. Like – a jillion times!”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “That’s genius!” Milly said. “We could help all the women on all those dating sites. We could be gazillionaires! I bet I know a hundred women in the Leadership Ladies alone! And we’d be doing a public service....”

  Cold Cuts broke in singing a little jingle, “When you’re on date, and it’s going bad – who you gonna call?”

  We exchanged excited glances and shouted together, “Date Busters!”

  “So let me get this straight,” I said. “A woman is out on a bad date. She calls us, and then what?”

  “We show up in our disguises and shut it down,” Cold Cuts said. “Guaranteed he’ll never call again. I know you two can do it. Your disguises at Garvey’s were phenomenal.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me. By the way, Cold Cuts. How is your grandmother doing?”

  “She retired.”

  “Oh.”

  She shrugged. “It was time. So? What do you girls think?”

  “I love it!” Milly said.

  I shrugged and grinned. “What the hell. I’m in.”

  I LEFT MILLY AND COLD Cuts at Kelly’s Pub, yammering away like new best friends. I had an appointment with a scar-faced garbage eater. But first I had to pick up a mustachioed peanut head. Lucky me.

  Goober was waiting for me at the assigned pick-up point, the corner of 1st Avenue and 4th Street. The post office was a good rendezvous point, he’d explained. Its arched porch, designed to protect post boxes from the rain, gladly did the same for him, free of charge. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining, so I had the top down. Goober walked over and hopped in the passenger seat.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Val. Feels good to be working with you again.”

  “Thanks for backing me up in case Capone tries any tricks. Like last time.”

  “Not a problem.”

  As I pulled off of 4th Street
onto 9th Avenue, I started to worry.

  “What if Capone doesn’t come, Goober? Milly might have chased him away for good with that rabid dog attack of hers yesterday.”

  “What’s the payout?”

  “Huh? Oh, fifty bucks.”

  Goober whistled and shook his peanut-shaped head. “And I’m working for pizza. Don’t worry. He’ll show.”

  Goober was right. Capone was waiting outside Old Northeast Pizza with a plastic bag that looked just about the right size to be containing Mr. Peanut. My heart picked up at the thought that Glad was so close. I parked Maggie. Capone ran over to me before I could get out of the car.

  “I got it,” he said. “Where’s the fifty?”

  I reached for my wallet.

  “Let’s see it first,” Goober said.

  “Look man, I got it all wrapped up to protect it. I promise it’s the Mr. Peanut bank. The real deal.”

  I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. Capone handed me the bag, then snatched the fifty out of my hand. Goober started to get out and whack him, but I put a hand on his shoulder. Capone stood beside the driver’s door as I removed the package wrapped in newspaper from the plastic bag.

  He must have used the whole Sunday paper. I handed Goober page after wadded page. Finally, I reached the last sheet. I pulled the paper away and my heart sank. It was a pink plastic pig with a Planter’s Peanuts can crammed onto its head like crown. Capone eyed my expression, laughed and took off. Before I could speak he’d dashed around the corner of the building.

  “Dang it! I should have known!”

  “I’ll get his sorry behind!” Goober climbed out of the car and took off after Capone. He’d just rounded the corner out of sight when I heard a man yell out in pain. Yes! Goober got him!

  I tossed the pig in the backseat and climbed out. I was almost to the corner where they’d both vanished when Goober came around it, limping on his right foot.

  “Goober! Are you okay?”

  “Tripped on a blasted beer bottle,” he said. “I think I sprained my ankle.”

  “You want to go to the hospital?”

  “Hell no.”

  “Then I’ll take you home.”

  “Okay.”